I hate my exes. Mostly because I’m not even sure I can call them my exes. You see, in the world of the eternally single, you rack up a lot of blurry relationships with people. We go on dates, but we’re not dating. We’re dating, but we’re not together. We’re together, but he’s not my boyfriend. We make out every Tuesday, Thursday, and third Friday of the month, but that’s it.

It’s bad enough when it’s occurring, but when the sordid, undefinable tryst ends…you don’t even know how to bitch about them! Man, that “guy who I used to sometimes make out with (and one time I think we went on a date, but it was only kind of a date because we didn’t refer to it as one)… really sucks.” God. It takes up more effort than the half assed relationship ever did.

The worst of it followed me out this week. Earlier in the summer, I had become interested in (obsessed with) a cute, smart, funny dude I had met while I was out. I gave him my number, and we ended up hanging out (making out) a few times. I started to get frustrated when I realized the extent of our hanging out was us making out, so I finally grew a metaphorical pair and told the horny jerk off. And of course with my luck, two days after I stand up for myself by acting like a crazy bitch, I run into him while I’m out with friends. And I thought Chicago was supposed to be a LARGE city…do I need to move to Hong Kong?

He came up to me and asked how I was doing, then said he hadn’t called lately because he lost my number (Guys: get a new excuse, this one insults my intelligence). I made the conversation last as long as I could before he could see that I was tearing up in public a little (shut up), then proceeded to go back to my group of friends and take the ensuing frustration out on them (again, shut up).

And they kind of didn’t get it. He wasn’t really an ex, after all. He was just some guy. But in all honesty, he wasn’t just some guy; he was some guy I had hopes for, and eventually some guy who let me down. And while that’s no excuse for being a jackass to your friends, it hurt to see him. It hurt to have him lie to me. It especially hurt to see him walk out of the place with his arms around a cute blonde girl. There may have been no official label between us, but I guess no one told my emotions that they had to wait for that to kick in.

When the lines between you are so blurred, it’s hard to describe how or why…but you can still get hurt. Not getting a fourth date with a dude you really liked may not have the same crippling emotions as ending a 2 year relationship, but why can’t we admit that it still kind of stings? Even getting to know someone then realizing YOU don’t like him is a big old let down. All of these things are still disappointments, heartbreakers, and ultimately things that ruin our trust in relationships… and sometimes in ourselves.

And yet it seems we have to be ashamed to admit what should be obvious: undefined does not equate unemotional. Whether or not it reached relationship status, or even second date status, these are people who mattered enough to spend time and effort on. And it completely sucks when that time and effort turns out to be wasted. Come on, I’ve seen them in their skivvies… of course I’m bummed when their actions are not as great as their ass.

It’s just important to realize that emotions can happen for people you intended on being completely unemotional with. So whether it’s an ex-boyfriend or ex-dude who took you out to dinner, it’s still someone who was careless with your precious feelings. And you had better believe those are precious! So go right on ahead… you’re allowed to eat too much ice cream and call him, whatever he was, a jackass.

You pass out as the sun begins to peek its way out from behind the tapestry haphazardly hung over the window, the gent’s arm wrapped around your waist.

Then you wake up. You turn over the boy has his back to you. He’s snoring. You run to the bathroom to pee, trying not to wake him up, but hoping at the same time that you do. After all, it’s sorta awkward; you can’t just leave without him getting up. That would be weird.

You come back into the bed (after searching frantically in the bathroom for some mouthwash/gum and fixing your hair/makeup so you still look fresh) and he stirs. You make a joke about how tired you are and throw yourself into the bed. Random conversation ensues and most likely includes discussion of hangovers, how much you drank last night and how that water you chugged before bed was just divine.

And then….what? You know what you want to do. You want to have morning sex. Who doesn’t? Morning sex is the best way to start the day. (Some people think Wheaties is the breakfast of champions, but you and this boy both know the truth.) It is pretty much a given at this point, but neither of you really know how to broach the subject, mostly because you are both sober now and things are slightly awkward.

Do you ask for it? Do you pull the blanket down and go to town? Do you start nibbling on his ear? Does he even want to sleep with you?

You kinda fall back to sleep. You wake up. You talk more. This goes on for another 30 minutes.

Finally, you both sorta pass out facing each other. Then he puts his arm around you and starts rubbing your back. You put your arm around him and start scratching his back.

And that’s the signal.

Suddenly, you’re off. Just like that. Grabbing at each other. Gripping, huffing, getting it on like to dogs in heat. The shorts and t-shirt he gave you to sleep in? Gone. The blankets from the bed? Gone.

And that’s that. It’s over. You lay around for a few more minutes, realize that it is now late due to the time wasted trying to figure out a way to get busy and pack up (read: search for) your things to head home. You kiss him goodbye, thank him for a great time, tell him you’ll Facebook him later, and run home to chug a Powerade and scarf down a stack of chocolate chip pancakes.

Or is that just me?

[Photo courtesy of dearsugar.com]

I think I am starting to go crazy!

Not that I haven’t experienced this phenomenon before; I did live with 8 girls in an old house during college. The walls were paper thin and I could hear everything from giggles to bed springs to even the slightest breath. But those were my friends. I had no problem marching up the stairs, gently knocking on the door and reminding said roommate that not everyone needs to know how “good that feels.”

I don’t know the dude who lives upstairs. In fact, until I heard two male voices moaning in the throes of sex last night, I had no idea that he was gay. And it is not like that makes a difference for me at all; I don’t want to hear anyone – gay or straight – screaming “F*$! ME” at 6:45 on a Sunday morning. Nor do I care how either of the parties “likes it” or where their next fornication location is going to be. (Yes, I did hear one boy throw out the idea of “taking this to the shower.”) But my point is that I barely know my upstairs neighbor, making it virtually impossible for me to broach this touchy subject with him.

But I have to do something. Laying in my bed and listening while they share such an intimate (yet vocal) moment makes me feel like I am doing something wrong. Like I am creepily joining in somewhere that I shouldn’t be. Like I am a third wheel in my very own bedroom! Not to mention the fact that I am currently not enjoying such exhilarating sexcapades and should not have to be constantly reminded of what I am missing.

So what can I do?!

Pull a Mr. Heckles and stab the ceiling with a broom? Leave an anonymous note taped to his door asking him politely to be a little quieter in the mornings? Find my own loud/dirty talkin’ bed-mate and give him a taste of his own medicine?

I need my sleep. I need my sanity. Help!

1. I don’t like them. I don’t care to hear about their life after high school and I don’t care to hear about it now. Besides I’m almost always way too tired to put on my overly-friendly-pretend-to-care fake voice anyway.

2. I do like them. So much so, I want to impress them. Perhaps said person is cute… and at the moment I’m totally not.

I had myself a case number two the other day in yoga class. Nothing like seeing the “cute-younger- guy who I last saw four years ago and made a fool of myself in front of” while doing a Down Dog, not to mention sweating like Ross Gellar after he tried pivoting that couch. (You all know what episode I am talking about…Pivot!)

Clearly I hoped to have seen “cute guy” at a time when I looked hot — even a half-nice appearance would’ve sufficed. But nooo; the man upstairs likes to put me in awkward situations. Guess I should have taken my mom’s advice….

Due to this unfortunate incident, I’ve come to a realization: when I bump into people I don’t particularly want to see or vice-versa, there is usually an unspoken routine that we all partake in to avoid eye-contact/be recognized.

The Head Down and turn move: you avert your eyes or turn your head in the opposite direction and make it seem as though you are looking at someone else or are extremely engaged in something else.

The “I am so caught up in my technology to notice you”: You look at your cell phone, flip it open and closed a few times, press some buttons, even make a call… Or you go the iPod route, pretending to change songs (even though you really like the song that is on so you just fidget with your ipod to make it seem as though you are doing something).

The “Pivot and GO!.”: This usually happens in case number two. Where you wish you saw the person under different circumstances. So you turn around and walk in the other direction hoping to avoid the person at all costs.

The Purse-search: Head buried down like you are clearly digging for gold at the bottom of your bag. Whatever you are looking for is totally consuming you — just walk and dig, walk and dig, walk right by that person. Hey, it’s not your fault huge purses are soo in style that everything just falls right to the bottom!

The One Liner: In a worst-case-scenario where you just can’t avoid the person, you drop the quick “Hey! How are you? So good to see you! Sorry I’d love to catch up but I’m in a rush!” line so fast you feel the need to stop to catch your breath afterwards.

Usually my theory is it doesn’t hurt to say hi to someone. I mean, being a little bit fake for five minutes hasn’t killed anyone (yet). Plus, nothing is more annoying then being brushed off by someone you know when it’s pretty obvious they’ve seen you. Well at least until you have to do it to someone else. Then it all makes sense.