The First Day of the Rest of My Life

Sunday, March 11, 2007

I knew this day would come eventually. I had tried not to think about it too much beforehand. Now that it has happened, I can't get it out of my mind.

She's getting married next month.

The other night, my folks called me. The usual catching-up chit-chat preceded the announcement. My mom told me that they were at a condo association meeting, and ended up running into her. She told me about it matter-of-factly, and I tried to not let it hit me so much. But, by the end of the phone call, they could tell I wasn't taking it well. After hearing about it, I did the only thing a guy could do in such a situation.

I called my girlfriends.

Took me a few tries to get someone to answer, but eventually V picked up her phone. I talked with her for a few minutes, then my doorbell rang. My folks came by to visit. "I didn't know this would make you upset," my mom said. And they say mothers have a special bond...

The next thirty minutes or so consisted of stories of other members of my family and their experiences with marriage. They led off with a story about my dad's brother, who had three exes of his get married months after he broke it off with them. He's currently a fifty-something retiree living in Austin who plays lots of tennis. ("Guess I need to start shopping for racquets," I said, trying to create a moment of levity.)

They told me about how they found out (only a couple of hours before), the plans (wedding in Austin, honeymoon in South Padre*), and her plans (moving out of the condo my parents own at the end of May). We talked about if I still felt anything for her (no), whether if I was jealous of her (yes), and what I would do if extended an invite (show up and go apeshit... j/k).

I asked snidely, "Is she pregnant?"
"Not that I could tell," said my mom. Part of me was hoping she'd say yes, so at least I could have some twisted form of vindication.

My dad suggested we share a drink. He suggested bourbon at first, but settled for the Jose Cuervo left over from my housewarming party. No "lick, slam, suck" action here, we sipped like gentlemen. After that, and some hugs, they went home. And I went back to calling V. She told me about a time when she went through something like this. Her plan of action? A hyper-focus on herself and making changes. She cut her hair really short and starting working out quite a bit. (Unfortunately, I had my hair cut just a few days ago. Any more taken off, and I'd have the Britney.)

The first full day after hearing the news, I went into work for some scheduled overtime. The slow pace of a Saturday gave me a lot of time to sit and think, which wasn't quite what I needed at that point. As I left, I saw a friend of mine come in, and told her about what happened. "I'll either spend tonight listening to a melancholy CD, or go out and get shit-faced," I told her.

After fighting traffic thanks to the good people at TXDOT, I went with the latter. A work friend was celebrating her 31st birthday at one of the city's finer hipster bars. Two gin-and-tonics, a crown-and-coke, and lots of old-school rap helped make the night go by. (During the night, I was reacquainted with a Universal Truth, brought forth by BBD: Never trust a big butt and a smile.)

The greyness of today hasn't helped my mood much. Mass was bad, if only for the internal distraction of the situation (and the external distraction of a baby shaking her plastic keys like maracas). Hopefully Kevin Durant can help lift my mood today...

(break while watching the last 3:00 and OT of the UT-KU game)

Durant lifted my mood, Rick Barnes didn't.

Anyway, now comes the hard part: actually moving on from a relationship that ended almost a year and a half ago. But how? Burning all reminders of her? Deleting e-mails? Contacting Dr. Mierzwaik? Maybe I'll try the hyper-focus on myself.

I'll start by finishing the pizza in my fridge.

(EDIT: corrected spelling error, and added the following rant...)

*South fuckin' Padre? Who has their honeymoon there? Could they not afford a casino bus to Louisiana or something? How ghetto is that?


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