Despite requests, I have no current terrible boyfriend stories to relate. I do have one on that backburner that I've been too lazy to type up...Oh fuck it. Here goes.

My ex-bf, known to many as the Swede, and known to others as that incredibly controlling maniac with no sense of humor, was certainly a thorn in my side. I can't deny that I was a terrible girlfriend, though. I was as far from being supportive as one can possibly be, and I still cringe when I think of the blank journal that he cut and pasted, ransom note style, letters rebelliously spelling out "Fuck you, it's art." It sends a shiver down my spine.

This was the man who famously--seriously--accused me of cheating on him. With my brother.

Anyway, as you might have guessed we had an acrimonious breakup. Within a month, he started dating another Lina. (Not, luckily, The other Lina). One of our main things we liked to argue about was his propensity for facial hair, and after taking up with the new Lina, he grew a full beard. I can't help but be pleased, as I'm convinced that this, and nearly everything else he does, is somehow in reaction to me.

He's also, apparently, gotten his first tattoo. As someone years into the tattoo removal process, I generally try and dissuade those that I'm sleeping with from getting tattoos, especially when those people are tattoo-less and in their thirties. So when he recently attempted to befriend me on Facebook, after years of silence and despite the fact that I thought we were mutually not on speaking terms, I was granted the limited opportunity to see his profile pictures and his new full sleeve tattoo. Getting your first tattoo in your thirties and going for a full-sleeve? Please. He is, as they would say in Ireland, a try hard.

I've written this in the hopes of keeping Brandy happy and of keeping all previously burned bridges burnt as my ex is also in London, with his new Lina, beard, and tattoo, and I don't want there to be any concern about small talk if I do happen to run into him.