Have you met my new boyfriend yet?

Well, neither have I, so if you do run into him, please introduce us.

In 1979 I had an unrequited love interest. The universe revolved around this guy. And so the story goes downhill from there. Shortening things up, I eventually introduced him to the girl he married and she forbade him from seeing me anymore eventhough he was helplessly straight and nothing would change that, (at least until she wanted a divorce and felt he needed the support of friends. Some girls can be considerate like that.) But that is a different story for another time.

So that left me with a vacancy in my life, and I met a marathon runner. He was hot. SIZZLE. If not a little bit short. SIZZLE. With Long straight blondish brown hair. SIZZLE. And china blue eyes. SIZZLE. And a very nice..........well, I am getting a bit flushed. He had maybe 2 percent body fat. He ran New York. He ran Boston. He wanted to try out for the 1984 Olympics. That is until he lost his job.

I helped him find a better one. He lost that one. I helped him find a better one. He lost that one. I helped him find a better one. He lost that one.

And there the employment history stopped as he never tried to get a job again since.

These were good jobs. They made 50k a year when 50k was good money.

I call him an ex-boyfriend although he was never very good at it. Sex was extremely dull and very one sided. He was too busy getting arrested at the time, for being an exhibitionist of all things. I have a theory about why that was happening. Seems that when he was born, the sixth boy of what eventually would become seven sons, his mother used to dress him up as a little girl and treat him as her cute little daughter.

And to think this bitch used to blame me for messing up her son. Ha ha. If she didn't have him hiding his penis as a child he wouldn't have spent his adult life trying to show the world that he had one. Now would he?

In jail he would dance naked for cigarettes. I don't know why he would do this. He did not smoke. I also think that the other guys would not particularly want to see him dance naked. But I guess the customs in jail are from a foreign land I would not like to visit. That's funny. Jimmy never used to dance naked at home.

Knowing that hanging around with him would be a downward spiral--he threatened to burn my boss's house down over a drug dispute with one of her students for example-- we had an off and on relationship. We vacationed together 4 times, one of which he convinced me to help him steal a kayak from a summer camp and tie it to the roof of his hotter than hot navy blue Camero. And of course there was a favorite vacation past time of his....when we were out of town he would like to find a bridge that a girl was going to walk over....this involved casing the neighborhood and using his marathon running skills to get to the bridge while parking a distance away......where he would run under the bridge and spank the monkey making enough noise for the girl to look over the side and see him in self flagellation.

This too was unfullfilling for me. I can't imagine why. So I began to cut him loose. I also began to see his name in the paper for winning more running trophies. And to see more and more, his name in the paper for more arrests for lewd conduct.

One arrest got me almost fired from my first out of college job with a large insurance firm as I had to leave to "bail my cousin out of jail". That night we had less than underwhelming sex, and the next day he was wanking in a carwash and narrowly escaped having a captive audience to entertain once more. So I cut him even more loose.

Next thing I know I get a late night phone call extolling the virtue of the wonderful vacation in Florida I helped him steal.

Well, perhaps steal is not the best word, perhaps win with a lot of inside help is a better term.
And then he breaks into this Mafia inspired hitman story. And so on goes life.

My father stops speaking to me because unlike my blog, my diary at home was far from anonymous and he finds it as the world's worst boyfriend and I are camping on the beach during the world's worst vacation, which results in dear old day drinking a bottle of Seagram's Seven and not speaking a word to me for more than an entire year although we live under the same roof. And results in me burning a seven volume set of diaries filled with years of poetry and observations that can never be replaced in my fireplace. And so life goes on further.

And I get a late nite phone call describing the death of a friend of the world's worst boyfriend in a house fire with some details that are just a bit too precise. And I get a little bit scared. But not so scared as to not have him over to my new house-- although I meet him in a parking lot 2 miles from my home and insist on him wearing a blindfold for the ride back to my house. He is wearing his crotchless jeans shorts and again the sex is far from good, and I wonder what is the addiction here, the bad sex or the bad boy? So this has gone on off and on for 14 years. And enough is enough.

And I cut him loose forever to find out a few years later that he has ended up in state prison for intimidating a witness, shooting at his next door neighbor that got mad that he ogled said neighbor's little daughter, and the entire county thinks he has murdered his third cousin over possession of a marijuana field.

So thinking him involved in one semi definite murder and two most possible murders, having several indecent exposure and open lewdness charges under his belt, and having been imprisoned for intimidating a witness out weighs any desire that marathon running and bad sex foments, I cut him loose for good and forever.

Then a letter arrives with a scribbled address somewhat close to what mine really is. I throw it in the garbage and reminisce about some of our more flirtatious moments and scream out........WHAT WAS I THINKING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now 10 more years has passed and in my employment I enter a state hospital for the insane, where I see a lone man pacing the end of the hallway back and forth. It is a hallway I have to traverse. At the end of it, the clean shaven and somewhat stockier than 2 percent body fat mousy looking gentleman in the wintercoat on this warm spring day, locked inside from the public for hopefully ever, turns to me and says.........

"MACK! They have me in the Nuthouse"

To which I reply without really thinking but sarcastically flippant and rather cheerily........"Well...Good for you!", with a big warm smile on my face, as though having finally found his niche in life is a good thing.

I keep walking.