FAKE MYSPACE = 1, MY EX = 0

MYSPACE = 1, MY EX = 0.

I'm happily married now, but I didn't used to always date the brightest crayons in the box. Well, okay, I'm not bitter enough to actually refer to any of my exes as unintelligent, they were all actually pretty smart except when it came to keeping secrets and knowing how to treat a woman.

Ex-boyfriend, we'll call him Alejandro, cheated on me during the first week we were together. I did not find out until two years into our relationship (which was beginning to be pretty rocky at this point).

A friend had created a fake MYSPACE (yes MYSPACE not Facebook). I never had any issues in trust prior to this, at least in regards to potential adultery. My friend would use the fake MYSPACE to talk to her boyfriend and her friends boyfriends to see if she could bait him. The fake MYSPACE girl was pretty hot with the profile that men dream of. My friend asked me if I wanted to test it out. I didn't think I had anything to worry about but I did it for shits and giggles.

Sure enough, as I typed messages to my boyfriend at the time under a fake alias, a dark-haired girl who loved ferraris and Xbox 360, he was smitten through AOL Instant Messenger messages. Social Media Boner on his side. Social Media heart break on my side. Fake MYSPACE girl goes on to talk about her previous relationships and things that went on, etc etc. My ex talks about me to this girl and shows her a picture of me (not a very sexy one either). He then shows her the picture of the girl he cheated on me with who just so happens to be my arch nemesis from high school. She took my spot on the tennis team and made me miss a Journey concert and she also wanted my sloppy seconds apparently because she went after every guy I ever dated in high school.

I called him. I went to his house. I asked him to bring our scrapbook outside. I silently ripped two-three years of poems, pictures, and letters into smithereens. I ask, "Do you know why I did this?" He bawls and bawls and bawls. He asks to be held. I hold him. It's hard to see a man cry. But I voice my opinion, without wavering in my voice.

I take him back shortly after. He prioritizes drugs over me. We break up. I graduate college. He gets new girlfriend. I get married.


I get a message from his new girlfriend last week. "Alejandro says you're a really great writer, could you write my literary analysis for nursing school? $20 bucks."

MYSPACE = 1, MY EX = 0.

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