Christmas Never Came in Colorado

Hi Walter,

I am writing to get your advice on a person I’ve been intimate with. We’re now on bad terms. Basically, he said some things to me which caused me to do something I’m not proud of. We both say and do things to hurt each other’s feelings and to get back at each other. We’re not together anymore, but I miss him. And I want him back in my life. What advice would you give me to get him back?

I want to call and talk things out with him but I’m kinda scared because I’m not sure how he is going to react. He always said that I never fought for him and how could I let him go so easily, (which isn’t the case I just believe in giving a person their space when a person is going through difficult times).

So, what advice would you give me to be able to work things out with him?

-Ex and the Ecstasy

Dear Ex and the Ecstasy,

From kissing under the mistletoe to humping the mall Santa being a ho, ho, ho — I still believe the holidays are the most romantic time of the year. Don’t you just love the holidays?

It highlights the people we no longer have in our lives. There is nothing sadder than a broken-heart in the Christmas aisle. Looking for a tree while Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas is You” is playing on the loudspeaker, takes on new meaning if that’s truly what you want. For some the song becomes a mantra, while for others a migraine. 

And being all by myself like Celine Dion isn’t exactly a solution. Nor is it a message we should be sending during Christmas.

The fear of unrequited love is so paralyzing. The thought of a man you’re so into is perhaps not that into you anymore is trauma inducing. I was there. And I can’t forget.

Once upon a time, in a land not too far away, I was going to move to Colorado to be happy. But moving to Colorado was more complicated than it sounded. I thought being someplace new — with someone I once knew — to start a new life would save me. Or at the very least — save money. It was a sweet escape from a DC lifestyle punctuated by relentless retail and rotten relationships. It’s amazing how a split decision like IHOP can have such a profound impact.

So Johnny and I resuscitated a retro relationship over Facebook. Nostalgia was like a drug that took you higher at a fraction of the cost. But before moving to Colorado we decided on a mock relationship.

Our first “date” was at his Aunt’s Poker Party, which was hosted at his mother’s apartment. I arrived the following Friday. Beer and wine alleviated any pre-game jitters. I’ve never understood gambling. I subscribed to Carrie Bradshaw’s edict, “I like my money where I can see it, hanging in my closet.”

How did she cram 3 tables, 30 people, in 300 square feet? Conditions worsen — no air conditioning. I sweated like Charlie Sheen after a coke binge.

And speaking of crazy, Johnny crashed his car two months ago. I found out at that night during his unprovoked comedy routine.

“When I got to the hospital, they were like are you aware that you were in a car accident. OMG, How’s Amy? Is she okay? I’m glad I got on underwear.” We all laughed.

We took shots and chain-smoked cigarettes and weed. His mother laughed so hard she fell off her stool.

“Johnny, no more shots for your mother.”

“Ma get up. So embarrassing.”

After everyone left, we finally crashed on a makeshift pallet of blankets on the floor.

Everything was different the next day. I called out of work since I didn’t go to sleep until 5 am. I planned on going to brunch but ended up babysitting.

Two days in and I’m already playing house. His mother left his sick nephew with us. He coughed and sneezed while I ducked and dodged. I’m not child proof. I curse, talk shit and drink daily — sometimes in concert.

Two hits of that mystery marijuana had me fucked up. I was paranoid and hallucinating like I smoked crack. It irritated him. I stumbled out the door, in a marijuana haze, to my Lyft.

Fuck him.

We talked for another week and made plans to meet up the following weekend. His mother went to Florida. We would have the place to ourselves. And he got paid. I made sure he learned my wine in advance.

He met me dressed in Christmas pajama bottoms. An odd fashion choice in April. We walked in silence to his mama’s place.

We sat on two separate couches while watching Couple’s Therapy with Dr. Jenn.

“Are you ok?” I asked.

“We need to work on the lack of intimacy in our relationship,” he said.

“Who have you been talking to?”

“My girl Tiffany. And I told her that I don’t think you’re sexually attracted to me.”

“Well, If I wasn’t sexually attracted to you. I wouldn’t have brought this,” I waved the douche like it was a baby’s bottle.

I lost my mind.

Let’s be clear, I know how to get it in. Was he expecting me to drop my draws at the door?

While he crashed on the couch, I escaped to the bathroom. I called a friend to vent my frustrations. I left the bathroom feeling lighter, swallowing the last drop of wine. I looked over to the couch and he wasn’t there. My heart sank. Where did he go? I looked over in the kitchen.

“I heard everything,” he said as he dabbed his blunt in the ashtray.

“How are you going to talk shit about me in my own house?”

“No, wait, let me explain.”

“Nah, I ain’t tryna hear that shit.”

Damn, I fucked up. I poured another glass of wine and sat down next to him. He shuffled the cards while the blunt was in his mouth.

“I do care about you,” I said.

“Nah, we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

I awoken the next day with a mixture of relief and regret. I’ve never felt more lost in a relationship. Things were moving too fast. How did we squeeze three years into three weeks?

I got up took a shower and prepared for work.

“You should take your stuff with you?”

“What? I thought we were spending the weekend together.”

“No, I’m good. I’ll hit you up later.”

I grabbed my shit and stormed out. Fuck him.

Fuck this shit. I’m going to wait for him to call first. Nothing happened. After two missed calls I received a text message.

“I don’t feel like talking on the phone. But yeah I think that was it for me. I can’t get over you talking about me in the bathroom about a conversation you was NOT gonna have with me. Like what was the problem with me meeting you in my flip flops and pajama pants? Like, dude…. Huh. Then you took a shower without asking me first. How fucking rude! Then you were walking around with your ass hanging out. So not cute. I hope you find someone who can accept that. I just can’t and won’t. But anyway it was fun. Sorry, this couldn’t work out.”

Coward. Fuck you and your long ass text message.

“You sound sad, perhaps you should see someone about that.” I texted back.

And even though I was hurting, I still wanted to hurt him more. And yet I still loved him and wanted to be with him.

Amy Winehouse once sung, “Love is a losing game.” And that’s so true. We both played Russian Roulette hoping not to kill each other. But if you’re lucky you’ll make it out alive.

But you will never know if you don’t try. And a life filled with regrets is a life not worth living.

We eventually tried again, hoping the third time would be a charm turned me into a charmless whore. We had more ups and downs than Hillary’s campaign for the presidency. But I loved him any way. I wanted to be with him regardless of the red flags lined up like roaches in a motel room. We were just two jaded puzzle pieces desperately trying to fit together.

But he reincarnated this time as a blond with a drug a problem like Lindsay Lohan. And that was too much for me. I had to make a painful choice. And I’ve never saw him again. And I’m ok with that.

And that Christmas song is still ringing in my ears as I read your letter. Christmas never came in Colorado. It was just a fantasy to escape from my life. But life doesn’t work like that. There is no sweet escape. We must face our problems and our relationships head on.

You seem like you want to be with him again. And if you feel strongly about him. You still have a chance by simply calling. Apologize for what you may have said or done. Tell him that you miss him and love him. Put your pride aside, and bet it all on love.

I want your stocking stuffed on Christmas.

And if he says no when you bet it all on him. Then fuck him! And move on. Get your ass in the gym and get your revenge body back like Khole Kardashian. And find someone new come spring.



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