Monday, February 27th, 2012
People, let’s talk about affairs of the heart. I mean let’s really get down to the nitty gritty of it all. Specifically, when they don’t go so well. The internet has a way of letting things live on, exposing stuff you’d much rather have kept private. Last week online, a site posted a stream of text messages a girl sent to a guy she’d dated a couple of times, wondering why he didn’t want to see her anymore. It was painful, cringeworthy reading. Clearly, the girl did herself no favours and the guy involved is most likely contemplating a restraining order. So, when things don’t quite go according to plan, how can you get out with your dignity intact?
Thursday, October 15th, 2009
So, you broke up. You may be sniffling into a tissue, you may be out drinking the pain away or you may be getting over him by getting under someone else. Alternatively, you may be acting like an adult and just moving on with your life. What I’m always surprised about with break ups is the number of women who turn into regular little Detective Columbos when their relationships crumble. They make it their business to know every movement, phone call and sighting of their ex.
Of course, social networking sites like Facebook have only exacerbated the problem. Back when I had my first break up (I was 18), I had a highly skilled team of spies to inform me of my ex’s whereabouts and who he was talking to. Each report I got back would crush my soul a little more. (Hey, I was 18 – we’re meant to be stupid at that age.) Facebook has made it easier than ever for you to never get over your break up and become a bitter, resentful, scheming, crazy woman.
Stalking is what is comes down to. You’ll go on his Facebook page to see who’s been writing on his wall. If you see he’s been interacting with some chick, you’ll put in an angry phone call to your ex expressing your disapproval or asking exactly what he thinks he’s doing. Congratulations! You just reaffirmed why he broke up with you!
You’ll follow his Twitter updates to see where he’s going and if you’re a special kind of crazy, you’ll even show up at the same places and pretend it’s a coincidence.
But really, all you’re doing is driving yourself nuts. You’re keeping yourself entwined in someone’s world that you are no longer a part of. To watch a blow by blow of how the other person is moving on with their life while you just watch/click/follow/read/stalk is not the way to get on with your own life.
And why do you need to know? Seriously, once you’ve broken up, what business is it of yours where he goes and who he sees? If he chooses to move on the very next day, it’s harsh, but that’s his business. You two are no longer together. He doesn’t need to account to you, nor does he owe you an explanation. He is only responsible for his own happiness now, not yours.
But what’s even more hypocritical is that while, in your mind, he is not allowed to talk to another woman as long as he lives (or until you decide you’re over it, whichever comes first), you’re out actively trying to line up your next date and flirting with anything with legs. So why is it one rule for you and another for your ex?
All it comes down to is each person wants to be the first to move on. It’s like a competition. Both parties want to be the first to date to show that they are desirable to someone else. But it’s important to remember that you were, at one point, desirable to each other. There’s a way to honor that and move on with grace.
Release it and allow yourself to breathe. Endlessly stalking his post-break up moves is going to get you where exactly?
Thursday, June 25th, 2009
So, the past few weeks, I’ve been coming to terms with the ending of what was a pretty decent relationship with a kind of awesome fella. That adjustment from having someone in your life one minute and them being gone the next, obviously has its ups and downs. But I’ve surprised myself with how well I’ve coped. I guess when you’ve been in as many shitty relationships as I, you become a master of the break up.
But it was just a few days ago when it dawned on me: I’m now officially single again. I’m ‘out there.’ I’m on the scene, in the circuit. Christ. That’s the last fucking thing I wanted. Oh, the being single part doesn’t bother me. In case you hadn’t realised, I’m pretty frikkin’ awesome, so I don’t mind spending time with myself. What bothers me is trying to navigate the murky waters of relations with a new member of the male tribe.
I’m getting too tired to dance the dance. The smiling, the flirting, the pretending to give a shit, the endless stroking of the male ego, the low cut tops, the constant pedicures, the deciding what kind of bikini wax to get, the resentment of having to get a bikini wax at all, the ‘who pays’ debate, the ‘who calls who’ debate, the ‘where are we going’ talk – Give me strength! I just cannot be arsed to dip my toe in those waters.
Let me give you a little insight into my relationships of yore:
Pretty self explanatory. He was a crackhead. Our delightful journey can be found here.
A rather annoying fellow a couple of years my junior. He was into mixed martial arts, but didn’t know how to keep it inside the ring and one day, beat up some kid so badly the kid ended up in a coma. He went to court for that and was sent to jail. But he neglected to tell me any of this, so he basically just disappeared for three months and then reappeared like nothing had happened, telling me he’d been on holiday. Yeah, seriously.
The Short Dude
Nice enough guy, but had a severe case of Napoleon Syndrome. He pretty much solidified what I’d known all along: never date a short dude.
Cheated on me (or I should say with me, as I was unknowingly the ‘other woman’) our whole relationship. When I found out the truth, he came to my house, assaulted me, stole my computer and my watch and spent 48 hours attempting to blackmail me to drop the charges.
So, can you see why I might be a bit jaded? All of the above assholes seemed like perfectly normal chaps when I first met them. But you know, for the first month or so, you’re really just meeting that person’s representative. The real guy makes an appearance a few months down the line and before you know it, you’re with a crackhead or filing police reports or about to whoop some short guy’s ass.
Clearly, I need to make better choices (ironically, the most recent break up? That guy was my better choice), I know this.
Right now, I would like a nice, lighthearted summer fling. That’s it. Nothing more. Leave your police record, drug habits, kickboxing choke holds and whatever else at home. Please just bring your sanity. And stunning good looks. And 6’4″ height. And baby oil.
Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
Wednesday, March 5th, 2008
Painful, difficult relationship meltdowns have been around since the dawn of time, but now people are taking it to the web and gearing up for all out war. No, not just 14 year olds who break up with their current beau via a Facebook status update, actual adults, who apparently can’t hold their shit together, are getting in on the act too.
The latest in a long line of women scorned is Rachel Marsden. (Click on her name to read all the ins and outs of her story. It made my head hurt.) The long and short of it is; she was dating Jimmy Wales, founder of Wikipedia. He chose to end their relationship via that site. Yes, beyond pathetic. Definite wanker move.
High road? What high road? Rather than dig out a map and look for it, Rachel Marsden decided to retaliate by selling some of his clothes on ebay. Groan.
“Hi, my name is Rachel and my (now ex) boyfriend, Wikipedia founder Jimmy Wales, just broke up with me via an announcement on Wikipedia. It was such a classy move that I was inspired to do something equally classy myself” she said on her ebay posting.
I don’t understand why they broke up. Clearly, these two dickheads were made for each other. Yes, he is a complete knob for not just breaking up face-to-face, but why did she have to channel her inner twelve-year-old and start a tit-for-tat internet spat?
My favorite part of the article is her saying: “My only focus right now, to be really honest, is on my career and finding a way to get back into print, TV or radio here in NYC. All this other personal stuff is just an unfortunate distraction.”
Bitch, please! You put it on the internet! I’m sure your career will kick into overdrive now that everyone knows you’re a petty, childish fool.
The article also mentions Julia Allison, editor-at-large of Star magazine, who started a blog to document all the mushy moments of her relationship. Then it crashed and burned (the relationship and the website). What I don’t get is why she would flatter herself into thinking anyone would give a rat’s ass about her relationship in the first place.
Whichever way you cut it, the woman always comes off looking worse. It’s OK to get all emotionally nuts when it’s just you and him, fighting over who gets to keep the Duran Duran CD, but the second you put that shit on the net, you can and will be portrayed as the crazy bitch. He, on the other hand, will be painted as the the calm, logical, hard-done-by rogue who just can’t understand what the big fuss is about. You might have video evidence of him crying like Halle Berry at the Oscars over that CD, but it doesn’t matter. It is you, the lady, who will be seen as an emotionally unstable idiot. So ladies, before you take it to web to thrash it out, forget planning your revenge, have a cup of tea, chill the hell out, keep it classy and most of all, keep it behind closed doors. Ain’t no one wanna know your business honey.
Taking it to La Rue
The largest student union in France, UNEF, wants more money to go to student housing. So, they’re taking it to the streets. Their campaign revolves around a poster which shows two nude students, doing the wild thing, in the middle of a bed, shared with sleeping parents. According to Macleans: ‘The message was clear: a chronic shortage of campus accommodation means that many students have to live at home and attend local universities.’
Really? That’s the message they got from that? I could have sworn it was that they don’t wanna have to romp it up at home where there’s a risk of waking the ‘rents.