The X-Files

Tomorrow I am going to attempt to do something few women have done before. I should prempt this statement by saying that I believe that every women is some man's crazy ex-girlfriend, and every man is some woman's loser ex-boyfriend. Like if you were to have a microphone at each person's cliche of friends at the first moment the other person saw each other across the room in a bar, you would hear the phase, "God, there goes my crazy/loser ex." My attempt will be to figure out if I'm crazy or he's just a loser.

This crazy ex is going to ask her loser ex to lunch this week. Not just because I haven't seen him in a month of Sundays and I just want him to see how awesome I am. (although that would be great.) I am going to tell my loser ex that I am moving away. To Waco to be precise. That I am leaving in six weeks and I don't want my last image of him to be of sending a racially explicit text message. I want it to be of the man that I knew a year ago. The one I fell desperately for and joked (but seriously) about "accidentally" getting pregnant.

I also want to ask him something else....I want to ask him why things went pear shaped. This should be a feat in and of itself because frankly, when I called him to tell him I didn't want to date him anymore, he said he'd call me back and never did.

I have been just mysterious enough that a) he thinks I became pregnant while we were together and I need to unburden my soul by telling him or maybe b) my current boyfriend is beating the shit out of me and I need him to give me the number to a good shelter.

All I said in the text was, "Can you talk? I have something to tell you and something to ask." Very cryptic. I assume He is intrigued and says while he is (doubtfully) sleeping, he will call me tomorrow.

The stage will be set for what I hope to be a very interesting book that I have tentatively titled, "What's Wrong With Sarah?" Either that or the "Ex-files." Maybe even, "26 and 3/4 years old and still single: my Jewish grampa is turning in his grave."

Depending on how my questions are received about lunch and how this subsequently pans out, my experiment will be to go to each of the men I dated or been on and ask them, "What the hell happened?" The end product will be to hopefully find out why I am a serial first-time dater, no repeats and perhaps unravel the mystery that is why I drive men away as though I had a whip and spurs.

Perhaps this will not be the great novel that I have planned already in my mind. But then again, as with everything, curiosity drives me to ask anyway.