In between his overnight shifts this weekend, my boyfriend (that’s the first time I’m calling him that, and it’s weird considering he might soon be my ex-boyfriend) called me to check in and see how I was doing. Around Wednesday, I found myself in a bit of an emotional funk, feeling unsettled in pretty much every aspect of my life: my friendships, my relationship and my living situation, to name a few. There’s been a certain lack of stability with each one recently—most notably, the possibility of Officer Handsoming being transferred nearly two hours away for work, which he first warned me about last week.
After I quickly recapped my Friday night and told Officer Handsoming that I was still feeling like there were a bunch of balls up in the air, I took his silence as a sign that he was about to add to the anxiety. Keep reading »
Officer Handsoming and I had “the talk.” Well, sort of. I knew that if I didn’t bring up our relationship status soon, my exclusivity limbo anxiety would bubble up inside of me and explode. So, I forced myself to ask.
“I have a question,” I started. “I want you to be honest. Are you seeing other people, or, rather, do you still want to see other people?”
The Oh God, This Conversation Is About To Happen look on his face told me he knew that we were about to embark on a trip to Exclusiveville. Keep reading »
There’s no worse feeling than not knowing. And after Patrick Bateman’s web of lies (which, let’s be honest, will probably haunt me for the rest of my life), I feel the need for constant relationship reassurance. I hate the unanswered questions, and I hate the unknown. Officer Handsoming and I are currently in that unknown, and I don’t like it one bit.
Allow me to set the scene: My friends and I were drinking champagne and decided to go dancing. Despite the fact that I’d already reached my desired level of buzzedness, I gladly accepted the shots of Fireball that the bartender bestowed upon us, even though I knew I’d regret it in the morning. While we were throwing back our whiskey, my chatty girlfriend made nice with a group of guys standing next to us, who were also enjoying some drinks on the house.
“Hi there,” a Leonardo DiCaprio look-a-like said to me, shaking my hand. I shook his hand back, and walked away to check my phone and text Officer Handsoming, who happened to be working an overnight shift. Keep reading »
I’m happy to report that things are, for the first time in a long time, going well in my love life. In fact, they’re really great. Over the last month and a half, Officer Handsoming and I have hit upon pretty much every “getting to know you,” milestone appropriate for a six-week courtship, making this the most “normal” relationship I’ve been in for a long while. He wasn’t rushing to jump into bed with me, he didn’t ghost me after a couple of weeks, and most importantly, he doesn’t seem to exhibit any signs of having another girlfriend (a huge plus after the hell I went through with Patrick Bateman). Keep reading »
“Any Patrick Bateman news?” I jokingly asked my friends Rick and Beth.
“Last time I heard anything about Patrick Bateman was right before his wedding,” said Rick.
I nearly choked on my water. “HE’S MARRIED?! TO WHO?” He and Beth exchanged an “oh shit, we thought she knew” look.
“That girl. The other one he was dating when you guys got back together,” added Rick sheepishly.
The sound of boozy patrons, loud jazz music, silverware clinking against plates seemed to come to a screeching halt while I tried to register what I’d just heard: my lying, cheating ex-boyfriend, Patrick Bateman, tied the knot. Keep reading »
Everything went swimmingly on date number two with Officer Handsoming. In fact, it was perfect. Much to my delight, he did not morph into a stage-five clinger, ask my breast size or give me any indication that we will ever end up on an episode of “Dateline.”
Instead, he took me to a new wine and burger bar (knowing that I’m a sucker for Cabernet Sauvignon and red meat), opened doors and listened intently as we chatted. Time flew by while we talked about the movies that make us cry (“The Family Stone” and “The Green Mile” for me, and “Remember Me,” for him), what it was like growing up with divorced parents, and how much we both love Jennifer Lawrence, because, honestly, who doesn’t? We continued the date back at my place, where we rented a movie, got under the covers and rounded first base like naughty teenagers. And when we finally stopped sucking face, I wore my newfound beard burn like a badge of honor.
“I really like you,” he told me. “I’m already looking forward to next time.” Keep reading »