#breakupblogger

[thebreakupblogger]

Finding Friends in Random Bars

So I promised a certain stranger-turned-friend a post all about him and it's about three weeks late, but here it is:

Sometimes when you're pretty much sure that you suck, that all guys suck, and that humanity in general sucks, the universe gets it and rewards you with a little reminder that maybe there are like a handful of non-sucky people. That was a very articulate sentence, I know.

Anyways, judging from my last post, you can imagine my level of frustration with all the lame guys I have been meeting in the past few months. Honestly,I had pretty much resigned myself to the fact that pretention has no single homebase, but, in fact, dwells on both coasts and I would most certainly end up living the life of a lonely spinster or, even worse, a weird cat lady.

And then on a stiflingly hot Saturday afternoon, after blowing off my boss' request for me to come in to work and "help out," a friend and I wandered into a dark-wood paneled bar nestled amidst a busy stretch of restaurants in the Park Slope neighborhood of Brooklyn.  Halfway through our individual pitchers of mimosas, a scruffy-looking guy with a baseball cap and cargo shorts plopped down next to me and pulled out a laptop. Within minutes we had struck up a conversation, quickly hopping from our love of Venice (where he was visiting from on business) to my travels abroad in India.

Somehow we stumbled upon the topic of this blog and he insisted he be allowed to read it. I furtively shook my head no, but by the time I had drained my carafe of champagne and his nagging had worn me down, I gave in and reached over to pull it up on his computer.

Embarrassed, I hid my face as he read the first post. I heard him chuckle and I looked up. He begged me to pick another one for him to read. We read different posts and he laughed and I cringed and finally laughed too. We talked about politics and people, the cities we'd lived in, our passions, and a little of our pasts. All in all, we clicked. At the end, I waited for him to ask for my number.

He didn't, but what he had to offer was way better. He told me how he had fallen in love with this girl back home and how it had changed him. He was pretty sure she was the one. He also told me that I was an amazing woman (his words, not mine, I swear) and how I shouldn't be worried about "finding" someone. 

I didn't go home and sleep with this guy. I didn't get a kiss or a number. What I got, though, was a renewed sense that it is possible to connect with someone even if it's just for an hour, that you never know who is going to sit next to you in the bar at two in the afternoon, and that there really are good guys out there. So Rafael's girlfriend, you are one lucky lady. And I'm feeling pretty lucky again too.

[thebreakupblogger]

Ignoring Your Inner Psycho-Child

It has been 647 days or 1 year, 9 months, and 9 days since I took to the internet to share my every OCD, homicidal, self-piteous feeling after my breakup with my ex. I know this because I just used a website to calculate this, which evoked a mix of emotions, not the least of which was shame that I still scan Facebook on a nearly weekly basis for traces of him. But something has changed because when I come across proof that he does still exist-- a smiling picture here and there of him and his girlfriend, his new business' website, and even Youtube videos-- two emotions sweep over me and neither of them is longing. Honestly, I can only explain my continued digital hunt as a bad habit, a tic of sorts, something to occupy my time while avoiding looking for a grown-up job that will utilize my degree. You see, I don't fucking miss him anymore. I really don't. I'll admit I am at once jealous of his new life without me and of his happiness, but more than that I am RELIEVED. Because I have changed-- all those terrible qualities he used to accuse me of, I have,for the most part, grown out of-- and when I see his arrogant grin smiling out from pictures, I know he hasn't. It may have taken me nearly two years to get here, but I have finally reached a point where I can say I DON'T want him back. I mean, if it wouldn't be so insanely weird I'd probably climb to the top of the Hollywood Hills and proclaim this fact to the world because it has taken for-fucking-ever, but in an effort to appear sane, I'll just share it here. In these past two years, reading feedback and even hearing it in person from friends, I have come to the realization that most people, if not all, will experience at least one relationship that will send them barreling toward the edge of Crazyville and if they are lucky, the best they can hope for is for it to be a short trip. But for many of us who experience that long journey of clawing our way back to join the rest of humanity, there is that lingering nutcase that remains hiding inside of us. The psycho-child who you hide from future boyfriends or girlfriends and even close friends that secretly continues to look him or her up online or holds onto pictures of the two of you and insists that you still miss him or her. The psycho-child that quietly insists that if he came running back to you, you'd drop everything and be with him. Well, I'm here to tell you, ignore the psycho-child. Unless of course you want to be miserable, in which case, I guess go for it? Because two years out, it's pretty unlikely that you really truly miss him or her. I sure as hell know I don't. I miss a thought, a feeling. That intensity you get when you fall in love as hard as you must to end up as heartbroken as you do in the end. But him? Hell no, I don't miss him at all.