So in addition to the IRA craziness, two other men contributed to making last weekend absolutely craptacular. Here's the next installment:

My ex broke up with me about three months ago. Didn't really give me a reason at the time. Just said he didn't want to do this anymore and hung up the phone (Yeah, classy).

About a month later, I did a little drunk dialing to ask what the hell went wrong. He said that I was different from when he met me and subsequently fell out of love with me.

So, I tried to drink him off my mind, as it were.

Two weeks ago, he calls to say what a terrible mistake he made, how he should have stuck by me and understood what I was going through (In reference to my different personality: Rearranging your life for your sister, her baby and abusive boyfriend will do that to a gal). He's always thinking about me and how life has gotten worse without me and was still in love with me. Basically everything a woman wants to hear.

While my instincts said to hang up the phone, he moved my sentimental side. So I said that if he wants to be with me, he'll have to move to New Jersey.

He wanted to take his vacation to think about it. Fine, this is a big decision for a guy from the Midwest. Two days after he got back, I hadn't heard word one. For two days! But he managed to check my blog during that time.

Wait, it gets better: I read on his blog that his grandmother had been in the hospital and he's been going back and forth. I don't know what's more pathetic- that he took a few minutes to post instead of calling the woman he (supposedly) loves or that I read it on his blog.

So I call to ask if everything's okay. He says he's tired and asks if he can call me the next day. That was six days ago.

Why did he even bother contacting me in the first fucking place? Whatever.

As my Grandmother would say- he can go take a shit.