The Dump of My Life

Then it happened: the two-hour dry humping make out session that kept us both wanting more. See! She really was wrecking my new life of ladies that took so long to build.

I was in dire straits. I was working construction and had to lug my tools up the hilly streets of San Francisco as fast as possible, which was rough given my condition (I had to take the biggest crap known to man). I was cruising past my van near my apartment when I noticed not only the street cleaning ticket, but a small package tucked under my windshield wiper. My heart just about hit the floor as I noticed the cutesy hand stamped writing that could only be from one person. My Ex!

I grabbed the ticket and the package and continued to my door. Ran up the stairs, dumped the tools and into the bathroom I went. I threw down my pants, tossed the package on the floor, let out a sigh of relief or what ever it is you do at the moment, and stared at the package. That package was my kryptonite.

It had been about a year since I had had any sort of contact with my ex. And that is how I wanted it to stay. We had, or, in truth, I had, a very tough break up (she dumped me) and it took just about forever to get over her. In order to do so, I did the normal guy thing: went out and got laid as much as possible. If I wasn’t getting some, then I was at the bar getting loaded. I ended up meeting a fat kindergarten teacher who was real easy and I got way to into the “kindergarten teacher” thing. Met another woman at the bar. She was “bi” and I felt like I had to tame her in some sort of way and started to work my magic.

In other words, the last thing I needed in my new life was my ex. I sat on the toilet for about a hour staring at the package until I finally had enough courage to open it. It was a plastic little kid’s wallet with a letter that essentially said she really needed to talk to me and did not like the way things had turned out. I collected kids’ wallets (did you know they don’t fit real money?) and she had picked it up in her travels with her new man. I had heard she met some older more “adult” guy who took her on a trip around the world. He had been to every Chart House Restaurant in the country and won some around the world trip because of it. What a dork!

After about a week of going back and forth with myself I gave in and gave the ex a call. She wanted to come over and relinquish herself of the bad taste in her mouth of our breakup. At first I refused, thinking she just wanted back in my life to ruin it all over again. I was just now over her and back on stable ground. After the begging and crying and whatnot I agreed to meet her.

She came over the next day and we sat down to talk and hash out our breakup. It was weird and awkward at first, but after about three hours of talking things started to change, and I started to see what I fell in love with the first time. Then it happened: the two-hour dry humping make out session that kept us both wanting more. See! She really was wrecking my new life of ladies that took so long to build. The problem was we both wanted back in—and seemed to be headed down that path.

But I had more problems, I was just in the middle of dumping the kindergarten teacher and moving to Mexico to open a bed and breakfast with the bisexual chick. There was no way I was missing out on that.

So I went to Mexico to meet up with her (she had already been there for a month). She greeted me with her new girlfriend, and to my surprise I was already out at the time of arrival. I spent the next two months living the ex-pat bachelor life, and madly writing letters to the ex in the local Internet cafe. Two days before I left, a cab taking me home from a club crashed into a Mexican cop car, and much to my dismay I was sent to a Mexican prison. In that prison, I met two 90210/Melrose Place writers which was lucky since on their way out they slipped me a crisp $50 bill that I used to bribe my way out. Man, I could go on forever about that prison experience.

It is now seven years later and that ex and I are happily married with a wonderful three-year-old boy. Thank God she came back and wormed her way back into my heart with that gesture of kryptonite. Let’s just hope that my son has a thing for little kid wallets. I’ve got quite a few.


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