Maybe there’s an intensely powerful pheromone that your body releases that causes ex boyfriends or guys you’ve dated to reach out and find you via text, email, Facebook, carrier pigeon or any other means possible. I can’t explain why it happens but it always does and they all do it at the same time. Sometimes I swear they all have a group chat going and they plan who will reach out and when and they place bets on what my reaction to each of them will be. That all seems more likely than it being a strange coincidence every so often.
Recently this happened. I got five of them this time. Five. Five sad, pathetic, desperate assholes that I have gone on dates with or dated exclusively. Five sad, pathetic mistakes. Why do they do this though!? It’s over. It has ended. Whatever we had is done. Why reach out again? Why pick that scab? Slap some Neosporin on that shit and hope it doesn’t leave a scar after it heals. Forget about it. But no. No, no, no. They like picking at shit and watching it bleed. Sickos.
One of the guys to reach out recently was the goldfish which I wrote about last week. Stay tuned for part two of his return. I also received a Facebook friend request from the 6’4″, fat, 40 something, ginger I dated a few years ago for a couple months. He drinks like a 21 year old frat boy and likes wearing women’s panties. I did not accept his request. Another reached out via text to just say, “hey.” It’s been five years, dickwad. Come up with something more creative if you want to get my attention. Also, did you forget that the last time we saw each other was when you were breaking into my apartment and I had to repeatedly slam your hand in my door until you dropped the secret set of keys you made? The police were called. Move along, psycho. Another ex boyfriend sent me a long email (since I blocked him from all social media besides LinkedIn maybe) and he had love song after love song attached in the email. We saw each other for three months. Three. Three mother fucking months. There were eight songs in the email. Calm down, homie. It was not that serious. Plus, you cheated on me with girls you met on sex hookup websites regularly. Guilty. Case closed. Last, but not the least creepy or annoying, was the guy who would never call me his girlfriend. We dated on and off, long distance for years but he never wanted a girlfriend. The day I let him go and stopped trying, I swear it flipped a switch in brain that told him to cling to me and mate for eternity. He slid into my DM’s asking when he can come stay with me now that I’m single. Never. The answer is fucking NEVER. Ever. This is not Hotel Erin. I do not run an Airbnb. Also, my dogs don’t like you and they like everyone, just like Justin Bieber’s momma.
To all ladies and gentlemen readi… Scratch that.
To all you assholes male, female or other, if you think it’s a good idea to reach back out to someone you used to date, stop and think about why you stopped dating. I want you to REALLY think about it. All aspects of it. How was it great? How was it bad? Why did it end? How did you feel? Were police involved? Was there blood or broken bones? Was anything on fire? Did you get an STD? Once you ask yourself every question about the relationship you had, I think you’ll realize that reaching out to pick that fucking scab again is a bad, bad, BAD idea. Erase it from your mind. Forget about that scab and keep moving forward. No turning back. Ever.
If you love someone, let them go. If they return, they were always yours. If they don’t, they never were. Or, if you love someone let them go. If they return, no one else wanted them. Better yet, just let everyone go and sit at home between your dogs, drinking wine and blogging. Dating fucking sucks.
Swiping My Life Away 