I'm not saying i wish ill will on many of my exes, I'm just saying that I like to know that I'm doing way better than they are. That I am happy and healthy (wow, I just totally mistyped "healthy" and put "lethal" instead and I am sure in some parts of the tri-state area and the Mid-West that whether i am healthy or lethal is probably being debated) and delieriously in love with a boy who worships me (read: puts up with me) and planning my wedding by the sea where the two of us fell in love almost two years after doing so. Too cute, I know!
So, during my lull of jury duty selection today something made me think of Jersey Boy which led to the nagging thought, "I wonder what that ass is up to. Did he sell his trailer like he talked about doing for more than a year but was reluctant to get off his fat ass and do it?"
Idle hands are the Devil's playground so I went to work.
I found his grandfather's obit which listed him as a survivor and HIS FIANCEE'. He's engaged. So, of course I had to whitepage his hass to see if he was still trailer dwelling and he is already married. Married! already. We broke up in the Summer of 2005. You mean to tell me you already courted, proposed and had a wedding already. Holy moses.
I told Stew. Stew told me I had to let it go. Stew doesn't get broads and their constant need to know that they are always doing 600 times better than their ex-boyfriends. I let it go. He is yesterday's news. I shake my head and physically cringe when I think about having dated him and that two-pack-a-day ashtray he called a mouth.
"That relationship was a springboard to marriage," Stew said.
God, doesn't that boy ever see the bad side of things? Everything is a ray of positivity and hope. The cloud is not only lined in silver but it's encrusted with diamonds. I often feel like when I do something productive he's going to award me with a "great job" puffy sticker from all the positive reinforcement he blows up my ass. I've tried to warn him.
So, of course, it is my job to bring him back down to Planet Depresso by explaining my theory that it was tehs tory of my dating career. Lisa meets boy. Boy dumps her. Boy marries the next girl he meets. I used to tell that to my boyfriends too, 'the next girl you will meet you will marry. I am sure of it.' Kinda like how I tell Stew his next wife will love cooking, won't conduct bathroom business with the door open and certainly will not pass gas that Stew describes as "destroying him."
At least i don't have the luxury of running into people I've dated like Stew does. I owe this to the fact that they don't live around here and the ones that do must never leave the house. But, mark my words, the next time I see the girl Stew dated before he met me sitting across from us at the bar (yes, it has happened), I am going to buy her a drink and invite her over to talk.