Ex-Boyfriend Letter #3

Mon, May 31 2010 10:02 | the ex-boyfriend letters

Dear________,

I wasn't planning on writing you a letter. You were never my boyfriend. You were never really anything to me, except a momentary lapse in judgment. However, I changed my mind about the letter when I heard through the grapevine that we had slept together. I find this very interesting considering,

IT NEVER HAPPENED.

Here is the deal: we went out twice in 2003. We made out & fooled around a bit but there was definitely no PENIS IN VAGINA ACTION. By telling people otherwise, I feel like you're just BEGGING to be blogged about. So, for the record, here are the facts about what went down between you and me.

Why I went out with you in the first place. (because I am partly to be blamed here)

1. It was the summer of 2003. I was feeling kind of bored, lonely and horny.

2. I was always more interested in your friend than you. I really wanted to hook up with him but at the time he was being elusive. I was feeling rejected. You were around. You showed interest. I thought you might be an OK distraction for the time being. BAD BAD BAD IDEA.

3. I was a hot child in the city...literally. Toronto was in the middle of a heat-wave. At the time I lived in an early 20th century walk-up with no air-conditioning. Do you know what that's like? It means you have Back Sweat (&Boob Sweat) 24/7. There is nothing sexy about that. When you called and asked me if I wanted to go to the movies, I said "Yes" because all I could think was MOVIE THEATRE = AIR CONDITIONING. There were beads of sweat pooling between my breasts. If Richard Simmons had called and asked me if I wanted to go watch a dog fight I probably would have said yes if I knew the invitation came with the promise of air conditioned facilities.

4. You were kind of charming. On paper you seemed like a decent guy. Intelligent, good career, tall, reasonably handsome. Also, I liked that you spoke French.

5. I'd heard that you had a really big dick. Frankly, I was curious.

(For the most part these are all terrible reasons to go out with anyone. Any sensible person would have said "no" at this point. But, I was thinking with my libido. In my experience, sensible and libido don't usually play well together.)

What really happened:

1. The first time we hung out we went to the movies. After the show we went back to your apartment to watch a DVD. We ended up making out on your couch. NOTE, we did not have sex.

2. The second time we hung out, I went over to your house (your apartment had air-conditioning). We ended up fooling around on your bed. Clothes were shed. I saw you naked. You saw me naked. I gave you a Hand-job*. I'm pretty sure that you went down on me. However, it couldn't have been that memorable. I don't remember having orgasm. I do remember that you really wanted to have sex. You kept on trying to initiate it but, I kept rejecting your advances. It was a bit like this: PENIS GETS CLOSE TO VAGINA, VAGINA MOVES AWAY, PENIS GETS CLOSE, VAGINA ROLLS OVER TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BED. I just didn't feel comfortable actually having sex with you. Eventually we both got tired and we fell asleep in your bed.

*IT WAS A HAND-JOB. A HAND-JOB does not = SEX.

The reasons why I didn't want your penis inside me:

1. You were a bad kisser & had weird spit. Kissing for me is the biggest turn on. I love to kiss before sex. I love to kiss during sex. I love to kiss afterward. With that said, I realize that kissing is totally subjective. Your kisses may be irresistible to some other girl. They just didn't work for me. You had really thick, sticky spit. After you'd kiss me, I could feel your saliva stuck on my lips and face. We didn't have the right chemistry AT ALL. And, like they say...if the kissing ain't right, keep the legs tight (or in my case, not fully open)

2. I never liked you enough. I was always way more attracted to your friend. Your friend kept crossing my mind while we were fooling around. You'd have your hand on my ass or be kissing my neck and then, BAM his face would pop up. That was when I realized that I really wanted to be in bed with him, not you. Going out with you was a total mistake.

3. I'd heard rumors that you liked to sleep with strippers. Ok, I should know better than anyone that you shouldn't believe everything you hear. I asked you about the strippers and you said it wasn't true. Were you lying? It didn't really matter. When I wasn't thinking about your friend, I was imagining the entire staff of the Brass Rail, dancing around your bed.

4. The Book. I'd also heard from your friends that you kept a notebook where you recorded the name of each woman you'd slept with and then rated them on a scale of 1-10. I didn't ask you about this. I mean, this is so disgusting how could it possibly be true right? But, I'll admit I was kind of perversely fascinated with the idea of the book. Did it really exist? Where did you keep it? Was it in the room with us while we were fooling around? Did you keep it in the nightstand? What was your grading criteria? Did you rate purely based on skill or did you have a dual scoring system that included marks for creative flair like they do in figure skating? Between these thoughts, the strippers and imagining your friend naked, I was having a hard time getting turned on.

(Actually, given all the evidence so far its actually impressive that you got as far as you did)

5. The Scrapbook. The morning after I slept over, we were lying in bed. You said to me "I have something to show you" as you reached over to grab something from the nightstand. My first thoughts were OMG, THE BOOK. HE'S BRINGING OUT THE BOOK. It wasn't the book. It was worse. It was a collection of photos. You proceeded to show me pictures from your past vacations, pointing out the various girls you'd slept with. Was this really happening?! Was this meant to make me jealous?! Was I meant to say "Oh wow, look at what I'm missing out on! Fuck me now! I want to be in your girls-I've-banged-hall of fame-photo-album!". FYI. Showing the girl you're trying to have sex with photos of other girls you've slept with = not exactly a pantie dropper. The whole time you were showing me these photographs I had to suppress laughter. It was all just so bizarre. The next day at work, I told Ukulele Misfit all about your little "photography show" and we spent the next 20 minutes laughing hysterically.

I wasn't stupid. I knew you were kind of sleazy when I agreed to go out with you. I was fine with that to a point (obviously). Like I said, it was summer, I was horny and I wanted someone to make out with. Had the chemistry been better between us (and there hadn't been the issue of your friend) I might have actually slept with you. But, what it all came down to is this: the whole time we were together I could tell that you weren't honestly interested in me. I knew this was all just a game for you. If I had slept with you it would have been meaningless. As much as I enjoy sex, I have no desire to be another number in someone's book (literally).

Now, flash-forward to about 2 months after we DIDN'T HAVE SEX. I was talking to your friend (who I did eventually end up having sex with. Note, I had sex with him. Not you. Get your facts straight). That's when I heard that I apparently "gave you a blow-job" (Read the notes, it totally didn't happen! How many times am I going to have to say, "it was a HAND-JOB"?). I thought it was kind of sad and pathetic that you'd stretch the truth about what actually happened between us. You became known amongst my girlfriends as "The guy who lied about the blow-job".

Now, flash forward 6 years later. Someone I know tells me that apparently, you've been telling people that WE HAD SEX. Unless, you have some vastly different definition of what constitutes sexual intercourse (note, me touching your wiener does not equate us "sleeping together") WE NEVER HAD SEX. In 7 years a Hand Job got upgraded to a Blow-Job which then got upgraded to us actually Doin' the Do. I wonder what this rumor will look like in another 7 years? I'm sure it will involve a sex tape, me banging all of your friends while you watch, a quickie wedding in Vegas & possibly a few love children. Maybe you should stop talking while you're ahead.

What I also find completely laughable, is that apparently "I'm pretty bad in bed". Yeah, that's generally the case with sex that NEVER HAPPENS. And, if it was SO BAD, why are you still talking about it 7 years later?!

To claim I am the one LYING about this is ridiculous. I've slept with some pretty questionable people and have no problem owning up to it. Read the blog. I have no incentive to lie about it. You do. I think you're being a sore loser.

Talk goes both ways. I've heard things about you. I've heard about the threesomes, the endless string of girls, the video tapes. All of this just confirms my initial instincts about you. But, I'm not here to chastise you for your lifestyle choices. I'm not exactly an angel myself. In a strange way I actually admire you. You've managed to excel at being truly, and unapologetically sleazy. And I get it. Women are beautiful. They have pretty hair and boobs and soft skin and they smell good. If I was a guy, I probably would try and have sex with as many of them as possible. But, if I did do this I would be a gentleman, keep my stats straight & be discrete. Do you think Don Draper needs to lie about how many chicks he's nailed just so that he can get an extra high-five from his buddies? No. Of course not. So, I'll leave you with this:

IT NEVER HAPPENED. IT WAS 7 YEARS AGO. STOP TALKING ABOUT IT.

PS. And yes, it is big. Not the biggest I've seen but, big enough that I'd remember having it inside me.

xox

Skinny Dip

What would you say to an ex if you could say anything?

skinnydip

Ex-Boyfriend Letter #2

Tue, Apr 6 2010 08:30 | 2000, the ex-boyfriend letters

Dear ______,

YOU'RE AN ALCOHOLIC.

There I said it. I probably should have told you that 10 years ago when I broke up with you but I didn't. I'm sure by now someone has told you this. Or some other girl you've dated has tried to stage an intervention. Or you've figured it out on your own (I hope).

It feels a bit weird writing you a letter because I often wonder if you'd even remember me, like if we happened to run into each other on the street...or in the liquor store. If you need a bit of a refresher, here it is: I met you the summer of 2000 at a cheesy bar in my hometown. I was home for the summer, after my first school year in Toronto and was on the rebound from a bad relationship. I was out with my friend that night, soaking my troubles in whatever neon colored-tropical flavored-vodka infused bitch pop I was drinking that week. When I saw you, my first thought was that you were precisely the kind of guy I NEVER date. You looked like the stereotypical West Coast surfer dude (a look that seems to overpopulate my hometown): Yellowy bleach blond spiky hair, deep tan, Hawaiian shirt, pucca shell necklace. You also had these piercing ice blue eyes. When you looked at me with those eyes, I forgave the Hawaiian shirt. You were hot, in a "could be mistaken for a member of a late 90's boy band" kind of way. I've always abhorred boy bands. So, the idea of dating you seemed kinky and exotic like dating the enemy. You also drove a truck, sold car parts for a living and enjoyed Bryan Adams. We had absolutely nothing in common. You were 25. I was 19. I decided that you would make the perfect summer fling.

A few nights later we went out on our first date. After a movie and some margaritas, we ended up back at your apartment. Once inside your place, you dimmed the lights, lit candles all over the apartment and spread a blanket on the floor of your living room. Sitting on the blanket together, you poured us two glasses of wine. After a few sips of wine we were making out on the blanket. When we started peeling off each others clothes, you paused, looked at me & my ivory colored skin and dark curly hair and said "Wow, I've never seen a girl without a suntan. You're beautiful. Like a painting from the Renaissance. Like the Venus de Milo". Then you said the words that every girl wants to hear "You deserve to be worshiped" (How do you say no to that?!). And that's exactly what you did: you started at my feet, massaging them, sucking on each of my toes, kissing my ankles, allowing your tongue to travel up my calf...no body part was neglected that night as you worked your way back up to my lips to kiss me (much, much later). We never slept together that night but, I remember my back arching in pleasure as I came. hard. many times. on your living room floor. It was totally hot. It was exactly what my body needed. In the morning, I crept home with shaky legs on a multiple orgasm high.

Everything went downhill from there.

That many orgasms in one night can turn you into a bit of a dum-dum. I had a serious case of sexually transmitted stupidity. This explains dates #2-#5.

Date #2. A few days later I went back to your apartment. Everything looked different in the light of day, without the distraction of the margaritas, the candles, THE WINE, or your head between my legs. How did I not notice that your curtains were made of fabric printed with a Marijuana Leaf motif? Or the giant Marijuana Leaf FLAG on the living room wall? Or the creepy terrarium with the Lizard inside? Or the Star Wars paraphernalia? And how did I not notice the giant BONG on your coffee table? Or the other half dozen bongs all over the living room? Was this really the apartment of the guy I had shared Chardonnay and a candle-light pic-nic with just a few nights before?! When you caught me staring at the bong, you asked "Wanna take a hit off of my Old Lady?" (huh?). I politely declined. Despite growing up on the West Coast weed has never been my thing. You replied "Suit yourself! Don't mind if I do!". Then you dove face down into the bong. I sat on the couch, drinking the beer you had handed me (after mentioning you'd already had 6) and watched you orally pleasure your "Old Lady". I would have preferred if you had been orally pleasuring me. But, like I said before I was 19 and a bit of a dum-dum. At this moment I was really turned off by you but then I thought of the orgasms (orgasms? bong? orgasms? bong?) and said to myself the thing that all 19 year-olds making bad dating choices say "I'm just going to see where this goes". I dove down and took a hit off of the "Old Lady" and hoped for the best.

Date #3. I barely remember this date. What I do remember is that it involved another cheesy bar in my hometown, lots of Red Bull and an OBSCENE amount of Tequila. One moment we're jumping around to Basement Jaxx, the next I'm outside in a parking lot watching you puke behind a parked car. At the time I thought "This is gross!" but the joke was on me. As soon as I got home, I was more sick than I have ever been in my life. ALL NIGHT. Scary sick. TMI: I threw up and threw up until I was just throwing up stomach acid and blood. I started to cry. My Mom completely freaked out (rightfully so) and got on the phone to the doctor's office. She was convinced that I had an ulcer and a 'very low alcohol tolerance'. I didn't have the heart to tell her that her daughter had a bit of a substance abuse problem of her own.

To say I was slightly "troubled" at 19 would be putting it mildly. A lot of bad stuff had happened during my first semester of college. Traumatic stuff. Rather than really face what I was going through, I figured the best thing to do was to have as much fun as possible ALL THE TIME. I was all about "self-medicating". When I would drink, I wouldn't just have a few. I would drink to the point of oblivion where everything I felt didn't matter anymore. Comfortably numb was my preferred state of being. I tried to explain this to you a few times but then realized that I couldn't. I didn't trust you enough to tell you about the things that had happened and why I was drinking in the first place. I couldn't even admit these things to my best friends.

When I told you about throwing up blood you said,

"That happens to me all the time"

(what?!)

As messed up as I was, I knew that being around you wasn't good for me. But, instead of walking away at that point (hey, remember those orgasms?!) I told myself two other lies that 19-year old dum-dums making bad decisions tell themselves:

"Just because HE'S drinking, doesn't mean I have to. Besides, maybe I can help him"

Which brings us to date #4. I decided that I would plan a "sober" date for us (after date #3 I couldn't even look at a bottle of liquor without feeling nauseous). I was house sitting for my Dad and decided to have all of my girlfriends over for dinner...and invite YOU to meet EVERYONE! You showed up bleary eyed, stumbling, WASTED, with a six pack. You proceeded to sit down in front of my Dad's TV and drink six more beers. When my girlfriends went home, I suggested that maybe you should lie down for a bit and "sleep it off". I went to go get something from the bathroom, when I came back into the room you had taken off all of your clothes and you were standing in the middle of the room STARK NAKED.

me: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!

At which point, you ran out of the room and puked in my Dad's toilet.

As far as Summer Flings go, I was kind of hoping mine would be more along the lines of "Dirty Dancing" or "Blue Lagoon" (naked teens on a deserted island!). Instead, my summer romance had turned into "Leaving Las Vegas".

When the amount of puke in a relationship outnumbers the amount of orgasms, that's when you know its OVER....which totally doesn't explain why there was a date#5.

For date #5, you asked me to the movies. Barring you managing to smuggle in a flask in the pocket of your Hawaiian shirt, I figured the movies were probably "safe". When we arrived to the theater and you suggested we "Grab a Drink before the show"I knew it was now or never. I HAD to break-up with you. So, while we sat at the bar across the street from the movie theater, you nursing a Pint and me a tiny cup of coffee, I told you it was over. I wish I had told you the truth, that your drinking really bothered me. That I thought you needed help. But, I didn't. I barely knew you. I don't think I could have saved you. Not, when I needed saving myself. Instead I came up with some other bullshit reason for why I was breaking up with you: "Its not you...It's me"

The fact of the matter was, it totally was you.

We never spoke after that night. A few months later, my best friend and I were driving through town. I looked out my window and saw you in the car next to us. Your head was hanging out of the passenger seat window. The only time I have ever leaned out of a car window like that is when I've had so much to drink that I am about to spill my guts. It was 2pm in the afternoon. I knew at that moment I had made the right decision.

You were a nice guy. A good-looking guy. A really good toe-sucker. We both needed help. I hope you've found that help. I hope you're happy and in a good place now.

Love,

S.D

What would you say to an ex if you could say anything?

skinnydip

Because this Needs to be Said:

Fri, Mar 26 2010 12:17 | early twenties, the ex-boyfriend letters

I had this weird epiphany when I was in LA last week:

People are actually reading this blog & they are making judgments about my life & my writing.

I knew this would happen when I started publicly writing about certain aspects of my life online. However it didn't really hit home until last week, when I received my first anonymous comment (see below)

"An interesting post. I've been reading your blog from the very beginning, but I've reserved comment until now.

Honestly, I think you have a certain talent, and your efforts have potential. Your themes are well-chosen, and you write with a type of candour that's very appealing (let's call it impulse, even unabashedness at times). Actually, it might be best to say that there's a teasing element to the writing, a push to the precipice, then a quick withdrawal before too much is said without opportunity to retrieve.

Since your endeavour here is by its very nature open, I hope you don't mind if I share some thoughts with you. First, there's a level of aggression in your writing that could do with being tamed (not always, but sometimes). This post (the first "ex letter") is good but your resentment clouds the more interesting things you allude to (e.g. how you felt when you were influenced to act contrary to your own tastes and interests, etc.). Your writing is much more successful when it tends toward the funny, or the perceptive, or, at times, the ironic.

Second, how about going topsy-turvy and revealing the shortcomings in your own character that have caused you to stumble? And I mean in relationships or family, not the triter facets of life. For example, it would be interesting to read of some of your experiences where the fault was not his but yours. Stories like these often seem more honest, more true to the notion of revelation.

Anyway, listen, I hope this wasn't off-putting or ostensibly arrogant in any way. I think your work is great, and the whole Carrie Underwood meets the T-Dot thing works well. You're obviously an interesting and engaging person, and I'm really looking forward to reading the rest of this project. If you have any questions or care to hear further insight, touch base via your blog"

I'm really glad that this person left this comment because I feel like they brought up some interesting points. I knew that by posting the first Ex-Boyfriend letter completely out of context, I was opening myself up to further feedback and questions. Namely WHY DID I DATE THIS GUY AND MORE IMPORTANTLY, WHY DID I STICK AROUND? Here is a bit of background information in case you were wondering:

I think Stevie from Seattle said it best: "I was young and insecure". I dated this guy 6 years ago, when I was 23. Up until I met him my dating rap sheet consisted of a variety of romantic disasters and experiences dating "Kermit types" (people I liked more than they liked me). This guy seemed so DIFFERENT. He was 12 years older than me, smart, nice, good job. Most importantly, he lavished me with attention and made it very clear from the beginning that he wanted us to be together. For someone who was not accustomed to this kind of attention, it was very, very flattering. It feels really good to be wanted and needed. We all want to be loved/liked. With that said, being 23-24 was a very confusing time. I had just graduated university, and was taking my first foot steps in "the real world". Although I had a pretty good idea of who I was as a person, I was completely confused about what I wanted to do with my life. Now, imagine someone comes along who is older, and seemingly wiser and decides you take you under their wing. One minute they are telling you how wonderful and beautiful you are and the next, they are telling you that in order to fit in with this real world you need to change things about yourself, that your interests and parts of your personality aren't appropriate or suitable. It's very, very confusing especially when you are young and confused about so much already. Although I had dated alot, I had very little actual relationship experience. I listened to him at first because I thought this was what people meant when they said you had to "compromise" in a relationship. I wanted him to continue to like me, so I started bending, changing or silencing little things about myself. But its a slippery slope: I kept bending and bending and bending until finally I realized I wasn't really me anymore. I felt so utterly and completely lost during this period of my life. As much as he never stood up to his friends, I never stood up to him. When I realized what had happened I was mostly just mad at myself.

Just to clarify: I don't think The Guy from Letter #1 is a bad person. We just were searching for different people. Both of us made the mistake of dating each other. I'm sure If I'd had the self-confidence and self-awareness I have now back then, things probably would have gone a lot differently. Instead, I ended up learning a lot from this experience:

1) ALWAYS BE YOURSELF. LIVE BOLDLY AND COLOURFULLY . The right person will like you just as is. Vice versa, if you find you're always trying to change someone, you probably don't love them for who they really are.

2) If something doesn't feel right, its probably because it isn't right. If something bothers you, SPEAK UP. I never stood up to that guy because I just didn't want to "cause problems", but in the end the only person who suffered was me. Now I say what's on my mind. Just ask BF. He gets an earful every day. (He also does the same with me and I think that's what keeps us together-4 years and counting)

After I broke up with Guy from Letter #1 a lot of awesome things happened: I started to do really well at my job, I built up a great social network, and most of all I really embraced who I am (bright colors, rap music, animal print & all). All of this lead me to meet the person I am with today (BF).

So, here are my comments for you Anonymous Commenter:

If you think I'm trying to assign Blame to the guys I dated, you're obviously missing the point of this blog. Most of these situations are 100% my fault. Meaning, I CHOSE to date people who were totally wrong for me. I've obviously made some huge mistakes in my love life. But, haven't we all? I think Julie Klausner says it best in her book:

"I wrote these stories strewn with romantic collateral damage because I think they're funny now that I've stopped crying, and because I've learned things from them I hope will resonate with women [or men] who've snacked on similarly empty fare when it comes to guys [or girls]"

I'm writing about my mistakes, with a touch of humor because I'm ready to laugh about them and let them go. I'm hoping that other people who have made similar mistakes will read the blog, and do the same.

As for the "level of aggression" in my writing: I'm not trying to write a Pulitzer winner. I'm not even trying to be a journalist here. I'm just trying to write a PERSONAL BLOG that is true to my feelings and experiences. I'm not always happy, I'm not always funny, sometimes I'm straight up angry. I'm not interested in being "tamed", especially in my own personal blog space. Read the letter again: I've been there, done that. This is me, ugly scars, anger, resentment and all. If any of this doesn't work for you or you feel the content of the blog is too "trite" then maybe this just isn't the blog for you. Maybe you'd enjoy reading something that is more journalistic in nature.

This blog is still relatively new. I haven't fully determined the scope of subjects I'm willing to talk about yet. Currently, I'm writing a lot about my past romantic entanglements, because that is what I have to get off my chest right now. However, this blog has already changed a lot since I first started it and I'm sure it will continue to evolve, as I do as a person. If you're still interested in reading, I hope that you stick around for the process!

With that said, I'm DYING to find out what I have in common with Carrie Underwood. I'm honestly drawing blanks. I'm not a blonde, I'm not into country music, I don't have giant sparkling white teeth and I'm definitely not America's Sweetheart.

Please enlighten me!! I'm dying of curiosity over here!!!

Thanks!

S.D

{PS. Today's photo was taken last week in Santa Monica, CA. in front of a small liquor store/bodega. I love how in California some of the liquor stores also sell condoms. I think the Americans are on to something...}

How do you feel about your own personal blog space?

skinnydip

Ex-Boyfriend Letter #1

Fri, Mar 19 2010 11:45 | the ex-boyfriend letters

Dear ________ ,

Originally I wasn't going to write you a letter because our break-up was pretty cut and dry. You were too old for me. We were both at different points in our lives. When we broke up, we shook hands as friends and never spoke again. But here is what I should have said to you when I had the chance:

YOUR FRIENDS TOTALLY SUCK.

They're pretentious. They're elitist. They are total ASS-HATS.

Hanging out with them while we were dating was honestly one of the most painful experiences of my life. Don't believe me? Let me refresh your memory. Here are a few things that happened while we were dating that convinced me your friends were douche-bags:

1. The Ikea incident: While we were dating I had to move apartments. Your best friend kindly volunteered to help me move. While you guys were moving you managed to break the legs off of my Ikea computer desk. When this happened, you and your friend started laughing.

Me: "You guys just broke my desk"
Your friend: "It was a crappy desk anyways. I think I just did you a favor. What is this.. Ikea?"
Me: "Yeah thanks. Now my desk has no legs"
Your friend: "You should really spend the money and buy better stuff Simone. Ikea is for low income people"

I really wanted to yell at your friend and say: I just graduated university and have 30K worth of debt. I AM LOW INCOME. And you just amputated my desk. ASSHOLE.

But I didn't. I swallowed my feelings while you stood by idly, laughing with your friend as he made fun of my stuff. I should have broken up with you then.

2. The Wife: Your best friend's wife is a total SHE-DOUCHE. I just had to put it out there. She's one of the most controlling, competitive people I have ever met. I tried to be friends with her but it stopped being fun when I realized she tried to control every. single. social. situation. The worst was when we'd hang out with both of them and she'd pick these crazy fights with your best friend. They'd be swapping passive aggressive comments across the dinner table while we were held hostage, listening to this crap. It was seriously stuff right off of the pages of "Who's Afraid Of Virginia Wolf". If I wanted to watch that, I'd rent the DVD. At least then I'd be allowed popcorn. The worst fight was definitely the one that took place at the Mexican restaurant. Between your friends embarrassing comments about how much they loved "ethnic food" and their public display of relationship problems, the staff was totally staring at our table. I just wanted to grab one of the oversize sombreros off of the wall so I could hide under it until this whole mess was over.

I know you found these fights totally awkward and inappropriate. But you never did or said anything.

The day I completely wrote your friend's wife off as a SHE-DOUCHE was the night I showed up at your birthday toting my vintage Louis Vuitton bag. I had recently got my first "real job" and just felt like dressing up that night. As soon as she noticed the bag she was suddenly nicer to me than she had ever been. She pulled me aside and said condescendingly "Oh, Simone. Isn't it nice to finally be able to buy nice things for yourself?". Then, she held up her $700 pocket book and said "Welcome to the Club!".

What I really should have said to her was this: The purse is three years old. I bought it with my own money (vintage). And despite being a CHARITY CASE in your eyes, I DO have nice things. I just don't wear my nice things around you because frankly, you're not worth it. And unlike you, I don't need to rub these things in other people's faces because my whole sense of worth isn't built around what kind of monogram is on my purse. I actually feel really bad for you that this is how you see yourself and the world. Whatever "Club" you think you belong to, I'm not interested in joining.

3. The Hitler incident: This is what convinced me once and for all that your best friend was an asshole. We were driving through a "low income" area of Toronto that is known for its high density housing projects and large immigrant population. Your friend says,

"This neighborhood is disgusting. It doesn't even deserve to exist"

Me: "I have friends who grew up around here"

Him: "Well, its disgusting. The city should just bulldoze the whole area"
Me: "Umm, I don't think the residents would be too happy about that"
Him: "I would just round everyone up, put them on buses and ship them off to farms in the country. Maybe they'd learn how to become productive members of society"

Me: "Oh you mean sort of like how Hitler rounded up the Jews and sent them off somewhere?"

YEAH.

Your friend stared DAGGERS into my eyes. I'm pretty sure at that moment he hated me. And I hated him. That was also the moment I lost respect for you for not standing up against your friend's obviously fucked up values.

You became an asshole by association.

4. The Trapeze: You and your best friend were really into Kite Surfing. My new boyfriend says that this "sport" is retarded and for pussies. I have to agree with him here. Because of your obsession with Kite surfing I will never, EVER date another guy who plays a sport that can have the prefix "XTREME" placed in front of it. I hated Kite Surfing because it totally monopolized our time together. One Friday night we went over to your friend's house because he had set up a Trapeze swing in his loft that apparently simulated the "aerial movement" (?) of being on an actual board. I sat on the sofa, watching two 35 year old guys swing from one end of your friend's loft to the other, like overgrown monkeys. Eventually I got so bored that I fell asleep sitting up. When I woke up, I looked at my phone and saw that 3 hours had passed. I don't think you had even noticed that I was unconscious. I realized at this point that there wasn't room for me in this bro-mance.

I never understood why you liked hanging out with these people so much. I always thought you were "different". I thought you were better than all this. But, it can't be denied that the people you choose to surround yourself with ARE a reflection on who you are and your values. You CHOSE to be these people's friends. Looking back on you and me, I can now see how much of your friends values were your own.

I don't think you really liked me for who I was. Not really.

There were many, many times where you criticized the way I dressed and the things I liked. You called them "tacky". You thought I was too bright. Too glittery. My personality too brash. My hair too curly. My earrings too big. Around you, I toned down so much of myself just so that you and your friends wouldn't feel uncomfortable. I straightened my hair. I listened to my Roots CD in private (because you thought my music taste sucked.) I tried to become the white-washed-WASP-y-white-cotton-pantie-wearing-GAP-commercial-girl that you wanted. But it didn't work. Because that's not who I am. I will never be white cotton panties. I will always be leather and lace and garters and bright colors. And as much as YOU hated it I love animal print (in moderation.) I have Eastern European roots-wearing animal print is like my fucking birth-right.Deal with it. I love music with bass and dancing around the living room to Craig Mack with the volume cranked. Your comments hurt my feelings because when I met you, I was happy with who I was ( I still am). It was you who didn't like who I was.

Honestly, I think you only stayed with me because you thought I was hot and liked fucking me. When I stopped wanting to fuck you, I think we both just decided to cut our losses.

But that's OK. Water under the bridge. In the end we both wanted people that neither of us were. You wanted a girl that would stroke your ego. I wanted a guy who stood up for what he believed in. Neither of us got what we wanted from each other.

And I hated your friends.

That pretty much sums it up.

xox

Skinny Dip

What would you say to an ex if you could say anything?

skinnydip

The Ex-Boyfriend Letters

Tue, Mar 16 2010 10:11 | the ex-boyfriend letters

So, this is the little suprise I've been saving for you guys: a new weekly feature on Skinny Dip!

(To anyone who has seen me over the past week, THIS is what has been keeping me up at night & giving me those lovely dark circles under my eyes)

Lately, I've had this overwhelming feeling like I have so much to say that I don't even know where to begin.

Years ago, when I first started to have boy trouble (when I was 18 or 19) and I'd break up with someone, I would write them a letter. In these letters I would write about how the other person made me feel and discuss everything that was left unsaid. I never mailed these letters. They were just really therapeutic to write. I decided that writing letters again might be the perfect way to get some stuff off of my chest and introduce some new story-lines on the blog.

So, I am writing letters to all of the men from my past and posting them on Skinny Dip. All letters will be addressed anonymously (no names mentioned) and I will post a new one each week. EVERYONE is getting at least one letter (well, everyone worth mentioning). NO ONE IS SAFE.

Some of the letters will be funny, some will be angry, some will be sad, some will be steamy...and some might be a combination of all the above. I guess you'll just have to read and find out!

So far, I've written 4 out of the 12-15 letters I have planned. Writing them has felt really good. I like to think of this whole process and an "emotional exfoliation" -sloughing off all the feelings I've bottled up to make room for new better stuff in my life. Hopefully you guys will enjoy reading about my flings, booty calls, dates and relationships gone wrong as much as I've enjoyed writing about them.

FIRST LETTER DROPS FRIDAY. Stay tuned.

(I also have another exciting announcement that I will reveal later tonight!)

Have any of you ever written someone a post break-up letter? What would you say to an ex if you could tell them anything?

skinnydip

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