How to Break Up With the Non-Boyfriend Part 2

by Jessica Brookman in

FACT: Great sex is addictive like heroine. But it's not enough to keep me high.  

Esteemed ladies and dudes, I need your help with something. Please read and advise. 

So, I expect to catch some shade from multiple parties for writing this but, here's the deal:

We are lying in bed around 9am. The light is soft. We are tangled up in each other. The non-boyfriend is casually kissing the crook of my arm. Because that's what you do when you're not dating.

We are about to fake break up for the 4th time in about 2 months. And by "about to," I mean imminently. We've agreed -- again -- that our non-relationship will terminate as of 11am. And I suggest fake here because we are not -- not really -- dating; not because it won't stick this time. But regardless, we've helped ourselves to a farewell fuck (#ff?) to commemorate the very real destruction of our fake relationship. 

Suddenly, he stops, distracted. "Hey...were you on a date last night?"


"Never mind. Don't tell me."

I wasn't about to. Believe that. That is classified information between us, anyway, lest I break out a multiple choice score card, some #2 pencils, and we start comparing dates and times. Nobody wants that. Plus I was on a date, two of them, actually. But, I ended up in a small wine bar on the east side of Los Angeles afterwards anyway.


The truth is that it was a few days prior when I had engineered this rendezvous. After suggesting we slap an expiration date on the....uh, situation, I caught very little resistance.

So there we bed. About to go sour.    


The problem was that we had been getting a little too close for comfort again. 

We had spent half the week before together playing catch in parks, haunting a few too many bars, running into a few too many friends, and taking day trips to Venice. When that happens, some one needs to take action. Something must be done. 

It came to a head this time, in part because of that daytrip to Venice. Long story short, I met one of non-boyfriend's friends. The friend expressed interest in me. Non-boyfriend told friend that I was off the market.

Funny texts in the vein of "bros before hos" were exchanged! LOLs were had by all!! All except me. Because the non-boyfriend made sure to mention to me that (even though his friend now believed we were exclusive, and, even though he was taking up about half of my waking and sleeping hours that week) we were still, in fact, not dating.

I wasn't comfortable with it. I brought it up on a Sunday after spending the afternoon walking around Silverlake with the non-boyfriend and the half-brother-of-the-non-boyfriend.

He did not get it.

The whole exchange had me annoyed. It seemed clear to me: You can't have things both ways -- changing positions whenever it's convenient to you -- and expect me to think it's cute. Just pick one and work with it. GOSH. 

Exasperated, I may or may not have tweeted something passive-aggressive before disappearing for several days, ignoring all non-boyfriend contact. Yes. Say what you will about avoidance, but the vanishing act always feels better than fighting to me.

Plus, I needed those days to get a fresh perspective. By the time I came around, I had all but made up my mind (again?) that things needed to change or end.  


The get-close-back-off-recon-cycle was starting to bore me. Boredom wears me down.  

What's the point of having a non-serious non-relationship if it becomes serious every other week? We were supposed to be having fun not wading through a puddle of knee-high bullshit. It was time to stop dating, non-dating, or whatever it was that we were calling it that week. 

I imagine this is what it feels like to schedule a labor induction when you're nearing the end of a pregnancy: "OK. This is it....Might as well pick a day and get it out of the way." Except in this case, instead of a baby, you get laid one last time in exchange for all of your pain and suffering..........#FAREWELLFUCK2013!


Later, after coffee, he walked me outside. We kissed goodbye. I got in the car and I drove straight to my therapist's office. 

So, riddle me this, internets:

Is it actually fucking unreasonable to expect dating to be anything short of melodramatic in a town full of professional drama queens?! 

And if not, am I just an addict in need of a new kind of 12-step program? 

Shit. Let me know,

Plus this. I want this. This seems more fun:

Every mouth you’ve ever kissed was just practice. All the bodies you’ve ever undressed and ploughed in to were preparing you for me. I don’t mind tasting them in the memory of your mouth. Was it a long journey? Did it take you long to find me? You’re here now, welcome home.
— Warsan Shire

k thanks @aboyce18.