Dear Gia, How Could The Hundreds Of Women I Have Fucked And Left Crying Be Wrong?

Illustration for article titled Dear Gia, How Could The Hundreds Of Women I Have Fucked And Left Crying Be Wrong?

There were numerous "Crap Emails" I savored with the intention of posting before mine eyes took an awed, and stupefied, gander at this one, dear readers. There was the one (or maybe seven?) from the guy who expects his thoughtless-esque blend of grammatical errors, whimsical hobbies and general hipster vagueness to deflect attention from his utterly conventional brand of emotional unavailability. There were a bunch of lame explanations for long absences. And then there was this. Which, after our last installment's lunatic activist guy, seemed almost like lunatic overkill, but then I was like, "Fuck it; men are crazy; let's just let the truth speak for itself; OMG paragraph four is even better." So yeah, here goes. "Gia" met "Chris," a playwright, at a party, after which they went on one (1) date. Somehow, she knew after one (1!) date, things were not going to work out. Somehow. She put up with his correspondence for awhile afterwards, for the sake of mutual (artsy) friends, until said mutual friends had to be employed to get him to just fucking stop calling her to recite poems already; she had a boyfriend. Six months passed, with nary a peep from Chris. And then...



I dreamt about you last night.

I dreamt that I was in a crowd of millions, but your face was in the only one in focus, sharp, intact. It was like seeing you for the first time again, and I felt everything I did then - the breathlessness, the stupefaction, the awe and the inspiration. But with those now was hatred and resentment, and in such measure that I awoke damp with it.


I have to take this as a sign that, regardless of what I might be feeling towards you, this email has always been inevitable, and now, finally, is ready to be sent.

Really, the main reason for my writing is to tell you that I am finally working on a new play. I know you always took great interest in what I was up to creatively, a fact which proves wry in this case, being that the subject of my newest dabblings is you. Well. What is assuredly about is a man, fully grown and confident, full-formed and perfect in his masculinity, and how everything that he is is taken away from him in the one month that he meets and falls in love with a woman. Through her apparent beauty and substance, he becomes everything that is the opposite - ugly and violent and hollow. But Gia, the real story is- as a result of his Fall, he realises that his very ability to fall is proof that he once had somewhere noble from which to fall, whereas she was always low. You might say it is a retelling of oldest story on earth, the story of Adam and Eve.

Women like you are born beautiful, and our society elevates beautiful to the point that you think you are entitled to something greater than what mere men have to offer you. What *I* had to offer you. And God knows I laid it at your feet! From the very moment we met I made it clear to you that whatever you wanted, I would provide. And that wasn't me Gia, that wasn't who I was. I've fucked hundreds of women, before and after I met you, fucked them and left them and let them cry. And I loved it. You should have given a little more consideration to what I was willing to give up for you.

I've told you before, that I walked into James' party a man. The amount of times I've relived the moment that it changed - tried incessantly to pinpoint the exact moment of my downfall. Was it when I first saw you? When the light first hit your face to make you look like a painting, a goddess, a muse? When you first opened your mouth and I heard some intelligence in your voice? I've stopped caring now, I'm content just to be sure that it was you to blame.


Of course, I do resent myself. Or rather, I resent the choices I made in regards to you. I saw 'beautiful' and made it into beauty itself, I saw flighty and vain and made them into independence. I saw self-interest and made it into intelligence. I resent that I spent so much time pouring my soul into the pursuit of possessing you, when you so clearly weren't worth my efforts. (I'm just glad I saved copies of those poems and letters, they do say the best work comes from a broken heart.) But all of that only served to bely the goodness on my part; I did nothing but good for you, and felt nothing but adoration!

How quickly that changed. And change it did, and I know you were startled by it because you'd become so used to my following you everywhere like a dumb puppy. But your relationship with Nick was one step too far, even for me. I was furious, and hurt. How dare you not discuss him with me? How dare you make that decision without me even involved? But mostly I was hurt that you didn't even consider how I might feel. You may have used me to bolster your own ego, but weren't you at least a little fond of me? If only for the service I provided to your self-esteem?? For a while I even thought that you may have made the whole thing up - Nick and all - just to make me jealous, or bring me closer to you in some way.


I may have acted thoughtlessly during that time, and said some hurtful things, but I feel it was justified and at the time it helped release me from your spell. Admittedly, I still spent time, after we stopped speaking, imagining senarios in which I explained to Nick, in simple terms, that I loved you, and loved you like nobody else could, and because it made so much sense, he stepped aside. But in the end I came through that, and though it still hurts me to think of you, and your name alone is enough to make me angry enough to ruin a whole day - I can even thank you for the experience, because it served my art so well, and served my growth as a person.

Without you, I wouldn't be writing creatively again, and for that I must be grateful. Sometimes I look over what I have poured into type and am surprised to feel that fondness and gratitude there, residing under the resentment and hate. But you did teach me so much about the goodness in myself, and about the nature of (wo)man. Don't feel proud though - the only purpose you served was by stint of being the biggest fool in the history of romantic love.


So. Thank you, Gia. For everything. Do come and see the play, maybe you'll learn something.



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In one self-empowering moment (and now heartily regretted moment) I deleted my own personal stash of Crap E-Mails from a Dude. I did date a guy in college though, who lived back at home. I would come home every other weekend or so. It wasn't a major romance, but I remember coming home one weekend and there were no hugs, no kisses, etc. I obviously put two and two together, but there was never any explanation or confrontation. About a week later I got a greeting card from him... I think there was a cartoon cat or something on the front and inside "Sorry Charlie!" was printed. No shit. I hope I still have it, I'll scan it and send it in.