A Facebook Boyfriend?

The last time I was “In a Relationship” with someone on Facebook was in college. I was 21 and you still had to have a college or corporate email address to join and the basic features were cool, not stalkerish or relationship-destroying.

We were Romeo and Juliet.  Well, okay, not exactly, but definitely from different groups. As one of my friends delicately put it, “isn’t he, like, popular?” Why, yes, yes he is and he’s MY boyfriend. On Facebook nonetheless.

This morning – five years later – I woke up and like 28% of 18-34-year-olds, I checked Facebook on my Crackberry before even getting out of bed and had a request. “Rebel has requested you to add him as your boyfriend.”

Well, crap.

I wasn’t too shocked, so I suppose I should rewind to explain how we got here.  Spoiler alert:  This es no bueno.

It took a week after our fight for him to break the ice and attempt to put things back together and another week to find time to hang out.  Monday was the first time I saw him since the walk out and I meant to “break up” with him.  I say “break up” because I don’t feel like we were ever together, least of all now. 

But, he came over with a nice bottle of wine and a plan for a great date, so yeah, I didn’t break up with him and instead accepted his invite of another date on Wednesday.  Last night, Rebel and I stayed in and finally had the talk I attempted two weeks ago, but that I didn’t really care about having anymore.

He said lovely things, but they just can’t change how I feel about him or the things I’m looking for or the fact that, at least for now, he’s not those things and I kinda told him that, but he still thought it a good idea to end the conversation with, “and I’d like you to be my girlfriend.” And I kept very quiet.  It wasn’t actually a question after all.

Ugh.  So now what?  The request is just hanging there.  And yes, he already has friends “liking” and commenting on his update. 

I could have avoided this all together if I had cut it off back in December when I knew that’s where it was heading.  I’m so bad at being the dumper.  And after having jerks in my boyfriend spot for so long, it’s nice to have someone, well, nice, which makes me feel very UN-NICE for wanting to tow him out, especially now in such a public way.


Having a Boyfriend Is No Excuse to Dress Like a Slob…or Is it?

NOT that I have a boyfriend.  That title is just moving too fast.  From henceforth, I shall refer to him as “the guy I slept with on the second date after knowing he existed for a week but only actually knowing him for three days” because THAT’S not moving too fast, but calling him my boyfriend after a month of seeing each other almost every day, two days being the max time apart because he went on a four-day trip, but I saw him the morning he left and the night he came back, now THAT is too fast.

Got that?  Good.  Now moving on.

When I met TGISWOTSDA- KHEFAWBOAKHFTD I was wearing a skirt.  On our first date, I wore a skirt.  On the infamous second date, I wore a dress. Basically, we live in an amazing climate and dresses and skirts are my go-to just about year-round. 

A few weeks in (also known as a few weeks ago), I worried that I was coming off as high maintenance by wearing such girly things all the time because so many people associate dresses with being dressy and rarely understand how low-key they actually are. 

However, after one of our romps, I redressed with amazing speed and he became a believer and now fully agrees that dresses are the best thing to happen to women’s wardrobes since the thong (although, this begs the question of which came first…the ass-hugging dress or the panty-line-reducing g-string?).

So, then I started worrying that I was setting the bar too high, since dresses are indeed cute, sexy AND low maintenance.  What happens when mama wants to wear jeans or hasn’t shaved her legs?  Just kidding, non-boyfriend, I will ALWAYS shave my legs because I will ALWAYS be ready for one of our amazing sessions.

a sweatshirt dress is the obvious solution

The other night, post-stressful day and post-spin class, I was craving some sweats.  I was also heading to his house to make dinner and catch up on some DVR, which are totally sweats-appropriate activities, but I worried…are we THERE?  First worried that we WEREN’T and he would be horrified that I downgraded so quickly from flirty skirts to sweats, then worried that we WERE and had sped through dating-stage and got to sweat-stage so fast.

It was then that I realized that you’re only at sweat-stage if you choose to be.  And that T*Party yoga pants work wonders for BOTH the ass-loving man and the comfort-loving woman.