A blast from the dreaded, dreaded past

What is it with ex boyfriends? They always seem to sneak up on you when you're least awares, creeping up behind you in the dark and sticking you with the proverbial "wet willy," if by "wet willy" I mean "total mindfuck."
Our tale starts with The Roommate who was recently at a family holiday party while she was home for Thanksgiving. She walks in, pays her respects to the hosts, parents' friends, etc, and then spies, and I quote, "a melon on a toothpick that looked eerily familiar." She never got the chance to actually speak to said melon, but she had no doubt that it was, indeed, The Dreaded Ex. And after years of not speaking, stealthily seeking out information of where is is, what he's doing, who he's doing (we all want to know, don't lie...), the ONE thing she wanted to know was, "why on EARTH has he lost so much weight?? He looks like Skelator! Is he on drugs, do you think? It must be drugs. But why would he do drugs? Maybe it's bizarro atkins?" Sadly, I could not answer these hard questions for The Roommate. But it served as a painful reminder of the haunting, nasty feeling that can only come from a surprise encounter with the ex.
Curiously, just as The Roni was waxing philosophic about this particular sentiment, she got a surprise of her own. The Dark and Creamy, her estwhile Big City paramour, made a startling return from "Wait, I thought we stopped speaking?" Land. Apparently not. The truth of the matter is (yes, dear readers, we pause for a moment of candor) that The Dark and Creamy and I do remain very close friends. Our parting of ways was purely circumstantial and not because I thought he was a hideous beast not fit to share the same oxegenated mix as I or because he recognized me as a superficial snot with an ass the size of Brazil. (Luckily I left before he got to the "bottom" of that matter...oh snap! There is nothing The Roni loves more than a good pun...) Anyhew, so things between The Dark and Creamy and I were very good. That is until we met for drinks a few months ago and, in true Roni fashion, I drank five martinis and told him that I "wanted him to be my boyfriend this summer." To which he repiled that he "didn't think that was a very good idea." Things progressed...badly...from that point.
So there we were, or where I thought we were, when he out of the blue calls me last week and is astonished at "how long it's been since we talked!" Sure! Because the last time we talked things went so well that you just can't fathom how we haven't talked more about how little you want to date me. Because that'll be a fun conversation.
Which leaves The Roni confused in the brain. What is it with ex boyfriends? Don't they get it? Do you really want to talk to us? Or is it just when you're feeling low (maybe you've lost a few too many...hundred...pounds?) that you want to pop in on us, just to remind yourself that there is some other more pathetic soul than you out there, and guess what, you dumped them? Because that's just mean.

And with that, I give you a gratuitous Blind Item:
Continuing our Train of Indifference, which single lady, after forcing a friend to set her up on a blind date with a facebook crush (I know, I know...the dating of the modern era, people. Don't blame The Roni; she didn't come up with it...) promtly determines that he is WAY too immature for her and "not at all as cute as he looked in his facebook picture." Well, I guess when you pick from the drivethrough menu, the Big Mac is never going to look as juicy...