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Exes
It can be hard to watch an ex move on without you. Luckily, there are a few things you can do to make it better–like focusing on YOUR life instead.
According to Gawker:
Marvin Tramaine Hill II was arrested by Des Moines police yesterday after allegedly hitting his pregnant wife with a McDonald’s McChicken sandwich ”because he doesn’t like them.”
The Des Moines Register reports that when police arrived at Hill’s home Tuesday, he claimedhis wife was the one that assaulted him:
Hill said his wife woke him up around 1 p.m. with a McChicken in hand. He admitted to police that he became upset and threw the sandwich at her, then picked up some of the bun, throwing it at her again.
The woman went to the bathroom to clean herself up but Hill followed her and began recording her using his cellphone, which he later shared with police. In the video, police saw the woman knock the phone out of his hands.
Police apparently found Hill’s wife with “mayonnaise on her shirt and face;” she told police her husband “forcefully smashed the bun into her face.” Police arrested Hill and confiscated his weapons license.
Hey, let’s real talk for a second. This sounds like a far fetched, silly story but it happened to me! I had a similar experience. I can’t decide if this is comforting or deeply disturbing.
(Rusty Maples at Sofar Sounds LA)
I was at a concert last night — a low key performance in a stranger’s backyard — when my peripheral vision caught a boy in a beanie. My heart stopped for an instant. Was it THAT boy? The one boy who once took up all the space in my brain, but has remained a literal after thought since he told me he couldn’t see me anymore because his girlfriend was on to him.
Scenarios ran through my head like splitting hairs, detailing the different ways our encounter would play out. As the band of cute boys from Vegas played their stripped down set, I imagined what I would say if I took the high road, the low road, or maybe even no road at all. Did I need more lipstick or a new stick of gum? Who would be the bigger person and nonchalantly say hello? Would we just ignore the elephant of our aged affair?
And then, I looked again, and I realized it wasn’t him. I felt a little crestfallen, disappointed that I wouldn’t have the chance to let my cool breezy attitude make him feel remorse for the way he had treated me seven years ago. Because, of course, that’s exactly what would happen; I’m sure of it.
I hadn’t thought about this person, who’d made me feel a little less than when I was twenty-two years old, in so long, but suddenly this phantom sighting erupted dormant resentment.
I kept shooting side glances at this, albeit better looking, impostor, squinting my shitty vision just to make sure it wasn’t him. And, just to be mean to my own brain, for a few masochistic moments, I pretended it was him for no other reason than to childishly poke a weird little immature beast inside me.
(Me at 21 contemplating bad life choices, including this hair cut and boot cut jeans.)
I shouldn’t have continued dating Jason once I found out he sold weed. I probably should have just called it quits when he angrily threw a small McDonald’s French fry at me because I didn’t read his mind and buy a burger. And, I definitely shouldn’t have loaned him $1,000 over the course of the few months we dated.
At 21 years old, deciding to date a prop master/weed dealer seven years my senior—whom I met while doing background work on the set of a Dick Van Dyke Lifetime movie—was not a good idea. But, I’m not going to tell you about this sad unhealthy mistake I made in my early twenties. It’s a trite story that’s not very interesting. However, how I got back the money I loaned him definitely is.
“No good marriage has ever ended in divorce.” -Louis CK
A friend recently went on a date with an older man she met online. She texted me glowing reviews from the bathroom, and prospects seemed good. Over coffee a few days later, she explained that a future was moot: “I mean…it’s not even that he’s older, I could deal with older. He’s divorced.” My friend is 25, never married. Immediately I ‘understood’ her aversion, in the way that people are wont to make exceptions for their generally-held principles when subjective ethos gets in the way. For example, as I human I know that it’s unfair to judge divorcees. As the individual person chatting with my specific friend whose personal idiosyncrasies I’m acquainted with and whose specific happiness I’m invested in, I’m willing to step off that soapbox and agree that yes – personality and attractiveness aside – the 38 year-old divorcee may not be her hottest prospect, because he has a history of fucking up. Fair or not, there’s something about the scarlet letter of divorce that prompts us to question someone’s entire functionality.
“Today, I went to eat with him. I wasn’t ready. But I couldn’t say no. I am still drastically and disgustingly in love with this guy.” – Kristy
That’s the story of Kristy. She was in a relationship for eight years. She got a message from her boyfriend that was meant for some other girl. She confronted him and he left without any explanation. When she wrote this, she was still not sure whether he cheated on her or not. But she did know that the breakup was driving her crazy and she couldn’t continue to live like this.
The truth is, Kristy was trying to get back together with her ex. Not because she thought that the relationship with her ex was great, but because she thought she loved him. There is nothing worse than being in love with someone and wishing every moment that you weren’t.
Things are a lot easier when you decide you want to let go of someone compared to when you are still trying to reconcile. But in most cases, it’s hard to let go of the idea of getting back together, especially if you have been together for as long as eight years.
Let’s not get into details about getting over a breakup. There has been plenty said about that. Instead, let’s just concentrate on eliminating the desire of getting back together. Because as long as there is hope or desire to get back together, you can never truly move on.
He slams the door shut, making a beeline for the kitchen. My heart skips as I hear the pop of the kitchen cabinet smacking open, the years of layered paint kiss loudly as he yanks the handle. I hear him sloppily reach for the Wheat Thins, open the box, unfurl the plastic bag, and begin to shovel the sweet and salty crackers into his mouth.
I linger by the door until I’m ready to surrender myself to the next hour. I knew we shouldn’t have gone out tonight, I think to myself. I knew I shouldn’t have encouraged a third drink.
My shoulders relax as I gently pad to the edge of the couch and take a seat. I kick off my shoes and wait.
It’s about to be my one-year breakup anniversary. Had this been a “normal” breakup, I probably wouldn’t notice such an anniversary. Because I probably would have seen my ex multiple times since the breakup, and possibly slept with him a couple times / thrown his belongings back at him in an emotional post-breakup – “now we’re really done!” – fight, or found myself outside his house, chilling in my car with a boombox sitting shotgun, wondering whether I should blast Dashboard Confessional or Britney Spears to most accurately convey my love.
But this wasn’t a “normal” breakup.
I don’t actually know what “normal” breakup means, but I’m using it “in quotes” to mean that, for every other breakup I’ve been through, there have been unhealthy post-breakup conversations involved. Previous exes have wanted to see me or talk it out or try to get back together or stay friends or whatever people do. But this was a clean, rip-the-band-aid-off sort of breakup. The healthy kind? I don’t know.
In my life, I’ve had a lot of boyfriends. Not real boyfriends, though. Real boyfriends have flaws. They can let you down. When I say boyfriends, I mean “totally fictional dudes on TV shows or boy band members that I stanned for over a prolonged period of time and so now whenever I see pictures of them online, I feel like they’re my ex-boyfriends.” Men I’ve shared hefty emotions with, but never actually met, and have since parted ways with, amicably and mutually (or one-sidedly and creepily). While the men may not be real, my emotions for them were. Take a walk with me down the totally normal memory lane of my imaginary boyfriends.
Over the years I’ve come to realize that my relationship exit style isn’t entirely the norm. My philosophy has always been to leave the way I arrived: alone. It sounds cold but the fact remains: I don’t want to stay friends with an ex. I’m not sure what it even means to forge a friendship from the lifeless, mangled mess that I’m trying to escape. The last time it was suggested, my only response was, “What would that look like?” I don’t want to know.
Step 1: Break up and vow to remain friends.
Step 2: “Remain friends” by IMing each other the day after the break-up and acting as though everything is totally cool. After all, you two are mature adults.
Step 3: Spend the next year IMing and calling each other at least once a week. Mature friendship at its finest. You laugh at the people who can’t be friends with their exes. “This is what everybody makes such a fuss about?” you wonder. “This is easy!”
Step 4: Scroll through Facebook and pretend that seeing a picture of him with some other chick doesn’t drive you batshit crazy, because you both agreed that everything is totally cool, remember?
Step 5: No seriously, who is that chick? She keeps showing up on his Facebook page. Wait, who’s that other chick? Is he seeing two girls? Are they friends? Should you care? You don’t care. But maybe one more picture…
Step 6: Spend another year randomly messaging each other while not caring AT ALL about all of these pictures of him with another girl. Or series of girls. Who the eff are these girls?