My ex called off our wedding in an email...

Just woke from another of those VERY real dreams. This one featured, we’ll call her Heather, Glenn’s wife.

Now, in real life, Heather wants a baby something fierce. She’s made no bones about it, and it seemed clear that once she finished grad school (which, if I’m not mistaken, she did just weeks ago), she wanted to get that ball rolling. Get his balls roll… ugh. Gross. 

Anyway, Glenn, on the other shitty sleazy hand, does not. I remember actually commenting on a social media photo he’d posted of someone’s baby that

Careful! Other people’s babies are the gateway drug to having your own!

to which he replied

No worries, not happening over here, but I’ll be a great babysitter when you guys have kids*!

I always thought that was weird, considering I knew how much his wifey wanted some little him+her scumbags of their very own. 

So in my dream just now, I told Heather this real life rumor I’d heard from someone that is still in touch with me and in frequent contact with both That Fucking Guy and Glenn. That HE IS CONSIDERING HAVING A VASECTOMY BEHIND HER BACK AND NOT TELLING HER. 

The person who told me this presented the information as they couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not, but either way, is this really a “joke” that a 30-something year old husband makes? 

Well, when you’re a soulless, sycophantic fuck like Glenn, then yes. Yes it is.

I also told her in the dream that he’s a soulless fuck who is NOT an artist, no matter how much he touts himself as a “designer”. He’s a fucking wad.

I woke up with a start because That Fucking Guy was there, too, and I started, in the dream, focusing too much on his stupid moustache, so I guess my brain tried to save me from going down that rabbit hole. 

I’m telling you, I never got good vibes from Glenn— from the moment I met him, I knew there was something slippery about him. And now he is That Fucking Guy’s best (and maybe, like, only) friend in the whole wide world… Gross.

I wonder if he’s really going to do it, the fucking bastard…

*For the record, if I’d ever had kids with TFG, they would not have been allowed anywhere near Glenn because I’d LOSE MY MIND if they picked up any of his greasy fucking Eddie Haskell ways.

So one of the best parts of moving on from that dip and moving out and on my own has been getting all my own stuff. My colors, my style, no more black leather bachelor pad bullshit to die on in those long, swampy, humid New York summers.

I bought a whole new bed— he actually kept and is using our old bed (with a giant man-sized sweat stain on his side of the mattress— ew!) because there is just so much he doesn’t get about life. And I bought some new sheets, in colors that go with my new place.

I didn’t realize, though when I bought them that they were… well, let’s just call them racy. I saw blue and yellow and an ocean theme and thought, great!

But I didn’t know they were this racy:

But whatevs. They are the right colors, I am a single gal, I can deal. 

But then this one time, I was FaceTiming with 2 of my best girls back in Brooklyn and they were like

WHAT THE EFF IS HAPPENING ON YOUR SHEETS.

Oh, we had a good laugh.

And then a week or so later, one of my girls texted me that she was having a rough day. It was 6am here in LA and I wanted to do something to cheer her up, so I took a picture of my goofy mug smiling on my lezzy mermaids.

And then I thought, well, I need to send this photo also to my other friend, because she is in on the joke that is my bed dressing and it will be hilarious and fun times for everyone!

BUT.

Instead of sending it to my friend, let’s call her Lisa McCarthy, I sent it to Lisa NELSON, who is listed one name below my pal in my contacts and the wife of a friend of That Fucking Ex of Mine.

This is when I learned that sitting bolt upright in bed, no matter how fast, and screaming 

OHMYGOD

OHMYGOD

OHMYGOD

OHMYGOD

no matter how loud or how many times, does not stop a misfired text from sending*.

Having no way to undo my error, I simply followed this photo with a text saying 

That was an accidental text. Please disregard.

I never heard back from her, so she either disregarded, or it’s an old number.

But holy shit, right?!

*Anyone know anyone at Apple? Because I have some notes on the matter.

and I am not in the middle of nowhere paddling in a fucking canoe getting yelled at by That Fucking Guy about how little I know about paddling canoes.

This is the first long weekend in May in I’d say 7 years that I am doing nothing but maybe watching a Sex and the City marathon on E! and whatever the fuck else I want on dry land.

Yet another bullet dodged. My canoe days are over.

I could send this to him.

He works for himself. And Glenn, I guess. They work for each other. In a strictly platonic way, I’m sure. 

I could also send it to his one auntie, who also works for them. And last I knew, they were maybe thinking of hiring his sister and possibly brother-in-law?

I wonder if there is a bulk discount…

Another from the Dreams of the Ex file, texted upon waking to seven of my closest girlfriends:

Just remembered I had a [HIM] dream this morning— he was sitting in a PILE of pistachio shells, having eaten a shitload of pistachios, 1. to which he is, in real life, allergic and 2. which in real life I had just bought.

I woke up as I was screaming, maybe really out loud?, YOU CANNOT HAVE THOSE NUTS. THOSE ARE MY NUTS. NOT YOUR NUTS. MINE MINE MINE.

Any guesses to what it might mean?

Enough bitching about his innumerable flaws, here’s to real life after 7 years. 

To toast the fact that I’ve dodged the biggest bullet known to man, I’m putting together the ladies’ weekend to end all ladies’ weekends over the weekend we were supposed to get married.

The Palm Spring Ladies’ (+2 Gays) Weekend to Celebrate the Fact That I’m Not Marrying That Fucking Guy™ 

You know, partly to make sure that I don’t have an out-of-the-blue emotional meltdown on the day, but mainly to celebrate me and my fan-fucking-tastic friends, without whom I’d probably still be crying on a couch in Brooklyn.

Instead, at the end of June, we’ll be poolside in the Palm Springs Desert. Here, to be exact:

So, yeah. Cheers to my New Normal!

So I’ve reached the point where I barely think about him during the day— if I do, it’s probably because I’m explaining to someone why I up and moved from Brooklyn to LA so quickly. I blocked him from all social media and haven’t attempted to look at his instagram photos or twitter feed in over a week*.

But he seems to be haunting me during my sleep. So does Glenn. And last night, the rest of his fucking family, including an appearance by his sister’s as-of-yet unborn child.

It’s really fucking annoying because these are the kinds of dreams where I can’t physically speak. My jaw is frozen, and to attempt to make words feels like trying to run through mud. It’s torture.

The other night was super vivid. He and I were still together in our old apartment, but Glenn was living with us and would not speak at regular volumes. I tried desperately to get him to be quiet, but it was difficult since I couldn’t really speak. So I went over and sat with my ex on the couch and began to try to break his arms, like, wrestling style. 

Makes sense, right?

And then last night featured dinner with his horrid fat family and they all had opinions on what I was wearing, especially his mother and fucking brother-in-law. She made me try on all these clothes she had quilted (!!!). Somehow, my ex actually came to my defense and found me a silver leather jacket with white racing stripes, which now I desperately want to find in real life. So I left dinner looking like a disheveled Michael Jackson.

And then I woke up at 6am. With a cold. Ugh.

When my father died, I had a dream a few days after his funeral where he showed up and said that everything would be ok. One and done, one dream, one time, all is good. This breakup has felt like mourning a death, but I’m having constant dreams. 

Let’s hope it ends sooner than later, so I can sleep at least until 7am!

*Not bad for just 10 weeks of being officially broken up, right?

This post at the Hairpin. I mean, who can’t relate to this? Or think of a friend that needs to read it?

As Dan Savage would say, Dump the Motherfucker Already.

Too true. 

All those gifts “we” gave you over the years, the ones from That Fucking Guy and Me? 

Those were just from Me. He had nothing to do with them. Any of them. Didn’t shop, didn’t pay, didn’t even remember and probably asked if we had to get you a gift.

I’ve scratched his name out on all the thank you notes you were so kind to send, but I just wanted you to know.

I just remembered this earlier today. Mere minutes after he proposed back in June, he nearly broke his arm patting himself on the back saying

“I will always look back on this day as the moment I set things in motion. Like, when we buy a house and have kids, it will all have started with me doing this today.”

I found it charming at the time, but now with the clarity of hindsight, I realize that he got the date wrong. The day he put things in motion is the day he broke up with me.

I guess it technically may have happened on 12/2/11, the day he walked out of the apartment to go away with his boyfriend business partner (the aforementioned Glenn) and left me sobbing on my friend’s shoulder, but I think of our Official breakup date as the day I forced him to actually say the words in the office of the couple’s therapist. Went a little something like this:

ME: I feel like I’ve been tricked. I was very clear that I was here to fix what’s broken in this relationship. I am here because I do not want it to be over. But did I hear you say that you are here “to support me through this”.

HIM: Yeah.

ME: You want to support me. While breaking up with me?!

HIM: …

ME: I don’t understand how we went from you proposing marriage to six months later sitting here completely dissolving the relationship.

HIM: Well, I thought getting engaged would change things, and then when things didn’t change…

ME: I just wish that if you saw there were problems you could have talked about them instead of distracting me with a ring.

THERAPIST: He couldn’t. He doesn’t know how.

[An insulted look morphs slowly to confused on his face]

ME: Is there any chance we would get back together?

HIM: … it’s … unlikely.

ME: IS. THERE. A. REMOTE. POSSIBILITY?

HIM: [glaring, after a pause] No.

ME: Ok, then. I don’t want you to contact me at all. Delete me from your phone, don’t email me, do not call me, if you need to contact me, don’t. But if you do, you need to do it through a third party. 

HIM: That’s ridiculous.

THERAPIST: Actually, it’s not at all ridiculous.

[unavoidably smug look of FUCK YOU settles on my face]

END.

That was the moment he set things in motion. The moment he let me free from the façade of our relationship. I hope it doesn’t come off as bitter, because I am exponentially happier now without him. I couldn’t see it through the trauma of when it first happened, but having the bottom pulled out from under me has been the greatest springboard into ME setting things in motion for myself.

But don’t let me fool you into believing that I’ve forgiven him. He’s still dead to me, the fucking jag. He called off our wedding in an email, remember? That is the greatest dick move of all time.

Two members of his family, an aunt and a cousin, emailed me a few weeks ago with condolences, saying they don’t know what happened (and don’t want to; because that’s the WASPy way!) but that they were sorry to hear it. His dad and brother-in-law had vaguely reached out via email and text, respectively, before Xmas, but I didn’t realize then that they knew we were over when I thought we were working things out. This is from an email exchange I’ve been having with a close friend of his/his family. VERY interesting.

Let’s just say that one of my frustrations - and I have a few - with [That Fucking Guy] is that he thinks there’s a “logical” explanation to everything, and as you said, can’t deal with a feeling at all. He uses his intellect to justify anything he doesn’t understand, and he won’t admit to not understanding most things. And if his logic fails him and he still doesn’t understand things, he dismisses them with a pithy opinion and ends the discussion. That kind of intransigence makes my blood truly boil, and I’m willing to bet it’s similar for you.

This gal is one smart cookie. She also went on, in a later email, to say

You know, I’m really sad to hear that [That Fucking Guy] didn’t learn how to apply partnership through the rough times while he was with you. I thought you were good for him, and you seemed really good together. However, I also wondered just how much you were putting up with! I get that no one’s perfect, and that all problems are co-constructed between couples - none of us are just “put-upon women” :-). However, I’ve never thought of [That Fucking Guy] as someone who would be easy….

Girl preaches TRUTH!

Gotye’s Somebody That I Used to Know is giving me chills.

That’s a direct quote. 

He said that to me. And meant it.

I am a performer. I have written and produced my own films, directed plays, done over 25 national TV commercials and performed on stage alongside some pretty big names.

He works in computers and created neither Facebook nor Google.

I came from nothing, paid for college myself, worked in restaurants for almost two decades and successfully thrived for 12+ years in New York City.

He went to boarding school and was making six figures before he was 25 — his first job in the city was given to him by his uncle.

So really. Who has done more for their career?

Did I mention he also can’t spell?

My new nail polish. For my new life. Truth.

Or, who needs That Fucking Guy?!

I just fixed the toilet in my sublet with a hair barrette. That’s right. An 80s style, Goody hair barrette.

Six weeks ago, I was so afraid that I was going to absolutely die without this “man” around the house. Who would hammer the nails? Who would fix my computer problems? Who would kill the bugs?

The answer, friends, is me. (except the bugs part— I’m pretty much still convinced that should a bug appear in my dwelling before I am partnered again, I’ll just have to look for a new place to live.)

And that is great fucking news. Fuck that guy!