lucky strike

This Friday the 13th thing kinda jacked up my Thursday.  Is that possible?  Hopefully I got it all over with a day early and today wasn’t just foreshadowing for tomorrow. 

I woke up this morning from a super realistic dream where I’d left my camera (the rebel) in the car for a minute and returned to find it there, but totally stripped down to this weird kind of skeleton frame.  The memory card was still inside though, and I was glad.  I swear I checked on it ten times today, just to make sure. 

There’s a lot going on in my little world lately, but none of it is bloggy.  Not trying to be mysterious, but are you really interested in hearing all about how I saw Harry Potter last night with John and the kids and then posted about it and my post was lost when my browser crashed?  Or that I filled out paperwork to fax in for Willow’s state subsidized health care, or the fact that I spaced my car registration and finally sent it in late but still haven’t found time to get the van smogged, or should I or should I not renew my Costco membership?

Y a w n.  (Ha!  I’m really yawning as I type!)

Soph is really liking summer school school camp.  It starts at 8 every morning, so it’s rough some mornings to get her up and out.  Her teacher is named Miss Blixen (no, not really) but Soph calls her "Blixen."  As in, "Bye, Blixen, see ya later!"  I keep saying, "Miss, Sophie, MISS BLIXEN."  But it’s hard not to laugh. 

OH!  I just remembered something bloggable.  Monday night I went to two yoga classes in a row, which translates into three hours of class.  I really loved it, because I started the second class all warmed up and I wasn’t as wobbly and wonky as usual.  But, between the classes I had to go back to the front desk to sign in for the second class.  I went, so sweaty I could squeeze my hair and make it drip, to my cubby to get my little keychain id card so I could scan in.  And, there was this guy standing there and I recognized him. 


We did that whole, "Hey, I know you.  Where do I know you from?  Where’d you go to school?  No, that’s not it, I didn’t go there.  What’s your name?" routine. 

And then it dawned on me. 

We used to go out a million years ago, when we were seventeen. 

A million meaning twenty, in this case.

I looked at him and said, "Oh. my. god." and then spun on my heel to go sign in, totally cracking up, because it would figure that if I’m going to run into an old boyfriend (eh, maybe that’s the wrong word, but, you know) it would be after a yoga class in a 105 degree  room and I’d be red-faced, as sweaty as is humanly possible plus even sweatier, and in new yoga pants that emphasize all the wrong parts of my thighs. 

I went back into the studio and guess whose mat was next to mine?  I said, "Of course!" 

Looking back, I can see how my reaction might have kind of offended him, but I wasn’t unhappy to see him — I was just horrified to see him looking like I’d washed up on a desert island after seventy six days at sea.  But with worse hair.  "Want me to move?" he asked.  "Nah," I said, "you just can’t laugh at me if I fall over."  He agreed.  We caught up for just a few minutes.  He’s getting married next spring, is an engineer, went to culinary school right after high school.  He’s still a cutie, but he looks really different. 

I’m sure he thought the same of me.  The looking different part, I mean. 

Just before class started, I leaned over and asked him, "So, I uh, don’t remember very clearly. . . did we have, like, a bad break up?"

"Nah," he said.  "I don’t think so."  He didn’t remember, either.  But, I *knew* there was something I was forgetting.  And I was.  I remembered it today.

Here’s what happened, and looking back, it is pretty funny.  At the time?  It was awful.

Fast-forward a couple of years after I’d spent time with C (the yoga guy).  I’m in a serious relationship with R (Hi, R.  How’s things?).  We went out with one of his friends to a few places which I’m totally going to make up because I don’t remember the details and they don’t matter much.  Let’s say we went to get tacos, then to a bar, then to a movie and then to R’s friend’s house.  With me?

So, I was only nineteen, and I’d been dating R since right after I’d turned eighteen.  He was a little jealous, like many young guys.  At the taco place, a guy I had dated in high school saw me and came over to say hello. R was okay with that – no big deal. 

Then, at the bar, was another guy who said hello.  R said, "Let me guess — old boyfriend?"  I said, "Hmmm.  Isn’t THAT funny?"

And, then, at the movie.  Not one, but TWO guys, who were there together.  R was pretty steamed by now.  And it wasn’t very fun.  I tried to play down the movie theatre guys, but it wasn’t working.  IRONICALLY, I think we had run into 75% of all the guys I’d ever dated.  This night was just weird. 

It got worse, though. 

R’s friend, I’ll call him B, wanted to go by his friend’s (cousin’s?? I’ll have to ask) house on our very tense and chilly ride home from the movies.  And, as we pulled up to the house, I put my face in my hands, and said, "I do NOT believe this." 

The guy I ran into Monday at yoga?  Yeah, it was his house.  And, R?  Totally blew a gasket.

And THAT is why I had this feeling somewhere back in my mind that we’d had a bad break up.  We hadn’t, but I sure as hell had one big, freakishly weird, fight about him.  It was just with someone else. 

And, if you didn’t already figure it out, R stops by here occasionally.  Maybe he’ll comment.  Or throw eggs at me next time I see him.  He’s got a new (sorta) girlfriend, though, and doesn’t check in so often these days, so maybe he’ll miss this.  I’d hate to make him mad at me.  heh

1 thought on “lucky strike

  1. Diane

    Oh, my gosh! That is a really freaky story. If you’d made it up for a movie or a novel, it would be funny, but the fact that it’s true makes it hysterical! I hope R sees the humor in it now, all these years later. Stranger than Science?


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