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The guy who knows you best, eliciting a combination of fond memories and frustrating emotions. For better or worse, he’s on a first-name basis with almost everyone in your life and understands what a pain your mother can be.
At a party with my female friends a week or so ago, there was a lot of talk about nicknames. In an email friend chain, we’d circulated the recent column from The Atlantic detailing the trend for ladies to affectionately (or not so affectionately) nickname the men in their lives with stuff ranging from semi-cutesy (“Hot Deli Counter Guy”) to pretty darn demeaning (“Limp Dick McGoo.”)
[For the record: It is very mean to call a person you’re intimate with “Limp Dick McGoo”. You should not be dating someone named this. If you find yourself referring to the person you’ve elected to spend romantic time with as “Limp Dick McGoo”, please consider that Limp Dick McGoo is not the only one with some, er, functional issues.]
So, last night we said goodbye. For a while, and then we’ll come back and it will be season 3 and an ambiguous amount of time will have passed, and it will still be sunny in New York. It could have been a hard goodbye, but they made it so easy! What with all the happy endings and stuff falling right into place, for people who did nothing to earn it.
Warning: this recap may (will) be emotional and will include my wishes for season three. Because if I put them out there in the universe they’ll totally come true, right?
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?
1. Sleepwear, preferably his favorite pair of flannel PJ’s, a Henley for “boyfriend fit” days, and maybe a couple pairs of thick socks while you’re at it. You never know when you’ll need them.
2. That one bomb-dot-com recipe he gave you. Or at least the knowledge of certain domestic skills required to follow said bomb-dot-com recipe. For example, the proper technique for dicing an onion, or cooking chicken all the way through.
I, on the other hand, pride myself on being straightforward, unambiguous and (eventually……) friends with (basically….) all of my Exes. And yet. When I “broke it off” with DirecTV nearly five months ago – clearly, respectfully and over the phone – I had no idea that I was in store for a begging, pleading, making-up fest, including almost-daily desperate emails, Paula Broadwell style.
Whether the marketing folks at DirecTV are freaks or geniuses, or both, the barrage of email I have received from them – playing on and playing up – break-up terms is mind-boggling, emotionally unsettling and hilarious.
A fairy tale it is not. In truth, it is pretty f*cked up. And by it, I mean my love life. Your love life. Our (collective) love lives in the post-dating world.
It’s been nine months since I’ve last written about the Hot Sex Prospects, OK Cupid Paramours, Guys Who Just Blew Me Off, and Manly Men who comprise at various times, and in various ways, my f*cked up love life. I could have had a baby in those nine months (sorry, Mom!) But instead, I have still been at “it.” Cultivating my dah. Opening myself up to my love life. Hoping to find love – and maybe myself? – amidst a crowd of not-so-shining stars, caught up in a never-ending, techno-romantic tornado of text messages, Skype convos, “games” of words with “friends,” and half-finished e-conversations, crashing, at times, to Earth – IRL – with the wind knocked out of me.
When I decided to leave the stability of my career and the comfort of my home for the uncertainty and impermanence of graduate school in a new city, it was hard to admit whether I was running towards or away from something.
I had spent two-ish years getting my heart repeatedly smooshed by someone who didn’t want to commit to me, but wanted to keep me around. At times, it was wonderful (“I love you, you’re beautiful”), at others, it was downright abusive (“You’re disgusting and smothering me”). I was convinced this was it, and that no one aside from him would ever want me – in part, because he regularly said so.
I’m in love! The deep, profound, stirring, giggly, excitable, crazy, starry-eyed kind of love. I wasn’t expecting to find it when I walked into the new Apple store on 67th & Broadway – I certainly wasn’t expecting to purchase it for $499 – but there it was. Love at first site. Love at first (i)Touch. It was a magical and revolutionary feeling.
“Darling, some of my best friends are exes…”
(paraphrased Tallulah Bankhead)
He’s your ex because you dumped him as soon as you got to college and realized varsity cross country runners were hot.
He’s your ex because he “wasn’t ready to commit” after a few days / weeks / months of…whatever…!
He’s your ex because you didn’t feel like yourself with him; somehow after years of growing together you somehow had grown apart.
He’s your ex because it just wasn’t working, and he wasn’t willing to keep working on it.
He’s your ex because. Yeah. Well. That text message. Moving on.
These (post-dating) days, there are endless varieties of exes. It makes sense, given the overwhelming complexity of our make-it-up-as-you-go, self-realized, technology-enabled lives. He could end up filling any number of roles in your dah, right? So it only makes sense that he would also play any number of roles in your life after your “relationship” ends.
In case you missed it (even though I know you didn’t, because you became my fan and signed up to receive email alerts whenever I put up a new article, right? you’re not playing hard to get…right?), the latest Huffington Post piece went up yesterday:
Forget Dating: The Guys You’ll Meet on the New Path to Love
Yep, you guessed it. We’re talking about the guys in your dah!
Hoping to catch up on all things dah? You’ve come to the right place.
datingandhookup.com is a website that explores modern romance in the Millennial era – which, let’s be honest, looks nothing like we were taught to expect. We feature essays, advice and social commentary with humor, compassion and brains, and we vow never, ever to publish a piece called “The 10 Best Ways to Satisfy Your Man in Bed”. Do click to submit your work to us. We love you.
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