//To The Nice Girl I Thought I Knew

To The Nice Girl I Thought I Knew

By | 2018-05-09T08:01:42+00:00 May 10th, 2018|Categories: Blog|Tags: |Comments Off on To The Nice Girl I Thought I Knew

To The Nice Girl I thought I knew,

“What the fuck?!“

Those were the words my boss said when I called him at the last job I ever had when I was 23. I was selling private equity investments and had lost my appetite for the business. I heard that one of the men we were raising money for was a pedophile who owned an adult movie store chain and had now moved to Honduras or somewhere in central America to live next to an orphanage. The story was so far-fetched, it might have been a rumor, but I felt sick to my stomach when I heard the orphanage part. Although I had sold enough product to go on the president’s club Las Vegas trip, they only gave me one ticket because I was a single man and didn’t have a spouse. If I had a wife, or a spouse, I would get two tickets. But they stiffed me a ticket and I was pissed off. When I heard the pedophile rumor, it was too much for me – I was done.

“What the fuck?!”

My boss uttered incredulously into the telephone receiver when I told him I “was done”. It was fast, it was merciless, it was brutal, like snapping someone’s neck. In an instant, I snapped our relationship in half, he was disconnected from me, the thin spinal cord that connected us was severed, the spine was shattered and he was left paralyzed. All he could say in his dying paralysis was:

“What the fuck?!”


“What the fuck?!”

Is what I said to myself when I heard that your boyfriend’s name was Drake.

He was the same guy you were dating three years ago when I met you and started courting you, seducing you and we began our relationship. I thought you broke up with him at some point before me, but looking back it was odd that you were never sad about breaking up with your boyfriend and there certainly was no post breakup depression from you.

I thought I was playing “on side”, taking free territory, not eating some other guy’s lunch.

But sadly, I ate his lunch, all of his lunch… The things we did I can’t even type here.

Every girl has a boyfriend, especially if she’s remotely attractive, and you were so attractive that I would kill a man in cold blood for you… I always joke when a girl I am trying to pick up says “I have a boyfriend…”

My reply is simple…

“Of course you have a boyfriend, in fact, all girls have at least 3 boyfriends… They have 1) their future husband who is looking for them, out there searching, but he hasn’t found her 2) They have their ex, the past boyfriend trying to crawl back into their life and 3) they have some poor schmuck stuck in the middle who is the current boyfriend… so by boyfriend… which one are you referring to?”

Your boyfriend’s name was Drake, when I heard his name again, I felt sick to my stomach…

They say that the first stage of the grieving process is denial. I told myself that there was a 99% chance that the guy on the phone at your work didn’t know what he was talking about, there was a 1% chance he was wrong. I held onto the one 1% chance, I needed a second point of data to draw a line and prove the theory: The nice girl I once knew in fact had a boyfriend the whole time.

So I sent flowers, I went online and sent two dozen roses to the other address you never gave me. The address I would normally send gifts to was your aunt’s address, the safe address that no one in your life would know about… this time I would send my Trojan horse to the other address that Google said was yours and this time, flowers would be “from Drake” your real boyfriend. You would call him and say “Thanks for the flowers”, he would say “I didn’t get you any flowers.” You would both know that something was wrong, the gig would be up.

It didn’t work like that in reality, the whole thing got messy and fucked up in the middle, but you came clean to me after the flowers were delivered.

I texted “how’s Drake? Is he happy?” after you said that all you wanted for me was to “Be happy” as if that’s what life is about.

“Is Drake happy?”

You said “No.”

It was sad and ironic because you were with him and he wasn’t happy, but you could have been with me, you used to make me happier than I had ever been.

You told me he was an alcoholic and I guess he was your pet project, your guy to work on and fix up. Maybe you could save him? Maybe it was just about power? You said once, love was about power. You had power over him, but not over me. Maybe my power intimidated you, I’m sure it did.

You always “wanted to just be happy” and “wanted me to be happy”, it was all about happiness, but happiness is a fool’s game. It’s something that you can pursue, but never really attain unless you lower your standards. If you lower your standards and stop chasing your dreams, you will be happy, but people who chase their dreams, aggressive men who never settle are rarely happy except for fleeting moments that always flutter away in time.

You lowered your standards and stayed with the alcoholic Drake which made you happy somehow. You can lower your standards to any depth in the name of happiness, but is that really good for you?

I always say “hope is for the hopeless and happiness is fleeting, seek fulfillment instead.”

But no, you settled, you wanted to settle. Somehow in your low self-esteem it was easier to settle for less, just like Wal-Mart sells for less. You told yourself you wanted to live your boring Reno life and you wanted your boring boyfriend that somehow didn’t know about our intense love affair.

You had two full time secret boyfriends (me and him), plus school, plus a job, no wonder you had anxiety and were stressed. Living a double life, plus a full-time employment and full time courses is insane. I tip my hat to your workload, it’s impressive from this vantage point, but also very “Jerry Springer” of you…

So you wanted to settle, you saw me as being something you could never “keep up with”. I’ve heard it before from women I’ve loved – “I can’t keep up with you”.

The truth is “I can’t keep up with me”, no one can. Love, to me, is about complimentary reciprocals, opposites, different energies, otherness. That’s where the mystery, the sexiness, the polarity comes from… Not from sameness, togetherness or homogeny.

If you are the same, what is the point of being together? If two heads always agree, why not chop one off?

I loved you more than anything. I called you every day, texted you every day, sent you flowers and presents in the mail, asked every day “when can I see you again?” like a drug addict. When I tell other women about my rabid passion for you, they all say “I wish someone loved me like you loved her.”

Would it have lasted? Who knows, I can’t say… but it was truly something special.

It took me years to find you, I hadn’t been in love since my engagement fell apart years ago. There was no one else that could capture my heart and mind like you, the nice girl from Reno.

You wanted to be a teacher, you had a little dog because no man had given you a baby yet and you wanted to spend your days with the kindergarten children. You were a supporter and a nurturer. You didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings and you were very nice on paper. In fact, too nice, too innocent, too perfect, I couldn’t figure it out in my mind.

I fell in love with your innocence. My innocence, fell in love with your innocence. There was nothing you could do wrong in my mind. Sure, it was sexy to sneak around and have secret trysts in anonymous Casino hotel rooms in Reno, especially during lunch time between your classes. It was exciting and sexy to keep it a secret, you told me your sister could never know. Although I wanted to meet your sister, I bought into the mystery and the excitement of a secret.

But secrets don’t last, lies don’t last. The last time I saw you, I flew down to surprise you for your birthday and you were pissed that I was showing up unannounced. I couldn’t figure it out at the time, but I can see it was because you were losing control over the deception.

I was going to show up at your house with flowers, which was inflammatory to you and you almost lost it crying out “DON’T GO TO MY HOUSE” into your cell phone.

I think back and laugh…

What if I knocked on the door and your boyfriend, Drake, my brother, my glue-stirring companion answered the door? Wouldn’t that be something? Wouldn’t that be wild? Maybe we would have killed each other with pistols? Perhaps with swords or rapiers? Men just over 100 years ago would frequently die in duels over the hands of beautiful and fair maidens like you. Maybe one of us would have died (probably him). Or maybe we would sit down and have tea like two old chums. We are very similar people, same age, both English majors, both teachers, both have blogs, we would probably be great friends if we weren’t on the other side of the train wreckage known as my heart.

The story didn’t make sense. I wanted you to move to Canada to be with me, and I asked you every day for at least a year. I flew to see you 10 times that year and spent a sum of money equivalent to a year’s pay for some people to see you. But no matter what I did, you stoically stuck to your position of “finishing school”.

I could look at you – the innocent doll in the box, even play with you in the box, but I couldn’t take her out of the box and take her home to keep and to cherish. You had to stay in the box and that frustrated me. I wanted to cherish you and make you mind. I wanted to marry you and have a family one day. In my mind you were as close to perfect as it was going to get and I was madly in love with you. If you had asked, I would have moved heaven and earth for you. If you had asked, I would have killed in cold blood for you…

Eventually I lost it, I ran out of energy, time, money, patience and I broke it off. I blocked you on my phone, I said I could not call you anymore. The whole thing made no sense because our relationship was based on a lie – you had a boyfriend at home waiting for you the whole time, and I was trying to steal a young lamb from the flock, but she was already spoken for.

To your tribe, I was the wolf, the predator, the bad man coming to break it up. But really, you were the bad one. You strung my heart out over time and over space. My bleeding heart for three years wept for you and bled for you. When we were away from each other it would wail like a demon waiting to be re-united by you. To say our love was intense was an understatement.

You tied me up, no one else could get in to my heart and I became that “emotionally unavailable” womanizer who would go on dates with other women because you wouldn’t commit to me. Instead of you and I being together and creating something great, I left a wake of female tears and destruction everywhere I went. I broke so many hearts casually dating, waiting for you to be available to come to me, to commit to me. The other women I would date all wanted to move in and take the relationship to the next level, usually fairly quickly in a matter of months, but I kept waiting for you. I should have took the hint from the other women…

They say behind every womanizer is a woman, you were that woman, the woman who tied me up but didn’t accept me. You couldn’t accept me, because you were the adulteress. You couldn’t say “no” to me and you couldn’t say “no” to Drake. He lost, I lost, you lost, and several other good women who wanted to be with me lost.

I can see why adultery is so evil in the bible, it’s massively destructive and everyone loses. I didn’t mean to take you away from your boyfriend at home, probably warming up your tea and waiting for you to come home. I didn’t mean to be the wolf, the big bad wolf from Canada, the predator, the threatening man who could ruin your life.

In fact, you ruined your own life. The wolf didn’t ruin anybody.

When I found out about Drake, your long-time boyfriend, I told you “you can tell Drake, or I can tell him”

He will find out the truth one way or the other.

You said you would tell him…

Later told me that you revealed the truth to him and that he wanted “nothing to do with you” and was gone…

You lied before, you probably lied again.

You didn’t have the courage to tell me that you had a boyfriend in the 3 year long distance romance we had, and I doubt you had the courage to tell your incumbent, long standing Drake that you had been cheating on him.

But it doesn’t really matter anymore.

I forgave you, I won’t tell him. I wanted to tell him out of man-honor because I had been on his territory wrongly and damaging him. I never meant him any harm, but I owe him nothing.

If you do tell him, good for you, maybe you can reverse this lying habit that you have. This lying habit is as bad as your parents gambling habits or drinking habits that you told me about. It can literally ruin lives. You sort of ruined your life here, and maybe you got the lesson, maybe you didn’t. If you tell him and ask for forgiveness, maybe you can be healed in this wrongdoing and destruction of your own character.

If you didn’t tell him, then that is much worse, you will carry this burden with you for the rest of your life and it will age you. You will become jealous, paranoid, and will eventually turn into a lonely crazy cat lady who is dying alone in her own filth. Crazy cat ladies aren’t born like that, they are made, by their own psychological problems from having too many men like Drake and me. The cats represent a certain number of failed relationships. The more cats, the more messed up the old cat lady is.

You can be that cat lady one day if you keep this up…

But know this:




I loved you more than life itself, and when you stopped answering my texts and calls, I thought I was going to die. Like a baby who dies after he is left without his mother’s voice or touch. The loneliness was killing me.

Make no mistake, I have no problem with being alone, but the way you made me feel alone was fatal – It was ruining me.

My love for you was innocent and pure, I thought you were innocent and pure. But our relationship was based on nothing but lies and through this experience, I have lost my innocence in turn.

I loved the innocence in you, it brought out the innocence in me. Something I don’t get to feel very often in the world of negotiating and entrepreneurship where everyone is trying to kill you everyday.

You were an oasis for me, an escape, a place to heal, to hide and to love.

You were what I wanted, but just like a desert oasis, you were an illusion. Instead of a mouthful of cool water on a hot desert day, I choked down a mouthful of burning sand. The sand blinded my eyes and choked out my lungs, you were just an illusion, I fell in love with the illusion.

You used to say “you don’t love me, you just love the fantasy of me.” And I guess those words have manifested as truth now. The way you went about your business was rotten to the core, you were enjoying the fantasy, the romance, the love, the sex, while your boyfriend was at home making your dinner. You saw me for a year in a passionate and visceral romance but strung me out for 3 years. What you did was evil and it hurt, but I am relieved to know the truth.

You didn’t ruin my life, in fact, I feel great today to know the truth.

I know that I was justified and pure in my love for you. I know that I am a man of real value and you are counterfeit value. Just like fake money, you debased yourself and became worthless.

Who would want you now? Only a man who doesn’t know this story. Only a man who doesn’t know the truth, or denies himself the truth… And who would want a man like that?

Counterfeit must seek more counterfeit, true value must seek true value.

I have forgiven you.

I write this letter to help myself process, I hold no grudges. I have this dark fantasy in my mind where you come back to me in 2 or 3 years and we re-kindle what we had, but it gets faded in my mind by the hour as time goes on.

Maybe the fantasy of “us” will leave me all together and I will forget you and the pain you caused me.

But one thing is for sure, you will not forget the lesson you learned from me. I heard you cry and weep for mercy on the phone as if the executioner was coming to put you in the electric chair.

I read your texts pleading with me to not tell your Drake or your sister.

I even had your mother call me and butter me up, threaten me, praise me, and bargain with me that you would come back to me in 3 years just like she came back to her fucked up 24 years older husband…

She was 18 and he was 24 years older, her life sounded like a mess.

I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

She was crazy to call me to bargain and threaten at the same time. When I called her back later that night to say I forgave you and that I wasn’t going to hurt you, someone else answered the phone and said “she shouldn’t be talking to me and was drunk”.

What a mess, a trailer trash mess, a Jerry Springer spectacle…  I feel bad for you because I truly loved you in the purest way.

I still love you as I write this, I give to you and forgive you.

Love is about giving.

I won’t tell your Drake, I won’t tell your sister. That’s for you to do.

If you tell them the truth, you may be clear of this, if you don’t, you will turn into a crazy cat lady – mark my words.

A very sick, a very old, a very ugly and a very fucked up and twisted cat lady living in cat pee and feces who dies alone and the cats eat her face. Loyal cats, loyal creatures, just like you. These cat ladies live in every city of the world, in every neighborhood because they were once stupid young girls like you.

Yes, Karma is a bitch.

I wish you the best, and in the words of Adelle, “never mind, I’ll find someone like you”

You were #1 in my heart and now you are just somebody that I used to know.

The nice girl from Reno, who turned out to be not so nice after all.

Good luck to you,

the anonymous,

somebody that I used to know.