The Moment When I Wish The Earth Would Swallow Me Whole

It happened last night.

All the players in this situation have yet to be discussed so bear with me while I explain what happened. Eventually they will all be talked about, in great detail. But for now, I want to recount what happened before I lose it in my memory.

I was recently broken up with. It was about a month ago and for the first time in my life, my heart was severely mutilated by the experience. It was made ten times worse when, two weeks later, I found out my ex-boyfriend (referred to as Ex-Boyfriend) became amazing friends my bestfriend (referred to as Ex-Bestfriend) and her roommate (referred to as Roommate). Since then, it's safe to say that I am not friends with either of those girls nor my ex anymore (although Roommate and I still chat occasionally; she really isn't too bad).

The fourth player in this situation is a boy in the dating pool. I'll call him #1 because he was the first one to ask me out a mere four days after the breakup. He was really a sweet boy with a good heart and tried everything he could to give me the space I needed so I could get over Ex-Boyfriend while keeping himself present in my life.

I realized over the weekend that I needed to break it off with #1. He seemed to be perfect for me, exactly my type, but I just didn't feel that pull that I had with my ex and that's really what I'm constantly searching for. I decided to tell him after the class we had together, Junior Year Writing. A class that Ex-Bestfriend and Roommate happened to be in.

#1, as he always does, offered to give me a ride back to my dorm after class. I accepted gratefully, ready to take advantage of the opportunity to talk to him. I asked if he minded waiting a minute while I used the restroom, and as gentlemanly as ever, assured me it was fine. When I emerged, the lecture hall was deserted.

We exited together, and #1 immediately made a grab for my hand. I visibly pushed it away and said, "I think we need to have a little chat."

#1 had been waiting for this moment. "Yeah," he said, "I know."

"I promise, it's not you. I am just not ready to rush into anything with another guy. I thought I was ready to get back on my feet but what I really need now is just time to get over my ex."

It was at that precise moment that I heard someone from behind me say, "Hey, Coquette*."

I looked over, and there stood Ex-Boyfriend in the flesh. It was the first time I had seen him in about three weeks. I had unfriended him, Ex-Bestfriend and Roommate all on Facebook so I wouldn't even be tempted to see how he was. And there he stood, with Ex-Bestfriend and Roommate, wearing a white sweatshirt I recognized and gym shorts. He had obviously just been working out.

I was positive that they had seen and heard everything. #1 was talking to me but all I could hear was the blood rushing in my head. My heart was beating fast, my palms were sweating. What do I do? What do I say?

"Hey."

The most nonchalant thing I could think of. It went along with a slight smile and a head nod. I continued walking with #1, letting Ex-Boyfriend, Ex-Bestfriend and Roommate fade into the distance. 

"That was just my ex," I told #1.

"What? Where?" #1 hadn't noticed the small transaction to happen. He looked behind us and caught his first site of Ex-Boyfriend.

#1 and I continued talking about my inability to be in a relationship while I shook and tried to recover. Questions spiraled through my mind. Had Ex-Boyfriend really heard and seen everything? Did he know I wasn't completely over him now? Would he try and say hello to me every time I saw him on campus? Did I want him to say hello if I did see him? #1 was sweet as always, held my hand and told me it would be fine. He rubbed my shoulder trying to help me calm the shakes down. As we pulled away from the lecture hall, I took one last fleeting glance at Ex-Boyfriend wondering if I will ever be completely over him.


*Coquette is not my real name, just how I will be referring to myself on the blog.

And the Award For Shortest Relationship Goes To......

I've been debating with myself whether or not I want to disclose people's first names on here. There are a few I know for sure that I won't speak of; I'll assign them a letter or just refer to them as him or her. But thinking back to my shortest "relationship" (if you can even call it that), I don't see any harm referring to his real name. It's a common name and nothing particularly exciting or grotesque happened between us.

I was 14 years old and his name was Ethan. I know now that although he would be my first Ethan, he would be far from my last. Ethan and I met at the Jewish summer camp we both attended. I remember that first night we were at a boy-girl mixer, a big deal because we were all finally old enough to be trusted around members of the opposite sex! You could smell the hormones in the air...

He was a sweet enough boy with a drawling voice and bright blue eyes. On the white of one of his eyes was a dark red spot, an old popped blood vessel that never faded. That really creeped me out the first time I met him. But, as a young girl who had fantasized about falling in love and living happily ever after, he was perfect.

Ethan asked me to dance, if I recall correctly, which I was more than happy to agree to. Looking back on it now, his dancing was embarrassing! He awkwardly swayed back and forth except for certain points he would drop down to the floor and do the worm! It was the worse rendition of the Harlem Shake I had ever seen. My friends still make fun of it to this day.

That night marked the beginning of our six day affair. I received my first french kiss ever the next night. It was Shabbat, and after a delicious Friday night dinner of chicken, broccoli and some sort of rice, we ran up to the rec hall to participate in some good ol' fashion Israeli dancing. After learning from the previous evening, I asked Ethan if he wanted to sit on the side with me instead of dancing, feigning exhaustion. We sat and chatted for a few minutes and it was then I swapped spit for the first time.

I can remember to this day the feeling and the taste of running my tongue over his braces. I was made aware of the little pieces of broccoli from dinner nestled in the back corners of his mouth and the ferocity that he reciprocated. In a word, it was HORRIBLE! I was glad when a camp counselor came up to us and broke the kiss up, saying, "That's not very appropriate" in a nasally voice. That was the first, and last time I kissed Ethan.

As mentioned before, our relationship lasted a few more days. I still enjoyed myself playing tennis, going swimming and hanging out with my first ever boyfriend. Although I had long since surpassed my phase of puberty, Ethan was just beginning his. More than once was I awkwardly positioned in front of him to hide the boner he could not surpress. My friends always made sure to point out when these occurrences happened and giggle about it. 14 year old girls are fucking bitches.

I broke up with him walking back from an event in the rec hall. I don't remember what I said or what he said but after that we parted ways and barely saw each other for the next three weeks of camp. About two years later I happened to be in his area and we tried to get together to see a movie (The House Bunny if I remember correctly). I told my father to drive me to the movie theater, got there only to realize Ethan and I had accidentally gone to different theaters. We didn't meet up that day.

A few months ago I heard from Ethan again. He was visiting a friend at the university I attended and wanted to know if I could meet up for coffee or something. I agreed, noticing on his Facebook that he had a girlfriend; I thought he was just trying to reminisce. The day before he was supposed to come we were talking via Facebook chat and he confided in me that his girlfriend and him just broke up. I connected the dots and just happened to get so drunk I slept through our coffee plans the next day.

I haven't heard from Ethan since and I don't really want to. Ethan was the first guy in my life but he and I will remain where we belong; in the past.

Because Everyone Posts More Than Once on the First Day of Their Blog...

I suppose I should give you a small bit of background. Currently, I am a 20 year old girl enrolled at a state university. I also happen to be (temporarily) single, a status that I never seem to hold on to. But I'm going to take everyone back much farther, right to the first few years of my life.

I was born in a suburb. What white, middle-class family doesn't bear their spawn in a suburb? It was a Friday in late May, 1992. My mother, like an idiot, decided to stuff her face with a giant dinner while she was in labor with me! Due to this fact, she was in so much pain right after I was born, the doctors had to sedate her. My father held me for the first few hours of my life; could it be the reason I'm much closer with him than my mother? Very possibly.

My parents took me home to the condominium they owned at the time. There I played with my older sister as well as the glass pieces my parents used to smoke their marijuana out of. When I was a year old, my sister broke my father's favorite bong. It was then my parents declared our condo "too small for the kids" and decided to purchase their first real home.

For awhile everything was perfect. We were such a stereotypical middle class family; my mother stayed at home cooking, cleaning and performing her wifely duties, I went to pre-school everyday while my sister attended kindergarten and my father performed his job as an accountant, bringing home the bacon.

Everything changed for me in March 1995. That's when "The Fight" happened. I was too young to remember much except that my mother threw a glass of water in my father's face and my father was taken away in handcuffs. After that, our cozy, suburban family of four became a divorced nightmare. My father moved in with my grandparents (who lived one town away) and continued to stay present in my sister's and my lives for a good amount of time. When my father lost his job, he moved to the next state over, about two and a half hours north of where we currently lived.

Even with the distance, I still had an excellent father in my life. Eventually I'll go into detail more about my times with my father, but for now I'll assure you he was constantly making long drives to see my sister and me, go to our recitals, and kept up with our lives.

My mother did not handle the divorce very well. Like my father, eventually I'll go into stories of my mother but I'll say the biggest culprit of my current mental state seems to be her.

For now, though, I'm going to say this is enough about my early childhood. I wish it was funnier, more entertaining or at the very least unique. But in retrospect, my childhood is similar to your enemies, your friends or even your own. It wasn't until later in life that I realized how fucked up my home life had become.

Definition of a Coquette

co·quette

 noun \kō-ˈket\

Definition of COQUETTE

: a woman who endeavors without sincere affection to gain the attention and admiration of men

In modern day words, I am a flirt, a tease, a slut. When I'm single, it's not uncommon for me to date up to six men at one time, simultaneously talking to others who live far away. It's important to know, I'm never single for long. Since I was 14, my longest streak has been seven months. But what leads a young woman to be like this? Is there a way I can change myself? What strange psychological affliction causes me to act this way?

This chronicle of my life is an insight into these questions as well as countless others. I don't expect many, if any, to read it. I just hope that through my own words I am able to discover the root of this temptation and perhaps, for once, learn to be happy completely single.