I'm sorry for the lapse in posts, I've not only been nursing a badly bruised heart, but also have had a hell of a time connecting to the internet lately. (Seriously... any CPU geniuses wanna help a girl out?)
Anyway, my friends would all tell you that they love my dating life, because they’re all in committed relationships and here I am, “happy as a clam” as far as they know, dating most of the under-40 year old population within an hour of my house. They like living vicariously through me, and get a kick out of my stories. And I play it off as though that’s all I want; a little entertainment, a free dinner, some attention, a good laugh.
Well, you know what?? That isn’t what I want. I was really fucking exciting to begin a new relationship, after all this time has gone by; after thinking I’d never find someone I liked on that level again. It was exhilarating to know that there was someone who felt the same way about me, too. Much to my friends’ chagrin, I was thrilled to dive off the single boat into Boyfriend Sea.
I’ve spent much of this past week dwelling on what happened on Easter. How could he? How could I let something like that happen? How could that delicious quiche have gone to waste? I’m a good person. I’m generous, kind, and thoughtful. I have a lot of love to give! I know… everything happens for a reason. What was the reason!?
The more I think about it, the more I realize that I do, in fact, deserve what happened. Here it is. I’ll admit it. I’ve been in the same situation before. But I wasn’t the one being played like a fool. Karma, you are such a bitch.
About a year and a half ago, pretty soon after the Breakup, I spent so much time and energy looking for a new guy that I didn’t care where I found him. Hours a day were spent on Craigslist personals, Match.com, eHarmony, Myspace, Facebook, Engage, and any other website you could think up. I wasn’t just perusing; I was a cat in heat and on the prowl.
I had posted one of my many Craigslist ads, proclaiming that I was “new to the area” (lies) and looking for “new friends,” (or sexy boys for dating and kissing) along with the best picture of myself I could find. It wasn’t long before my inbox was filled as usual, but one caught my eye. Exceptionally well-spoken, a little suggestive, and extremely vague, I couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was about this response that I liked. The mystery? The fact that he didn’t suggest kinky sexual activities, or tell me what car he drove? His picture was from 200 feet away, taken on the beach, from behind. He was hiding something. Maybe I knew him! I had to know.
We exchanged emails and I asked plenty of direct questions and received very subtle answers. By this point, all this mystery guy had told me was his first name (Brent), his age (27), the area he owned a house/ lived in (down the street from me and very swank), and his occupation (engineer). But that was it. It finally struck me one day…. He had to have a girlfriend, and I asked. For the first time, he was direct.
“It isn’t as black and white as that. I’m not going to lie. I do. But she’s moving across the country in the next few weeks and then it’s over. I’m not saying I’m single, or trying to have something lined up. I’m just open to meeting new people.”
Fair enough. He started to open up a bit more. He even sent me the link to his Myspace account. And he was hot! He wouldn’t add me to his friends, for fear that I could start leaving him comments or something. Looking at his profile, I found he was on the same marathon team as my roommate (who said she had met both him AND his girlfriend, who she said was a “total snot”) and had a seemingly perfect relationship with said snot, who posted him obnoxious “I love you Baby!” comments daily. Eventually, he admitted that they lived together. As much as my conscience should have kicked in and given me the “do unto others” speech, it didn’t. We made plans to meet.
Brent arrived at my house the following day, but insisted that I meet him down the street in case my roommate saw and recognized him (little did he know I had already showed her his MySpace) . I got into his (beautiful, foreign) car and we headed off to the countryside for a day of wine-tasting. Conversation was awkward, and I finally asked him how he’d phrased his plans for the day to his photographer girlfriend. “I didn’t have to,” he told me. “She never asks what I’m doing when she’s in the middle of a shoot.” Our flirting heated up with each glass of wine. After a few hours he said he needed to be getting back, but he would try and get out later to see me again. He dropped me off, and only an hour later texted me, saying he would come over as long as my roommate wouldn’t see him come in. I promised. When he arrived, he held my jacket in his hand (which I had unintentionally forgotten in the backseat) and berated me for being careless. As wrong as it was, I ate up every moment of it. We watched a movie on my bed, but didn’t kiss.
It started off innocently enough; occasional meetings, flirting, but no kissing or touching. An obvious attraction between us grew, and he called me one night, drunk and standing outside my bedroom window, demanding that I let him in. Despite my protests, he kissed me and we stayed up until the sun rose, making out aggressively; exhilarated in our sexual tension and how immoral it was.
Weeks turned into months, and when I would ask him when she was moving, he would give me vague answers. “It’s looking like next month.” “Sometime in the next few weeks.” “She hasn’t signed her lease yet but I think she found a place.” Our encounters became more frequent and his excuses for her began to run dry, until finally one day they packed up her things and drove her car across the country. He called me from the airport before his flight home left, to let me know he had gotten me a gift in NYC and couldn’t wait to see me.
Occasional turned frequent, and things seemed to be going well. I asked, one evening, why he still wouldn’t add me to his Myspace. “We haven’t quite broken up yet.” My heart dropped. From then on, things were strained, and we told each other less and less about our lives (yet the makeout sessions didn’t change). I casually announced one evening that I would be moving back down south, and his reaction made me wonder if we were experiencing two different relationships. I couldn’t understand how he could be so upset that I would leave, considering he was already in a relationship with someone else. We hardly spoke for the next few weeks.
Two nights before I left, he called me drunk and outside my window again, demanding that he come up. “I broke up with her. It’s done. Don’t leave me. You don’t have to leave now.” I, of course, wasn’t leaving over him, and was leaving despite him.
Since I moved here a year ago, and although I have many friends who I could stay with when I go to visit my old city every once in awhile, he is invariably the one I call. Without my asking if I can stay, he asks what time I’ll be in town and where he'll meet up with me. I go out, see my friends, have a great time, and we meet up at the end of the night for a hot makeout sesh like the old days. Other than my visits, we very rarely speak. Recently, he started IMing me more frequently, and told me how much he looks forward to my visits, and that he will be down in my area over the summer for a wedding and wants to see me. He casually mentioned that his ex-girlfriend had moved back from New York, but refused to talk about it when I asked him if they had seen each other.
Just days ago, I took a peek at his Myspace page, to find that he is now “In a Relationship” with her again. Interesting how things come full circle.
Oh, karma. You vengeful slutface.
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