I'm glad I follow my own advice...

... because it came in handy yet again!

Remember waaaaaaaay back when, when I wrote this post about never leaving your house looking like a pig because you never know when you might run into an ex?

And you know how I always say Cleveland is two degrees of separation, right?

Well, those two little nuggets came into play last week when I ran into a blast from my dating past.

Not that he'd remember.

That's right, ladies and gents. I saw Amnesia Guy.

Picture it. Third quarter of a Cavs game. I had just finished my second (double) gin and tonic and wanted to hit the little girls' room before the game let out. So I left my boy toy at the seats (which were SICK, by the way), made my way up the stairs and turned the corner to head toward the ladies room.

And there he stood. Amnesia Guy. Stuffing popcorn down his throat and wearing what some might consider a Cosby sweater. He was clearly waiting for someone to come out of the ladies' room, and after the ridiculous email exchange that went down with him last summer (seriously... if you don't remember/know the back story with him and didn't click on that link up there, do yourself a favor and go check it out now) I had nothing to say to him.

So you're probably asking, "Why are you telling us this story if you didn't even talk to him, AAB?" Well, my point is this, ladies: you never know when you might see an ex (even in a sea of 20,000 of your closest friends at an arena), so it's best to be a good scout and always be prepared.

Because while I was looking all sassy in my cropped velvet blazer and cute little booties, he... well... was wearing that unfortunate sweater. (With popcorn all over it.)

I bet he wishes *I* were the one with amnesia now.

Have you ever had a run-in with an ex when he (or -- gasp! -- you) looked like a wreck?

Won't you be my Blog-entine?

Well, it's official. Looks like I won't have a Valentine again this year.

(Other than my adorable little nugget nephew, who is just sweeter than a box of heart-shaped chocolates!)

Anyhow, not having a Valentine sorta bums me out because I really love putting together little Valentine's Day gift packages.

(Heh, heh. I said "package.")

Sooooo... I guess that's good news for you guys. Because I still really want to put together a little fun goody bag. So I'm going to. And I'm going to send it to one of you!

(Provided you don't live in China or somewhere else that will cost a zillion dollars to ship to.)

All you have to do is comment on this post with a Valentine's Day poem for moi!

Have at it! I'll pick my fave poem on Monday, February 15 and announce the winner here.

(Bonus points if it's hilarious, makes fun of douchey guys I've gone out with -- helloooo, Amnesia Guy! -- or just generally puts a smile on my face.)

xoxo --
Always a Bridesmaid

P.S. In order for this to work, you can't comment anonymously. Well, I mean, you can. But it'll be hard to prove that you were the poem's author. (Which means I may just have to keep the sweet treats all for myself!)

P.P.S. Sorry I had to turn word verifications back on in order for you to post a comment. But I've had it up to heeeeere with spammers leaving comments about porn, Viagra and Russian brides (which I have obvs not been publishing). So, at least for the short term, had to turn the verification back on. (Now, if I only had someone to turn me on!)

From the guy who can't forget me (Grammar Guy)...

... to the guy who doesn't even REMEMBER me (Amnesia Guy).

A few weeks ago, I got a Facebook friend request from a guy I briefly hung out with a couple of years ago. He and I had met at the Winking Lizard in Lakewood while we were both there watching a Cavs game.

That nite, he gave up his bar stool for me, we chatted all nite and then exchanged numbers (and a kiss) at the nite's end.

In the ensuing weeks, we hung out at each others' houses a few times, watching Cavs games and movies. We texted a lot, though we only occasionally talked on the phone. (Go figure.)

I even still have his number in my phone. (Remember my rule about not deleting numbers?)

Fast forward to the past couple of weeks.

I thought it was a little odd that he added me as a Facebook friend, but we did know a couple of people in common so I didn't think it was all that weird.

Until I got this message a day or so after I accepted his friend request:

Hi AAB,

i recently ran into someone that said that you and i went on a date that i cant rmember. You are a beautiful girl and im sure i wouldnt forget that. if we did go on a date please refresh my memory and let me know when and where and please forgive me.

I hope all is well.

Amnesia Guy

(AAB sidenote: I've gotta believe the person who told him that was The Banker, since they knew each other from growing up, which The Banker and I discovered when we were talking one day.)

For mother effin' real? How do you not remember hanging out with someone on a NUMBER of occasions? I mean, I get it if someone's name doesn't necessarily ring a bell. Or if you only saw the person one time. But c'mon.

The kicker is that we hung out no fewer than four times. And, I actually think there were a couple of other times that we ran into each other when we were out with our own groups of friends. But there were at least four times when it was JUST US.

So, I politely wrote him back, told him I was glad that I was so memorable, outlined in great detail the instances we hung out and thought that was the end of it.

Until he wrote back.

And asked me to call him. (His exact message was: call me xxx-xxx-xxxx.)

I didn't. (Eff you. If you can't even remember me, why would I bother?)

So then he wrote back again a couple of days later asking me to please call him because this has been driving him crazy and he just wants to make sure I was right. (His exact words, BTW.)

Um, I was definitely right, Amnesia Guy. When I broke it off with you years ago. Eeeew.

P.S. In case you're wondering, I responded to that last message from him with a big fat eff you. (Actually, I didn't say eff you per se. But I did tell him that I had no interest in rehashing the times we hung out when he couldn't even remember who I was. After, of course, I described in detail what his living room looked like so he knew that I wasn't making shit up. Bitchy? Probably. Necessary? Definitely.)