This is a Facebook status update turned blog entry, which I’m writing because of myself but on behalf of womankind. It’s been another uneventful Friday night, just texting my BFF Molls about ex-boyfriends (which happens too much anyway) and I admitted that I still constantly wear one of my ex’s t-shirts that I “adopted” circa 2008. (Thank you M. Parsons.) The thing that got me going was not thinking oh, I really want this person back – per se – but more the wonderful, old-fashioned feeling of being cared for and adored. This was a man who drove to about 10 stores at 1 am to find duct tape for me on our first date…it was an emergency and it’s a long story, but he was/is a true boy scout/cowboy of our time. I remember our breakup like it was yesterday, vivid as can be. Unlike many of my other relationships, this one was clearly over when it was. I walked out the door and literally never looked back: No calls, no pleas…no bargaining or breakup sex. It was a clean, swift, machete-chop and he was gone from my life. We have kept in touch loosely over the years, but I’ve still never seen him since.
Now I’m twenty six and everything’s crazy and twisted, my expectations seem like they’re out in the solar system but all I really want is a guy who: 1) is interesting, 2) makes me feel special, and 3) is a good communicator. The reason I prioritize these is because lately I’m not getting any of that, or if I am, it’s sporadic and unpredictable and gives me ulcers. Being single is grand and glorious, I will rock out with my hall pass as long as that’s the Universe’s plan, and forgive me for being SUCH a fucking woman, but – dude, I want to know where it’s going. If you think I’m awesome, tell me. If you want to see me, make it happen. I guess it takes more than picking up the tab at dinner to impress me.
It’s cliche but I don’t care; I’m an old-fashioned romantic at heart. I long for the days of letter sweaters, or where men wore gloves…I want to “go steady” and hold hands under the stars.
And so I’ll end with Paula. Because girl — I finally get what you were saying back in 1996.