The "Ex" Factor
I don't know about the rest of you guys, but it seems to me that whenever a couple breaks up, it's usually the guy who comes out looking like a piece of dried-up dog turd.
There's an inherent difference between men and women in that women tend to keep their "feelers" out during the entirety of a relationship; that is, even though she's "happily" dating someone, she's constantly sizing up each and every guy she meets as a potential "future" boyfriend. In case this one doesn't work out, you know, there's always a "fill-in", a "temp".
Men, on the other hand, aren't that complex. We're pretty simple. When we're dating a girl, we're not busy setting up the foundations for the next possible relationship. We're dating you because we like you. Not because you're keeping us busy until the next girl comes along.
I've found that women are a lot like monkeys: they don't let go of one branch until they have a firm grip on another.
Ok, ok... That may be a blanket statement, but it's more than a half-truth.
But how come, whenever I see a couple break up, the girl already has one, two, maybe even three guys lined up and ready to take the place of her ex? It's like she's been driving around all this time with a spare tire in her trunk. This leads me to believe that women plant seeds in various men, and when one withers and dies, she moves on to the next new sprout.
But the guy? The poor ex-boyfriend? He's sentenced to an indefinite future of doom and gloom. Every day's a rainy day after a break-up, and even when it's sunny, it's spiteful. He's relegated to hanging out with his other loser guy pals (all single, too, ironically), pounding back beer after beer in dive bars, until, blinded hopelessly by 12" thick beer goggles, he hooks up with the one and only desperate ugly chick in the entire joint. And all that time, he's hounded by the thought: my ex-girlfriend, my beautiful, gorgeous, HOT ex-girlfriend, is busy at night shagging and making out with some other equally-hot dude (tattooed f***ker!! what right does he have to HER?!?!); meanwhile, I'm stuck with the leather-skinned grease-faced whore with a C-section scar and an innertube of flesh. WHAT'S WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE?!
You've probably figured it out by now, but I'm bitter and angry and jealous. I'm the forgotten and not missed ex-boyfriend. While the one girl I loved more than life itself is busy making out with God knows who, I'm left with nothing but time, lots and lots of time, to sit around and ponder what's wrong with me. This girl, she shall remain nameless, she really messed things up for me. She raised the bar so high as far as standards go that any girl I meet hereafter could never possibly live up to them. And no, I haven't hooked up with a nasty ugly chick. In fact, I haven't hooked up with anyone at all, because... well, simply put, I'm not "hot". I'm not 6'2", 210 lbs, with a rock-hard body and tanned skin. I'm a 5'5" 120 lb pale bald dude with glasses. And as horrible as it sounds, beautiful women only go for beautiful men. Like finds like. It's a genetics thing. A beautiful man and a beautiful woman makes a beautiful child.
I loved this girl with every fibre of my being. But now, I can feel my thoughts and memories turning bitter and resentful. I'm beginning to... hate her. Every time I think of her, I feel a sick knot twist in my stomach, and I want to simultaneously punch something and vomit. To think I spent so much time dallying over her... so much time loving her... wanting her... when I could have been investing it in something else, something, or even someone, more worthwhile. Maybe a person who would've not only appreciated but returned the feelings of love, fulfillment, contentment, and happiness I felt.
But it's too late. Now I'm stuck with almost three years of memories that are more confining and soul-crushing than the steel bars and wet cement of any earthly prison cell. What did I learn from all of this? The same thing Jack Kerouac learned so many years ago: pretty girls make graves.
Beware.
There's an inherent difference between men and women in that women tend to keep their "feelers" out during the entirety of a relationship; that is, even though she's "happily" dating someone, she's constantly sizing up each and every guy she meets as a potential "future" boyfriend. In case this one doesn't work out, you know, there's always a "fill-in", a "temp".
Men, on the other hand, aren't that complex. We're pretty simple. When we're dating a girl, we're not busy setting up the foundations for the next possible relationship. We're dating you because we like you. Not because you're keeping us busy until the next girl comes along.
I've found that women are a lot like monkeys: they don't let go of one branch until they have a firm grip on another.
Ok, ok... That may be a blanket statement, but it's more than a half-truth.
But how come, whenever I see a couple break up, the girl already has one, two, maybe even three guys lined up and ready to take the place of her ex? It's like she's been driving around all this time with a spare tire in her trunk. This leads me to believe that women plant seeds in various men, and when one withers and dies, she moves on to the next new sprout.
But the guy? The poor ex-boyfriend? He's sentenced to an indefinite future of doom and gloom. Every day's a rainy day after a break-up, and even when it's sunny, it's spiteful. He's relegated to hanging out with his other loser guy pals (all single, too, ironically), pounding back beer after beer in dive bars, until, blinded hopelessly by 12" thick beer goggles, he hooks up with the one and only desperate ugly chick in the entire joint. And all that time, he's hounded by the thought: my ex-girlfriend, my beautiful, gorgeous, HOT ex-girlfriend, is busy at night shagging and making out with some other equally-hot dude (tattooed f***ker!! what right does he have to HER?!?!); meanwhile, I'm stuck with the leather-skinned grease-faced whore with a C-section scar and an innertube of flesh. WHAT'S WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE?!
You've probably figured it out by now, but I'm bitter and angry and jealous. I'm the forgotten and not missed ex-boyfriend. While the one girl I loved more than life itself is busy making out with God knows who, I'm left with nothing but time, lots and lots of time, to sit around and ponder what's wrong with me. This girl, she shall remain nameless, she really messed things up for me. She raised the bar so high as far as standards go that any girl I meet hereafter could never possibly live up to them. And no, I haven't hooked up with a nasty ugly chick. In fact, I haven't hooked up with anyone at all, because... well, simply put, I'm not "hot". I'm not 6'2", 210 lbs, with a rock-hard body and tanned skin. I'm a 5'5" 120 lb pale bald dude with glasses. And as horrible as it sounds, beautiful women only go for beautiful men. Like finds like. It's a genetics thing. A beautiful man and a beautiful woman makes a beautiful child.
I loved this girl with every fibre of my being. But now, I can feel my thoughts and memories turning bitter and resentful. I'm beginning to... hate her. Every time I think of her, I feel a sick knot twist in my stomach, and I want to simultaneously punch something and vomit. To think I spent so much time dallying over her... so much time loving her... wanting her... when I could have been investing it in something else, something, or even someone, more worthwhile. Maybe a person who would've not only appreciated but returned the feelings of love, fulfillment, contentment, and happiness I felt.
But it's too late. Now I'm stuck with almost three years of memories that are more confining and soul-crushing than the steel bars and wet cement of any earthly prison cell. What did I learn from all of this? The same thing Jack Kerouac learned so many years ago: pretty girls make graves.
Beware.
posted by Billy at 1:25 PM
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