I broke up with this guy recently. We only dated for like a month (if you can call “going out for drinks once and then fucking for four consecutive weekends” dating). But I liked him. I liked his job (TV writer), his Yale-educated way of speaking, his prompt and perfectly punctuated text messages, his nest of a king size bed and the way he read books in it every morning, and his cat who used to be called Michelle until a trip to the vet changed the name to Michel. Mostly, I liked his cat.
Our relationship was built around the premise that he would never really date me. I was comfortable with this. It made sense to me. When our brief tryst ended because he’d found someone he actually did want to date I was sad because rejection sucks and the sex was really good, but I was sort of relieved we hadn’t made it to the point where I had to confront him about how environmentally batshit it is to drink bottled water, or find a tactful way to ask if he was comfortable with the class and gender implications of having a “cleaning lady.”
I was also a little relieved to be able to go back to hating myself without interruption. Whenever I meet someone cool who inexplicably seems to think I am also cool, my brain’s all like, “wait, but how tho? literally what is the catch. serial killer? – possible, but statistically unlikely – addict? – not enough abusable prescription meds around the house – general asshole? – def not, back rubs too good. but like wait so if good person likes u then r u good too??? bc, like, logic?????”
It feels nice, or at least unchallenging, to have these questions answered.
I know if we had actually dated that I never would have felt smart enough, successful enough, together enough, to ever really settle in. He knew it too, from the very first time I came over and he complimented my pink Chuck Taylors in a way that let me know he hadn’t slept with someone who wears pink Chuck Taylors in a long time.
I wonder if he knew that I seek out these insignificant ends as fuel for the fear of intimacy that I’m afraid of losing in the absence of real, honest-to-God, grade A heartbreak. I wonder if he thought he was doing me a favor.
Mostly I’m going to miss his cat, though.
Pumarosa, our favorite London breakout act of 2015, have been eeking out stellar singles since their blogosphere hit Priestess. Looks like the sultry rockers are finally making good on their well-deserved hype and will be coming out with a debut full-length May 19, a date we at Hullabaloo have marked on the calendar. Pre order The Witch here. In the meantime, slow burning Dragonfly will have to tide us over until the release.