When I originally moved to New Orleans, I was moving out of the apartment I'd been sharing with my ex (a three bedroom townhouse, so it wasn't as weird as it could have been; it was just terribly awkward and unpleasant). I'd never been there before, neither had she, neither of us had any friends or relatives or anything like that in the area.
A couple weeks after I moved there, she happened to be listening to a radio station she didn't usually listen to, because of an interview or something they were giving with someone she liked; they happened to segue into a jazz-themed program that she didn't channel-flip from; they had a call-in contest to win tickets to New Orleans for a jazz festival in late summer (not JazzFest itself, no, that's in spring); she won.
"Oh my God," she said, "What a weird coincidence! Maybe we're going to get back together! I mean, I'll be in New Orleans just after you're settling in!"
It was a weird coincidence -- she didn't even like jazz. We didn't get back together. There was never any chance of it. We had an awkward but undramatic lunch with her second boyfriend since I'd moved out, and then she flew home and I went out to dinner with my girlfriend. The end.
― Tep (ktepi), Tuesday, 9 September 2003 17:04 (twenty-two years ago)
Well, I'd meant meaningful, but hey, either works.
― Tep (ktepi), Tuesday, 9 September 2003 17:49 (twenty-two years ago)
I meet a Russian woman who originally moved to the U.S. on my birthday. I thought she was a birthday gift sent by the gods, but it was not to be.
― Al Andalous, Tuesday, 9 September 2003 17:50 (twenty-two years ago)