He asked me out and said it’d be the best night of my life.

“Are you dating any other people besides me?” He asked, on our first date.

“Yeah, you know, I’m getting out there,” I said.

“Are you having sex with them?”

“No,” I assured him, thinking he’d be delighted.

“None of them?!” He was aghast.

“No.”

“You’re not even giving them hand jobs!?” He exploded.

“Well, you know, I’m just sort of in the getting to know them phase.” I explained.

“Soooo…These guys are spending their hard-earned money on you and you’re not even giving them a hand jobs?!” He was practically shouting. “You don’t think that’s just a little cunty?”

I laughed but he wasn’t laughing.

“What? Does the word cunt make you uncomfortable?! People like you fascinate me. How could you give a word such power?! It’s a little, tiny word. You’re what’s wrong with America!”

He seemed to take it deeply personally that I wasn’t out hand-jobbing it up on every corner.

“You’re so guarded!” he concluded.

On our second date, he told me his dad was verbally abusive and would make everyone uncomfortable so he felt completely at ease in uncomfortable situations. He sort of took pride in it. He told me about the time that he insulted a girl so badly she started crying on a night out with mutual friends. He said this unapologetically, just as if he was telling me he had played hockey in high school. He also told me all about the girl who’d broken his heart when she cheated on him and that being around pretty girls actually made him feel like he was being punched in his stomach.

“So that’s what all this is about,” I thought, “He thinks I’m pretty!”

One after the other, the dark secrets tumbled out of his mouth like crippled little acrobats from the Darkness Olympics.

Truth be told, if hanging around and being called a cunt could fix what had been broken by his angry dad, the girl who’d cheated on him, and the pretty girls punching his stomach with their beauty, I probably would’ve kept doing it. But I guess being called a cunt can really only sustain a relationship for so long.

Around this time he started sending me mixed signals by getting a girlfriend. “Two can play that game!” I thought, and I got to know his girlfriend as well. (She was pretty terrific.) I hope he found all the hand jobs he was looking for… and to this day, I still never ever have sex on the first date unless I am raped.

QUIZ:

When a guy calls you a cunt and/ or cunty on a first date do you:

a) Tell him that no amount of hand jobs will fill his pain hole.
b) Tell him that the only hand job he’ll be getting that night is from himself.
c) Focus on the fact that he’s wearing a suit and have another vodka.
d) Go out with him again and try not to be such a cunt this time.

This story is from my album “The Accidental Bisexual.” You can download it on iTunes: http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/the-accidental-bisexual/id411639526

To see it performed with a live audience go here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3uDW47IQRcg

There’s no way you can move on when all the sordid details of a break up are still floating around in your brain. So get it on the page and let it go. Have you tried this? It’s awesome. This is the letter you’re never going to send. Write everything you hated, loved, miss about the situation, everything you wish it could’ve been, all the stuff you wanted to say but couldn’t, etc. The point of this letter is just to get everything out, free flow. Don’t get tripped up on “doing it right” or even spelling it right. You can spell check it later if need be but you may choose not to since you’re the only person who’ll ever see it. You’ll feel lighter and better, I promise.

Sample letter:

Dear Fuk-nuts,

I really thought we had a connection but then I realized that you are a robot. It’s hard to snuggle with a robot. Your metal encasing is so cold. You remind me of Edward Scissorhands in a lonely castle on a hill cutting anyone who tries to get close to you. I gave you my heart and you pulverized it like it was a beet for your vegetable smoothie. Additionally, I really miss kissing you, our walks, our talks and our travels and I’m so grateful for all that we learned and shared together. I especially want to thank you for inspiring my blog, which makes me so happy to write each day.

Sincerely,

You’re Ridiculous, Don’t Contact Me

There is no right way to write this letter. Grief has four stages and comes in all shapes and sizes. So just let it flow. One sentence may be very complimentary while the next may be the worst insult you can think of. Such is the kaleidoscope of human emotions. Just get the poison out and move on without judging it or you, sister-lady or man-fellow!

When you’re done go out and do 10 things that make you feel amazing.

Here are some things I did and loved:

—Took a hike at Griffith Observatory.
—Went to Detox Day Spa in Silverlake for an awesome facial/ massage combo with Asia & Julia (sounds like Wendy & Lisa from Prince but was not like that at all.)
—Signed on to go to a weekend retreat with my pals (@ardenmyrin, @kateflan & more) in Ojai. (Ojai-five!)
—Had a clothing swap with some really groovy ladies (@janiehaddad, @mariathayer, @aliontheair, @aimeemann, @carolinewphoto) & cleaned out and de-cluttered my whole house and got a few new items worth writing home about.
—Went on some dates and wore said new items.
—Made a vision board of my ideal relationship and posted the “ideal qualities” list smack-dab in the center of it for reference.
—Watched videos of Tom Waits & Mitch Hedberg performances.
—Made a plan to shoot a web series with Drew Droege (@glittergarbage.)
—Started blogging!!!

Your list might look like this:

—Swim with dolphins.
—Swim with whales.
—Swim with sharks.
—Go bungee jumping in the Outback.
—Zip line from your background to your neighbor’s.
—Take up karate and horse wrestling.
—Plant a garden while on hallucinogens.
—Build a boat from scratch.
—Change your name.
—Join the witness relocation program.

Let me know how it works out for you. Seriously, I love your comments. They make my day! Xox, Melinda