The Scarlett Letters - Relationships

Questions I Don't Want Answered

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 09:54:00 -0500

I’ve been having dreams.

Mostly about Fuckhead.

In my dreams we talk. I’ve been asking him a lot of questions but I always wake up before I can ask him the one question to which I want to know the answer to: Do you miss me?

Last night was the worst of all. In my dream, he was married to the she beast and they had just had a baby. I cried (in my dream) and I cried and I screamed and I screamed. It wasn’t a fun night. That’s absolutely the last time I allow myself to fall asleep without some kind of artificial somnial enhancement to block such dreams from my head – Ambien being my personal drug of choice.

I assure you, this isn't some deep seated unconcsious desire for some kind of cinema-esque reunification. I don’t want him back. I don’t. I promise. I don’t want a pot smoking, un-motivated, emotionally dependent man still attempting to relive his frat boy glory days.

But I do miss being happy and completely in love – that kind of love that you read about, that you hear about, the kind of stuff that inspires tales such as “The Notebook” – emotions that you never thought possible until experiencing them; that love the brings along with it the possibility of all things and the strength to handle anything life throws into your collective paths.

I had that and it's dissapation has left quite a large hole.

Frankly, it's probably best that I don’t sleep long enough to hear the answer to that one question.

P.S. I'm thinking about starting to password again - what do you think? I just hate that the more noteable ex's in my life have access to these pages and I find myself holding back more often than I'd like to admit. So what's your opinion? Passoword or start a new blog all together?

Rent-a-Family

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Fri, 01 Aug 2008 08:00:00 -0500

Army’s parents are in town. And yes – I will be meeting them this weekend.

I’m very conflicted about this whole “let’s play happy family” scenario that will consume my Friday and Saturday evening.

Personally I don’t see the point. I don’t see the point of me meeting them if he’s leaving in two weeks. Why even attempt this family integration when the relationship is rocketing towards a cliff? Why did I even agree to this potentially and inevitably tortuous affair?

I suppose it’s because I’m trying to be the caring, giving, NICE person that I know I have hidden SOMEWHERE deep down inside and sigh…that’s what you do. When your friend’s parents come into town, you meet them, you have dinner, you entertain and try to keep your language and the stories of their child doing jell-o shots on top of a bar last weekend – under wraps.

Frankly, herein lies the problem: no surprise, it has to do with Fuckhead.

Fuckhead’s family LOVE-D S me. They L-O-V-E yours truly, and rightfully so. They astutely pointed out that moi was the absolute best thing that ever happened to their Neanderthal of a son and integrated me into their lives like built in hardware on a MAC.

And cynically speaking, I don’t want this to be one more thing in this on paper “perfect” relationship that isn’t as shiny, or bright, or sparkly or “special” or whatever as before. I don’t need another family. I don’t want another family. And I still HATE the idea that a she-beast who’s never ventured beyond the confines of the greater Albuquerque metropolitan area has no doubt been integrated into the family that I miss and that I loved. As bitter and resentful and unattractive as that sounds.

And don’t tell me that I’m not “giving them or him a chance” – because frankly today, I just don’t care.

Not to worry dear readers. I will smile. I will charm. And be the dutiful girlfriend. I just don't feel like being reminded all weekend of what I Don't have.

Somehow I'm predicting a lot of alcohol in my immediate future.

Florida Sunshine

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 08:41:00 -0500

Army is leaving. He’s not going off to war, not to some distant dessert covered country but to Tampa. Where people go to die. Prehistoric man had Tar Pits to dispose of their elderly. We have Florida.

I’ve known it was coming. Since our first date I knew. What I didn’t know was that he’d still be around seven months later or that I would want him to stay. So, I’ll ask you again. What do you do when your relationship is ending? When you have a date when you know it will be over?.

How do you function when the dark cloud looming off in the distance for so long, has found its way directly overhead, attempting to block the sun at every turn and threatening to storm before you’ve remembered to open your umbrella?

To be honest, over the course of this relationship, my feelings towards this man have fluctuated more than a schizophrenic politician on a teeter-totter:

“He’s perfect – but I’m not over Fuckhead”

“He’s wonderful – but I don’t think I’m cut out to be a military wife”

“He takes care of me – but he’s leaving and I’m going to have to learn to live without him”

“He’s PERFECT – but is he perfect for me!?”

Because I’ve known that he’s leaving, it hasn’t exactly inspired me to open the emotional floodgates and give this relationship a real chance. Perhaps this is one time the Canadian got it right.

Nine months before he left for law school, he started to withdraw. He bucked all my attempts to continue a relationship even in the face of inevitable separation. Still retaining some semblance of romantic optimism at the tender age of 24, I was very much of the “no day but today” school of thought. The “let’s be happy today and not worry about tomorrow” mantra. He didn’t want me to get any closer and risk making it any harder.

So who was right? I still cried. But maybe not as much as I would have? I still loved him, but maybe not as much as I could have? Did we wasted precious time together or did we soften the blow?

While logically I know that it’s self defeating to keep worrying about the evitable and to let it spoil the time you have left; part of me hopes that whatever walls and barricades I’ve managed to build, will still be standing after the next two weeks.

Frankly, with the cloud of separation growing at an exponential pace over all my attempts to keep my blue skies blue – its hard not to feel frustrated. And angry. Even if it WAS/IS good that we met and event if he WAS good for me and what I needed circa a broken-hearted January….I’m just tired. I’m tired of the leaving and the goodbyes and the tears and building back up: a little stronger and a little thicker.

Then again, maybe its classic Scarlett – only wanting something that I can’t have. Either way, I’m sick of the walls and the floods and the storms and the survival and the reconstruction.

Isn’t there anything that lasts forever?

Just Go.

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 08:15:00 -0500

I admit it – I cried.

I cried when I gave her the box. The box I’ve been hiding under my bed for the past seven months. The box with your fraternity t-shirts. Your college sweatshirt. Your books. Your clothes. Your shoes. Our pictures. Your gifts. Your cards with all your broken promises written inside. Everything that reminded me of you. Everything you left behind.

It was my last hold out. My last reason to say “remember me?” “remember what we had?” “Look at the pictures! – Remember how happy we were!? How we had everything? How we could do anything?”

And I let go.

I gave her the box. I don’t CARE what you do with it. I don’t want to know. - I told her. Don’t tell me – and take it now before I change my mind – before I decide to keep holding on. Take it. And go.

I loved you....and go.

A Case of the Mean Reds*

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 09:52:00 -0500

A wise (and I might add, beautiful) woman once told me “you have to put out positive things into the universe in order to receive positive things in return.”

Unfortunately, I haven’t quite been able to implement this piece of advice, which I know to be good and right and the very recipe for healthy and normal self (just add a pinch of Martha Stewart sunshine and stir). I've tried! And I smile, and the anti-depressants kick in and life is good for an hour or two.

But, I do still cry. I can’t help it. There is usually music involved, something about love, or loss or….trees(?). It really doesn’t take much. But I HAVE erased all traces of DHT, Corrine Bailey Rae and Gabriel Mann from my iPod. That’s got to give me a FEW sunshine points, no?

I’m sure you’ve all had images dancing in your head of your darling Scarlett staying in night after night with no one but Ben, Jerry, Van Gough (bottle half empty) and the cast of the OC (still alive and well on my TiVo) to comfort her. And while, on the surface, this ensemble could be construed as a rather…lively… way to spend an evening, it's not QUITE an accurate description of my daily routine.

Fortunatley, the universe has its own rosey colored plans for me, dispite a lack of deposits its 'positivity' accounts weighed against a hefty portfolio of doom and gloom. For starters, I’ve gotten some wonderful, quality friend time in recently! Barbie time, XO & G time has been wonderful if slightly emotional and intoxicating. I’m hoping our encounters in the near future will take an upturn turn ala the sunny spring weather!

Job is great – I’m busy, which I love. Kicking ass and taking names – what I do best (professionally anyway)! And since the federal government has deemed me fit to handle super secret stuff, I'll be starting my new position in June after a much needed vacation. So that's DEFNITELY something to look forward to.

And then there’s Army – who is nothing short of perfect. He’s gotten the friend thumbs up, the very decerning cat vote, and even my father thinks he's brillant. Our relationship is insanely open and honest, and sickenly healthy. Weekends on the Eastern Shore, hiking, movies, grilling, drinking, dancing and all around general fabulousness.

And sometimes it feels right. And sometimes I’m happy and I laugh. And sometimes, I forget, and I let myself start to care, but then I stop. I stop because I’m scared. I stop because he’s leaving. I stop because I’m not quite whole.

Maybe he won’t turn out to be the Sandy to my Kirsten, but right now, he's definitely the Zack to my Summer**.

But here's a question: how do you fully enjoy the Newport colored sunset when you know it will eventually disappear? And puh-lease don't tell me 'live for today', because that philosophy only REALLY works in Jonathan Larson musicals.

Frankly,

** If you know what this means, you've got cool points for the rest of the day!

*If you get this reference (and no - I'm not referring to the case of South African Zin delivered to my apartment yesterday afternoon), give yourself cool points for the rest of the month! You're set!

Letting Go

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 09:52:00 -0500

(Written on Saturday.....I may take it down again)

How do you let go? How do you finally say goodbye without saying a word? How do you just mentally release when your thoughts and anger are the only you can cling to at night, even when there’s someone else sleeping right beside you?

How do you drop your memories, your feelings, everything you know in your heart to be true? How do you just walk away? How do you stop your tears from falling even on the most beautiful spring morning you’ve ever seen?

How do you stop wondering if it will ever REALLY be OK? If you’ll ever be THAT happy again?

Why, after knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that you deserved better, do you still want what you know is so wrong? And why, when you’ve changed your life for the better, given it renewed momentum , a green light for progress – you want nothing more than to put it in reverse?

And can someone just please tell me – when will it end??

Pensive vs. Positive

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 09:20:58 -0500

I have a few posts brewing in my overcluttered, hyper-analyzing brain at the moment, some more thoughtful, some more angsty than others. However, as I berated you with angst last week, I’ll pick a topic from the more positive end of the spectrum to give you a brief rest.

As many of you know, the strains of work, life and love have been wearing on me over the past month. Moving on while desperately trying to leave the past behind, dwelling in possibility and trying to cope with the reality that I do not, in fact, have complete control over the world around me. Ultimately I cannot even control my own heart. I cannot tell it to stop loving someone bad, start loving someone infinitely better, or even to let go and trust someone one more time.

I never did get together again with the Canadian. Although we did talk and the thing he said that resonated with me the most was – ‘I love you. I want to give you a real relationship. A proper one.’ Those words have stuck with me over the past few days.

My affection for this man has ebbed and flowed over the past five years, hoping and praying that he’d ‘change’, that he’d give me what I want – namely, a ‘proper’ relationship. And in all fairness, he has changed, as well all do from the age of 25 to 30. While openness and communication issues still arise – the mere fact that he invited me to meet some of his friends last week, while it may not seem all that significant, is a big deal. I know he loves me. What form that love takes or whether we’ll be able to hammer out our issues and eventually get our romantic ducks in a row in anybody’s guess.

Frankly,

Rebounding Along

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 08:32:00 -0500

So apparently it took the nausea a little longer to abate than origionally predicted. I’ve truly been mentally vomiting since Tuesday afternoon.

So, I did what any sane, rational girl would do…drank a bottle of wine with Army Guy, bitched about my ex and then proceeded to have mind blowing sex. Charming, no?

You know what they say: The fastest way to get over one man….get under another. Truer words - never spoken.

You may think it strange that I would bring up the ex to the current boy toy – not at all. Oddly enough, Army got his heart sliced, diced and handed to him on a silver platter right around the time I was having mine pureed and served up as road kill. Therefore, the bitching of the ex’s really isn’t all that uncommon – though it has become significantly more infrequent as the weeks roll on. Healthy? Most likely not – and I don’t know what it actually implies about our current relationship other than the fact that its nice to be able to relate to someone, perhaps it’s a flashing neon ‘rebound’ sign that I’ve chosen to ignore? At any rate, there it is.

He’s not like normal rebounds I’ve experienced throughout my roughly dozen years in the dating world. Example: After severing ties with my college boyfriend I immediately started seeing a rock star wanna be who wrote punk rock songs about my eyes and lived in his mother’s basement. After the football player, it was an IT guy who told me he loved me after three dates - and frankly, I’ve tried to block out the memory of the rest of the month or so that we dated. Scary stuff.

Rebounds are SUPPOSED to be inappropriate. They’re supposed to remind us that most of the time, our own companionship is preferable to that of being with someone for whom we do not care a great deal.

That’s why this one is a tad trickier, if it is, in fact, a rebound. Who knows, it may be something more. It’s in no way inappropriate. It’s in no way unhealthy. Army is everything a girl could want – handsome, together, sweet, thoughtful, doting, sexy as hell and a great cook! However, he’s being deployed in August – so at least I know approximately when this relationship will hit its expiration date.

Frankly,

Paralysis

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 08:45:53 -0500

I AM posting today, I apologize for my absence as the following things have happened…..

1) Easter, obviously, the holiday weekend brought marvelous friends into town, so that kept me occupied along with celebrating the holiday itself;

2) I've seen pictures of the Russian’s (who will henceforth be known as Fuckhead) new girl. I’m rather tempted to post them here. ~~She looks like a man~~. I WOULD tell you that she looks like a man, but I’ve decided to be the bigger person and not mention her rather... masculine features. I’ve felt like throwing up since I saw it. If someone could PUH-LEASE enlighten me as to the reason why, after nearly two months of not speaking, one glimpse of the girl that he’s currently fucking throws me into a state of complete emotional paralysis? Even though I have a ‘perfect’ and I do mean perfect, man in my life and I keep coming up with reasons why Fuckhead is a totally inappropriate choice for a long term relationship!? UGH!; and

3) I’m currently in professional limbo – long story short: I was planning on starting a new job, however, the security clearance may or may not come through in time as I’ve been replaced by my current job and the prospect of unemployment is rather frightening.

I will post again later today – once the nausea subsides.

Seven

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 10:31:22 -0500

As you may or may not be aware, the seven deadly sins as laid out by Pope Gregory the Great in the 6^th century and later immortalized by Dante Alighieri in his epic poem, the Divine Comedy (some would argue this list of vices was not made truly immortal until they were brought to question by Morgan Freeman, Kevin Spacey and Brad Pitt in the 1995 thriller: Seven) – have been recently changed by the Vatican. Yes, after almost 15 centuries, the classic vices are no longer cardinal sins that would earn you a one way ticket to Hades via a Prada purse.

For (roughly) the past 1,500 years, the sins of lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and pride were thought to be the worst of all. (It should be noted here that each of these vices were so named in accordance to the seven holy virtues they contradict: chastity, abstinence, temperance, diligence, patience, kindness and humility). But no longer will this doctrine rule in the age of globalization, oh no dear friends. Hell has apparently changed its application sheet to include the following: genetic modification, polluting the environment, abortion, causing social injustice, causing poverty, obscene wealth and taking drugs.

“Forgive me father, for I have not recycled!?” What’s next? “Hail, Al Gore full of Grace?” And while they’re at it, why don’t they just update Holy Communion by switching from wine to vodka – because, personally, I just don’t get the same buzz from the sacraments that I used to.

While to most of us are too hung over to attend mass every Sunday I thought I’d innumerate the cardinal vices of our own religion: the church of dating. And they are as follows:

Deceit. Thou shalt not lie. If I wanted to be lied to, I’d call up any number of my ex boyfriends. Bottom line, lying is shitty. If you’re not man enough to tell me what’s going on, then I’m more of a woman than you can handle, obviously.
Infidelity. Thou shalt not cheat. You entered into this relationship, you knew what you were doing. You went into it with your eyes wide ~~shut~~ open. Deal with the consequences and either break up with your sig. other, or keep it in your pants.
Emotional Promiscuity. Thou shalt not use 4 letter words beginning with the letter L and ending with OVE unless you mean it!
Penuriousness. Thou shalt pick up the check. If you ask a girl out to dinner – don’t you DARE expect her to pay or even split the bill. If you can’t afford dinner, you should have asked her out for coffee.
Suppression. Do NOT bottle up your anger for days and weeks on end saying repeatedly that everything is ‘fine’ and then blow up at your significant other for not passing the sugar and remind them of everything little thing they’ve done over the past two weeks to piss you off catching them COMPLETELY, and unfairly off guard. This may sound rational to most women, but it’s truly ridiculous. There is a statute of limitations on anger, if you don't tell your SO within 24 hours about something that’s bothered you, you loose your right to bitch. Furthermore, unless you’re getting hot and heavy with Miss Cleo – you’re most likely NOT dating a mind reader. So don’t act surprised, hurt and upset when your honey bunny doesn’t do exactly what you wanted them to do when you didn’t TELL them to do it in the first place. An absence of communication in general will send a relationship straight into hell. So thou shalt NOT refrain from calling the day after a date, thou shall express all grievances in a timely manner, thou shalt NOT rely on txting and instant messaging as a sole form of at a distance communication and thou shalt SHARE thy feelings in a constructive, rational manner.
Neediness. Relationships are about two WHOLE people coming together to make something new. Do NOT expect your significant other to fill whatever void you’re currently lacking in your life. Thou shalt NOT go into a relationship expecting to ‘change’ the other party. It’s not going to happen. Make sure you’re first able to be comfortable in your own skin and love yourself before you can even hope to have something healthy and lasting.
Sacrilege. (Women, this one’s for you). Thou shalt remember football season and keep it holy.

I don’t pretend that at one time or another I haven’t been guilty of one or ALL of these sins, but they are certainly actions we should strive to avoid when possible. And when IMpossible, we pray to the gods of therapy, prozac and Dr. Phil to forgive us our trespasses so that we may again strive to enter a state of relationship Eden. Because, as well all know, dating is its own unique brand of hell.

Frankly,

Not My Finest Hour - But Moving On

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Sun, 24 Feb 2008 21:48:45 -0600

My sincere apologies for ducking out on you the past week. The only defense I can offer is that I left you in the very humorous, capable, if somewhat occasionally misguided hands of Ha Ha Sound. And yes, sweetie, the nude photos are in the mail – I can’t IMAGINE why you haven’t received them as of yet!

As I have been slightly silent on the subject of the Russian, I appreciate all of the inquiries as to the situation. However, there really IS no situation. We don’t speak and as far as I can tell, he has no interest in remaining friends or even existing as common and indifferent acquaintances. Of course the fact that I went a tad Glenn Close on his ass after finding out about his new ‘love of the minute’ might have something to do with it. No, silly readers, I did not fly to New Mexico and boil the head of some innocent furry creature on his stove - but I MIGHT have commented on his unbelievable ability to fall in and out of love faster than a speeding Hallmark card; I may have SLIGHTLY raved about his complete and utter inability to remain single for even then length of a Seinfeld episode; and I could have POSSIBLY mentioned the fact that his treatment of me throughout this breakup process has been nothing but selfish, shitty, and sadistic. Not my finest moment, I'll admit. Ya – so I can’t IMAGINE why he hasn’t called!

So interaction aside – I’m doing very well. The last time I cried was approximately two weeks ago – the day after hearing about the new girl. Yes, I bet you were wondering – it was, in fact, me. I was the pitiful looking, broken hearted girl on the metro whose tears were tracing little lines of black mascara down her cheeks while she was thinking about the fact that she was no where near as special as she had come to believe over the past year. And I’m sure the acoustic version of Listen to Your Heart by DHT didn’t help the emotional containment situation. But the upside is – that was the last time. And I really can’t imagine – barring any unforeseen events or interactions – that any spontaneous outbursts of emotion would erupt anytime soon. At least not on account of the Russian.

So there’s the update for now. In unrelated and more exciting news, this DC gal will be hauling her fabulous self up to NYC for a few days and I’m definitely looking forward to it! So Ha Ha, if you happen to see a cute redhead roaming around Times Square looking slightly lost – do me a favor and point her in the right direction!

Frankly,

The Special One: A Scarlett Letter

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 12 Feb 2008 10:03:00 -0600

Congratulations on landing yourself a brand new boyfriend. Isn’t he cute? I’m sure you’re very happy and extremely pleased with yourself. After all, why shouldn’t you be? You’ve done everything right. You’ve been beautiful, charming, light hearted and a lot of fun. You’ve laughed at all his jokes. No doubt you’ve been over to the house to play Wii. I’m sure you’ve had your ass kicked in bowling. You've bonded with his cats. You may even have held out on the sex until the third date. Good for you – I must say it’s more than I managed to do.

But why should you hold out? He’s wonderful. Funny, tall, handsome, brilliant, and seemingly ambitious. Everything you ever thought you wanted. And I’ll bet he’s making you feel beautiful. Has he bought you flowers yet to tell you that last weekend was “one of the best weekends of [his] life”? (apparently that’s a trademark move – who knew?) Are you feeling like the most wonderful woman in the world? Are you feeling special? Enjoy it while you can.

Let me quickly introduce myself. Up until two weeks ago, I was the Russian’s girlfriend. Yes, we may have been on a ‘break’ but I assure you, I was there. So imagine my shock when I learned about YOU yesterday morning! Now don’t worry – I promise not to go Kelly Clarkson on your ass. But I stumbled upon some enlightening facts yesterday evening that I felt compelled to share .

After a conversation with two very old acquaintances (who are also ex’s of our dear man) as painful as it might have been – I learned things about your boyfriend that I never knew before. His M.O., his operating style – and let me tell you honey, special ain’t got nothing to do with it. Even our breakup was nothing remotely unique.

As you may or may not know, our dear Russian has no problem with monogamy. In fact, the man is a relationship addict, a serial monogamist falling in and out of love the way most men fall in and out of barstools and football seasons. And the man’s intense. Has he looked into your eyes, lightly placed his hand on your cheek and said softly, ‘I love you, New Girl’? Has he listed all the things he loves about your relationship? Does he write you emails at 3 a.m. because he can’t sleep and he needs to tell you about how wonderful you are and how his life really feels like its starting to come together now that you’re in it? Maybe he’s even cried a little. Aww – he’s so sensitive!

I hate to break it to you, New Girl but I’ve gotta tell ya - he’s said it all before. And most likely, he’ll say it all again. Please know that whether he realizes it or not, these gestures are hardly unique even to a woman who i'm sure is truly as ‘special’ as yourself.

But don’t worry pretty lady – it gets better. You’re about to have one of the most enjoyable relationships of your life. You'll be integrated into every part of his life. Into everything he does. You’ll undoubtedly get to meet his friends. That should be a treat. You’ll get to see his hometown, look at his childhood pictures, watch movies, go to sporting events, hear all his childhood stories (I understand the one with the flags is particularly popular), walk around the ‘diamond district’ of Philadelphia and talk about ‘someday’ while you snuggle and hold hands and smile until your face hurts and he introduces you to your first ‘Philly Cheese Steak’. I’m sure you’ve been skiing. Has he charmed your parents yet? Good luck with his mother. She’s a wonderful, brilliant and very discerning lady…so I’d imagine she’s going to see right through this bullshit.

I’m sorry to tell you, but I think you should know, that you’re just one of many. And that one day, out of the blue, with no warning, he will become a little colder and a little more distant. And then he’ll tell you that his soul is leading him in a direction that doesn’t involve you (this is also evidently a trademarked phrase). That he needs space. That you’re ‘not the one’. It will smack you over the head like the business end of a two by four. And it will hurt. But if its any consolation, which I doubt it is, he's said it to us all before.

The tears will abate and you’ll start to feel better until about six weeks later (because, let’s be honest – the man can’t exist for more than 2 months alone) you’ll cry again. Because you’ll find out that he’s seeing someone new. And all of a sudden, you will feel betrayed. And lied to – because he told you that he didn’t want a relationship. And he didn’t want to get serious – and it wasn’t about the other women, it was just something he ‘had to do’. And you will feel so very, very insignificant because you were stupid enough to believe that you really were that special. And all of this was for you – and you alone. And that the fairytale of your life was coming together and working out so much better than you could ever imagine. And you will be amazed – so, so amazed that you could be that happy with someone so full of shit. (There's a reason the man's not on friendly terms with any of his ex's - think about it).

But its ok – I’m told by others in this ex-Russian love sorority that you’ll survive. And you’ll realize what a huge bullet you actually dodged. You’ll wake up and understand that there men out there that not only KNOW what they want but recognize something wonderful when they have it and will actually work hard to keep it, but that there are also men out there who do a great many things you thought you could live without or in spite of while you were in this relationship.

So there you have it, New Girl. For now he's checked his rather hefty amount of baggage onto your airplane and frankly, you're welcome to it. I doubt it will fit neatly into the overhead compartment but I'm sure you'll make room. I’m sorry to be the bearer of the truth, but honestly, I wish my newfound sorority sisters had sat me down and had this talk back in February. Though I doubt I would have listened – because, after all, I was “the special one.”

Sincerely,

The other half of the relationship your boyfriend labeled ‘most significant and important relationship of his life’

i.e.

P.S. Be ready to receive some See’s Candy for Valentine’s Day while you hear all about his childhood in California. Especially for you, being so special and all.

Surprise

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Fri, 08 Feb 2008 12:45:00 -0600

I hate surprises.

Unexpected visitors, last minute interruptions of plans, hot men jumping out of my birthday cakes – ok THAT one was fun. But you get the picture. I like to plan ahead, I like to anticipate the unexpected – I don’t like being caught off guard. And when my plans change, I’ve been known to push, and pout and fuss – depending on the degree to which I was committed to the original concept – until I get my way. Very Veruca of me, I admit.

However, with age comes greater wisdom and (while this may be a product of the same self delusion that keeps me believing that any day now Russell Crowe will come and carry me away) I think I’m steadily improving in my ability to roll with the proverbial punches. Unfortunatley, surprises are unavoidable, you can’t plan for everything – hell, you can barely plan for ANYTHING. Especially when it’s the people you think you know the best who surprise you the most.

The Canadian’s visit to DC was – interesting to say the least. We had Old Ebbit brunch last Sunday and met up for a movie that night, had drinks on Thursday and he left on Friday. But Tuesday ......

Tuesday was a day of surprises. I found out I would be on national television giving Super Bowl ‘commentary’ over the weekend; I found out that one of my readers had ‘outed’ me to the Canadian; I surprised myself with a seeming lack of emotional preparedness; Astonished at the capacity for comfort that simply 'being there' can provide; and the capacity for pain others have to the one they claimed to love the most.

As you know, last week, I was definitely caught off guard as I found a comment authored by the Canadian, posted here. Staring back at me from my computer screen was an admission of his knowledge of my blog and a public offering of apology for past wrongs. I really don’t know which surprised me more – that he’s read everything I’ve ever written about him (and the other men in my life) or his confession of guilt. As if this were not enough to throw me off my daily balance – there was the break up.

The fact that the Russian broke up with me was no shock. We had scheduled it and honestly, having grown tired of my life in relationship limbo, I forced the conversation. What DID shake me was my complete lack of emotional awareness and control despite what I thought was adequate planning and mental preparation. I was mad. I was hurt. I cried. I sounded like a girl getting dumped – which is what I was – but that's no excuse. I was incredibly angry at myself for not walking out on him over Thanksgiving, when he told me (on the night before Thanksgiving, at his parent’s house, 30 seconds after we had had sex) that he ‘needed space’ and ‘wanted to be free’. I shit you not – that’s how it happened.

I was mad for allowing this ridiculousness to drag on – to give him the ‘space’ he needed to ‘figure things out’ in the sad, pathetic hope that he would ‘see the light’ and we would live happily ever after. (Eye roll) Furthermore, I was livid for essentially giving him ‘break up training wheels’ – since he wasn’t ready to ride the big-boy, 10-speed, two-wheeler of complete singleness back in December. Add to that any sadness and feelings of loss that had not completely trickled away by this point, despite my best efforts to expel them from my mind. In short - I was a mess.

Deficiencies of emotional awareness and control aside, the biggest surprise knocked on my door an hour later. And there the 6'6 man stood - with a smile and Starbucks. And while my face looked like a punching bag and my eyes matched my hair – the Canadian sat with me. And he made me laugh. And then…. my ex boyfriend, my jealous ex boyfriend – held me. While I cried over another man.

I don’t think any other friend or even the entire bottle of vodka in my freezer could have made me feel at all comforted that night. But he did. Perhaps it was a comfort that could only be given by someone with whom you’ve felt the kind of intimacy you were now mourning. Perhaps it felt almost cyclic as the Russian was there at the end of my relationship with the Canadian – and now I was truly back at the beginning. But whatever the reason, I am immeasurably grateful for his friendship, understanding, patience and for just being there. And so to the Canadian, whether you’re reading this or not – thank you. Thank you…for surprising me.

Frankly,

Outlook Calendar Says: It's Time to Cry

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 08:51:00 -0600

I wrote the following yesterday....

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Tick tock tick tock

Its not often one gets to schedule the tragedy or sorrow in one’s life.

If you could know the date of a future injury, sorrow or pain – would you want to know of it? Or would you prefer to walk through life normally, unaware of the inevitable sadness awaiting you around the next corner?

On the one hand knowing, they say, is half the battle. It allows us to adequately prepare, plan, brace and fortify ourselves as best we can against what we know is coming. On the other – would you want to enjoy those few moments you have left before this sorrow touches your life?

An interesting question that I’m afraid I do not have the answer to. The practical side of me says ‘yes – let’s plan. Let’s guard. Let’s go into it with our eyes open’. The other side of me…wants to hide under the covers, shut my eyes and pretend the monster’s not there.

All abstractly loose questions, are they not? And unless one were to acquire a sub standard 1980’s style sports car that comes fully loaded and equipped with a flux capacitor….it will never really matter, because no one can see into the future, no?

Yes. And no.

What I don’t think that many of you know is that The Russian and I haven’t ‘technically’ broken up. We’re on a ‘break’. What this means? I don’t know – I didn’t make the rules to this utterly fucked up situation. However, the ‘break’ had a time span of two months – ending January 31^st. And so, my dear readers, the Russian and I have scheduled a time to talk…this evening. It is THE talk. Hoping its not… but knowing that it will be…the break-up.

It’s not often that one gets to schedule the date and time their heart will break. I’ll chalk it up with genetic engineering on terms of control to the nth degree of creepy.

Frankly, I don’t want to walk around this next corner, but I know this street ahead of me is a dead end…so I’ll have to turn eventually if I want to keep moving. I’d rather hide my head under a blanket, close my eyes and wait for the morning to save me.

***********

We're broken now.

An Apology

scarlett@thescarlettletters.com (Scarlett) — Tue, 29 Jan 2008 08:45:00 -0600

You know, more and more I realize that people actually DO read this blog. Statistically speaking, hundreds, sometimes thousands in any given week. But with the exception of a select few, most I view as no more than I.P. addresses that show up on a stat tracker. This is not to say that I don't care who's reading - just that only a small overall percentage of you, my lovely readers, comment or email me on a regular basis. Thus, its harder to get to know you.

Apparently though, a friend of the Canadian’s reads this blog (Scarlett waves 'hello'). This friend has managed to put two and two together (aren't you smart!?) and has taken it upon themselves to share these pages with him. Thank you, dear reader. This extra amount of romantic drama is JUST what I needed in my life right now. Perhaps you were sick of hearing about the Russian? Maybe my posts were getting a bit boring and you thought you'd shake things up? At any rate - its done.

Be careful what you wish for I guess because I wanted to meet his friends....just didn't know they'd meet me first.

And so, my beloved Canadian decided to come clean yesterday evening and share his reaction to these pages. Much to my relief and frankly, surprise, and shock – he’s not angry with me and wrote the below message.

He posted the following in response to Friday's post. I’m afraid that I am at a loss for words….

But he obviously took the opportunity to address my readers and therefore this act of contrition, I believe, deserves the floor.

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I imagine Scarlett is not going to appreciate the fact that the Circus Master (aka the Canadian) has learned of her blog. And I imagine she may well delete this comment long before it is read by anyone. But nonetheless, I feel it is about time for the Canadian to say a few words on his own behalf. After all, one side of the story is never as fun as two.

Let's begin with the preliminary matters. I have known about Scarlett's blog for quite some time. There aren't a lot of 6'6" Canadians with JHU grad degrees that have resided in DC (I am flattered Scarlett things I am a JFK Jr. lookalike...though I am not sure I agree). In any event, this blog (much as she may have wanted it to be) has not been a state secret.

Okay...so, in the event that Scarlett readers do get a chance to examine this comment, the question becomes what words of defence can I possibly offer on my own behalf. The simple answer is none. It is impossible to defend what I have done to Scarlett (no...I am not in the midst of a drug induced fog, nor am I drunk... and no Scarlett didn't invent this post to bolster her own cause...she doesn't need that sort of help).

So why do this? Why fall on my sword in front of Scarlett readers? Because Scarlett, for all she has been through, deserves it. I have read many of the things she has said about me, and although they have not always been completely fair, I appreciate that her job is not to be fair, but to tell it how it is through her eyes. And factually speaking, she hasn't been wrong too often.

To be honest, I am not sure I am the best thing for Scarlett. She has loved me, and loves in a way that I am not sure I am capable of. I don't offer that as an excuse. But rather a realistic comment -- perhaps maybe we all need to admit that different people possess different capacities to love...to put others ahead of ourselves. Scarlett cannot (and likely will not) deny that I do put my friends ahead of myself quite often in life. And yet, over the past decade I have failed miserably at doing that in a romantic capacity. Maybe it is time to admit that I am a deeply flawed person who isn't capable of all things. I may be intellectually and academically accomplished...but I am also deeply flawed. I have ugly emotional warts, and perhaps I am cursed with a soul that simply cannot love as Scarlett does.

I know this much. I have failed Scarlett. And to her, in front of all those who care to bear witness, I apologize. I can only hope she might some day forgive me. I am not sure I will.