Bruni in the City: “Falling Out of Love”
By Christina Bruni
Like a Bad “Air Supply” Song
I fell out of love with the Holy Cannoli guy. It just happened that way. I was all out of love, just like the singer sang in that bad Air Supply song from the 1980s. He couldn't live without her, yet he had no love left either.
I have a problem attracting guys who can only see me at certain times because they're unavailable every week. One guy was a Tiger, and I'm a Snake. That makes us mortal enemies, according to Chinese astrology.
How could someone, a woman no less, fall out of love with a guy, when it's usually the guy who doesn't return calls and does an abrupt fade?
I'm not proud of this break-up. I recommend you screw up the courage to tell the person gently, "The feeling I had isn't there anymore. We were romantic. Now I'm uncomfortable just being friends after we dated."
That guy asked me what was up. "I'd rather you didn't call me anymore," I told him point blank. "Okay," he said. And hung up.
Ladies, it's a crock of bull to want to remain friends with a guy after you've been lovers. I tried that with a guy who thought we could return to being good friends. Did I really need to know the intimate details of his current love life? He didn't get it, and I didn't enlighten him either.
The recent guy and I hit it off, and that was the problem. I realized that if I could get together with him, I could find another guy if I wanted. Oh, I wanted it to work out. He was a good guy.
Last July, I joined chemistry.com. About every two weeks I get a "Christina, you've been noticed by him" email message in my inbox.
A psychic told me I'd meet a guy I had never met before, and he'd be divorced and the attraction would be solid. Could it be possible "Mr. Right" was on the way?
My latest goal is to upload circa now 2013 photos to the dating website. I'm an eternal optimist and a hopeless romantic. Chemistry.com is much better than the dating website for people with mental illness.
A guy on that site almost 10 years ago told me in his second online message, "I don't want to be friends...I expect sex," like I was some kind of inflatable vagina-of-the-month play doll. We hadn't even met or corresponded.
I know two people with mental illness who met each other on chemistry.com. Neither of them knew about the other's pharmacological history when they dated until they decided to get engaged and spill their secrets.
The point is this: There's more to life than your diagnosis. I signed onto chemistry.com because it matches people based on four personality types. I'm a director, and (ahem), "Sparks fly in the bedroom between two directors." I'm still waiting for that to happen with the right person.
To all the guys I've loved before: You deserve better than a woman who ends her column paraphrasing a Julio Iglesias song.
What is it about bad love songs? Does getting to the church on time terrify me like it does for the guy in "Modern Love" by David Bowie? And yet, I want to find my number one, not a one-hit wonder. When that happens, I'll gladly take down this column and keep things private.
I'll report back soon whether my Summer in the City sizzled or fizzled out. Ciao for now.