1995 and Magic Carpet Ride

So, I recently dated a guy for two months. A guy who I had a major crush on when I was a freshman and he a senior while we both were in college. I mean, it's great when you reconnect 12 years later, right?

He's cute, with a rocking, hot body. Older now, mid-30s, divorced, but caring, funny and HOT. He's a former NFL'er, meaning he’s established even after being beat-up, ran over for many years. So I couldn’t go wrong, right?

He lived in one city and I lived here, in Atlanta. Perfect, because as grown-ups we can both focus on work and family without feeling the burden of dating exclusively or seeing each other every other day. It was a cool, get-to-know you situation, one I was comfortable pursuing.

Well, he disappeared, poof. Just stopped calling; stopped sending texts and emails. I'm OK with the fact that nothing came of our 'budding' relationship, but I'm not alright with him being a jerk and not sending my cherished high school yearbook. Ya know, the one I forgot while visiting him. I totally inadvertently left it in his basement and asked that he send it to me. Wait, let me back up, I first asked him to hang on to it until the next time we see each other. But the flakiness started. The sparse phone calls, the one-way text messages, he'd respond to my messages, but as for him initiating the communication, fat chance. I got a hunch that I’d never see him again, call it women’s intuition so I asked him to send it to me - dork! He did respond once, to a text where I kindly requested he just send it to me, at his convenience of course because we all know that men do things on their time. He answered about a week later that he would send it, oh, and get this nonsense; he apologized for it taking him so long to respond. *crickets, crickets* Well, it’s been two weeks later and still, no yearbook. And I haven’t heard one peep back from him, over a month now.

I've dated enough to know when I guy isn't feeling you anymore. So his apparition-like qualities aren't shocking to me. What is amusing, frustrating, ultra-annoying, is the fact that he hasn't taken 5 minutes to swing by a freaking Post Office to mail my 1995 Senior Yearbook. The one where I was crowned the first African American Homecoming Queen where our class saved the theme Magic Carpet Ride for our precious last official year of adolescence. The one which houses a copy of my Student Body farewell address I delivered as the President.

So, I'm playing the waiting game, waiting to see how long it takes Jerk-o to send the book, assuming it's still in one piece. For all I know, he may have had a girlfriend who discovered my book of memories became enraged and discarded it. Or slashed it to shreds, or made him eat each page where my picture was plastered.

And this, my friends, is why dating in the New Millennium, is for the birds.

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