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|Dear Miss Information,
Why is it so easy for my ex to get over me when it’s so hard for me to get over her? — Bounced
Why is the sky blue? Why is grass green? Why do people wear skimpy tank tops with winter scarves and cable-knit sweaters with shorts? Sometimes love has no logic, just like life.
Maybe your ex loved you less than you love her. That doesn’t mean you’re unlovable. You have lots of great qualities. You’re a good dancer. You give excellent analingus. You can peel the beer label off in one piece on the first try. But for some reason the feelings of affection in this relationship fall more heavily on your side. I know it’s not much of a consolation, but at least you know you weren’t settling. You were dating up, my man.
Another reason could be that your ex is at a better place in her life. She’s house-sitting for a millionaire, got a promotion and her friend network is strong. Yours consists of a bipolar cousin and a guy you met at the DMV. Oh yeah, you also just got fired. It’s easy to obsess over an ex when they seem like the only good thing in your life. Stop turning so much of the blame inward and start looking at the other mitigating factors.
Finally, you might just be a big dumb buffoon. By that I mean you have no clue how much this is affecting your ex. Is she avoiding you? Maybe she’s so guilt-wracked she doesn’t know what to say. I have a sister who likes to go on vacation immediately (we’re talking within twenty-four hours) after her breakups. I’m sure if any of her exes saw her itinerary they’d think she was a cold-hearted slut. What they don’t see is her spending hours brooding alone at the hotel bar. Have you ever seen someone cry while drinking out of a hollowed-out pineapple? I have. It’s not something you’d want to see twice.
If none of this makes any sense, know that you’ve probably had the exact same effect on someone else. There’s been a girl who’s pined for you much more than you thought about her post-breakup. It’s moving, shifting fuzzy math that all balances out eventually.
|Dear Miss Information,
I love sexy, classy ladies who are impeccably dressed — manicure, pedicure, jewelry and designer clothes. The whole picture. But these women always seem to end up being too vanilla, sexually speaking. Why can’t they be like the woman in the song: "A lady in the street, but a freak in the bed"? I know I’m nice, good-looking and smart, but I’m having a hard time finding this unique combination. — Mango Lassi
Dear Mango Lassi,
I want to date a compulsive gambler with a good line of credit. I want to go steady with a club promoter who keeps daylight hours. I want to call myself "smart," but I base my dating criteria on a Ludacris lyric I heard on a fourteen-year-old’s cell phone. Mango Lassi, you can’t have your slut cake and eat it too. These "ladies" you speak of are usually too hung up on their own insecurities to be any good at sex. You can’t give a four-star blowjob when you’re worrying about your lipstick or self-conscious about some imaginary double chin. (Pretty-boy chest-shavers, this applies to you as well).
Are there immaculately groomed women who are also hot in bed? You bet. Will they want to sleep with a guy like you? I don’t know. I do know they’re a bitch to find, and you’ll be faced with a lot of competition.
If you want Rocky Road sex and lots of it, stop looking for the hip-hop version of the Madonna-whore and seek out women who are confident and self-possessed. Of course you should still be attracted — looks are and will always be a big component. All I’m saying is that the kinkiest lover might not be the shiniest one on the rack. She’s too busy spanking asses and licking toes to worry about whether her shoes are Prada or her eyebrows are waxed. Let me know how it goes.
|Dear Miss Information,
I was supposed to go out with this guy who lives out of town. He had an emergency at work, so he couldn’t make it to our first date. No big deal; he called to let me know as soon as he found out. We rescheduled, and I switched my plans so I could make it. On that day, he called and told me he was running late. A half hour later, he called and said he was lost. The next two hours he called again and again and was unable to find me. He got directions, but they were wrong. By then it was late, and we decided to try again later. I’m worried he’s a flake, but his excuses are good. He wants to go out again. I know it’s dumb, but I really want to. — Fooled Twice
Dear Fooled Twice,
First dates are always rough, but this one’s getting a little too complicated for my liking. Either your date is the world’s unluckiest guy, or God’s trying to tell you something — let’s hope he doesn’t try to take you out one-by-one, like he did with Def Leppard.
It’s nice that this gentleman called, and I suppose if he really wanted to be a jerk he could have just not shown up. The fact that he phoned multiple times is another point in his favor. Most people don’t go out of their way to lie to the same person (especially a near-stranger) over and over again. That’s pretty sociopathic behavior. Then again, daters aren’t known for their scruples.
I wouldn’t give him a third chance to screw me over. Tell him you’ll go on another date, provided you pick the day, activity and location. Maybe he’d like to put up your storm windows or clean out your gutters? Okay, joking there. But seriously, you want to plan something that’s as convenient and low-labor as possible. Then you won’t be as pissed if he does a fadeout. Bring along a book and a charged cell phone, and make sure your booty call is ready to report for active duty.
In the odd event he does show, he should be on time. He should not have to unexpectedly leave early, and he should be "present" — i.e., not texting or running outside to talk on the phone every five minutes. Both of these would be big time tip-offs that something sketchy is going down. At the end of the date he should reiterate his profuse apologies about the first two times and be proactive about seeing you again. If not, tell him to peddle his flaky buns elsewhere. You’re no longer interested in the fresh-baked bullshit he’s selling. n°
©2006 Erin Bradley and Nerve.com