A couple weeks ago, I went to the U.S. Open in Huntington Beach. Basically, it was an excuse for all of Orange County to congregate in one spot (with clothing optional) to watch national surfers take on the waves. Back home in the Hills, my name was brought up at a party.A boy hosts a party in hopes of gaining approval from many people he had long since dumped as friends upon leaving high school because he thought he was too good. He takes a break, and walks outside to the sidewalk to talk with his friend. As he is outside, another boy approaches the party. Upon recognizing that this newcomer is someone he does not want at his house, he pulls and fake smile and musters up all the courage he has to be fake.
Too afraid to kick him out, Boy One says, "Hey! You're Tina's ex-boyfriend!"
Boy Two is taken aback, and he hesitates then replies, "Hey! You're Tina's ex-boyfriend!"
Apparently Boy One's plan to intimidate Boy Two backfired, and the two of them had to deal with the awkward competition the entire night.
So I've come to a conclusion as to why Boy One has been so horrible to me all year. He was angry that I moved on. Apparently, when two people break up, no one is allowed to move on. I never knew of this rule, but I'm glad I finally heard of it. Now I can finally decipher the trivial mind of Boy One and his immature reasoning.
Anyway, that awkward little conversation is proof that I am doomed to live a life that is haunted by my Ghosts of Love's Past. Seeing as it is impossible that I simply stop dating, and also that my other option to quarantine all of my past lovers in some desolate place will probably never work out, my only option is to move away from all my men.
I'm thinking, Seattle or Manhattan.
