Email Killed the Sexting Star, Amongst Other Things...

I would like to take a moment to discuss what I believe is the worst thing to happen to single women this decade other than the rising acceptance of wearing tights as pants. (All I'm saying ladies, is cover all of both buns and let there be no chance the outline of your vagina might show. It's simple.) I'm referring to text messaging. You know what? Fuck it. I mean all of it, email, facebook, twitter, google, and yes, blogs.
My recent life has been affected far more than I would like by the all mighty power of instantaneous information. There was a time when we were all forced to wonder a little bit. There was a time when I met a guy, gave him my number, and got a blissful couple days or even a week of wondering when/if he would call, what's his story, what turns his cranks. Unfortunately, I was thirteen during this brief blissful period and I have spent the bulk of my adult dating experiences thereafter staring at an ever increasing number of devices waiting for one type of cryptic message or another. I fill that initial time after meeting someone new with google and facebook searches. Invariably, by the time he calls, I know so much that I have to remember what I learned through unsanctioned internet stalking so I don't let it leak out in conversation before I should technically know it. Upon examination, this is disturbing.
Last Sunday night, while I was in the process of sleeping off that mean hangover?
My ex-boyfriend invaded my bedroom via text message. He said only "I hope you are well ". That might seem benign if you don't know me. But it's not. We broke up just over two years ago. It was the end of a relationship that lasted off and on five years. It was doomed from the start and everyone involved knew it except me. Anyway, the details are for another day. For the purposes of this post, suffice it to say, he left me. It was a rough break up and I went through a couple misguided periods of attempted friendship. Of course, we had sex during these periods. You know, cause that's very friendly, the friendliest even. He took care of my cat (which was once our cat) this past Thanksgiving. When I came back, I felt that something had shifted. I asked him if he was seeing someone. He casually replied "yes, just since last week". Timing seemed convenient there. Not to worry though, he told her we were still friends and she was cool with it.
Oh FANTASTIC, she is cool with us being friends? No one splained it like that before. Is she also cool that we had sex last week? That seems less likely. In that moment, I made a decision. That was it. I was done. I told him firmly, under no circumstances was he ever to contact me again. I deserved the same chance to move on and he was helping me perpetuate a bad pattern. He said he understood and promised to leave me alone.
His respect for my wishes lasted exactly four months, then he texted me at 1AM. That's his general modus operandi. Wait 3 months or so, then text me when I'm finally content. He has radar for my contentment. It's his gift. He texted again two days later to tell me it would never happen again. The weight of the unintended irony exploded my smart phone.
This intrusion mixed with a half bottle of red wine led me to internet sleuth him a little. He also has a blog. There is some revisionist history about us but mostly it's just a chronicle of the happenings in his life. His girlfriend is beautiful. (Run. Like. Hell. Darlin.) His pizza appears to have landed cheese up. Yet, he still wants to rock my boat every few months. Why, you (me) might wonder? Why not? It's just so easy! A few taps on the iphone keys and he's right here in my bedroom. Instant relief for him, instant crazy internet stalker for me. It burns me that I am forced to have enough will power for two people.
The phone sexter you might say would be the flip side of such technology, the happy, fun, intrusion. Well, email killed the sexting star last week. I emailed him something too racey apparently. What did I say? Well I'll tell you so you don't make the same mistake. "I want to make out with you".
His reply? "I don't know what to say when you say things that."

Really? Really? REALLY? I have nothing further on this. I'm mystified. Apparently, sexting is like Pretty Woman. No kissing on the mouth, too personal. Write that down.
Then there was all my sleuthing of last weekend's fling. I wasted valuable moments of my life checking to see if he tweeted or blogged about our encounter in any identifiable way. You know, the usual. I feel like women, myself included, lament the fact that no one ever "calls" us anymore. Well the fling called, and I saw his name appear on my phone and almost threw it across the room. The other half of someone calling you, is you having something non-crazy to say, or a series of those things even. I think maybe I only pretend to miss the good old days when people actually spoke to each other. In reality, I'm just hoping for the text so I can carefully craft something coquettish and droll to say in response. That's a tough combo to aim for, but with the right amount of time and thought I've achieved it. I swear.

After a very emotional Sunday, I have decided to try something new. I am going to ask for what I want. I came in to work this morning and told the phone sexer (via combo instant message and text message of course) that I was tired of the men in my life reminding me not to expect too much. Time to throw that recording out. It's been skipping far too long. He respected me for being honest about how I felt and I feel much better. The new me is emotionally unfiltered. Life is too short, hug everyone. You're all getting an electronic hug right now, can't stop me, here it goes.... xoxo - Gossip Girl.

(That pop culture reference was shameless and inexcusable but I just couldn't help it.)