One of the things that I really hate to admit about myself
is that I kind of love to see my exes completely miserable. Okay, maybe not completely miserable. Maybe just moderately
disappointed with the way their lives turned out, forever regretting the loss
of someone like me, and gradually approaching the handsome frame of Tony
Soprano. Maybe some of them even spend their lives pining for me and die
miserable and alone. I mean, after some of the things that I put up with from
every single one of them? I just think that an awful post-Katie relationship
life is just terribly fair…
I obviously wanted them to incessantly see how deliriously
happy I was, going to clubs, getting slutty drunk, and wearing skimpy outfits
from Body Central. Let’s be real: why else did people have MySpace accounts? To
reconnect with people they barely even talked to in high school? To update
their status for the entire world to see? To display some of their hobbies on
the interweb and find others with the same interests?
No.
People had MySpace accounts for three reasons: to see who
had babies and/or got fat, to stalk their exes in the privacy of their own home
or mobile device, and to engage in a free hook up service. Because no one wants
to pay for EHarmony and Match.com, or ever admit to actually using them. They
would rather use an unfiltered online forum that is available to virtually
anyone with an email address. Serial killers, rapists, IRS employees, any one
of my ex-boyfriends. This was obviously a MUCH better way to meet people.
Definitely a wise choice.
I think a lot of people
settle with comfort. There’s nothing wrong with settling, it’s definitely an
easier life than the one I’ve chosen to live. –Aubrey O’Day
But more often than not, your ex has settled. (With a
MySpace whore, some future retail manager, or the girl who hangs around the
fire station because “those firemen are just so hot”... But let me just tell
you something, okay? I’ve very seriously dated three of them and they definitely
don’t look like the FDNY calendars.) Sometimes it isn’t for a lack of trying.
Most men aren’t all that great with rejection. If one girl says “no”, they’ll
just scoot down the bar and ask the next one. I mean, realistically, desperate
ladies are really easy to come by. Especially girls 18-45 in the Pasco/Pinellas
area. So with odds like that, it’s almost impossible for them not to settle.
My most dreadful and impactful breakup occurred when I was
about twenty. It was a tumultuous relationship that literally took years off my
life. It was very stressful, weight loss inducing, and heart hardening
experience. We loved fast, moved in together, and fought like absolute crazy.
To this day, I get a stomach ache just blowing into the Port Richey city
limits. I just pray that if I’m ever in an accident, it’s on either side of the
zone line…
Anyway, I broke it off because I didn’t want to die of
cardiac arrest at twenty-five. Or because he finally totally lost his temper
for real and snapped my neck like a cheddar flavored pretzel. Because let’s be
real: stranger things have happened and also because, Scott Peterson. I wasn’t
trying to end up somewhere in the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico tied to a cinder
block.
How about no fucking thanks.
So anyway, when I finally broke it off with said
ex-boyfriend, he went a little crazy in the beginning. He was incessantly showing
up to my house and workplace, bringing me iced coffee and crying. He was sorry, he had changed, he knew how
awful he had been but things would be different from now on, he promised.
(He would always say my name in these fanatical apologies, like I was supposed
to be moved by the fact that he had chosen to call me by my actual name, rather
than the C word. I’m sorry, Kate. I know
I’m an asshole, Kate. Things will be different this time, Kate. Come on, Kate.
Blah, blah, fucking blah.)
He used my Hide-A-Key all the time and just walked into my
apartment when I refused to answer the door or his phone calls. Once, he even
did it when I was watching Message in a
Bottle on my couch. With a new, perspective boy, who was promptly uninterested
after that. (… Wonder why? What could possibly be unappealing about a
semi-psychotic, 6’3” ex-boyfriend bursting in on a dimly lit movie date?
Because I haven’t THE SLIGHTEST.)
He went through these deeply disturbing phases:
Overconfidence, because he was so sure that the breakup wasn’t permanent.
Anger, because he wasn’t getting his way, the way he always had with everyone
else (including most especially, me). And then what appeared to be genuine sadness
(given his real tears and puffy eyes), because he had finally realized that he
really lost me, the Perfect Girl #2, and he was going to have to start his
conning process all over again with someone new. (Although the upside to this
was that he could use that sad, pathetic breakup story to lure in his next
victim- sorry, I mean, girlfriend. I was told he used the moniker “Crazy Katie”
in those stories. Given our relationship, that name is almost laughable.)
So times moved on, as they tend to do, and he impregnates
the first broad he meets. The guy who never wanted to get married or have kids
(in my opinion, probably a very clever choice) drills one into some Cuban chick
the first chance he gets. And shortly after I was wed in a romantic beach
ceremony.
Oh, I’m sure it was all planned out. I’m sure they were all
very excited. I’m sure he still talks about me and his previous ex-girlfriend
because he’s just thrilled with all of his awesome life decisions. I’m sure he
isn’t settling at all.
Oh no, not at all.
‘Content’ is a word
that has never sat well with me. I think it implies some sort of decay. A
settling. –Elvis Costello
I had a girlfriend who was seeing this guy for the better
part of two years. He was troubled, but it was the good kind. They seemed to
hit it off pretty well until one day, she just decided it was time to end
things. He hadn’t necessarily done anything wrong but the relationship had run
its course. It was just time for her to move on.
Throughout their relationship, he had always talked about
how he never wanted to get married. He loved her, sure, but he was apparently
too set in his ways. He also had a lot of married friends who were rapidly
becoming “un-married”, as he put it, and he didn’t want to end up like one of
them: bitter, alone, and divorced. (Nah, he would rather be bitter, alone, and
never married…) So he told my friend he would rather just stay single (single
as in, in a relationship but not married). He was happy with the way their
stagnant relationship was, probably because it meant that he was only mildly
committed to her. (I never liked him, to be honest. But that’s me.)
Then when my friend moved on, he was apparently undergoing a
total mind reversal because guess who was engaged and married within a year?!
He went from a man who never wanted to get married, to a guy who planned a
wedding in less than a year.
Oh, I’m sure it was just love at first sight. I’m sure she
just stole his heart away and completely changed his mind. I’m sure he just
woke up one day from a drunken stupor, undergoing a change in lifestyle because
of this alleged epiphany his would be wife apparently induced. I’m sure he wasn’t
settling at all.
Oh, no. No, no, no. Not in the slightest. I’m sure it was
all just part of his dumb shit master plan.
I WISH you could hear my sighing right now.
Moral of the Crazy: I realize that in almost every breakup,
the ultimate goal is revenge. One person is always trying to out due the other.
One person is always happier than the other, and not just happier, but
obviously insanely, ridiculously, over the moon, just bought that awesome
chocolate brown Michael Kors watch, happier.
One person is always skinnier, healthier, classier, and in
possession of better looking eye candy. (I always preferred dark eyes, dark
skin, dark hair, and just enough attitude to be charming. Tattoos don’t hurt
either.) One person is ultimately more sexy, successful and sexually active
than the other, who is bogged down by kids and a lunatic girlfriend with a
crazy developed six pack and stressed out because I’m-an-unmarried-mom-that-never-eats-attitude.
Exhibit A: Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt. Or, me and my psychotic ex-boyfriend…
Hey, if the shoe fits, right? And it totally does because I
get to be Jennifer Aniston in this scenario.
But here’s the thing, friends: There are some situations
where it isn’t about jealousy or who has a better, more exciting life. It isn’t
about who has the hotter, more successful significant other. Sometimes the one
you broke up with for being a big, dumb idiot (or who dumped you because he’s
an even bigger idiot. Hello! Jennifer Aniston!) is just settling and creating
this façade of a perfect life because it’s better than admitting you
accidentally impregnated someone crazy.
All I’m saying is, I feel like everyone is always trying to
prove something to the world. I mean, even me. (But I’m pretty transparent. My
thing is I just want to be skinny.) But I find that the people who are so blatant
about it, the ones who do umpteen photo shoots with their accidental and still
illegitimate child, the ones who have a six pack because they had some
discounted liposuction, the ones who profess to be so goddamn happy and having
so much documented fun? They’re the ones with the most to hide. They’re the
ones with tragedy. They’re the ones who have settled. (Exhibit A: Elizabeth
Taylor. God rest her ridiculously gorgeous soul.)
I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. It’s not like it’s something
I’d ever partake in, but settling is safe. It’s something that you don’t have
to work at. And for someone insecure (like my ex), it’s very comforting because
you know the other person isn’t going anywhere. Because they’ve settled too. (And
also because no one is going to work harder than they have to.)
The truth is that your ex has obviously settled. It’s so
blatantly clear because if they hadn’t, if they were shooting for the gold,
they would still be with you.
There is no passion to
be found playing small- in settling for a life that is less than the one you
are capable of living. –Nelson Mandela
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