Monday, April 22, 2013

Ass

Remember Alexander?

Alexander was in town a couple of weeks ago.

I know Alexander was in town because he told me. He was in town for work and he was working quite close by and he was all full of hints and suggestions and I just played so, so dumb. You're in town? How nice! Your mom must be so excited to see you. You're working practically in my backyard? Don't work too hard!

It was pretty apparent what he was getting at and I am just not interested. I don't regret what happened between us early last year. I needed that life experience. I needed the clarity that came from it. But I don't need it again.

And if I had any confidence that we could have dinner or drinks together without him pushing and pushing and pushing, I would have met him for dinner or drinks. I don't dislike being around him.

I dislike when he's all up in my shit and making it seem like I don't know what I want and like I'm stringing him along when that's all so terribly far from the truth. And that's the Alexander who would meet me for dinner and, in that case, I would rather pass.

So I passed.

Assertively enough that I wonder if I will hear from him again.

(Unfortunately, I'm quite certain that I will see him again at some hockey function, where he will be all push, push, push and I will be all annoyed.)

Which -- as civil as I would like to be -- would not be a bad thing.

His week here came and went and I didn't think twice about it.

I didn't think twice about Alexander. I didn't think about him at all, as a matter of fact, until this morning when I logged into The Facebook and was greeted with a big, cheesy picture of him and his ex-girlfriend.

It took 0.6 seconds of stalking to uncover that she wasn't in Los Angeles visiting. She lives there. She moved there. For him.

What a dick.

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