It has been a little over three weeks since I lost my job and I feel like (F)unemployment has me doing all sorts of crazy shit lately. And no, I don’t mean like, putting on a “Showtime” show on the L train, or chanting along with the Hare Krishna’s in Union Square. But like adopting a dog immediately after getting fired? Really? Though it is seriously the best thing I have done in weeks I can’t exactly say it was anything other than a rash and illogical decision. But the upside of being (f)unemployed is it has lit a fire inside me to purge all the bullshit from my life that is not serving me in a positive way. It has given me a weird sense of fearlessness that wasn’t there before. But I guess when you’ve already lost your job in a totally unjust way, you figure not much else can go wrong and might as well say fuck it to everything else! First I told the dude I was barely dating I wasn’t going to bother anymore. Then I told another guy I was kind of sort of seeing (albeit casually) for the better part of eight months that I didn’t feel like being his afterthought anymore. And finally, after years of ignoring the advice of my friends, removed a very toxic influence from my life. That is a lot of positive change on the relationship (or non-relationship?) front for one week. And then it hit me. The common denominator in all my (non) relationships (other than me of course) is that every person I get into a thing with, ends up being a total fuckboy. And after careful thought and consideration, I’ve decided I need to stop fucking with fuckboys.
This is how I came to this realization and conclusion. Anyone who knows me knows I have a long-standing history of choosing the wrong men. I fully admit to having daddy issues and a distrust of most straight men. Which is a whole other blog post. If I wanted to delve into my pre-adulthood experiences I could, but instead I’ll just focus on the post-college years. The first fuckboy case was the Jerk Hut Jerk. JHJ and I met while working at a local gem of a restaurant in Philadelphia called The Jamaican Jerk Hut. I was excited to work there because it had been in Cameron Diaz and Toni Collette movie “In Her Shoes” and they had a wicked back patio that felt like you were hanging out at someone’s summer BBQ blasting Bob Marley the whole time you worked. He was an aspiring actor. I was finishing up my casting apprenticeship and directing my first professional show. We became fast friends and eventually started dating. He was my first real boyfriend. We were only together for about six months when out of the blue he broke up with me saying he wasn’t ready for a relationship, that he wanted to be with me but not just me (classic fuckboy line). This was after we started looking at grad schools together, talking about what programs we both wanted apply to, which cities we could both happily live in, and him talking about us spending our lives together and eventually retiring in Edinburgh after we each had kick ass theatre careers. Ugh. He said he was going through some stuff that he couldn’t talk to me about and that it would all make sense eventually, he just needed time to process it. Cut to six months later, after we had still been sleeping together, hanging out, and borrowing plays off each other when one day after picking up some my plays he tells me he’d been spending a lot of time in West Philly lately. “You’re not the Fresh Prince. Why would you want to do that?” I asked. (West Philly is indeed as dangerous as the opening credits of Fresh Prince would have you believe). “Because my son lives there,” he responds. Turned out JHJ had cheated on me when we were together. Knocked a girl up. And broke up with me when he found out the chick was pregnant. She was also ten years his senior. And it was her fifth child by the fourth baby daddy, two of which were locked up if I remember correctly. This fucked with my head (and ego) tremendously. And yet I continued to sleep with him for the better part of the next three months, in between crying into pints of Ben & Jerry’s Ameri-cone Dream consumed sitting in my papasan chair with my roommates repeatedly telling me in so many words that he was a fuckboy and I could do much, much better.
Sadly in the last ten years not a whole lot has changed. The thing about fuckboys is that you don’t know they’re a fuckboy at the start. Sometimes they are disguised as a student in his late 20s returning to get a college degree who is happy to date you until he gets busy with finals and then only has time for a sporadic booty call between exams. Or maybe he’s an aspiring forensic psychologist who wants to join the peace corps, but stills lives with his ex-girlfriend because their lease isn’t up and is sleeping in their basement so he always has to stay at yours. He might come in the form of a sweet and well-meaning IT guy, but when he tells you he may or may not be gay, but definitely has a thing for tranny porn and enjoys having balls in his mouth, there is really no coming back from that. And if he is a programmer, who on the third date tells you he wants to be exclusive (after prematurely ejaculating and calling it a “bad boyfriend move”) but then continues to message other girls online and dump you via text message a week before Christmas, well… that will certainly be a blow to your ego. A fuckboy could even be disguised as one of your closest friends, spending years telling you how much he cares about you only to repeatedly break your heart. Maybe he even goes on to date wildly inappropriate people after you. And sometimes he’ll even be best friends with one of your oldest friends, and you think to yourself, “FINALLY! Someone who can’t hurt me cause then that will be really awkward because of our mutual friend!” But to expect that much from another person will only leave you disappointed in the end. The point being: fuckboys come in all different shapes and sizes, ages and ethnicities. Even the nicest, most handsome and well-meaning guy can have fuckboy tendencies. But just because someone is nice, handsome, and well-meaning it doesn’t also mean they won’t treat you shitty and lack integrity. And for some reason, every time I think I meet someone who isn’t one, every time I give them the benefit of the doubt that they’re different, that they’re not a total asshole, I am sadly proven otherwise. Perhaps I just need to lower my standard for what I consider basic human decency? Or is it a self-fulfilling prophecy? Am I using Oprah’s law of attraction to will fuckboys into my life? I don’t think that is how it actually works. All I know is that I am beyond over it.
In case you haven’t figured out what a fuckboy is based on my personal examples, or cause you aren’t down with the kids these days, or you know, are my mother (hi mom), I will break it down like this: the word originates from hip-hop slang as an insult to cut someone down. Rapper Killer Mike recently explained in a Slate article that “You can identify fuckboys … because they are always doing fuck shit. Just the dumbest, weirdest, lamest possible shit ever.” Urban Dictionary says a fuckboy is “a weak ass pussy who ain’t about shit” in one definition, and a “boy who plays with your heart” in another. I think all definitions apply when it comes to dudes doing stupid shit while dating, and how you should or should not treat another human being. So in the context of dating, a fuckboy will ask for pics of you within the first few minutes of any text conversation or introduction. That dude from Tinder who said “hey” as a first line will likely text “pic 4 pic” within the next three. Or better yet, send you an unsolicited dick pic. Or tell you how hot he thinks you are and then ask to Facetime before you go on an actual date, and when you answer all you see is him jerking off. Yeah, he’s a fuckboy. That guy who says he’s really into you but isn’t ready for a relationship or doesn’t want to label things and prefers to keep things vague instead of communicating? Total fuckboy. If you call him out on his shit and he responds with “absolutely, you’re right!” but doesn’t actually change anything you called him out on: fuck.boy. If he doesn’t respond to your texts then texts you days later with “hey whats up?” he’s
probably definitely is a fuckboy. Claims he didn’t get your texts at all? Blames Mercury in retrograde? Decides to start using carrier pigeons because he ran out of texts on his monthly plan, then blames the poor overworked carrier pigeon for not getting you that message? HE’S. A. FUCK. BOY.
So how do I, a frequent fuckboy fucker stop fucking fuckboys? And how do I incorporate that sentence into a tongue twister warm up for actors? Both are equally good questions. Do I take a vow of celibacy until I meet my future husband or life partner? As much as my Grandmother would love that, I am not the sort of girl who has been planning her wedding since childhood and I don’t even know if I believe in marriage, so I don’t think that is the best option. Do I take on bedfellows and lovers and compartmentalize my emotions the way males do? Tried it. That does not work for me. Do I resort to a life filled with electronic re-chargeable replacements and forgo the weight and touch of another human? Or do I give up on men all together and turn toward female companionship now that scientists have discovered women are almost never totally straight? I have no clue. All I have figured out at this point is that this is clearly an unhealthy pattern. I am aware of it. And it needs to change. I am sure at this point, dear reader, if you are still reading, you may think I am bitter towards these fuckboys. And I understand the assumption. Thing is though, I can’t even be mad at them. At least not in the long-term. Because the truest common denominator amongst all these guys is each of them lacks the self-awareness to understand what they’re doing is fucked up. When a fuckboy acts from a place of selfishness, thinking only of their own personal gain, they can’t begin to comprehend that their actions can affect another person. I believe if all singletons stopped playing games and instead acted from a place of love, self-awareness, and compassion, and communicated like an adults about our wants, needs, and expectations, it would make everything so, so much easier. But that might be expecting too much in and of itself. So in the mean time, I’m once again taking a break from dating all together. Having now purged unhealthy relationships from my life that were causing me a great deal of frustration, pain, and disappointment I am free to spend my (f)unemployment looking for theatre work, finishing my script, and training my puppy to be the boss bitch I want her to grow up to be. And maybe with any luck, I won’t be too far behind.