Dear Serial: I'm all out of love

Dear Serial,

My girlfriend is a smart, pretty, kind, funny, loving and rad woman. She's my best friend and I love her deeply. Only problem (there's always one, right?) is that I'm not attracted to her anymore. I'm also not sure if I'm still in love with her, but I care about her so much and love our friendship that I don't want to break up.

Any advice?

Anonymous

Dear Anonymous,

I have so many questions. When you say your girlfriend is smart, pretty, kind and funny, are you, you know, saying “she has a good personality”? Like, does she have a very pretty face? Is she really beautiful on the inside?

You know what I’m getting at. Are we looking at a few too many relationship pounds?

If so, I sympathize. Not so much with you, but with her. Goddamnitall if it isn’t hard not to plump up when you’re in a relationship. All that love and acceptance. The joy of cooking for and sharing meals with your honey. But if those pounds have gone from pleasantly plump to too much cushion for the pushin,’ it’s time for a chat. A loving, kind chat. Though there’s really no easy way to go about it. You’ll likely hurt her feelings. Try telling her you want to get healthier together. You can use a line like, “And just imagine how well our clothes will fit!” Naturally, you’ll mean, “You can finally pull those skinny jeans out of the back of your closet!” But I wouldn’t suggest actually saying that line.

She might be pissed, but unless she has a really good reason for getting fat, like having a kid, or an injury, it’s reasonable to expect she keep in shape for you, just as it’s reasonable for her to expect you to take care of yourself. Now, you can’t expect her to stay the same size forever, we all get a little bit fatter as we age (and if that rule doesn’t apply to you, well you can just go ahead and eat shit), but within reason, it’s OK to say, “Let’s get to the gym, sweetheart.”

Now, if it’s not that something she can control has changed, but it’s just that you don’t love her anymore, why are you still with her? For friendship’s sake? She probably has enough friends. You’re her boyfriend (or girlfriend, I can’t tell). If it’s just that the spark’s not there anymore, have you tried to get it back? Do you care to? There are things that can be done. You know them. Try something new. Go on a trip. Talk about whatever your problems are.

But if it’s really not happening, why not just dump her? If you’re not attracted to her, you’re not doing her any favors by sticking with her. She didn’t sign up for a friend, did she? She signed up for a more-than-friends situation.

Love, Serial

Got a question for Serial Monogamist? Want to tell her how full of shit she is? Do it. We dare ya. Send a note to seriallymonogamous[at]gmail[dot]com

Can't get enough of that Craigslist

*** Editor's note: Today's Craigslist Gem comes from Sir Robin, AKA The Fool. Happy dating! ***

Being male, I'm used to being cast as the villain, but there are some dating scenarios that would make even the most virtuous white knight act rather like Sir Robin. Appropriately enough, a confrontation with a three-headed ogre is a pretty fair metaphor when used to describe my date, although to hear her tell it, I was the one who behaved inappropriately. We had first connected online, through Craig's List, and the day after our dating disaster, I found the following post:

"/Last night was the worst first date of my life. Not only was it with the creepiest guy I had ever seen, but after pressuring me into a late-night meeting at Denny's and making me drive an hour out of my way, he barely said a word to me... except to call me fat and tell me to stop eating so much. He tried to order booze after I told him I didn't drink, and he wouldn't take his shades off the entire time. We won't be going out again./"

There was no question that it was about me. The sunglasses bit confirmed it, although she left out the part where I apologized for my debilitating light-sensitivity. Still, as certain as I was about the subject of the story, I wasn't completely clear on the details.

1. "/... After pressuring me into a late-night meeting at Denny's.../" Apparently, responding to passive-aggressive accusations about not being interested counts as pressuring. When I suggested that we wait until Saturday afternoon to meet - rather than a bit past ten on Friday evening - she questioned whether I really wanted to meet at all. I assured her that I did, and she asked if I knew of any restaurants that were open late. "Only Denny's," I joked. Her unexpected response was that Denny's was fine by her. It wasn't quite what I had in mind, but I supposed that it was better than a dingy dive bar somewhere.

2. "/... Making me drive an hour out of my way.../" We lived three hours apart. You do the math.

3. "/... except to call me fat.../" She weighed at least a hundred pounds more than she had led me to believe, but I didn't say anything about it. At least, not until she asked - and this was perhaps the second thing she said to me - "I'm heavier than you expected, aren't I?" My response, for the record, was a decidedly lame reply of "And prettier, too!" Really, though, is there a right answer to that question?

4. "/... and tell me to stop eating so much./" While we had been planning the date, she asked if I would mind paying. While we were eating, she kept ordering more additions to the meal. While looking into my wallet - figuratively speaking - I politely stated that I couldn't comfortably afford much more, being that I was a broke college student. While ignoring my statement, she ate my french fries.

5. "/He tried to order booze.../" No, I tried to order a Shirley Temple. It was the waiter who thought that I was trying to order booze. At least he realized his mistake after I explained it to him.

Perhaps my favorite accusation, though, is this one:

6. "/... he barely said a word to me./" This is true. Of course, it's a little bit hard to get a word in edgewise when she and her sister - who she brought along as a chaperon - are spending the entire time gossiping about friends whom I've never even heard of whilst dining on the meal that I paid for. It's even worse when they both glare at me every time I try to interject a comment or ask a question, and downright insulting when the they discuss me in whispers that they think I can't overhear from across the table.

In spite of all those incorrect details, though, there's definitely one thing that she got exactly right: "/We won't be going out again./"

Believe me, folks... As soon as it was polite enough to do so, Sir Robin ran away.

If you're single, there's someting wrong with you

Katie Ett over at Unapologetically Mundane posted the following this week:

“More to Love” is my favourite/most hated show on television right now. I was torn between it and “NYC Prep” on the first Tuesday night it aired, but after watching 20 fat women cry nonstop for an hour, I knew I made the right choice, and I’ve been making it every week since.

I’m not a person who believes weight has anything to do with love. I’m not thin, and I’ve loved and been loved in return by all sorts of men, thin and not-thin themselves. (But mostly thin, because fat people are gross. (Kidding.)) These big-boned ladies all truly believe, though, that their one shot at love is this 26-year-old spike-haired real estate developer who likes to eat and doesn’t want a woman who watches her weight.

And they all cry about it throughout every episode. Their skinny friends get hit on at bars. They’ve never had serious boyfriends. They’ve never been on a single date. And there’s a reason for that.

If you’re single–if you’re perpetually single–and you don’t want to be, there’s something wrong with you. There, I said it. Don’t blame it on men being superficial. Blame it on you being a crappy date. Unless you live in the middle of smalltown Iowa, in which case I’m a little more sympathetic, but seriously, it’s probably still your fault, especially if you’re one of those assholes who scorns Internet dating. Whenever I hear some fat chick say, “I have no idea why I’m alone!”, I want to go through a laundry list for her, because it’s always so obvious. Even the guys who are willing to look past your weight can’t deal with your jacked-up face, your total lack of humor, your junior high vocabulary, and your skank clothes.

For instance, not a single one of the women in the two episodes of “More to Love” I’ve watched has said something funny. In fact, when Luke asks each of them in turn if they’ll wear the ring that signifies their staying on the show another week, each of them in turn says, “Of course.” I’ve been waiting for even just one of them to say “bitch, please” or fake like they don’t want it only to throw their arms around him and snatch it out of his hands a second later, but they’re all so worried about losing their “one” chance for “true” love that all behave like robots. Whiny, sobbing robots.

My boyfriend called the show depressing, but I really delight in watching these pathetic women mope around. None of them are actually the least bit interested in this guy specifically, as far as I can tell, and are only interested in him being interested in them. And he’s too pleased with the opportunity to grope 20 fatties to care. I mean, MAYBE the producers are hiding the parts where Luke and the ladies have deep, meaningful conversation about politics and religion, but it seems like the most intimate information the group has about Luke is the name of his dog.

I had a long-distance relationship like this once: the guy would want to talk about how interested he was in the sinking of the Titanic every single time he called me–I mean, he really, really loved the Titanic–and I just wanted to talk about how in love we were. But I realized I was using him, whereas these girls are planning their weddings.

And the worst part is that they make absolutely none of this secret to him. They tell him that they’d pursue their music careers if only they had better images. They tell him that they’re virgins. They tell him, “You’re my first second date.” And he uses these confidings as teachable moments where he gets to build their self-confidence by calling them sexy and telling them to believe in themselves. And they cry.

It’s pretty clear that in the end, Luke’s going to pick the thinnest/prettiest girl in the house regardless of her personality, and all the other girls who were using his choosing her as sole proof that there’s hope for fat girls are going to kill themselves.

I finally asked my boyfriend why I’ve been able to find love when these women haven’t, and he said, “Because you’re not psychotic.” Win.

Did you catch that part, beloved DIW readers, about perpetually single folk? It bears repeating: "If you’re single–if you’re perpetually single–and you don’t want to be, there’s something wrong with you."

That's what Katie thinks. What about you, is there something wrong with perpetually single folk?

Regarding Fatties

Dear Serial Monogamist,

So, I've entered the wonderful world of internet dating (and yes, I know, I should submit something of my own to DIW and I will do so after having a few liaisons under my belt). Anyway, so far so blech. Not a lot out there on the interwebs, at least not on the sites I've visited.

Anyway, I've gotten a few conversations going and then asked for a pic. Upon receipt of said pic, I've immediately been, like, "nope." I want to be really clear, and I'm not into lying, so in my next email I say "I just don't see it. Good luck to you." Since you're a member of the fairer sex, what do you think about how I'm responding? Yes, its entirely based on their uglyness, or extreme fat-itude, but oh well. I'm not just looking to date a nice person, I also want someone at least somewhat hot and I'm not going to pursue anything with people that aren't at least a 7 out of 10 on my personal scale.

Thanks,

Mr. Rodgers

Dear Mr. Rodgers,

OK, let’s start out with some linguistics.

I think you would be well-advised to be careful about using terms like “the fairer sex.” You know, like, um, EVER.

See, Fred, I know you’re not trying to get into my panties, at least not at the moment, but nonetheless, “The fairer sex?” I mean, when you use language like that, you’re likely to come off sounding like either:

A) That jerkoff with a goatee who tries to sound all ironic all of the time but who really just ends up giving away in a sarcastic, “who really believes this garbage?” tone what it is that he really thinks of women, namely, that we’re hyper-sensitive, weak-willed, and prone to hysteria (which, if you’re dipping your hairy little toes in internet dating, you’re only MORE apt to believe)

B) Some sort of renaissance fair guy who is, at this very moment, wearing crushed velvet pantaloons and drinking something you call “grog” that is really only apple cider mixed with Monarch rum, a guy who thinks it’s sexy to talk down to women so that it'll be this big fucking surprise later when you admit you just want to get tied up in a dungeon somewhere, but: Hey! It's no shocker! Your cat is named Azrael! We saw this one coming, dude.

or C) Some guy who just trying his honest-to-joe-sixpack-best to make a throwaway joke.

Even if the answer’s C, why’s it worth the risk of being seen as A or B? It’s not. I guess the moral of this particular rant is this, Freddie: Don’t talk down to me as an opener. Which, I guess, brings us on to the current topic.

Don’t string the fatties and the uggies along. There are dudes out there who can, and will, love some bigole chubba rolls and even a brilliant goddess with a cleft palate.

But: It ain’t you, babe. If you really feel bad about telling them off just after you get the photo, then try to get one more email with content out of them, and then suggest it’s something in that email that turned you off their fatty-ugg-ass-scent.

She’ll know anyway. But why put you both through the awkwardness of the in-person meetup before turning them down for being such hags? It’s painful, it’s pointless. Let their humiliation be electronic.

You also never said whether or not you were attractive. Maybe all you have to do is send a pic of yourself back to the ug-trons. Maybe then you’ll be the one getting the “yeah, I don’t see it, good luck,” e-mails.

Stranger things have happened in this neighborhood.

Love,
Serial

Got a question for Serial Monogamist? Just want to tell her to shut the crap up? E-mail her at seriallymonogamous[at]gmail[dot]com.

Or not. Who needs you?