My super ex-girlfriend

July 28, 2007 at 11:36 pm (Sweet sticky things)

I’m a little off-kilter. My weekend seems longer than usual. Is this a bad thing? Not so much. As I sit here, watching Bikini Girls from Lost Planet all alone on Saturday night, I have a bit of time to reflect on it all…

HBO is a bit steamy tonight. One of their branch-channels (certainly not HBO Family) has been showing soft core porno in the late hours. Last night’s entertainment was PG-13. I watched My Super Ex-Girlfriend. At my super ex-girlfriend’s house.

Regular readers know this blog rose from the ashes of my last serious relationship. The X-GF, who’d been urging me to start blogging, set me up with this site so I’d have something to obsess over besides her. (As well as a spot for my endless drinking stories…) It’s been a great outlet; cathartic, therapeutic. It’s the book I always threatened to write. She’s been a technical advisor, devout reader and my biggest supporter.

Our relationship was such that I always felt like I received way more than I gave. Back in our early days, she helped me mend through a leg injury. It was a week or so of being bedridden. It was nice; she’d feed me, keep track of meds, etc… Being a mom to two kids, it was second nature. To me, it was a kindness I’d received little of in previous relationships. Impressed and indebted, I promised her ‘chicken soup for life’.

Despite losing the BF/GF title, we’ve stayed close. It’s rarely more than a day between e-mails, and we talk on the phone when necessary. In fact, I still have her cell phone and house keys. Her phone plan allowed for an extra line, and she had a hand-me-down phone, so she’s been letting me use it. I know when the free hours are, which coincide nicely with my night-owl lifestyle. And since most of my daytime calls are to her, which is free, it’s win-win.

The other night she calls me at work. No big surprise there; if she’s downtown she’ll call to see where I am, to see if it’s feasible to come by to say hi, what’s construction on the mall like today, etc… It’s an hour into my shift, and my shirt pocket starts ringing.

She needed advice about traffic in my neighborhood, specifically how to get to a certain hospital. One of the kids had to be taken to emergency, and she’d received the call while on the road. “For all I know, my house could be wide open.”

My lunch time was coming up, and work is flexible enough I can take it whenever I want before 7 PM. Without blinking or thinking, I said, “I can go check on the house, if you want.”

She agreed that it would put her mind at ease, so I clicked off with assurances that I’d call when I got there.

The bus trip was hellish; standing room only, and the twelve-minute ride took forty-seven, all told. I walked into the house, which was locked by paramedics. (A wallet biopsy had shown the kid was insured, and they’d used his keys to lock up.) I called the X-GF, and assured her all was okay on the home front. I was soon on a near-empty bus heading back to work. I was two minutes late getting back from lunch, and actually felt like I’d accomplished something, besides ogling girls at the mall for an hour.

As the night progressed, I got more updates. The kid was going to be fine. (Without going into detail, Junior showed poor judgment, and learned a costly lesson.) Once the fear had subsided, anger took over, and she was torn between wanting to hug him and skin him alive. Her last words to me that night? “I owe you, big time.”

“No you don’t.” It wasn’t an argument, or me attempting to be grandiose. It was no big deal, what I did, and she’s done the equivalent for me more times than I can recall. She stopped insisting when I reminded her, “Hey, chicken soup comes in many forms…”

Junior’s recovering nicely, and the kids are off camping for ten days with their dad. The X-GF invited me over, for dinner and a little catch-up time. I hadn’t been to her house for a month or so, and things had changed.

The upstairs neightbors were moving. The computer, the one I know how to use, had been discontinued, replaced by a Mac laptop. I helped make her bed, and my carbon-dating system (the pile of newspapers on the shotgun side of the bed) told me no one else had been there. After a rib dinner from Podnah’s, and a couple of glasses of wine for her, it was decided I could sleep over. She wouldn’t have to drive, and we could have an early breakfast on my way home.

While her crack-of-dawn versus my crack-of-noon lifestyle rarely conflicted, TV watching in the bedroom takes a hit when she’s trying to get back to sleep. It was about 5 AM and I was watching My Super Ex-Girlfriend on HBO, laughing and cringing at the same time.

Cringing because it’s not the greatest movie, and laughing because, well, I was so lucky in my breakup. There were no violent outbursts, no screaming meemies, no boiled rabbits. (Or goldfish. That part made me dislike Uma’s character. But I digress.) In fact, as we broke up, we were our own support system, which seemed weird to a lot of people, but second nature to us. Even if we didn’t agree with the advice, we were comfortable asking, and respected each other’s opinion. While there was much hand-wringing and gnashing of teeth, we were not spiteful, vindictive or mean-spirited. There was a lot of hugging and crying, as I recall. I try not to dwell on those days, but I still have all the e-mails, should I ever want to remember how nicely we treated each other, even in the darkest of times.

I turned it off halfway through, so she could get back to sleep. As usual, she was getting up about the time I fell asleep, so I turned the movie back on. (On Demand kicks ass!) Finished the movie, and realized there was an Uma Thurman character that was much more like *my* super X-GF: The Bride from the Kill Bill movies. So tonight, as I sit home while she’s out on a date with a pig, I will revisit Tarantino’s kung-fu movie tribute, and remind myself that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

(And lest I get a lecture about her dating pigs, I should clarify. She’s bartending at a barbecue where they are roasting a whole pig. Don’t want her getting all Bride-like and coming after me with a samurai sword…)

In House of 1,000 Corpses, there’s a line in the menu from the DVD. I’d first heard it used by my dearly departed brother-in-law, and it sums my super X-GF up nicely.

She’s the kind of girl you bite in the ass, pray for lockjaw, and hope she drags you to death.

And yes, hon, that’s a good thing…

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