Unresolved Issue from the Prior Year (3 hours into the New Year)

 A Dead Parrot Named Giorgio

Before everyone came over for the New Year's Eve party, my girlfriend and I had a few drinks and bullshitted about making a bad move, an action you know in the pit of your stomach that'll make you rue the day you decided to act upon it.

I equivocated about a bad move I wanted to make; one I felt in the depths of my bowels that I'd regret until death. It was about phoning my ex-beau. He already blocked me on google, text messages, Facebook, linkedin, pinterest, stumbleupon, skype, yahoo messenger and twitter.

A subtle hint that he didn't want anything more to do with me. Yet, he continued to subtweet about me! {For those not in the know, subtweeting is a way of conveying a message from your own account without directly addressing the person in question. Almost like a rhetorical statement, yet with key words or pet phrases targeted at that person.}

My friend pointed it out, following both of us on twitter. "Oh, he meant that for you. Because he responded to your question." She noticed that as well a few months ago with a lunatic fringe. She's pretty good at spotting subtweets.

Not the only one, as I realized.

It seems quite a few people get the subtweets because they privately message me. It truly is a game that's played in public with the thought that no one gets the subtext. BULLSHIT. A lot of people get it and enjoy the fireworks.

Oh boy.

Sometimes I tweet a question that means nothing or I really need a response, like, "Quick. Need to know. Ran out of kosher salt to de-ice the driveway. Will any do?" That time the question was, "Is this going to be another one of these days?" To which he replied and I paraphrase, "Sometimes. It's all a matter of whatnot."

"Oh my GOD!" I shrieked. "That has nothing to do with him!"

"He thinks it does."

That's the problem with subtweets. Sometimes people interpret them as hidden messages. That's why I try not to read into subtweets unless there're phrases or code words written/spoken before. Like with the lunatic fringe who used code words and addressed my blog and my hobbies in 140 words so there'd be no mistake.

Exasperated, I stated, "Doesn't he know it's not good to poke the bear?"

Then, I subtweeted back to him. In a matter of minutes, we had two separate on-going dialogues, rhetorical questions and strange allusions. I groaned for I lowered myself to behaving like a child. "Phone me." I tweeted several times. Then, I stepped it up, "Grow a pair of balls and phone me."

He never responded, yet continued his merry way. Knowing he blocked me from any contact except for the phone (perhaps), I didn't bother. In retaliation, I blogged about him. A lot. Actually, they were superb pieces!

"There, that'll shut him up with the subtweets," I told my friend. Not at all. In two days, he stepped it up. More than likely, he read my blog. He wanted to know if this was still a thing although the relationship is dead, as dead as Monty Python's Dead Parrot skit:

He even wrote, "If you stop behaving like a twit, I'll cease my subtweets." Whoa. It was out in the open. This was twitter war!

Now, all of this is nonsense. Sophomoric, taking into account you're dealing with middle-aged people. Normally, when there's a break-up, there're no more lines of communication. It's OVER. Not today. Like a rank odor that just won't dissipate, there're ways to reach out and annihilate someone with 140 characters.

Honest to say, the past several days, I read and interacted with the subtweets. It's not like I don't have better things to do in my life. Trust me, I do. Several issues surfaced and I simply can't contend with them. I'm wrangling with low-hanging brittle electrical wires that, with the two blizzards, are now to the point of breaking. Dealing with paperwork that requires superhuman strength. A dead car for three days during the back-to-back snowstorms. Shoveling snow that tore my back out. And, a new stalker. Yes. There're other things going on that I'm not ready to address in the blog. Yet.

In a perverse way I enjoyed the subtweets for they distracted me from reflecting upon the morass my life is and has been for a while. It also provided impetus to write new stuff for this blog as well as additional fodder for my upcoming edating comedy books. I tweeted, "Sometimes I should take the advice I write in my own books."

Drunk to the gills, risking major duty gastric aftermath, I asked my girlfriend again her thoughts as to whether I should contact him to resolve the break-up three weeks after I ended it.

She said, "I'll always support you in all your bad decisions."

In appreciation, I retorted, "As long as someone supports me in my bad decisions, then I feel good about making them."

"Well, what would you say to him?"

Her comment stopped me on a dime. When I broke up with him, I didn't reject him, I rejected the circumstances. As he subtweeted me, other issues coalesced with the recognition that there was no way in hell I could ever have a relationship with him. I lost respect. Should there be any conversation, it would be rife with recrimination and a battle for bruised egos.

My only desire is that he forgets me, heeding his own advice, "Move on with your life." Any future interactions are almost like hitting a dead parrot on a counter. After all, it's a new year!

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