Whether you’re currently single or coupled up, it’s always interesting to ponder how different your life might look if you’d made different relationship choices along the way. What if you’d stayed with the wrong guy, settled for the good-enough guy, gone on one date instead of another, or said “yes” instead of “no” (or vice versa) at a crucial romantic juncture? In honor of this month’s lovey-dovey holiday, we’re taking you on a tour or our Ghosts Of Valentine’s Day Past — exploring the strange, sad, and silly possibilities of our romantic lives that, for whatever reason, weren’t meant to be. Here’s Ami’s story…
When I was 13, I fell in love for the first time. Like, sleep outside so I could stargaze and stay up all night writing tortured poetry in love. His name was Jeremy and we met backstage on the set of “West Side Story,” a community theater play I was in with his older brother. Two star-crossed lovers from rival high schools. Once I got up the nerve to talk to the cute guy with the long-brown hair and the baja hoodie, I learned that in his spare time he liked to played the guitar and smoke pot. During our courtship, he made me a mix tape featuring his favorite tunes from The Cure, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and of course, the song “Jeremy” by Pearl Jam. It was love at first site, as we labeled it, and we often talked about running away and getting married … if only we had drivers licenses. But there was just one problem: his cat and my allergies were not compatible. That, and the fact that he cheated on me with a girl named Amy (the more common spelling) and broke my heart. But mostly, the cat. In my alternate universe Valentine’s Day, Jeremy and I are still together and here’s what we’re up to… Keep reading »
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 »
So you’ve finally found The One (or at least The One For The Foreseeable Future) and you’ve committed to a serious relationship. Now what? In our new weekly column, Life After Dating, we’ll discuss the unique joys and challenges of coupledom.
“What should we do for Valentine’s Day?” I asked my boyfriend.
He shrugged. I shrugged back. We looked at each other.
“I hate those prix fixe dinners,” he said.
“Yeah, me too,” I agreed. “So what then? What can we do that’s not dinner?”
We mutually shrugged once again and went back to talking about documentaries we wanted to see.
And that was that. We’re not doing anything for Valentine’s Day. Well, nothing special, anyway. 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 »
For the majority of my last relationship, my partner was in the throes of a slowly unwinding nervous breakdown. He moved to New York at the same time I did, and lived for a brief period in a state of almost too much togetherness, bound because we loved each other, but also because we didn’t know what else to do. There is a strange thing that happens when you first move to a new city. Stripped free of your usual comforts, you cling readily and fiercely to whatever is available. For us, it was one another, and that felt fine to me, but less so to him. With the stress of living in a new city and delving into a new relationship, his anxiety and depression blossomed beyond the average quarter-life crisis into something much more serious. Keep reading »
I walked into a posh, new restaurant in Alphabet City and asked a guy in a black suit (amidst other guys in ratty chinos and un-tucked oxford shirts) about my reservation. Like a gentleman, he laughed and explained in a sexy Aussie accent that he wore a suit because he was a sharp dresser, not because he was a host at this restaurant. Blushing cheeks, a good laugh and I had Jack’s phone number.
Jack the Australian had cool, blue eyes and black hair, and if I need to say more than that, I can. He was an air traffic controller. An extra cool, rom-com worthy job. He quickly racked up bonus points; funny in a dorky way, up for anything, including flea markets and whiffle ball, and actually used dish soap. He even had a continual Scrabble game going with his elderly neighbor. Keep reading »