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“Wherefore Art Thou, Elvis?” by Ryan.

“So grab your old lady and dance into the breach,

Yeah, let’s dance one more time into the breach.

Oh, Oh yeah, we’re so in love,

Or else we’re just waving unloaded guns in the air,

But it’s the same thing, ain’t it?”

-Every Time I Die.

“Was I good to you, the wife of my youth?

Not another soul could love you like my rotten bones do.

So I will wait on the edges in between,

TheseNew Yorkstreets where you and I would meet.”

-Gaslight Anthem.


That love thing, it’s a real bitch, huh?  I had a friend tell me one time every man goes through two real heartbreaks, his first love, and then the cunt that ruins him for everyone else.  And if you’re offended because I said cunt in yet another post, well, you probably are one and I couldn’t care less.  Sorry, mom.  Anyway, I’m experiencing one or the other, not too sure which just yet.  I can say I’m in this strange emotional limbo where I’m happy for her and the new dude that she’s marrying, on what was supposed to be our wedding date, but at the exact same time, I kinda wanna firebomb wherever their nuptials are taking place.  That’s not an admission of anything, by the way.  Just a feeling.

But, I can’t say exactly where it is I am on the two heartbreak scale.  I like to think I’ve been in love with every woman I’ve ever dated for any real amount of time.  This last one was real, though.  I know that I loved her.  Every last inch of her body and personality.  She shit with the door open and I still wanted to fuck her, that’s love in my book.  Or some strange new fetish I’ve got to deal with.  Either way, if I have loved all of these women, then why haven’t I felt more hurt?  Why am I unclear on the whole heartbreak situation?

This is the first break up I’ve experienced where I haven’t wanted her back the second she began dating someone else.  Granted, the idea of her fucking someone new makes my stomach turn, but that’s more because I can’t stand the dudes she has fucked since me.  She’s the only I willingly let go of and wished happiness upon.  In some shitty Rob Gordon way, this is my desert island top five break ups memoir post, but with only three break ups.  A rant about all the stupid shit I did and the women I hurt along the way.  Although, at the time, I’m sure I thought I deserved to be martyred for living through the break ups.

Full disclosure and all, I must admit this is how I saw things.  How I felt these moments and the way I remember these women.  I’m sure their stories are so much different from mine, and in most cases, their stories are probably closer to the truth.  I’ve always been a grand gestures guy, and there are some of those in these tales as well as some horribly awful things that make me feel like absolute shit.  Likewise, these aren’t in any particular order, they won’t be listed chronologically or in order of hurt, or any of that shit.  Simply what leads best into the next.



We’ll start with this last girl.  For the purposes of this post, we’ll call her Charlie Nicholson (tip of the hat to you, Mr. Hornby).  Charlie was hands down the coolest chick I’d ever met in my entire life.  She was god damned gorgeous as well as an insane amount of fun to be around.  When I first met her, she was full blown bull dyke, but was the bottom in the relationship.  She had incredibly short, bleach blonde hair and was reading Gambit comic books in front of a tattoo shop.  How could you not fall in love right that second?  All together, we dated for four years.  Lived together for most of that time too.  I’ll admit up front I took advantage of her almost every day of the time that we were together.  The last year we were together was the best and worst at the same time.  It had gone from that beautiful period of sex almost every single day, she was the kind of girl I had to turn down because I was too tired, to never having sex but simply having fun with each other.  We stopped fighting as much when we stopped fucking, still don’t understand that.  We went from being madly in love with each other to being madly comfortable with each other.  Like I said, girl would shit with the door open and I’d still wanna bang her, but didn’t want to put any effort into having sex.  I think that’s the perfect description for the entire relationship.  I didn’t want to put the effort in.  It was far too easy to just let things happen and go with them.  The saddest thing is there are none of those moments when looking back where I didn’t love her.  There are no points I can see where the change occurred.  That whole last year, we pretty much resided on her income while I tried my hand at stand-up comedy.  I never thanked her for the countless meals or the rent or listening to every shitty bit that ran through my mind.  But that was the kind of girl Charlie was.  She gave everything to the relationship, and like I said, I took it all for granted.  When I got a real job, the job I’m currently working while writing this, something changed in Charlie.  I was gone all the time.  When I was home, I was mentally and emotionally checked out and she finally grew the balls to dump me with some finality.  Granted, the break up was “Let’s try and be better people and then we can think about dating again in the future.”  I was kind of counting on the whole dating in the future thing, a common thread you’ll soon find out, but she was done with me.  And rightly so.  Charlie had reached her limit of my bullshit, my lies, and my lack of interest in putting that spark, that fire, that passion back into us.  Looking back, there are so many things I could have done differently.  And when she dumped me, I blamed her.  I blamed her for being too dependent on me and needing me to be around and any other fucking bullshit lie I could convince myself was truth just so I didn’t have to face the reality that I let her slip away.  Charlie, I’m so terribly sorry that I didn’t do the things for you that I did for the rest of the girls on this list.  I’m sorry there was no grand gesture of my love.  Furthermore, I’m sorry you did nothing wrong in the relationship but love someone who was a selfish prick.



Moving on.  I don’t want to cry or get too fucking queer in this post.  That common thread?  That dating in the future thing?  We’ll go to her.  She’s never gonna hear about this or read it or give a fuck, so we’ll use her real name.  Kathy.  God damn, Kathy.  I worked at a Blockbuster video for a grand total of two weeks, many years ago, and in those two weeks, convinced Kathy to dump her boyfriend of seven years and date me.  Charlie and I never would have worked in the long run.  I simply didn’t care enough to put the effort in.  With Kathy, I’d have gone to the ends of the earth for her and tried.  She was the first girl to let me finger her asshole.  I don’t remember how it came up or what the circumstances were, I just remember going down on her and slipping my finger back there.  She was a virgin and I was completely cool with that.  She let me do whatever I could think of aside from penetrating her.  I remember one night putting my dick between her ass cheeks and humping them till I came all over her.  Classy, right?  You have to understand, I’m a complete and total perv and the fact she was down with that was huge to me.  I fingered her under an afghan blanket while watching the Incredibles.  Cartoons are on and I’m fingerblasting her on my parents couch.  The first date was her coming over to my parents house and us playing board games.  The next, she came with me to meet some friends at a diner and held her own.  Talking as much shit and making us laugh just as much as we made each other laugh.  She held her own in a way no girl before, or since, had done.  On the drive home from the diner, we kissed every time I had to stop the car.  Her ex boyfriend followed us from the diner to my house.  Seeing us kiss at every red light.  We had a “song” and I once filled my camo messenger bag, she was in love with that bag, with all the items listed in our song.  For those of you keeping track, it was “My Favorite Chords” by The Weakerthans.  Everything with Kathy was perfect.  Fucking flawless.  She was friends with all of my friends.  Loved all of the same things I did.  Was a complete and utter perv like me.  And wanted to spend time with me.  She wanted every available second that I could give her.  Wanted to experience my life with me.  Which is what a relationship is, right?  A real, serious, committed relationship is sharing every aspect of your life with someone else right?  That’s when you know things are good, when you’re willing to let someone in like that.  I racked up a $1,200 phone bill texting this broad every minute I was at work.  But then things went to shit when she invited herself to a concert.  Not just any concert, Lucero and Murder By Death.  InBloomington,IN, where MBD is from.  Looking back, she wanted to be with me.  To experience that with me.  At the time, when Lucero was playing “Here At The Starlite” and I was off in a world of my own musical bliss, and she was staring at me, I just lost it.  How dare this bitch invite herself to a concert, not for the band, but for me!  God, what an asshole am I?  It was a two nighter kind of thing for my friends and I.  Night one was Lucero, night two was The Weakerthans with The New Amsterdams somewhere inOhio.  After Lucero, I wanted to be done with her.  I wanted nothing to do with her ever again.  In my head, she ruined a perfect moment.  But her being there, that’s what made that moment perfect in reflection.  So, my friends and I went to the next show, a five hour drive away.  The whole time we blasted prog metal, we were those kids too, and talked about how I should break up with Kathy for not digging Lucero like we did.  I said I would stay with her if Weakerthans played “My Favorite Chords,” if they played “Left and Leaving,” I was done.  And guess which they played for their encore?  Yep.  “Left And Leaving.”  As soon as they started the song, I texted Kathy and said we needed to talk.  The next night, in a gas station parking lot, I broke up with her.  Told her we’d take a few months off, the rest of the summer, and assess the situation when it turned cold.  For two months straight she texted me every day.  Told me she missed me, loved me, wanted to be back with me.  Then one day the texting stopped.  She’d met someone new.  The dude she’s still with to this day.  I pissed away my queen because she wanted to spend time with me and because a band didn’t play a specific song.  I got lyrics from “Left And Leaving” tattooed inside my forearm so I’ll never forget her.  I did make a grand gesture about a year after her and I had split, Adam was living on my couch and fully supported my attempt to win her heart back from that guy.  He’s got a fucking goatee, I’ll never respect him or what they have because of that.  But, like the smart girl she is, she politely declined my gesture.  And has refused to speak to me every time I’ve tried to contact her since then.



The last girl on the list just got an email from me about me writing this.  I did a blanket search of my GMail account looking to see if I had saved any emails from her and sure enough, I had saved three.  A little ironic, eh?  Two of the emails are pictures of her bikini bottoms.  The last is her completely naked.  In the email I just sent to her, I apologized yet again.  She’s heard “I’m sorry” from me more than she’s heard any other words.  The last night I spent with her, she gave me a pair of her wet panties so I could carry a piece of her with me.  She, like Kathy, also has a tattoo in memorial of what we had.  Two, actually.  My grand gestures to win the love of this girl.  The first was a no smoking symbol on the inside of my wrist to remind me never to lie to her again, like I had when I told her I quit smoking for her.  Her name was Anna and we met via MySpace.  When I think of the other girls on this list, Anna was the most perfect and the one I shit on the most.  I was constantly breaking off plans at the last minute, or just standing her up.  She had a great job and an amazing life and I came in like a whirlwind and fucked most of that up.  I can’t begin to count the number of times she broke things off with me, only for me to sweet talk my way back into her life.  With Anna, I remember moments of the relationship, not the relationship as a whole.  The time she came to visit me in the shithole town I was working in.  Spending a few days in the hotel with me.  Me getting four strokes into her and having to stop because I was going to cum because it felt so good.  Seeing her cry when she broke things off with me the last time.  Her Facebook pictures from all of the times I e-stalked her.  The playlists she’d make for us to make out too.  She was the world’s biggest fan of Something Corporate, I used to call her my Konstantine.  And yes, Anna, I can still feel the butterflies.  And yes, hipster assclowns, I know that’s a Jimmy Eat World reference.  I remember meeting her in person for the first time.  She was wearing heels, pearls, and an Every Time I Die shirt.  I think I fell in love with her just a little bit in that moment.  She was snarky and sarcastic and had an insanely dry sense of humor.  She laughed at my dumb jokes and was filthy as all hell in the bedroom.  She had a vulgar streak that I used her for on some level.  Lots of fucking in lipstick and heels and pearls.  Something about defiling something nice turns me on.  At one point, Anna had enough of my bullshit, she promised to put 1,000 miles between us if I hurt her again.  A week later she was moving toNew Hampshirewhere she met some computer something or another, and got engaged.  Tattoo number two for her was her wedding date.  I somehow convinced her to come home after a year of being there, one last chance to have coffee before she was Mrs. Computer Something Or Another.  The day before she arrived I unzipped a quarter inch chunk out of my cock while sexting her, long story, don’t ask, and was unable to fuck her in her hotel room as we’d planned.  I did get to go down on her while she told me how much she loved me and how she always knew she’d end up with me.  In classic me fashion, I broke her heart and disappointed her yet again.  She moved back fromNew Hampshireto be with me, and I went and let her down.  Again.  For the millionth time.  She put half a world between us and moved toNew Zealandafter that last time.  To this day, I keep picturing her as my sexy Jane Goodall or an extra in some Peter Jackson film.  I can see her traipsing about theNew Zealandcountryside like she’s in someNickCavemovie, tribesmen giving her gifts because of that perfect, milky white skin of hers.  I’ve checked my email 37 times in the time it’s taken me to write this shit paragraph about her.  It seems wrong on some level, but on another, I just want some sort of response.  I even called her old cell phone number.  The voice on the other end wasn’t hers.  38 times.

With a girl like Anna, you’re always second guessing everything.  Even if I hadn’t been a total shitheel to her and things ended amicably between us, I’d always wonder.  She was that kind of girl.  I’ve spent my life looking for qualities in her in women who aren’t as strong or self assured.  I don’t know that I ever truly, wholly loved her.  But then again, I don’t know that I’ve ever stopped.  In those dark moments where I am honestly afraid of dying alone, at 27, how fucking queer, I think to her.  I think to the way Anna would look at me and the way that she would hold me.  In those moments, I lick my lips and swear I can taste her.  In other moments, I question why she ever loved me, why she ever took me back.  Like her love for me was some sort of character flaw that I just couldn’t get past, that it was the reason I continually hurt her.  I remember her telling me once, before she left me for good, that if I hurt her again her mom was going to kill me.  I don’t doubt that’s a promise her mom plans on breaking, although, the cancer caused by the stress of constantly looking over my shoulder may kill me first.  Either way, momma wins.


Fuckin’ a.  This is depressing as shit, right?  Me basically saying I’m a shitbag boyfriend and these girls all left me for good reason.  How the fuck am I supposed to get laid ever again with this bullshit floating about the internet with my name attached to it?  To be completely honest, that email count is ticking higher and higher with each punctuation I place.  I’m holding out hope of seeing her naked again.  Holding out hope that maybe, just maybe she’ll let me crawl back into her life one more time and show her the changes I’ve made.  Show her the man I’ve become.  If not, hell, I’m holding out hope that there’s someone that sparks my interest half as much as any of these three girls did.  Sure, there have been other break ups, there have been other fucks, there have been much more interesting stories.  But these women have been pressing on my mind and my heart as of late and I needed to clear the air.

The funny thing is, this post was some slanderous tell all about Charlie and me.  Much to Adam’s dismay, I scrapped that idea.  Hell, when I started typing what you have read thus far, I opened by talking about how much I jerk off when in hotels.  It’s an absurd amount.  There’s something about masturbating in a hotel that beats home.  The sheets and surfaces are just screaming to be came upon, and I don’t have to clean any of it up.  There’s beauty in that.

To the women I’ve loved and those that have loved me, accept this post as an apology for my many transgressions.  To the women who I will love and those that will love me, let’s face it, I’m an inconsiderate ass at times.  Let’s go into something knowing that up front and I promise I’ll do my best to change it.  And if you want to keep me happy, ass play.  That’s all I ask.

The BEST holidays

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