Ouch: A Craigslist Breakup

We could have been a Missed Connection. - w4m - 29 (Lower East Side)

Reply to: pers-281961245@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-02-20, 7:52PM EST


I can picture it now:
"Me: Hip, blonde, thin, tattoos. Drunk on whiskey at that shitty LES bar.
You: Took me home, allowed me to pass out rather than trying to fuck me, and woke me up Sunday morning with my favorite record and the crossword.
Where did you go?"

And, because you're not a craigslist-aholic like me, you'd never have seen it, and we'd never have seen each other again. It could have been perfect.

Except it's nearly three years later, and I'm sitting on the couch in our apartment thanking god you're not home. Why did you wait until I fell in love with you to mention that you hate cats, hate gay people, would never, ever clean up after yourself, would constantly belittle me, would make my friends feel uncomfortable for being around, and cut off all of my relationships with my guy friends? If you would have only told me you were going to quit your job and live off of me from the start, things could have ended beautifully, quietly, succinctly. Why did you let me take you to my family's place and earn the honor of the First Boyfriend My Father Has Ever Liked? Furthermore, why did you allow me to visit with your family and love them so much that they're like my own family now? WHY? Why didn't you clue me in about your addiction to electronics, which you will consistently purchase and update before paying rent or billls? How about telling me that you don't like any food that hasn't been deep fried or slathered in cheese? No? You knew that I enjoy all manner of culinary oddity and that I enjoy, once in a while, indulging in it without being told it's disgusting. Why not mention that you'd never let me eat something as simple as eel in peace?

And hey, while we're on gross, I definitely deserved a warning that once you moved in, what happens between your ass and the toilet bowl would no longer be a closely guared secret. Every time you go in there, I turn on the kitchen faucet, jack up the volume on the stereo, and/or just wander around the living room with my fingers jammed in my ears screaming "LALALALALALA", but no matter: you just wander out and recount to me exactly what happened in there. I'm 100% positive that after three years, you are still convinced that I do not fart or shit. I think this could have been a two-way street.

Lastly, why didn't you tell me that when I finally had had enough, when I finally needed to end the relationship because of all of this stuff, we would be best friends and it would be the hardest fucking thing I've ever had to do?

On the up side: If I am ever attracted to another man again (which is doubtful at this point), when he doesn't call me, instead of whining about what a great time we had and not understanding why he didn't call, I will recall you. You were perfect in every way those first few months, but three years down the line, you're agony for me. When I post that MC in the future, it will be a thank you note.

re: We could have been a Missed Connection. - w4m - 29 (Lower East Sid - 27 (Lower East Side)

Reply to: pers-282415315@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-02-21, 4:40PM EST


We could have been a Missed Connection - w4m - 29 (Lower East Side)

You: Hip, blond, thin, tattoos, passed out as soon as I got you back to my place and away from that shitty LES bar.
Me: Brown hair, thin (despite the fried food and cheese addiction), tattoos, stupidly allowed you to pass out in my apartment.
Why didn't you just go?

And, because I'm not a Craigslist-aholic like you, I never would have known that you were trying to suck me into your special place, The World Where Nothing is Ever Enough.

Except it's nearly three years later and there you are, sitting on the couch in our apartment obsessing, obsessing, obsessing over every tiny, minor detail of every sliver of every moment of every mind-numbing day we've ever spent together. God, how do you do it?
Wait, here come the questions. Oh yeah. I can feel it. Here they come.
"Why do your hate cats?"
"Why do you hate gay people?"
"Why do you never clean up after yourself?"
"Why do you belittle me?"
"Why do you enjoy making my friends uncomfortable?"
"Why did you quit your job?"
"Why don't you pay the rent?"
Why, why, why, why, why.
Well, today's your lucky day, princess. Because here come the answers.
I don't hate cats, I hate your cat. There's a difference. Actually, I like cats. But I really hate your cat.
I don't hate gay people. But I hate your brother, Richard, who just happens to be gay.
I don't clean up after myself so I can passive-aggressively punish you. Look under the couch right now, there's an empty beer can and half a sandwich. Been there since November. As have the eels under the bed. I know how you love eels. Enjoy.
By the way, in those few moments of the day when you aren't belittling me, it makes me feel stronger to belittle you, to chip away at your over-confidence and peel away the layers of self-righteous, I don't know, job-holdingness that you wallow in and lord over me.
Your friends are uncomfortable because Sean caught me fucking Allissa in the bathroom at the Thanksgiving party and then told Kelly and Gabrielle. Sean wanted to tell you right away, but Gabrielle had to come clean about when we hooked up at Radio's party in Brooklyn over the summer while you thought we were getting groceries for the cookout, and so they decided to just keep brows furrowed, as it were, and hold their liquor about it. Tense for a while, I admit. But now I enjoy it.
Why did I quit my job? Hmmm. I don't know, maybe because it sucked? What do you think? No, here goes: I quit my job to pursue my dream of living off you, being forced to beg you for just enough money for a pint or two twice a week. I'm grateful for it. Really, I am.
Of course, the downside of quitting your job and living off your soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend is the rent. Can't be paid, I'm afraid.
Until now. That's right. You heard me. Until now. I have a job. In fact, I rented my own place yesterday. Feels good. Perhaps I can loan you a bit of money? Just enough to get back on your feet again? No worries. Keep the dishes, even the electronics, which I only collected to fill the void created by living in?... no, make that living under... your world, you know, "The World Where Nothing is Ever Enough."

PS The bit about my bathroom habits was funny. But perhaps not as funny as knowing that the real reason I put on such a show of describing them to you, of bringing the matter up, was to make you feel better about your own bathroom and intestinal... difficulties. I just assumed you must be self-conscious about them. I mean, how could one not be? What's that about no good deed going unpunished?

PPS Remember that first morning when you woke up and were so happy that I was playing your favorite record? I told you that I wanted you to hear it first thing when you woke up. That was a lie. It was actually what I believe they refer to as... a coincidence. God, I hate coincidences.