Everyone has that ex. The one who can't let go, the one who moves on a little too quickly or the one who has that creepy voodoo doll made of your used chewing gum and some of your hair. While my ex hasn't reached the dark magic level of creepiness yet, he still manages to rank high on the insanity factor.
There is enough back-story between Jack and I to fill several seasons of a soap opera. I will run you through the short version: girl likes boy, girl dates boy, girl finds boy making out with her best friend in the back seat of girl's car, girl gives boy a knee to the balls and girl hopes to never see boy again.
But it just couldn't end at a simple nut-shot. Jack has continued to appear at the most inopportune moments in my life. He visited me at work over the summer to ask for advice on his love life - to which I replied he should never procreate and should probably opt to drive off a cliff instead. Later he randomly showed up at my 21st birthday party, then stole my beer, and drunkenly grabbed my boob at a concert.
Fortunately for that last little incident my current boyfriend was standing next to me, and Jack received a black eye that kept him out of my life for a while. But Friday night he was back. I tried ignoring the calls but he couldn't be stopped. He called four times before I finally answered, and even then I answered in Italian, hoping he would think he had the wrong number.
Vaffanculo,"" he replied. Damn it, why did he know Italian? The conversation started badly and only got worse. He had randomly decided to drive to Madison and was hell bent on staying the night at my apartment. I tried pawning him off on other friends, recommended a good hotel and suggested returning to his own bed in the bowels of hell. But while he knows how to translate Italian, he didn't seem to understand: ""I would rather stick my face in a box of rabid weasels than have you anywhere near my home, friends or bed.""
He told me he was coming and I told him he was not. He said he needed directions to my place and I said I was going to direct my fist to his face. He claimed he would get the directions from a friend and I claimed his mother would not recognize his body if I had to kick him out of my apartment. And so it went.
Now Jack is dangerously smart. If anyone was going to find my house unassisted, it would be him, so my friends and I began to formulate a plan. Becky was coming over for dinner, so we decided if he showed up we would simply poison his chili. But we have seen enough trashy movies to realize one of us would end up eating the wrong bowl, leaving the other at the mecy of this madman. Amanda offered to send him on a wild goose chase, but we didn't think he would believe that I was living in the steam tunnels with Tunnel Bob. Kale offered to shoot him with a bow and arrow, claiming it as a tragic hunting accident, but I couldn't send a good friend to jail for 25 to life.
Finally it seemed that the problem answered itself. Jack called saying some girl he was ""trying to get with"" in Milwaukee had offered him a place to stay. It seemed the crisis was averted.
While I am sure Jack will continue to pop in and out of my life, I almost regret his not stopping by. Unbelievable as it may be, I actually started getting ready for his visit. Now what am I going to do with a recipe for ""Grandma's Own Poison Chili""?
If you want to learn more about Megan's crazy ex or some fun Italian swears, e-mail her at mcorbett2@wisc.edu.
