He’s a bad boy
The type that may never change
Constantly distracted by his next prey
Yet there you are waiting for the stars to align
It’s his artistic flair, his zest for life
The sounds of the worlds he’s travelled permeate his voice
You’ve felt it was him, you’ve known for a while
Yet your heart is not at ease
And when you get close to allowing him in, you pull back
Not ready for him to see into the depths of your soul
There is an uncomfortable feeling about him
What you seem to want appears to be far from what you need
But there he stands, in all his beauty, yet you know that you can’t allow yourself to breathe
You’re choking at the knowledge that he will eventually break your heart
You hope, you want, you wish
But his perfection cannot exist with you
So, you begin to walk away
Waiting for some glimmer of hope to stop you from this path
A pull at your heart, a push in his direction
But nothing comes
You stop for a moment breathing in the air of sadness
You turn around for one last smile, hoping for one last look into his eyes
An answer of some sort
But nothing comes
You stand there all alone engulfed by the darkness
When you hear the sound of paper crumbling
At that moment you know, perfect on paper is slipping away
You will not be together today nor will you be together tomorrow
Maybe in another lifetime, you will see him smile again

 

I definitely have a type, I can describe my ideal lover to a tee: he would have large shoulders that would prevent him from being able to comfortably walk through a doorway, arms big enough to serve as a winter coat if needed, legs three times the size of my body and not a single particle of hair on his head. That’s it! Although it’s not an absolute list, I’d be lying if I said that these characteristics did not slightly influence my decision to, well, keep someone around longer than necessary.

While watching a movie recently, I was struck by the resemblance between an actor and an ex of mine. My ex was drop dead gorgeous and practically Mr. Physically Perfect. While we were together, I noticed that I tolerated a lot more compared to those who came before him. His desirability factor pushed me to forgo all mental facilities and attribute logic to the hell I allowed myself to endure. I thought he was my soul mate solely based on the fact that I had already envisioned that he would look that way. My ability to look past the horror was a form of coping mechanism as I waited for our love to flourish. As you can see, I had lost my common sense and dignity was no longer a word I could comprehend.

Was this a “me” phenomenon or were these beautiful creatures spreading worldwide terror? But then I wondered, are we more forgiving to individuals who fit within the parameters of Mr. Perfect, but not necessarily Mr. Right? Beyond the physical, had I been honest with myself, I would have readily admitted that he was far from my type. I like the cultured individuals; the ones who are the brightest kids in the class. They can usually teach me a thing or two and they easily pleasure me with some mental stimulation. With that being said, when a man of a particular physique walks into the room as much as I may enjoy mental foreplay, it’s hard to resist those chiseled arms. Okay so they may look good, but how they had passed my funnel test is beyond me. The lack of selective skills used when choosing these “physically perfect” men leaves me with a lackluster pool of potential mates. I’ve noticed that the ones who do make the cut, you know the Idris Elba look-a-likes, seem to have greater difficulty expressing themselves when compared to the rest of the general population.

Back to that beautifully sculpted boyfriend of mine, it became apparent that he was a very quiet individual. I mean this guy basically mimed his way through life, and yet, there I was thoroughly drawn to his “mystique”. Rather than labelling him as utterly uninteresting, he was “intriguing”. The fact that we barely conversed should have made it glaringly obvious that there was no hope for our budding relationship. Case in point:

I had told him that I had read an article about First Nations cultures and how I was unaware that the name of the sports team he played for had First Nations’ roots. He proceeded with the following response:

“So?”

Let’s try this again.

“Well, uhm, I found this interesting because I had no idea the number of team names that have First Nations origin.”
“How is this important?”
“I’m sorry?!”
“You always bring up these random facts, I don’t know why.”

It’s called a CON-VER-SA-TION!

You know when you have the urge to smack someone, but you know that (A) you don’t have the physical strength to cause any sort of permanent damage. And (B) orange has never been your colour and it was not written in the multitude of horoscopes you read that day that jail time was in the near future.

It doesn’t seem like much, but this was ALL THE TIME; even basic exchanges like how are you were exercises of repeat after me. So, our relationship revolved around staring contests while I kept myself pleasantly entertained by conversing with the nearest wall. It was only a matter of time before my happily ever after came crumbling down.

When I think back to that situation, I recall the numerous conversations I’ve had with my girlfriends during which I “happen” to be on the social media profile of a love interest and within minutes, they all have an opinion about his appearance. Funny how a conversation will soon ensue where they retract all of their comments and add “I mean, if you like him then looks shouldn’t matter.” Riiiiiight! That statement necessitates a raised eyebrow.

We’re all aware of the adage that we should not judge a book by its cover, which is quite true, but I do believe that attraction is essential. Attraction does not always comprise appearance; therefore, hoping that a fruitless relationship will suddenly become a Disney spun fairy tale on the basis of looks only was beyond ridiculous on my part. My soul mate may very well not look like anyone I’ve ever imagined in my head. It’s the unexpected that I hope for now, the man who seems to appear out of nowhere that I may never had paid any attention to but still manages to sweep me off my feet. We do ourselves a disservice when we limit ourselves to our top ten lists, but I will say this: if you run into me and I happen to be in the arms of a football player type, just remember, there is such a thing as just fun and games.

 

Sex and the City has definitely done a number on me. I have always been a SATC supporter and the show has been there through all of my ups and downs. I remedied every breakup by watching several Sex and the City episodes while eating a couple of boxes of pizza. There was a period where I had gone through breakup after breakup and I had enough. I called a good guy friend of mine to complain about how another one bit the dust and he stopped me mid-man bashing sentence with a revelation: “Do you notice that you are always dating the same type of guy? He may have a different face and a different name, but essentially it’s the same guy.” It did make me pause and think for a minute. Was I really recycling men? Not literally of course, but it’s as though I was picking men from a tribe called “I-am-Emotionally-Unavailable-and-Do-Not-Expect-a-Commitment-From-Me-Anytime-Soon.” This was my relationship ah-ha moment.

It was true that there was a definite pattern there and now I wanted to get to the root of the problem. How did it all begin? I started thinking about all my past relationships and I began having flashbacks of Sex and The City episodes which all involved scenes with Big. All of the men that I’ve dated from this tribe definitely had commitment issues like Big. There is something about the last season of Sex and the City, when Big finally commits to Carrie, that somehow made me believe that I was next in line for my happily ever after. It was clear, however, that they were all doomed relationships and I was clinging on to false hope. We get sucked into the emotions of the story that it can seem all too close to reality. The Big Syndrome carries over to almost every romantic comedy that I’ve ever watched (remember He’s Just Not That Into You – the exception to the rule BS). After this revelation, it was truly an uphill battle and I did not suddenly feel empowered.

Not long after, I went on a movie date and we watched a romantic comedy. As predicted, the characters had a magical happy ending. Without even realizing it, I was making loud noises as though I was regurgitating food when the main characters kissed and during excessively mushy scenes. My date was more than alarmed and asked: “What’s wrong with you?!” Uhm nothing. That’s just how I tend to react to crap, I throw up. Needless to say, there were no other dates with this guy as he could somehow sense I had some serious issues. I was almost waiting for him to suggest that I go see a shrink and, in that moment, I would have completely agreed with him. I used to be one of those girls who would judge other women who would keep dating jerks (because I knew they were worth so much more) until I became one of them. I get it now. I do think that we need to get to a point where we just become tired of the BS (I have definitely reached that point) because your friends will tell you to leave him, but you won’t until you’ve had enough.

So let’s stop believing in the fairy tale endings because they do not exist. I repeat: it is all a sham. Unless you’re the exception to the rule of course and if you are, please keep it to yourself. But, let me clarify what I mean by fairytales do not exist; this may be the biggest revelation since you were told that Santa Claus wasn’t real. I want you to know that real love is hard work, but worth it. It won’t always be easy and we shouldn’t walk away at the first hint of trouble. Don’t be Carrie and wait around for a man who doesn’t deserve your love because he has yet to learn that love is measured by actions and he keeps falling short. Make sure that you only give your heart to someone who is equally willing to work as hard as you. So yes be hopeful, but trust his actions and not his words, he may say he loves you à la Big, but if time and time again, he fails to show up – leave, that is far from a fairy tale love.

 

Monologue of a Suddenly Psychopathic, Vengeful Teen

I’m curious to know baby, how it felt to screw me – was it all that you had imagined it to be? Did it rise to your every expectation? Had you hoped for more – deeper maybe? I want to know, what drew you to me baby? Was it the sight of my pretty face or did you hear my lips calling, asking you if you want to taste? Or possibly, it was the curvature of my body that pushed you to discover how I glide, how it glides. Tell me baby, did I quench your thirst? Did I appease your ravenous greed? I want to know how you enticed me and forced me to look your way. You must know what I’m talking about baby, how it all went according to plan.

And when you eagerly ran to kiss and tell, did you forget about me baby? But I understand, they were waiting for you, for the story. I hope you detailed it well – your conquest – and uttered those three lovely words, how you “hit it first”. Were they salivating as you gave them the play-by-play? It was you that allowed them to know me so well, every inch of this body. You did that, you let them in – all simultaneously inside of me. But wait baby, did you tell them the best part? How you made sure I was just a semblance of a person, just another notch on your belt. No? Another goal to attain, a beauty desired. Did I do it right? The way I stroked your ego, helped you feel like a man because you know only boys play the games that you do. I want to know. Did you shower or did you sleep in my scent so it could linger in the air? I want to know. When you broke me inside and proceeded to destroy me, was I, the person, not a thought in your head? At which point did I become your object, your pleasure, your beauty devoured – before, during, or shortly thereafter? While in the depths of me, did you ponder whether the trophy was worth ripping away the last shred of my dignity? Used me up to mark your territory. Would you like some more? I can give you some more, but this time baby, let me serve it to you on a silver platter.

I demand to know if it was worth your while. My tears flooding the hallway of shame – you did that– drowning me deep. Was it worth the game? Were you hoping that I would be flattered that it was you? No. You weren’t a prize, I don’t play those games. You never planned to return did you, to your conquered land? Oh how you whispered those sweet, sweet nothings to draw me in, neglecting my feelings. How does it feel to be you? To be the man, to be the man whose ship launched on thy pretty face? You’re a man now; I guess that’s all it takes.

Did I need a spanking?
Is that why you did me so dirty?
You’ve been a bad boy, left me hurting inside.
But don’t you worry baby, I want you to hurt as much as I do.
So teach me baby, the art of your screw.

 

pit stop, / noun:
(1) :  a stop (as during a trip) for fuel, food, or rest or for use of a restroom
(2) :  a temporary deviation from a direct or usual course

Love is often compared to a journey much like the long distances of a road trip; there are many stops along the way, pit stops to be exact, and these rest periods often delay our travels. These trips involve a mapped out course to a specific location and in the language of love this would translate to goals such as being married by a certain age, having three kids with your spouse or living in cohabitation bliss à la Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt. No matter how much we may plan, nothing is certain until we reach our intended destination.

I was driving back home with my boyfriend at the time and we were talking about our past relationships. Nothing major, we were simply exchanging funny stories and events that had occurred. We were laughing about the ridiculousness of it all when he suddenly became quiet.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“Nothing. I guess I’m just reminiscing.”
“About?”
“This girl. We dated, but I didn’t realize how much I cared about her until things ended.”

At that moment, I knew that he was losing his mind. This conversation was going nowhere good fast.

“She was only in Canada temporarily and I could have persuaded her to stay, but I wasn’t ready to commit to her at the time.”
“Uh huh.”
“Her last day here, I dropped her off at the airport and that’s when I realized that I couldn’t let her leave. I asked her to stay, but it was too late, I had lost her.”
“Did you keep in touch?”
“Yes, on and off. Have you heard of the saying ‘the one that got away’?”

If I had raised my eyebrow any higher, it would have been permanently stuck that way.

“Yeah I have.”
“I feel like that was her. She was the one. And ever since she left, I haven’t felt that way about anyone else. I’m still searching for that girl.”

Uhm what?! Ladies and gentlemen, how my mug shot was not on the front page of the next day’s paper is beyond me. It took every inch of strength I had to refrain from steering the car into the nearest pole. Please keep in mind, that I was his GIRLFRIEND! Not a friend, not a booty call, but a legitimate girlfriend who had been with this moron for the past couple of months. I liked the sound of my name with his last name, I had chosen names for our children, I knew how they would look like and what universities they would attend. We were supposed to live happily ever after in a house behind a white picket fence. It was allll planned. Oh yeah, the works! I was damn near pissed. I looked over his way to see if I could catch a hint of remorse in his eyes, but there was nothing there. Nada! So I asked him: “You do know that I am sitting right next to you right?” and he responded, “Yeah, what’s the problem?”

The problem was that he was about to be very single.

As soon as I arrived home, I called a guy friend (as you can tell by now this is routine) to recount the horror that I had just experienced:

“Elle, he was just on cruise control mode with you, he knew it wasn’t going anywhere.”
“That doesn’t make sense!” I insisted: “We’re together all the time. He has shared parts of his life with me that I am sure he could not have possibly shared with anyone else. We have a con-nec-tion!”
“You’re just a pit stop. It happens all the time.”

A PIT STOP??!! I sat on the floor of my room staring at the ceiling while contemplating whether my purpose on earth was to be an eternal pit stop. I did not want to be that girl, you know like the perennial bridesmaid in the movie 27 dresses. I was curious to know if these pit stops were common amongst my group of male friends and so one by one they each received a call.

Once polled, the findings showed that the future was bleak for any women entertaining a guy friend of mine. Most had one pit stop girl in their roster and they each provided two very similar responses for this necessity:

1. “I don’t want to lose the sexual benefits so I keep her around but not too close. It’s just an extended pit stop, you know like an extended stay hotel.” No, actually, I do not know.
2. “Elle, it’s called pimpin’. You give her the run around, create false hope and now you have an asset to fall back on.” I swear he used those exact words.

The following is the definition of a roster; it should put things into perspective:
roster, / noun
(1) a list of persons or group […] with their turns or periods of duty.

After that conversation I had with my boyfriend, we lasted another 2.5 seconds. It was time for both of us to get back on the road and continue our individual journeys. Of course the situation annoyed me, but I was not angry. I’ve come to realize that there is something to be learnt from every relationship whether it be good or bad. I learnt that I was exhausted of running around and that it may have been time to home in on what exactly I was looking for in a man. I was not referring to frivolous qualities like being an Idris Elba doppelganger and extremely tall (although it would be a plus), rather I was referring to the characteristics and the type of personality that would allow for growth within a relationship. I was haphazardly choosing the people in my life instead of making a conscious choice of whom was in and who needed to be filtered out. So, of course it felt like one pit stop after another because I was hitchhiking with no particular destination in sight. If you find yourself at a pit stop or at a standstill, evaluate what it is that you really want and whether your actions are in line with that goal. Dating a guy who was obviously still in love with his ex was no longer part of my journey.