It's cool. We go way back.

The Lord works in tragic, effed-up ways. I feel like he’s a big ‘ol drag queen with a pension for being a big messy spectacle. But like a drag queen with a mean streak, God has sense of humor. How else could you explain YouTube videos of monkeys riding miniature horses or Ke$ha? Fortunately for God, I have a sense of humor, too. Especially when the joke is on me. Prime example: within the last 24 hours, I've talked to McBougie, Wit's End, and The Dean. Didn't think I knew when the joke was on me? Do better next time.

First off, my encounter with McBougie is so beyond fucked up that I'm currently unable to recount the story because of it's too-soon-ness. I promise to come back to it one day, but it's so disturbing that I'm uncomfortable even mentioning that anything happened. I blame all the wonderfully shameless canned margaritas that I perpetually shotgunned over the weekend. Damn you Festival! Any event that causes your exboyfriend to dunk text you about how much he loves/misses you & your family is a product of terrorism. You beat me again, Festival. And worst of all, you made me hook up with my least favorite ex. Frowny face with a greater than symbol before the colon for angry eyebrows.

Now that you're both bewildered and desperate for details, I'll move on and pretend that the proceeding paragraph never happened. Winky face.

I spontaneously decided to do some apartment purging when I got home from work yesterday. My parents spent Saturday night at my apartment, and in preparation for their arrival, I had to hide everything incriminating. Which meant the only things mom and dad saw when they walked into my bedroom were a mattress and some exposed wires hanging out of a hole in the ceiling. After they left the next day, I realized that some of this shit had to go. Now.

While cleaning out my side table, I came across old undergraduate papers, unused scantrons, and some things that caused me stop what I was doing and take a seat on the couch. On the coffee table before me were laid out the follow three items:

1.) A large white binder that The Dean had passed down to me when I inherited his position as a student activities chair at UL.

2.) A collection of poetry that McBougie had given me for our first Christmas together.

3.) A homemade book made from construction paper, tape, photos printed at Walgreen’s, and words that were clipped from magazines.

The childish, homemade construction paper book was a gift from Wit's End. He made it for me the day after he told me he was moving back to Houston. My consolation prize.

I immediately called The Dean to ask if he wanted his binder back (for sentimental reasons). He sounded annoyed and told me chuck it. Fantastic, I thought. I congratulated myself for bring such a considerate exboyfriend and shoved that bastard into the trash bag.

Being that I'd just had such a stimulating conversation with The Dean, and an empowering, magical "get together" with McBougie the day before, I decided to go for the hat trick and give Wit's End a call.

Oh, by the way, yesterday was May 2, 2011 — the one-year anniversary of my break-up with McBougie...and the day I met Wit's End. No joke. Same day, 4 hours apart. Sorry to bury the lead like this.

Considering this special date and the unusual circumstances, (just finding 3 books in my nightstand that seemed to be perfect metaphors for the men that had gifted them to me) I knew this had to be a sign from Gaga.

Wit's End and I talked for about fifteen minutes. And after we hung up, I felt like things were suddenly a lot less fuzzy. Wit's End wasn't poisonous like McBougie or complacent like The Dean. He's slutty, simple, sketchy, and a bad liar. But he is arguably my favorite. And he is still mine in some alternate universe. And I bet we're happy there.

I decided to keep the other two books after tossing The Dean's away as per his request. They'd escaped break-up box inferno and they would live another day.

I moved my copy of Tina Fey's Bossypants from on top of my comforter before flopping onto my bed and putting in my earbuds. I listened to some Rilo Kiley and Matt & Kim, and quietly wondered if Wit's End had made it home from the tanning salon yet.

And then my phone buzzed twice and lit up.