The Crying Game

After about 5 months of dating, Shrek's eyebrows were starting to grow together into one unibrow. It was gross.

Well, maybe not as gross as the fact that he cleaned his ears with a car key. And probably not as gross as all those times he spit phlegm into half empty soda bottles which he forgot to throw away for weeks, leaving a nasty culture of whatever lurks in his throat. And definitely not as gross as that really gross thing he once did that I told BJA about earlier. But, it was still pretty nasty.

I waited for about 2 months before I finally said something about the unibrow. By this time it was Bert from Sesame Street bad. I suggested he get it waxed into two distinct eyebrows, the kind most non-neanderthals have. My suggestion did not exactly go over well. There was no way he was going to get his eyebrows waxed. That was for chicks. He didn't want to look like a chick with thin, arched eyebrows. I explained that they would not give him girl eyebrows, but he still refused to go.

His male boss told him the next day that I was right about his unibrow (God bless this man), so he came back to me and asked me to get him an appointment to have it waxed. Luckily, I had an appointment later that week, so I called up and they were willing to squeeze him in right after me.

When we arrived to the appointment, he was nervous, so I asked if he could come back with me and watch me get mine done first, thinking he would see that it wasn't too bad. Sure enough, watching me get my eyebrows done put his nerves at ease for when he got his done.

Until the first rip. He started crying. Crying! I don't mean the few reflexive tears that an eyebrow waxing sometimes produces either. I mean all out crying about how much it hurt.

God, I remember this scene so vividly. The relaxing mood music playing softly in the background. Several small, white candles warmly glowing in an otherwise dimly lit room. The smell of lavender and sage hanging in the air. A 6'5", 230lb man crying hysterically about how much pain he was in. A confused and slightly frightened esthetician exchanging awkward looks with me.

He managed to get through the entire process (which was really only like 2 minutes) without running out, but he spent the next three weeks telling everyone how I made him get his eyebrows done. And it was the most painful thing, ever. And that I had no idea how much it hurt. Um, hello? I got mine done right in front of him beforehand.

He resolved to shave his unibrow, thus leaving two uneven eyebrows and some thick stubble between them.

His asinine belief that his rip shod shaving job was on par with the professionals was beyond incorrect, beyond loser. It was pathetic. And his eyebrows, effectively reduced to caterpillars chasing each other through some sparsely populated forests, looked foolish.

But nevermind that, at least I didn't have to see him cry again.

Somebody Save Me

Yay for a joint post!

BJA

Disclaimer: This isn't the happiest post.

I had a horrible habit while dating String Bean that I'm disappointed to look back on now. I let him get away with most of the ways he treated me because I thought I needed to save him. My mom called it "broken-wing syndrome." My brother did it with one of his girlfriends, so this isn't simply a habit of women to pick up a partner who has the best of times just as often as the worst of times.

Let me actually explain a few things. String Bean was messed up in the head. He claimed it had to do with where he went to high school and a certain incident that happened on April 20, 1999... most of you should know what that was. He was injured. Plus his parents were divorced, he lived in a volatile family life with no one to look up to (including one uncle who had a restraining order from the rest of the family). He used his past as an excuse to treat me badly. Or maybe I simply used it as an excuse. He was hurtful, violent, judgemental, and possessive. He cheated, lied, yelled, drank, and mentally abused me in ways that today I know I would never accept.

I wish someone had shook me when I dated him and told me how many better guys are out there. Even then, I look back and people I knew did try to help me see it. My parents, his parents, his brother, his friends, my friends... they all told me that he wouldn't change. But I wanted so badly to believe that this man I had fallen in love with, the man I had watched myself grow and change along with and who I had seen what I thought was progress in... I couldn't believe he wasn't the man I "knew" he could be. I was so caught up with the fact that he just had to be the person I thought he was when I first met him - funny, creative, liked going on walks, made me laugh, gave me gorgeous jewelry, danced with me - that I was willing to wait through it all to be the one there for him when he finally acheived it.

I didn't realize that I was trying to be his savior. And the real kicker? I lost friends over it. I lost friends who couldn't bear to see how he treated me and how I treated myself with him. They told me time and time again and I came up with excuses. I thought they were reasons at the time, but they were nothing but excuses.

He cheated because his last girlfriend cheated and he can't open up to women. - No, he cheated because he had no respect for our relationship.

He lied because he had taught himself to cover up his true feelings and didn't want to hurt me. - Nope, he was a compulsive liar who had been lying so long he couldn't stop. And he just didn't want me to know.

He was abusive because he harbored pain and aggression from the shooting. - False. He was abusive because I took it. Because I stood up to him and was in his way.

He drank because he hid his pain through alcohol and hadn't learned to control it. - Wrong again. I even had the stupidity to tell him that song line, "whenever you need something strong, baby, just let me know." If I knew then what I know now...

To any girls who have gone through this - you can't change him. You can't save him. He has to save himself. You can believe all you want that you are the one who will give him the opportunity, the reason, the motivation to change. But you'll be wrong. When he wants to change, he will. But until then you will be hit, abused, cheated on, and otherwise treated as less than the woman you are.

To guys - most of you will never be like this. And I thank God for that. Yeesh, even the guys featured on this blog for the most part will never reach this level of loserex. I mean abusive guys are scraping the barrell!

I don't know what made me write this today. I started talking to an ex of mine and we talked about what we learned from each other and whether or not we learned the MOST from each other. And I have to say, the one who taught me the most about life and love, relationships and myself, was String Bean.

The benefits of this type of blog is we women can vent about things that drove us crazy in our previous relationships. (See CrazyHo for the newly birthed guy version.) Some are the quirky habits that guys can change of course, some are ones that are specific to certain dead beats who most would not imitate, and some are things that perhaps we couldn't deal with, but another girl might. (Think fajitas, early morning booty calls, and tattoos.)

A real man would never do the things String Bean did. No excuses, no reasons, no meds. And I am so happy I figured that out before my boobs started to sag.




RGB

It would be very easy for me to write my horror story of dating Shrek. He was not a good person. There are very few people I honestly feel this way about. In fact, other than Shrek, there is only one person I know personally who I would say is not a good person. While I was dating him, I didn't believe this. I honestly thought that his behavior was a result of his less than ideal upbringing, but that it wasn't ingrained in him -- it wasn't an unchangeable part of his character. I thought he was just waiting for someone to come along and help him. I thought I was going to be the person to do that. By dating him and by tolerating his completely unacceptable behavior, I thought I was saving him. I was really just enabling him.

But, as it has been said before, this is "LoserEx," not "Why My Ex is Going to Rot in Hell." I'm not going to talk about him. The point of my blurb is not to tell the world that Shrek is a horrible person -- everyone else seemed to pick up on that pretty quickly. My point is that you cannot change someone.

On a less serious note: when I met Fred, I saw a lot of things a couldn't stand, but I thought I saw potential to mold him in to the person I wanted to date. Fred was unattractive, slightly overweight, dressed like a retarded child and had absolutely no clue how to behave himself in public.

I thought I would start by pressing the clothing issue. I gave several gentle hints that I did not like the way he dressed. In fact, look back a couple of years on the blog and take note of how many "what not to wear" entries there are. When the gentle hints didn't work, I tried buying him clothes I liked. He would wear them and claimed to like them, yet he never bought similar clothes when left to do his own shopping. I finally banned certain articles of clothing. Specifically the Hawaiian shirts and jorts. He stopped wearing them for a few weeks, then picked right back up again. My grade for changing his fashion sense: F

While this was going on, I decided to work on the area of his appearance as well. Granted, what Fred really needs is a chin implant, but I would never tell someone to get cosmetic surgery. His jaw line was weak and feminine. A chin implant would have given him a better profile and balanced out his other features. Anyway, since I couldn't really bring this up, I tried to suggest other things: a better haircut, bleaching his teeth (they were the nastiest shade of yellow you can imagine), clipping his nails, not washing his face with old spice body wash. He listened to none of my suggestions. My grade for changing his appearance: F

After dating for several months, Fred really started to pack on the pounds. Granted, he was never thin, but HOLY CRAP did he get big. I suggested we do several activities together such as, rock climbing, hiking, joining the new (and really nice) gym next to his apartment and running. He shot down all of my ideas. I would even go to the gym in his apartment building, thinking he would feel motivated to come along. Instead, he spent this time playing on his computer. My grade for changing his weight: F

The worst of all was his inability to behave in any social situation. He was loud, make inappropriate comments and basically was unaware of what everyone else was doing. There is not enough room on the internet for me to mention all the times he proved this. Basically, every time I thought I had him trained enough for a certain social situation, I ended up being wrong. I'll write an entry about this soon, but really, there are too many to mention now. My grade for changing his ability to behave in public: F

Yes, these examples are trivial compared to my problems with Shrek. But, seriously, if stupid trivial behaviors like these can't be changed, it is foolish to think that major character flaws can be.

Fuzzy Wuzzy Was a Bear

One thing I cannot stress enough to guys concerned about how they look naked - suck it up and get a wax. I know perhaps guys can't help it when they're hairy, nor do I blame them. But here's the thing, if it bother's you - go all out and get it fixed.


Sasquatch was just generally hairy. Hence, his nickname. Again, I don't fault him for being a hairy guy, it's in his genes. But what made it uber awkward was that he would try to shave his shoulders, which, I guess, was the part he most despised.


The problem with strategically shaving parts of your hairy body comes when you put clothes ON. Sasquatch's t-shirts would catch on his shoulder stubble, and ride up. I was constantly having to fix it so that he didn't look like he was wearing a stupid muscle shirt.


Side note: Muscle shirts are always stupid. No excuse. You look like a fool.



I felt bad for Sasquatch. Half the time I was with him I felt like I was covered in dog hair and I had to remind myself... no you're dating a Yeti. (Don't think I'm being mean, I told him as such, and in turn he called me his Midget. Fair game here, ya'll. I'm not evil.) It's a little gross to get up and wonder where all the random disgusting hair came from.

Another side note: If you're this hairy, clean your damn shower often and consistently. It's friggin gross when it covers you, your bed, AND you bathroom when you don't take the time to wax, change your sheets every night, or clean the damned bathroom.

Back to my main point. Get a wax. Painful as all hell, and you'll be red for a day or two. But ya'll play football and hockey and whatnot. Isn't the motto no pain no gain? Well here's a new one for you to work with.

No pain, no game.

Wash that man right out of my hair

In honor of Sanjaya getting kicked off American Idol last night, we figured we'd have an open forum on the hair sins of our many exes. If you want to discuss the hair sins of an ex, please feel free to contribute by emailing us your stories. Or post them in the comments. That works too.

PS I hated Sanjaya. His hair annoyed me.

CCG
I am pretty particular about hair. All hair, but since I don't date women, this post will only be about men's hair. I decided last night, while flipping through Cosmo and watching TV, that I only like men with low-maintenance hair. I don't like "chickenhead", I don't like men with long hair, I don't like men who use excessive products in their hair.

I pay $75 for a haircut. I use $25 shampoo and conditioner and designer straightening cream with my $150 flat iron. Let's not even talk about my highlights. But this is okay because my hair is gorgeous and I am a girl. I don't like girly men. A man should pay no more than $15 for a haircut. He should spend no more than 30 seconds doing his hair in the morning.

My preferred male hair look might just be bald. On the right body, a bald head is really hot (see also: Bruce Willis). It is also manly and I go for really masculine men. But if a man isn't going to go all the way, I like it as short and low-maintenance as possible (officer/gentleman has the best hair possible--he buzzes it at Ranger Joe's and then doesn't mess with it).

There hair sins of my exes are numerous: ponytails, bad coloring, excessive product use, waiting too long for a haircut. But generally speaking:

- No, your ponytail was not hot. Chicks did not dig you with long hair. I never knew you when you had a ponytail but judging from the fact that your hair is now sort greasy and corse, I seriously doubt the "I got out of the shower, put my wet hair in a ponytail that trailed down my back and got on my motorcycle" was a good look for you. Your hair probably had nasty trailer park split ends and was greasy-looking and made you look like you work at the sleazy motorcycle repair shop. You are a frickin' attorney and a very impressive one at that. You have a great job and make great money and look incredible in your Brooks Brothers suits. I thank God you realized that and cut your hair. I also thank God there are no pictures of the offending ponytail that I have to look at.

- No, I do not have any hair gel you may use. If we go on vacation, you are obligated to bring your own grooming products. I don't ask you for a tampon. Also, I don't even use hair gel! Look at my hair--is it sticky and tacky like yours? Then chances are good I do not use your nasty Xtreme Sport hair gel.

- No, your hair does not look good "highlighted" with a bottle of peroxide. It looks brassy, damaged, splotchy and orange. You are very attractive with dark hair--that is why I am dating you. Please don't change that without consulting me first. And NEVER take hair tips from your friend Joe.

- You need a hair cut. Don't even take the time to ask me, just go to supercuts. Chances are if you noticed today, I noticed around this time last week.

- You need to shave. See how red my face and cheeks are? I am not flushed with passion.

- And a final note on body hair. I go through great discomfort and expense to remove mine. You are a big fan of when I do this. The absolute least you can do is take your clippers to the three Bs. Or I know my spa does mens waxing too--I can make two appointments at once. Also, hair coming out of your nose and ears may be a fact of life but for heaven's sake TRIM IT! There is no way in hell I am going to make out with you when I am afraid the monster coming out of your nose is going to bite me in the face.

RGB
I have been fortunate in that no one I have dated actually had bleached hair while we were dating. I did however have a very close call. Shrek was from an area that was rather, um, what's the tactful way of saying "trashy," again? Oh, yeah, rural. Shrek was from a very rural area.

His senior year of high school (before I knew him -- we didn't meet until college), he decided, for some reason completely unknown to me, that he should bleach his hair. Shrek had naturally dark brown hair, so bleached-white was not exactly the best color on him. But nevertheless, he let his 9 year-old cousin do the honor of combing bleach through his hair over the bathtub.

She missed a few spots, but they "weren't noticeable." I really don't know if they were or not because, I did not know him at the time. However, I would imagine that dark brown spots in a white-blond head of hair are, in fact, rather noticeable. But, that's neither here nor there.

I guess the "ladies" of the area in which he grew-up have different taste in men than I do because, Shrek insisted that they totally threw themselves at him even more than usual for the time that his hair was bleached (I think this is a load of crap. Shrek was pretty delusional about his own attractiveness). He therefore rationalized that bleached hair looked good on him. I am grateful I did not know him at the time.

- Oh, and Ex 2 (Fruit Fly) had blue hair before I met him. He wanted to dye it again while we were dating. That got a big "hell no" from me.

- A note on the nose hair issue: please, for the love of all that is good, get some nose hair clippers. I hate when guys decide to take care of their nose hair with a full size pair of scissors -- that's some scary stuff!

- Don't use my shampoo. It was expensive.

- If your hairstyle requires gel, you have a women's haircut.

CMS

Now, I want to preface this by saying that I am pretty open to all kinds of hairstyles in guys, with the obvious exception of super-gelled oh-my-god-are-you-in-the-mafia type hair. I even have a certain affinity for kind of longish, shaggy hair—but not the emo look-at-me-I’m-so-alternative shaggy hair with the side-swept bangs and (probably) streaks of some color not normally found in nature. (Seriously, emo kids make me want to either rip my own eyes out or kidnap them and lock them in a room with puppies and kittens and butterflies while playing nothing but Jimmy Buffet until they suddenly develop the urge to join the cheerleading squad.) But anyway, the point of this is that it’s pretty difficult to have hair so bad that it makes me mad.

But that doesn’t mean that it’s not possible. One of my ex’s (the one who didn’t know how to order wine, if you remember him) had bad hair when we were actually dating. He always gelled it so it stood straight up a la Ryan Cabrera. He also had a weird hairline—it was really uneven and sort of squiggled across his forehead. I guess that wasn’t really his fault, but he managed to emphasize it with his stupid gelled hair. Anyway, his hair was bad back then, but not bad enough as to be a deal breaker.

However, I saw him a few months ago, and his hair has taken a turn for the worst. Apparently, he thought it was a good idea to dye his hair the same color as his skin. So now when he gels his hair straight up, you can’t tell where his forehead ends and his hair begins. His hair looks like an extension of his forehead—like the Elephant Man or something. Just trust me, its bad. To add to this, he has decided to try to grow a full beard, but his facial hair is really patchy so he has weird bald spots all through his beard. It looks like the beard a malnourished hobo would grow.

-As a final note, I’d like to say that I don’t have a problem with facial hair per se. On some people, it looks really good. But please, please, for the love of God and all that is holy, if your facial hair grows unevenly or not at all in some places, shave. Seriously, it’s a sign from God that you are not supposed to have facial hair. Just embrace your babyface and move on.

He's a Little Strange, But I'll Keep Him

My current boyfriend has rather strange ideas about clothing and general appearances. I'll document a few of them quickly.

His Own Appearance:

I don't think this boy owns anything that didn't come from the thrift store. While he has made some pretty good finds there, most of it consists of t-shirts that were probably free in the first place. So basically, he's paying for a shirt that the original owner got for free, which I think negates the utility of the thrift store.

He also does not own a single pair of jeans. He wears only khakis. This alone would not bother me (hey, I like khakis), but he only has 3 pairs of them and all have holes and grass stains all over them. Whenever he goes out and wants to look nice, he wears the least holey pair of khakis and the same pink striped button-down shirt. The shirt itself isn't bad, but it is really thin and he never wears an undershirt with it. So, in certain lights, you can see through it.

My Appearance:

My current hates it when I straighten my hair. He says that it looks so much better when it is wavy. Now, I'm the type of girl who straightens her hair everyday, so at first I refused to stop. I mean, I like my hair better straight--my natural hair texture is that strange mixture of straight and wavy that just looks unkempt. But after months of hearing him complain about it, I finally relented and retired my hair straightener.

Recently, he saw me wearing my glasses, because my contacts were bothering me. So now he's decided that my glasses are the cutest thing ever and that I should start wearing them all the time. This is one thing that will never happen. I hate my glasses. Hand to God, I look like Mary from Its a Wonderful Life if she had never met George Bailey.

Resolutions you should have made.

Sorry for the lapse in posting, the holiday hustle-and-bustle has gotten to the contributors of LoserEx. We will return in the New Year with more bitching and moaning, but until then, here is a joint post of resolutions you should have made all those years ago. Who knows, maybe if you had made them then, we would have been kissing you tomorrow night (but this is highly unlikely).

1. Learn to drive. This applies to a couple of people. Actually, it should be a broader category of attain necessary accoutrements for driving (ie, a driver's license, insurance and a car).
2. Wipe your ass thoroughly after taking a crap. I shouldn't even have to say this one.
3. Learn to speak, read and write English. All of live here, most of you were actually born here. Become familiar with our native tongue.
4. Stop stealing silverware, etc from restaurants. It only drives up prices that our current boyfriends have to pay to take us out. Don't make them look cheap.
5. This is sort of a long the same lines but stop stealing scrubs from the damn emergency room. Ever wonder why there's a so-called healthcare crisis?
6. Stop trying to stick your tongue in every crevice of our bodies. Your tongue up my nose is not incredibly erotic. There's a good reason why I don't date my dog. (This also goes for putting our jewelry in your mouth. If you want to make sure my pearls are real, throw down your plastic for a new string.)
7. Learn to dress yourself. See previous post for a list of unacceptable items. Print it out and take it to the mall with you when you go spend those giftcards you got from Aunt Beverly.
8. Come up with a date that's classier than drinking gin and Sprite through a turkey baster. It's like giving my mouth an illegal abortion and it is not my right to kill my mouth babies.
9. Stop getting so drunk that you wake up to your dad hosing you down in a field when you're covered in chicken and have had your pubes shaved off. But if you think this is going to happen, please don't call us at 4AM to tell us how you got to your current state. We really don't care.
10. Finally learn that when we offer to pay we're not actually offering to pay. This is your cue to throw down your plastic.
11. Lose your religion. Especially if it is borderline cult-like.
12. There will be at least four (but hopefully more) gift-giving occasions this year: our birthday, our anniversary, Valentine's Day and Christmas (these are not in sequential order). Do not give us a crappy gift. When in doubt, the following is acceptable: expensive gourmet chocolates, expensive white gold jewelry, expensive perfume that is not endorsed by a pop tart, an expensive dog with a smushy face and an expensive vacation to someplace exotic. Notice that the words "Bargain", "Gift Card", "Homemade Art" and "Fredericks of Hollywood" do not appear in this list. That's not because we forgot them.
13. Acquire good taste in music. None of you are black, please set your programmed radio stations accordingly. If the song has to be drastically edited for the radio station, it is probably not good music so stop tuning to the station where every other lyric is bleeped out.
14. Get a job and move out of your parents' basement. At 26, this is just pitiful. If you can't support yourself with your current gig, maybe it's time to try a new career. Afterall, you did graduate from "John" Hopkins.
15. Don't call me skanky, fat, dumb, prudish, stuck-up, arrogant, heartless, selfish, difficult, etc. Especially not when you're blowing my cell phone up with drunk text messages at 3AM on a Tuesday. Who does that?
16. Don't google me. That's so sketchy.
17. Stop lying about the other women you're sleeping with, your brain cancer diagnosis, the size of your package, your age, your job, your whereabouts, your personal hygiene habits (look, I shouldn't even have to ask if you brushed your teeth, but I can sure as hell tell if you're lying to me), your plans for the future (including moving my shit to my apartment), or really anything else. Just don't lie. We will find out and when we do we will not be happy.
18. Don't call my dog ugly or misbehaved (don't say it about my sister either).
19. Make your room me-friendly. Take down the 500 paintings of me you created after we broke up, take down the posters of the Playboy Bunnies, get some furniture so I don't have to sit on the damn floor when I come over, quit turning the air conditioner on in February so that I get THOs when I come over, clean your bathroom and kitchen (this is big), stock your pantry with stuff other than beef jerky, doritos and beer, throw away petrified left-overs and buy at least one DVD that does not star Jackie Chan, Angelina Jolie, Jenna Jameson, Sylvester Stallone, Jet Li, or The Governator. As much as we love Ah-nold, his movies leave much to be desired.
20. Don't blame me for your sub-par grades.
21. Try to avoid being thrown in the looney bin this year. Avoid prison too.

We'd love to say we'd rather be kissing you tomorrow night, but well, we wouldn't want to lie to you. We'd honestly rather spend tomorrow playing leapfrog with unicorns. But hey, given a little effort you are all capable of becoming mediocre dates for fat 30-somethings. Aim high, boys.

Happy New Year from us here at LoserEx!!

God help me.

My first boyfriend was a Mormon.

God, where should I even begin with this one? I should have ran away when I first met him, but unfortunately I stuck around for two years and I'm sure if I were to show up at Nottie's or someplace tonight I would be asked "Are you still dating the Mormon?"

Umm, no. We broke up seven years ago, but that's what happens when you date someone for so long in high school.

He's married now (no big surprise there), so I can talk about him now because it's not like his (mormon) wife is going to divorce him or anything.

For religious reasons I could not see or talk to him on Sundays. Keeping the sabbath holy or something. I also could not see him on holidays, including Christmas, Easter, New Year's Eve, New Year's Day, Independence Day, Bastille Day, Boxing Day...pretty much if the banks were closed I couldn't see him. He would go to church all day on these days, or at least that's what he told me.

For a while there was also a rule that for every date we went on, he had to take a Mormon girl on a date. I guess so that he could find a wife before he graduated from high school.

(This shit would not stand now, but I was naive.)

We couldn't watch R-rated movies. He was over at my house one time and my parents were watching Dracula (the Bram Stoker version) and he asked me to ask my parents to turn it off because he couldn't watch it.

He was also cheap as hell. I think we went out maybe like four times in the two years that we dated. The rest of the time we'd watch movies at my house. Then we would make out. Then he would tell me I was going to hell because God didn't want him making out with non-mormon heathens. In fact, I was really the devil because I was trying to make him "unpure" so that he couldn't enter the temple.

In April of his senior year I found out he still hadn't applied to any colleges. I filled out the damn HCC application for him and mailed it in. I guess he spent too much time praying to actually apply to college.

He had this t-shirt from the Physics Olympics that he wore like everyday. With a flannel shirt, five years after the grunge look was in style. When I first met him he didn't bathe on a regular basis. He actually wrote in my yearbook "You have taught me the importance of hygiene when no one else could." Nice. Isn't cleanliness next to godliness?

He wrote (and sometimes spoke) in his rendition of old english. There was a lot of "ye" and "doth" in his vernacular. Yeah, that was a good time. (That thing in the yearbook probably actually says "Ye hath taught me...")

He wouldn't cuss. At first this was funny, but after awhile "Gosh darn it!" got pretty damn annoying.

He wouldn't drink caffeine and he told me my little sister needed to go into drug treatment because of her caffeine addiction (because she would drink ONE CAN of Dr. Pepper after school everyday).

The gas gauge in his car was broken. Instead of having it fixed (or at least watching the trip odometer), he would just drive his car until it ran out of gas and then have me call my mother to come pick us up.

Once, he promised to take me to the circus but then his family came into town and they were going to go to the beach instead. Rather than calling me and explaining and dealing with a little bit of whining from me, he had his mother call and tell me that until we were married, his family came first.

Junior year, he got "called" on his mission. He would be gone for two years and we wouldn't be allowed to talk to each other. He chose to break this news to me at halftime during a Friday-night basketball game. I was a cheerleader. It was one of the few times he actually game to one of my games. I think I ran out of the gym crying. It was real fun trying to be peppy after that. And then his cheap ass didn't even take me to dinner after the game.

He left on his mission the day before we left for Disney World for Nationals. Needless to say, I didn't have a good time in Florida that year.

A few weeks later he went apeshit and got kicked off his mission. He came back to Slumbia but didn't bother telling me. I guess he thought he could keep it a secret. One of the girls who danced with me went to his church. She was the one who told me he was back. I started hyperventilating in the middle of the dance studio. I got to go home early. You can guess where I stopped on my way home. That's when I broke it off for good, two years too late.

Your best friend won't tell you what not to wear, but I am not your best friend.

Let's face it: men have very little sense of style. While I can accept that men won't iron their clothes, or may wear t-shirts in the middle of winter, I cannot accept the fashion crimes of my exes.

Boris- I could go on forever about this one, so I am just going to list a few of the worst things which he wore:

• black jeans -about 10 years after they ceased to be in style
  
• white jeans -often with a white t-shirt
• jeans in any other obnoxious color you can think of- including, but not limited to: red, green, and funny blue
• sweat pants -the kind from k-mart with the elastic in the ankles (and in assorted colors)...and I mean he wore these out of the house, like to school or out to eat.
• a variety of shirts from k-mart -which, in his defense were plain, and therefore not too bad
• brown shoes with black slacks- there's really nothing to be said here.
• those stupid shirts boys wore in 1st grade with animals on them, and some sort of nature scene -the worst of which being this green one which had a huge eagle on it, and some trees in the background, then at the bottom in HUGE letters, said "Field Master" and he wore it with olive-colored jeans. I still cringe when I think about this one.

Fruit Fly- Was prissy about what he would wear. He wanted to maintain his gay-punk-does-this-color-look-good-on-me style. Oddly enough however, he dressed like a tool. Key pieces of his wardrobe are as follows:

• Those hanes white undershirts worn as outer shirts- he wore this almost every day.
• Those hanes white tank tops worn as outer shirts- this was so gross. It showed a lot of chest hair, and looked...well, skanky. Mellie called him "nudie boy" after he wore this to school once.
• a pair of baggy punk-esque khakis with holes covered in duct tape- he never wore shorts. For awhile, he only had one pair of these pants. This was not because his family was poor or anything, it was because he was too prissy about his pants to find another pair he liked. The finally pissed me off so much, I bought him a pair of $11 pants at old navy and told him to please discard the duct-taped pants.
• a pair of flip-flops held together by duct tape- he would never wear sneakers because, he didn't like the way they made his feet look. He eventually realized that he needed some closed-toe shoes for the winter, and spent all winter making me take him to various shoe stores, where no shoe was what he wanted. In the spring, he finally settled on a pair of slip-on brown leather shoes with sneaker-like rubber soles which look much like what one's grandfather would wear. When he showed me these, I didn't know what to say, until he wore them with black leather accesories, then I knew exactly what to say: "The fashion police are going to get you if you do not change something here." Seriously, these shoes were soooo ugly. I can't believe someone so prissy about shoes could ever find these to be the right shoes. I can't imagine anyone wanteing to wear these, unless they are really old and no longer have th motor skills needed to tie their own shoes.
• assorted bracelets and necklaces- most of which were either hemp, or those little metal ball necklaces which no punk can be without. He also had a this black, shiney vinyl wrist cuff that he wore...but he lost it one day.
• a buttload of hair products- including, but not limited to a collection of gels, sprays and pomades. He would never want to leave the house without having his hair done. Or without plucking his eyebrows. He plucked more than I do.
• a leather coat that felt like plastic and had a funny shape to it- it was, um, interesting. Once again, this was the only coat which he would wear, because he didn't like the way coats looked on him.
• my purse- I'd often ask him to hold my purse for a second, and he would not just hold it, but put it on his shoulder and strut with it.
• a few band t-shirts- although he would always swear he didn't like the band which the shirt was of...whatever.
• a navy blue hoodie- worn almost everyday. It was coming apart at the seams, and he even sang about his damn hoodie.
• Thrift store finds- including, but not limited to: a CCCP t-shirt, a pair of Burgundy corduroys (which "made him strut"), some goofy-ass hats, and a shirt that looked like clown vomit.

Shrek- was just so dirty. His clothing wouldn't have been too bad, had he just washed it once in awhile. When I sent some people over to get my stuff from his room a few months ago, they were so grossed out by how he was wearing dirty clothes, and obviously did not practice the most rigorous of hygiene- routines. Aside from everything being dirty, here are some of the bad things Shrek wore:

• Free shirts- which would not have been so bad, but this was all he wore. He only had like 3 shirts which were not free, and I did not buy him. He wore this one I got at CR which was really ugy. It had a herd of angry elephants at said "Stampede to Victory: Bush/Cheney 2004." Oddly enough, he is pretty apathetic towards politics, and would only pretend to be a strong supporter of the Republican party because, he wanted to dupe me into thinking we had similar values. What a tool. Look, I really don't care if people have beliefs different from my own, but at least have the balls to say what they are, and have a damn good reason behind them.
• Big Dog shirts- remember those? I bet you do. Know anyone who still wears them? I bet you don't. He told me that he wore them because they were meant to fit people who were big (he was really tall, and broad...ok, fat). To this day, I do not know if that is true or not. All I know is that they made him look like a Big Dumbass.
  
• skid-marked underwear- sorry I brought that up again. ew.
• shorts- and almost never pants. Even in the dead of winter, he would wear shorts and a t-shirt.
• sneakers- boy did not ever wear a pair of nice shoes, even when we went out to dinner with my parents on New Years, he wore black slacks with ugly-ass white sneakers. And his feet were size 16, so those damn sneakers were HUGE and always stood-out. I hated this. Well, I mean, it's ok to wear sneakers with jeans and stuff, but when we go out, and you wear slacks, wear some nice shoes too, dipsh*t.

This was all he ever wore. Ever. And remember, it was almost always dirty. He smelled really really bad. My friends told me his room was covered with half-eaten food which was decaying, and piles of clothes which are obviously dirty when I sent them to retrieve my belongings he had held captive. Charming.

Look, I don't want a guy who dresses better than me. I just want a guy who wears clothes which are clean, and not stupid. I am ok with guys who like to dress casually. A t-shirt (which was not a freebie), or a polo shirt with jeans is totally acceptable. Also, wear a sweater in the winter, or at least a long sleeve shirt with some pants. And when we go out, PLEASE wear some shoes which are not sneakers or flip-flops held together by duct tape. All I am saying is I put effort into the way I look, I just want you to do the same.