Tag Archives: Loser Men

One Year Later: Hmmm, I Dated That?

5 Dec

A year ago today, my heart shattered into a million bajillion pieces, the result of an ill-planned and unexpected breakup, courtesy of my ex-boyfriend Brandon.* December 5th, 2009: quite possibly the worst day I ever lived thus far, though I now realize how dramatic that may sound.

The first thing he did was send me an indirect message that we were over. I got an email from AT&T stating that Brandon wanted me off of his account. My stomach sank. I knew what was happening. I cried in front of my coworkers at 30 Rock and then trudged to the subway to make my way back to the Village.  I was walking to a poetry reading by John Ashbery when I called him.

“Brandon, what’s going on?”

“Heather, I don’t think this is working out.”

I start gasping for air.

There was nothing I could say to stop his freight train barrage of insults. He told me that he felt like my father (WTF?) and that he didn’t “have to do shit” about helping me move. To him, someone to whom I dedicated so much of my time, effort, and love, I was now nothing. I was a peon worth little more than an indirect corporate email and a phone call I had to make on my own. And he, though I would only realize this months later, was a worthless piece of shit and a huge pussy who deleted me as a friend on Facebook seconds after getting off the phone with me.

This little stunt of Brandon’s (which came very suddenly out of the blue for me) almost ruined my last two weeks at NYU. Not only did I have to finish seven papers in that time frame in order to earn my degrees, but I also had to figure out where the fuck I was going to be living in that time. The breakup further complicated these matters by giving me an incurable case of tears, most of which would commence randomly as I wandered the streets of NYC. Brandon planned on coming to New York to help me move, but now that he revealed his true colors (dark colors indeed), he completely rescinded this offer to help me and left me high and dry. Luckily for myself (and for Brandon’s testicles), I am the sort of person who always gets shit done. I am go-getter, if you will – a certified hustler. In spite of someone’s attempt at making me feel worthless, I pulled through and finished college on a high note.

After I managed to drag myself back out west, a whole year passed. I spent the first half of it curled in the fetal position, screaming aloud every time a thought about the loser who broke my heart came to mind. 2010 was a year marked by loss, uncertainty, and off-and-on unemployment. Oh, and lots of booze.

You’re likely wondering how any vitriol for my ex still exists. I have some good reasons for that. First, and most importantly, my ex turned out to be a liar. I know for a FACT that he contacted another girl (for dating/fucking purposes) not even an hour after breaking up with me. I wish I saved the evidence, but because I am a nice person, I chose not to. Instead, I confronted the offender in person, who swiftly denied that he had broken up with me to date another girl. It is his audacity to LIE TO MY FACE that annoys me the most. This is a person I gave everything to, including my goddamn virginity, and he fucking lies to me. Second, who the fuck breaks up with someone with an AT&T email but a certified pussy? Third, anyone who breaks serious plans and promises (like helping someone move 2,000 miles across the country) is worthless.

I just stumbled upon some recent pictures of the offender. At first I was afraid to look, thinking the photos might trigger yet another cry-fest. What did I think when my jaded, lonely eyes saw his stupid, shit-eating grin? “Hmmm…I dated that?” He just looked awful to me, completely void of sex appeal and somehow looking much too tan.

I noticed that these pictures were also evidence that the offender took his girlfriend (the same girl he contacted minutes after breaking it off with me) to visit his parents in another state. What’s offensive about that? How about the fact that’s he’s been with her a lesser length of time than he had been with me at the point and time he took me to visit his parents? I do feel a bit of empathy for this girl, who does not yet know that she will one day have her heart ripped out of her chest by an evil bloodsucker. (Plus, she’s either insane or heard nothing but lies from the start – no sane person would get involved with someone just getting out of a serious 2.5 year relationship, hence I will give her the benefit of the doubt.) It appears to me that to Brandon, people (especially women), are completely interchangeable, and that is what burns the most. It’s too much to realize how little you meant to someone else when they were once everything to you.

Now that the obligatory year of mourning passed and I now have a new prospect on the horizon (a handsome, hot, funny, professional athlete prospect, to be exact), what more can be said about the dipshit that broke my heart? Nothing at all. He’s just not worth this pain anymore.

* I have decided that enough time has passed that the use of pseudonyms is now moot.

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Are You a Woman with a College Degree? Prepare to Die Alone.

23 Feb

It’s been a little while since my last post. My apologies for that.

Last week I saw an article that requires a response from women everywhere, especially women who are independent, educated, and hold strong opinions.  In a piece decrying the nature of “hookup culture,” conservative writer Charlotte Allen makes an extreme claim that as women get older, their intrinsic stock goes down.

In The Mating Mind, Geoffrey Miller wrote:

Our ancestors probably had their first sexual experiences soon after reaching sexual maturity. They would pass through a sequence of relationships of varying durations over the course of a lifetime. Some relationships might have lasted no more than a few days. .  .  . Many Pleistocene mothers probably had boyfriends. But each woman’s boyfriend may not have been the father of any of her offspring. .  .  . Males may have given some food to females and their offspring, and may have defended them from other men, but .  .  . anthropologists now view much of this behavior more as courtship effort than paternal investment.

That’s a pretty fair description of mating life today in the urban underclass and the meth-lab culture of rural America. Take away the offspring, blocked by the Pill and ready abortion, and it’s also a pretty fair description of today’s prolonged singles scene. In other words, we have met the Stone Age, and it is us.

Living in the New Paleolithic can be hard on women, many of whom party on merrily until they reach age 30 and then panic. “They’re at the peak of their beauty in their early 20s—they’re luscious—but the guys their age don’t look as good, so they say to themselves: ‘Why do I want to get married?,’ ” notes Kay Hymowitz, a contributing editor to the Manhattan Institute’s City Journal, who is writing a book about the singles crisis. “Then they get to age 28, 29, and their fertility goes down and they’re not quite so luscious. But the guys their age are starting to make money, they look better, they’ve got self-assurance, and they’ve also got the pick of the 23-year-olds.”

She has a degree, but does she have a man?

The “new paleolithic” that Ms. Allen describes is the growing trend of women to delay settling down and getting married. I do not have any statistics on the subject but I would like to assume that the sort of woman who waits to find a potential partner until her late twenties is quite possibly busy improving other aspects of her life. Perhaps this woman attended graduate school, perhaps she spent her 20’s traveling or volunteering. By blaming the Pill and other methods of contraception as the cause of a “prolonged singles scene,” Allen is vastly underestimating the single woman. If a woman takes the Pill, she is not doing so to avoid settling down. It could be for any number of reasons. Here it seems that Allen is measuring a woman’s value by the number of eggs she has left – what about accomplishments that would otherwise go unfulfilled if she had simply settled for the first man who came along?

A silly claim Allen makes is that “beta” men are those  suffering in today’s dating scene:

it is actually beta men who are the greatest victims of the current mating chaos: the ones who work hard, act nice, and find themselves searching in vain for potential wives and girlfriends among the hordes of young women besotted by alphas.

In other words, these beta men, whom one can presume are beta either due to a lack of traditional good looks or a lack of a college degree, are suffering because of feminism! God forbid that a woman go off and get a college education! What about the beer-bellied, couch-ridden men of America? Someone help these men!

Worst of all is Allen’s insistence that a woman generally loses her desirability  by the age of 28. When a woman reaches this magical number while still single, she is forced to settle for a dreaded “beta”. So ladies, if you have a college degree and you’re headed toward 28, be prepared to spend the rest of your days a sad and lonely specimen, a dusty relic of “hookup culture”.

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