The Ex-Files

I was recently dumped in a truly horrific fashion, by someone that a lot of people in my life didn't believe deserved me in the first place. Therefore, I would like to dedicate this entry to a few of my many tales from the blood and tear covered battle-field of singlehood. These tales may sound unbelievable, but I assure you, they are strictly non-fiction.

The Pee-er: No, its not what you think. This exciting experience happened my freshman year of college. A very cute guy from my dorm came to my room to pick me up for a first date. As we were walking down the main street in our college town, he suddenly said, "dude, I have to pee." Before I could suggest the gas station a couple blocks down, he had unzipped his pants, whipped "it" out, and started peeing into the street. Non-fiction, I swear.

First time's a charm: My first boyfriend was a guy I met while counseling at a summer camp with my best friend at the time, Bertha. We both fell for fellow counselor, Bubba, immediately. After the summer, Bubba began writing me letters, expressing his romantic intentions. I confronted Bertha and told her that I liked him, but could walk away if it would impact our friendship. She gave me permission, and I happily dated Bubba for the next six months...until I found out (via hand-written letter from Bubba) that Bertha and Bubba had been cheating on me for over a month. They have been married since we were 19 and are currently expecting their first child. Rad.

Hands off: While living in New York City after college, I got into salsa dancing. While I was out dancing one night, I met an overwhelmingly sexy Latin man. Not only did he salsa dance like someone from So You Think You Can Dance, he was a professional soccer player, and by far the most gorgeous hunk of man I'd ever seen. We dated for a couple weeks and although the strong cultural differences were obvious, for the most part, I was having a great 'ol time. One night, we were in a cab on the way home from a date, and I was feeling a little nervous - we had gotten to the point where I needed to decide if a good-night kiss should be the end of the night. Anyway, one of my many charming flaws is that I chew on the skin around my finger nails when I'm nervous. Well, I must have been chomping away, because out of the blue, Raul slapped (hard!) my hand out of my mouth and exclaimed - with so much emotion, you would have thought I'd just publicly denounced his penis - that "women should have beautiful hands!!" At the next stop light, I simply handed the cab driver some money and got out of the cab. Bad habit or not, to chomp or not to chomp is my decision.

The licker: After moving back to California from NYC, I met a LAPD detective who was witty and cute. After a brief coffee-date, I agreed to go out to dinner. We had a great time, and I was already thinking about the second date when he dropped me off at my door. I sensed that he was moving in for a kiss, and I decided to let it happen. But instead of just kissing me, he started to sniff around my face and neck - a behavior I can only assume he picked up from the K-9 unit. Before I could pull away and assess the situation, he opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue and licked me from my chin to my eye-brows. I certainly hope he finds that special woman who enjoys the same treatment from her man as she does from her dog.

Facebook, the new post-it note: My most recent trauma was actually another LAPD cop (funny, the only two cops I've ever dated should both make this very selective blog posting) who lives a few doors down. Quiet, prematurely bald at 26 and incredibly fair-skinned (almost glow-in-the dark), he wasn't exactly my type. However, I've grown increasingly tired of the pretty-boy metrosexuals that abound in LA, so his manly physique and American flag tattoo intrigued me.

I never really intended to get serious with my neighbor (let's call him J-Dogg), but before I knew it, I was falling in love with the Mr. Clean look-alike who doesn't talk much. He was surprisingly funny and romantic, and within a few months we were having nightly sleep-overs and he was making the trek down to Orange County to meet my family and childhood friends.

There were definitely warning signs that J-Dogg was a little immature for the type of relationship I've been ready for since I entered my late twenties. He would randomly go three days without contacting me (this was in addition to the fact that most of our correspondence was done via text message, which was already worrisome), and thought I was over-reacting when I voiced concern over the fact that my relatively serious boyfriend had a major compulsion to ogle other women when we were together(I'm not talking about the accidental once-over of a passing hottie, but literally doing double and triple takes of the tall blond jogging down the street. My rule has always been: Look at whatever you want on your own time, but when I'm around, at least pretend there isn't another woman you could want more).

After seven months, I was concerned that I'd given my heart to someone who wasn't ready, or willing, to take care of it - I felt like I had to push for things that should come naturally. Finally, after a few horribly uncomfortable conversations that made me feel needy for wanting to speak to my boyfriend on a daily basis, I decided to write him a letter. I explained that I wanted to be with him, but that I needed to know what he was thinking and feeling. I told him that I felt like it was time to take things to the next level (e.g. speaking regularly and considering each other when scheduling our time off). I closed by saying that I would take a step back and wait for him to approach me.

I waited. And waited. Then, since he is an active member of the Facebook and MySpace generation, I decided to check his Facebook page to see if he was alive. Well, imagine my surprise when I saw that he had changed his relationship status to "single" and his mood to "irritated." Huh. Then, in case I didn't already feel like Carrie Bradshaw in the SITC episode where she gets dumped via post-it note, later that day, I arrived at my apartment to find my belongs (PJs, face wash, etc) in a bag on my door-step.

Wow.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't sad, but I would also be lying if I said I wasn't incredibly grateful to the dating gods for getting me out of that relationship before I ended up with someone who was capable of dumping me via electronic post-it note.