My ex got into my house while I was out of town, took every music CD I owned (Except for *Jingle Cats *and the *Cabaret Soundtrack*), individually smashed them, put the pieces back in the cases, and returned them.

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This was the most public drama I’ve ever experienced.

I had a long-term friend who became my boyfriend. I’ve written about him before. Nice guy. Emotional. Very social.

We lived together for four years. It was mostly okay, I adored him one-on-one but I’m an introvert, and he can’t ever be alone. I can be very territorial about my space. There is a casual sexism in and among people who should know better. Girlfriends are props. My boyfriend was not really like that - he loved it when ordinarily nonconfrontational me would get a wild hair and rip someone to shreds for being an ass. He just made me deal with a steady stream of people; I tried to be gracious. I was a constant hostess in my own house. It wore thin.

Our house was a tour stop. We’d spent six months in the UK, and we’d made friends. We had a steady stream of house guests - friends, friends-of-friends, bands touring on the cheap…

I was grumpy about it all. My irritation must’ve shown because one night, he didn’t come home. Next night, he didn’t come home. The third night, he came back and broke up with me. He’d met someone. She was perfect. She appreciated him.

I’m not particularly jealous. I don’t play or participate in emotional games. I called my friends, cried for a night, then got on with it. Four days later, he showed back up at our house. She was annoying, clingy, not smart.

I didn’t take him back. We had a house guest sleeping on a blow-up mattress in our living room at the time. I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant. My now ex-boyfriend cried to everyone who would listen and slept on the couch. He had plenty of places to stay but refused to give up the key. I finally got him out by taking him to the store and buying him sheets, pillows, and blankets.

I couldn’t frequent my usual haunts. My future husband was sitting on the stairs near the bathroom at the Purple Onion with my friend Katherine on one, particularly stupid evening. He asked her “Why is that Roger Daltry looking dude chasing that girl around?”

I had to hide in the ladies room. He wanted to *talk.*

He took to sitting at the bus stop across the street from my house. My friend Amy was a cab driver, and she had the entire De Soto cab company keeping an eye on my house. Dispatch would let her know when he was lurking. I started making jokes.

“If they find my body floating in the Bay, you know who to look for.”

He was more popular than I was. People took sides - mostly along gender lines. I’ve always had stronger relationships with women than men. The stress of all this unpleasantness got to me. My girl friends (not girlfriends) closed ranks around me. I fell apart. Katherine decided I needed to get out of town, so she convinced her family to sport us tickets to North Carolina.

I have cats. I gave the key to my place to an old friend to feed them and house sit. I’m not going to cast aspersions on the friend that had the key. We’ve all known each other since we were thirteen. Maybe he was clueless?

My ex-boyfriend talked his way into my apartment, took all two-hundred CD’s off the shelf, brought them to his home, individually smashed them and replaced the pieces in the appropriate jewel cases. I had rare stuff. Bootlegs. He talked his way back into my house and put them all back on the shelf.

This incident was, in a way, a blessing. I called him up raging. I called the police and filed charges for theft and breaking and entering. I didn’t have much of a case. It turns out that restraining orders were not a thing for unmarried couples at the time. I started the paperwork for something called a stay-away order.

I got a call a few hours later from an attorney friend of my ex’s. Would I drop the charges in exchange for 50% of the replacement value of my property and a promise that the harassment would entirely stop?

I hate dealing with cops. I needed the money. I had rent to cover.

A year later he got a new girlfriend, and all phone calls stopped. Man, did he ever make an ass out of himself. It took us many more years to become friends again. He sends me house guests to cheer me up.

I do love the Cabaret soundtrack.