When Two Weirds Collide: Our Love Story

It was September of 2004 and the soundtrack from Garden State was in constant rotation in my Discman. The weather had been gorgeous so far that month: nice day after nice day after nice day. I was extra aware of the weather because I had spent an unusual amount of time outside that month. But my time outside didn't have much to do with appreciating this particularly lovely fall. Nope. I was outside because I was doing some serious ragercise.

I was in a state of fury like I'd never been in before. And my need to ragercise had me walking endlessly. Walking, walking, walking, followed by a kickboxing class to mix things up, and then back to more walking. If I wasn't ragercising, then I was crying, so ragercise seemed the way to go. I needed to move my body in order to not ruminate over what had happened, what was happening. And even when my brain wouldn't shut up, at least my thinking felt a little more clear and a little less depressing while in motion.

What was my problem? My on-again-off-again boyfriend of six years - the college guy - had just flipped the switch to a permanent off position in the most spectacular fashion. By dumping me in a two sentence email. Because he had a new girlfriend. Who was only 19. And he was her boss. And she was living with him. And they had been dating for several weeks. Several weeks when he had also, ahem, been dating me. (Of course I found out about the new girlfriend stuff AFTER the email.)

And this is why I needed to ragercise. Because Lordy, was I feeling rage. Blinding, burning, seething WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE YOU FUCKER-FUCKER HEAD sort of rage. With a healthy side of just plain hurt. Getting dumped hurts. Getting dumped because he was cheating? Hurts even more. Whatever; it all just hurt a lot. I felt physical pain from the hurt.

After avoiding the truth for the past 5 years and 10 months, I was forced to finally face facts. This boy? He was just not that into me.

Ah, yes. The *brand new* book, He's Just Not That Into You, was taking the nation by storm. Even Oprah was in on the game and had featured the author, Greg Behrendt, on the show that month. Oddly enough, my mom was the one to bring the book to my attention. We had been talking daily since I found out about the cheating the week before.

"You know," my mom's voice sounded muffled as I held my boxy blue cell phone to my ear, "I was half-watching Oprah yesterday and she was talking about how sometimes a guy might be 'just not that into you' and you have to learn to walk away. It reminded me of how it was for [He-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named-College-Guy-Slash-Voldemort] and you." I was wandering around outside the hospital during my 30-minute lunch break from my laboratory assistant job. The rage and need to ragercise never stopped, certainly not after hearing YET ANOTHER song about cheating on the radio. Goddamn Usher and his confessions.

"But...doesn't that concept kind of suck?" My mom and I were in a closer and suddenly more adult place in our relationship after I finally came clean about what happened with He-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named. I had quit telling her anything about me dating him after break-up #5 (or was it break-up #7? Or 10?) Since this was break-up #13, it had been a while since I had told her the truth. She had known the whole time, of course. Mothers know these things. But since we were now closer and nearly friend-like, I figured I could start saying words like "suck" in front of her.

"What do you mean?" she asked somewhat distractedly as she typed on her home office computer at their (formerly my) house in Fargo.

"I mean, doesn't it suck that you just aren't good enough for a guy to want to be with you?" I had started to cry. Again.

"Oh, Honey." The sound of typing had stopped. "That's not it at all."

I didn't get it. Couldn't get it. Partly because I was still in that early RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE part of being dumped by a cheater-cheater-pants but mostly because I had somehow stunted my maturity with that ill-paired college relationship. It would be a long time before I could grasp the concept of "He's Just Not That Into You" and more importantly - "You Are Fabulous Just As You Are And It's Not Worth Your Time or Energy To Keep Being Into Him When He is Clearly Just Not That Into You." In other words, it would take some time to learn the basic lessons of self-esteem.

And so I talked the ears off my mom, sister, and friends during those days. And ragercized. And began to slowly figure out who I was when not defined by a guy. Up until then I had used the following measure for self-esteem: Boyfriend gave me a lot of attention that day? I'm fabulous! Boyfriend was distracted and kind of rude? I must suck. Trying to find a new system for determining my self-worth felt mostly overwhelming but also - when I dared to admit it - exhilarating.

However, for the most part, life in those days felt horribly uncomfortable and much too raw. I hated being in my own head, in my own skin. I didn't know how it would be possible to ever trust a guy again. Statistics about cheating kept smacking me in the face and SERIOUSLY? Half of all people cheat? What was the point?

I decided that it would be me and my two gray cats from here on out. I would read my more-appropriate-for-postmenopausal-women books and watch terrible rom-coms on the DVD player that He-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named had oddly given to me for my birthday just weeks before (unwrapped and days late...he just wasn't that into me, you see. Also: guilty) and eat my Lean Cuisines for dinner and drink my red beverages (Bull or Wine, depending on the hour). Life would go on in a new way; I was meant to be alone. At the ripe old age of 24.

Time marched on and the weather got a bit cooler and I continued to move forward with my life. Sometimes it was a plodding one-foot-in-front-of-the-other step but at other (albeit brief) times I found myself feeling light and joyful. The light bit may have been from all the ragercise, though. I had started to workout after work in the little physical therapy gym that was available to hospital employees, in addition to all the other exercise I was already doing.

One afternoon, with the sun at an alarmingly lower place in the sky than it had been just a month before, I finished my workout using the rickety machines in the hospital gym. I pulled my damp 'Tulip Power' T-shirt away from my skin and grabbed my stuff. As I walked down the wide, sterile-smelling hallway, I passed a guy in the hall. It had been so long since I had felt attraction to a random guy that it took me by surprise.

He was extremely fit and quite attractive, sexy even, and maybe Italian? or something? Darker skin, anyway, and deep brown eyes. He had on blue shorts and a t-shirt. He smiled at me and said something inane about how great it was that we can work out at work. I smiled back and agreed, "Yes! It is!"

I was suddenly conscious of the way my purple workout shorts liked to migrate up to my crotch and how sloppy I looked with my sweaty ponytail and stained t-shirt from high school that had Dutch children kissing on it. We each continued on our way.

Well. My heart was beating double-time and I was far more flushed than my workout should have left me. I kept doing that weird smile thing that happens when you are trying not to grin but the edges of your mouth keep popping up against your will and you look all sorts of crazy.

Wow. Who was that guy? 

To be continued...