Same title as that Michael Jackson music video where the faces morph into each at the end

An ex-girlfriend from my college years (Saved by the Bell style) wrote this about me. http://parlourmagazine.com/2010/04/the-second-break-up-are-you-a-victim/

Here's my response.
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NO GAMES, IT’S SIMPLY ME NOT YOU: A response, a year late and a shekel short
August 26, 2011 | Ben aka The Unresponsive aka Jewfro


So when we last left off, you ended your post with “Whatcha think, should I hold my breath?” Well it’s a damn good thing I didn’t hold mine considering you were an hour late to our long-awaited ‘beer and catch up.’ Was that payback? That’s cool.

For starters, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings Steely D. That surely wasn’t my intention and as you may or may not have figured out by now, the space I created was more about me than you (as it is in most cases). To take this “second break-up” notion into a context outside of our own, when a split occurs the dude’s not trying to be friends with his ex again until he’s at least got his feet back under him - aka another girlfriend or ex-girlfriend or number of regrettable and meaningless hookups under his belt (pun intended). Like Mahogs’ comment so gently put it, “men have a hard time dealing with rejection and break-ups.” She’s right. We’ve got pride. We’ve got ego. Yet for me it seems that I require more than just new experiences with fresh layers of sweet soft skin and counter-brains to go back to being friends (to borrow a phrase from the great philosopher David John Matthews). I can’t speak for all guys, because I’ve got friends to whom this doesn’t apply, but for me it does. I’m a sensitive little monkey, I get it from my mom (that and oodles of Jewish guilt). I cry in movies, I cry at commercials, I feel good when the underdog wins and maybe occasionally cry about it, and I refuse to watch those Sarah McLachlan abandoned pet ads anymore - for reasons already made clear. My point however is more than just acknowledging I’m a royal softy, its that it seems my willingness to “get over it” is akin to a pomodoro timer that has a mind of its own. What can I say, I’m a slow mover just like the pet tortoises I grew up with. I come around eventually - and hopefully its not too late. For us, I’m glad it wasn’t.

Interestingly enough, my track record since our Euromance has me doing more of the same: getting involved with girls I was friends with first and then taking my merry old time post-demise in being ready to rekindle friendships of days gone by. But you know what, that’s the risk we take when we jump in in the first place, hence voiding the warranty. I’m sure the obligatory conversation is had every time, about how this can’t affect the friendship and the others in the circle and yada yada yada…but fuck that nonsense. It will without fail, and that’s the price you pay for getting you some. And as well it should - beats payin for sex with money, not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Now to bring it back to us, if my memory serves me correctly, our Anglo courtship ultimately led to a slow fizzle out with us having had the talk but still hooking up out of convenience and familiarity. But then the line in the sand was drawn when you ‘pulled’ the Ghanaian dude at the club on a night we went out together. Tight shit. I knew it was coming, but still it stung. I couldn’t let go as easily as I would’ve liked. Besides, he was proper African and I’m a NY Jew by way of LA. Did you ever consider that perhaps some penile envy seeped into the equation unconsciously? (Although for all you Parlour readers out there, I ain’t ashamed of my Hebrew National. Its surely served its purpose. And don‘t call me Shirley).

So all in all, even though we communicate bi-annually these days, I must say I’m happy we still do. You’re good people Hillbone and you make me laugh and we had a great time together then and I reckon we will for years to come. Every other year that is. And considering we did have that drink after all a year ago, I must say I’m greatly looking forward to our time in 2012. Hopefully the Mayan calendar doesn’t get in our way.

Yours in lactose intolerance, Ben


Ps what’s up with that line “my current boyfriend…who’s
honestly the best guy I’ve ever been able to call mine?” Makes me feel like
kosher chopped liver. Nah that’s cool though, Mazel Tov for him. You deserve
good good love, I hope you’re getting it.

Pps I’m glad you alias’d me as a ‘Ben.’ That was my
grandpa’s name. He was a great man. He also survived a hit to the head with a
hammer during an attempted robbery of his Brooklyn candy store. Crazy story,
but that’s for another time.

Ppps the Jewfro is no longer, but the legacy lives on.


SIDEBAR: In other news, I’d also like to thank you for the expression, “…So good to me.” It first came out of your mouth at the end of a long night celebrating my 20th birthday overseas in those British “The Shining”-esque dorms we called home for nine months. Whilst in the communal kitchen, you were drunkenly shoveling some green lettuce through your grill and in the midst declared, “THIS SALAD IS SO GOOD TO ME RIGHT NOW.” Thank you Hillary aka Steely D. My friends and I, including said songstress, have gotten many the miles out of that phrase and we all have you to thank for it. So cheers and L’Chaim to you.

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True Tales of the Parental Roomies - Part 1

Scene - post-dinner conversation as mom sifts thru the guide listings on the TV for her favorite primetime shows (Tuesdays during the summer is always a big night for their demographic, or more like them specifically) and notices that Hell's Kitchen will not be on during its regularly scheduled slot next to Master Chef because tonight's M.C. is a special 2 HOUR episode. The reaction goes as follows...

 

Mom (venting): I hate how Master Chef stretches it out so much. I time it now.

Dad (more worked up): Oh and America's Got Talent doesn't stretch it out?! If that guy waits any longer to make the winner announcements... I COULD DIE.

 

[Sidenote: that result would probably bum him out even more so considering his current manifestation is to croak while working at his desk in the office. So no, he doesn't plan to retire.]

Deep Citi Lights

Dear Citi,

I miss you already, only not at all. Twelve years we lasted together? I still can't believe it. Just short of a baker's dozen, bummer. We had a good run though, this I can't deny.

I can remember meeting you when I was just a late teen gettin' jazzed for my roaring twenties. You were there posted up on BruinWalk and I was yet another collegial passerby that took the bait. When I saw that sweet beach chair on display, you caught me staring, handed me a pen and clipboard, and told me to just take it. It was serendipity, only not on the silver screen for once. But then you took me under your wing and showed me how much you cared.

You took me out all the time, paid for all my Hooters meals, bought me my first cruiser bike, and then after Howling at the Moon you'd treat us to late night 7-Eleven. And I'll never forget the time we started another globetrot around earth with a cup of morning joe from Urth Cafe - purefection. We definitely had our good times indeed.

But just like any set of scales, the ups come with the downs. Sometimes you rejected me when I asked for more, but I didn't get mad at you. And other times I was late to dates, and you'd just waive me off like it was no big deal. I will say we did our best to work through the good and the bad together, we were a good team - bound by those gold handcuffs you gifted me early on (thanks again btw, the scars still haven't gone away). But with all that said and done, it's time to move on. I think we'd both agree that we've each grown immensely since, and for the best.

I'm sorry I left last year without saying goodbye, but it hurt too much to even talk about. I was in a bad place. And I appreciate all the diligent followup just to check in on me and make sure I was ok, although I will say five calls a day may have been a wee bit overboard (weekends too? really?). At least you stopped calling my parent's line. I do though sincerely wanna say thank you for your final offer. It was a gift really, and the timing was impeccable. I'm glad we got to end it on good terms.

Citi, you taught me things I never would've known were it not for you, and for that I'll always be indebted to you. I hate you. Goodbye, for good.

-Acct#...2424; SSN...8939

Recurring themes

I love that a tweet of mine which included the words 'college' and 'university' illicited a spambot tweet response with a link where I can find nearby places to get a fake I.D. Spam is taking on a whole new chapter now. That's great. Fortunately I'm no longer short of a good fake ID when in need of one, but there was a time when I did need said identification. I did have a fake ID for my college years, but it was a Maryland driver's license and I lived in California, and the guy was 6 years older than me and 50 pounds heavier and 4 inches taller and had a goatee (which isn't exactly my steez). It worked a few times. Didn't work a couple. But ultimately I didn't chance it too often for fear of rejection. Why am I not surprised that that's where this post just ended.

Sincerely, wa waa waaaaaaa