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City Life, Relationships

Finding Love in the Big City, Part VIII: The Art of Rope-a-Dope

12.30.07 | User ImageThe Orange Phoenix | 9 Observations

Finding Love In The Big City So it is two days out from the celebration of the new year; when I should be concerned with finding a cute outfit for New Years Eve, I am slapped with reality - getting dumped - yes that’s right - DUMPED.

Since I finally passed the blubbering stage (all of two hours ago), I am now sane enough to reflect back on the good, bad and ugly of my newest ex. They say, “I don’t know who ‘they’ is…” that a break up doesn’t usually come out of the blue, there are usually signs that reveal themselves over time… well yours truly must have missed ALL of them as I was quite sure that my May/December relationship was going to work out - I was so sure that I even allowed him to meet my mother - OY what a big mistake.

Setting The Scene:
So I notice that Mr. December is beginning to pull away a bit - not calling as much, mysterious with confirming dates. So what’s a girl to do? I call him on that shit. I ask him what’s going on and if he’s starting to see other people and if he is to be honest. So he denies it. I ask a second time as I had that weird feeling that I wasn’t alone (sort of like finding out that there may be extraterrestrials hiding out in the desert sands of Arizona) and he denies it a second time, so I take him on his word and let it be. I do send him a note asking for us to talk and figure out where this relationship is Ali/ForemanAli/Foremangoing and boy do I get my answer. . .

Round Twelve
Ali/ForemanBoy I’ve never seen that much ducking and dodging since Muhammad Ali vs. George Foreman (him Ali, me George). All the while, I didn’t know that this asshole was playing rope-a-dope. So I ask him to let me know where he stands, and like Foreman, I think his ducking and dodging is a sign of weakness, I am slammed with reality - the ever so famous line that men hate to hear said was dropped on me like the Ali shuffle: ” You know, I’ve been thinking, I truly love you, (I’m on the ropes) but I think it would be better (here comes the blow) if we were just friends (ooh - body shot). I treasure your company (jab to the right eye) and friendship (jab to the left) so much that I’d hate to ruin it by not giving you the proper love and attention that you deserve (ooh, she took that one to the chin folks), so I think it would be better if we were just friends (and she’s DOWN!) and we can be friends with benefits (LOW BLOW, LOW BLOW!!) If you were only 40, you’d be perfect (Damn, kick a heifer while she’s down why don’t you?!)”

Down For The Count

I do my absolute damnedest to not cry in his presence. He continues to ramble on about how we can be friends and concentrate on our friendship and then come back to the romantic part when we have had a chance to be more solid. At that point I start tuning him out as he sounds like the teacher from the Peanuts cartoons - all sounds and no real language involved. All I can think about is getting out of that house and going home to my couch and crying my eyes out. It takes everything in my being to not fall apart as I think that he was looking for me to do so. As I was leaving, I said to him “Since we aren’t together anymore you can go back to your ol’ player ways without anybody in your way. With sick glee he responded back, “I never stopped.”

Damn - not only does this muthafucker kick a girl whileshe’s down, but then pulls a final Mortal Kombat move out of his pocket - ripout your defeated opponent’s heart and then force them to eat it - just ice cold.

Here I am - quite battered and bruised - George Foreman with my head in my hands wondering, “Why didn’t I see that coming?”

Well, what lesson can I gather from all of this? Go home, lick my wounds and figure out how to create my version of the George Foreman grill and like mighty George, KNOW that I will get the last laugh - 749,994 more to go.

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