Your Ex-Boyfriend Will Hate This

by Sullivan, Blue

  Do any of the following phrases sound familiar?

  I want someone who treats me right, but I always end up with selfish bad boys.

  I want someone who is financially stable, but I always choose deadbeat losers whom I end up supporting.

  I want a sensitive lover, but I always end up with “wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am” assholes who just want to get off and go to sleep.

  We aren’t born with these kinds of faulty instincts. We learn them from the way we’re taught to think about ourselves and by observing the relationships around us. It’s no coincidence that many women in the sex trade (strippers, porn actors, prostitutes) have “daddy issues” or were victims of sexual abuse growing up. If you never had a father or, worse, had one that subjected you to constant scorn, humiliation, and physical or sexual abuse, you have either no model for acceptable male behavior or a tragically perverse one. By the same token, if the only male/female relationships in your youth were hateful, violent, or cruelly uncaring, why would you believe they could be otherwise?

  If you’ve been taught these terrible “lessons” in your childhood, it doesn’t mean there is no hope for happy, healthy relationships as an adult. It just means that you’ll need to work diligently and with sustained commitment to retrain these malformed “instincts.” Therapy is the best way to do this. A good therapist can help you identify the underlying dysfunctional patterns that thwart your opportunity for fulfillment and self-actualization and work with you toward undoing them. Seek out a therapist with whom you feel absolutely comfortable. If you feel hesitant to share your entire self (including your darkest fears and most shameful secrets) with the first therapist you encounter, try another one and another one and another one until you find one who makes you feel safe. You’re his or her boss, no matter how qualified and authoritative the therapist is. If one makes you feel anxious, hesitant to share, or talked down to, put him or her out right on his or her highly-educated, hyper-literate, and oh-so-condescending ass. (Figuratively speaking, of course. Don’t ever give your therapist a literal beating, no matter how much the smug prick may deserve it.)

  As pro ballplayers can attest, instinct is a skill you can improve. The key is to have an awareness of your weaknesses (like repeatedly choosing insensitive, selfish, or shiftless men) and a commitment to overcoming them. In terms of our “programming” metaphor, identifying the problem is the first huge step in correcting it. Your worksheet identifies the gap between what you think you want and what you’re actually experiencing.

  So why are you not getting what you want? There are a couple of possible answers. One is that you aren’t yet perfectly adept at expressing what you want. That’s an understandable dilemma faced by people of both sexes everywhere, and we will address it more in depth in the next chapter. The other potential issue is one more directly related to that little subconscious internal computer we all have.

  Earlier I mentioned the story of a girlfriend, Susan, who always laments how lousy her “luck” has historically been with men. She always dates assholes, and most of them have another consistent characteristic she likes to ignore whenever we discuss her love life—they’re crazy. Not “Joe got drunk last night and did a strip tease on top of the bar while singing the Auburn fight song” crazy. We’re talking “Joe showed up at my house at 3:00 a.m., refused to leave when I wouldn’t let him in, punched two cops when they showed up, and then screamed that he was going to kill me as they pushed him into the squad car” crazy.

  In four successive relationships, Susan “ended up” with guys who were some combination of bipolar, suicidal, hyper-obsessive, narcissistic, autistic, pathological, and sociopathic. None of them were able to relate to others in any way that approximated normal human behavior. The most recent one was a guy I nicknamed “HAL” (short for “Heuristically programmed Algorithmic Computer”) after the homicidal-yet-alarmingly-polite computer in Stanley Kubrick’s seminal 1960 sci-fi film, 2001: A Space Odyssey. If you’ve not seen the movie, this sentient computer aboard a spaceship allows one of the crew to die when he discovers that the crew member intends to shut down his circuits. HAL is a perfect nickname for a guy who never raised his voice much above a whisper, even when he said things that identified him as a perfect case study for the FBI Serial Crimes Unit.

  I recall one occasion when this boyfriend of Susan’s told me he often dreamt of ways in which he was going to die, always in horrifically graphic and grotesque ways. When I sympathized about how troubling those recurring nightmares must be for him, he looked at me quizzically and said, “Why? Those are the happiest dreams I have.”

  Would it surprise you to know that he didn’t take it too well when Susan broke up with him? Would it surprise you to know he still followed her around when she went out, quietly watching her from a table by himself, almost two years later? Did I mention that they only dated for three months? Fortunately, nothing awful happened as a result of this relationship. When her friends found out he’d moved to Montana for a job, we threw him a “Thank God You Are Going Away” party in his absence.

  My friend argues that HAL was harmless, because he never laid a finger on her before or after the relationship, but if I had to place a bet on one guy to win “Most Likely to Have a Crawl Space Full of Dead Prostitutes,” I’d bet on him.

  Susan repeatedly professes to want a nice, normal guy who’s easy-going, treats her kindly, and creates no drama—but then she goes and picks guys who do none of that. I initially thought she was consciously lying about what she wants, but after observing her over time, I think the truth is more troubling. What she really wants (or rather, what her seriously-malprogrammed internal PC wants) is exactly what she gets. She simply has no conscious awareness of it or, equally likely, has conditioned herself to be willfully ignorant of it. I’ve begged Susan to talk to someone about this, but she always dismisses my suggestion.

  “My luck will change some day,” she says. “There is a great guy out there for me. I just have to keep looking.”

  An often-repeated quote attributed to Benjamin Franklin defines insanity as “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” For Susan, insanity is dating the same creep over and over again and expecting him not to end up on America’s Most Wanted.

  Who you get in your love life is right there on the worksheet, and if you get this guy repeatedly, there is a good chance that, no matter how dysfunctional your Mr. Right is, he’s what you really want. If that upsets you, then it’s time to do something about it. Maybe it starts with therapy. Maybe it starts with a trusted religious advisor. But if you’re reading this book for any reason other than recreation, you aren’t happy with your choices.

  In the next chapter, we’ll start to figure out how to stand up to those stupid subconscious computers of ours and demand someone better.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rewriting the Rules – Part One

  While working on my undergrad degree in English Lit at Auburn University, I happened across a little-seen indie movie that shaped not only how I approached ideas and issues in my schoolwork, but also how I approached everything from that point forward. The movie was Surviving Desire, and it detailed the quirky and ultimately doomed romance between a frustrated English professor and a precocious female student. It’s essentially a staged play comprised of philosophical musings, tween angst, and more quirk than most people could reasonably be expected to tolerate, and it’s not for everyone. That said, there is a line in the film that has always stuck with me and proven invaluable, as I’ve approached the many problems (both personal and professional) encountered since.

  The line comes near the end of the movie, as the professor is in class trying to make sense not only of the work by Dostoevsky he teaches, but also of the crushing heartbreak he has just experienced. He’s in a kind of punch-drunk fog that particularly infuriates one student in his class, who just wants information to help him pass the upcoming exam.

  “Tell me something,” the student a
ngrily implores. “Give me answers I can use on the test.”

  The professor muses on this for a moment and then says, “The answers aren’t as important as learning to ask the questions better.”

  This is a recurring theme in our book. In “Buyers and Sellers,” we talked about switching the usual man-centric questions (“Will he call?”) to ones that actually address your needs and desires (“Do I want him to call, and why?”). In the last chapter, we discussed the secret biases that can guide our foolish decisions. Take a hard look at the worksheet you completed, which asks you some important questions.

  What kind of man do I want?

  Am I getting that kind of man?

  If I’m not getting him, why not?

  If I’m close, what changes do I have to make to find true fulfillment?

  If I’m not close, why do I consistently make poor choices in potential mates?

  If I’m completely honest, what do my poor choices reveal about me?

  Again, there aren’t any right or wrong answers here. The idea is to pose questions that make overt the reasons and codes of behavior that have largely remained hidden until now. In Blink, Gladwell points out the power of our subconscious in governing our actions, but that doesn’t mean we’re incapable of change. On the contrary! By asking ourselves the hard questions, we begin to transform who we are.

  One of the most often quoted sayings is actually one of the most misquoted. It’s originally found in George Santayana’s The Life of Reason, and it goes like this:

  “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

  Santayana died six decades before Blink was published, and though it’s based on a different perspective, the quote illustrates the same point found in Gladwell’s work. Failure to acknowledge the underlying forces behind our choices condemns us to a life in stasis, a feedback loop that repeats to infinity.

  Your romantic past is simply that. It’s not bad or good. It simply is. You can choose to view it with resignation or shame over the choices you’ve made. You can refuse to acknowledge that your past even exists. Our democracy ensures your right to remain steadfastly foolish, ridiculous, deluded, and/or self-loathing. If this is your preference, I salute your misguided integrity. It’s probably not too late to exchange this book for a copy of The Rules.

  Tell Amazon I said it was okay.

  There’s another, healthier way to look at your romantic past that doesn’t involve shame or sticking your head in the sand. Instead, look at your past as a fascinating mystery novel, with you as the plucky heroine. Examined closely, your past is positively littered with clues to the great mysteries of the men you choose, why you choose them, why you’re unsatisfied, and what you need to change. Like the movie quote I mentioned says:

  “The answers aren’t as important as learning to ask the questions better.”

  Throughout your life, you’ve been told by countless individuals that there are “rules” about dating. Don’t do this, don’t say that, don’t make the first move, don’t talk about certain things, and don’t express what you really feel. To paraphrase another famous quote, “The world offers an abundance of good advice and a scarcity of good examples.” Do any of those people who insist upon inflexible dating “rules” lead by example? Is there even one ideal relationship to be found among the lot of them?

  As goofy as it is, Fein and Schneider’s dating book does serve two purposes—first (and foremost), as a wellspring of unintended comedy; second, as a pretty good checklist for all of the sexist “rules” you’ve been told. So let’s take another look at some of its “time-tested secrets for capturing the heart of Mr. Right!” (Okay, I added the silly punctuation mark that time, but it seems appropriate.)

  Don’t Talk to a Man First (and Don’t Ask Him to Dance).

  This one is particularly amusing to me, as it flies directly in the face of everything I’ve ever heard from nearly every decent male I’ve ever spoken to. Nearly all of the good guys I’ve encountered in my life (and today I consider myself one of them) have lamented the lack of initiative demonstrated by most women.

  Ladies, I know that at some point in your life, your family or your friends or the dumb gender-biased culture in which you live have reinforced the notion that it’s the man’s responsibility to make the first move. To all of you, I say it’s time to cast off these shackles of dating oppression and stand up and join your sisters worldwide, with your voices united in declaring: Screw that bullshit; I’m gonna introduce myself to that cute guy!

  The very first step in taking control of your future happiness is to do just that—take control. Of everything. And that includes talking to the guys you want to talk to, when you want to talk to them. If the guy is still stuck in the Stone Age and thinks it “improper” or “unladylike” for you to make the first move, encourage him in a proper and ladylike way to get lost. He doesn’t need you; he needs a grey flannel suit, a fedora, and a time machine set for 1954.

  Don’t Stare at Men or Talk Too Much.

  First off, this rule sounds like advice a judge would give someone with a history of stalking charges and pending restraining orders. As a recommendation, it says more about the authors than anyone who might be reading their book. Rule of thumb: if the advice is so creepy that it makes you want to do a background check on the authors, ignore it.

  Don’t Call Him and Rarely Return His Calls.

  In the dating world described by the authors, I guess you’re supposed to get to know New Guy via telekinesis or something. Or maybe they had such a huge beef with AT&T that they tried to launch an insidious anti-phone smear campaign. Hell, maybe the writers were Nostradamus-level prophets who, in 1995, foresaw the emergence of texting, email, and Facebook as the preferred modes of future communication.

  I’m trying to come up with ways to give them the benefit of the doubt, given that this advice is asinine. We still live in a world where humans usually need to get to know each other a little before they have sex, commit to serious relationships, get married, and propagate the species. Since we can’t do this by rubbing our wings together or unfurling our brilliant plumage, talking is pretty important.

  Now I know the authors mostly intend you follow these dumb provisos at the beginning of a relationship, but that seems even more antithetical to common sense. Communication is crucial in the initial stages of courtship. It’s how you differentiate the keepers from the stragglers. If you have little in common with New Guy, he doesn’t seem to listen, he always turns the conversation toward himself, and he doesn’t share your core interests/values/views/etc., don’t waste time on him. There are others out there who represent a better use of your time and energy.

  As we discussed, most of The Rules (the book) and “the rules” (everything you’ve been told you must do as a woman) are predicated on the idea that you need an elaborate smokescreen of mystery, feminine guile, and misdirection to have someone love you. If the authors of the book were honest, they would consolidate all their advice about talking to men and revealing yourself into one all-encompassing rule that reads:

  Do everything you can to avoid letting him know the real you, or you’ll be completely screwed.

  Let me give it to you from the perspective of a guy who doesn’t view courtship as a senseless game of cat-and-mouse: my phone works just like yours, so I assume you’ll use it the same way I do. The encouragement to rarely return calls is particularly irksome. I have a descriptor for that behavior, and it isn’t “mysterious.” It’s “really damned rude.”

  Don’t Accept a Saturday Night Date after Wednesday.

  This is the first bit of advice that, while needlessly arbitrary, is at least based in common sense. Don’t let a man take you for granted. In fact, try not to let anyone take you for granted. You’re a special person and should be accorded respect and admiration for those unique qualities that make you who you are. But that doesn’t mean that any man who calls you after Tuesday to invite you to dinner equates you with a whore turning
tricks in back alleys to feed her meth habit.

  Life is hectic, messy, and imminently flexible. Circumstances change. Setting down immutable rules for anyone’s behavior, especially something as frivolous as the timing of date invitations, is a recipe for frustration and disappointment. As with all the advice in this book, consider the situation rationally and trust your gut. If his invitations to get together seem like an afterthought when other plans fall through, move on. And if the best you can say about him is that his date requests are punctual, also move on.

  Fill Up Your Time Before The Date.

  That’s right, ladies. Don’t circle your apartment in a boy-crazy tizzy for eight hours, before he picks you up. Honestly, I don’t know why the advice stops here. Here are some other helpful similar suggestions the book left out:

  Don’t try to bend time with your mind to make the date come faster.

  Staring into the mirror and saying your date name three times won’t make your date suddenly appear.

  Remember to breathe, both in and out. This is an important survival technique to ensure you’re alive when your date arrives.

  Scrawling “Mr. & Mrs. (Date Last Name)” all over the walls of your apartment in crayon until your date shows up isn’t appropriate.

  Try to distract yourself from the only reason you were put on this earth: to have boys like you.

  In the next chapter, we’ll debunk a few more Rules and “rules” for your edification and entertainment.