Designers are Human: The time I got dumped on Valentine's Day

In honor of Valentine's Day I wanted to take a break from design advice, and share the story of when I was dumped on Valentines Day. While I wish for you to spend the holiday floating on oddly-shaped balloons and swimming in heart shaped candies; if that isn't the case, I hope that you at least get a laugh over my Valentine's Day from Love-Hell...Enjoy:

I met "Johnny" on New Years Eve while out with one of my dearest, and most cynical friends. She knew Johnny and took it upon herself to make sure that we connected that night. Despite her deep rooted belief that love was dead (and may never have been alive to begin with) a part of her really thought that he and I may just be the exception to that rule. This encouragement, paired with a great first impression, had me very interested. So the next day, when he asked me out to my favorite Sushi restaurant, I gladly accepted.

The six weeks that followed were a drunken barrage of “I like you!” - “this is fun!" - with calls, frequent texts, and dates night after night; I soon found myself 40 days in, needing to know:

Was he my boyfriend?

Four days before Valentine's Day, and a couple hours into date number twenty (??) Johnny made a comment which clearly expressed that he had zero plans to spend Valentine's day with me.

...In fact, it was unclear if he even knew the holiday was coming up.

I realize that Valentine's Day is a faux-holiday at best, but when you're six weeks into a new relationship, it's the holy grail of DTR. And if he "doesn't know" that Valentines day is coming up; then that means, that he doesn't give a shit about you (and that's an actual fact).

So there I was, six weeks into this, trying to calculate his lack of comprehension around said holiday and desperately seeking a way to convince myself that he still cared.

However, despite my efforts I couldn't fight the feeling that he, possibly, did not give a single shit about me.

So I did the only thing I could think to do; I brought up the talk:

“Ugh, argh, oh I hate doing this.” I said

“Huh?”said Johnny

“I just, uh, I just... I wasn't going to do this...”

“Lauren, what are you talking about?”

“I need to know what's going on here.” I said

“Oh that's fair” He said “Well, I mean, I like you Lauren. What do you need? To be official on Facebook or something?”

“Facebook?.....No. I don't even have Facebook” I said.

(I really didn't have Facebook at the time)

“Well, what then? I mean, I like you as much as I could like anyone.”**

.

**I-like-you-as-much-as-I-could-like-anyone: Antisocial personality disorder is characterized by a lack of regard for the moral or legal standards in the local culture. There is a marked inability to get along with others or abide by societal rules. Individuals with this disorder are sometimes called psychopaths or sociopaths.

.

Suffice it to say, we spent the next hour with him going back to “What do you need? To be official on Facebook?” and me saying things like “I don't have Facebook, I just want you to be crazy about me.” We clearly were not speaking the same language, so I grabbed my things and left.

Driving home that night, bummed on what had transpired, I wondered if we could go anywhere from here; and as I pulled into my driveway a sweet text from Johnny came through. He said that he hoped this wouldn't be the last time we see each other, that he was happy with us, and then dribbled in a few other sweet words that I have since forgotten. At the time it meant something, and I was happy to rest easy that night; knowing Johnny, I was sure some flowers would come my way the next day.

BUT THEN.

Three days went by.

No text, no call, no email, no facebook, definitely no flowers, nothing.

Looking back now, I think “F*** him, that's over.” but, I liked him.

Yes it was apparent now that he lacked empathy and sympathy, but he had come so highly recommended by such a cynical friend, and (until that night) had regularly expressed more than mutual feelings toward me.

So the three days go by and it's Friday evening:

Text Message: Johnny: “Drinks tonight?”


I should have replied with "Go F*** yourself" or "You're a mouth breather." 
But damnit, I liked him, and wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. So I said yes, and 4 hours later around 9pm, I found myself all dressed up with nowhere to go.

Frustrated, I called to see what was up and he told me that he didn't feel like talking, that he just wanted to have fun with his friends, and wondered if we could do lunch the next day instead.

*Slaps forehead and screams while simultaneously vomiting*

I was at my wits end, but agreed. If nothing else, I wanted closure. So I washed off my makeup, slipped into my sweats, and went to bed.

The next day we were slated for lunch at noon, and this day... was Valentine's Day.

So I woke up, put my makeup BACK ON, got dressed, and waited.

11am: 0 text messages

“shit.” I thought.

So I texted “Where do you want to Grab lunch?”

11:15am: 0 text messages

11:30am: 0 text messages

11:45am: 0 text messages

“Are you f***ing kidding me?” I thought

12:00pm: 1 text message: “Hey, I'm really tired from last night, I'm going to take a nap.”

“ARE YOU F***ING KIDDING ME?!”

So I called him.That very second.

Pacing in my kitchen, livid, feeling like a wadded up piece of trash, I paced. Knowing he was at his phone, and hearing his voicemail pick up my call, I managed the self-respect to hang up before leaving a voicemail riddled with profanities in a pitch you'd only hear from your mother after having crashed her car.

And that was it. End of story. He never returned my call, and I never called him again.

Years later I ran into Johnny on the street, he was eating (by himself) and I recognized him from the back of his head. How I did that, I'll never know. Call it instincts. But as I approached him, I sort of just... stopped, leaned my upper body to the side, and stared him in the eye. It seems a bit odd, my doing this, but considering the situation, a good stare down felt completely normal.

 His eyes sort of jumped when he saw me; unsure of whether he was in for a beating or not. But, he wasn't. I was kind, and then I walked away. The fantasy of pulverizing our exes is much stronger in our minds. In reality, who we truly are shines through... 

and Thank God I was wearing my good jeans as I walked away.

Xxo, L