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It was Thursday night. I had just given Alicia a hug before she got into her Uber and drove away. The bar we chose to meet at was actually only a five-minute walk from my apartment, so I figured it was a good a time as any to go for a nice evening stroll through my neighborhood and into the bar where I’m a regular. As Lindsey the bartender poured me a PBR, we talked about the date. I mentioned to her that I wished there was a way you could ask for feedback on a date in a non-weird way. She nodded in agreement, and in my half-drunk mind, I thought, “You know what? I should tweet that.”
And so I did. Frankly, the tweet didn’t do well. One retweet, one reply. I guess Thursday Night Twitter wasn’t as lit as I thought it would be. I finished up the night watching Stand By Me at the bar and heading home, only to wake up slightly hungover. Friday was normal. I had to give another two-hour presentation from 7 p.m. until 9 p.m., and I was dreading it. You know those days where you float through work day dreaming about the alcohol you’ll consume once you’re done? This was one of those days.
We decided to take a break halfway through the presentation. As the group filed out of the conference room, I pulled out my phone to see if we had made any progress on a game plan for the night. Amidst the various group texts and ESPN notifications, one stood out.
Kelly sent you a Direct Message.
My palms started sweating. I suddenly felt the color drain from my face. The feigned enthusiasm in my eyes was replaced with confusion and a general sense of “Why the fuck is my ex DMing me on Twitter?”
I opened the message to see that she was replying to my “date feedback” tweet. What she said doesn’t matter. The fact is that she doesn’t follow me on Twitter. She took the time to look through my feed and send me a direct message pointing out areas for improvement in my love life. I haven’t talked to her since December of 2015.
(Note: It’s far more likely that someone pointed it out to her and she responded but the concept still stands.)
The group was starting to come back into the room. I acted on impulse and texted her.
Friday 8:04 p.m.: Hope you’re well.
“Fuck. Oh god. Oh no. Why did I do that? I don’t actually hope she’s well. I mean, I do. But also we fought a lot for, like, two years and I kind of hope someone had more courage than I did to call her on her shit. Actually, that’s not fair. I was at fault a lot. No, you can’t think like that, Charlie. Stand your ground. You’re a strong, independent man who—okay no that doesn’t work when you’re a dude. Shit, now everyone’s staring at me. We need to get this ball rolling,” I thought to myself.
Thanks, Kelly. I couldn’t focus on the second half of my two-hour presentation — although, nobody else could, either. I don’t think the fact that it was an absolute train wreck had a huge effect on my career.
She didn’t respond to my text that night, which was probably good. I ended up getting hammered and closing down a 4 a.m. bar. When she did get back to me, it was around 8 a.m. the next day. Needless to say, I was not awake.
Saturday 8:01 a.m.: Haha I couldn’t help myself.
We talked the rest of the day. It started out with simple pleasantries.
“How’s your life been? You end up moving out of your parents’ house? Speaking of, how’s the family?”
A full-fledged conversation started to take place. The virtual conversation became so animated that a visiting friend asked who I was texting. When I told him it was Kelly, I was scolded immediately.
“Think of it this way,” he said, “what does she want?”
A valid question. It’s not that Kelly was a manipulative girlfriend. It was that we fought all the time. I was never able to decipher what she wanted me to do to fix the problem. My friend asking, “what does she want?” is a great inquiry. He knows that she basically destroyed me for the months—shit—year and a half after we broke up.
I toyed with the idea of asking Kelly her intentions until Monday night. I got wine drunk and she got tequila drunk and she wanted to call me and I didn’t say no.
Kelly and I talked for over an hour and a half. I hate using this cliché, but it was good, bad, and ugly. We experienced a kind of catharsis that didn’t make sense but was necessary. I called her on her shit. She called me on mine. We told stories. We talked about my upcoming trip to Phoenix and she mentioned that she wanted to take a trip to Chicago sometime. And then she asked if we could set everything aside and grab a pizza sometime. Not a slice, a whole pizza, like we used to. I said yes.
I still don’t know what her motives are. What’s worse is that I don’t know what mine are, either. Only time will tell. .
Image via YouTube
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Charlie
Using sarcasm as a defense mechanism since 1993. At any given moment I'm either tired, drunk, or stressed out. Get at me at charliepgp@gmail.com or whatever.
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Don’t.
Gotta disagree. I say go for it. We all know it will go down in flames, but do it for the content. While you’re at it, do bartender Lindsey for the content as well.
You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take. This is indeed one that needs to be missed.
Fuck em all. You’re different. She’s different. Just do it, and then be sure to write about it.
No no no. Remember, never get back with an ex. They tried to do better and now they’re coming back because they are settling. No.
Clicked on the article just waiting for this comment
Because E&D has to keep telling everyone
Nobody listens even though they know I’m right.
One person’s “settling” can be the other person’s “outkicking their coverage” PGP
If you go back to someone just because they’re better looking knowing you left because you weren’t happy in the relationship before, you’re an idiot and about to be a divorce statistic.
Spot on
We all know you’re right. But when someone ends it, those feelings don’t die. Stupid, stupid feels.
This about covers it, but I also give my friends this advice too:
If you actually do rekindle a relationship with your ex, it’s a lot like reheating a leftover steak: even if you do it perfectly, it will never be as good as it was before
Brilliant analogy
Valid point.
Now you’re talking to an ex, next thing you know you’ll be raw dogging it. Please don’t follow in Duda’s footsteps.
Next thing you know you’ll be taking a job in a new city, then spiraling out of control and getting let go after a week on the job.
It’s a dark spiral.
DTOWWDD (Do The Opposite of What Would Duda Do)
Delete her number. Keep drinking with Lindsey the bartender.
#teamlindsey
Be warned: you won’t receive congrats on the future sex. Not worth it.
No “Sorry Charlie” either.
*taps microphone*
Ahem
Fuck that
Throw your phone in a lake.
Not good enough. He could go into the lake and find it. Incinerate the phone, then pay to have your memory wiped of her existence.
We’ve all been there, and it’s never once worked out for anyone I know. Have pizza, not feelings.
I’m going to print “have pizza, not feelings” over a photo of the Grand Canyon and hang it above my desk. Thanks for the inspiration, you beautiful bastard
Nope, no, nein. Tell her you can’t. Don’t do this. Learn from the number of PGP writers who have thought about rekindling things with their ex. We all warned them to just stay away, none of them ended in a happily ever after. You’ve caught up on each other’s lives, now it’s time to move on. DO NOT GET A PIZZA WITH HER.
I just had a similar thing happen. Stopped talking 3 years ago, I had a gf since, she really hasn’t done much since with men. Got a “hey I’m in town let’s grab a beer” text. I went because I’m stupid. Talked for a long time, caught up, reminisced about our relationship, got back in the car, started professing her love for me that hasn’t faded, started to get handsy and wouldn’t let go (I just went with it), started making out, ended with “so I’m not sure where this is going but I’m really still in love with you.” I was scared and noped out of there v fast because I felt a connection as well, but knew it just was wrong.
Tl;dr: Don’t do it. It’s a trap.
Also been meaning to write a column about this since it happened but you beat me to it.