The Beauty in the Breakup

This morning after stumbling into the office I started my very intense and exhausting morning regimen: drinking my Starbucks and reading the news. Tough life, I know. Well, actually, life will be tough if anyone here ever finds out that I have so much free time.

Anyway, I came across an article written as part of a column called Girl Talk: "How A Breakup Boosted My Confidence." (See ). I have no idea who this author Lauren Kusnyer is and for all I know, she could be as unqualified to give dating advice as myself. But her piece was entertaining and, most importantly, full of important points.

At the time of a breakup, the situation feels like the worst thing in the world. Regardless of who dumped who, we find ourselves sad and uneasy that life will change permanently, sometimes in ways we can't even predict. Maybe we can breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that he wasn't "the one" and finally admitting it after months of trying to convince ourselves otherwise. Usually though the negative feelings outweigh the positive. It feels like we'll never escape this black hole that we've suddenly been pushed into. All we want to do is text him and we secretly hope he'll call us and say "Baby, I made a huge mistake."

During the mourning period, it seems like there's no way out. This black hole has suddenly filled with quicksand, trapping us further and further into our sadness. We can't conceive of pushing through our misery, nor can we imagine the hurt dissipating.

Not only does this all happen (please don't hate me for saying that "time heals all wounds") but we can actually benefit from being single and having time to ourselves.

If I hadn't been single last summer, for example, I wouldn't have made the extra effort to befriend the girls at my gym. I probably would have been heading home after my butt's class each week to talk on the phone to a boyfriend. Now, I'm lucky enough to have made a great group of girlfriends who are going to be just as wound up and excited beside me tomorrow as we wait for the opening credits to roll in Sex and the City II. (Any other readers beyond pumped?!?)

Besides this, being single eventually encouraged my will to date. I was able to really get out and experience those horribly uncomfortable situations that every girl must come across at some point in her life in order to be considered a real woman. The hours and hours of awkwardness made me at least start to feel as if I had entertainment again after moving to a new city, while also giving me the experiences needed to fully bond with my friends during girltalk.

I think most importantly, being single allows us to gain freedom and independence. Now I'm by no means a feminist and I am for sure an advocate of relationships when they work well. I'm the girl who firmly believes that unclogging a toilet, no matter whose fault it is, is the responsibility of a man, whereas girls have their own girly pieces of housework to keep up with.

That said, it's really great to spend time on your own and allow yourself to recognize that you can make it alone. No, not only that you can, but that you can do it well. You're capable of filling up Saturday nights without the help of a boy, and you sometimes even find that you're able to dedicate more of your time to activities that you yourself are interested in-- and not those of mutual interest with anyone else. It's important to learn these lessons, especially in order to be mindful of these ideas if and when you breakup with someone again.

So for all of you girls out there nursing broken hearts, remember one thing: it'll get better. It might not seem like it, but it will. It'll get easier and easier till the hurt goes away. And even though you probably won't recognize it at the time, the whole suckiness factor of a breakup will make you stronger and tougher. We can all admit that the free time you'll have to go to the gym really can help with that.

But in all seriousness, enjoy your singlehood. Isn't it kind of fun considering the possibilities of who you'll meet next-- as you snuggle a Chinese takeout box on the couch?

XOXO,
R.

(Not) Dating a Jewish Doctor

Get ready to be proud of me… I made a good decision yesterday!

Remember the guy who I liked because of the way he ordered sushi? We had a very nice time on the date, but I wasn’t wowed. When he didn’t contact me after the date, I assumed he wasn’t either.

About a month ago, we got back in touch, but he was back in a relationship with someone he had been dating before we met. I was mildly disappointed, as I was curious to see if we’d have sparks now that the first date awkwardness was behind us.

I should probably take a moment to provide some background. This guy is a Jewish doctor. You’re probably thinking how jealous you are right now that I found the perfect man. Well, I won’t leave you in suspense. There are red flags—lots of them:

Red flag number one: The guy is 12 years older than me.
Red flag number two: He’s in the middle of a divorce.
Red flag number three: He has two little kids.

Red flag number four, which to me is the most concerning of red flags, is the girl he’s seeing, and it requires some explanation. This is how the conversation went:

Jewish Doctor: It’s complicated.
Me: Okay, explain it.
JD: We both see other people, but only for sex.
Me: Why’s that?
JD: Because sex in our relationship is difficult and infrequent.
Me: I know it’s none of my business, so you don’t have to answer this, but why?
JD: She has a bad history with men and relationships, and as a result has serious trust issues.
Me: Oh. Well I’m not interested in having a strictly sexual relationship with anyone.

Pardon my internet lingo, but WTF?! After sitting there in awe for a few moments, it occurred to me that maybe the girl was raped and (understandably) has issues with sex. That was the least of my concerns… this guy is a father. He’s supposed to be setting an example for his children, yet he’s in some half relationship? Really? Accept the fact that you aren’t going to have sex with your girlfriend until you really earn her trust, then go watch porn and jack off in the mean time. Or, if that’s not acceptable, move the fuck on.

So I cut ties right that moment, right? Bye bye, Mr. old man Jewish doctor, good luck with the divorce! Wrong. For some reason I decided it was a good idea to talk to him about how he’s probably not happy in the relationship as a whole, and we ended up planning to go for drinks later in the week.

Like a sign from the gods, I got a melodramatic text the day before we were supposed to have drinks. “I’m going to have to cancel tomorrow. We see other people but we don’t date other people. I need to figure out where my relationship is going before I can do this. It wouldn’t be fair to you, to her or to me. I hope you will understand.” My head started spinning with all the things I wanted to say. Dude. I met you once. I’m not having some magical fantasyland love affair with you in my brain. You are an interesting person who I enjoyed spending a few hours with, not the love of my life. Calm down. I settled for “No worries, I understand.”

The next night, I was sitting in bed when my phone started buzzing. I picked it up and looked at it. Lo and behold, there was a text from the Jewish Doctor. “I shouldn’t have cancelled tonight.” I asked him why, and he said he realized he’s not happy in his half-relationship, blah blah blah, etc., etc., etc. He wanted to get drinks the next week. I considered it and realized that at this point, I might as well go. His hot mess of a life was pretty damn funny. So I said yes, but he’d have to get me one drink for the inconvenience of cancelling, one for saying yes and one just because.

Yesterday was the day before the date. The more I thought about it, the more I felt the need to ask myself what the hell I was doing. This guy is shopping around for a new girlfriend while in a relationship, and that says quite a bit about his character. Also, you know how I keep saying he’s a doctor? He’s a psychiatrist. He should know better!

Everything became very clear when I thought about his kids. Ex wives, girlfriends, whatever—I’m not one to judge someone for being a homewrecker. But once children enter the picture, some things are not acceptable. And I’m not about to have any part in anything that could possibly complicate a child’s life.

My decision was obvious: Fuck this date. I decided to be dramatic right back at him. My text to him said “I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to cancel tomorrow. I’m at a point in my life where I’m thinking about my future, and this is not the situation I want for it. I think you kind of get that already. Good luck.” Now go think about your children instead of yourself for five minutes. I decided it was better to leave that part out…

So let’s review: Much older man. Divorce. Kids. Girlfriend (with issues). Psychiatrist.

I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, but thank goodness I came to my senses!

Love always,
S

The Power of Numbers

I'm horrendous at math. Beyond awful. Part of the reason S and I bonded years back when interning in NYC was because we discovered our mutual mathematical ineptitude. I mean, if you ask someone to add 543 and 9, would you really believe that they add 543+10 and then subtract one? True story though-- we both do it.

Why is is then that numbers and math become such an integral part of not only our every day lives--that's blatantly obvious--but our love lives?

Allow me to explain what I mean. The thought of numbers makes me cringe. I still occasionally wake up sweaty because of a dream about pre-calculus class. That said, I allow numbers to shape my perceptions of romantic experiences. To some degree we all allow this to happen.

Think back to the first time you were fresh into a relationship. Most people are curious about their partner's past experiences and one question really echoes in our minds incessantly: how many people has my partner slept with?

Funny but it seems that the actual number, regardless of whether or not we ever learn it, comes with certain implications. We wonder if he's slept with only one person in his life. In this situation, the number one could mean one of two things. (Like how I slipped a few extra numbers in there for you?) Either he's horrible in bed due to a lack of experience, or he actually learned a hell of a lot with the one girl he was with for months and even years.

We must also, though, consider the opposite end of the spectrum: the high numbers. Now I don't even have any figures to use here as examples, mainly because I'm pretty unsure of how far this scale slides. Maybe he's had five partners and we consider that a lot, or maybe he pulled a Tiger Woods and slept with hundreds.

Meanwhile, we also have to be mindful of our own habits. It's one thing to have had a little fun with a few people, but at what point do the numbers' meanings become hazy? When do we think to ourselves, alright, that's enough, I better clean up my act or I'm really going to consider myself trashy?

It's in some of these situations, at least for me, where numbers represent the end-all-be-all. I mean, there are exceptions to every rule, like maybe you slept your way through your college degree and suddenly found God and have become a born-again virgin. Could happen, who knows. But, in general, it seems like at least for us ladies, we remember our "number"-- almost in the way that I remember that big, fat 55% on my fifth grade US History test. (OK so now you know that I can't do numbers OR US History.)

We let numbers dominate our actions-- is it OK or not acceptable at this point for me to be out on the prowl and allowing my number to slowly increase? He's slept with five women in the past two months, is it OK for me to be the sixth?

Maybe we've attached an unnecessary stigma to the high numbers. Likewise, it's possible we innately keep good mental records of our sexual habits via statistics if for nothing more than our own health and well-being. But no matter how much we hate adding and subtracting and dividing and multiplying them, numbers have permeated our minds, influenced our actions and, on occasion, tempered our behavior.


xoxox,
R.

PS: A quick Google search led me to this article. Although perhaps slightly outdated, I thought you might enjoy: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/19374216

Follow the rules... unless the rules are stupid

When it comes to dating, we all have certain rules we follow and break. Don’t kiss on the first date. Don’t call him until he calls you. Don’t sleep with him until he is officially your boyfriend. We shell out serious cash on books that are supposed to tell us the rules that will change our lives, help us find Mr. Right, make everyone man want us.

I’m not anti-rule. I even have a few of my own rules—for example, if it’s after 1 p.m. the day of the date and I haven’t heard from you, I “make other plans.” As in “Oh, well when I hadn’t heard from you I figured we weren’t on for tonight, so I made other plans.” Even if my “other plans” are sitting alone staring at the wall all night, I stick to that story. He needs to value my time and see it as a precious commodity. More importantly, he needs to understand from the very beginning that under no circumstances will I give up my life on his behalf.

Unlike Ellen Fein and Sherri Schneider, the authors of “The Rules,” I do this not to seem like an “elusive butterfly,” or to play hard to get, but to make a strong impression that I am independent and, quite frankly, I’m not fucking around. You respect me and I’ll respect you. You will take me seriously or you won’t take me anywhere. Harsh, I know, but I’ve seen friend after friend give up their lives to spend every waking moment being with, talking about or thinking about their boyfriends, and I’m really sick of pretending it’s okay.

“The Rules” offers lessons on how to be mysterious and untouchable in order to snatch up a man, or as I see it, how to trick men into marrying you. According to the authors, you should never return a man’s call the same day he calls you—instead, you must wait two days. If you’re in a long distance relationship, he must come visit you three times before you go visit him. If you’re dating someone you work with, never answer his emails unless they’re business related and you must do so. And after a year of dating, if he hasn’t proposed, back off and see less of him, because how dare he not propose to you yet?!

Don’t leave the house without makeup. Wear sheer black pantyhose and hike up your skirt. Do not ever break the rules or no one will ever marry you and You'll be alone forever!

In other words, play games! Be inconsiderate and don’t pick up your phone! If you went to college, you’re just falling back on your education to trick yourself into thinking you’re entitled to doing more in life than waiting for the phone to ring. Demean yourself—after all, everyone knows you’re worthless without a man.

Did I mention one of the authors was filing for divorce as she wrote the sequel? I guess once she stopped being elusive, her husband didn’t like what he found.

Sure, as a picky and demanding person, I am single most of the time, and sometimes I get lonely. But I’d rather be lonely than demean myself, than to trick a man into dating me. He should want to learn more about me because I intrigue him, not because I’ve made him think I’m an elusive butterfly. I don’t want to be with anyone under false pretenses.

So I’ll continue to follow my OWN rules. I’ll continue to demand the respect with which everyone deserves to be treated. And when I do find the right person, I will continue to be with the people I love, make time for others and maintain a clear head.

Love always,
S

Shut up about your goddamn boyfriend already!

"You can't tell anyone this," my friend whispered to me in her dorm room, "but I don't really find my fiance to be all that attractive. I mean, I've grown to love him I guess, but he's not that good looking."

Yep, you read that right: "dorm room" and "fiance" were actually used in the same sentence purposefully. This was coming from a girl who, two years earlier, had broken up with a serious boyfriend and, during her mourning period, cried hysterically about how she would no longer have anyone to marry. Guess her fate changed. If nothing more, she certainly had worked for it, even if she was ending up with someone she deemed unattractive just for the sake of having someone to permanently call her own.

Regardless of her attraction, though, this friend never failed to boast about having a boyfriend, forget about her friends as he crept further into the picture or call him instead of walking with her peers between classes. And this situation--to say the least-- perfectly exemplifies why I can't stand most girls in relationships.

Before I go on, there are a few things that should be made clear. First of all, I don't hate all people in relationships, as I will expand upon further below. Furthermore, I still maintain this sentiment without care to my romantic situation; whether I'm madly in love or just starting to see someone or recovering from a bad breakup, my views towards couples still persevere.

There is nothing worse than hearing a girl incessantly refer to that man in her life as her "boyfriend." Ladies, I understand the importance of having a label on what you are. It solidifies what stands as the true situation, makes you comfortable that the party is only in your pants, and not some other girl's too. But really though, does your grandfatherly neighbor need to know that the guy who took out your trash is your boyfriend as opposed to your brother or friend or one-night-stand that you so horribly regret? Do you really think he cares?

I get it that you're happy or at least pretending to be. At the very least, you want others to think you're happy. That's all OK, but I think it's important to remember those around us who aren't. No one likes a girl who flaunts her couple-status in the faces of those kindhearted women who just simply haven't found Mr. Right yet. And just like with anything else, no one appreciates a bragger. Ever.

Even those who hate the bragging the most still might get jealous. The jealousy, in turn, adds a whole other dimension to the negative emotions simultaneously storming your psyche. Ultimately, this mixture of emotions can cause your friends to gravitate away from you, something we all want to avoid for obvious reasons.

There are times, though, when it seems like talking about a significant-other transitions from annoying and irritating to something observers can actually be happy about. I recently discussed this in the car with two girlfriends:

"I love hanging out with you guys," I said, exceptionally aware of the abrupt and blunt nature of my impending commentary. "And I'm not even jealous of you. I'm legitimately happy for you," I explained, referring to one of their relationships with a fiance, the other with a serious boyfriend.

"Yea, you know why that is?" one shot back. "Because you know that the two of us have both been through hell and back with the number of bad men we dated before we found these."

I immediately recognized the validity of her statement-- both girls had experienced the worst of the worst dating sagas. They were painstakingly aware of how hard our wild world makes it to find someone who cares for them who is also attractive and fun and loving and smart and sweet.

It's much easier to feel legitimate happiness towards a truly loving couple who struggled to find each other over years and years of dating, versus those who simply yearned to find significant others for the sake of a title. Point of the story–- it's a lot easier to respect girls who have had a little taste of every type of man before they meet their perfect one. And NO, I don't mean that in the literal sense, you pervs!

XOXO,
R.