I gave him my heart and he gave me a leopard-print snuggie

Robot and I broke up this week. He tried to apply to all the jobs in Boston he could, but none of them panned out, and between his job ending, his rent being raised $700 a month, and all his friends leaving Boston, I am the only reason he had to stay. So, he's not. Instead he'll be subletting a room in New York for the next few months, and isn't sure what will come after that. He cares about me but needs time and space to figure his life out. I am settled into my life, with a job that is satisfying and a condo I love; he is in a different, much more tenuous place in his life.

All of this is very sad. I've never had a breakup quite like this before, where there was no feeling except for sadness. Usually it's a mix, a lot of sadness and a little bit of anger, or relief, or hurt, or "Well, I see now that we weren't really compatible." He's the first person I've dated who's been able to  have real, adult conversations about his feelings, and even when he's being brutally honest ("I really like you but I need more time together to be CERTAIN about us"), it's refreshing. It's hard not to feel confused and angry about the arbitrariness of it all -- why did his damn landlord have to raise his rent now?? And why couldn't we have met a year, or two, or three ago? Or even 5 or 6 years ago, when we were both living in New York?

Because Robot is moving into a tiny Brooklyn room, and will be moving again shortly thereafter, he is purging all his worldly belongings. When I arrived at his house to tell him that we needed to stop seeing each other, he had a pile of things he had picked out waiting for me. I was too overwhelmed with emotion to think clearly and took all of it (except for that giant box of Ikea tealight candles that every single person seems to have erroneously thought at one point they needed, which I refused).

When I got home, I unpacked it all. There was a body pillow, a new winter coat (white, stained and a smidge too big for me), and two scarves that he had bought as gifts for his grandma but never had a chance to give her before she died. Then there was a book about digital photography and a not-very-good one about Belle and Sebastian. A NordicTrack that he'll deliver to my house sometime soon. And last but not least, a leopard print blanket with arms that his grandma gave him a few years ago. "I never want to see this again," he told me flatly while packing it up for me.

At least I've got a new outfit for my life as a single girl, once again.

Keeping warm

My mom tends to be slightly obsessive on the subject of proper winter attire. During the colder months of the year, she can frequently be heard saying things like,

"You're wearing a v-neck??! I always wear a turtle neck in February. I can't stand to have my neck exposed when it's this cold out."

"I have to wear fingerless gloves to bed at night to keep my hands warm while I read, because the thermostat in the bedroom is set to 48 degrees."

"What's the fiber content of that sweater? Oh, it's a cotton blend? I stay away from cotton in the winter. I usually make sure to buy sweaters that are 100% wool for this time of year."

Well, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I check my fiber contents constantly, too. I'm annoyed by the many Bostonians who think that rain boots are appropriate to wear during snow storms, or worse, sopping wet Uggs. (Those are SLIPPERS, people!) And I've noticed recently a tendency to be somewhat disdainful of suitors whose winter wardrobes are not up to my standards.

I have a tiered system of winter coats, 1 through 4. #1 is a lightweight wool coat that I don't really consider to be winter attire, and 4 is a winter parka that is rated for 50 degrees below zero; it usually makes only a couple of appearances per winter.

In the fall, as soon as the weather became slightly nippy, I noticed that many people jumped straight to a level 3, a midweight down coat. I was pleased to see that Trusty, who I was dating at the time, was one of the few people who wore a level 1, a wind-blocking fleece: points for Trusty. After all, if one starts to wear winter coats too early, your body doesn't acclimatize to the cold.

Later, in January, in the midst of the polar vortex, I found myself on a date (wearing, naturally, my level 3) with a man who was clad in a lightweight COTTON jacket. I could only imagine how my mom would react to this. He shivered as I questioned him about it, explaining that he left his winter coat at his parents house... in November. Nearly three months later, I could see no earthly reason why his coat should still be there, especially considering that he had made several trips there in the interim. And then came the kicker:

"It's really been fine so far. Like now, I don't feel cold at all."

I could tell just from looking at him that this was not true. Moreover, this is a guy who bikes just about everywhere, so he probably WAS much warmer walking with me than he usually is. I made a mental note: lacking in common sense.

When I broke up with him a few days later, he asked if it was anything he had said or done. I thought of all the possible responses, but really, what was the point? Someone else might find his cotton jacket charming.

"No," I lied, hoping to come across a down-clad, wool hat-wearing suitor soon.

The 72 hour recovery

Over the past few weeks, as I've gotten to know Theradate better, I started to have more and more moments when the thought crossed my mind that he did not seem like my future husband. Sometimes he felt more like an attractive gay best friend, like the day he posted shirtless photos of himself on Facebook. One day at his house, a friend of his said something critical about him, and rather than feeling indignant and defensive I thought, hmmm, it's a valid a point, and a bit worrisome. Some of his weird eating habits (frequent snacks of popcorn coated with olive oil, cinnamon and sugar substitute; plain yogurt with peanut butter) were starting to seem less cutely quirky and more just plain old bizarre, and he often used words that I thought anyone over 22 really has no business using, such as "ping" (meaning "text" for those who, like me, are unfamiliar with the word). So when Theradate asked me last week how I felt things were going, I was honest and told him that I felt pretty unsure, which led to a discussion in which we decided to call it quits.

Had I known three weeks earlier that that would happen, I would have predicted that I'd be devastated. And I was sad -- for 72 hours, or maybe a little less. By Monday evening, I mostly felt relieved. Theradate has many lovely qualities, but my excitement level had taken a nosedive, and the moments of feeling happy with him were rapidly becoming eclipsed by the moments of feeling doubtful and a little bit turned off.

So, while I harbor no ill will toward Theradate and had a great time with him in many ways, I'm officially taking him off the list of men I've been very excited about. In the meantime, I'd like to pay tribute to a few of the men in my life who give me hope that there are great men out there, and one day I might meet one of them:

My mechanic, who helped me through the difficult decision to buy a new car this week: "It's a big decision. No rush. Talk to your sister, take your time. You want to keep your car, I'm happy! I see you often, I work on your car, you pay me. But, you get another car, like maybe a Toyota or a Honda, you gonna be coming here a lot less often." When I brought my new car to have him check it over, he had a very fatherly moment in which he pulled me out of earshot of the seller to make sure I had checked the blue book value, then told me he'd miss seeing me so often once I'd purchased it.

My pottery teacher, who went through his recently deceased 98-year-old aunt's wardrobe recently and gave me a few vintage '60s and '70s pieces, carefully selecting those that would look good on a blonde (he has an unusually good eye for a straight man). They fit me like a glove.

My pottery crush, who my French cousin met this week and who she has aptly taken to referring to as my LLBean Boyfriend -- so, he may be getting a new blog name soon! When I told him about a disastrous craft fair a couple of weeks ago, he gave me mini clothes pins to use to hang my wares: "They'll flock to your table in droves," he promised. "Droves" might be slightly too strong a word, but I did make more than 12 times the amount of money the following week. And any man who likes miniature clothes pins is adorable in my book.

Whiskey and friends, or the breakup cure

Theradate wrote me a very sweet email last week to tell me that, while he likes me a lot, he met someone else before he met me and feels that he needs to stop dating other people in order to give things a shot with her.

After just four dates, this news was hardly heartbreaking. It required a 12-hour recovery period, not even requiring a full day of recuperation. Theradate is a lovely person, and I hope we remain friends, as he said he wants to. I had fun with him, but was also frequently taken aback by his eccentricity, and I'm not sure that I'm meant to be with someone who is *quite* such an extrovert (an extrovert, yes, but this was really extreme). But one does get tired of having things not work out, whether it's because the suitor in question turns out to be issue-y and alcoholic-y à la Leif Ericson or is dating someone else à la Theradate or just doesn't feel like the right match à la a million other guys I've gone out with.

(In some ways, the "I met someone just before I met you" reason is particulary frustrating. It's not that you're incompatible or he's not that into you; it's just the timing. There's an implication that, if the timing of the first meetings had been reversed, you could be the one getting top priority.)

So I was happy after receiving this news to run into my friend L'il JC at the gym, fresh from her own disappointment of meeting a guy who really liked her who, try as she might, she just couldn't force herself to like back. And then M. came and joined us, and we went and baked ourselves in the sauna and I told her my newest poop story from work (the number of poop stories I've amassed this year should probably be a blog post unto itself, and this latest one managed to outdo all prior ones). Then the three of us headed to M's house for burritos and whiskey, and when I thought about it it seemed amazing how many evenings we've spent at M's house drinking whiskey after things don't work out with someone -- whether it be a big breakup or a little disappointment, like this one. It's not planned, but it seems that that's where we wind up every time. And somehow it makes me feel better every single time.

Kick me if I start acting crazy

A couple of weeks ago, Leif Ericson disappeared from my gchat list.

"He blocked me," I informed my friends. "Can you believe it? And I thought he meant it when he said he'd like to get coffee at some point. Clearly, he hates me and wishes he'd never met me. I mean, he could have just hidden me. But no, he had to go all the way and block me."

"Ouch," they agreed. "That's really hurtful."

or,

"Maybe it's for the best. After all, you'll stop thinking about him this way."

For a few days, I stared obsessively at the names on my gchat list every time I signed in. Finally, about two weeks later, Leif reappeared one day.

Last week, I joined Community Boating.

"Have you run into Leif yet?" my friends asked.

"Not yet," I said. "I check whether he's online before I leave. I figure if he's online, he can't be boating."

"But how can you tell if he's online if he blocked you?"

"Oh, uh. It turns out he didn't block me. I was just being crazy. I'm planning to stop being crazy now, though."

Packing up, moving on

This weekend, my friend M went off to work a craft fair out on the Cape. She crashed at the house of a friend of Leif's who she met a few weeks ago when we were both there for the weekend; at the time, he generously offered her his spare bedroom when she mentioned she'd be coming back. He also said she'd be welcome to bring a friend, so she told me I could tag along.

I was tempted. So much so that I seriously considered it, despite how impractical the timing is -- I'm in the midst of packing up my apartment and moving. I might have gone for it, too, except that I wasn't sure a) how Leif would feel about it (I texted him to say I was thinking of going, and by the time he got back to me to say he felt fine about it it was too late) and b) what my real motives were in wanting so much to go. Not that I was wanting to be all stalker-y and try to get to Leif through his friend, but I've been enjoying how carefree and fun this summer has been, thanks in large part to Leif, and I wanted to extend that/recreate it a little bit.

Leif is good people, and I might like to be friends with him eventually. I would definitely like to be friends with his friend on the Cape, provided it didn't feel to Leif like I'm stepping on his toes. But I've learned that the only way to have a healthy friendship with an ex (if such a thing is possible at all) is for it to happen when you don't care so much anymore. The intensity of my feeling of wanting to go to the Cape was a red flag for me, letting me know that I'm not ready to have that kind of contact -- even though it's not even Leif himself, just his friend.

Back when Dreamy and I broke up, he felt the same intense desire to be friends with me. He told me, "All I want is to be good friends, the way you are with l'Artista" -- one of the most ironic statements I've ever heard. It's true that l'Artista and I talk, and that we care about each other. But we had little communication for a solid three years after our breakup. And it would be a stretch to describe our friendship as platonic -- when we talk, he invariably slips up and calls me "amore"; when I was in Italy last summer, I became irrationally upset when he refused to invite me as his guest to a wedding he was attending. He described seeing me again, after six years, as being like a bomb exploding -- not exactly the foundation for a healthy, comfortable friendship.

L'Artista and I want to be in each others' lives despite this tension, because we care about each other and are an important part of each others' history. Since that's far from the case with Leif, I doubt we'll actually become friends or stay in touch. Nonetheless, it comforts me to think that it could happen when I have to stay home on a rainy Saturday night filling boxes rather than watching the stars and eating fresh fish on the Cape.

Sometimes even when you know you're in the cocoon of denial it can be a huge comfort. And on that note, it's time for me to face reality and get back to my packing.

Sorry, my bird sent that email

Persil, my charming little lovebird, has only one bad habit. Well, some might say that his tendency to chew on important papers, poop on me and everything around, and his predilection for humping people's hands are also annoyances to be dealt with, but I'm fine with living with those aspects of his personality. However, when he hops on my computer and sends an email, that really gets my goat.  


Never has it been more embarrassing than when I'm in the midst of writing a goodbye email to Leif Ericson. Leif sent a kind note, reiterating that he's not in a place to commit to anyone right now. After reflecting on things over the weekend, I was happy to say goodbye with affection and finality; Leif is a good guy, but he may need years of therapy before he's ready to be a good partner to someone. And he hasn't even started therapy yet, so it'll be a while! 


I like to spend a long time on such emails, craft them carefully, do some soul-searching to determine if there's any anger I'd like to express, and go back to read them again and again before hitting "send." Unfortunately, Fate had other plans for me in this instance. Just minutes after I had begun work on my reply, Persil did his little hop on my keyboard. Rather than my carefully constructed epistle, I was forced to content myself with the following message: 


Dear Leif, 


I completely agree and am glad we've reached the same conclusion. I was thinking over the weekend that I'd prefer not to call it "putting things on hold" when that's not really what it is. While I like you and have enjoyed spending time with you, I don't feel that you're in a place to be a good partner to someone right now. 

I've been well aware of your complex emotional state, so you have nothing to feel bad about. Thanks for all the beautiful sailing trips, my first trip across the Longfellow Bridge, the fireworks on the 4th, 

That's when the little hippity-hop led to the message, "Your email has been sent." I shouted "noooooo!" and waved my arms futilely at the computer screen, then shook my fist menacingly at Persil. 

A few minutes later I followed up with:

Uhh, sorry about that. My bird has a bad habit of hopping on my keyboard and hitting "send" before I'm quite ready. Anyway, I think I was mostly done. You get the gist. Feel free to get in touch if you ever feel like getting a coffee and catching up. 

Heathen

Leif's comment in reply: "That's a very tech-savvy bird you have." 

I've finally done something I should have done long ago and enabled "undo send" in my gmail settings, so that should take care of the problem. 

Auf wiedersehen

One day recently, I biked over to Leif Ericson's house. I got a bit lost as I neared his address, trying to find my way among the steep, narrow, one-way streets. Eventually I got out my phone for navigation purposes, and when I did, I saw that I had a message from him: "I'm at the laundromat waiting for laundry to dry." Just as I read his message, I glanced up and spotted a laundromat in front of me, with the top of Leif's bright blond head visible through the window.

Things have just worked themselves out with Leif. It feels easy, effortless, stress-free. He's always available to me, whether I need a photo of his stinky plant, as I did the other day while teaching about the rainforest, or a massage and gin and tonic after a long day.

The end, when it came this morning, unfolded with equal naturalness and ease. He said again that he's not ready for a relationship, this time a bit more definitively than he's said it before. I said that in that case I don't think we should continue to see each other. We agreed to be in touch in a few weeks, when he returns from a trip he's taking. We both said how much we like each other and how sad we feel. And then I left, feeling regretful but not heartbroken.

I miss Leif a lot already. I think I'll miss him for a while. He's a decent, kind person and someone I truly consider to be a friend. And I'm very glad I didn't let myself get more invested.

Closure, or lack thereof

Closure has been a frequent topic lately (see here, here and here) on the Love Letters blog. There are, it seems, an endless supply of letter-writers going through confusing breakups -- usually after a short, whirlwind romance -- and trying to understand why he bailed (usually it seems to be a man). Meredith gives the same advice again and again: Closure doesn't exist. Just move on. At one point, she instructed a letter-writer to imagine her ex saying this to her:

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I bailed but I did. I was all excited about our relationship and then things got … normal. And scary. And I couldn't say for sure that I wanted to stick around and get closer to you. I know that's lame, but that's where I am. At the end of the day, losing you was less scary than keeping you around. That sounds awful, but it's the truth. And that stuff I said about trust? It was just something to say. I trust you. I just can't sustain what I started."

Good advice, as always. 

Like Meredith, I know that closure doesn't exist. Or, at least, it's not something you can get from the other person -- you have to find it within yourself. But also like Meredith, I'm not always good at following my own advice. (She admitted this when I went to hear her read from her newly-released first fiction book, which I'm now reading.) It's one thing to know it in theory, but quite a different thing to resist the urge to seek an explanation when you've been through a difficult, confusing breakup. 

My own strategy, adopted from my friend Snood in Seattle, is somewhat more succinct. I just tell myself -- and others, if they ask -- "He died." She came up with it last winter when friends asked me about someone who had just broken things off, and I thought it was the perfect response. His death was sad, and sudden, and tragic. But it's over. He's gone. Now it's time to mourn his loss and move on. 

Bad dates

When people ask about my bad dating experiences, I often wish I had better stories. I never went out with a sweaty, burpy guy, like my sister, or with a man who casually mentioned that he was planning to dabble in prostitution later that afternoon, like my friend M. My worst date was years ago, when I went out with a guy I met at a party in Williamsburg. He was from Maine, and an old friend of someone I met once or twice who seems like a decent person and is a bit of a celebrity in the progressive political world, plus I had beer goggles, so I thought he seemed great.

When we met a week later, though, I quickly realized my mistake. By the time we were ready to head out of my apartment for a walk, I was so horrified by the thought of spending an evening with him that I briefly contemplated putting his jacket in the hallway and locking my apartment door when he went to the bathroom (the bathroom was off a common hallway, tenement-style). As we walked next to the Gowanus Canal, he told me that he liked to hang out by the East River on Staten Island and throw tennis balls into the water. For fun.

He had just enough money in his bank account, he told me, to pay for movie tickets for both of us. But then he got hungry, so we had to stop at a store so he could buy chips. Then he only had enough money for one movie ticket, so I got my own. It was a long, painful evening.

I had a similar experience last week during my third and final date with the Hipster Librarian. He suggested a visit to the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, a fine suggestion that showed sensitivity to my interests. However, once there a side to his personality came out that I had glimpsed once or twice before: He is an insufferable know-it-all, and he takes himself way too seriously. For instance, in front of a Sargent sketch: "Isn't it fascinating how the style is so different from his other works! I would hardly know it as a Sargent. It's positively Chavannes-esque." When we arrived at Rembrandt's self-portrait: "Ah, Rembrandt. Only 23 years old. At that age, he still may have had delusions of himself as a good-looking man, but not for much longer." I kid you not. Again, I had the urge to race out of the museum without looking back.

The next day, he added me as a friend on Facebook, and I looked through his photos and saw lots of artsy shots of himself looking pensive. And I knew I had to move on. So I sent him the Breakup Email and bid him adieu.

I think he'd appreciate the fact that I bid him adieu rather than just saying bye.

Breakup narratives

Penelope Trunk has written about how when you lose a job you need to create a narrative to explain what happened -- for potential employers but also, I believe, for yourself. It doesn't really matter what the reason is that you got fired for; it's just important to have a reason that makes sense to you, a way to learn from the experience and move on. Similarly, I feel the need to have a narrative for every breakup, something I can take from the experience that explains why it didn't work out and how I can avoid that in the future. Here are a few of my narratives:

• l'Artista -- wonderful guy who I truly loved and who truly loved me, but utterly incapable of commitment (and ultimately very self-centered because of his fear of commitment). Had I been older when I first met him I probably would have been a lot smarter about recognizing that.
  
• La Moustache -- a snake in the grass, a chameleon with no real personality of his own who transformed himself into the perfect boyfriend for me because that's what he wanted at the time, then transformed himself again when he wanted something else.
• Dreamy -- a safe choice after my difficult experience with Moustache, but we were never on the same wavelength. Just generally not the right guy for me.
  
• Doctor O -- a very interesting man, but ultimately his Asperger's would have made him a difficult partner. I was fascinated by him but never felt that comfortable with him.
  

Given the suddenness and lack of explanation for how things ended with Monkeyboy, it's been a struggle to come up with a narrative. Two weeks later, the explanation that makes the most sense to me is that he couldn't handle the conflicting emotions of feeling devastated at the loss of his friend and excitement about me. That part of him wanted a relationship with someone he felt intimate and connected to, but part of him didn't, or didn't feel capable of it, or was scared (he had a long relationship that ended a couple of years ago with someone who sounds more like a good friend than a real love). It's sad that he chose to respond by slamming the door on my face so completely that when I asked a few days ago if we could meet up and talk more about it he (kindly but firmly) said no. It's not every day you meet someone who you feel so good with, and it's sad to have it end this way.

Part of me wants to be more careful next time, given how hurt I was by him. But finally, I can't say I have any regrets. I do want a relationship with someone I feel intimate and connected with, and in order to get that you have to put yourself out there.

Who knows, maybe I'll feel just as good about one of the three dates I have lined up as I did about Monkeyboy.

Breakup recovery strategies

This breakup is small potatoes, so it's been a fast recovery. I'm well into the acceptance phase at this point. It's been interesting to notice how it progresses and think about what makes me feel better. Here are a few suggestions:

1) Make fun plans. I am going to be in a canoe race!! I will probably bring shame to my team, but who cares as long as it makes me feel better? Also coming up soon: trapeze lessons! Thank you, Groupon.

2) Let yourself perseverate on it for a few days. Not for too long, but perseveration is part of the process. Alternate perseverating with distraction.

3) Find friends who will meet you where you are. If you are perseverating, they will listen to you. If you are in the cocoon of denial, they don't try to force you out of it. Everyone (including me) forgets sometimes that the cocoon of denial is normal and healthy, but it is. Just don't forget to emerge from the cocoon when you're ready.

4) Write a goodbye card, then wait a week to send it. Some say it's giving him power by making him think you're still thinking about him; I say framing it in a positive way gives YOU power by not allowing him to feel you are the victim. E.g., "I think it's lame to act so excited about someone and then change your mind out of the blue. However, I enjoyed the time we spent together and am choosing to remember it fondly and think of you as a decent, if confused, guy." [Read: You suck, but it doesn't bother me and I'm not going to hold any grudges.]

5) Do yoga in the park with your neighbor, and embrace the fact that you're being stereotypically white and the black kids playing ball probably think you're ridiculous.

6) Defriend him on Facebook, erase all his texts and his phone number, and trash his Valentine's gifts. Well, maybe not the monkey, cause that was really cute.

(Damn him for getting me a gift subscription to a magazine! Did he plan it so I would be FORCED to think of him every month for an entire year??)

7) Read a good book. Detective novels are awesome at times like these. Fred Vargas is the best, and the fact that it's written in French puts me to sleep really quickly even when I'm feeling kinda tortured.

8) Let's not forget alcohol. Bless my friend R for reminding me that now would be a good time to break open that bottle of grappa. Thank you, grappa, for all your love and support this week.

9) And then move on. As a friend in my dating support groups says, NEXT!

Apologies

I believe in apologies. A real, heartfelt apology feels damn good to receive. One of the best apologies I've ever gotten came from an ex-boyfriend who wasn't very nice to me in high school. Ten years later, he got in touch to apologize. It was a short apology, and at first I thought it was strange and superfluous, since I was so far past caring. But after sitting on it for a while, I started to really appreciate it. He really HADN'T been nice to me, and it was good of him to hold himself accountable for it all those years later and not just chalk it up to being young. It made me feel like he is a good guy who had a momentary slip in judgment.

But lots of apologies feel empty, à la Newt Gingrich. I think La Moustache must have apologized to me about a million times, but he never took any responsibility for what happened. It was all, "I'm sorry, but the timing just ended up this way," and "Look, I'm sorry. I just feel really depressed and need to try something different," and "I'm sorry, I wanted our relationship to work and it didn't." Even now, if he were to write me and acknowledge how shoddily he treated me and tell me how terrible he feels about it, I think it would change the way I feel toward him. Instead, I imagine that he does feel guilty, and that he's still making excuses inside his own head.

Similarly, Monkeyboy's "I'm sorry. Truly," has a glib, hollow ring to it. Maybe it's just a question of time needing to pass before I can take it in. But if he were to say, for instance, "It must be very confusing the way I acted toward you. I came on so strong and really led you on with my behavior, and now I really regret that," I think I would feel differently.

So, if anyone has any apologizing to do, get out there and do it! And be sure to give details about why you feel bad (details are key). Hmm, who do I need to apologize to?

Happy birthday, Monkeyboy

I'm sad we won't be making dinner together this week for your birthday as planned. I won't be giving you the gifts I got for you, even if for the moment, I'm not ready to think about returning them. I was going to give you these, for hiking in the ice, along with a printout of information for a hike we could do together in the Whites:

And this, because you like my pottery:


And lastly this, so we could go see the movie together when it comes out in a couple weeks:

And also I was going to make you your favorite cake:

It probably wouldn't have looked quite that good, but I would've tried. I'm not going to send you a message to say happy birthday. I think you know I'm thinking it, anyway. I'm trying not to think about you and to find other people I'm interested in dating. This morning, I even threw out your toothbrush. But before the bristles touched anything in the trash, I grabbed it out again, because I'm just not quite ready for that yet. I'd hate to think you've thrown out my toothbrush already. And I don't quite buy what you said about things not feeling right between us. At least, they sure felt right from my point of view.

The stone vixen

Some people handle crises well. Others are sent into a tailspin, and rather than mourn and figure things out in a healthy way, they freak out. Turns out Monkeyboy is in the latter category, as I discovered after a friend of his passed away suddenly last week.

I don't mean to minimize Monkeyboy's loss. It's incredibly sad. I can understand him wanting some time to himself to mourn. But it's hard for me to understand why this would lead to him doing a complete about-face with regards to me. One Sunday, he was introducing me to his oldest friends and making plans for things we could do together over the summer. By Friday, he was unsure about things but didn't want me to worry, and told me he "didn't want to make any decisions while in crisis mode." However, 48 hours later, crisis mode was apparently over, and he told me that while he was more excited about me than anyone he'd met in years, it "just didn't feel right."

One thing I pride myself on is my comportment during a breakup. Sure, it's not always that easy, and I broke about a million of my own rules when Moustache broke up with me (rules like don't bite the other person, maintain self possession...). But this breakup was a snap. I quickly adapted what I call my "stone vixen" stance, maintaining a polite, amused smile on my face throughout the conversation and refusing any physical contact. Smiling all the while, I told him that he hadn't behaved very nicely to me. When he went on to explain his crisis in more depth, I very politely interrupted to tell him that I thought the best word to describe him is "fickle." Then I escorted him to the door, allaying his apologies by repeating, "It's all right. Believe me, it is QUITE all right."

I had high hopes for Monkeyboy. It's unfortunate he turned out to be so lame. Probably not worth crying any tears over, though.

Rejection

So far during this round of dating, I feel good about my stats. Until last Monday, I had gone out on ten dates with four guys, all of whose company I enjoyed, and all of whom wanted to go on second dates with me. It didn't work out with any of them (mostly because the only one I was really interested in was Doctor O), but still, I enjoyed most of the dates and felt like they were a worthwhile use of my time.

On Monday, though, the inevitable happened: I went out with a guy who wasn't into me. After four enthusiastic suitors, it came as a bit of a shock, and it took me a while to clue in to his disinterestedness. At the end of the date, though, it became crystal clear. We walked out of the bar, I turned to my date and started to say, "That was fun!"

He interrupted me when "fun!" was halfway out of my mouth. "Nice meeting you. Good night," he said, turned, and walked away.

I was hurt and a bit horrified by his rudeness. I've gone out with many guys I'm not into, but I'm always polite to them and pretend like I had a good time -- mostly because usually I did have a good time, I just knew I didn't want to see them again. My strategy in this situation is to pretend I'm into them, then when they contact me I send them a polite breakup email (composed by my sister, Ms. Swamp) that goes something like this:

It was great to meet you the other day. You seem like a smart, thoughtful, outdoorsy guy, and a great teacher. I didn't, however, really feel a spark, whatever that means -- the more I do this, the more I trust my gut instinct on this stuff. I don't want to keep taking up your time if I don't feel that potential, but good luck with everything.

They usually take it very well, and I feel that this approach makes the situation as pleasant as possible for everyone involved. In fact, I half considered letting my Monday date know that the experience of going out with him was unpleasant for me, and suggesting he take an approach closer to mine.

On the same night as my date, my friend Surfer Girl went out on a first date, too. She texted me afterwards: "My date was awesome!!! How was yours?"

Unfortunately, it turned out that her date was, in fact, adopting my approach. He wasn't into her either, but while he was with her he pretended to be. By the end of the week, Surfer Girl was obsessively checking her email every five minutes and questioning what she had done wrong.

Hearing Surfer Girl's sad tale, which so many of us have experienced at one point or another, made me wonder if my date's approach wasn't so bad after all. I wasn't that into him, so in this case I wouldn't have minded in the least not hearing from him. But if I had been into him, I would have found out right away that the feeling wasn't reciprocated, and avoided those torturous days of waiting.

In any case, I'm pretty sure I don't have the cojones to reject someone to their face, so I'm going to stick with my approach. Which reminds me, I need to send the breakup email to my date from last weekend.

Breakup gifts

Last night, I came home to find a gift of a somewhat cheesy little gold necklace with a dragonfly pendant waiting for me, along with a note from Doctor O:

Heathen:

I'm afraid I have sad news. I've decided to start an exclusive relationship with another woman.

I've been seeing her a couple months longer than I've been dating you. Only in the past two days did our relationship progress to the point where we both decided to explicitly agree to stop seeing other people.

I wanted to tell you in person as soon as possible, but despite Love Letters' ideas, it's often difficult to make this happen in real life. I fear if I delay any longer that it would be unfair to you, so I apologize for this email version, but I really wanted to try to see you in person. I also didn't want you to alter your plans or make you unnecessarily worry about what we'd be talking about.

I think you're very special. Though I'm not certain how you feel about me, I definitely feel you're "my type" and I've enjoyed getting to know you and I find you very attractive. It simply appears I've met you at an inopportune time--I'm insanely busy with work, and I started dating the other woman earlier when I did have more time. Otherwise, who knows what might have unfolded between us. Nevertheless, since I'm very serious about my commitments, I'm going to give my new relationship everything I have and with regret I'm going to have to say good-bye to you.

I still got you a gift because I wanted you to know that I treasured the little time we've spent together. You're a terrific woman, Heathen. I wish you the very best.

While I find it a bit strange that my Instaboyfriend was seeing someone else he was excited about even as he was saying things to me like, "I told my mom about you the other day. I told her that you are kind, pretty and VERY stable," and was inviting me to parties to meet his friends, I have to give Doctor O props in his breakup technique. I couldn't help but compare the thoughtfulness of this breakup (after five dates) with the utter thoughtlessness Dreamy displayed in our breakup after a year and change. So, I've decided to remember Doctor O fondly, as a kind, somewhat odd but very communicative guy, and to mail him the Christmas gift I bought him after he told me he had one for me.

I hope he enjoys On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan, about a relationship that fails on the first night of a marriage. It seems even more appropriate now than it did when I bought it.

Just say no

I've become aware of a problem I have recently: It is very difficult for me to say no and disappoint people. I came to realize this soon after Dreamy and I broke up, when, after overcoming my initial sadness, I felt a huge sense of relief. It dawned on me that I would have broken up with him much earlier if I hadn't felt bad about disappointing him.

I actually did try to break up with him in early August, on the eve of Ms. Swamp's wedding to the Sensitive Bostonian (now my brother-in-law). I felt weird bringing Dreamy as my date knowing that I'd probably break up with him soon, so, on my friend Miami Nice's advice, I called him and was brutally honest. I told him that I'd still like to go through with our plans to attend the wedding together and go on a vacation together, but I didn't see a future for us. He asked if there was any chance I'd change my mind, and I said I didn't think so. And then he said that he was fine with coming to the wedding and going to Costa Rica, and we did those things, and I pretended to myself that I'd changed my mind even though I hadn't really and even though I often felt that I'd much rather be by myself than with him.

In the end, things worked out fine. His departure for New York made for a convenient break, and I don't regret staying with him for those extra couple of months. In a way it made it easier to remember our relationship fondly, since I had a lot of negative feelings toward him over the summer that dissipated during the early fall. Dreamy wasn't a bad guy; we had a pretty good relationship, even though we weren't right for each other. But I wonder what would have happened if he hadn't moved to New York. How long would I have continued to try to convince myself that maybe I'd start to feel in love with him again? And who did I think I was doing any favors for by staying with a guy who I knew I didn't want to marry? Having experienced several times how difficult it is when someone (La Moustache, the Brazilian) didn't want to be with me but had trouble telling me so, I know firsthand how much easier it would be if they would just say it.

Now I'm faced with the task of disappointing someone again, a guy I've gone out with three times and had an unpleasant, makes-me-want-to-scrub-my-mouth-out kiss with at the end of our third date. I was pretty sure after our first date that I wasn't into him (as were some friends who happened to be in the same bar and were observing our interactions), but I kept going out with him partly to make sure, and partly because it was easier than disappointing him. Now the time has come, because I REALLY can't go through with another one of those kisses, and I've set myself a deadline of 3 p.m. today and pulled out Ms. Swamp's much-used breakup email to revise and send off.

The good news is I'm also dating someone who I like a lot, who is smart and interesting and likes me too and tells me three times before every date how excited he is to see me and wants to make me dinner next week (date #4). I'm excited to see him, too, and to get to know him better and continue adding to the lists of green, yellow and red flags in his section of my Man List. And if I should uncover some red flags in my research, please remind me to SAY NO.

Rapprochement

ra-prōsh-man. n. Derives from the French word rapprocher, "to bring together".

1) Establishment of or state of having cordial relations.
2) A human developmental milestone usually occurring between 15 to 24 months. The child moves away from and then returns to the mother for reassurance.

Definition #2 might be a bit of a stretch, but taken down a notch, it could possibly describe what is happening recently between me and my ex-boyfriend, l'Artista. He was such an important figure in my life that in some ways he was almost like a parent. Somehow, La Moustache managed to be such a douchebag during our breakup that he made l'Artista look good by comparison and changed the way I've been thinking about that relationship since it ended a few years ago. I realize that the fact that he's not quite as horrible as your other ex doesn't really constitute a good reason to be friends, but I thought about it a lot and felt there might be some value for me in trying to establish a relationship.

Still, each time he emails me it somehow takes me weeks before I feel ready to write back. I'm not really sure why. It's not just that I'm busy, although that is part of it. When I read his emails I feel strongly that I need to close them and not reply to them for a while.

So when I received an email in early November, in which he told me that he'd like to talk on the phone and specifically he'd like to discuss our breakup, which he's always felt bad about, I mentally put it in the category of "things to think about later." I finally turned my thoughts back to it yesterday afternoon. L'Artista didn't say why he felt bad about our breakup, but I suspected that he thought it was unfair of me to cut him off so completely. When we broke up, I refused to take his calls, read his emails, or give him any way to contact me. I put a block on my email and hung up when he figured out how to call me so I couldn't see who it was. Of course this was very, very hard for both of us. But I had to do it because after months and months of trying to break up I realized this was the only way it was going to happen.

I carefully constructed my reply, telling him I would be happy to discuss the breakup, but reminding him that as we both know my memory is much better than his. "I don't know how you remember our breakup," I said diplomatically, "but in case you remember it differently from how I remember it, I hope you are able to listen to what I have to say about it. Of course, I will listen to you, too. Feel free to give me a call."

A scant 40 minutes later, I was in the car driving to dinner with my sister. We had just pulled over so she could hop out and buy a sixpack when my phone rang. My sister rooted around in my bag to find my phone, and my heart sank a little when she reported that the number was unlisted. When I answered and heard l'Artista's voice, I had a sudden, irrational urge to hide the fact that he was calling from my sister, who still hadn't exited the car. (As it turns out, this was utterly useless since she told me later that she had recognized his voice the moment I answered.) "Oh, hi!" I said casually when I heard his voice, still as familiar as the back of my hand even though I haven't heard it in over four years, "hold on a sec." I tried to make it sound as normal as possible, as though I were actually talking with someone who speaks English.

I hoped Ms. Swamp would disappear quickly, but she was looking for her purse. "Who is it?" she asked, her curiosity obviously piqued.

"Get out of the car!" I hissed back, abandoning any pretense that it was a normal phone call. She threw me a quizzical look, grabbed her purse and left, at which point I told l'Artista that I was with my sister and couldn't talk. We made plans to talk another time.

We finally talked this evening, and it turns out my fears about his memories of our breakup were utterly unfounded. He feels awful about it, and says he feels that he went out of his way to create problems that he then couldn't face. I think he's right, and that it was a very weak, bad moment for a person who is overall decent and caring.

It was pleasant, if a bit surreal, to hear his voice. Mostly it felt as though no time at all has passed since we spoke last, whereas in reality my entire life has changed since then. It feels as though he knows me so well, but in fact there are so many things he doesn't know about me, since in many ways I'm not the same person I was when we broke up. Whether or not I know him is hard to say.

I may have the chance to explore this further soon. When we said goodbye, I told him to feel free to call again if he wants to. But we also might do more than talk on the phone soon, since I received the astonishing news a few weeks ago that my parents participated in a raffle and WON A WEEKLONG VACATION IN A VILLA IN TUSCANY. Crazy, right?? And actually it's not one villa but two, and it's on a vineyard, and there is a pool. In the photos it looks absolutely gorgeous. It's probable that we'll be going next July, if the dates work out.

Still not sure how I feel about actually seeing l'Artista, but if there's one thing I'm certain I'm excited about it's eating one of his amazing meals. My stomach is growling in anticipation already.

Waxing philosophical

Hmm, I wonder how many double-entendre titles I can come up with about waxing?

I went to see my Wise Waxer yesterday in preparation for one last trip to the beach with my cousin today. I probably won't be seeing her again until waxing season resumes in the spring, so I had to soak up every last bit of her wisdom while I could (I would totally pay the $35 waxing fee for it, even if she neglected to remove any hairs).

I talked to her a bit about my breakups, telling her two-minute versions of both my La Moustache and l'Artista relationships. Then I mentioned my upcoming date that I'm uber-excited for, and reflected, "I think he's a good one. He isn't drop-dead gorgeous, which I think is a good sign."

She looked at me sagely and nodded her head slowly. "It can be a good thing when men are less attractive than women," she replied, "but you never know. I thought my first husband would never cheat on me. He was chubby and unattractive. But when I was 28 with two kids, a four-year-old and a two-month-old, he came home one day and told me he was leaving. I didn't see him again for a year." When she went out to buy diapers a few days later their joint bank account, consisting mainly of the earnings from stores she owned, had been closed. The stores were in her husband's name.

"You're making my breakup story sound like a walk in the park!" I cried, shocked. "That must have been horrible. How did you survive?"

"It was the best thing that ever happened to me," she answered. "I found out how strong I am. It gave me such a boost to my self-esteem -- after that I can do anything. I started my businesses up again. I was so resourceful. I had to raise my kids and I had to make money, so I just went on with my life."

A few months later, she met her second husband. "I didn't want anything to do with him," she explained. "He was so good-looking, he had this beautiful body. I told my brother (who had introduced them), 'What would I want with this guy? I date men who are ugly and have money. Get him away from me!' He told me okay, but he had a feeling he'd be good in bed." So she started dating him, telling him that she wanted nothing from him, didn't want to ever get married again, didn't want any money from him. He didn't want to marry either. Fourteen years later they finally got married, and they've been married ever since. "You just never know about a person," she said, "but don't trust them in the meantime. Men are selfish." She spit the last word out furiously, seconds after talking affectionately and tenderly about her husband.

So, I guess there are no generalizations to be made about good-looking versus not good-looking men. Some of both are good; some of both are bad. I think it can be nice when beautiful women date less attractive men, and the men dote on them. Unfortunately, not all unattractive men realize how lucky they are to have a beautiful woman.

From what I know so far it seems that Dreamy is a cute but not overly handsome good one. He did well on the five areas that my dating guru Li'l JC instructed me to take notes on:

1) Shoes -- I know I talk a lot about shoes, but in the end, the right guy can pull off any shoes. I think my opinions of people's shoes are really just a reflection of my thoughts about the person. It's all about being comfortable in your own shoes.
2) Manners -- impeccable. Paid for everything, walked me partway to the subway, texted me to tell me he had a good time and apologize for not walking me all the way to the subway.
3) Food -- he admits to being a terrible cook, but appreciates good food. That's cool with me. I've resigned myself to not finding another l'Artista.
4) Books -- I didn't ask what he read most recently, but we talked a bunch about Jonathan Kozol. He's read more Kozol books than I have, despite not being in the field of education. Pretty impressive.
5) Siblings -- he's the baby of the family, two older siblings. Seems to have a good relationship with both.

Let's hope he continues to do well.