Taking a Break from The Game

Published May 8, 2007

By Laura Bilodeau

The single life in Burlington is rough for anyone, but when you’re a female senior about to graduate, the word desperate takes on a whole new meaning. In my underclassmen days, the University environment alone was an endless field of prospective encounters. These days, I find myself in a less desirable situation.

The last person I hooked up with more than once provided me with a brief moment of hope. We met at Red Square hip-hop night; I decided it was time to give up the tight twat act, and gave him my number. We went to Flat Bread, conversation flowed, we laughed.

About a week into our “relationship” I felt confident enough to introduce him to my closest female friends. He knocked on the door, interrupting a cynical conversation about the overtly machismo condom brand “lucky boy.”

After we chatted with my friends for a moment, I eagerly escorted him into the kitchen. As I poured a glass of wine, I gave him the once over and noticed some writing across his t-shirt. I cast him a sly smile and slowly unzipped his jacket to reveal the bright yellow bubble letters, which I slowly and carefully read out loud: “I’m not a gynecologist… but I’ll take a look.” Wow.

Needless to say, it was a short night, followed by a long series of phone conversations about why it wasn’t going to work.

After he stopped calling, I was relieved and at peace; free of unwanted admiration, but also disappointed by another failed relationship. I began to question my motives.

Like many, I am apparently addicted to destructive relationships where I either fall for assholes and get hurt, or hurt someone who is genuinely interested in me.

I needed to get to the bottom of this before letting it happen yet again. I decided to take myself out of the game, that was that. No more awkwardness. No more fake laughter for unfunny people. No more gyno tee shirts. No more denying asparagus and curry, two of my favorite foods, which unfortunately take a toll on the scent of your vag.

I was going to stay in, alone–really get in touch with my inner self; light incense, stretch, listen to Broken Social Scene, and eat curried chicken with asparagus until I was ready to hit the scene again. However, it was surprisingly satisfying being alone, and this stage has lasted longer than I originally anticipated.

A Peruvian man once told my friend in regard to relationships, “women are like primates, they don’t let go of one branch unless they have a grasp on another one.” Not me. I let go and go flying through the air, hitting my head on a few branches before I hit the ground where I look up through blurred, dizzy vision at the millions of branches above me and realize that I’m going to have to start climbing from the bottom all over again.

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