One of my bests posted the other day about the fear of going home for the holidays and running into the ex boyfriends. I do understand that fear, but since I am not going “home” for the holidays, I thought I was in the clear. (A quick little background on why I am not going “home” for the holidays: I already am home. This town, this little yellow duplex, these people, these streets–they have become home. My mom moved from my hometown over the summer and so no family is left there in S-town. Holidays are either spent at my dad’s loft, mom’s condo, sister’s house, or grandma’s. None of these places are “home” to me. Thus, I don’t go “home” for the holidays–I leave my home to go visit people at theirs.)
So, anyway, back to the ex-bf run-ins. Last night, I decided I was actually going to cook myself something for dinner–something other than soup or macaroni. So, I go to the grocery store–I grab some chicken, potatoes, corn, seasoning, a bottle of wine, some water…you know, the essentials. I am at the express checkout lane. I decided that it might be time to grab my own reusable grocery bag instead of always stealing roomie’s. I am looking at this red bag, and I look up and to the left and for literally a fraction of a second I am looking right at him. Movie store guy. Shit. Just look down and act like you didn’t see him–smooth, Jamie. You are so smooth. To make matters even worse, a gal is supposed to look HOT when she runs into boys she used to date. Lets just say, I was having allergies from the dusty shred bucket all afternoon yesterday, was in the same sweats I have been wearing every night this week, hair in a pony tail, make-up wearing off–oh, yes, I was there, reveling in all of that sexiness! I was almost close to looking like that (I was at least wearing a bra)
He goes and checks out at the lane past mine. I think I am safe because it is taking me much longer to get out of there because the 15 year old behind the register can’t sell me the wine so we are waiting on the manager–thank you, small blessing, thank you. I watch him leave. Phew. Safe.
I get my things, and I am walking out of the store. Low and behold, there he is, bringing his cart BACK INSIDE. Riding on it like a freakin’ little kid. Why didn’t he just leave it in the stall next to his car in the parking lot? Please answer me this? So, I do what any mature, confident 20 something girl would do, I grab my blackberry, look down, act as though I don’t notice his presence, and walk on. I think he might have waved. I mean, he had to stop his cart to let me pass. It was incredibly awkward. Mature. I know. But what was I supposed to do? Say, “Hi movie store guy–how are you? Certainly you have been fine. I have been fine, too. Oh, and sorry about going on two dates with you, deciding I wasn’t feeling it, and completely avoiding you for the next several weeks. It wasn’t you, it was me (but that’s not true, it was totally him–he was too…I don’t know….too something…too nice, too cheesy, tried to hard? I dont know). I hope life is treating you well. Have a great night.” No. I don’t think so. That conversation was not in my plans last night, so I avoided it. Don’t you judge me.
I got home and tried to recount the events of the last couple of weeks to try to figure out why Karma wanted to bitch slap me last night. I jokingly threatened to throw K’s dog; I didn’t help the old man salt his sidewalk and I should have; I drank too much last Friday; I probably swore too much this week; I let my poinsetta die partially; I didn’t recycle that pop can–I mean, is any of that worth it? I still haven’t got it figured out…
In other news: I am supposed to be seeing Ecuador boy sometime tomorrow or Monday….So that he can make me like him even more before he jet-sets off to South America. I will keep you posted!