Tonight, since you’ve all been such patient, well behaved little kiddies, I have an extra added treat for you! The following is a guest posting from a friend who’s just re-entered the dating pool.
And that’s all the context you need, since she does a wonderful job of telling her own story!
I’m hoping to have more guest postings coming up soon – if any of you are interested in sharing some of your dating adventures let me know!
Mid-twenties Break up And Date On: A Question of Etiquette and Myth
We have our unspoken girl codes and guy codes, but there’s no rule book here. However, I’d imagine by the time a man is nearing thirty he’d have some sort of inner voice that would tell him: “Stop acting a’douche bag or you’ll end up in the hospital one night after you try to hump your beer can.”
My two year relationship ended a little over a month ago. How did he do it? It was a combination of pre-text break up and an “it’s not you, it’s me” speech. You know, the classics.
A pre-break-up text is a break up but with a verbal confirmation in person. “Can we sit and talk later i just dont feel happy any more things dont feel like they click with us anymore…”
There’s the obvious break down, but however tactless it is the pre-break-up text allows you to prepare yourself, kind of like the few seconds before the judge sentences a criminal to death. It affords the texter a bit of distance: [A] the coward doesn’t have to see your face, [B] the coward can’t talk himself/herself out if it, [C] the coward may do better with typing, if s/he can spell at all.
It’s almost (not really) the equivalent of the letter on the bed and the absent partner. It’s more awkward. It’s less personal, which reinforces the verbal confirmation break up: “It’s not you, it’s me.” His version of this speech was: “I want to travel the world. I can’t do that with attachments. Etcetera.”
I can respect that. I want to travel the world. I want to go to graduate school. I don’t want to pop out 2.5 kids for you while you paint the fence white. Our dreams are wisps. Our future is immersed in a thick fog and you can only see your hand in front of your face. Understood. What I liked about my previous relationship is the sense of freedom for the future of the relationship: We would choose to marry or just live out life together without the piece of paper. We could choose to have children. We could still pursue each of our dreams. Awesome. Minus the impending fear that your partner in crime is going to murder that gorgeous sense of self you have, annihilate your freedom.
Only, he didn’t like growth. In the tradition of being a woman, being vocal, here’s my take: He turned chicken. His dreams are so big that he will restrict himself to his shoe box of choice. Exhibit A: Broke off relationship. Exhibit B: Started smoking and doing all the things he said that he wouldn’t do anymore so he could be a healthier man and pursue his dreams. Exhibit C: Distraction. Zipping from point A to B so that he doesn’t have to see the fog. That scary, dreary gray of life.
So now I am broken by the little things: Not being able to sneak and hear the floorboard creak beneath my feet as I crawl in bed beside him and try to be close, feel his arms wrap around me tight, reassurance that I am safe, trust that I am loved. It’s the one thing that weakens us all…. It’s not a weakness. It’s just a need. That my “faults” are the truest perfections. That my unique expression of humanity is beautiful. And, it is. It is. I remind myself of that, and though I hurt, I’m really OKAY.
I look around and I see everyone popping out the 2.5 kids, getting married, etcetera, and that’s great for them. I am happy for them. I think the important thing that each of us need to work with in these situations is: Awareness. Be aware of yourself and where you are. It’s okay if you’re indecisive. Humanity is a writhing mass of indecisiveness.
So, for the first time I started an OK Cupid account. No one asked to see my boobies. Yet.
That’s for you, folks.
I’ve came across some interesting greetings, like mini, hilarious elevator pitches in PM format.
They illustrate that they’re different from the “show me yer boobies” men:
1 Hello ma’am. How are you?
2 Hi…my name is…
3 How was your weekend?
4 You’re pretty. I like cake and my dog, Bob. He’s my best friend.
5 (Haven’t gotten anything about cake. Yet.)
The 93% Pitch: 93% is pretty good…if you believe it means something, although I’ve found people under 80% to be grossly incompatible. Oh, wait! I was supposed to have a “gurl u iz hawt” overture or something equally classy. I’ll deliver next time!
They try to scare you in advance: Boo! (The softest core scare possible. Others, they tell you how their life is royally screwed and they want to screw you, too. Congrats.)
So, including all of the above, they mention how much land they have, or that they’ve got a rich, stable job, or big boobies:
Sooo, I’m not going to be cheesy/lame like most other guys and call you hot, sexy, etc. I’ll just say you seem prettyyyyy interesting. I’m a doctor around Winston Salem and there’s never a dull moment with me. Hope to hear back…you won’t regret it. Pinky promise
The pinky promise and winky face did appeal to my childlike nature and so we started picking on each other. I nicknamed him Dr. Fancy Ass because we both had so much in common, such as sitting on our relative asses chatting on an online dating site. So, yes, a supposed doctor, at least of fancy buttocks, with a quirky sense of humor. I have to admit that one intrigued me.
I did go on a date to test the waters of the dating market and to judge where I was emotionally. After all, both of the sexes are so good at suppressing emotions we never know what we’re keeping from ourselves. Just a nice girl and a nice guy testing the waters.
Shortly after my break up with my ex, a few weeks in the process of moving out, I found a piece of paper the dog had destroyed: a girl’s phone number. The name happened to catch my eye. And I cried. I am OKAY, but my armor doesn’t deflect everything. I was AWARE that I was hurt. It wondered if it was new, or was something going on with this girl behind my back? Why destroy something we both believed in, or was it that we wanted to make-believe because it was safe? I don’t know. I embrace the fog and move through the gray.