Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

            I already see it on the streets.

            The frustrated eyes. The saddened wet cheeks. Couples moving together down the sidewalk, angrily speaking in muted tones, not able to face each other. I hear the F bomb and see one storm off. Uneasy circling of feet under the café tables lining Bedford Avenue. Gloomy tragic faces drinking heavily alone, their backs curved over the bar in defeat.

            I approach one lone man at the bar this week with a little banter.

            “How are you?” I ask.

            Little grunts come out.

            “Another shot?” I ask.

            “Fuck yeah, why not?” He mutters.

            I pour the shot.

            “So what is it, women or money?”

            The man looks up, face full of three days of unshaven misery.

            “Why can’t it be both?”

            He has a point.

            Another woman on the other end is furiously bitching to her friend. I try to make some light humor but scorn is painted across her face.

            I overhear: “And that son-of-a-cowardly bitch doesn’t even have the balls to tell me he fucked her! Like I wouldn’t know! I knew he was a whore from the start. I met him at Union Pool for Christ’s Sake! Back to the fucking Chelsea free Clinic. They know me by name now!”

            I dodge that end of the bar for a while, fearing my obvious association with the male race.

            And so it is. The weather is changing. The moods are changing.

            After an Earthquake, a Hurricane, and some poorly timed rain patterns, some strange, vapid humid air sits bulky, wetting our backs, sweat dripping down.

            And it’s stagnant.

            It’s muggy.

            It’s stale.

            The End Of Summer Is Here.

            And with it, comes the end of the Summer Romance.

            No call backs. Sudden realizations of a person’s past. Stood up three times in a row. Accidental discoveries of who they've been texting at night. All of this adds up to the big breakup. The send off. Like a snake shedding its own skin in order to shine a new coat.

            With Fall coming, it’s best to start fresh and start looking for that Winter hibernation buddy.  

            But sometimes it’s hard to know that you’re stuck in one of these overcooked romances.

            Here are three examples that are sure signs that your current situation needs to be kicked to the curb:

           

            THE UNREQUITED LOVE

            Face it. You can’t change ‘em. Remember when they said they weren’t “looking for anything serious right now”? You don’t need a code breaker for this one. They don’t like you that much. It’s harsh, but true. Trust me, if anyone really likes you, you will never hear these words come out of their mouth. It’s sad. Yes, you're wanted in the meantime when they’re not fucking that other person in their life (and there is always someone else). You’ll be there if they’re sad, or hurt, or didn’t pay their Netflix bill on time, sure. But like a substitute teacher, you’re the one day babysitter of their genitals until the tenured professor comes back into town.

            And no matter what you say to this person, things will not change. You missed the boat. And maybe because you’re sick, you like people who don’t quite like you back.

            But they are so mysterious! They are so elusive! They are so….unattainable. That look in their eye that seems like mystery is actually them fantasizing about your rivals naked sweating body crooning in orgasmic ecstasy.

            “What are you thinking about?” You dare to ask.

            “Nothing,” they say, eyes darting to the floor, their foot circling slowly under the table.

            Like a tumor, it’s best to cut this one out, because it will kill you in the end. Bonus thought though: They are probably obsessed with someone who really doesn’t like them as much, and the little carousel of pain spins round and round. All you can hope for is that their pain is as horrible as yours, which it won’t be, you little sniveling masochist. Buy a voodoo doll.

            GOOD SEX/SHADY PERSON

            I often times wonder what I would ask God if he/she existed. One of the questions, once we get past the problem of evil and where the human race is headed, is why in the world do we have the most amazing, toe-curling, unforgettable sex with the most shadiest people in the world. Everybody remembers that one person who rocked their world. And let me guess, you met them 20 minutes before you fucked, you didn’t know their name, it happened without planning or reason, right out of the blue, an orgasm that shattered every other memory of one to smithereens.What is with this?

            You would never let them meet your friends.

            You would never let them meet your parents.

            Yet, you yearn for their touch like crack rock. They walk near you and your stomach drops. After several encounters, a creeping sensation arises. You want to know more about them. Who is this person that makes you feel this way?

            Don’t.

            Like a horror film, you don’t want to open that door. That’s when the machete wielding truth of their actual existence comes out, and it will only make you want to vomit. Yes, they are married. Yes, they are actually escort girls. Yes, he’s slept with 356 people, only 9% of the time with condoms. Yes, she spends most of her time with her legs up like rabbit ears on an old TV set. That’s why they’re good at what they do. That’s why you need to run (okay, fuck one or two more times, just to get it out), run far away and fast, before you ask questions like:

            “So, what do you do the other nights you’re not with me?” and start to feel that little bile crawl up your throat.

            THE LOVE VAMPIRE

            Admit it.

            You have one of these hanging around.

            The person with that look in their eye. You know who they are. They act like they’re your best friend. They ask you if you need help moving. They always look at you, head half cocked to the side and ask: “How are you? Really? Do you want to talk about it?”

            Then one drunken night you accidently sleep with this person and you happen to be exceptional in bed. And it’s over. They are sunk.

            You like them, but you don’t like them. They’re nice, but nice is a nice way of saying fuck off.

            Now you’re the evil bastard, toting one of these love vampires around. You try to break it off, whatever it is, but you just keep finding the vampire right back at your throat, demanding love. And when they argue the case for you to love them like Perry Mason, this draws a whole new line of desperation in the sand. The only way you can kill a vampire is to use the holy water of being a dick. Or a bitch. Choose your gender's preferred sense of evil.  

            Which, in the end, will only make them pine for you more.

             And the vicious cycle continues, so start looking for that voodoo doll with your name on it.

   

            ‘Till next time love birds. Go out and start taking applications for that Winter snug buddy. It's coming, right around the corner. Like Hurricane Go Bag shopping, you don't want the only thing left to be an open bag of Cheetos and a busted flashlight. 

Someone who really loves you named this after you!

Sorry dude, she actually strips on the West Side .

"I love you soooooo much!"