Dear John

I thought of calling this letter "Why I Am Breaking Up With You," and then thought better of it. After all, I'm not entirely convinced that I want to. There are so many about us that just don't work together. I am a strong proponent of this whole "opposites attract" adage but I think Paula Abdul meant things like he's quiet, she's chatty; he's rugged, she's girly; he's bookish, she's artsy. I don't think it holds for us. None of the things I am about to write to you is reason enough to break up with you, in and of itself, but the series of things that do not mesh is certainly cause for some concern.

I am boho chic, minus the chic. You are what Abercrombie would be if he grew up and got a job.

I like animals. You do not. It wouldn't be such a problem if you didn't mind them, or if you simply didn't care for them but could tolerate them, but no. You don't want pets. Ever.

I am anything but fancy. You like things of a certain... quality. You're more of a hotel kind of guy while I get my kicks out of hostels and guesthouses. It's not that I mind hotels. It's just that sometimes, I wanna be less removed from the rest of the world. 

I am a social butterfly. You have no friends in the city. Except the ones you work with, and they don't really count since you don't hang out with them outside of work. It's awesome that you are willing to hang out with my friends, but I wish you had your own.

I embrace all cultures. You are very vocal in your distaste for the French and the Canadians. What have they ever done to you?

I am liberal. You are conservative. I believe that some people need a little help to get on even footing, whereas you're more every man for himself. Neither of us is politically passionate enough to matter most of the time, but sometimes, it makes me wonder. 

I do not make a six figure salary. You do. In fact, you make three times as much as I do. Is that why you complain 300 times more than I do even though we work the same number of hours? It's true, my job may not be as serious as yours, and mine might even be kind of fun, but did you ever think to offer me a shoulder rub after a long day before asking me to give you one?

I enjoy food. A lot. I can't even begin to understand how it is that you have not, not even once, walked out of a restaurant with me raving about the tastes and textures that have just danced across our tongues. As I chew in near-ecstasy, I see you picking at your food, eating it dutifully but without joy, and all of a sudden, my food doesn't taste as good. It breaks my heart.

I dream of traveling. I dream of sights and sounds and smells you just can't get here. With every paycheck I get, I dedicate a percentage of it to my next unforgettable destination. You don't really want to waste your money on travel. You'd rather spend it on something more tangible. Like another gigantic television.

I don't watch tv. You love it. Ironic, as I'm the one who works in television. I think it's awesome that you know so much about all of the shows and the entertainment business and all, but sometimes it makes me sad that we are on the couch a good 90% of the time we are together, not counting the time that we are sleeping. And even when we're not watching, you're talking about tv, talking about the characters as if they are people you know in real life.

I love music and the arts. You're not really into the arts, and while you like music, you prefer to listen at home. I'm cool with that. I even like your taste in music. But you know I love museums and concerts and the ballet and the opera and live music, and still, we sit at home in front of the tv. Can't we take a couple nights off from your couch, comfortable though it may be? You do have DVR, after all.

I don't expect a whole lot on holidays. My birthday was on a Monday and I was in France on business. I asked you if you had free long distance at work so you could call my hotel. You said no. And that was that. When I got back from France, you told me you hadn't gotten me anything and what did I want. I said, "Nothing," because I'm pretty sure that's the only thing I could have said without sounding like a whiny little brat. You double checked with me, saying, "You're sure you're not gonna be mad at me later and bring it up if I don't?" To which I replied, "Of course not." What? I'm going to demand that you take me out to dinner or do something nice? Or spend a few extra dollars on your phone bill to make an international phone call? I don't need jewelry or flowers or fancy dinners, but a heartfelt card or a trip to a museum might have been nice.

You don't need me. You keep me around as long as it's convenient for you. When you're tired after work, you don't want to see me because you're tired. When I'm tired after work, I want to collapse into your arms and let the worries of the day disappear. If I do come over when you're tired, you prefer that I don't stay the night because I don't help you relax.

I need to be loved. I have been craving it. That's why I got sucked into you so quickly, the very first day that I moved to the city. You drew me in with good food and nights out and telling me I was beautiful. Now it's McDonalds and Survivor and I shouldn't wear those brown lacy panties anymore because I don't look good walking around the house in them.

My heart hurts.

Follow through...

Dear D & S

Until today, I wasn't angry with either of you. I have known for weeks that you, D, my old roommate and supposed friend, and you, S, my ex boyfriend and supposed best friend, were intimate with one another. I didn't care that you did it to get back at me. I thought it pathetic, really. S, you were mad because I started seeing someone new. D, you had to make up a reason to be mad at me. But what made it all so pathetic was that you wanted to hurt me but then you were both too cowardly to be open about it. And you, D, are so self righteous. You pass judgment on anyone and everyone when you are clearly no saint yourself. Poor W. I can't believe that he has no idea that he is not the only one you have been with. You've been with him for nearly what... eight years now? You must be very bored. Very unhappy. And very scared. You won't let go of W because you are so scared of change, of having to put in the effort of finding someone who might actually fulfill you. And S: it's too bad you were so wildly jealous after our breakup. Yes, I hooked up with J on Memorial Day weekend. Long after you and I had called it quits in March. You and J didn't even know each other, and it's not like I was doing anything wrong by moving on and finding someone new, although I must concede that another coworker was probably in bad taste. But I didn't choose him to spite you. I didn't want to spite you. It's not like I decided to hook up with your roommates or anything.

When I first heard that the phrase "D gives great head" came out from S's mouth, I was in shock, and I felt betrayed, but not angry. In fact, I thought it rather sad. My old roommate, you are trapped in a relationship where you are bored to tears but won't get out because you don't know what you'd do without him to fight passionately with you about the most trivial things (thereby feeding your seemingly insatiable penchant for drama) and to pay for your dinners and to buy you your designer purses. My old boyfriend, you say to this day that you love me and you'll love me forever, that all of the songs you have written for your first album are about me. Your inability to enjoy life without the aid of any kind of drug enhancement is maddening, and it made you paranoid. You were convinced that J and I had hooked up long before we ever so much as thought of kissing, and that paranoia drove you into a rage against me.

All of that, like I mentioned before, is forgivable. I have spoken to both of you since, and cordially. I have made no mention of my knowledge, mostly bc I like to avoid drama if possible. (It is awfully good at seeking me out, though.) But then tonight I discovered that the first of your intimate encounters was back in early December after the company Christmas party. I was passed out in my bed, and you were both on D's bed... in the same room as me, as D and I shared a room.

I cannot be friends with either of you any longer, and while I'd like to tell you why, I don't know that you even deserve an explanation.

And D: I would never stoop so low as to tell W just to get back at you. Anger is fleeting; I know this will pass. But this overwhelming feeling of pity and an understanding that you both lack character: it will remain.

Signed,
Me Follow through...

Smug

In the last week, I've gotten text messages from two of my exes. They weren't all that profound, but they were just profound enough to instill in me a deep sense of satisfaction, to the point of smugness. I've been very much a Carrie, always having trouble letting go of the special men in my life, the three of them being G, M, and C. I tend to fear that I really did have the best thing that ever happened to me and that he slipped away. Well, Carrie no more. I don't wonder about any of them, whether we'll ever be together again or any of that nonsense. Now, thoughts of these men arouse in me little stirrings of nostalgia, but no desire. And finally, smugness.

G is the reason I initially considered moving to LA. I wanted to be closer to him, and I wanted to work in media (and I didn't like NYC). He and I had been on-again, off-again (a whole lot more off) for about 4 years. (In between, I did have other serious prospects so I don't even know that on-again off-again is an accurate description.) This is the first guy I thought I loved. And he broke my heart numerous times, yet I clung to the hope that we would one day be together because that's just how things were meant to be. But the last time I came out to LA, he was a total dickhead to me. He went to Vegas with friends of mine that I introduced him to, met up with more of my friends there, and didn't return any of my calls, texts, emails, etc for four months. Then he hears I was in LA interviewing and that I got a job, and has the audacity to leave me a voice mail telling me I should have called him while I was in town so we could have hung out. WHAT? Listen, asshole, if you drop off the face of the planet for four months, I'm not exactly gonna be swinging from your nuts because you leave me one stupid voice message. That was back in June. At the time, I was still hurt and angry, so I simply texted back with a "Thanks" in response to his congratulations. Then, after arriving in LA, I decided to be mature and just dropped a line letting him know I was in town. He texted me last night with "I was here in Utah (that's where he's from) looking through some of my old stuff (aka all the lovey dovey shit I used to send him) and was wondering how u are doing... I hope all is well with the LA life." I thought to myself... haha have fun walking down memory lane but I passed that street a long time ago. It's so childish of me to feel so good knowing that he's thinking of me, and I could give two shits about how he's doing at this point. But I'd like to be friends with him so I can get a discount on shoes at Nordstroms.

M? I dunno, I've just accepted the fact that he and I won't ever be together again. Suki still hopes we will, but he's a dear friend to me, and nothing more. No drama there.

And C. He and I were just starting to get serious when I left for Europe, but he'd done me so much wrong in the past. I think he may have started to reform, but none of that matters anymore. He missed his chance. He could have treated me better when I was crazy about him, but he didn't. And that factored into my decision to cut things off with him even though they seemed to be getting good because I met a man who treats me like gold now. So his prodding "Hey... how are ya"s just don't cut it.

It doesn't seem like much, but knowing G and C, two people who never ever EVER talk about their feelings, I know this is a subtle way for them to let me know they are thinking about me. How sweet. Suckers. I hope you miss me because you both had a good thing going for a while. I would have done almost anything for you.

Follow through...