Thursday, July 12, 2012

i got dumped via text message.

here is a paraphrased question recently submitted to savage love: i'm a 28-year-old guy who was broken up with via text by a girl i had been dating for two months. we spent a few nights a week together and agreed that we had something special. we had a chemistry that i haven’t experienced in my last few relationships. how much respect do you maintain or lose based on something like this? would you characterize this short-term-dating text-message dumping as spineless, flaky, a reasonable reaction to the issues she’s facing, or what? what are the standards of a classy exit in the digital age?

i use my cell phone for two activities of CRITICAL IMPORTANCE: playing angry birds and sexting hot pictures of my tits to your dad. and sometimes for facebook stalking and spotify. BUT THAT'S GODDAMNED IT. last week i went to a comedy open mic hosted by some of my homies and brian babylon walked past where i was STANDING IN THE BACK OF THE BAR PLAYING WORDS WITH FRIENDS and glanced down at my phone and was like, "nerd." and, well, yeah i guess. i try to never make a call unless i have to. phones are for making you happy during shit that is boring and sending pictures of your naked bits to people you hope to have sex with someday. i used 17 total talking minutes last month. and even that feels like a lot. they aren't really for conversations anymore, are they? especially not conversations consisting of 160 characters or less?

a few months ago i met this dude i thought was Pretty Fucking Amazing. so i've recently learned (the hard way) to STOP being generous to these dirtbags when it comes to my choice of the superfluous adjectives with which describe them to other people. back in the olden says (so, like, 2004 and shit) you could get a swoony, gushing "amazing!" just for having a checking account and more than one pair of dress shoes. nowadays, it takes a little bit more than that to make me break out my thesaurus. and this dude fucking earned it: handsome, not dumb, nicely-appointed, artsy, aware, polite, articulate, ALL THAT GOOD SHIT. and i'm too goddamned jaded to be smitten with anyone too easily, but i was totally fucking impressed. this motherfucker was a goddamned winner.

in total, this is my list of what i want from a man: 1 happypartyfuntime! 2 the occasional cocktail! 3 buttsex buttsex buttsex! should the kids go to montessori school: boring. marriage counseling: boring. arguing about taxes: boring. whose turn is it to wash the dishes: boring. get me some peanut butter from whole foods: boring. stop leaving beard stubble all over the sink: boring. did you get the brakes checked: boring. why don't you go down on me anymore: boring. take the cat to the vet: boring. we never have date night: boring. this house isn't nice enough: boring. please mow the lawn this weekend: boring. stop drinking so much: boring. sit with me during this doctor appointment: boring. we can't afford those new golf clubs you bought: boring. the electric bill is past due: boring.

OH FUCKING MAN, the soundtrack to my life does not include "listen to some dude bitching me out all the goddamned time" on repeat. because if i ever got hitched, to a normal person, a normal person who actually wanted to live in the same space with me, as soon as the ink was dry on the marriage certificate and that normal motherfucker realized that i spent half my rent money on moscow mules and fashion magazines HE WOULD FUCKING LEAVE ME. or kill me. without question. my lovely friend dominic is always ruefully lamenting to me how much he wants to trade in casual sex with a rotating cast of adorable grad students in favor of arguing over laundry sorting and dishwasher loading with a woman whose tampons have a regular spot on his grocery list, and while that really does sound comforting and sweet, eventually i'm going to get on some asshole's LAST GODDAMNED NERVE and he is going to throw my maternity pants and hippie kitty litter out on the lawn while i'm at work and change the goddamned locks.

and i'm not shitting on holy matrimony, i just don't want any part of that. at least not right now. right now i want you to live over there while i live over here, and maybe once a week we can eat a meal together and poke each other with sharp objects and do that thing kids do where we share earbuds and hold hands while listening to a love song. god, can't a bitch just get some motherfucking romance?! *welp*

this, in part, is dan savage's response: she’s a scumbag. dumping-by-text proves it. two quick things: getting dumped in person sucks, getting dumped over the phone sucks, getting dumped through snail mail sucks, getting dumped via text sucks. getting dumped sucks. it would’ve hurt just as much if she had dumped you via goodyear blimp or if she had shown up in person to tell you herself. and while dumping-via-text was viewed as a cold move 10 or 15 years ago when texting technology was new and texts were uniformly brief and inscrutable, these days, people do most of their communicating via text. so old notions about text-message dumpings—they’re not classy!—don’t apply these days. a longish, thoughtful, and well-written text message is now a legit way to dump someone. particularly someone you’ve been dating for only two months.

here's what i thought i had done right:

1 i didn't bang him too soon. seriously, ho. i waited, like, four weeks or some shit before i introduced him to the wonder that is my inability to hold my own ass cheeks open without ruining his pillowcase with drool. AMAZING.

2 i didn't nag the shit out of him. when i was a kid i used to take my dating and relationship cues from romantic comedies and nighttime soap operas. like, i'm supposed to call him every day and be really annoyed (yet easily pacified) when he doesn't return those calls. so i would make the call, sometimes every day, and leave one of those plaintive, embarrassing messages that made me look like a simp. but i mostly don't care anymore, because i also used to pick my nose on the street. and eventually we all learn to stop doing humiliating shit to ourselves in public.

3 i didn't write about him in this goddamned blog. every dude who ends up here usually winds up in my vagina graveyard within thirty-seven motherfucking seconds of the post going up. remember the unicorn?! the minute i was like, "hello, internets! i found a dude not made completely of garbage!" this dude fucked me with SOMEONE ELSE'S WEAVE DANGLING FROM HIS BEARD. i wish that was a fucking joke, i really do. i looked up at him pumping away and was like, "is that what i think it is?" AND IT TOTALLY FUCKING WAS. a clump of some girl's lacefront tangled in his motherfucking goatee.

4 i didn't trick myself into thinking he was my goddamned boyfriend. does anyone really do that anymore? bang it out two or three times and immediately start cutting up bridal magazines and visiting local florists? bitches is just trying to have a good time and eat a couple free dinners, son. ain't nobody trying to iron your shirt and make a sack lunch before you and barney rubble ride your dinosaur down to the quarry before a hard day's work! I AM AT MY SEXUAL PEAK, SIR. i need to date as many dudes as i can before my uterus drops right out of my butt!

i was at cara's house late a couple saturday nights ago, snuggled up in my pajamas on the couch with a warm blanket and a cold vodka listening to this slow jam booty mix homeboy had gifted me earlier in the day, when my fancy phone buzzed urgently at my side. then that little fucker buzzed nine more times. i generally discourage people from calling me, because i do not like to answer the telephone. i would much rather read what you have to say without fear that you will hear me pooping in the background. i had a handful of texts, and that is never a good sign.

the dump was worded so nicely that i almost didn't realize what the fuck was even happening. blah blah moving too fast blah get to know you better as a person blah blah let's just be friends blah. i read them all to cara while scratching my head, puzzled. "you just had sex with him this morning, right?" she asked, jumping up to make some more drinks. "you sucked his dick like ten hours ago or something, didn't you?" YES, I FUCKING HAD. what the hell happened? did i nick him with my teeth? was he grossed out by my random grey pubes? did he find my tiny nipples offensive? HOLY FUCKING SHIT, DID I ACCIDENTALLY FART ON THIS DUDE'S NUTS?!

more savage advice: the best course of action when you’ve been dumped by someone you really liked—someone you would still be dating if it were up to you—is to accept the bad news with as much grace as you can muster. the world is full of couples that got back together after a breakup, and your odds of being in one of those couples shrink if you act like an asshole about being dumped (which it doesn’t sound like you’re doing) or if you convince yourself your ex is an asshole for dumping you (which it sounds like you’re doing). good luck.

so i wasn't HORRIBLY OFFENDED, i was more, um, taken aback? like, "really? am i so fucking terrible at making the sex that this dude had to text me some friendship shit? i thought we were cooler than that!" how potentially embarrassing. but then i remembered that he'd finished, and i can't be that goddamned awful if you're doing the seizureface for a solid minute and a half. cara and i read those texts 726+ times, we typed that shit into google translate, we even enlisted the expertise of some semen-producing y-chromosomed friends of mine, and none of us could figure out the subtext of those goddamned messages.

"he's got a girlfriend," speculated one.

"he's an asshole," countered another.

"your vagina smells like potted meat?" offered jeff.

"THIS IS WHY I ONLY USE MY PHONE FOR SEXTING," i pouted in defeat. i didn't think he had a girlfriend, and he'd never really come across as an asshole, but MY VAGINA DOES SOMETIMES SMELL LIKE SPAM. that had to be it?! seriously though, wouldn't you rather get a blurry testicle shot than have a conversation that is best left for never? in person conversations are eleventy times worse than ones over the telephone, and i prefer to get my walking papers with a hot side of "never calling you again" and a tasty doggy bag full of "spend the next two months trying to figure out what you did wrong" anyway. gosh, i would so much rather figure out how to push my tits together in the bathroom mirror while also not smashing my phone into a million pieces than engage in some deep, emotional thumb-drama. turns out he panicked that i might be expecting more than a hot meal and the occasional deep dicking and his knee-jerk response was to be all, "BYE, BITCH." well, at least i didn't fart on his nuts.

here is what "grace" looks like: i am being his motherfucking friend. and not a pouty, begrudging friend, either. i'm being the good kind, the kind that tries not to remind you how cool i was about the whole you freaking out that i might slip a ball and chain around your ankle because i laughed a whole bunch and you made me pancakes ONE MEASLY TIME thing. i've had steak before, brother! don't go thelma and louise down the commitment-phobic rabbit hole just yet! at least not until you've butt-dialed me at an awkward moment. and sent me a love message intended for someone else. and forwarded me half a dozen dirty jokes. AND SENT ME A PICTURE OF YOUR DICK.