People like talking about love on Valentine’s Day, as if it always works out and doesn’t involve massive amount of pain for people. Sure sometimes it works out for you, but just as often, you get hurt and you stay out drinking until 6am to feel better, and wind up in a bar where someone is throwing up and being louder then a jet engine. Anyway, getting dumped: it sucks!
The worst one that happened to me hurt so much because it was so unexpected. I’d been hanging out with a girl for few weeks and thought everything was going just fine. That is until one night after a night of drinking capped off with dinner at a Bushwick falafel joint, I asked her if she wanted to go to a show later that week. Only to have her start with the “I really really want to just go back to being friends” shpiel while we stood in cold outside the food place. That one is tame, especially compared to these other horror stories from Brokelyn contributors, but if you’ve never been dumped out of freaking nowhere in the middle of winter while the fluorescent lights of a cheap falafel place shone on you, you should consider yourself lucky. Because that shit hurts. But maybe not as much as these stories.
Graphic designers: Nothing but trouble
When I moved up here I was in a relationship for about a year. We decided to keep trucking to see if we could do the long distance thing. We made plans that he was going to come up from Texas for Valentine’s Day, but the weekend before I had a work party and after blacking out, slept with one of our graphic designers. He was, sadly, irresistible. I was going to just keep it from my dude, as we were already on the rocks and I figured this his trip was going to be our last hoo-rah before we made a dignified break up.
Well the dignified break up turned into me getting belligerent and us getting into a fight in the LES, and me vengefully confessing that I just cheated on him a week before. He left sad and broken hearted, while I soon got fired for sleeping with the graphic designer after word got around the office, since we had signed a contract saying that we wouldn’t have sexual relations with any co-workers. Apparently the company had had issues before with this, and i signed without considering. So all in all, it was like a break up chain: I broke up with him because of a fling with a graphic designer, but work broke up with me because of a fling with a graphic designer.
-Anonymous female Team Brokelyn member
Crocodile Dundee 3: Australia Strikes Back
My most disastrous dumping (or at least, the one that left the freshest scar) was a few years ago, when I was dating an Australian girl who had been living in New York for a few months. She had to leave the country to renew her visa, so she flew back to Australia, but the plan was that she would come back to New York under a student visa within 6 months. We decided that since it was such a short time to do it, we’d go long-distance. A month later, I learned that my job wanted to send me to Australia to work at a client. And not just the continent, but I’d be in the exact city where my girlfriend was living for 3 weeks! I told her the exciting news over one of our Skype phone calls and had every indication this would be great.
So when the time finally came, everything started going wrong.On my flight to LA, I accidentally broke my only set of headphones on the first 10 minutes of the trip. My second leg was from LA to Sydney, and by the time I landed, it was 7am the next morning. My hotel didn’t have my room ready, so I was forced to sit around outside for a few hours, unable to shower from the filth of roughly 24 hours of travel. A few hours later, my girlfriend came down to see me, and I got a pretty chilly welcome. I said, “So, are you happy to see me?” and she said, “I don’t think I want to be in a relationship right now.” That was literally within the first 5 minutes of our meeting. But it got worse, because I didn’t know anyone in Sydney, so I still hung out with her while I was there. One of the nights when we were walking around, she started telling me a story about some DJ her friends set her up with on a date the previous month…while we were supposedly still going out long-distance. That’s when I found out she hadn’t told anyone there that she was in a relationship. Ugh, and it had to be a DJ, too!
Bumpy road to love
2008, a summer of love. My new boyfriend and I were both interning in NYC, and we spent blissful sweaty days at McCarren Park pool parties and spending all of our student loan money on PBR. Everything was going great, until one day at a free Deerhoof show in Prospect Park, he said the one sentence that every girl dreads hearing… “I found some bumps on my penis.”
He implied that I gave him herpes, and suggested that we take a break. I spent the next few weeks crying and taking morose walks through the West Village while listening to “New York, I Love You” on repeat. He called a few weeks later to say that he went to the free clinic and the doctor told him that it was just ingrown hairs.
The relationship never recovered.
Proximity doesn’t mean closeness
My boyfriend and I dated four years, two of which were long-distance between New York and New Orleans. Despite my great pains to get him to move here, he never could pull the trigger, so we broke up. Then, eight months later, he called me to announce he was moving to New York to get a job at my best friend’s company. When we finally met up for lunch after two weeks of radio silence, he told me he just wanted to be friends.
Surprise! I hate you!
Three and a half years ago, I started school outside of Boston, and while there I met an awesome girl–an urban planner–and fell madly in love–with her, with cities, and with life in general. We made salsa verde from the tomatillos we harvested from her backyard garden, we backpacked through southern Mexico on a whim, she turned me onto indie music–the whole nine yards. Two years later, I relocated to Amsterdam to write my master’s thesis. I’d have stayed longer, applied to jobs in earnest, and maybe even started a life there, but the girl and I were still dating, and I loved her too much to stay. So I flew back to see her a month and a half later–a surprise, for Valentine’s Day. I got us a nice hotel room, I brought flowers (tulips, of course, having just come back from the Netherlands), and surprised her during her lunch break on a park outside of where she worked on an unseasonably warm February weekday. She hated it.
I just flew across an ocean for her, in exchange, she fought with me. We kept dating for another few months, during which I went out of my way to visit her frequently in DC as I looked for work in cities from the New England home base of my parent’s place. But she’d inevitably pick a fight every time I came down to see her. I even went to her friend’s destination wedding with her down in South Carolina, but without fail, on the first night, she took me out on the beach, away from the rest of our group, to yell at me for not being a good enough boyfriend. Having been sold on the merit of cities by her, I was super excited that things started to fall into place for me on the job front in New York–perhaps the ultimate American city–but as soon as they did, she passive-aggressively–and somewhat out of the blue–informed me that she “could never live in New York.” So when she finally made the effort to come visit me for the first time and, like clockwork, picked another fight, I called things like they were, and, just like that, we ended it. She immediately started dating someone else–which, hey, being a decent person, I was very supportive of–and I, the better part of a year later, have yet to fall in love again. And the beginning of the end all started with Valentine’s Day, the greatest holiday ever.
Yikes! We’re sure you guys have horrible breakups of your own, so share with us in the comments, so we don’t feel so very alone.