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By Catherine Gryp, October 10, 2011 6:00 am

There it was, at the bottom of the tan purse I never wear: a grocery list from another life.

Toothpaste

Frozen dinners

Diet Coke

Ice cream

Cheez-Its

Oatmeal cookies

I haven’t thought of buying Cheez-Its or oatmeal cookies since the day I moved out of your house. This list was pre-breakup.

A year ago, finding this list would have been devastating. Alongside this list would have come tears, regret and hurt. This slip of paper would have been a painful window into a world where I was part of a “we” who were planning to get married and live happily ever after.

Today, this list is simply a reminder of my past. I feel nostalgic, but not sad. Pensive, but not overwhelmed. And I throw the list away.

I’m (almost) over you.

I’ve created this timeline of my life. There’s pre you – the years until I was 18. There’s you – 18-25. And then there’s post-you, my life after canceling our wedding.

I’m realizing that post-you are some of the best times of my life. I like who I am post-you more than I’ve ever liked myself before.

I’m (almost) over you.

I don’t think of you as often as I used to. In fact, this is probably the least in my adult life I’ve thought about you. Since we started dating when I was 18, it was all you, you, you. I liked you. I loved you. I worried about you. I cared for you. I thought about you. With you, I had some of the most romantic moments of my life. You, you, you.

And then it all came crashing down. You hurt me. You lied to me. You caused me pain. I was angry with you. I couldn’t bring myself to forgive you. I missed you. I yearned for you. I wanted you back. But I didn’t want you back. I wanted my old life with you back. You, you, you.

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By Lady Bee, October 3, 2011 6:00 am

I broke up with a serious boyfriend last year. Our relationship was really complicated. Our breakup wasn’t.

When we ended it, we were both of the same opinion that it was over. With initial reluctance, I acknowledged to myself that I was getting less than I wanted or deserved from the relationship. With the honesty that was typical of his character, he agreed. He knew he wasn’t in a position to be what I needed. The breakup was an evolution, and the final decision was mutual and not acrimonious in the slightest.

There were some fundamental cracks that simply couldn’t be papered over. It happens. And it was an unfortunate ending to what had been a mostly good relationship.

When we had “the talk” that ended things, I just wanted to let out some of the feelings that had been brewing for a while. He, on the other hand, was concerned about hurting me and worried that he would lose me from his life altogether. The only thing he couldn’t bear to let go of was my friendship and my presence in his life. He didn’t want that bit to change. He wanted me to stay as big a part in his life as I had been.

He needn’t have bothered with his first concern. I wasn’t shocked or hurt. However, at the time, I wasn’t entirely sure about the second concern. It was naïve to think that things wouldn’t change.

Yet, I replied, “Don’t worry, we’ll still be friends. You’re not going to lose me.” And I meant what I said.

I didn’t want to cut him out of my life completely. And though I wasn’t eager to keep up the same level of closeness we had in our relationship, I was sure we were going to be involved in each other’s lives. At the time, this exact thing wasn’t in doubt in my mind.

On the other hand, I had no intention of investing as much time and effort into our friendship as I had into our relationship. First, I took a breather from him to let the break-up actually take. Then, it was simply a case of putting more effort into other friendships, work, family and every other aspect of my life. I made a conscious choice not to place him in the forefront of my life as one of my more important priorities. He wasn’t my job, one of my best friends, my mother, or my favourite hobby, and his friendship now ranked accordingly.

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By Anonymous, September 26, 2011 6:00 am

Parents. We all have them (sort of), we all love them (sometimes), and we all have to deal with their actions, asinine as we may believe them to be. I have to admit, my parents are pretty awesome. But, of course, they have their flaws, and they make plenty of mistakes.

My parents are devout conservative Christians. Obviously then, the church has been a large presence throughout my entire life. My father, in fact, is a full-time preacher.

Now that I am in my 20s, I’ve essentially taught myself out of religion. For a while, I would go along to get along. I believed that I could conform to my parents’ expectations and still, on some level, be able to live my life the way I wanted to.

That started taking a downturn, though, when I realized that most of the problems I had involved my willingness to go along with religion and sacrifice my own contentment for the sake of conformity.

Over the course of several months, I slowly worked up the courage to talk to my father, to try to work out a compromise concerning my involvement in religion. I was hoping that he would understand where I was coming from, and then I could be rid of religion and finally lead my own life.

Finally, the day came to confront him. I sat him down, and I told him that I no longer wanted anything to do with religion. I told him that I didn’t believe in it and didn’t appreciate feeling like I had to live essentially a double life just to please him.

His response was succinct enough: “As long as you’re living with me, not going to church is not an option.”

His reasoning? That he wasn’t “comfortable with it.”

So, I offered a compromise: “I will go as long as it doesn’t conflict with work–basically when I have free time. That would mean not attending either a Sunday morning or evening service, though.”

He replied that he would think on it.

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By Dennis Hong, September 19, 2011 6:00 am

Photo by Stuart McClymont

I am a stoic. In a new relationship, I tend to stay reserved and guarded. I hold back my feelings, and I definitely don’t let myself fall for someone very easily. At least not until I know for sure that the relationship means something.

Some people, on the other hand, are effusive. In a new relationship, they plunge head-first off the figurative deep end. They bask in the intensity of their feelings, and they are able to fall in love quickly and deeply.

And that’s wonderful. To me, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with embracing new relationships with all your passion.

At the same time, I’ve realized that someone who is capable of falling quickly and deeply in love can be just as capable of falling quickly and deeply out of love. Since we’re invoking clichés, I might as well bring up another:

The flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long.

And this is where passion becomes a problem for the stoic….

We met on a Sunday night. And we were together the next five nights. We just seemed to connect in every way possible, and we couldn’t get enough of each other. On Wednesday, as we stood in the darkness at the beach, watching a group of smelly, slumbering seals, she told me that she was falling for me.

At that moment, I had two epiphanies: 1) Instead of getting freaked out by what she had just said, I realized that these same feelings were welling up within me, too. And 2) even the stench of seal poop can be incredibly romantic in the right setting (and if you’ve ever experienced it, you know that “stench” is an understatement).

Something about the way she looked into my eyes told me that this could be for real. And so, my instincts told me to let my stoicism go.

I did, and I felt myself starting to fall—something that I hadn’t allowed myself to do in years. I even confided in a few close friends the next day that I believed I might have met the woman I was going to marry.

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By Miss Bonnified, September 12, 2011 6:00 am

Bonnie and Clyde

There’s a book out there entitled He’s Just Not That Into You. You’ve probably heard of it.

I once read that book from cover to cover because I needed something to make me laugh while giving me insight into why I let my last relationship die. I was hoping something in there would explain how a relationship that had started off so promising (in my head, at least) warped  into the living nightmare I was plunged into for almost two years.

Well, the book taught me nothing about that. But, I did pick up a few things that helped me recognize what is now going on with the love of my life.

You see, I didn’t get the early signals that Clyde was really into me. I was too busy being nervous about putting myself waaaay out there on that scary narrow plank known as New Relationship. Thanks to Previous Relationship, I now questioned everything I knew about men.

Clyde is very sure of what he wants, and he goes out to get it. But he’s not prone to talking about his feelings. I, on the other hand, thought that was the only way to communicate.

I also kept thinking our new relationship was going to end at any second, because it was anything but the stuff of Hollywood romance. Well, maybe romantic comedy. What happened was a whirlwind of the kind of activity that could scare any new guy away….

First, I had to move out of my apartment. That meant I had to pack. I suck at packing.

Second, I had to find a new apartment. That meant I was frantically searching for places during the day when I wasn’t working and was super tired by the end of the day when we got to talk on the phone.

Third, I had to shop for furniture. I’d never shopped for furniture. When I first moved back to Los Angeles, I just took random pieces that friends no longer wanted and Frankensteined my apartment together.

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By Dennis Hong, September 4, 2011 3:02 pm

Image by Diane Cook and Len Jenshel

In my dream, she’s my best friend, and I am hers. Whenever I get a piece of great news in my life, she’s the first person I want to tell. Whenever something stressful happens, she’s the first person I think of who can comfort me. I hope to be the same for her.

In my dream, she’s the first person I want to spend time with. And I never feel inclined to blow her off to hang out with someone else—not even a dying friend or family member. (But that’s because I’d probably want her there with me.)

In my dream, I love her, and I know without a doubt that she’s the one I want to be with. In return, she loves me back, and she knows without a doubt that I’m the one she wants to be with. Yet, we accept that life is unpredictable. So, while we may never be able to say with absolute certainty that we will always get along, or even that we will love each other perfectly and unconditionally forever, what matters is that we love each other today, we’ll love each other tomorrow, and we’re going to try our hardest to love each other for the rest of our lives.

Because true love is an ideal that we can only strive towards, not an achievable endpoint that grants us complacency once we’ve reached it.

In my dream, I can tell her anything I want, knowing that she’ll accept me for who I am and won’t judge me if I reveal myself to be less than perfect. In return, I will be open to anything she tells me, and my love for her won’t diminish if she reveals her own imperfections. We never need to hide anything from each other, and we’re comfortable sharing everything about ourselves, even the worst baggage that we carry.

Because, hey, I admit that I haven’t quite reached that pinnacle of human perfection. Then again, neither has she.

Continue reading 'My Not-Quite-So-World-Changing Dream'»

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By Isaac Kennedy, August 29, 2011 6:00 am

Photo by Buero Monaco

For nine months during my first year of university, I was in a casual relationship with two different women.

Right. This is where most people expect macho bragging, but I’m actually not going to do that. It was great… for awhile. But ultimately, I broke it off because I couldn’t deal with being used for sex. As a guy, I feel incredibly weird just typing that out, but it’s how I felt.

Of the few people I’ve told, the result has always been high-fives and pats on the back. Even when I told my mother, her response was a simple, “Good for you son! Glad to see you’re enjoying university.”

The first girl was my girlfriend before the start of university. We broke up with the understanding that university is a time to enjoy yourself and not be tied down to another person, but we somehow ended up living in the same town.

One night, I received a message asking me to come over. I had to muster up a good amount of willpower, but my reply was no. We were supposed to be meeting new people, and I didn’t want to retread the same path.

Several days later, the same thing happened. Again, I said no. Finally, a week later, she was a lot clearer and simply messaged saying, “I only want sex.”

This time, I agreed. Soon, this became a regular occurrence: She would send me a message, and I would go round to her house. It seemed like the best deal on earth at the time (and this was when I was living in a place that had 50-pence drinks and free sandwich parties).

The second girl, I met at a party. We got drunk and spent the night together. The next morning, we parted ways amicably, and I thought nothing more of it until I received a message a few days later. Not wanting to pursue a relationship with this girl, I replied no. But as before, I received a second message stating, “I only want sex.”

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By Jennifer Witt, August 22, 2011 6:00 am

Time magazine recently published two articles discussing new studies regarding sexual satisfaction, marriage and infidelity. While Time played up the “groundbreaking” nature of the results, I was not surprised. Shortly after my wedding, I came to the conclusion that sex is probably the most important aspect of marriage.

That revelation wasn’t the result of any sexual dysfunction in my relationship, but simply the result of adjusting to being married and to the expectations we all subconsciously harbor about marital bliss and the reality of being committed to someone ’til death do us part.

When I woke up one day to find the new marriage smell worn off, I emerged from the newlywed cocoon so many of us get wrapped up in during the early days of forever. I found my way back to hobbies my husband doesn’t have an interest in and to the uncoupled friends I unintentionally overlooked, because inviting them out always seemed like making them the third wheel. I watched chick flicks by myself and ran errands without him. I started shopping with my mom again.

I wasn’t sad or mad or glad. I just rediscovered the fact that there is a world outside our coupledom that is fun and fulfilling. My emotional and intellectual needs could be met without him being the source of all my contentment.

But after all my girls’ nights out and mother-daughter adventures, I still had one need that could only be met at home, within my marriage: S-E-X.

Hitting me rather abruptly, I realized that out of all the relationship needs, sex is the only one that cannot be met by anyone else other than your spouse. At least not in a socially acceptable context, unless you are polyamorous (which is arguably not socially acceptable, but that’s beside the point).

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By Jennifer Hamilton, August 15, 2011 6:00 am

Image by viZZual via Flickr

I am a very effusive person. For instance, I love sushi. I love my rare lazy afternoons when I get to read a book on the couch. I love Harry Potter (the books, not the movies). I love our barber in the small Italian town where we live. I love my dogs. I love my friends. I love my parents. And I proudly and unabashedly state how much I love these things and people.

Yet I remember a time, when I had first started dating my husband, that “I love you” was the last thing I wanted to say….

Well, let me restate that. I desperately wanted  to say “I love you.” But I didn’t want to undermine the first time I said it to him by blurting it out just after I waxed prosaic over the dumplings at my favorite Chinese restaurant. I remember catching my tongue–ironically a mere week before we actually told each other “I love you”–when he said something funny while we were out with a group of friends.

At that precise moment, I loved him. I wanted to tell him, but I stopped my natural impulse. I had the usual reasons for holding back:

“I don’t want to scare him away.”

“I don’t want to seem desperate.”

“He should be the one to say it first.”

“I don’t want to say it for the first time in front of other people.”

I’m glad I waited. Because when we did finally say it, it was magical.

Continue reading 'When Saying “I Love You” Matters Most'»

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By Shaun L. Swegman, August 8, 2011 6:00 am

Your douchebag history

Do you know why there are so many douchebags in the world?

It’s because women keep sleeping with them.

Seriously, if you give your dog a treat every time he takes a dump on the rug, expect to live in a very stinky house. Sleeping with someone you know is scum reinforces bad behavior in much the same way.

There are probably volumes’ worth of reasons individual women do this, but I stumbled onto an interesting one last night over drinks with a friend. This friend of mine is hot. She’s smart, and funny, and kind. She has a handle on life in a lot of ways, owns a house, and has a good career. In other words, any guy would be lucky to be with her. Yet, the landscape of her dating history is a minefield of douchebags.

I don’t mean just guys I don’t like. I mean guys who have done magnificently shitty things, like cheating on her with her barely-legal-at-the-time younger sister, stealing a significant sum of money from her, and dumping her for the methed-out stripper he’d been cheating on her with and gotten knocked up. Yeah, all that was the same guy. He stands out, but it’s a bad crowd.

Anyway, my friend told me that the weekend before last, she had sex with one of her douchey exes, this one a garden-variety manipulative cheater. She, of course, professed to hating his guts and didn’t really know what motivated her to sleep with him.

And then last weekend, she ran into the first guy I mentioned above. She said she “was good” this time because she “only messed around” with this guy, instead of having sex with him. She couldn’t resist telling me that she’d blown him, though.

Of course, I didn’t want to hear any of this, mostly because, no matter how self-defeating her actions were, I knew the chances of anything I said actually changing her behavior were abysmal. And who was I to tell her how to live and what mistakes to make? Still, hearing about my friend’s suffering at the hands of these jerks and knowing I couldn’t do anything about it was pretty depressing.

But it was what she said next that inspired this writing:

Continue reading 'How Women Reinforce Douchebaggery'»