Smart Bitches Trashy Books | All of the romance, none of the bullshit.

Entry #1

My break-up story happened almost 12 years ago.  The guy (or the shithead as I used to call him) called me and said he wanted to see me the following morning.  I commuted to college so I said I’d stop by on my way to school.  I get to his apartment; he opens his door just a crack and slips me a note.  I wait until I arrive on campus to read the note which is a break-up note.

Not only did a 23-year-old break up with me through a note, he broke up with me on the anniversary of my mother’s death.

I think he’s fat now with horrible acne. 

Entry #2

I was in my first year of college in New Mexico, thousands of miles from home, and met a guy from the dorm. We dated for a while, and of course he led me to believe that we were dating exclusively. (ha.) At this time I was still a virgin, and he knew it. So I slept with him, thinking it meant something to him. (I know-- I was a young, gullible fool.)

A month or so later I discover that his ex-girlfriend (Celia) lives down the hall from me. Wow! Small world, right?  I avoid her, because obviously she is the ex and I don’t want to get chummy. Later I start to feel that perhaps things are “not quite right”. Maybe the way he always drops my hand whenever Celia is around. I dunno.

So (I’m in engineering school, okay?) I know some guys in the Computer science department. I hack into his e-mail account at the university.

Whammo! Explicit letters from Celia about how much she wants to suck his cock, and details about “the last time they were together”.

So, using my new-found computer knowledge and my friends in the CS department, I fiddle with his account so that all incoming emails will be re-routed to another account-- his mother’s in Santa Fe. Then I proceed to send him email detailing all of his explicit sexual conquests, including the fact that he was also sleeping with a third girl in our dorm. (I found out about chick #3 after I confronted both him and Celia.)

So, he finally wises up that something funny is going on, and guesses that perhaps I messed with his account. (He was pretty shocked when his mom called.)

He threatens to have me thrown out of the university, since I legally committed some federal crime.  I played dumb, and pretended that I had NO idea what he was talking about. Eventually he let it go.

But it’s a memory that I savor to this day.

Entry #3

I was a virgin when I went to college and proud of it.  I was also paying my own way (with the help of a small scholarship and the Student Loan foundation), which meant taking a job in the student cafeteria for book and spending money.

There I met a handsome, charming man.  He was...foreign (not looking to slam any particular nationality here) ... which just made him exotic to me.

For 9 months he and I flirted outrageously.  I studied with him in the local student union almost every night.  When our work assignments allowed, we talked for the entire 3 hours the cafeteria served dinner.  He asked me regularly and often to get intimate, but I was afraid and unsure.  We never went on an official date, but he was in engineering and had a serious workload.  We often worked weekend nights anyway.

As summer approached and I knew I’d be heading home until autumn, I wanted to take that “next step” with him.  So the week before “finals”, when he asked me that question he’d asked me every night for months, I agreed to go back to his place with him.  It was late, dark, we walked hand-in-hand from the student union to his apartment.  And, like many “first times”, it was ... okay.

The next morning, I was appalled to see a long, low dresser along the far side of the room - and it was cluttered with all the typical college student paraphernelia...FEMALE college student paraphernalia.  Make up, perfume, hairbands, jewelry.  I was stunned.  We dressed and he told me he was separated from his wife.  Yikes, a wife!  And yet...I’d known him for so long… (Yes, I was an idiot).  I promised to get in touch with him when I returned in the fall.

So Autumn finally came, and I was back at college.  I shored up my nerves and dug up this man’s phone number.  Turned out he was now living with Bachelorette #3!  But not to worry.  He had wonderful news.  His now ex-wife had a baby over the summer (isn’t that sweet?).  And he decided to name the little bundle of joy after me.

(Oh, PS - you know what makes this story worse, or sad, or whatever?  I was named after one of my dad’s old girlfriends, too.  So the legacy continues...)

Entry #4

First, background information: when the guy and I met, and were living together in the first months, I naively promised him a threesome for his 25th birthday. During the 5 years building up to the 25th, I’d expressed discomfort with the idea on several occasions, but decided to suck it up and give in because I had a friend (my oldest and best) I trusted implicitly not to try to steal him from me in the aftermath of such an event. So we made plans for her to fly in for 10 days over New Year’s last year.

What we didn’t count on was me having a miscarriage on Christmas Eve. Despite my complete lack of desire for company, the fiance cajoled/guilted me into letting her go ahead and come up to “help” while I was recovering. Her “help” consisted of incessant giggling, drinking, flirting with the guy, and imbibing illegal substances while I spent my time desperately trying to get some sleep and not soak my mattress with blood. Oh, and speaking of sleep, I somehow ended up sharing my bed with the cow, so I didn’t actually get any real sleep the entire time she was there, unless I sent her and the guy out to entertain themselves by renting DVDs or something.

By the time she’d left, and I could have sex again (3 weeks later), the fiance either a) couldn’t perform due to “mental images,” or b) gave me “I want you so bad please jerk me off” lines, and didn’t retaliate unless heavy coercion was involved. Meanwhile, when I refused options A and B (which were pretty much the only options), he waited til I was asleep and then spent his late-nights masturbating on webcam for the “best friend.”

Five months nearly to the day after she returned to her home state, and he and I had had sex once in the duration, he spent about 3 hours doing the camera jerk when I asked him whether he even thought of coming to me if he wanted sex. He was silent. I asked him if he still wanted to be with me - insisted that he be honest, ‘cause I couldn’t live like that anymore - and he said no. He’d been in love with her for the last year, but he had decided that he’d rather be miserable than hurt me.

Entry #5

I was seventeen, and yes, still a virgin. I was dating this guy, Chris. Fairly cute, long hair. Tall. Eighteen. Major party guy. My first real boyfriend. We pretty much just hung out at his place, and some friends of his.

I was Miss Wide-Eyed Clueless. Told me he loved me, the whole bit. I bought it. Was an inch from giving it up to him one night, but he stopped. He said it was because he felt I wasn’t ready. Turns out he had just forgotten to buy condoms, but that I found out later.

A few days later, we’re visiting his friends. This fifteen year old skank (five months preggers) was eyeing him constantly, but she assured me she would never go there, we were FRIENDS. She also asked that I not “cuddle up with him” when she was there, because it upset her. Later that night, he tried to get me to give it up on their sofa, with them literally five feet away, asleep. I’m all hell, no.

The next day, I’m in school, and one of our mutual friends chats with me. He says that Chris was banging the preggers slut, had been since before he asked me out. I don’t believe him, and get all pissy.

So we go over to the house after school, and we walk in. (Rural PA, nobody locks the doors there) Guess who’s in the kitchen, buck naked. I run off in tears. He catches up with me downtown and starts with the “I never lied to you, I never told you I was faithful”, etc.

I yell at the top of my lungs, “If you ever come within ten feet of me again, I’ll rip your fucking balls off.”

He ran like the pussy he was. He still crosses the street when he sees me.

Entry #6

My bad breakup was in the nineties (which was about the last time I had a serious relationship, which is a whole other story). His name was Rick, which rhymes with ... well, you’ll see ...

We’d been friends for 2 years before becoming “daters” in the spring of that year. By September, he moved away to go to Bible college. All summer we’d debated the long-distance relationship thing, and HE was the one who said we’d make it work.

So he comes home in October (our Canadian Thanksgiving weekend) to attend a wedding with me. And proceeds to tell me - during that time between the morning ceremony & the late-afternoon reception - while we are at the MALL shopping for a wedding gift, that he’d been seeing someone else for practically the whole time since he moved away. He’d met some chickie the second day on campus, and they’d just “really hit it off”.

During all this time, I’d been faithfully sending letters & funny cards & care packages & racking up long-distance charges for late night smoochie phone calls ...

So ... we had taken my car to the mall and I DITCHED HIM there! Jerk. Wad.

I drove around town in a daze. I didn’t want to go home and answer a bunch of questions from the parents. Suddenly I’m at the home of my gay friend Delmar. I knew he had come home for the holiday weekend, but I hadn’t had a chance to see him yet. I show up just as they are sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner. His mother opened the door, I burst into tears, she hustled me in, gave me a big hug, some kleenex, and set another place setting. All I remember is sitting at this HUGE feast, Del’s dad is piling the food on my plate, and I’m sobbing hysterically. They never asked ONE question! Just let me cry it out while they went on eating. Finally I got the giggles and explained to them what happened.

I spent the evening with Del & family, playing RISK until dawn. To this day, Del & I are still the best of friends. I see Rick the Dickless occasionally, married to the little chickie who lost her looks, her figure, and what little personality she had ‘round about her third pregnancy … Heh.

Entry #7

We had been married 18 years, I found out he was screwing the 18 year old babysitter, and when confronted (after telling me i was crazy and imagining things) he FINALLY admits to it.
So, ok, men cheat.. no big deal right? I was dealing with it ok, working 12 hours a day, raising 4 kids, taking care of his office work, tending to his and my elderly parents, just overall miss merry sunshine..
Till a few days after I found out and we were discussing divorce and he told me that he cheated because 1. I was too fat. 2. I didnt look like I did 18 years ago. 3.I dont do enough around the house. 4.Her vagina was tighter.

I saw RED.... the anger hit...big time! BIG BANG kind of anger.
So I attacked what he loved the most. His truck and his dog. Yes, being a southern woman I knew where to strike to cause the most pain. Most women would kick the man in the groin, but since his groin is deficient and probably not big enough to cause him pain, I took a knife and scraped long, deep, satisfying scratches in his shiny red love truck.
The dog? Lucy, and evil rottwieler with a personality like a buzz saw. I had lived in fear of this dog for 7 years. She would have eaten the kids if she ever got the chance. She was cantankerous and more money was spent on her medical care and fancy dog kennel than was ever spent on me. So, I took her to the veternary school the next county over, told them she was a vicious dog (which she was) and was going to have her put down. They take dogs to put down to let students disect but they bill you 40 dollars. I asked for the bill to be sent to the ex.
The sound of his roar when he seen the truck was awesome. Satisfaction curled my toes.
The dog? The sound of his squeak when he got the bill was beyond satisfaction. Revenge is sweet when it causes a horrified squeak!

I got rid of a husband, an ugly truck and a mean dog all within the space of a week.
(I had to find a new babysitter though)

Entry #8

At a grade nine dance he came up behind me slid an arm around my waist and asked me to dance.  I should have realized then that this guy was going to be a piece of work.  Swept off my 14-year-old feet.  We start dating and we are exclusive and it is fun for about 3 months.  Then I don’t really like him anymore because he was controlling and depressive.  I tried to break up with him and he threatened to kill himself so I would back off.  He cut me off from my friends and was jealous of everyone.  He would call me every night and then be with me every moment during the day.  I’m embarrassed to admit we were together for 3 years and they were awful for the most part.  When I look back on the pictures from that last year we were together I look sickly.  I look like a different person in the pictures a year later.  He had met a girl in one of his classes and they were seeing each other on the sly while he strung me along.  He broke off with me over the phone one week before final exams.  I don’t remember much from those weeks except him dropping in and hugging me and acting all friendly.  Let’s just say I was an emotional wreck (hey, I was 17!) I decided I needed help so I went to the counselor’s and I told her how Assface said he wanted to kill himself (he was telling me that the week he broke up with me and said how he didn’t know what he wanted – what an ass!) how we broke up and the whole bit.  Guess what, she called his mother who said that I was harassing her son and then she called my mother who finally learned all that had happened.  So much for privacy.  I got home that afternoon and for the first time ever I made my mother cry.  My mother is a class A bitch people, seeing her cry for my pain was too much.  I was truly done with ever talking to him or seeing him.  I found out 4 years later that they got married.  I was floored but felt sorry for the girl.  I know they were divorced a year or two later and then after that I don’t know.

Entry #9

Poor Excuse and I had been dating for 3 months when, one day, we discussed friends, and I relayed to him why my bestie C. was so wonderful.

Poor Excuse’s parents were in the process of moving and he’d often go help on weekends. One Tuesday, after he’d come back, he let slip into our telephone conversation that he had spoken with C. on the phone earlier that day. As Poor Excuse and C had never had a conversation without me there before, I have to admit to a healthy amount of curiousity. Poor Excuse wouldn’t tell me what it was about so, after making plans to see him later that night, I called C. who was very close-mouthed about the whole thing. Finally, she said ‘Please tell me that you’re being very careful.’ Which, naturally, freaked me right out. Which led to her divulging the whole story. It turns out that Poor Excuse had gone out the weekend before and picked up a bartender. A Male bartender. The two had gone home, and because Poor Excuse was ‘curious’, they’d had sex. He’d called C because, as a lesbian, she’d naturally have expertise in the realms of gay sex (?). Further, because he’d had all his tests done just before he met me, we’d been...er...riding bareback. And had done so since his little adventure. When C confronted him with this, Poor Excuse told her that we (that is me and Poor Excuse) had an open relationship, and that he’d been with loads of people while we’d been together.

So, when I went over there that evening, I was feeling a bit over the relationship and ended it, without telling him about C. Then I proceeded to do everything necessary to ensure that I was safe and risk-free from his little experiments. An AIDS test is not the way one wants to end her first sexual relationship. Not to mention what my father will do if he ever gets his hands on Poor Excuse.

There’s more. Two years later, I was talking to a friend who dates an ex-roommate of Poor Excuse. She told me, in a roundabout way, that the whole thing may never have happened, and that Poor Excuse might have just wanted to test C. to determine if she was really as open-minded and discreet as I had said.

Entry #10

I met my first girlfriend in high school biology. She sat behind me and spent the whole year snarking on the other kids in class. We paired off together for dissections, which she hated, and she knew I’d do the work for her. She didn’t like it when I hid some frog skin in her textbook, but hey, that’s payback.

We hooked up the following year. Both of us came from verbally abusive homes, and both of our self-images were for shit. Which is a shorthand way of saying we fell hard for each other. We were the inseparable, public-display-of-affection type of couple that everyone else at school barely tolerates.

I didn’t just want to marry her; I wanted to grow old with her and die in her arms. Sometimes I took her to furniture or grocery stores for dates. She didn’t care – said she was happy just to be with me.

Meanwhile, her home life got worse, and I spent my senior year indulging in one rescue fantasy after another. Nothing ever happened. I got into Berkeley, and she got into Cal State LA. Despite how much I loved her, I didn’t once contemplate going to Cal State to be with her. My desire to escape my parents trumped all other concerns.

We didn’t exactly grow apart. I discovered how much I missed her; she discovered she could live without me. Then she met an anthropology grad student who outranked me in maturity, height, and looks. Turned out to be a bigger jerk than me, but that’s another story.

We had a rough summer. Both of us knew it couldn’t last. Come fall, I could tell from her letters that this guy was more than a friend. I wrote her a long, turgid letter in which I called her on it. When I mailed off the letter, I stood by the mailbox and cried and cried until someone on the dorm balcony upended a wastebasket full of water on my head. True story.

She didn’t write back. Christmas break, she broke it off for good. It was ugly. I felt like I’d had a hole carved out of my chest. I’d taken her for granted for years – that was one of her big gripes – but only because she’d felt like a part of me.

Years later, we’re friends, but there are many things we can’t talk about.

Entry #11

I’ve always had a thing for tall, dark and handsome. So when I met Carlo, (not his real name) I fell hard. His latin charisma, devilish good-looks and chocolate-rich voice made my heart flip-flop and the rest of me quiver.

That he thought I was equally attractive stunned me. He asked me out and I walked around in a daze. The date was perfect, he was charming and I managed not to spill food down my dress. Life was good. After four months, he took me home to meet his mama and papa.

His mom was this super friendly woman, an incredible home cook with a passion for life. Right from the start, we hit it off. She would even call me and invite me over on the weekends when Carlo had to work, just to spend time together.

She taught me how to make the most incredible Mexican dishes. I felt like I’d gained more than a boyfriend. I saw what my life could be and it was complete.

Then for some reason, he stopped calling me and wouldn’t return my calls. I confronted him, and I got dumped. Told me he didn’t want to see me again. That he was dating someone else. I was devastated.

That weekend, his mom had invited me to dinner, but with the break-up, I didn’t realize she still expected me to show up. When I didn’t, she called me and asked if I was sick. Didn’t she know, I asked. She said I was her friend, it was her house and he was an idiot. She insisted I come
over anyway. I didn’t feel right about it, but she was persistant and so I got there about 30 minutes late.

When Carlo saw me, he blew a gasket! Called me a freak and worse. He stormed off --I wished I had gone with my gut instincts and stayed home.

She insisted we remain friends. But I never went to her home again, afraid to run into Carlo. It was weird, sneaking around with my ex-boyfriend’s mother. It was like this really incredible friendship, completely platonic (nowadays, you have to add that, but back then, it would
have been silently understood).

Eventually, I moved out of state, and over time, we lost touch. But I’ll never forget how I lost a boyfriend and gained a mamacita.

Entry #12

I was engaged to an Army Ranger who was stationed about 1000 miles away.  When we met, he was living with the she-bitch (my name for her) but was temporarily stationed in my area.  We were friends, and there was a lot of lust there, but I was respecting his supposed relationship.  So, one night he decides to call home about 1 AM and tell the she-bitch he loves her.  And a guy answers.

Turns out she was hooking from their place while he was gone. “earning a little money for college.” His best friend knew but didn’t want to tell him.  So, end of that relationship.  We didn’t jump into anything, but by the time he was ready to go home, he was asking me to quit my job and go with him, marry him, etc.  And I was thrilled.

It’s the day before my birthday, I haven’t heard from him, and, figuring he’s a guy so I’m not going to kill him yet, I call him.

“I can’t see you anymore.  I’m getting married this weekend.”

I said, “Oh,” and hung up.  I mean, I was dumbfounded.  After a few minutes, the numbness went and the rage kicked in.  I called him back and wailed, “How could you do this to me?” Yeah, call me pitiful.

“I’m ready to get married, and the she-bitch wants to get married, and I didn’t think you were really that serious about it.”

WTF???

He ran into the she-bitch at the movies.  She told him how much she still loved him, and she really wanted to be his wife.  So, being a patsy (you should hear how his first wife snookered him), he agreed to marry her barely two weeks later.  After being nearly suicidal for about a week after the “breakup,” it dawned on me how lucky I was to dodge that bullet.

Jump forward a couple months.  He calls me.  “I’m so unhappy, I feel like killing myself,” and maybe I’d like to come comfort him.  NOT.  Turns out the she-bitch only wanted his spousal allotment and the bennies that would help pay her grad school tuition.  About five days after the wedding, she told him adios.  “Oh, and don’t come visit.  I’m dating a professor now.”

Thank you, she-bitch. You saved my life.

Entry #13

My “First” was Neanderthal Neil.  When I got accepted to law school, Neanderthal wanted me to wait until he finished his degree so we could go off somewhere together.

Being an independent sort, I didn’t fall for that. He moped, so I helped him get on a prestigious exchange program, figuring if we were both doing something new and exciting we’d have more to talk about than how much we missed each other

He went to Switzerland, calling three or four times a week.  Soon, he called me a little less because it was “so expensive”.  I started hearing about this girl who Neanderthal claimed I’d really like.  She reminded him of his sister.  Even then I thought—isn’t he just the sweetest?

One day, I get a hang-up from his number.  I call back and a very unfriendly girl answered, telling me I had the wrong number.  Ooookay.  Neanderthal freaks out when I mentioned it, asking why I’m being all insecure and suspicious.

So I’m pulling an all-nighter for an exam, contemplating how much coffee I can safely drink and still manage to write with a steady hand when Neanderthal calls claiming I’m obviously cheating on him and that he’s not coming home for Christmas.

After a long tearful conversation, he hung up on me.  The next day I didn’t know Real Property from my ass and when the professor saw me leaving, he asked if I was sick.  Looking like hell probably saved my grade.

New Year’s Eve: Neanderthal calls as I’m to go out and face all of our friends.  He’s partying somewhere in Europe and drunkenly informs me he was so hurt by MY cheating on HIM that he started sleeping with “his friend, the sister”.  I pointed out that I’d never cheated but he wanted to justify why he couldn’t keep his own pants zipped.  Then he told me she was better in bed as people laughed in the background.

Smug Moment: I’m living HEA with an amazing guy. When I got engaged, Neanderthal flew to where I was living to “help me realize this was the biggest mistake of my life”. Apparently he just felt the need to “shop around” before settling down and figured I’d forgive him.

Entry #14

I was pregnant with our daughter- due to deliver in one week- and he just up and left. Said he just wasn’t happy and don’t bother trying to change his mind. And he left. Walked out the door. Wouldn’t return my calls. I had no idea where he was living. I was 9 months pregnant knowing I would deliver this baby and raise her alone.

Alone.  A single mother. 
Even though I was married and had expected a husband to be there to help.

I survived. Obviously.
And now - 9 years later- I know deep down in my gut that if I could survive that, I could survive ANYTHING.

Entry #15

The man (hereafter known as TM) and I were introduced by a mutual friend in a bar.  Unfortunately at the time I was still deeply entrenched in a relationship with the watermelon fucker (WF), and TM was only recently extricated from a long relationship with skinny blond small-nosed chick (SBSNC).  We circled each other for nearly a year before WF took off.  TM and I hooked up about 5 seconds later.  However, neither of us was ready to pursue anything serious because as I was untangling myself from WF, and SBSNC had been bombarding TM with entreaties to get back together.  Still, we dated, we had really good sex, we had a lot of fun.

He was great – very thoughtful, called when he said he would, actually planned dates around things he thought I would enjoy, and then he actually paid for them.  You have to understand, before this I was with a man with a produce fetish and a perpetually empty wallet, so I was easily impressed.  After about 2 months of dating, my birthday rolled around, and TM pulled out all the stops. He got all my friends together and planned a surprise party for me, and it ended up being the most fun birthday I’d ever had. Later, he took me home, and in my beer and wine fogged happiness I stupidly asked him how he was feeling about “us.” He told me he felt we should stop seeing each other because he realized that he wasn’t really over SBSNC. And somewhere in the midst of the discussion we started fooling around, and ended up having really good sex.

Then after a few months he got back together with SBSNC, and, convinced he was lost forever, I spent the next 6 months pining for TM. 

But this story has a happy ending, because the man came to his senses and dumped SBSNC for me.  By the time my birthday came around, we were very much in love, and very much together.  When he asked me what I wanted to do for the big day, I replied, “Well, how about this year, you don’t dump me?  Then it will definitely be better than last year!” 8 years later, he still rocks my world.

Entry #16

I divorced my ex-husband for the second time but he wouldn’t leave my house.  I went to court and got the divorce and when I gave him a copy he ripped it up and told me that he didn’t want the divorce.  I went back to court and got and order to have him removed from my house but the police wouldn’t get involved.  I had 3 different court orders for him to leave and still the police wouldn’t get involved.  He told me he couldn’t live with out me and he didn’t have any money.  I finally had to lend him money so he could buy a house and move out.

I lent him $9000 and he moved out.  His truck was still in my name and I was still paying the car insurance when I saw him driving with a woman in the truck with him.  I flipped out because the reason he said he wouldn’t leave was that he couldn’t live without me.  Since he moved on with another woman I demanded my money and my truck back.  I took him back to court and he was ordered to give back the money and return the truck.  He bought himself a brand new truck and also stole my truck.  I was so furious that when I got my truck back I rammed it right into his new one.

I don’t recommend that anyone do this.  There were serious consequences.

Entry #17

The Abhole had been my best friend for several years. When he and his girlfriend broke up he let me know it was mostly because of me. She’d accused him of being in love with me, and he couldn’t deny it.

Within two months we were dating.

For a short while, everything seemed great. Perfect. I now had my best friend with all the fringe bennies you could want.

Four months later we made the acquaintance to two women, let’s call them “I only fuck taken men” (IOFTM) and the horse-faced bitch (Horsey). They sucked up to me. Invited me to everything, etc. I had two new best friends. Fun ones.

Then the Abhole is acting strangely. Canceling on me. Missing things. One night he comes to pick me up to go see a friend’s show, but before we leave he says we need to talk . . . and he breaks up with me.

When the clouds lift and I’m able to answer the phone again I find out that he’s been screwing both IOFTM and Horsey (together!), and that Horsey has actually been stalking him for over three years (sending anonymous love letters to his house, etc.).

I see Horsey wearing MY sweater.

He corners me at parties. Tells me he forgets how beautiful I am. That he misses having me in his life. He tells me I’m ruining my friendships cause I won’t be nice to Horsey. He calls me a bitch. He causes a huge scene. I smile the whole time. He hasn’t figured out that I see his friends two or three nights a week, and he only gets invited to big events.

A few months later he stops by the store my little sister manages. He hits on one of the girls who works there. When he leaves she turns to my sister and asks, “Who’s the old guy with the receding hairline?” They call me in hysterics and tell me the whole thing.

A few weeks ago I saw him and Horsey walking out of a movie. Instead of a leather-clad motorcycle god, he’s now a paunchy dude in khakis who desperately needs to accept that fact that he has “oldy locks” (long hair where the front has started to recede).

Turns out she made him sell the bike. I’ll bet she bought the khakis, too.

Sarah’s Story

Senior year of high school, I went out with this neighborhood guy whom I’ll call Bonehead. When I got in to college in South Carolina, and he got into a satellite school of the state university on a very small amount of financial aid, this caused quite a rift. He was most vocal about the fact that I’d abandoned him. We ran up a scary phone bill, but by the end of freshman year, something was different. He didn’t want to talk on the phone, or he just wasn’t home when I called.

School ended and I came home. When I went to his house, his mom greeted me with this weird expression on her face, and told me he wasn’t home. He eventually arrived, took me out on the porch, and proceeded to dump me with the reasoning that he was “too tired.”

I ran home crying, and spent the next week crying literally every 20 minutes. Then, one afternoon I was walking the dog when one of his friends came up to me and said how sorry she was that we’d broken up. I sniffled a bit and was trying to think of something to say when she said, “And I can’t believe he got her pregnant.”

Seems Bonehead was cheating on me with some girl from school. He was “tired” because his family and hers had been meeting for hours to discuss “What to Do.” He was going to have to marry her and have a baby.

I don’t cry in front of people as a rule, but I sat down on the grass in front of this girl and next to my dog and just sobbed. I felt so stupid, humiliated, and worthless.

Enter a friend of mine from high school, who got me a job at the camp his parents ran in West Virginia. I went away to camp to work that summer, and spent the bulk of the time getting over Bonehead. By the end of that summer, I was in a marvelously happy relationship with my friend from high school, who eventually became my Hubby and the father of our son, Freebird.

I didn’t see Bonehead again, and to this day, nothing comes up when I Google his name - and that is a sign of someone with no life to speak of.

Candy’s Story

My particular trauma didn’t really lie with the break-up itself, but events that happened shortly after. The memories alternately amuse and sting.

I lived with a guy for a couple of years, and while we were cohabiting, we decided to pool together our grocery money for the sake of convenience, and we agreed to use his account. Things went well at first, but after a while, he decided he didn’t love me any more. Some sturm und drang resulted, but we eventually calmed down and ended things rather amicably. We needed to move out, but he was broke, so I did him a favor and lent him some money to pay for his car insurance so he could concentrate on saving up for moving expenses.

No, my forehead doesn’t have “SUCKER” stamped on it. I’ve looked and looked.

Anyway, the night before I had an appointment to check out a few apartments, this guy--let’s just call him StripperFucker, OK?--sneaked out of the house. It was a Friday, and I was in the living room watching a DVD. I dozed off briefly, and when I woke up, he was gone. I just figured he’d gone to buy some smokes and would be back soon, and didn’t think too much about it, so I went to bed.

When I woke up, it was 1 a.m., and he still wasn’t home. Now I was REALLY worried. We’d broken up, sure, but he was still my friend, and he sometimes did stupid things like drive around drunk. I waited for him, feeling increasingly worried, until he stumbled into the house, reeking of cigarettes and alcohol. I reeled out the usual spiel: where were you, holy crap I was worried, etc.

He then told a series of really puzzling lies. He said:

- He went out drinking with some friends from work, and he hadn’t told me he was going out because his friends had called him at the very last minute. This was odd, because I was right next to the only phone in the house ALL NIGHT, and neither of us had a cellphone, and I didn’t hear it ring.

- He then went on to say that he didn’t tell me because he thought I was out of the house, and that he’d meant to write me a note so I wouldn’t worry about him, but he’d forgotten. However, there’s no way he could’ve left the house without walking right by the living room, and the TV would’ve been clearly audible--and my car was parked right next to his, so where the fuck did he think I went?

I was too tired to decipher all his bullshit and decided it didn’t matter; I figured he just didn’t want to tell me he was going out with the boys for whatever reason and left it at that.

So I woke up early on Saturday morning and did my usual rounds--blog hopped, checked e-mail, etc. It was right after payday, so I logged into our joint account to figure out our last joint grocery budget, and immediately noticed a series of withdrawals amounting to about $220 from an ATM on Columbia Blvd.

Being an enterprising little chippy, I Googled that address, and yup--Exotica International, a Gentlemen’s Club.

At this point, the motherfucker owed me about $550 in car insurance money and had whined about being broke and not having enough money to move out. Apparently, he had plenty of cash for naked strangers. I wasn’t just mad. My whole body clenched in fury.

I immediately went into the bedroom, shook him awake and confronted him with it. He was sheepish and somewhat apologetic but largely unrepentant, and I slammed out of the house screaming mad, gladder than ever that we’d broken up and that I would soon be away from him.

Things settled down, and we moved out without further incident. A couple of weeks after we moved out, StripperFucker sent me a check for a measly $50 to go towards the money he owed me. I was kind of puzzled at the small amount, but he told me it was because he wanted to play it safe the first month in the new place--make sure he had enough money to cover all the bills, etc. I shrugged and said “OK.” Then I got a call a few days later: Please don’t cash the check, he was really low on money, he’d mismanaged a couple of key things, etc.

Now, I’d had access to his account for ages. I knew exactly how much he was making. No matter how badly he’d mismanaged things, he should’ve been able to afford to pay me $50.

Long story short: I found out he’d spent over $450 on strippers that weekend.

I snapped, and told him he’d better have gotten a blowjob for that money. I mean, Jesus, the guy could’ve hired a hooker for that much.

And you know what? A few weeks after that, I found out that’s exactly what he’d bought with that money. So y’all, if you’re in Portland and looking for a blowjob from a stripper, the Sugar Shack on Lombard apparently has personnel who are willing and happy to oblige as long as you are willing to grossly overpay.

Anyway, to compound the drama, I found out he was dating and fucking a stripper. He claimed he was really conscientious about using protection, but I don’t think he knew that rubbers aren’t very effective barriers against HPV and herpes. I contemplated telling him this, but as my friend Anna told me, some kids just learn their lessons better the hard way.