I hate you, Carrie Bradshaw.
I hate that we have the same problems, date the same shitty men, that you have a closet full of Manolo Blahniks and I have to budget in my Jimmy Choos.
(This is not a rant but could easily turn into one.)
My dating life is a series of Carrie Bradshaw quotes, if a very short email is the electronic equivalent of a post-it. Let’s just say, for the sake of my non-rant that it is considered to be the truth in all varying forms of reality. I’m also the writer which means that I get to pick whatever direction this goes. So…
Most men would raise a brow, or roll their eyes, or make some sort of facial gesture (with or without hand involvement) to the Sex And The City reference, in which case, I would like to make two quick points.
1. I’m not writing this for you.
2. It is our femininity, the yin/yang that attracted you to us in the first place.
“He broke up with me on a post-it.”
I think we can just leave this first quote as is, ladies. I received a short and sweet email. No phone call, no face to face, no balls. Make no mistake, there was a part of me that wanted to respond, and a part of me that wanted to light a cigarette. Part of me had a dent in my heart that only his smile, and the way it felt when he held me, could fix. And yet there was another part of me that started to question my actions, my looks, even myself.
When the questioning starts, all kinds of terrible things can happen. Don’t go there.
“When it comes to life and love, why do we believe our worst reviews?”
If you’re anything like me, you’ve either completely ignored my don’t go there, or worse, you think I’m different. I can handle this. It’s a growth spurt of self-analysis. Sure it is, sugar puff. If we continue to question ourselves, a certain phenomenon can occur.
This phenomenon begins with a very tiny speck of a thought. When I say tiny, I’m talking as close as you can become to non-existent without actually being invisible. You’ll suddenly remember your him saying something that was completely harmless at the time, and not intended to be anything malicious. You’ll remember him asking, “Hey, what happened to that black dress you wore when we went to (insert activity)?”
Here’s where it gets tricky. Your next thoughts are ugly: Did he only like me in black?… maybe I didn’t wear enough black… he hated the way I dress… black is slimming… he thinks I’m fat… he dumped me because I’m fat… oh god… this is ridiculous, I can’t believe I’m even thinking something so stupid… fuck, he thinks I’m stupid… I need to buy more black…
See what I mean? The thoughts are certainly ugly ladies, but you aren’t.
“Maybe our mistakes are what make our fate.”
Ever meet Mr. Could Be Right while pining over Mr. Wrong? Don’t worry—you will.
There is one thing through all of the trials and tribulations of the heart and the penis that remains intact. That thing is my dignity. That doesn’t mean that my pillow won’t be stained with mascara when I try to sleep tonight, but it will be a dignified cry. Such a thing must exist, right? (Holds head up in gesture.)
“Maybe you’re only allotted a certain amount of tears per man, and I’ve used mine up.”
Sometimes tears are messy. Sometimes they are soulful. Sometimes they start to roll down your cheek before you even know what hit you.
As I’ve expressed, my pillow will more than likely see some tears, as they have been intermittent post email. There’s some venting in front of me. My tear quota has not been reached—yet. Which brings me to my Mr. Big.
My Big story did not end the same way that it did in the movie. (I know! I was just as surprised as you are.) Everything up to the actual public acknowledgement of a real relationship was spot on though. The break ups, the tears, the love, the passion, the tears, the laughter, the tears, the pain, the lies, the tears, the cheating. I married someone else, divorced someone else, dated Big again, more tears—that was all the same. It was cut you to the bone awful.
My Big and I definitely needed a new word for over.
The last time I found myself hurt by him there were no tears. I literally couldn’t cry. Not one more drop. That was one year ago and that was the day I knew over was really over.
“After a break-up, certain streets, locations, even times of day are off limits. The city becomes a deserted battlefield, loaded with emotional landmines. You have to be very careful where you step or you could get blown to pieces.”
Anyone else narrow their spectrum of living grid to a minimum? Because what you are really gunning for is seeing your ex with someone else, something that’s only a touch more fun than peeling your own skin off.
Even driving holds the potential for a disaster on two to four tires. Have you ever noticed when you are going through a break-up that suddenly everyone drives the same car as your ex? It could be the most random car ever, but suddenly everyone is driving a 1982 fucking Fiat. What is that, exactly?
“I don’t understand this. I get mugged and you get him? Maybe that’s just my karma.”
My friends that know me well have all heard me say at one time or another, “In a past life I must have killed an ex by running him over with my car. My guy luck and my car luck are the same. They both suck.” I think that statement may just wrap that quote up in a nice little package. Yes?
This brings me to the last quote, and this quote may be the most important of all. It wasn’t Carrie, but Samantha Jones.
“So not sexy honey. Dump him immediately, here use my cell phone.”
You see, no matter what you’ve experienced in matters of the heart, no matter how many times it has been broken or how long you were seeing him, no matter how deeply you loved or if it was a new flicker of hope that got extinguished before its time, we need our friends to help get us through. I hope you all have a Samantha.
We need to laugh, and laugh at ourselves. Find the humor, and most of all find what you need inside yourself.
Editors: Anne Clendening and Lori Lothian
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