After four months of being in a relationship with a certain Veracruzano, I went on a nearly month-long jaunt around the Carribean – Mexico and Belize. The future of said relationship was at this point in time, uncertain. Though the love was indeed there, the future was completely up in the air. I was to return to Mexico City to take a teacher training class, and was supposedly returning to NY at some point.
5 days on Caye Caulker, a miniscule tourist island in the middle of NOWHERE, an abnormal amount of Belikin beer, and hours of sitting in the blazing sun helping a fellow NYer/Belize transplant sell tamales on the beach, I transgressed. I chatted up a guy (an American, of all nationalities), and despite internal and external protests, eventually just said: “fuck it.” If my (mere four months) relationship with someone whose future will ultimately be determined by his parents ends in a few weeks, I will regret not having a Belize section in my potential autobiography: “Around the World in 80 Men,” At which I was more than halfway through finishing with regards to countries when I fell in love in Puebla. Live for the moment, no day but today.
As I said in the intoxicated email that I sent to my friend immediately after fleeing the scene of the cheat: “We kissed, a boob was sucked, a finger may have been inserted, and then I felt terrible and ran down the beach.” The whole incident transpired over the course of maybe ten minutes, it’s an alcohol-diluted blur, and I do not have any idea what the guy’s name was, though I do remember the whole issue began because he also had a Polish-Italian background and looked ethnically ambiguous.
My at-the-time boyfriend, who claims to possess an inner eye and superior, elevated knowledge of events, took the liberty of opening my FB messages and finding this inbox to my friend. I denied the whole affair to his face up until he whipped out a printed version of the email (since been destroyed) and I had to admit that yes, it had transpired; however, that it was an entirely meaningless event undertaken by someone who was in a relationship with an ambiguous future. Furthermore, on our first dates I made no bones about the fact that I had cheated on EVERY boyfriend in the past, that I had been single by choice for the last few years specifically to avoid avoiding temptation, and that I didn’t see the necessity to rush into a relationship, a la mexicana, simply to be able to say that you’re taken (they love that here). He forgave me, and we ultimately emerged happily.
I don’t want to be accused of hiding facts so I have just recounted my transgression. The point is, this act, though stupid and risky, was ultimately not shocking coming from me. It was an isolated and extremely brief incident that happened towards the very beginning of a relationship that, at that time, was potentially going to be separated by a very long distance and thus end very soon. Also keep in mind: On November 5th we would have been together for 10 months. I stayed in Mexico. He’s been gifted by his parents a ticket to NY for Christmas vacation. This is no longer a four-month dalliance but a serious relationship. Read on.
On Friday night, my now-ex-boyfriend’s band was playing. I noticed a girl dressed in a very skanky and weather-inappropriate manner, and was about to comment on it when she jumped up and ran screaming at my NEB. Apparently, they are SUPER SUPER friends, the best of, omg omg omg. Charmed, I’m sure, I said when introduced, and continued on my merry way.
Our weekends in Puebla would often frustrate me. I’ve lived independently since I was 18 years old, and haven’t ever really been told what to do, per se. It would perplex and infuriate me that at age 25 I had to eat three meals on MY weekends with controlling parents who weren’t even mine. That we were given curfews, however lax they may have been. So when, at nine in the morning, my NEB was extracted from his bed to go halfway across town to move a sewing machine (an act I’m 100% positive the parents could have managed alone were Mexican society not so stupid), I was irked. Nothing more irritating that taking a 2 hour bus to watch “Grey’s Anatomy” alone. I opened the computer to do so.
And his FB was open. Two wrongs don’t make a right, nor three wrongs. But after the sight of the shameless and underdressed chiquilla combined with the bitterness of being resigned to waiting while the Oedipus complex played out yet again, I simply had reason to be agitated and to suspect that they were something more than super friends. Let me tell you: When I’m right, I’m right. Though it would be excessive and frankly boring to recount EVERYthing I read, I will provide you with a sample of the gems exchanged (over the course of months, extending far into the past and ending a mere 24 hours before I arrived from a back-breaking workweek with my money to visit him) between these two MENSA members:
1) “I have a confession…we were talking about who we wanted to fuck and I said I would definitely fuck you…tell me you’ve never thought about it…”
2) “Whoa baby, those pictures make my balls tight and wish I were single.”
3) When she got a new tattoo: “Where is it, on your boob? Lol.” To which she replied: “No, right above my vagina (wink face).”
4) Many variations of the theme of “I wish I were single,” “you make me want to be single,” “I wish I wasn’t in a relationship,” etcetera. Again, boring to repeat.
5) She made a series of comments about how she loved her long hair (keep in mind that yours truly’s been rocking the pixie look for a few months now) and would be able to do many things in her life but would never chop her hair off because, verbatim, it’s so gorgeous (wench). He responded: “Yeah, long hair’s great when you’re fucking someone from behind.”
Nothing that brilliant was said. Nothing physical happened, of this I’m sure. However, it’s the fact that after almost a year and so many sacrifices, the having overcome so many external obstacles, for him to be engaging in petty internet games is simply a presentation of the fact that he is the coddled mama’s boy who doesn’t know how to be mature and respect someone who loves him. It’s the duration of the conversation, months and months of the same thing. Of little flirtations, of sexy winks, of good night baby, of xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo. Of wishing he was single.
It had to end. I could have forgiven a one-time physical cheat. But this is deep-seated and extended betrayal of our alleged love, this is a lengthy and offensive slap in the face. Say it’s only online chat – I say I’d rather be with someone who isn’t so stupid to thing that if it’s not tangible it doesn’t count. Say they’re just words – I write. To me, something written is far more painful than a physical act because I know the thought that goes into the writing process, the way in which the words pass through your head in a whirlwind of thought and you blend and split and cogitate before putting down the exact perfect combination on paper or screen.
((The requisite bitch bash: She is simply one in a billion, a slore who feels the need to put shirtless (yes) photos on her profile to make the boys like her because there ain’t nothing going on inside except empty thoughts of tight tee shirts and herpes outbreak cells preparing for their next attack. But look, I’ve been taken down to their puerile level by engaging in such insult-slinging. I’ll do it appropriately: Any woman who knowingly engages in such conduct, as virtual as it may be, and deliberately causes harm to another female has absolutely no sel-respect nor virtue for the gender. Especially in a country like Mexico, where women ae not quite seen in a nice way, for a female herself to degrade love and a strong relationship by flirting childishly with another woman’s boyfriend is a disgusting and shameless act. A good friend of mine had the gall and decency to write her a message in my honor saying basically that, that women should respect each other and it’s simply hurtful and sad what she engaged in. The response was that every relationship takes two people and if he did this it’s because there were many problems between us. I hope they’re very happy together.))
“Can you think of any reason I would be mad at you with regards to messages?” I asked. He couldn’t. I pointed at the screen and was met with a barrage of “Wait…no…you misunderstood…they were lies…it was an error…” I feel very sad, again as a writer and a wordsmith, to have wasted so much time with someone who doesn’t comprehend the definitions of basic words. A lie is something you say and don’t mean, often uttered under pressure or duress, or out of fear. Unless there was a gun pointed at his head while he was typing over the course of months, these were not lies. An error is something you do by accident, a typo, for example, or a poor programmation of the remote control. A shameful and disgracing lack of respect and a humiliating sequence of conversations is what emerged.
I didn’t cry or scream, I simply told him that he was now single, Long Live Jambi. That he would regret this for the rest of his life, and he would never meet someone as fabulous. And I left. I came back to DF and went out with a friend. I changed my phone number, deleted him from FB, and We headed straight for the Zona Rosa in search of cheap beer and no heterosexuals, and passed a lovely evening getting wasted with some teen lesbians, and then going into the sex shop where I drunkenly mishandled and damaged a dildo. It was cathartic, and when I figure out how to access my new Mexico City bank account I fully intend on getting one with the rotating head and the magic pearls at the tip. Maybe if real penises had magic pearls at the tip we’d be happier as a society.
So…I’m single! Let me tell you, from a purely professional point of view, this breakup has been great. There’s so much teaching material in relationship tragedy: Vocabulary (tryst, rendezvous, staggering, shock, tell-tale sign, etc), reading material (20% of US marriages end in divorce due to Facebook transgressions: DailyMail), and debates (Is it cheating? My super-moral students said YES). I fully intend on milking this for all its worth in my classes. Additionally, I haven’t been very hungry, so I feel slim. Finally, when you are spurned, people are obscenely nice to you, buying lunches and giving rides from Santa Fe. People tell you about how attractive and valuable and worthwhile you are. I should get disgraced on the Internet more often.
So that happened. Sunday and Monday I was pretty much relentless about the whole finality thing. But as his mother wrote in the email she sent to me (his parents are rather fond of me and are not loving him right now), forgiveness is magical. I would consider it. But there will have to be great displays of something. No girl is above flowers. This girl isn’t above a nice bottle of Centenario Reposado and a lot of candy. Additionally, there’s going to have to be serious meditation on my part of whether or not I would consider being with someone who chooses someone so clearly unintellectual as his emotional cheating partner. What does that say about me? And moving forward: Will this happen again? How can I ensure that I will see her at some point so I can punch the bitch in the face? Do I just say “fuck it” and continue my way around the world in 80 men?
Answers tomorrow. Advice appreciated. Happy Dia de los Muertos!