When it Rains it Pours

I feel like this always happens... dry spell... no guys... no lovin'... no NOTHIN'... And then, all the Ex's reach out in some strange, pathetic act of wondrous reminiscence of what could have been between us. In two nights I got a text from Concert Ex (which I transcribed in the last post), Nice Guy Ex, Married Ex, Hipster Ex, Pretty Dumb Ex and even, First Love Ex.

Ah yes... I haven't heard from Pretty Dumb Ex in quite sometime, close to a year now. He is a hot one, in the most typical kind of way; chiseled jawline, dreamy eyes, impeccable physique, flirty smile, tattoos that show he is both a badass and a momma's boy with a spiritual side. He is in fact the most perfect example of how beauty can overshadow imperfections in all other vital qualities a partner should have... say, like, a personality. And thus, it never turned into more than purely physical - usually only when I was buzzed enough to alleviate my physical inferiority to his well-advertised and widely-recieved good looks. I remember the last time we had sex... I woke up (on his air mattress that cleverly posed as an actual queen-size mattress - did we actually function on that thing last night)? Anyway...

I woke up to the sensual strokes of his wandering hands and couldn't bare the taste of sour Jameson and stale beer in my mouth, so I rolled over him (nearly flipping over the whole "bed"), slipped on his sweats and a hoodie and stumbled into his bathroom. As I splashed water onto last night's made-up face, I tried to remember what had happened, and giggled at the remembrance of our heated rendezvous. I stood up, bleary-eyed from the running mascara and noticed something was blocking my view of what was sure to be a horrible site in the mirror... What's this? A photo? I lean closer and see a girl. I yell to Ken Doll on the bed, "Hey (name)?" He answers in a raspy, sexy voice "Yeah babe?" ... I ask, ever curious... "Who's this in the photo?"

"Oh. That's my Girlfriend."

I stare closer at the plain girl in the wet photo, notice my awful appearence poking from behind it, realize I'm far too hungover to process anything, and hurry to grab my things and leave. Casually. Almost as casually as he revealed that he is in a very serious relationship then kissed me goodbye: "You know how it is... Let's do this again, sometime. Soon."

I ignored his calls after that. He asked for his sweats and hoodie that I left with that morning for a solid 2 months after that.

Pretty Boys...