The phrase "technical difficulties" was really just my way of saying "I am having a panic attack." Gawker linked to my blog on Monday and, for one brief moment in time, my rate of visitors was approximately one hundred people every nanosecond. Though exciting, it was also a bit alarming. I called A. for reassurance. A. told me I would get fired and everyone in the world would hate me. I learned a lesson about calling A. for comfort of any kind.
I began to chain smoke and pace the length of my apartment. I tried to be inconspicuous, but really these are not activities one can hide. My roommate approached me slowly, gently took me by the shoulders and sat me down.
"You are going to give me a cigarette and you are going to tell me what’s going on."
I nodded. I told her about the blog and the cursing/blessing of a Gawker link.
"Did you write anything bad about me?"
I mentally ran through everything I had ever posted.
"No!" I exclaimed triumphantly. "Nothing bad at all!" Ha.
"Well, did you write anything bad about Ex-Boyfriend?"
Right. I called A. again.
"If there is anything up there about me, you better take it off. And you better hope you don't get fired." I learned, for the second time, to really, really not call A. when in the midst of a crisis.
A.'s alarmist take on the situation so infected me with panic, I called Ex-Boyfriend to confess everything, despite my roommate yelling "Nooooooo" in the background. He was happy to hear from me, even happier when I asked if he wanted to get a drink, probably envisioning a reconciliation of some kind, or at least a drunken fuck.
We planned to meet in thirty minutes. That left me thirty minutes to look stunningly gorgeous, as anyone should when meeting an ex who has cheated. Unfortunately, I used my thirty minutes to run around frantically, have a total nervous breakdown about the concept of Ex-Boyfriend reading anything I had written, alternately smoke cigarettes and spritz perfume on myself, and finally decide to delete the blog.
I walked into the bar fifteen minutes late with no make-up and ratty hair, destroying all fantasies of seeing Ex-Boyfriend while I looked impossibly gorgeous and glowy. I found him at a table in the back, sat down and said "So I have this blog…"
Ex-Boyfriend scoffed at the idea that I would get fired and told me that if any of my friends became angry about the blog they were simply being ridiculous. I felt better. After two glasses of wine, I felt great. I began to be thankful I had saved my postings in a word document. (After years of being an impulsive little thing, I have learned, when possible, to leave room for the all too common decision-reversal.)
An hour later, Ex-Boyfriend asked to read everything I had written about him. Eh, why not? I thought in my now relaxed state of mind. He already knows everything--he was there. (If I had managed to have this rational thought earlier, I would have saved myself much time and pain-in-the-assness by not deleting the blog in the first place).
Alcohol in my system and Ex-Boyfriend at my side, I walked back to my apartment. I opened up my laptop and stared intently at his face as he began to read. I know I was staring intently, because at one point, Ex-Boyfriend said "Will you stop staring intently?"
There was a moment were he seemed a bit taken aback ("You really didn’t like the sex statue?") but overall, he giggled like a schoolgirl as he read the history of our relationship, CB-style.
"CB," he said. "This is really funny. I’m so proud of you." He kissed me on the forehead.
- Things I Have Learned From This Experience