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Dear Mike,
For God’s sake, just fuck her or don’t fuck her already. And, sure, maybe you actually “like her.” Maybe you want more than just a fuck, but let’s be honest… I don’t think you’re ready for anything more than that in your life. Let’s pretend for a moment that you did love me (but you didn’t, I know you didn’t, and moreover, I didn’t love you, either which is why this so ridiculous).
How long could you really have kept it up? I have a hard time believing that you can legitimately care for anyone but yourself, despite the fairly successful guise you put on to the world. And let’s be honest, you need to focus on you. You are fucked up. (And, honestly, I was letting myself get fucked because of you up, too.) You need to focus on that now; you need to take some time and find out what the fuck you want. All I’m saying here is… Just fuck her or don’t. And, you know, she’s a nice girl despite the fact that she is way too outgoing and joyful (but, hey, maybe that was our problem all along?).
I just hope you don’t jerk her around the way you fucking did me; I hope you don’t give her false hope. And through it all, I can’t help but wonder if you’re doing this all to spite me. I hope not—I hope you do still have some fucking decency. I hope you’re doing this for you. I’m just saying, if this is for spite, you may as well save it.
You may have residual feelings (perhaps guilt?) over “us,” but guess what—I don’t. You broke up with me. Don’t forget that. If anyone deserves spite, it’s you. But you know, I simply don’t care about it enough. Here’s the simple conclusion I come to, dollface. I sometimes forget that we ever dated at all. I am perfectly content being your friend, even if you are a spiteful little boy half the time. I sleep just fine every night… Do you?
Dearest Michael,
I am not “still in love with you”. I don’t think I ever was in love
with you, and you know damn well you weren’t in love with me. You
never said it once while we dated, instead choosing to say “I heart
you” like it’s the same thing. You later said it was because I “wasn’t
committed to the relationship”. Your idea of helping to ease me into
the relationship better was to tell me you fingered a 16 year old co-
worker. That makes sense, right? I thought so. AND I STILL FUCKED YOU
LIKE A WEEK LATER. Why? Probably because I was a naive 16 year old
myself, falling for your creepy 25 year old charms.
I don’t know anyone with a life as utterly lame as yours.
WheresGeorge should not count as a hobby, nor should geocaching,
answering chacha questions FOR A LIVING AFTER YOU WERE FIRED FROM
CHUCK E. CHEESE’S, doing awful handstands, LOST, owning a copy of
Barbie’s Fairytopia, and watching every episode of The West Wing ever
20 times. I think your hermaphrodite fetish is a bit obsessive, and
an excuse not to come out. The worst part of introducing you to
anyone was having to later convince them you weren’t gay. You said I
opened you up to the idea of pain while having sex, simply because I
was a self-injurer. Since I just laid there during sex, being 16 and
all, I’m pretty sure that was just you projecting dark creepy
fantasies onto me.
For the record: I hated when you slapped my tits, I
don’t want to carve my initals into your penis, and I wasn’t at all
turned on by the video you sent me (at school) of you violating
yourself with a Sharpie. What the fuck.
I think your attempts to contact me are pathetic and your threats to
move down here and go to school are empty. You fell in love with a 16
year old who isn’t 16 anymore. Deal with it.
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Dear Matt,
Thank you for cheating on me and lying so convincingly about it. It was only a matter of time before you’d fuck up our relationship just like you’ve fucked up every other relationship except your love affair with yourself. I hope your mother finds out about your secret marriage, and your ex-wife finds out the only reason you treat her as well as you do is to make up for cheating on her.
You will one day realize that you really are a complete drain on society who will never amount to anything, and that you are not as cute, funny or smart as you think you are. “I hate being the smartest person in the room” is a clever way of saying “I don’t want to be shown to be the ignorant dropout I am.”
Best of luck finding yourself a fellow drunk who’ll let you control and manipulate her into submission. Your cooking sucked, and you really are a rather unimpressive person. But I did a great job of pretending otherwise, didn’t I? I bet you even thought those were real orgasms!
Dear Jesse,
Not only did you blame my lack of having an orgasm on me (“well it’s not my problem, it’s yours”) but you also would not admit to your porn addiction that even your friends said was a little out of control. There are plenty of guys in the world who would want to have a girlfriend that loves to have sex all the time, but no you’d rather say, “I’m not in the mood, it’s too early” and then take your computer into the bathroom and jerk off. What the fuck was that about? And when I called you out on it, you just said it’s normal for dudes to jerk off. Yeah, and it’s normal for boyfriends to have sex with their girlfriends. Even your best friend couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t want to “fuck a fox like her.” My thoughts exactly, best friend. I’ve never met anyone who complains about how much work they have to do, you’d and instead decided to download porn or play Tetris online for 8 hours and then complain again about how much work you have. You don’t have that much work! Fucking suck it up and deal with it you’re a grown man. Well, at least I thought so for a few months. Also, please warn your next girlfriend about your obsessive behaviors in regards to sports. That took up the winter and most of the spring which I’ll never get back filled with crappy hours of football, baseball, hockey, you name it.
Thank God I moved on from the mess that you were.
Dear Zach,
I should have known that anyone who can’t zipper up their own coat would be equally unskilled in other arenas, especially the bedroom. When you said you could make me cum… you couldn’t. Not even the time you thought you did.
Telling time, that was another problem. Oh, and fidelity. Your girlfriend abroad? She WILL find out (we always do). Even better, I’ll hear about it…and laugh. Loud. Yes, you have a pretty face and no problem finding girls, but i’m in the same category— with a smokin’ body to boot. And you can think what you want, send your nasty texts. But when you figure out you got it all wrong—and you will—I’ll be long gone and you’ll still be just where you are now: cold and alone. And still trying to get that damn zipper up.
Maybe if you were better with your hands…
Dear Tyson,
The fact that you only ever talked to me when no one else was around and refused to spend time with me in public was so sweet and thoughtful. It was so special how you fooled around with me and then told me you wished you’d fooled around with my best friend, but only after I pried it out of you.
But it all worked out in the end for me. I ended up with the guy of my dreams and I heard you ended up leaving an art opening in tears.
And you’re unemployed.
And you’re nothing special in bed.
And you’re single (refer to previous point).
xo
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Dearest Eric,
You’re absolutely unbelievable.
I should have known when you confessed to me that you broke up with your previous girlfriend by text message that you would fuck me over too in just as many months.
I cannot believe I sat there night after night stroking your ego by telling you how great you were and how fantastic the music you picked out was and how cool you were and what great taste you had in everything. You were so condescending, making me feel like a little girl, when you really are a self-centered, pretentious little boy.
I was so upset when you wanted to end things because we were so much alike and seemed perfect for one another, but now I realize that you’re full of shit.
And thanks for making out with my friend as soon as we broke up. That was really sweet.
xoxo
Dear Dave,
You talked about yourself constantly — well past the getting-to-know-you point. You told me you didn’t believe in Valentine’s Day only after I gave you a gift. Seriously, just buy a $3.00 box of chocolates. For my birthday you sent me a lovely… wait for it… text message. Enjoy your $400 sheets. Alone.
Dear Ted,
You’re 6’4”-ish and a professional wrestler. Nice build, yadda yadda. Boy, was I disappointed when I found out you weren’t packing much… and didn’t have the technique to make up for that.
Oh, and it wasn’t bad enough that you lived with your parents and kept your bedroom the same way it was since childhood (including the twin-sized bed that was way small for your tall, albeit lacking in the peen department frame)… but your mom cutting up your sausage and waffles for you in the morning? REALLY?
(Nevermind the fact that you’re a homophobe and have the grammatical skills of a three-toed sloth.)
Thanks for making me realize in retrospect that the idea of you was way better than the real thing.
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