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Once upon a year or so ago, in a little city called New York, I met a construction worker (via Tinder—because how else AMIRIIIGHT??) named Rusty.

For the full story on that sh** show– you’ll find it here

The truth is I’ve been pretty sick to my stomach over the whole situation since it happened. There was no closure. I had no idea what I did wrong. I felt used, disgusting, and unbelievably wronged. How tragic that I hadn’t let him blow me off once, but TWICE! I was disappointed in myself and disappointed in my own apparent lack of self-worth.

Recently I had a bit of a dating rebirth. I made the decision that I wasn’t going to settle for little boys anymore. I wasn’t going to be with anyone whose description came along with a “but.” (to read about that ongoing journey into self-discovery you’ll find it here).

I have a long way to go. I am fully aware that I have a million mistakes to make in my life. I have a million people to meet, the wrong ones and the right ones. I have a million new experiences to have and to learn from. But the point is that I AM learning and I am growing up.

The truth is, I’m not a little girl anymore. I am a woman. I am a grown up woman. I need to take responsibility for my actions and not tell myself “oh that was okay because…” No. I’m an adult and I want to take control of my life.

Anyway, with that being said, back to Rusty. He disappeared on me and broke my heart. I never expected to see him or hear from him again. I mean, when a guy wants to avoid seeing you so badly that he leaves his wallet at your apartment and won’t come and get it? I’d say that’s a pretty good indication that he’s either dead or has been shipped to the Island of Lost Men.

Imagine my shock and surprise when I’m sitting in my Milton class, feel my phone buzz and look down to see I have a new message…from Rusty.


My mind: “WHAT!?”

My heart started racing. I couldn’t believe it. What did this mean? What did he want? Was he sorry he screwed me over?—
And then I realized something. I didn’t care what he wanted and I didn’t want to know what he had to say.

“My roommate says thanks for the ID.” (I gave his license to my underage friend after I realized Rusty was just another little f*cker.

He told me he was glad someone was getting some use out of it.

He told me he was really sorry and that he was a piece of sh** for the way he treated me. It made me smile a little. I was going to leave it there. What did I need from this joker, anyway? I’m a mature lady now. He said sorry.

But then, like the deep thundering of a volcano, I became really, insanely angry. No way! He didn’t get to just walk away from this again. He didn’t get to get away with breaking my heart twice and then having the nerve to hit me up for a third time. No. Not this time. This time I was going to say everything I wanted to say. And so I did.


It was one of the most cathartic experiences of my life. I finally got to say goodbye (sort of) and get the closure I had been craving for months. He was probably feeling down—or horny—and wanted me to give him some validation—some “oh it’s okay I’m not mad. No, you’re not a horrible person. You just made a mistake. Sure, come sleep with me again, yup.”


You don’t get to screw me over and you don’t get to make me feel badly about myself anymore, little boys. I’m a grown up and a bad b**ch and you better believe I will put you in your place if you mess with me.