I only miss him when he's around.

Before I left Houston I was dating a guy that I loved for two extremely valid reasons:

1) He always knew when I was BS'ing him.

2) He never, ever, let me get away with it.

3) He had the kind of butt that was so perfect I find myself comparing every other butt I see to his. It's the kind of posterior that makes you seriously question the merits of atheism.

OK, so three things. But to be fair I only threw the last one in to make you jealous.

Unfortunately, we spent most of our time fighting over just about everything under the sun; or having mind-blowing grab-the-headboard make-up sex. Or having more of said sex. And then some more fighting. The last time we spoke it was the kind of fight that had us both erasing each other's numbers from our phones. The kind of trite made-for-TV verbal smack-down that people generally only resort to during sweeps week on the WB. Obviously at the time it seemed completely rational.

Now that a decent chunk of time has passed and sanity has settled back in, I miss the guy like babies miss oxygen when you forget to hide all the plastic bags after a shopping spree. The result of this is like waking up one morning after an incredibly lucid dream to discover that no, you can't actually fly. This leaves me with that dissatisfied feeling settling into my bones that I generally only get when I've been picked last for the softball team. Or having the really hot guy I've been flirting with all night hook up with my best friend. Mostly the first one really. I blame a childhood love of books and an infantile loathing of my peers for my poor athletic skills.

Lately I find myself snuggled up in a human burrito of covers and shivers trying to fall asleep while my head is a theater that only seems to have gotten the highlights reel from my time with the [omitted] (I'm omitting his name because if I'm one day famous and decide to reprint my online whining as a text accompaniment to gay soft porn I don't want to get sued). It's all recriminations and calling in late for work because I had sex with my boyfriend. I hated his friends, he whined too much, his roommates were pissy queens, he freaked out about everything and the only thing we had in common was a love of health food and his butt. I lied to him about something extremely important and kept him at a distance because I was leaving for Portland and didn't want to get my heart broken again (I'm sure he's got better complaints about me but not talking to him makes getting his side of things kinda tough). After all of the crap I still love the guy though, and not just because of the insanely good sex. Though that really did help.

The point of this being that if [omitted] ever reads this he should know that even if it had to turn out exactly the same way I'd do it all over again. Only with more ninjas.