Mike Brown Stalks His Ex-GF

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Ah, the one that got away. The one you thought would last forever and ever and ever, keeping your stomach full of delightful butterflies. The one that first ripped your heart out Indiana Jones-style and introduces you to the cruel ways of love.  The one who got hooked on crystal meth and made you realize you had to break up with her via a collect call from the county jail. 

This was my first serious girlfriend.  I sure was stupid when I was 20. I don’t feel bad about it. Most 20-year-olds are stupid. I think being stupid is just part of being 20. I’m not so sure at what age people get smart, but it sure as fuck isn’t 20. Especially when it comes to love—stupid, stupid love.

I think my first mistake when pursuing this girl was the fact that we went to the same drug rehab. That should have been a red flag.  Since this relationship, having been through a serious treatment program has become a serious deal breaker for me.  And I wouldn’t blame a girl if she felt the same about me.  A little couch time with a therapist is acceptable, but a full-on one-year program to kick whatever gets your rocks off is too much for my fragile heart to take.

On to the story. The day I realized that my love was no match for the demon yellow glass-pipe cat piss was a sad one for me indeed. The girl I went out with before this one had also picked meth over Mike.  My friends at the time started calling me a gateway drug.  This girl, though?  The meth got her bad. 

She became the textbook drug addict—either being on the drug, in jail or in  rehab. Luckily she was a bishop’s daughter at the time and had resources for adequate treatment and bail money. After that last phone call from jail asking me to bail her out, I heard from her once more about nine months later. She called me from a treatment center to supposedly make amends.  I believe it’s the eighth step in the 12-step process.

Her brain was clearly fucked from sucking a yellow glass dick for so long.  She was using small words and scattered sentences and was a far cry from the girl that stole my heart.  Then she asked me if I had made out with her best friend, and I really knew why she called. 

Her best friend, Grace, and I bonded through the process and became friends ourselves. Keep in mind this was over 10 years ago.  I would get updates from Grace here and there about if she was in rehab or jail or how she was doing, but it was always the same.  Then Grace moved to Vegas and I didn’t see her for about 10 years either. 

Recently, Grace moved back and we started hanging out again, both of us wondering what had happened to this girl.  For all we knew she ended up dead in an alley somewhere. So we came up with a plan to find her and see what happened to the one that got away. 

After a couple Google searches and Facebook stalkings, nothing came up.  Then somehow Grace got a hot tip from her dad, who had seen her working in a craft store by his house.  Let the stalking begin! 

Grace and I came up with a plan.  We’d go to the craft store when she was working, pretending to buy some shit for our newly adopted Haitian child.  As far as jobs go, I took the George Costanza route and would be an architect and Grace would be a sex therapist. That was her choice, not mine.  

We drove down to the craft store and got slightly hammered. It was go time. We walked in and quickly went to the beads section. We had a good view of the checkout counters from there but remained somewhat concealed. And then I spotted her!  My first thought?  Boy—she really let herself go, which is a compliment for a formerly rail-thin meth head. 

We get in the checkout line and this is where I blew it.  My feet got cold and I realized that I’m a terrible stalker.  At first she pretended not to recognize Grace and me.  Then she does the whole, “Oh my god it’s you!” girl thing with Grace, totally ignoring me.  Grace then asks if she remembers me, and she’s like, “No, oh WAIT YES I DO!” 

She proceeded to tell us without us bringing it up how long she’s been clean, which is what every drug addict says to people they haven’t seen in a while.  Four years in case you’re wondering.  She also said that her husband looks like Kid Rock, which made it hard for me to believe she’s off drugs.  But oh well. To each her own. 

I couldn’t follow through with the fake architect married to the sex therapist getting stuff for our adopted Haitian child story.  I don’t think I was drunk enough.  I just stood there in awe thinking about where my life would be if somehow things worked out with this girl. 

I took it a little personally that the girl who took my V-card couldn’t remember it or me, but after seeing her at a checkout stand at a craft store, maybe her dumping me for meth is the best thing that ever happened to my life.