The Profile of A Man whose Brains You Banged Out

So, my ex. We broke up because I am busy overhauling my life. I am doing spring cleaning and shedding baggage both literally and figuratively. I needed some time. Because things weren't perfect with me (or even close), our relationship was suffering. And in spite of his better judgement, he let me go. We talked to each other over the holiday, we exchanged gifts, we hugged. We had some special fun alone time.

**Inner Monologue: Why do I feel so comfortable exorcising all these demons in front of the whole world? Who am I kidding, there are like two people reading this.**

Anyway, I miss him terribly but I know, somehwere deep inside me past the pain and worry, that we're doing the right thing. He told me he's seeing a fine young lady who contacted him via online personals. Good for him. Ease the pain. Meet a new gal. Have a little fun. And of course the masochist had to look him up and see how he was representing himself.

I can see why she wanted to contact him. He's charming, witty, and low key, but he also says some things that would make one think he's a real tiger in the sack. It got me thinking about how interesting it is to hear one write about oneself on a personals page. You never mention the fact that you cheated on her once, or that you thought many times of killing his dog. You say that you have been described as "passionate" and that you don't have an animal, no, but you LOVE other people's pets.

We're all a bunch of fucking liars.

It's not really attractive to be hard on yourself. But it's interesting how we set ourselves up as the prize at the end of the "Getting to Know Me" Maze, and at every turn, the person desperately trying to win us gets loaded down by a new piece of the puzzle. While wandering through this maze, finding out about people's families, their history of disease, their favorite food, what makes them despise other people, and all that other stuff, I'm reminded of the Shining. That little Redrum kid is really fucking cold in that snow and just wants his crazy daddy to stop chasing him with an axe.

So, who is Jack Nicholson in this half-assed metaphor? I think he's our own pasts. We're trying to make it out alive, with a partner, but all we hear is shrubbery being ripped apart while the arctic Colorado wind blows.

I hope he ends up happy. I hope she's not a conniving bitch that hurts his feelings. I want his friends to like her. I hope that she enjoys his love of El Torito and the fact that he oftentimes will pick up his guitar and start playing just as everyone gets ready to walk out the door. Also, he DOES NOT like to swim and she should respect that.

She better not be like Shelley Duvall. Otherwise, I'll hack that bathroom door open myself and take her ass to the cleaners.

Wrigley.g