What Was Your Most Miserable New Year's Eve?

New Year’s Eve is a week away, so like many people over the age of 25, I haven’t a clue how I’ll be ringing in 2015. (Remember when you used to start planning the NYE festivities in October?!) 

While I was lying in bed this morning, I reflected on what I did the past few years.

The past two years, I was in Manhattan with my dear friend Sue. Last year we did a blowout formal party (it was very Sex & the City) and the year before we hosted a low key dinner.

In 2011, Max and I had a quiet night – we just went to dinner and saw a movie in Ford. That would be our last New Year’s Eve together.

It was New Year’s Eve 2010 that got me out of bed and to my computer. I need to tell you about it so I can let it go.

My Husband Disappears into Depression

In late 2010, Max had been fading away into a shell of his former self. He was losing weight and his fair Irish skin became even more washed out as he hardly moved or ate. He wanted nothing to do with me; he wouldn’t speak to me, much less touch me. If I tried to engage him in conversation, he would look at me with exasperation and sadness, his face dark and distant. If he responded to me, it was as brief as possible. Other times, he just ignored me entirely.

I was utterly beside myself. Who was this sad, cold man?

Not that you would ever want to see your loved one in this state, but it was all made worst that this was happening during the holiday season. Reminders to rejoice and count your blessings and believe in the goddamn magic of the season were sparkling everywhere around me. I just prayed that my husband wouldn’t hurt himself. (He never did, thank God.)

We slogged through Thanksgiving, Christmas, and my 31st birthday, doing our best to look like a normal couple. Though, on my birthday, I had a glass of wine too many. In the restaurant bathroom, I accidentally tearfully mentioned to my mom that Max and I hadn’t had sex in a year or whatever it was at the time. I then told her not to tell anyone. She never breathed a word about it.

This was nothing like my New Year's Eve.
Thanks, Hollywood.

I Have the Audacity to Kiss My Husband

Needless to say, the idea of trying to make merry for New Year’s Eve was out of the question.

So, we were spending New Year’s Eve with Max’s family, which sounded very boring but given Max’s state – which we were both keeping secret – I was trying to say yes to him as much as possible.

We went to Max’s sister’s house for some tasteless Chinese takeout and belated Christmas gift exchanging. Conversation with his sisters never came easily, but I remember it feeling even more awkward and forced. After a polite amount of time, we headed back to Max’s parents’ house.

It was probably around 10 p.m. when Max and I were upstairs getting changed for bed (yes, 10 p.m., New Year’s Eve, 31 years old).

I made a mistake. I had the audacity to try to sneak a kiss on my husband.

He pushed me away with disgust and disinterest. It was like I’d offended him by trying to kiss my husband on fucking New Year’s Eve.

I was hurt and humiliated. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” I asked in a hushed tone, knowing the walls were thin. “Is it so terrible that I wanted to kiss you!”

I honestly can’t remember what he said because I must have blocked it out. But the message was clear: he wanted no part of my love or affection, so I should stay away from him.

Not long after, I cried myself to sleep on an air mattress, Max and I as far apart as possible while still technically sharing the bed. I was asleep when the clock struck midnight. Happy New Year.

The next morning, Max’s mom, Sara, and I were alone in the kitchen while Max and his dad watched football.

“Is everything OK? I heard you two arguing last night,” Sara whispered. She was not being nosey; she was truly concerned.

I couldn’t speak without sobbing, so I just locked eyes with my mother-in-law and slowly shook my head.

She put her hand on my arm and didn’t say a word. Like with drunken birthday confession to my own mother, Sara and I didn’t speak of my New Year’s Eve argument again.

During the three-hour car ride home on New Year’s Day 2011, Max didn’t speak to me.

I haven’t thought about that in so long. Tears are falling as I write about that holiday, almost three years into my history. I can’t believe how the pain is still so real, even though I have moved on with my life and never doubted my decision to divorce Max.

I write this to leave it in my past. 

What was your worst New Year's Eve?

Why Do Guys Who Dumped Me Come Back to Apologize?

As I look back on my dating experiences in 2014, I have discovered a theme: 

I acted too hastily. I’m sorry.

I was selfish. I’m sorry.

I regret letting it end like that. I’m sorry.

No, I'm not the one apologizing -- it's the dudes I've dated. I have had it up to my ass with I’m sorry!

I have been single for less than two years, and only really been dating for one, but I think it’s safe to say I am back in the dating game. I’ve gone out with all kinds of kinds, from the vegan who didn’t drink to the former Navy man to the pot smoking bartender. I’ve gone out with guys seven years younger to 10 years older.

Here is what I don’t get: 

Why do guys keep coming back to apologize?

Andrew probably didn't expect my response. Tough noogies.
(His misuse of "literally" is so not hot.)

In the past year, Todd, John, Aaron, one of the 27-year-olds, and just on Saturday, Andrew have all come back around to apologize for their unique versions of ditching me.

(If you’re keeping track, Carl is the only one who has not. But I told him that he hurt my feelings and made me feel stupid, so he avoids eye contact with me now. I probably won’t be getting a late night text apology any time soon!)

Somewhere between a few weeks and few months after The End, my phone has chirped to reveal an out-of-the-blue text message, usually from a contact who I’ve deleted from my phone, saying "blah blah I’m sorry."

Sometimes they wanted another chance to date me, sometimes they just wanted to clear their conscience. And who knows, maybe some of them just wanted to get in my pants.

None of the breakups/male disappearances were all that dramatic. I never shed one tear over any of them. When shit ended, I might’ve expressed disappointment (if I even had the opportunity), but that is about it. My point is, certainly no guy I’ve dated since my divorce ever walked away from me thinking he’d broken my heart or scarred me for life or turned me into a bunny boiler.

So there’s me, gaping at my phone. 

An apology, after all this time…
do I even care?

Fine, I admit it. My ego loves the apologies. I’m like, hells yeah, you realize that I am kind of awesome and now you’re missing out!

The downside is that I’m often tempted to recycle, and recycling DOES NOT WORK! I know this. You know this. And yet I sometimes try again (see: Todd; John; and most recently Aaron). By the way, recycling for sex/booty call purposes is different and totally acceptable (see: Jason).

Again, I’ve only really been dating for about a year, but I feel like this is an abnormal amount of apologies. Do you agree?

But, the more mystifying question is just why these dudes apologize to me? 

No one has really owed me much of an apology – like no guy has been guilty of more than being an idiot with me. Do their apologies say something solid about my character, that they want to win back my respect? or do I remind them of their guilty-dishing mothers? Or maybe I’m just good enough in the sack that they want to take a shot? (Not that I slept with all of the apology distributors, but they could use their imaginations based on the data they collected.)

What is your experience with former flames apologizing?  And can you shed any light on my experience?!

When Unicorns Are Real -- Sometimes Nice Guys Actually Come Back

Kat loves dating when weird shit happens!

Sometimes unicorns roam the earth, pigs fly, and I can watch the final scene of Gone With The Wind without crying.

Relatedly, sometimes a really nice guy you had hoped to date but prematurely dumped you realizes that he made a mistake and tries for another chance...

...twice.

John, Part I

John was the smart, sweet guy I dated briefly in January. We were off to a great start, and then he abruptly changed his mind. The reasons he gave me at the time were that I’m allergic to dogs and that he might be “too square” for me. He left me confused and disappointed. I thought I saw boyfriend potential with him. Oh well, I told myself, no need to dwell on this.

John, Part II

A few weeks later, just as things were starting to pick up with Aaron, John contacted me. I couldn’t believe it. He said that he felt that he owed me an apology. He explained that in his previous relationship, there were signs that things wouldn’t work, but in hindsight he realized that he ignored the signs. He didn’t want to do that in his next relationship, which was why he backed off so fast. And, here’s the killer… one of the reasons he ran off in the first place was because he misunderstood something I had said, and he thought I don’t want children! Um, SO not true, and I sadly informed him of that. (But I get it, not being on the same page about wanting kids would be a dealbreaker.)

I thought it over and felt I wouldn’t be able to get past his willingness to quit the moment John had doubts. Plus I was just starting to date Aaron. So, I told John thank you, but I admired his guts for contacting me, but no. We concluded the conversation maturely and nicely.

A few weeks ago, I deleted John’s number from my phone. Nice guy, but I thought our moment had passed.

John, Part III

Yesterday morning, exactly two months after our last communication, I got a text from an unknown number:

"Hey! How did the NYC Half go?"

I knew it had to be John (and I was impressed that he remembered!). So we texted about our recent races, and then we said maybe we could meet up sometime at one of the local running store’s community runs. The conversation concluded when I went off to yoga.

Well, I thought, that was nice of him to remember me. Maybe we'll actually see each other at one of those runs, but probably not.

A few hours later, my phone chirped again. John wanted to see if, in addition to connecting at a run, would I want to have a drink and catch up sometime?

I paused. Was this a good idea? I mean, this guy did dump me. But then again, this was his second time contacting me. Apparently this guy really regrets letting me go too soon. What a compliment! So, why not say yes to an offer for a drink that might not even happen?

I replied, “Sure, sounds good.”

He wrote back immediately asking when I was free. Wait, so this was actually going to happen?!

Five hours later, we were face to face for the first time in almost three months.

Over the next three hours and a bottle of pinot noir at a charming wine bar, we chatted and laughed as if not a day had passed. It felt really good to be with him.

Now I admit that I didn’t feel the electricity that I felt with Jason or Aaron. (Maybe it's because John doesn't have tattoos!) I don’t know how to explain it, but John feels so genuine, like I won’t need to question anything he says to me, good or bad. In the dating world, this is not a common feeling.

Out on the street, along came a unicorn in the form of John's voice: “I have thought about everything you said in February. If you’re open to it, I’d really like another chance. Clean slate. Or you can put me on probation or something! But this was fun and I’d like to see you again.”

When does this ever happen? A nice guy admits he made a mistake and asks not once but TWICE for another chance?

I’m not one to let a unicorn get away.

“A clean slate sounds great,” I said, smiling. “No need for probation! We can just see what happens.”

And then he kissed me. A real kiss, and not the kind that people in their 30s do on a street corner.

“Wow, I really missed that,” he said, grinning.

I walked home with a big stupid smile on my face.

Unfortunately I’m really busy the next two weeks so I won’t get to hang out with John for awhile, but he already texted me today, saying not to worry about my crazy schedule because he’ll be here when I get back and we'll set up a nice date. Awww.

Have you ever had a good catch see the error of his or her ways and come back to you? 

Was My Marriage a Mistake?

On Monday, I was talking to a woman I volunteer with who is getting divorced in a few days. Let’s call her Kate. I always say that emotions are not a contest, but man, she sure got dealt a shitty hand. After 34 years of marriage and raising three children together, Kate’s husband served her divorce papers, completely out of the blue. He then moved out of their house and in with his girlfriend, who is the same age as his daughter! Ewww. Anyway, I forget how it came up, but over the course of our conversation, she lightly referenced my marriage as a mistake. I quickly corrected her and said I don’t feel that way, even if I did go through a lot of rejection and hurt.

But all week, I kept thinking about this idea of a marriage that ended in divorce could be a mistake. This wasn’t the first time I heard this either. The asshole therapist who Max and I saw together called our marriage a mistake over the summer and I never went back to him. Does a marriage that “failed” automatically get labeled a mistake? Does Kate, after 34 years, three children, and two grandchildren, think of her union as a mistake?

During happy hour on Friday, I brought up the subject with my friend Jen. She is younger than me and single, but she gives me some interesting insight into moving on post-divorce because her parents are divorced and both have been happily remarried for a long time. I told Jen about Kate’s comment, and how it keeps lingering in my mind.

On one hand, you could easily say we were foolish to even move in together, much less get engaged and then marry, with the intimacy problems we had. I’m usually an extremely practical and logical person. As I sipped my glass of Chianti, I admitted to Jen that I don’t know why I kept thinking/wishing that the next relationship milestone would finally be the catalyst to fix our intimacy problems. I suppose that was where the logic stopped and the naive optimism took over.

But on the other hand, I married a good man. He loved (and I think still loves) me with all of his heart. He was good to my family and friends. He was fiercely loyal and would have done anything for me.

Then Jen asked me a good question: “Knowing what you know now, would you have married Max?”

This really gave me pause. I thought about the past seven years of rejection. Confusion. Loneliness and longing. I know that no relationship is perfect, but I also know now that the weight of all those tears is not part of a normal, functional relationship. I also thought about how I’m 33 and now single, so I might never get to have a baby.

I looked at Jen, and then I looked down at the floor. I replied, “With the benefit of hindsight, no, I would not have married him. And that makes me feel like complete shit.”

Jen answered, “But you didn’t know at the time how things would devolve. You made the decision based on the love that you felt. So how could it be a mistake to marry someone you loved?”

And that’s what I’m going with. I will never call my marriage a mistake because the decision was made with love in our hearts. Max and I had plenty of good experiences together that I wouldn’t trade for anything. And even the bad stuff helps me know myself better and what I will never, ever tolerate again.

How do you think about your past relationships? Do you consider any a mistake?