>Breaking Up is Hard to Do

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This post will go over some of my experience with rejection – both aspects of receiving and giving. It’s never easy either way, but if you’re going to dive into the frog pond, you have to deal with this at some point. You can’t determine the suitability of someone just by email and phone calls – you have to meet them.

Since the concept of this blog began, I have met nearly a dozen men. For many of these meetings, I know within 30 minutes whether there is that “click” or not. For the vast majority, there is nothing, and we go our separate ways – no hard feelings. However, sometimes it takes a few (or several) dates to make this determination. Often something “clicks” but then something “unclicks.” It could be a number of things to cause it, but I won’t get into that here, as it’s very subjective. This is a common phenomenon, and breaking it off (including breaking the news to your future former dating partner) can be somewhat difficult. Case in point, my experience with Frog Two, who did not bother to break the news to anyone prior to announcing to the world his change in status. I do NOT recommend this mode of notification. It makes more enemies than friends.

For my part, it’s important to cut the relationship cleanly – no messiness if at all possible. I do this by sitting with the intended victim in person (if possible), and after thanking them for their companionship, explain that I no longer feel that we can go further. If said victim asks why, then I will explain to them – as delicately as possible – the reasons. I never raise my voice, use slurs or name-calling and I make it as short as possible.

My experience with Frog Nine, in particular, can be used as a cautionary tale. From several dates over the course of two weeks, I had gone from cautiously optimistic to total aversion. This is a lesson on how to break up (or not) and how to react to said break-up (or not).

For our first meeting, we arranged to meet at a coffee and wine bar one evening, and aside from the fact that Frog Nine was late (and didn’t feel the need to update me himself; I’d called him), we had a good time once he arrived. Not attractive to me in the least, but he was personable, if a little too cozy. Still, he did not overstep any boundaries, and later told me that I could take all the time I needed. After the first meeting, and before the end of the next, I got the feeling that he was a lot more into me than I was into him. He sent an email later that day asking for the next date, saying, “tonight would not be too soon.” Hmmm… Still, I saw in him a huge capacity for sweetness and compassion and decided to continue trying to discover who he really was. I got that in spades.

Our next – and third – date was dinner at his house. He lived in a town nearby in a very old (circa 1900s) section. He said he owned his house outright and has no payments. The brick house looked nice on the outside but somewhat run down on the inside. It wasn’t dirty or damaged; just old and not updated. He was preparing dinner: a nice steak with pasta and shrimp and green salad. I came in around the beginning of it, so offered to help, which he accepted. A man that cooks and works well with you in the kitchen is a bonus. He also prepared for me one of his specialty drinks: a mint julep. I’m not a huge bourbon fan, but the drink was nice and cooling on a warm evening. I nursed my one drink while he went through at least three over the course of the date, by my count. Nothing really wrong with that (I don’t drink a lot, so it can really affect me), as he seemed to be able to hold his liquor, but I did take a mental note. The date ended positively and the next day, he asked me out for that evening. I declined, saying that I had things I needed to do. Over the next several days, he persisted, and I acquiesced. We were to go out, but I met him at his house. By this time, he had already had a few drinks and was showing it. I tolerated the date, and at the end, told him what was on my mind.

I had been raised around alcoholics and drug addicts, and for some miraculous reason, that disorder did not plague me. I had seen the effects of substance abuse, and I will not – under any circumstances – accept that in any partner. I won’t even date a ‘recovering’ substance abuser. I’ve seen that shit hit the fan and scatter far and wide. Too damaging. Won’t do it. Period.

He told me that he just got carried away, and that it wouldn’t happen again. I shouldn’t have, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I was to be proven wrong.

The last date was when he came over to my house (I had misgivings about any future with him, but decided to follow through), and he brought two bottles of wine. Most heavy drinkers are not picky about what they drink, and it was true here. I could not drink what he had, but he proceeded to drink glass after glass in short order. I watched him go from reasonably sober to nearly tottering drunk. He was pawing me, and I had just had enough. He made a comment to me that put me on high-alert: “What about your other boyfriends – do I need to kill any of them?” He tried to put if off as a joke, but that was an extremely dangerous thing to say. I told him that he had to leave – now. The compassionate part of me wanted to just have him sleep it off on the sofa, but my fear was that he would take advantage of my generosity and not keep to the sofa like a good boy. So, I went against my logic and I kicked his ass out, only marginally concerned that he would be driving drunk. I secretly hoped he would be pulled over, perhaps saving himself and untold others. It did not escape my mind the ramifications of an accident which involved innocent people. My instinct for self-preservation overrode any compassion I had for anyone else. As sad as it sounds, I’m sure few people would do otherwise.

This was not the end of Frog Nine. Over the course of several days, he emailed, texted and called me several times a day. I tried to ignore his overtures, thinking that he would finally get the hint. He did not. I decided that I needed to call him and give him the “come to Jesus” talk. He did not answer his phone, so I decided to give him his walking papers by voicemail (not my favorite mode of dumping a frog, but I felt he gave me no choice). I told him that I didn’t want to see him again, that his relationship with alcohol was a dangerous one and that any further communication with me would be ignored. He followed up the next day with an email (ugh!) asking why I was acting this way. Okay, so this time I was really concerned. I feared that he might decide to show up at my house some day and force the issue. I have since taken measures to ensure that if that happened, there would be an evidence trail if things got bad.

I don’t recommend that one should go out and buy a gun or any other defensive device – especially if one is not trained thoroughly in such devices. I am, but no longer own a pistol. So, I took the following measures:

Since I had been dating multiple men, I kept a spreadsheet with all pertinent information on it, including the full name, address (if known), phone number, and dating site info (username, etc.). I sent this document to two trusted Facebook friends. These friends are people with whom I had communication with almost daily, and would notice if my activity on FB waned. These people had my contact info, so would follow up. On my phone, I programmed the numbers of those trusted friends as ICE (In Case of Emergency) contacts. I felt that if something unfortunate happened, that there would be an evidence trail in place.

Was I jumping to conclusions? Perhaps, but this is an object lesson to prove that you just don’t know someone when you’re in the first weeks of dating – perhaps even the first months. I will recommend this practice to anyone who wishes to do online dating – or any dating, for that matter. An ounce of prevention, don’t you know.

I am down to just one frog in the pond. My next post will go over my experience with Frog Eleven: the Frog who could be Prince.