I’m writing this post in my best bitch

Yes. HG and I are done. But let’s make this retroactive to our initial meeting, shall we, Shady McShadester?

I did not want to date him. I did not like him. I did not trust him. I canceled our date(s). Then I gave in after his persistence in wanting to take me out. HIS. And partially because my plans fell through that weekend to see SSD in Cincinnati. We settled into a decent courtship. We had fun. I enjoyed his company when it was convenient for him to visit, and it seemed to be reciprocated. I won’t deny any feelings of warm fuzziness and cuddly gobbledygook. That was when everyone was on his and her best behavior.

But for what it’s worth after about three months of dating, I am neither heartbroken or upset. I felt sorry for myself mostly. I played victim during the phone call. I’m upset, more or less, at the fact I allowed this to happen to me once again… but not because he is gone. Upset, perhaps, that I didn’t do it first. I was forcing feelings. I already had an expiration date chosen. I was placing him on a pedestal that he didn’t deserve to be. I was never comfortable – I was constantly nervous and sick and unsettled. I was the fool because I did not listen to my gut. I ignored my intuition that something was going on. Benching was at its peak last week – I could feel it. I paid no mind to that man behind the curtain: his lack of dating history, his passiveness in planning, his lack of depth, his “forgetting” the camera in his car TWICE when I wanted to upload our vacation photos. Ick. He was a douche. And he has not a clue about adult relationships.

Sigh, ladies. Another 30-something male that has neither the maturity level or the effort to put into making a go at REALLY making a commitment.

The speed of our relationship was a first piece of knowledge. I’m typically a huge fan of speed. I moved in with my ex-fiancé after three weeks. I would have married him the week after, but we came to our senses. The relationship with SMcS? Not speedy. In fact, I was moving along at HIS pace. Match that with a long-distance situation with one or two date nights a week, and well, I have no idea how this would be interpreted as Too Fast. Bringing me home to your family, SMcS? THAT’S too fast. Taking me on a week’s vacation to Arizona? I mean, I’ve had strangers buy me vacations before, but New Year’s Eve and Christmas and all the fixings? His speed. In this, I was the one pacing his MPH. Male Penis Hours.

I am apparently too possessive because I got pissed when I couldn’t reach him for a day. In my (superior) female brain, I don’t think it’s too much to ask what fucking city my boyfriend may be in on any particular day. And to return a phone call in a reasonable amount of time. Do I expect this? No, of course not. But once the precedent has been set and you call EVERY SINGLE DAY BEFORE YOU GO TO BED, you cannot change the habit and expect fluidity behind that. I want to be with someone that thinks about me at some point in the day to let me know he is alive and breathing heavy – regardless if it’s underneath a Pittsburgh hoochie. Or Akron, whatever.

He also hates making the decision to either spend time with me or his friends when he’s in town. Oh, the horrors of decision-making… Yes, I’m a planner. You are not. I have lots to do. You are… “busy.” I have friends to see. Your single friends are cheating losers. In my defense, I have split EVERY SINGLE FUCKING WEEKEND with his friends when he was in Cleveland. All I asked in advance was “hey, are you coming in town?” and “hey, any chance I’ll see you?” But I am also allowed to get pissed – when because you don’t make plans, and I DO – that you cancel on me anyway to “sit and play cards” on your birthday, and I am forced to change what I had planned. Suffice to say, pretty laid back in my approach. But because you are not a planner, I should not be bearing the brunt of any of this immature guilt. Fine. Hang out with your friends and their subsequent 3 or 4 whore-ish skankbags (OK, maybe one of the “girlfriends” was not so whoreish). I’m tired of trying to keep their stories straight anyway.

We had an incident in Phoenix which was not one of my finest hours. But I am human. I am female. And I have emotions. And, oh crap, I cry. Fucking Christ, what’s a man to do? If you want to call it jealousy… if you want to label it possessive. What-the-fuck-ever. All I know is some fucking whore walked up to me in the bar, said my boyfriend was hitting on her friend and got her number. End of story. This time – now that it’s over – I’m not changing my story around to blame it on my drinking. That is what fucking happened. And ANY HUMAN EMOTIONAL BEING would be pissed. Maybe not cry… but God forbid I act the least bit interested in you that it would upset me. Looking back, you’re a dick… and a liar. And another dick because you brought it up four weeks later after you said “I don’t hold grudges. Don’t worry about.” after I apologized profusely the next morning.

That being said, two emotional incidents in three months was too much for SMcS. He pondered what the next three months would be like. Torture, if you ask me, if I were to stick around. Boredom beyond my wildest dreams. If he wants a quiet puppet of a woman who cannot think or feel for herself – have at your vacant bimbos. I will never be thought of any less of a woman because I have emotions and a real thinking brain and a soul.

Now, I’m going to be a pompous ass for a moment. SMcS – among his many relationship-clichéd bits of word vomit – said to me, “I don’t want to say work is more important than you… but it is.”

Ahem. I have dated assistant city prosecutors, news broadcasters, Secret Service agents, FBI agents (the gun thing makes me hot), business owners, guys in bands and professional athletes, among others – those are very well occupations that may be more important than me.

Not a fucking sales manager.

And with that, he said he needed “time.” My dating philosophy relies on the simplicity of if someone wants to be with me, they don’t need time to realize it. His Time was apparently to rudely text message who-the-fuck-knows while I’m attempting to have an adult conversation with him about the Status of Relationship. All regurgitated crap about time and work and priorities… on an impersonal SPEAKERPHONE, nonetheless. And all say together, “Ew.” I mean, if you just want a girl to be gone, and I’m asking you to be honest – just fucking be honest and enough with all the catchphrases! And OMG, the fucking apathy in his tone. What. The. Fuck. The Time Excuse is not an out from a commitment. I cannot believe that grown men are still this surface and predictable. Sad, really.

Callously, he would not even verify the length of time he needed. Or if and when he would even call back. I don’t have “time” to wait around for someone to figure out his own direction. Especially from a 32-year-old. And I’m sorry, but in my line of work, this abrupt switch in behavior, usually means there is somebody else. Just saying. And if his “somebody else” is, in fact, work… well, I hope she puts out.

And when you make the decision that your Time Out is over. Don’t ever… EVER fucking call me again.

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