The Most Unlikely Couple ~ Pt. V ~ Phantom!

For those that missed them, here are Parts One, Two, Three and Four. Only two left (with an epilogue). Then, as suggested by a reader, I'm going to take up a Sister Wife, to promote more rom-com blog posts. So stay tuned for that.

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Some people go into a tailspin after a breakup. To an extent, I fit that profile for a couple of months, but it turned into a wonderful positive. I lost all appetite. Which was actually great. I capitalized on the lack of appetite and joined a gym. I lost 40 pounds in three months. It helps that I had a spaz for a chocolate lab, named Duke. He is fondly remembered by our new puppy, Daisy. But you know that already.

Something snapped in me when Amy and I broke up. I started eating right. I attended an awesome church in Duluth, The Vineyard. I started writing. I do that when I need an outlet. Perhaps you've noticed. Most important, I matured. Instead of wanting acceptance from women I dated, I stopped treating every possible relationship like it was The Biggest Deal In The World. That led to something of a dating jag.

You want flaming breakup carnage? Let's do this.

The girls would mostly disagree with a "girlfriend" characterization. There was only one true girlfriend in the bunch. But I enjoyed meeting and getting to know ...
1. Marlboro. I once told her that kissing her was like kissing a snake which had consumed far too much caffeine. This was a horrible thing to say and I sort of regret it. She was also a smoker. Good times.
2. Nay. A very fun person. The complete opposite of every girl I'd ever been interested in. She sang karaoke with gusto while wearing red leather pants. We each got a tattoo on a date and we shared the same birthday. She does roller derby now. I'm convinced she could kill me with one hand.

And then I moved to Salt Lake City for a career opportunity. Bigger company. Kind of a promotion. It made sense. The PG-rated jag continued.

3. DD. She was 18 and worked where I worked. I was 25. She was sweet and kissed me out of nowhere after I bought her a chai tea. We saw each other a couple of times. Then she became a lesbian, which my former boss made fun of me for. My former boss is a jackass.
4. Traveler. A friend of a roommate's. We dated for six weeks before she called me while I was in a bar, eating nachos before work. She didn't want to go out any more because she thought I might be more serious than she was. I was not more serious. I finished my nachos, laughed about the whole thing and went to work.

That's about 8 months of dating right there. There were a couple others sprinkled in. In Salt Lake, I took up skiing. I volunteered with Big Brothers, Big Sisters. I donated platelets. That's where I met the second-to-last girlfriend I would ever have, Red. Red worked at the Red Cross. We met while she was taking my blood. I left her a note on her white Honda Civic. She called and we went out for six wonderful weeks.

But. This is Utah. You have no way of knowing when you blindly ask someone out if they are Mormon. Not only was she an active Mormon, she was a returned missionary. (Note to everyone outside of Utah: That connotes a certain level of piousness). We got along great, but we were doomed from the start.

The axe fell on my birthday in mid-June. I'd developed a "breakup radar." Mine was ringing hard all night. We went out to eat at a fancy restaurant. She wore a little black dress. Red was acting funny. Distant. Disengaged. Something was up. We strolled down the street from Bambara, one of the more expensive dining options in town, to the theater. Phantom of the Opera was in town and we had a pair of seats. I love the music in the first half of the show. And, famously, I brought a big box of Dots to the same play in Minneapolis.

Red and I sat quietly through the first half of the show. At intermission, I asked, "So, do you want to break up now or should we wait until afterward?" She was stunned. "What? No. I don't know what you're talking about." A moment passed. "I have to go to the bathroom," she said. I counted to 10 and left our seats. Red was standing there in the entryway, fidgeting and nervous. I took her by the arm. "Come on. We're leaving." "But it's your birthday ..." Whatever. We left. She drove me home in her Civic and I got my last non-Amy kiss.

I was stunned by the breakup, but not broken up about it. I mean, what did I expect? She was a relatively hardcore Mormon and I was a relatively hardcore Christian. Neither was converting the other. It was doomed from the start and we both knew it. It was so much drama. I needed to get away from Salt Lake.

I drove to Los Angeles to visit Kelsie Smith, a friend of mine a few of you might know. She was working in L.A. We hung out in a completely non-romantic way for a couple of nights. I went in the ocean with my cell phone in my shorts. We went to the Cheesecake Factory. Twice.

By my count, Amy and I had talked twice in the past year. Once I showed up at her house just to say hi. Once, she called when she heard from Dave Nevanen, my boss in Duluth, when she heard I was moving to Salt Lake. The call got cut off because I was driving through central Wisconsin with Matt Whaley, on our way back from the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. And buffalo wings in Pittsburgh, of course. I never called her back. You don't talk to ex-girlfriends.

It was June 24, 2004. I was on the road back from Los Angeles when an idea got caught in my head. A little voice. A conscience. Something. "Call Amy. You should call Amy. Check in with Amy." I turned the radio up. "Call Amy. Call Amy. Call Amy. Call Amy." Somewhere outside Cedar City, Utah, I was fed up. Fine. I'll call Amy.


Continued here.