A couple of weeks ago, I added a post dated entry into my Google Calendar, an all day event set it to repeat yearly, and set to send me an email to remind me. No, it wasn’t someone’s birthday or anniversary. It’s not a holiday. It’s not a reminder to change the battery in my smoke detector. It’s not a note to take my cat to the vet. No, friends, my new event literally is called “The Day I Met the Next Guy Who’s Going to Ruin My Life.”
See, ’cause the thing is, I’ve been thinking about this idea of a ruined life. “He ruined my life.” Yeah, I’ve said it. Meant it, too. My life’s been ruined a few times. Not always, but more than once, by some dude. Something happens, and the whole thing gets turned upside down and rattled around, my stuff goes flying, my plans get thrown out the window, and every idea about what I thought was real or who I thought I was gets shitcanned. Some guy who three months ago swore up and down that he just never could cope with living without me suddenly does a 180 and dumps my ass. A bandmate sexually harasses me. I move for the five millionth time. I lose someone I love.
All those things suck. They’re unpleasant at best, and down right traumatic at worst. It’s the kind of shit that makes your life feel like a real struggle. It’s tiring, and it’s stressful. You second guess yourself, and you wonder what you did wrong five million times over. “Why doesn’t he love me anymore?” “Why did she have to go?” And then the what-ifs set in, and that’s when it really gets miserable. And if you’re me, that’s the point where you spend the next three months (who am I kidding, try two years) on the couch watching whatever the hell comes on TV, just so you don’t have to listen to what’s in your head.
But this is the part where I’m gonna fuck with your mind, because I have to say, it’s not necessarily a bad thing to have your life ruined. Sometimes the life you have ought to be ruined, the plans ought to be thrown out the window, and that idea you have about what was what deserves to be shitcanned. Because that ex, well, he was kind of a dick, and I kind of dodged a bullet when he dumped me. That old studio apartment, it was kind of scary when the hookers were hanging out on just the other side of a thin piece of glass. And that job? I sure as shit couldn’t stay at that job one more minute.
And that’s when you get up off the couch, and you do something different. You get a better job. You join a cooler band. You plant a rose bush. You meet a new guy who’s ten times hotter than your ex.
So, yeah, I met this guy. Right now we’re just friends. A whole lot of talking going on, and not hardly any action. And who knows what the hell is going to happen. It could never be anymore than what it is right now. In fact, I’m going to go on record and say that it is highly fucking likely that he and I will never be more than friends who flirt. Or maybe meeting him really will be the thing that ruins this life I’ve been living, one way or another, for better or worse, and I might have to start all over again.
But with or without this dude or any dude, life has a way of changing. Things don’t stay the same. They’re not meant to. You’re meant to get dropped on your head every once in a while. It’s just the way things go, and this shit, this shit right here, it builds character. It’s made me into the scrappy little smartass you see before you. And I really wouldn’t have it any other way.
And he seriously is way way way hotter than my ex.