The Recycler

Dear Ex Girlfriends (yes, all of you -- sorry, I know this is a little awkward),

I met my best buddy for lunch today and apparently my predilection for calling you all every time I become single has earned me a reputation of sorts. Recently-single-me has apparently also earned a new nickname: The Recycler. It's bad enough that I'm aware of how comical it is, and I'm aware that others are aware of how comical it is, and that folks have been so kind as to give me a nickname for this, but my buddy today over lunch hands me this t-shirt. I think folks are trying to send me a message.

So anyway, point is, I can't really call you anymore. We can't hang out. No more texting, gchats, booty messages, or any of that good stuff that's got us (me) through for so many months/years in between relationships.

As a symbolic gesture, I'm now gonna drink this 12-pack of miller lite and -- no, not recycle -- throw the cans in the trash. I can't vouch for what transmissions I'll send out on my cellphone thereafter when I'm half in the bag, but I'm sure there are lessons to be learned here. The bottom line? Please turn your cell phones off, starting...... now.