By R. Chase
Bachelor Behavior
As a kid I used to sit through three months of “Gilligan’s Island” reruns during those lazy summer months between school years. The thing about those reruns is that you start to notice a pattern – the gang always gets some crazy chance to get back to civilization, but Gilligan blows it at the last minute and their hopes are dashed yet again.
Dating an ex-girlfriend is a lot like those summer reruns. You already know the end of the story, but sometimes you’re just too damn lazy to get up and change the channel. And why bother? There’s a certain comfort in repetition.
And every once in a while the eternal well of “hope” inside the human spirit bubbles up from the depths of cynicism. Perhaps this time things will be different. Perhaps this time the show will end with Gilligan, Skipper and the rest of the crew sipping Mai-Tai cocktails at a resort in the Caribbean.
But it never does.
I was getting my ribs gingerly poked by a cute female orderly at Baptist East. She was preparing me for an X-ray.
“So how did you say you think you broke your rib again?”
“My girlfriend punched me.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I told her I was still in love with another woman.”
“You’re lucky she didn’t punch you in the face.”
“I think she tried, but she’s really short.”
I can’t remember whether she hit me first before or after I mentioned the part about my ex. We’d been drinking. Things were fuzzy.
Luckily my rib was only bruised, so the nurse took mercy on me and sent me home with some painkillers and an ice pack.
Hot Yoga Girl and I had abruptly ended our brief fling at least two years ago, or at least she’d managed the “abrupt” part by disappearing completely, then magically reappearing after I had fallen in love with another woman. Funny how that always happens.
She was tenacious. She sent me text messages, emails, and made random calls at odd hours from various phone numbers I didn’t recognize.
Despite my general suspicion of her motives, I contacted her a while after I broke up with my girlfriend.
Why? Sometimes it’s easier to go backward when you aren’t quite ready to move forward.
Re-dating is an opportunity to make the commitment to actually getting to know someone. The first time around, there are too many other factors at play. Desperation, fear of loneliness, boredom, and good old-fashioned alcohol-fueled lust are all primary catalysts for the initial part of a relationship – they make up the “spark,” which gets you just far enough to be in a relationship, without actually knowing anything about this relationship within which you suddenly find yourself.
But the re-date is different. You’ve already been through it. There may be chemistry between you, but the “spark” is over. The key to re-dating a woman is to spend time actually getting to know her and who she is on a deeper level.
We saw each other frequently. I spent time with her family, her daughter and her nephew. We took her dog to Cherokee Park. I sent her flowers for Valentine’s Day. It was starting to look like a good, old-fashioned relationship.
Except for a few minor details.
I didn’t feel like either of us were that interested in each other. It seemed the relationship between us was one of attrition, or some general need to be attached to another person without actually giving a crap about them as a person. There was no love, no affection, and I had a constant nagging feeling that I was an accessory, much like her handbag or her bracelet, and that I could be replaced at any moment with some other guy that better matched a new acquisition in her impressive arsenal of sexy footwear.
And I was starting to find things I didn’t like about her. She was shallow, superficial, and volatile (plus she had a mean right hook). She also had a sense of entitlement that quickly became annoying. She kept complaining that I never called her. But when I did, she didn’t pick up the phone and never called me back. When she did happen to pick up, it was always after at least eight rings and the conversation was always rushed and awkward.
At the Tame Impala show at Headliners, she started yelling at me for no reason I could determine and stormed off, shoving people aside. As the band played their hit “It Feels Like I’m Only Going Backwards” I swizzled some Maker’s Mark at the bar and came to the realization that I’d accomplished my goal. This time around, I’d really gotten to know her.
And guess what?
I didn’t like her.
C’est la vie. Time to move on.
Contact R. Chase at YourVoice@voice-tribune.com.