the break up

I've said for a long time that Monterey is like a bad relationship. It has all this potential, you see. You keep waiting for things to get better. (He's really a great guy when he's sober!) Because it has so many great qualities.

It's gorgeous, for one thing. The two best-looking men I ever dated I dated for about a week and a half combined. One was a guy I met in a bar that my friends and I continually referred to as “Random Guy” throughout our brief time together. He was hot alright, but I brought him home for the cat test and he failed immediately. Bunda didn't like him. He had to go. Then there was the Mexican exchange student. Yum. And he could DANCE. Isidoro. (“Jus' call me Izzy (wink).”) Except he was so full of himself I could barely breathe standing in the same room.

And now, as we consider this move, Monterey has become even moreso the relationship you can't quite shake. (You'll never find anyone else who wants you like I do...) I mean, after all, it's not perfect, but it's what you know – and isn't that better than venturing into unknown territory? There'll never been someone like so-and-so in my life again! Surely the east coast won't be able to support me in this way. By “this way” do you mean half-assed? Why, of course it will! But I'm blind to it.

As a tourist town, Monterey is that boyfriend that everyone else L-O-V-E-S, that'll do ANYTHING for ANYONE when they ask. (Read: whore itself for tourist dollars – AT&T Pro-Am, anyone?) Everyone thinks he is super AWESOME. But you ask for a little time and whaddayaknow he's out helping everyone else, or else he's just asleep.

The worst part is, if Monterey and I break up, I know he'll steal all our mutual friends.