“So….what ever DID happen to Drummer…?”
Mirage’s words ring through my ears like a sounding gong at the beginning of a sumo wrestling match, only the competitors in this arena aren’t two overweight, free-ballin, big-bellied Japanese bun-rockers, they’re my incessant need to be honest and truthful with my friends versus my already-bruised-enough ego.
It’s been four months since the night I realized Drummer was flaking on every plan that breathed an air of intimacy, since the night I finally asked him, “What do you REALLY want out of all this?”, since the night we both realized that the word “COMMITMENT” was about as intriguing and attractive as 2 Girls One Cup, since the night we last spoke…
Since the night we ended.
There I was, confronting him about the obvious flaking, pouring my heart out about my fears of commitment, of being vulnerable, of getting HURT:
Me: *breathing a huge sigh after unleashing all my dirt* Ok…so how bout you? What’s going on for you on your end…? *hoping he can’t hear me cringing in anticipation over the phone*
Him: *taking in a deep breath and letting the words out slowly* Well…I guess for me…there’s just…*sighing in surrender* There’s just no spark.
Me: *shooting up in my bed, wide-eyed* (FUCKING WHAT?) *instantly offended and back on guard* Wow…umm. Ok. If that’s how you feel then I guess it was nice knowing ya (WHAT A FUCKING COP OUT!!!!!!! FUCK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)
Him: *sounding hurt* Oh my God please don’t say that….
Me: *cold and bitter* No, if there’s no spark then that’s that. It’s over. No use in dragging this shit out. It was nice knowing you, Drummer. Have a good one… *hanging up the phone before he even has a chance to respond*
OK…so I tell him my deepest, darkest fears, talk about my insecurities and past hurts, and he cops out with THERE’S NO SPARK?!
I hung up the phone faster than you could say, “HOLD UP HOE!”
What can I say? My ego was just too badly bruised to withstand a proper goodbye at that point.
So in typical crazy-girl-who-just-got-her-heart-broken form, I INSTANTLY deleted his number, his calls, his texts, and his FACEBOOK from my life and proceeded to curl myself up into a ball in my bed and cry myself to sleep.
Nope, NO SIR, no way I’m gonna have ANY trace of that guy left in me!!! If I could at least maintain SOME dignity in this, it will be to have been able to say that I was the one who blocked his ass before he even had a chance to change his mind!
Yeah, no…but close enough for me.
So I went ahead and allotted myself the necessary two days for tapering off of heartache (studies have compared the effects of love and attraction on the body to that of cocaine on the body…it takes two days to physically withstand withdrawal symptoms until you are no longer physically addicted…the rest is all mental from there…SO…with that SAID…I always allow myself TWO DAYS to suffer whatever emotional, mental, and physical breakdowns that must ensue for me to be fully rid of any boys on the brain) by eating dozens and dozens of cookies within a given ten minute span (then further vomiting up said cookies) and even called in an emergency session with my therapist.
I was done.
Whenever people asked what happened, I gave a very generic, “Oh we both realized that we weren’t ready to get more serious than we were so we ended it,” which in hindsight is actually exactly what it was…nothing to be ashamed of, right?
I guess the “THERE’S NO SPARK” left a resounding, “YOU’RE NOT GOOD ENOUGH” on my brain and heart, which inevitably is never something easy to handle hearing and furthermore is never easy to tell your friends about.
After the first week or so, in a moment of bi-polar enlightenment, I decided that Drummer was undoubtedly the COOOOOOLEST mother fucker I’d ever met in Los Angeles and that I’d be DAMNED to not have him in my life as a friend!
Yes, we’ll be great friends and it’ll be perfect!
At least that’s what I told myself…
After the initial sting had settled, I unblocked him from Facebook and proceeded to write him a long, heart-felt message about how wonderful I thought he was, how much I appreciated our time together, and how great I think it would be if we could remain friends.
I had to write a Facebook message because I deleted his number…and yes I explained this in the message.
A couple hours went by…
Then a couple days…
And then a couple weeks.
Drummer never responded back.
WELL SUCK MY DICK THEN, DRUMMER, I REALLY DIDN’T WANNA BE YOUR FRIEND ANYWAY!!!!!!!!!
Then I got over it.
…or so I thought.
So, here I am NOW, my dress hiked up above my knees, my feet soaking in a Vietnamese foot spa, the Kardashians on the tube in front of me, and Mirage to my left as the two of us engage in a discussion over the intensity and fervor with which my past relationships had endured.
And what happened to Drummer?
I can’t help but leave my OUTSTANDING mani-pedi feeling shitty and down. It’s been forever since Drummer and I have been over, I’ve successfully moved on, dated, and fucked more than several wonderful mother fuckers in the interim.
And yet, none of them sustained.
What the fuck?!
Grabbing up a raw coconut at the Vegan House downstairs, I make my way up into my apartment and decide I’m somehow still too hungover and heartbroken to go out tonight.
Yes, it is Saturday.
Yes, I normally ball so fuckin hard on Saturdays.
No, I just can’t do it tonight.
Instead, I curl up under my covers and peruse OKCupid profiles and Facebook pages while scraping up raw coconuts. OK fine, in all honesty, YES, I’m stalking Drummer online.
SHUT UP CUZ YOU DO THAT SHIT TOO!
To REALLY drive the stake deeper, I then proceed to pull up all former blog posts about him and read them in chronological, sequential order, making sure to really FEEEEEEL the initial euphoria and delirium associated with the beginning stages of our relationship and all the pain, heartache, and devastation that accrued from its end.
I can be quite dramatic at times.
As I go to close the last tab detailing the last post about our breakup, I feel a buzz at my thigh and hear a sharp *PING* next to me coming from my phone. Looking down, I realize that, FUCK, it’s from a number I don’t know.
I REALLY need to stop giving my number to the WORLD when I’m rolling at the club and convinced that everybody is deserving of my love, devotion, and digits.
The text read:
Hey I just saw you online…how’ve you been?
Ugh, I’m CLEARLY being stalked. As a means to not come off as a super slut by asking “Who the fuck is this?” I figure I’ll give a generic-ass response and continue along with the conversation in hopes that I can eventually GUESS who the hell it is from the responses.
I’m a fucking genius.
In the meantime…
I Google the area code.
Area code: 781.
I slurp up coconut juice and scrape and scrape away as the page loads and my curiosity continues to peak. The results splash across the page as coconut water splashes across my lap in dropping both the coconut and my jaw…
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS AREA CODE (781)
I only know one person from Boston…
And that’s Drummer.
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