To Borrow A Title From Mr. Diamond, Love on the Rocks

Dear Ex-Boyfriend(s),

With Valentine's Day looming before me - and trust me it's looming - it really should come as no surprise that you've all been in my thoughts these past few days much like a bad eighties song you can't stop yourself from singing. And it seems to me, especially when considering my dreams as of late, that each one of you has left an indelible impression on me, much like the way water wears down a rock over time. And so, with a great need to cleanse my soul and seek some other form of clarity not disguised as a disgruntled mermaid, I've decided that there's no time like the present to begin the purging. Consider yourselves warned. Further reading by former boyfriends may prove hazardous to your ego(s).

It all started in kindergarten when Jamie R. decided he liked Jill S. much better than he liked me. In a long string of men bearing the XY equational chromosome, he was the very first boy who ever made me feel invisible, despite my desperate attempts to play the farmer's wife at recess time and not my usual role of the cheese standing alone.

Even at a young age, I learned the horrible truth. Boys did prefer blondes over brunettes. And so I swore off boys for two years, resisting the temptation to fall in love again until third grade when my desk was directly opposite that of Jeff C.'s. And Jeff C. was my kind of boy, with an Italian last name to match his dark, handsome looks and fine feathered hair. He spoke quietly, and seemed somewhat shy. But in reality, he hid a horrible secret.

Head lice.

And somehow, after he came back to school with a head of hair shaved down to its last half inch, the love my heart had harbored for so long vanished like a ship in the night, never to be seen or heard from again. It was, in one word, depressing.

Needing a year to recover and fumigate the image of head lice from my mind, it wasn't until 5th grade that I gave the thought of boys much thought again. This time Bobby L. was the boy of my dreams and once again, his desk was directly beside mine. Back then I was working off the theory that the desk to Stacey ratio usually equated out to be true love.

Bobby L. however took my heart, ripped it to shreds and then told everyone about it. And the cute Pink Panther card I had purchased just for him for Valentine's Day would be my very first, though certainly not my last, gut checking reality that February's made up holiday was guaranteed to disappoint as much as it could make you happy.

Proving to be a bit smarter than your average bear, all thoughts of boys were put promptly out of mind until 7th grade. And despite sporting a full set of silver railroad tracks disguised as braces to make my teeth straight, I was intent on gaining that one crucial thing every newly turned teenager girl dreams about. Her first kiss.

Unfortunately I can't seem to recall the individual responsible for giving me my very first kiss. An unmemorable memorable moment to be sure. It could have been the night I went steady with Heath L. (and was the envy of at least 3 of my friends) for all of 3 hours at our school's roller skating dance. And how sweet a dance it was, for I will always remember that during those wonderful 3 hours our song was "Love Bites" by Def Leopard. A more fitting song, I couldn't have chosen myself if the DJ hadn't played it almost the entire night repeatedly. One sad week later, Heath and I had parted ways and to this day, I still cannot listen to that song without getting an enormous lump in my throat.

For the rest of my middle school/early high school years, I went for crushes rather than actual boyfriends. Loving from a distance was while not as enjoyable much safer to my tender heart and fragile ego. This however did not stop me from making the occasional ass of myself as I attempted to get the attention of Chad F, John P, Scott B, Kevin D and various other boys of no concern.

Then came Tom G. - my first, honest to God boyfriend not counting Kevin C. who during our break up conversation on the phone told me and quite emphatically to "Blow him." (My reply, "Been there, done that." And wow, I hope my Mom passes this entry by.) Needless to say, we'll count Tom as the number one boyfriend even though he turned out to be an absolute pansy, necessitating that I meet him in the parking lot after school to return his class ring and dump his ass right there on the asphalt.

Fast forward to college and my not so secret crush on Bill A. and the reason why I started questioning my taste in men. Bookish boys are handsome by far, but boys with noses that never leave their books should be left behind. Take that as a bit of Stacey wisdom. Anyhoo, college took me to a whole new level. (Note: I am not even going to mention Heath F. from high school as he is quite unmentionable in more ways then one, so don't even go there Brenda.)

In college, I really took to living in a coed dorm like a fish takes to water. I was like, "Hello." And trust me when I tell you, I was slowly attempting to break out of my mold and into the wild child I wanted to become. Hence 3 in the morning trips up to Daryn S's room on the third floor just to say hello, agreeing to the bad ideas of Matt K, getting a little extra help with my math homework from Eric G., flirting shamelessly with Dave M. AKA "Lettuce" as I drunkenly told him to the tune of the Cranberries Linger that I was madly, hopelessly and completely in lust with him, until I finally set my sights on Neville C.

Ahhh ... How fondly I look back on the night when he stole my doorsitter book, allowing me no other choice but to follow him back to his own down and spend the night. It was all good, well until the next morning when I had to sneak out of his all male floor dorm and back to my own without getting caught. Thanks to Dave (can't remember your last name, but you were in my EN101 class) with the big mouth, who not only announced my presence in the lobby but also felt the need for a repeat performance that morning in the completely packed with people cafeteria. (Jackass!)

Neville and I didn't exactly work out, and in a convoluted story way too long to tell, I will leave it at that for tonight. Little did I know however, the whole scenario that set itself into motion would lead me into the arms of he who shall be forever known as Moron.

Moron and I started out as friends, and for all intents and purposes somehow managed to end up together in a bizarre twist of fate. And what a twist of fate it was. One positive pregnancy test later, an engagement ring and an "Oh shit! What are we going to do now?"
we we're moving in together and planning for our future.

But despite our best attempts to see that future in together, Moron decided that the ring he placed on my finger would be much better on the hand of someone else. Four months after our daughter was born, the cheating slimeball moved out of our house to shack up with his girlfriend who he later made his wife, leaving me with a ring that held no promise and a baby girl to raise alone.

Still it was this final heartbreak that finally proved to me what I had believed all along about men. The simple truth of the matter - which had been proved time and time again by all the male role models in my life - was that when the going gets tough, the tough take off running, never to be seen or heard from again.

I know, I know ... Some of you out there are squirming in your chairs, searching for the comment button to tell me this isn't true. And believe me when I tell you, that I'm ever so slowly learning that. So keep the "Stacey, you can't possibly believe that," comments to a minimum. (I'm working on becoming less jaded, but as you all know these things take time.)

Anyhoo, Moron was the final straw. I packed up my heartache, my house, my daughter and my life and decided a new direction was in order, one that didn't include men, And I kept to that promise for a good many years before I met Mike.

Mike made me want to be everything that I was not. To me, he was perfect in every way. Smart, funny, blessed with a wonderfully sarcastic wit, kind and sincere, he was and is the kind of man I had always dreamed about. However things with us were based on a series of half truths and outright if he doesn't ask, I won't tells. Still young and quite seriously naive, I learned the hard way that sometimes the relationships you really want to make a go of, are the ones you've screwed up right from the beginning. And sometimes you ruin a great friendship along the way.

Back in the I'm never speaking to another man as long as I live mode, I easily shunned every male I came in contact with, adopting an attitude that said, even when I was as silent as a stone, that I was the sort of girl who just didn't have time to allow any man into my life.

And I was doing just great on that too, despite small distractions known as Chuck, Mark, Brian, and I don't even know who else, all of whom helped make my dysfunction's all that easier to deal with. I'd say thanks, but I wouldn't mean it. So why bother?

So I did the only thing I could do, raised my daughter, worked hard at my job and made the very best life for us that I could. Until that fateful day when I met Sean and saw, even if it was only for a moment, what appeared to be a bright light in the sky.

That bright light however went from high at a 100 watts down to barely glowing all in a matter of 5 months. Never in my life have I ever met a man so intent on making me miserable, that I didn't even want to be around myself while I was dating him. Check it out people, it's all documented in the archives. Just read January 2004 to May of 2004, and the evidence will all be appallingly clear.

So what exactly have I learned from all of this? (Not including that this post is taking me forever to complete ...)

Well, I suppose I've learned that some things are meant to be and some aren't. Some guys treat you like a doormat because you allow them to. Some men aren't the kind of men you'd want to spend the rest of your life with. And some men, teach you lessons you really need to learn. But most of all, I've learned that throughout all the ups and downs of love, I remain as always, me. And as long as I've got myself in my own corner, fuckwits beware.

(Sorry, had to get the word fuckwit into this post somehow, as I really didn't rip anyone's egos to threads. Not that I wasn't tempted. I'm just trying to use my gift for good and not for harm.)