Wow, got a fun post out of my former blogger-days courtesy of Wayback Machine for you. Seriously, enter in an URL for some old-fashioned web design horrors!
With a lot of breakups, the “It’s not you, it’s me” phrase rolls endlessly off the tongue. And other times… well, you get nothing. Here’s a (not) fun breakup story of my own with the Chiropractor, John, and how I got nothing.
He was sweet, he was nice, and an established local chiropractor, which I thought was somehow important in my dating youth. We dated for a month, maybe two, and things were in line to reach that all too familiar “Wanna make things serious?” talks.
I had a previously-scheduled road trip for a two-week stint to Tampa, Florida. Back-tracking
to the day before I left for said vacation, I moved all my stuff into my neighbor’s space at the Polo Club in Strongsville. (Pricey joint for a 21-year-old, no?) She needed a roommate, and my lease was up on the place I shared next door. So, after the shortest-move-experience-ever, I left for the day-long drive with two of my guy buddies and a stripper chick from work.
Having a BLAST down in Florida, staying ever-so-committed to my man back home, I called a few times, only to get a machine, but I make no huge deal out of it. Two weeks pass, and still NO word from my dude! On my way home, I even try calling my roommate with no answer. It is as if I’m stuck in some freak-show Twilight Zone episode where I no longer exist back home. When I arrive at my apartment entryway, my roommate meets me in the hall with my cat, and the garage door opener, telling me that I have to find somewhere else to rent… and that all my shit is in the garage! Can you believe the indecency of the hoe? Anyway, I remain positive throughout this entire combative situation, relying on the laurels of going “back to Mom’s.”
I still continue to call John. Only THIS time, I get a voice mail recording with his name no longer attached to his roommate’s voice. Did he move too? Is THAT why I can’t get a hold of him?
Another week passes, and I keep trying to get at the very least, his roommate’s real voice on the other line. When, finally…
“Hello?”
“Hey, what’s happening? Can I talk to John?”
“Um… Melinda, John moved to Atlanta two weeks ago.”
“Okay, thanks…”
Oh my God, the humiliation! Still to this day, I will never understand why men feel the need play the avoidance game by changing phone numbers to… moving. Hey, a simple, “I got a job offer in Atlanta” would have done the job just fine. The relationship was nowhere near Serious Level. Nothing more than a couple weeks of funk and ice cream on damage control.
Ironically enough, I run into Dr. John downtown at Cloud9 years later. He seemed nervously happy to run into me. I, on the other hand, was not…
“I thought you were in Atlanta.”
“No… I moved back a couple years ago.” He says with a chuckle.
Woah. Good thing, I don’t put up with those kind of assholes anymore.
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May 30th, 2008 at 5:49 pm
Wow what a douche! To come up with an excuse that lame knowing full well he’d run into you sooner or later is LAME!