TGIF, readers. In case you haven’t had you fill of hearing three rejected ladies share their self absorbed tales of woe, I have an update on my dumping saga. You know, the dumping that started a chain reaction that caused what will now be known as The Great Hat Trick of April ’14. Basically I’m the Archduke Franz Ferdinand of this blog, which makes D Gavrilo Princip (did you forget that Stucu is written by history nerds?) Where was I going with this? Oh yeah…
I know. I know. This sounds like the Worst with a capital W plan ever. But when D and I originally agreed to meet, I was actually feeling pretty good and like I was genuinely starting to move on. More importantly, I had this feeling that there was no way to know if our little friends experiment was feasible until we actually did something friend-like together.
So I met D for coffee two Sundays ago. I wasn’t really nervous before we met. Honestly, I was most worried about looking make-my-ex-regret-dumping-me-without-looking-like-I’m-actually-trying level amazing.
Other than that, I was pretty calm. I did have an irrational fear in the back of my head that D might tell me something crazy, like he was engaged, mostly I think because I saw that happen in a movie. And if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s taking movie plots way too seriously.
The day we met was a beautiful, sunny Sunday, and it was also the day of the Broad Street Run, a big annual race in Philly. I got ready, walked outside, and enjoyed the sunshine for approximately 2.5 seconds before the weather comically went south: I walked about a block and a half before the skies darkened and opened up with rain. I mean, speaking of scenes that play out like movies…
(That’s what I looked like in the rain, PS. Exactly that).
Unfortunately, like I mentioned, this didn’t end like the movies, with a found cat and an outdoor make out scene and a swelling rendition of Moon River.
In reality my hair became irrevocably frizzy and I had to run home to grab an umbrella and change. Cinema gold!
Between the race crowds, running home to change, and worrying that this was a bad omen from the universe, I had to rush to meet D. When I arrived, frazzled and damp, he was already there waiting for me. I can’t remember whether we hugged or just said hi, but it started out pretty well, all things considered. It was genuinely nice to see him, sit across from him, and catch up in person. ‘See?’ I thought smugly to myself. ‘I can do this. No sweat.’ We chatted and joked easily, talking about our families and friends and jobs, rolling our eyes at the droves of runners coming in post race.
The longer we sat there, though, the longer I sipped my iced coffee, the more effort it took to be normal. First I smelled D’s cologne. Yes, I realize that sounds incredibly creepy, but there you have it. I started to think about how we used to go to Sunday brunch after a night out and then spend the afternoon together. We’d hit up Reading Terminal or take a long walk and go back to one of our places, yadda yadda yaddaand then take a nap. It was the best. I thought about how on this particular Sunday, we’d be walking away from each other instead, and I’d be alone.
That’s when a lump slowly started to lodge its way into my throat. Gradually I had to start focusing on acting normal and breathing normally and not bursting into tears. I know D could tell that something was up; I mean, I was literally chanting ‘keep it together’ inside my head; how could he not notice?
Things had gone so well, though, and I was determined to be brave and hold on until I could go cry like a normal rejected loser in the privacy of my own apartment.
SPOILER ALERT: that didn’t happen. We left, and I walked D to his car, the lump in my throat now threatening to choke me. The fact that he seemed to be genuinely enjoying my company with no issues or weirdness was also completely maddening and infuriating. I was sick of being the only mess in our weird exes-turned-friends twosome. D also made someAspiescomment that I was ‘making a face’ before we left that he couldn’t decipher. Uhhh yeah, that would be my ‘holding back tears with nothing but sheer willpower’ face, D. It’s a good one.
I was about one minute away from a public meltdown when we reached the car. “Would you like a ride?” D asked. It was still inexplicably freezing and raining.
I shook my head, unable to look at him. “Thanks, but I’m going to walk. It was good to see you.”
“It was great to see you. He tentatively and awkwardly leaned in to give me a hug. I let him hug me, then spun around and booked it down the street in the other direction, tears streaming down my face. Yup, I cried in publicYET.AGAIN.
That’s because I have none. No dignity whatsoever.
Oh my God, you guys, sidenote: I don’t know why this just popped into my head, probably because L and I watched Pitch Perfect together recently, but I feel like the three of us need to do a Weird Al-style parody of Black Street’s ‘No Diggity’ and change the lyrics to ‘No Dignity’. Obviously the song will be about LSD being dumped one after the other, hat trick style: “We hate the way you dumped us– NO DIGNITY”. I’m dead serious, this may be the most brilliant, albeit depressing, idea I’ve ever had…
Y0u’re welcome for brightening up this daytime soap-level cheap drama with some sweet vocal stylings. Didn’t I warn you that I love a Capella? Oh, you thought that was a joke?
I walked home in the rain, a literal walking cliche, openly weeping like a crazy person, pushing past swarms of runners wearing medals, the whole city in a celebratory mood except for me. The second I got home I flopped into bed and cried even harder.
And then I cried some more. I called my mom and cried, then L called me and we took turns crying and praising each other for being so brave. There was so. much. crying.
I was totally baffled that I had this much emotion left in me. I’d had a nice weekend where I saw friends and went out and did things and everything was kosher. I figured I would probably be somewhat depressed/upset after seeing D, I just didn’t know it would level me for the rest of the day. I felt like an asshole for being so naive, for thinking I could just flip a switch and be over D but still magically have him as a constant in my life without any confusion or difficulty. HA. Hahaha. Oh me.
The thing is, though, when my mom suggested that maybe it was a mistake to see him, I knew that wasn’t right either (and I told her so. In an overly emotional semi-hysterical howler monkey voice).
It wasn’t a mistake. I’m totally glad I did it. If I could get in a time machine and go back to that Sunday morning, I would still see D (right after returning to my study abroad semester in London because duh, priorities). I think I needed this. I needed to see him, and see how it made me feel (answer: shitty) and let that reaction guide me to figure out what to do next. I honestly believe it was an important part of the getting over him/moving on process. Was it fun? Fuck no. Traumatic? Uh yeah, kind of. But it was also necessary, as most unpleasant things are (adulthood, you are the worst.)
After I calmed the hell down and thought about it, I knew what I had to do. I called D and asked him for space. My brain was just too confused by the texting and the hanging out post break up. Even though neither of us acted inappropriately and I knew intellectually that we were over, it was too hard to process that while D still had such a presence in my life. So we agreed not to meet again, at least for now, and we also agreed on a text embargo: no texting whatsoever for the rest of the month. It’s been hard, like have literally had to sit on my hands to fight the impulse to pick up my phone and text him hard, but I already feel so much better and in control.
I think this is also coming at a good time for the blog as well. I have a sneaking suspicion that my long, drawn out break up saga is getting a little old, because even I’m getting sick of hearing myself talk about it. I mean, how many times can you read about a grown ass woman crying in public before it becomes tedious? I think I’ve officially reached that limit. I’m not saying I’m ready to jump back into the dating pool just yet, but I am ready to tackle some topics that don’t include my ex. Until then, I’ll be working on the lyrics to ‘No Dignity’ with the other two members of my girl group.
Before we get to my post, just a quick blog announcement: since we started Stupid Cupid over a year ago, we’ve always referred to our dates by their first initial. This was easy and effective enough in the beginning, but it’s come to our attention that this practice is now confusing as shit. It’s simple math, really: there are a finite number of letters in the alphabet, and apparently an infinite number of douchey single guys. The longer we date, the more repeats we’re going to have. We can imagine what a pain it must be for you guys to keep everyone straight while reading about our shenanigans. I mean, I recently dated a D, and then co-blogger D dated a D, and then both of those Ds dumped us. It’s like a 21st century Abbott and Costello routine. So, to quote my co-blogger:
D: TOO MANY D’S UP IN HERE – WE’RE SWITCHING TO NICKNAMES
Damn straight we are. From this point forward, all new dudes we go out with will receive a nickname, probably based on a noticeable characteristic or a funny anecdote, but I make no promises as to the consistency (or, frankly, the fairness) of our naming practices. To avoid further confusion, dudes we’ve already written about will still be referred to by their initials; as you’ll see below, D who dumped me is still D (you narrowly missed receiving a nickname containing the words ‘nerd’ and ‘stalker’, sir. You’re welcome.)
We hope this will make things less confusing for you guys, and we’re pretty sure this nickname thing will be an enjoyable practice for us as well. Spoiler alert: the first bachelor to have a nickname bestowed upon him is a guy co-blogger D went out with last weekend, and his nickname involves Japanese food. I assure you, the story behind the name is delightful.
**End blog announcement**
The dust is settling on my break up with D two weeks ago. I’m still processing things, but that initial sting of rejection (which was really more like a punch in the gut) has faded into something more like a dull ache. On a whole, I feel better, but that also changes day by day (and even hour by hour). Last week I was feeling really good about the whole thing; almost obnoxiously so. People were like, wow… you seem to be doing great! And I was all…
Yes, I saw the Lego movie. I told you, I dated a nerd for months.
Anyway, last week everything was awesome, because the weather was gorgeous and I had a ton of fun plans to distract me. This week, it’s been torrential down-pouring, and there’s essentially a tumbleweed rolling across my Google calendar, so I’m a little closer to this than I’m entirely comfortable admitting:
I miss D, even though we’ve been talking. I promise you, “talking” is not a euphemism for anything. We’re genuinely trying to figure out this friends thing, which has been really nice in some ways but also confusing as hell, because I think neither one of us knows exactly how to act towards one another now. The boundaries are different, and the dynamics are different, and it’s…fucking weird. When we agreed to try to remain friends, I told him I reserved the right to change my mind at any point if I started to feel differently, and I’m still playing by those rules. If I wake up tomorrow and am all:
then we’ll call it a day. PS you might be interested to know the results of our little poll: 36% of you keep in touch with your ex(es). Okay, well that makes me feel a little less crazy for trying this. Then again, 33% of you answered “hell no”, so there’s that. Anyway, the experiment continues, and I will keep you all posted.
D also informed me last week that he read and loved both of my posts, which made me cringe ever so slightly. It’s one thing to know that he’s going to read them, and it’s another to receive actual confirmation that he did. After I published part 2 of my post, this fun little exchange occurred:
Uhhhh apparently it’s 2003, because…
Is that the most Aspies thing you’ve ever seen in your life? WHO DOES THAT?I reminded D that I had been really understanding and gracious about the whole being dumped thing, but that that goodwill only goes so far. Translation: do not poke the bear. The dumped bear.
Even though my mood this week has been what some might call “unique”, I have had some time to get used to being single again. And while in some ways it sucks a big huge fat one and I hate the world, in others it actually doesn’t feel bad. It even has its moments of being (dare I say this on a blog where we complain about being single 24-7?) sort of nice. One thing I’ve learned about being in a relationship, even a good one, is that you invest a lot of time and emotional energy into another person and the relationship as a whole. This is/was wonderful in many ways, and in a great relationship what you get back in return of course makes all that effort more than worth it (ugh low point, I just mentioned ROI on our dating blog. Please accept my sincerest apologies). But this particular relationship wasn’t working towards the end, and in hindsight, I really did feel kind of drained, and also like I was neglecting myself a little bit. I’m not saying that D was needy or demanding or that this was his fault, because clearly it takes two to tango. I’m saying there’s a little bit of an exhale happening that I’m actually kind of enjoying.
So, with that in mind, I’m making a concerted effort to look on the bright side/think positively/not be a perpetual Debbie Downer about this break up. Even as I typed that last sentence, I secretly thought…
If you’ve been reading this blog, you know that positivity of any kind is a fairly foreign concept around these parts. Be that as it may, I’ve decided to give it a try, because what the hell? Here’s how I’m looking at it: having more free time and freed up energy is an awesome thing. I have more time to do shit just for me, figure out what I want next in my life, chat up my friends more, maybe find a fun new hobby, write, and just…chill. I hope this doesn’t come off as some smug Eat, Pray, Love bullshit, because God I hated that book…
Basically I’m picturing the next weeks/months of my life as a breezy dream where this happens:
Why yes, Ina, I’d love to.
So… besides not having a house in the Hamptons, here’s the issue. You may recall that I stayed on Okcupid the whole time I was with D for blogging purposes. I changed my status from single to ‘seeing someone’ (which of course did nothing but attract cheating losers instead of single losers) but wasn’t talking to anyone. After D and I broke up, I changed my status back to single, because, you know, accurate. I expected to get a slew of visitors and an underwhelming flurry of one word or unintelligible messages from random douchebags, which don’t worry, I did. It didn’t occur to me for one second that I might actually get a good message, because, I mean, have you been reading this blog? Good messages are like unicorns: they’re rare, they’re mythical, and they appear to only exists in books, movies and our imagination.
You know where this is going, right? I got a good message. Actually, a great one. I clicked on the guy’s profile, half praying for it to be awful or illegible or insane. But of course, nope. At first glance, this looked to be someone I would be thrilled to go out with: smart, funny, interesting, and cute. You know, basically…
God. Damn. It.
In my almost two year career as a part time online dater (and full time pessimist), I’m pretty sure I can count ON ONE HAND the number of times I’ve gotten a really good message from someone with a nice, normal profile who was also taller than me and appeared to be cute. Dismayed, I sought L’s sage advice. We decided that my options were:
Ignore the message completely
Write back explaining that I’d just gotten out of a five month relaysh and am not ready to date yet
Write back normally and see what happens
Option 1 was vetoed immediately, because hi, do I have to make that stupid unicorn analogy again? I’ve seen the dating pool, and let me tell you, shit is rough. I wasn’t about to ignore something promising just because of bad timing.
Option 2 seemed to be the most up front, but something about laying my sad breakup story, even a super abridged version, on a total stranger screamed bad idea/wild over share. Also, one message from someone is absolutely no guarantee that you’ll receive a second, and I decided if I bore my heart to this dude and he didn’t respond, I might ACTUALLY kill myself. Mama can only take so much rejection. Thus, Option 2 was vetoed.
Which left… write back normally and see what happens. I did, and I got a response, another great one. At that point, it was actually surprisingly tempting to just say fuck it, keep a back and forth going and see what it led to. I mean, flirting is fun/boys are cute/distractions are tempting/validation is intoxicating, particularly after you’ve been rejected.
Don’t worry, I quickly came to my senses.
I knew, deep down, that if I pursued this dude or frankly any dude right now, it would be 1. way wayyyy too soon and 2. for all the wrong reasons, namely a distraction from the D stuff. I’m in no way ready to get involved with someone new, and also, the last two people I’ve been involved with had both recently gotten out of super serious relationships, and that turned out to be the source of most of our problems. I mean hello, I got dumped in part because D still had feelings for his ex, so I have firsthand experience with people who jumped back into the game too early, and it’s not something I want to perpetuate. So…
I sent the cute guy another message, laying it all out there, and asking if I could contact him when I was ready to date again. To which he said yes. I don’t know when that will be, exactly, but for now I’ve got plenty of DVR and dreams of channeling The Barefoot Contessa to keep me occupied.
When we last left our heroine (me, duh) she had just been dumped by her boo of almost five months, D. She had also just decided, possibly against her better judgment, to go out for a drink with him in the hopes of getting some closure. And now for the thrilling (nope) conclusion of S and D’s break up story.
We drove to the bar in silence. D parked in one of those insane new garages where there are no humans operating anything and your car gets taken away/moved around by a conveyor belt. I stared at this spectacle, dumbfounded, the absurdity of my situation finally sinking in: I was out on a post break up non-date with someone who had just rejected me. We were about to drink some alcohol and say what we needed to say to one another. My brain was suddenly like:
Too late, though. It was done. We walked into a crowded bar. Music was blasting and there were zero dark corners for me to cry anonymously in, so we walked right back out. It was still pouring so I made an exec decision to go into the next place we passed. As we walked in, it hit me: it was the site of our second date. I didn’t really mention D’s and my second date on this blog, because it was so completely bizarre I honestly didn’t know what to make of it when it happened. In summary, we both drank too much, he got sassy, and I yelled at him. When I walked away from the date I thought I’d never see or hear from him again. Fast forward five months…
“Do you realize where we are?” I asked him. “Of course,” he said. “I didn’t suggest it because I thought it might be too weird.” I shrugged. Things were already so weird, a monkey could have seated us at that point and I probably wouldn’t have been fazed.
We were shown (by a human) to the very back of the restaurant and sat at a long bar facing the kitchen. The waitress took our drink orders and I could feel her stare as she looked back and forth between me, doing this:
A few sips of legal sedative later and I was much calmer. We started to talk and it was minimally awkward, at least for me. I was surprised that D and I seemed to be on the same page about so many aspects of our relationship:
how lately things had felt off between us during the week but then great again when we’d see each other in person
how we both felt lonely and alone sometimes, especially at night, even when we were together
how we were incredibly similar in many ways and how that may not have been the best thing for two people in a relationship
I admitted to D that one of the things I had liked most about him in the beginning was that he was super clear about how he felt about me and what he wanted. For the first time maybe ever with a guy I’d felt like I could relax and just enjoy being with him and getting to know him. I should have known, of course, when that feeling slowly started to be replaced by anxiety, that something was up. I did also reprimand him for not being honest with me sooner and making me feel like a crazy person for suspecting something was wrongthe last few weeks we were together. It felt good. He took it like a champ.
I cried basically the entire time, and I am really not a crier, or at least I wasn’t until I started online dating. AMIRITE?
I wonder if Okcupid wants to use that glowing endorsement on their homepage. Shoot me an email, Sam Yagan. Anyway, I’m sharing this embarrassing crying detail only so I can also share a funny anecdote: since it was a rainy Tuesday, the bar was basically empty and the servers and busboys were all standing around close to where D and I were sitting. The longer we sat there, the more they noticed my crying, and the more blatantly they glared at D. By the end of the night, many of them were giving him the straight up stink eye as if he was an abusive boyfriend (which wouldn’t have been the worst guess given the scene they were witnessing). It reminded me of this wonderful vintage Scrubs clip (except obviously D pissed off the waitstaff, not Asians):
Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the honesty, maybe it was the dirty looks D was getting from total strangers, but I started to feel… better. Like I actually understood what had happened and why it had happened. Like I knew where D’s head was at and got to say everything I wanted to say to him. Like I could move on. Hey, what do we call that, Rachel Green?
And that was that. There was no drama. No one yelled or stormed out. The whole thing felt very…mature. I suppose my lifelong dream of throwing a drink in someone’s face will just have to wait.
We left the bar, watched D’s car being lowered absurdly onto the street, and he drove me home. I had been thinking about what would come next ever since he told me at the beginning of the night that he wanted to stay friends. Maybe I’ve seen When Harry Met Sally one too many times, but I’ve always kind of scoffed at that idea of being friends with an ex.
This feels different, though. I mean, I still need time to process things and let the dust settle a bit before 100% knowing what I want. But I think (and I hope) that D and I can be friends. I don’t know in what capacity, and I don’t know what that says about our relationship to begin with (were we always meant to just be friends all along?) but I think I’d like to give it a try.
I’m curious about other people’s experiences with this, though. You know what that means… reader poll time!
I know D wasn’t the right guy for me, romantically speaking. Even before he dumped me I think I knew, deep down, that one of us would have to end it eventually. But I don’t feel like I wasted my time. I don’t regret giving it another shot after that awful second date. I honestly think he was what I needed at this moment in my life. Beyond the fact that I had a lot of fun with him, I also think I just needed to know that there are nice, decent, considerate, thoughtful guys out there. After being jerked around by commitment phobic douchebags all last year, I needed someone to remind me that I deserve more.
I think what’s making me so sad is this: I’m going to miss his company. Even though we didn’t work as a couple, we had a connection and we had a lot in common. D became that person who I texted and chatted with on pretty much a daily basis, shared details about my day with, exchanged music, stories, and random crap from the internet with, tried new restaurants with, went to museums with, shared inside jokes with, and just did all the wonderful fun stuff that you do in an exclusive relationship. Saying goodbye to him, and to that, feels really lonely.
One thing that has made me feel better is the outpouring of ‘I know this sucks–I’ve been there’ texts and emails I’ve gotten from friends and readers. I also happened to catch an old Parcs and Rec on TV last week when I was glued to my couch in a post break up coma, and it made me seriously LOL. The fool who posted the video disabled embedding, so click the link below to enjoy these (fictitious but still amazing) breakup stories from Leslie Knope:
On the bright side, none of those things happened to me. And as awful as it was, at least D had the decency to 1. be honest with me and 2. end things in person.He could have faded away or even pulled a Jack Berger, although I’m pretty sure this is just the early 2000s version of a text breakup:
Do you have a break up story to share? And do you feel like cheering this dumped blogger up? Tell me about it in the comments and I’ll be forever grateful.
I heard this quote months ago and it really stuck with me. Not the ‘relationships are simple’ part, because that’s bullshit, but the idea that every single romantic relationship that I have in my life, aside from (hopefully) one, is inevitably going to end. Somehow, some way, it’s going to end. It’s a cynical, depressing thought, but it’s true.
It’s also what makes being in a relationship so f*cking scary: you never know when the ax is going to fall (unless, of course, you’re the one wielding it). For instance, I didn’t know when I bragged like an idiot about being “out of the dating game” on Monday that literally 24 hours later it would no longer be true. I just went about my business normally, answering questions about my boo at L’s parents’ Passover Seder on Monday night, thinking about what outfit I should wear to dinner with him on Friday (ahem, as in tonight…fielding that reservation confirmation call was a blast), and then…
via: film.com
D and Ibroke up. Well, correction: D broke up with me.
My co-bloggers were surprised that this post was done and ready to go so quickly after the…dumping, but honestly the only thing (aside from my wonderful, supportive friends and fam) that has made me feel better is writing. I literally sat down at my desk on Wednesday morning rocking huge sunglasses to hide my terrifying bloodshot eyes, and proceeded to word vomit this entire thing for the next hour.
This post (which ps has quickly evolved into a two parter–you should know by now that brevity is not my strong suit) was especially weird to write because I know for a fact that D is going to read it. I mean, how completely bizarre is that? I was mildly tempted to put on a cool/aloof front and act like I DGAF about what happened/am already moving on to greener pastures, but honestly, fuck it. I don’t really care how I come off; I don’t have the energy to be anything but honest right now (and also, apparently, dramatic). A part of me also feels oddly protective of D, 1. because it’s just me here telling one side of the story and 2. as you’ll read, he didn’t do anything awful or dishonest or douchey, so I have no intention of skewering him or over-sharing at his expense. I don’t feel the righteous anger of a woman scorned like I did with J or H. I honestly just feel…sad.
So… where to begin? I guess I’ll start by saying that while I was shocked when it happened, I wasn’t shocked that it happened. Things had been kind of weird between me and D for a few weeks. His job was very intense and he was in a bout of working crazy long hours, but he was also just acting…strange. Distant. Off. He would insist that it was work stuff and stress and exhaustion, and I know that he wasn’t lying about those things. Something else seemed wrong to me, though, but I felt like an asshole harping on it. I was trying so hard not to be a stupid clingy girl, because no one wants to be that girl. I told myself that it was hard to maintain a relationship with crazy schedules and limited time to see each other in person. I didn’t really share my uneasiness with my friends because I couldn’t pinpoint what I was uneasy about. Then I’d see D in person and things would be fun and awesome and great again, and I’d forget about the weirdness altogether.
Last weekend, D was out of town at a wedding and I was hosting a bunch of friends for L’s birthday. We didn’t really talk the whole time, but again, I attributed it to us both having plans and doing our own thing. When D got home on Sunday, we caught up on the phone and things seemed normal and good. He asked if I was around Tuesday night and if I was free to grab a drink (news flash: “grab a drink” is obviously the universal euphemism for “get dumped”. Now you know.)
Tuesday night arrived and it was pouring rain (of course it was–although it will set the scene nicely when this story is adapted for 0ur future TV series) so D picked me up. I immediately could tell something was up and asked him what was going on. It took him a while to get the words out but he finally said:
“I think we should take a break.”
Pop quiz, early Millenials! What’s the very first thing that comes to mind when you hear that phrase?
Even though I semi blacked out, as one does in these situations, I’m pretty sure I managed to mumble, “what is this, Friends?”. As D continued, I quickly realized that by “break” he actually meant “break up” (and everyone knows how “taking a break” always ends anyway. Especially Ross and Rachel).
D told me that he had been feeling weird about us for a little while, that his feelings for me had changed, and that he couldn’t stop thinking about his ex. Oof.
I’m not a particularly jealous person, but I couldn’t help but wonder about D’s ex who he broke up with over the summer. I was the first person he seriously dated after her and it was hard not to wonder if there were still lingering feelings there, although to be honest D hadn’t given me a reason to think that there were. I knew that he had seen the ex in question at last weekend’s wedding (of their mutual friends). He insisted nothing had happened between them aside the fact that he felt a real connection with her again, and he couldn’t ignore it, and it wasn’t fair to me for him to deny it or pretend that it wasn’t happening.
D kept going, his words only partially sinking in: he really cared about me, didn’t want to lose me as a friend, felt sick about hurting me, bla bla bla. What I heard was:
We sat in D’s car for a long time. Sometimes I talked and sometimes he talked, and sometimes it was awkwardly silent. I cried, because I don’t care what anyone says, getting dumped is completely traumatic/horrific, especially when you get dumped because your S.O. can’t stop thinking about someone else…
…but aside from the tears, the whole thing was strangely calm. There was no yelling. There were no alarm bells going off in my head telling me this was a mistake, that this was the right guy for me, that he was who I was supposed to end up with. I knew that while I cared about and felt close to D, my feelings for him were never that strong, and that despite having a great time with him, I couldn’t exactly picture a long term future with him either. Breaking up felt awful, but it also weirdly felt right. And that’s when I started to get mad, not at D (okay, obviously a little at D) but mostly at myself. For ignoring all the signals and not trusting my gut. For not calling D out on his weird behavior earlier. For not being honest about my feelings, with him or with myself.
So there I was, stuck in D’s car, hating myself, hating the universe, crying, my ego shot to hell, and wondering what the eff I was supposed to do next. Part of me wanted to run from that car like it was on fire; the other part of me felt glued to my seat. After we were both quiet for a bit, D assured me that he was happy to sit and talk for as long as I wanted, or still get drinks if I was up for it, or he’d take me anywhere I wanted to go. “I just need a minute,” I told him, blowing my nose pathetically. He nodded.
Finally, through the haze of emotions, I started to remember how my other relationships (and non relationships) ended in the past. And there seemed to be one common denominator: they each ended abruptly. When J broke up with me in a crowded bar I was so shocked and mortified that I literally ran out of there and never saw him or spoke to him again (well, save for a random little exchange last fall). When I ended things with H, my feelings for him were so strong that I knew in order to get over him/not get sucked back in I’d have to cut him out of my life completely. So it was the same thing; I told him it was over and essentially hung up on him. Both times I felt so unsatisfied, like there were things I wanted to say and ask but never had the chance to. If a relationship is a sentence, there were no periods at the end of those sentences (and I’m a stickler for punctuation- BADUM CHING). You know what word I’m about to use: the c word. No, not that c-word, dirty birds. Closure.
I wanted closure. I needed closure. And I decided I was going to get it.
I looked in the mirror at my ridiculously red, puffy eyes, and then over at D. “Take me somewhere dark where I won’t see anyone I know.” He nodded and started the car.
Stay tuned for the (thoroughly un-) dramatic conclusion to my break up saga next week.
You know when you’re in a job interview and the person asks you a totally weird or random question that you didn’t expect? There’s that first moment when your brain is trying to process it; that terrifying moment of ‘holy shit, I literally have nothing to say’? Yeah, that’s happening to me right now.
You guys, I can’t think of anything to write about. I have approximately 4 different drafts that I’ve started on various subjects, I just can’t come up with anything interesting, insightful, or witty to say about them.
I’m not gonna lie, it’s effing awesome. Believe me, I am NOT complaining. But for the purpose of keeping this blog going? Not so awesome. The thing is, I definitely still have past experiences to talk about, and I also have a whole new set of experiences to draw on, freak out over, and write about. AND YET, save for my thoughts on last night’s Game of Thrones ending (awesome except now I’m worried for Tyrion–K, what have you done to me??) and pictures of baby corgis occasionally drifting on through…
my mind is comically blank.
Meanwhile I keep picturing you faithful readers coming here, looking for a laugh, and being like,
Ahaha slow clap, slash don’t worry,D, Taylor’s basically cornered the market on pop/country breakup songs.
Ironically, as I was searching for ‘writer’s block GIFs’, I realized that I do have a few little tidbits to talk about. Incidentally, they’re both technology-related.
Online stalking
I’ll freely admit it: I still online stalk my exes with wild abandon. And come on, so do most of you peeps. I don’t do it because I have any interest in getting back together with them, or because I’m still into them at all. Hell no. It’s pure, unadulterated curiosity + a pathological need to find shit out. The thing is, sometimes this backfires, and you find out something you really weren’t meant to/didn’t want to know. Like, for instance, when I found out last fall that a certain self proclaimed commitment phobe who I couldn’t get to date me exclusively moved in with his new girlfriend, and I spent the better part of a week despondently repeating, “What’s wrong with me?” to my co-bloggers ad nauseum.
Conversely, in at least one case I’ve also stalked someone I used to go out with and gotten a good, cathartic laugh out of it. One dude who I dated last year has grown some absolutely TERRIFYING hipster facial hair; I’m talking gnarly Rumpelstiltskin beard + douchey waxed mustache. My girlfriends and I had a grand time LOLing at that greasy animal above his lip, and I felt on top of the God damn world.
One embarrassing (and more importantly, stupid) thing that I’ll admit to you guys about this proud stalking tradition: I usually stalk exes’ Twitter accounts FROM THIS BLOG’S TWITTER ACCOUNT. I mean, you want to talk about risky business…
I know, realistically it’s only a matter of time before I have a clicking mishaplike this one,an ex ends up reading this very post, and my life is over. So STAY TUNED for that.
Texting itself is bad enough for dating; I can traceSO MANY misunderstandings, stresses, annoyances, and just general weirdness back to texts. But read receipts are a special kind of torture, and for some unknown reason, all straight men with iPhones appear to use it. Literally none of my girlfriends use it. I sure as shit don’t use it. Because nothing says ‘I don’t care about you’ like a little confirmation that someone read your text and then….silence. Oh, thanks so much for giving me the heads up that you read what I wrote and then promptly walked away/watched DVR/went to Trader Joe’s/did your laundry/did your taxes/called your mom/jerked off before finally getting around to responding. That makes me feel fantastic! Meanwhile, if your read receipts were off, I wouldn’t think twice if it took you 20 minutes to respond. Because whoooo knows what’s going on over in your world. You may not have your phone! You may be trapped under something heavy! The possibilities are endless.
L and I went on a full tangent about this a few weeks ago after she lived through a particularly harrowing read receipt incident. I had to get to the bottom of this nonsense, so I went straight to the source:
Yeahhhhh. I mean, that would explain why all of my exes tortured me with this thing, because it’s well documented that I have a thing for nerdy dudes.In conclusion: single people reading this, I implore you to just say no to read receipts. If you don’t, you’re eventually going to look like an asshole or piss a potential love interest off. Probably both. Let’s all stick with the nice, civilized ‘delivered’, shall we? Anyway, between read receipts and that evil little ellipsis:
this technology shit is enough to drive any single person crazy.
Adam Levine physically repulses two out of three Stucu co-bloggers
This has exactly zero to do with dating or technology, but I just had to release an official statement regarding D’s picture of thatwalking herpes virus Adam Levine last week.L and I would like you all to know that neither of us condone the use of that gross image on this blog because omg, he’s the absolute worst. I mean, even if he is physically your jam (which ew, already judging you), how can you still feel that way when he opens his mouth? That voice! Ewwww the voice. Shudder. Never again, D. Not on our watch.
PS this blog is now home to not one, not two, but THREE 29 year old ladies! Happy Birthday, L!!!!
In order to explain today’s pics, I need to bore you guys for a hot second. Bear with me. When you upload a profile picture onto Okcupid, you’re prompted to crop it into a smaller thumbnail version. The small version is what appears in searches and on your profile’s homepage, so logically if your photo was taken from far away or includes other people, you can choose to zoom in on just your face so people can actually see you when browsing. Well apparently the cool thing to do these days (and I wouldn’t know because hi, rapidly approaching 30 over here)…
…is to crop your profile pic like a complete asshole.
Allow me to introduce the following samples into evidence. Here’s bachelor # 1’s thumbnail picture, which appeared on my homepage:
Admittedly harmless, but gee, I wonder who that ear and partial cheek belongs to? Probably someone super interesting. I mean, how coy. How mysterious. Let’s have a looky-loo at the rest of him, shall we? Clicking on his photo reveals…
A reasonably cute guy! Except he immediately kills my vibe with a newsies cap, and I have a strict no fedoras/newsies caps/pork pie hats rule. Seriously, if you’re wearing one of those, you’d better be on your way to sell some papes, or organize a child labor union with Christian Bale:
On to our next reveal, bachelor #2’s thumbnail pic:
What did we win? Oh just a creeper in a hoodie with gross looking cuticles. Swoon. How many failed attempts do we think it took this guy before he got the positioning juuuust right? 15? 20?
This is unrelated, but it must be noted that bachelor #2’s profile lists “going to the toilet” as one of his interests.
Bottom line: women don’t need you to show us that you’re pseudo-creative, unique, ironic, or mysterious, or whatever else you think you are by cropping your picture in this senseless manner. If you need to express yourself creatively please, get an Instagram account and bore your friends with your filter choices like a normal person.
Also, I’m sure you think your weird thumbnail will catch our attention, and clearly these have caught mine, but the only thing I feel is annoyance at having to work to figure out what you look like. I just. want. to see. your. face. And if I can’t, for me it’s an automatic…
One of the things I find to be most stressful about dating is the uncertainty. There is no one set of rules or guidelines to follow, so it’s basically the wild goddamn west out there–everyone is playing by their own rules and timelines, and you’re constantly wondering if you and another human being are on the same page. Naturally, this lends itself (at least in my case) to the following:
stress
wine drinking
constantly consulting one’s girlfriends on gchat
comical misunderstandings
Just off the top of my head, here are some timing-related questions that have come up in my few months of dating D:
When can you start packing an overnight bag to stay at the other person’s place? The first time I slept over at D’s I wasn’t sure if I was invited to stay the night (we had made plans to watch movies and that’s it). I didn’t want to be presumptuous, so I stuffed underwear, a toothbrush, face wash and Lord knows what else into my purse like a legit call girl. When he was all, “of course you’re invited to stay the night!” I started to pull random items out of my bag like I was Mary Poppins’ slutty niece. (I’m sure this is a proud moment for you, mom.) Of course now my overnight bag resembles something settlers would take on the Oregon Trail, complete with a full bevy of toiletries. #noshame
When is it cool to leave something AT the other person’s place, like a toothbrush or a hair dryer? We all (and by “we all” I mean TV loving ladies and gays in our late 20s and 30s) remember that SATC episode where Big presents Carrie with a pink toothbrush head and it might as well be a flawless 3 carat Tiffany cushion cut, it’s so significant. Also, FUN FACT: as L recently discovered, finding hair and beauty products in a guy’s apartment is a great way to spot a cheater.
When does the inaugural fart happen? And who farts first?(again, time to swell with pride, mom). FYI, if you just answered ‘never’, you are reading the wrong blog. I assure you. I actually have a soul crushing story about this that I’m not going to tell you all out of sheer humiliation. UGH fine, if you must know, it was me. I farted first. Super early on, too. For the record, it was IN MY SLEEP and I wouldn’t have even known about it if D hadn’t decided to fully traumatize me by telling me (In a totally teasing way, but still. FML).
When do you introduce your significant other to your friends and/or family?
When do you start referring to that person as your boyfriend/girlfriend/boo?
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Before many if not most of those questions can be addressed, there’s this fun little doozy:
When do you have the exclusivity talk?
If you haven’t been out in the dating world recently (you lucky bastard), you may think that after a certain stretch of time it’s just implied that you and the other person are exclusive. Let me assure you:
My experience with the ‘are we exclusive’ talk is comically limited. I’ve gotten really used to (and honestly, really comfortable with) some variation of the following:
Okc dude: Hey so, I really like you.
Me: I like you, too.
Okc dude: I just want to be completely honest: I’m not looking for anything super serious at the moment.
Me: Okay. Thanks for being honest.
Okc dude: But let’s keep seeing each other and see what happens?
Me: Sounds great.
In summary, the noncommittal dating anthem of our generation. I mean, thinking back on these conversations with guys is actually fairly depressing in hindsight. Not that there’s anything wrong with casual dating…
But if I’m being totally honest (with myself and you guys) on at least one occasion I definitely told myself I was cool with this arrangement when in reality I wasn’t, because I liked the person and didn’t want things to end. I know. Pathetic. But to quote a 90s goddess:
Back in January, D and I had this very talk (and by “talk” I mean the whole thing went down over text. Oh, modern dating.) As much as I’d like to say it just came up organically or I was brave and breezy enough to be direct with him over drinks, of course the reality was totally random and awkward. I wish I could screen cap the entire thing for your viewing pleasure, butmy phone decided to wipe all my texts when I updated my iOs, so this is me paraphrasing. Here’s how it went down:
Random Weeknight in Early January
Me: (in the middle of how’s your day type small talk) What are you up to tonight?
D: I have a date.
Me (internally): ………..
Me (trying to be breezy while I figure out what the eff to say): Oh, really? Where is it?
D: blablabla date details.
Me: Well, uh…have fun?
D: Thanks.
After that supremely awkward exchange, I sat and stewed. Wtf was he getting at, telling me he had a date? Is that what people do now? They just go out with each other and then openly share when they’re going out with someone else? I was pissed. Not about the date (okay, maybe a little about the date), because to be fair we hadn’t had an exclusivity talk at that point. I was still active on Okc, and I too had been out with someone else recently. And I of course didn’t know this at the time, but by this point D had already found the blog and was reading all about my dating shenanigans.
I guess I was just… insulted. Why was it necessary to tell me that instead of just saying he had dinner plans? Most people get that until you have the exclusivity talk, dating other people is basically a don’t ask/don’t tell situation. I knew, despite my instincts to not make a big deal out of things like this, that I’d have to talk to him about it.
Again, paraphrasing:
Me: So listen. I know we haven’t had any sort of talk about exclusivity, and that’s fine. You’re well within your rights to be seeing other people at this point. But could you just not tell me? I was a little taken aback when you did, and I think I’d just appreciate it if we didn’t bring it up to each other.
D: Of course. But to be fair, you asked what I was doing, and I wanted to be honest.
Me: I think this is a great example of being a little too honest. And I’m not trying to rush things. If you need time…
D: I don’t need time. I know who I like. (not gonna lie, I swooned a bit when he said this. It’s only after remembering it months later that I realized D never actually said he liked ME. He could have technically been talking about some other girl. Glad that worked out!)
D: I’m going to go on this date, because I don’t want to be rude and cancel the same day. But after that I’m done.
Me: Me too. So…we’re officially just seeing each other, then.
D: Yup.
So there you have it. Our first date was in mid-November so we had “the talk” about a month and a half into seeing each other. Now if D hadn’t created an opportunity, albeit an awkward one, for us to talk about this, I’m not sure how long I would have waited to say something. Probably another few weeks, tops.
What about you, readers? How long do you wait before having the exclusivity talk with someone? Do you just go for it or do you wait for the other person to bring it up first? Leave us a comment!
PS – this is completely unrelated to the subject of the post, but I can’t not bring it up. When I asked D about his date during our original convo, he revealed that they were going to a restaurant IN MY HOME TOWN in Jersey. The second he said that, I was positive I knew the girl (my little town is not exactly a hot date destination). Naturally, the next time I saw D I completely grilled him about his date. He was all waaaaaait, I thought you didn’t want to know about it and I was all dude, of course I do, because
I told him about my theory that I knew his date and he was all ‘Pssshhhh no way’. But you know what?
I WAS RIGHT. I TOTALLY KNOW HER. We went to high school together. Boom. I called it. Just had to gloat.
HAPPY SPRING!!!!! Dear God… I can’t believe we’ve actually pulled ourselves out of the dark, dirty gutter that was this winter and are seeing a light at the end of the tunnel! (West coast peeps, feel free to skip this weather rant. Also, f*ck off). It’s also a legitcity-wide holidayin my neck of the woods, so I couldn’t be more excited to haul ass to nearest Rita’s after work for a free treat.
Anyway, you may be wondering where we’ve been for the past few weeks. I know, we’re the worst. But since I don’t have an actual post about, you know, dating, to offer you at the moment, I thought I’d give you all a jaunty little update on what’s been going on in the lives of LSD. Because as you’ll soon see, our lives are riveting.
I’ll leave you to guess which bullet belongs to which blogger:
One of us is currently in the Caribbean on a “business trip”. While the other two of us know she’s actually working, we can’t help but use “business trip” in quotes since her Instagram is currently filled with pics of her drinking by pools.
One of us is MOH in a wedding next weekend and is also throwing the bachelorette two days beforehand. Shit is No. Joke.
One of us is neither out of town nor in a wedding, she’s just adopted a Dude-like attitude towards all non-essential life tasks lately:
One of us actually cares about March Madness. Gross.
One of us has a first date coming up on Saturday.
One of us is still seeing someone who clearly hasn’t figured out how crazy she is yet. Either that or he’s into the crazy. TBD.
One of us can’t stop referring to herself in the third person.
So there you have it. We’re alive, we’re (mostly) well, and we actually do have some fun updates if you can bear with our busy schedules at the moment. And here’s one final piece of good news: none of us are as stupid as this guy. Go us!
How are we doing out there, readers? Does everyone have a bleary-eyed, DST fueled case of the Mondays? Me too, friends. Me too.Well let’s take those feelings out on a total stranger, shall we?
As you loyal readers know, I’m seeing someone, but I’ve kept my Okc profile active for blogging purposes. I feel slightly sketchy about this, but D and I talked about it and he understands that my interests are purely professional/research related. As a certain hyperbolic but wise co-blogger of mine put it:
L: THIS IS YOUR CAREER
I have noticed recently that there’s a ‘seeing someone’ option that you can choose on your profile. The other day I clicked it on a whim, but I have to be honest, I don’t get it. What kind of weirdo would announce that they’re seeing someone on their profile, and then just stay on the site? (besides dating bloggers, of course.) I know, I know. The answer, obviously, is cheaters. Except if you’re in the market to step out on your S.O., why not just pull a J and lie about being single? Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not encouraging people to lie. Hell no. I just don’t understand the logic behind being perfectly willing to lie to your significant other but not to complete strangers.
Maybe I’m just super old fashioned/naive/jaded/need to read more Dan Savage. Maybe there’s a sea of people in open relationships out there, happily looking for some consensual, mutually agreed upon fun on the side via Okcupid. In which case, mazel tov! Truth be told, I have come across people in arrangements like that, but they’re always super up front about their unique situations on their profiles, I’m sure to avoid being thrown shade by people like me. So when that isn’t the case, and they don’t say a word about their ‘seeing someone’ or even ‘married’ status, I can only assume I’m dealing with a sketchball. Also, as we’ve experienced time and time again, the internet is full of liars. So there’s that.
I know, I know, I was technically lying for that month or so when I was no longer single and still on Okc as ‘single’. And my profile doesn’t explain my ‘seeing someone’ status either. I hear you. Good point. Huge hypocrite. That’s me.
Let’s move on, shall we? When I mentioned to D that I’d picked the ‘seeing someone’ option on my profile, he was confused.
D: But wait… won’t that prevent you from getting more crazy messages from dudes? Won’t they stop?
Me: I dunno. Maybe. Only one way to find out.
FYI, they did not stop. My message volume actually increased. I mean, the quality of the messages didn’t increase; if anything, that decreased, which I wasn’t even aware was possible given some of my past encounters.
Obviously, it’s Message Monday, so I have an example for you. I received a pretty standard one the other night, right as I was getting home from work. I clicked it open briefly on my phone to read:
I mean, certainly not the best message ever, but CERTAINLY not the worst. Semi complete sentences. Mostly correct spelling and grammar. Polite. Because I was heading out, I closed the Okc app for the time being, intending to reply later. I really do try to respond to anyone who writes me more than two words and appears to be reasonably sane, and tell them thanks but I’m just not interested. I think it’s only fair/polite, especially given the fact that I’ve been a non single person posing as single for the past few months.
Also, I didn’t forget to censor his profile pic; there was no need. More on that later.
Later that night, I noticed that I had a second message from the same dude:
What in the fuckity fuck? First of all, crazypants, less than two hours had gone by when you sent that. Some people have lives they’re trying to live. To quote a comedy great:
But that doesn’t mean I write a hostile follow up message to a total stranger an hour later calling them out like a mentally unstable lunatic. That’s not how this online dating thing works, because if it was, I’d have to quit my job to make time for all of the mentally unstable replies I’d be writing to people who were “very rude”.
Third, let’s consider the actual message sender for a moment, shall we? Take a look at his profile picture (his ONLY picture), which as I mentioned I’m able to show you all in its full, uncensored glory:
Ummmmmm…………………?
Real talk: that’s straight up the saddest excuse for a snowman that I’ve ever seen in my life. Here’s a tip: if you want to entice me with a snow creature, might I suggest this guy:
Olaf 4 Life.
And the final thing I noticed about this dude, which brings us back to my rant at the beginning of this post:
Oh, cute! Adorable. Now my blood was officially boiling. I had to respond. And I did:
My original reply was littered with obscenities, but I decided that restraint would be more effective. I sent this knowing it was self indulgent of me and totally unnecessary, but I didn’t GAF. I reaaaaally didn’t.
I blame my blinding rage on behalf of women everywhere for the fact that I didn’t even put two and two together at first. Sadly, it only occurred to me as I was writing this post that this dude totally messaged me because my status is ‘seeing someone’, and he (fairly) assumed I was also looking for some fun on the side. Yup. That’s definitely what happened.
Lol. Oh me. Do I feel bad about sassing him? Of course not! He was still an asshole and he still deserved to be put in his place. I regret nothing. But maybe I’ll just go back to my good old ‘single’ status for the time being, so as not to attract and get into a fight with every cheating douchebag in the tri-state area. Good call, right?
You may be wondering, dear readers, what happened to Message Monday. Welp, season 2 of House of Cards happened. Sorry to keep you waiting, but Frank Underwood’s Machiavellian scheming kind of took precedence. What’s that? Tuesday’s almost over, too? Shhhh. Quiet, my pretties.
Today’s Tonight’s featured message was, in a way, a nice break from the typically offensive, insane, and generally terrifying rants that make their way into our Okc inboxes. However, it was also a first for me:
Huh. I clicked on this dude’s profile and stared. He looked vaguely familiar, but nothing else about him was ringing a bell. Since I canceled my match.com subscription ages ago in a fit of rage and disgust, I had no way of checking my old messages to cross reference.
I kept staring at his pic, and still, nothing else came to mind. Not a name, not a topic of conversation, nothing. But I did recognize him. Confused and a little creeped out that a random dude not only remembered me from so long ago on an entirely different dating website but also knew my name, I sought the advice of an expert:
Do you like how after one (admittedly traumatic) incident, we now automatically assume every display of odd behavior in the opposite sex relates back to our blog? I mean…
Also, L seemed so shocked that I couldn’t vividly recall my match.com message history from over a year ago, and it made me wonder if I was being presumptuous in assuming this dude’s story was true.
That’s actually a totally fair point, L.
But now I was stressed out, too. L’s conspiracy theories continued to pour in, the last and most outrageous involving an ex of mine:
After freaking me the eff out with her insane theories, L ended up being right, of course. NOT about the message being from an ex of mine, which was a completely wackadoo hypothesis. She was right about it not mattering. As I’ve mentioned to you lovely readers, I’m seeing someone, which means that my Okc profile is currently being used for blogging purposes only. I’m not messaging people, and I’m not replying to messages unless it’s to politely decline a request to chat. In other words, I’m not going to go out with this dude, so whether he’s an old match.com acquaintance or one of our exes trying to out the blog, it really doesn’t matter.
Conclusion: next time we’d best leave the conspiracy theories to the experts.
Stupid Cupid 
