In the few months following my breakup from Mr. Ex-Jessica, if and how to couple up again has hovered in the periphery of my mind. It’s clear to me that I’m still very sore about the breakup and earning my trust will be a slow, perhaps even
Sisyphysian Sisyphean, task for a man. But still I want occasional companionship: although there’s plenty of things to enjoy about being newly single, like lots of time to read books and hang out with my girl friends, it’s also nice to have drinks and flirt with a dude sometimes. I am OK at this point with that companionship being totally casual. In fact, I think it has to be casual. I’m not ready to be in a committed relationship or to be anyone’s girlfriend so soon.
I thought I’d found someone online to casually date: he’s smart, he’s funny, he took care of me, and he understood how sore I still am from the breakup. He’s an all-around wonderful guy who would make a great boyfriend to someone. It warmed the cockles of my black, bitter heart to know that there are good single men out there. But after about six weeks or so of going on dates once or twice a week, it became clear to me that our personalities are just too different. We clashed so many times that the romantic butterflies flew away, so to speak. I wrestled with the idea of continuing to date him because, after all, it was just casual. But putting myself in his shoes, I asked if I’d want someone to keep going on dates with me even if they weren’t feeling anything anymore. I decided “no” and that I would end things with him.
But the way I finally broke up with him was just … not … good. Keep reading »
Wow, what a crazy past few months. I believe I cared for myself pretty well after my big breakup, which was now almost four months ago. I surrounded myself with my family, which was easy because I moved back in with my parents. I spent a lot of QT with my girl friends. I drank and shopped and watched crappy TV shows, as you do. When I felt ready to poke my head out of my hole and venture out on dates again, I splurged on a couple pairs of sexy heels. I kept myself busy buying furniture for my new apartment, being a good sister and friend, doing my taxes — anything I could think of.
Now I’m all moved into my new place. I go on dates with a new guy, casually, once or twice a week. After months of tiny tornadeos wrecking havoc on the blessed life I had six months ago, outward appearances look like the dust has finally settled.
Inside? That’s a different story. Keep reading »
For years after my ex and I broke up, I used to like to play this game where I’d compare myself to him. This was not a fun game. He had just written a bestselling novel, was living with his girlfriend, and bought a house. I felt like he had really “made it” in every way that mattered – career, relationship, and home. But after all this time I was still struggling and still single. Failing, it felt like. A failure. Keep reading »
So I’m sure by now you’re all completely over the whole royal wedding thing.You’re tired of the wedding plans and the photos and the guest lists and the entire country of England. I get it. But I’m going to bring it up one last time because I just can’t seem to wrap my head around this one concept.
According to sources, the prince and his blushing bride will be inviting six of their exes to the wedding. (Two of hers. Four of his.) And apparently there’s some sort of etiquette behind this that requires them to do so. But I mean, come on. I know they’re royalty and all and they don’t have much of a choice, but is this something the rest of us are going to have to do as well? I hope not. Because I definitely won’t be inviting my exes anywhere. I don’t even want to see them at the coffee shop never mind at the rehearsal dinner…
This train of thought of course, got me thinking about my own ex encounters, which had me cringing and triumphing at each one in turn. And this of course had me thinking about the dos and don’ts of ex-boyfriends, and that, of course, is how you wound up with this list. Read more… Keep reading »
This morning, as part of my pre-work routine, I logged onto Facebook and noticed it was my friend Joel’s birthday. As I was clicking over to his page to leave a “Happy birthday!” message on his wall, it suddenly occurred to me, Wait. That means it’s his birthday as well. My ex, that is. It had slipped my mind completely. It was the first year since we broke up that I had completely forgotten, where I didn’t have it on my mind for at least a few days, eager to use it as an excuse to email him — not because I wanted to get back together, mind you, but because I still was slightly invested in how he was doing and what he was up to. But this year, I forgot his birthday and wouldn’t have remembered if I hadn’t been reminded, inadvertently, by Facebook. As for using it as an excuse to email him? Meh. I have taxes to do.
It seems to me that forgetting an ex’s birthday is a pretty solid sign that you are over it. Over him, over the relationship, over the anger, over the heartbreak. Happy birthday, indeed! It took me a long while to get here, I’ll admit, but over the last few months I’ve noticed some other signs that I’ve officially closed the book on that relationship and how it ended. Keep reading »
The other day, my new dude, Juan, and I were talking about breakups. We both went through bad ones in the past six months or so and he has a female friend who’s in the drinking-and-crying stage of a breakup now. (‘Tis the season, I guess?) After they hung out, Juan told me he could still recall the sting she’s feeling right now.
“I remember how that is: feeling like no one is ever going to love you in the same way again,” he said. “You feel at that time like it couldn’t possibly happen ever again … even though you know logically that it will.”
When he said that, something clicked in me. That’s it. That’s the anxiety that I have been feeling these past three months after the end of a love affair. I have a complete willingness to get back on the saddle but have been feeling like no one is ever going to love me “in the same way again.” The feeling — for whatever reason — that I had only one chance at this.
Tila Tequila gets, like, 45 shots at love. Why did I convince myself that I don’t get more than one? Keep reading »
Karma’s a bitch, dude. This morning, I was frolicking through Starbucks, smiling to myself about how awesome my life has gotten. On Friday, I’m moving out of my parents’ house and into my own apartment. Today I woke up next to my new Gentleman Caller the night after we decided to date each other exclusively. The sun is shining. The birds were trilling. Tra la la la la la la!
And then I ran into the woman whose ex-boyfriend cheated on her with me two years ago. A woman who didn’t respond to my multiple apologetic emails because, let’s be honest, she probably hates my putrid guts. Keep reading »