Saturday, March 19, 2011

Secret Agent Relationship

I could, in my spare time (if I had any), probably moonlight for the FBI as a search-analyst-thingy-whatsit. Case in point: When TGIS got a job offer that seemed a little too good to be true and asked me what to do, what was my snap judgement call? "Google the SHIT out of the company and the employer." It ended up being a scam, so it was a win for the home team all around, but still, the fact that I openly shared my love of Googling "the SHIT" out of people was probably not the most clever character trait reveal in the world, or in my relationship.

So note to self (and rest of female population), if you have the power: Looking up the ex-girlfriend is not completely heartening, yet you will always, always keep doing so, you silly little sucker for masochism. It's like we're playing an imaginary game of "Me versus Your Ex" with an invisible scoreboard and everything, but the only problem is, there is no umpire to tell us what's fair, and what are are fouls.

I know there's the whole "it's in the past and ended for a reason; who's with each other now?" argument, but really, when a woman gets into the information-gathering bend or starts thinking about The Women That Came Before, since when is sanity or logic ever heeded or considered a pertinent fact to listen to?

The other day, it came up that the ex of the guy I'm seeing got him possibly the best, most ingenious, most perfect thing he could ever receive for his birthday back in the day. I sat in stunned silence for a minute, thinking about any way I could ever top that, and drew a complete blank. I laid down my sword then and admitted defeat to her-- I can never and will never be or replace her, but I noted some other things, too: I may never be able to come up with such a great present as that was, but I did just randomly pick him up two shea butter shaving cream samples, just because, and I can and do buy him drinks when I'm flush to repay him for all the times he buys them for me, and give him random, because-I-feel-like-it-and-because-you-need-it massages, and will let his friends come over and hang out, and not once but twice this past week he told me how nice I was to him and how much he appreciates it. And I LET HIM USE MY INSTANT NETFLIX (that's when you know it's serious-- sharing Netflix's viewing suggestions). So, in other words, I must have some redeeming qualities for him to have some reason to want to be with me, even if my idea of the perfect gift is a a bottle of men's facial moisturizer so he stops using mine, or a trip down to Atlantic City to visit the craps tables on the casino floor.

Hey. We can't all be perfect. And when I start feeling particularly masochistic about the women in the past, I remember a few things that always make me feel better: Just like I probably have some habits that annoy the ever-living shit out of the guy I'm with, they probably had some habits that annoyed him even more; and, when in doubt, I could probably whup their asses at writing grammatically proper sentences, or when to use a comma versus a semi-colon. It's really the little wins in life.


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