Recently, three of my close female friends have been broken up with by a text message. My girlfriends were furious. The guys responsible were instantly branded as “rude” and “total douche-bags”.

I’m in a relationship right now and haven’t been in the dating scene for a few years. I’m wondering, is this normal? Is this where we are headed? Is technology causing us to lose our manners?

(I know I shouldn’t really talk. I broke up with someone using a post-it, but now that almost seems….retro)

Speaking of retro, do you remember those days long ago, when you’d overhear conversations that sounded like this:

“I can’t believe he broke up with you on the PHONE. What a jerk. He didn’t even have the guts to tell you in person”.

I remember in high school breaking up over the phone was considered a total coward’s move. However, this was during an era when the Internet and cell phones were just starting to become popular, before our culture became saturated with smart phones, texting, bbm’s, and social media. Now, I feel like if you get a phone-call you’re lucky.

It all started in university when an ex-boyfriend of mine broke up with me via an email. It hurt so much to see four months worth of dates, kisses, and nakedness distilled into 4 grammatically questionable sentences. I was livid. My first thought when I read his message was, “He didn’t even have the guts to tell me on the phone?!”.

A year later I had another relationship end over MSN messenger. My first thought was “He couldn’t even EMAIL me?!”. I was upset but I wasn’t exactly surprised. I figured getting broken up with in this way was the downside of dating nerds (the upside being that you always have someone to fix your computer).

Still, this experience left me wondering, “What will be next?”

One of my favorite authors, Douglas Coupland attempts to answer this question in his latest book “Generation A”. The book features a short story entitled “Bartholomew is Right There at the Dawn of Language”. The story takes place in future reality where the protagonist Bartholomew, works as a copy editor for a business magazine. Bart comes from a long line of “language purists” and he abhors the many abbreviations that are now part of our daily life (JPEGS, LOL, BBM, RT, WTF, BFF). The beginning of the end for Bartholomew is when he loses the ability to decipher the text messages that are sent to him. In this future reality, people have begun to send text messages to each other that are composed of only acronyms, abbreviations and numbers. For example “xxx%ghdRTlol” would translate to “Want to go out tonight?”. When the people around him start to talk exactly like they text, he realizes he is trapped in a world where he can no longer understand anyone. Unable to communicate, he becomes a hermit. One day he wakes up to find that The Rapture has happened. Everyone who adopted this new form of communication has left the earth, and the people like Bart, who still preferred to speak in “proper English” are left behind to fend for themselves.

Is this merely one author’s apocalyptic vision or a glimpse into our future? Is it really that far off from reality?

Technology is no doubt changing the way we interact; manage our personal relationships and date. I can’t help but wonder if one day I’ll wake up to a Tweet (or whatever the future equivalent is) that will say:

@by_simone. BR/>>w///u14e6611.kthx

And, I’ll understand “Oh no, he wants to see other people”.

The advent of the “Text Message Break-up” isn’t a sign that people are bigger jerks than they used to be. It’s merely a symptom of the current state of our society. We live in a culture of mass personalization where we are continually bombarded by social media and encouraged to connect with people instantaneously. Communication has become linked to instant gratification. The downside of this is that relationships have become in some ways depersonalized. You can now tell someone something that ordinarily would have been difficult or awkward, without having to look at person in the eye, or see their tears, or hear the disappointment in their voice. The result of this is that your actions lose a sense of consequence.

I was thinking about all of this while waiting for the subway the other day. I looked up and saw a poster for Koodoo Mobile advertising their new text messaging plan. The copy said “Flirting without the awkward silence”. I couldn’t help but wonder; maybe we need that awkward silence. It reminds us that behind the screens of our iPhones and Blackberries, we are all people with feelings. Maybe its this silence that will save us from ourselves and not the other way around.

Click here to read more on love, sex and relationships specifically for 20-somethings.

Welcome to the third installment of The Ex-Boyfriend Letters! Years ago, when I first started to have boy trouble (when I was 18 or 19) and I’d break up with someone, I would write them a letter. In these letters I would write about how the other person made me feel and discuss everything that was left unsaid. I never mailed these letters. They were just really therapeutic to write. I decided that writing letters again might be the perfect way to get some stuff off of my chest.

I wasn’t planning on writing you a letter. You were never my boyfriend. You were never really anything to me, except a momentary lapse in judgment. However, I changed my mind about the letter when I heard through the grapevine that we had slept together. I find this very interesting considering, IT NEVER HAPPENED.

Here is the deal: we went out twice in 2003. We made out & fooled around a bit but there was definitely no PENIS IN VAGINA ACTION. By telling people otherwise, I feel like you’re just BEGGING to be blogged about. So, for the record, here are the facts about what went down between you and me.

Why I went out with you in the first place. (because I am partly to be blamed here)

1. It was the summer of 2003. I was feeling kind of bored, lonely and horny.

2. I was always more interested in your friend than you. I really wanted to hook up with him but at the time he was being elusive. I was feeling rejected. You were around. You showed interest. I thought you might be an OK distraction for the time being. BAD BAD BAD IDEA.

3. I was a hot child in the city…literally. Toronto was in the middle of a heat-wave. At the time I lived in an early 20th century walk-up with no air-conditioning. Do you know what that’s like? It means you have Back Sweat (&Boob Sweat) 24/7. There is nothing sexy about that. When you called and asked me if I wanted to go to the movies, I said “Yes” because all I could think was MOVIE THEATRE = AIR CONDITIONING. There were beads of sweat pooling between my breasts. If Richard Simmons had called and asked me if I wanted to go watch a dog fight I probably would have said yes if I knew the invitation came with the promise of air conditioned facilities.

4. You were kind of charming. On paper you seemed like a decent guy. Intelligent, good career, tall, reasonably handsome. Also, I liked that you spoke French.

5. I’d heard that you had a really big dick. Frankly, I was curious.

(For the most part these are all terrible reasons to go out with anyone. Any sensible person would have said “no” at this point. But, I was thinking with my libido. In my experience, sensible and libido don’t usually play well together.)

What really happened:

1. The first time we hung out we went to the movies. After the show we went back to your apartment to watch a DVD. We ended up making out on your couch. NOTE, we did not have sex.

2. The second time we hung out, I went over to your house (your apartment had air-conditioning). We ended up fooling around on your bed. Clothes were shed. I saw you naked. You saw me naked. I gave you a Hand-job*. I’m pretty sure that you went down on me. However, it couldn’t have been that memorable. I don’t remember having orgasm. I do remember that you really wanted to have sex. You kept on trying to initiate it but, I kept rejecting your advances. It was a bit like this: PENIS GETS CLOSE TO VAGINA, VAGINA MOVES AWAY, PENIS GETS CLOSE, VAGINA ROLLS OVER TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BED. I just didn’t feel comfortable actually having sex with you. Eventually we both got tired and we fell asleep in your bed.

*IT WAS A HAND-JOB. A HAND-JOB does not = SEX…(continued)

Hooked? Good! Want to know why she never had sex with him? She’s got 5 very good reasons — to find out what they are, click here.

Welcome to the second installment of The Ex-Boyfriend Letters! Years ago, when I first started to have boy trouble (when I was 18 or 19) and I’d break up with someone, I would write them a letter. In these letters I would write about how the other person made me feel and discuss everything that was left unsaid. I never mailed these letters. They were just really therapeutic to write. I decided that writing letters again might be the perfect way to get some stuff off of my chest.

Dear ______,

YOU’RE AN ALCOHOLIC.

There I said it. I probably should have told you that 10 years ago when I broke up with you but I didn’t. I’m sure by now someone has told you this. Or some other girl you’ve dated has tried to stage an intervention. Or you’ve figured it out on your own (I hope).

It feels a bit weird writing you a letter because I often wonder if you’d even remember me, like if we happened to run into each other on the street…or in the liquor store. If you need a bit of a refresher, here it is: I met you the summer of 2000 at a cheesy bar in my hometown. I was home for the summer, after my first school year in Toronto and was on the rebound from a bad relationship. I was out with my friend that night, soaking my troubles in whatever neon colored-tropical flavored-vodka infused bitch pop I was drinking that week. When I saw you, my first thought was that you were precisely the kind of guy I NEVER date. You looked like the stereotypical West Coast surfer dude (a look that seems to overpopulate my hometown): Yellowy bleach blond spiky hair, deep tan, Hawaiian shirt, pucca shell necklace. You also had these piercing ice blue eyes. When you looked at me with those eyes, I forgave the Hawaiian shirt. You were hot, in a “could be mistaken for a member of a late 90’s boy band” kind of way. I’ve always abhorred boy bands. So, the idea of dating you seemed kinky and exotic like dating the enemy. You also drove a truck, sold car parts for a living and enjoyed Bryan Adams. We had absolutely nothing in common. You were 25. I was 19. I decided that you would make the perfect summer fling.

A few nights later we went out on our first date. After a movie and some margaritas, we ended up back at your apartment. Once inside your place, you dimmed the lights, lit candles all over the apartment and spread a blanket on the floor of your living room. Sitting on the blanket together, you poured us two glasses of wine. After a few sips of wine we were making out on the blanket. When we started peeling off each others clothes, you paused, looked at me & my ivory colored skin and dark curly hair and said “Wow, I’ve never seen a girl without a suntan. You’re beautiful. Like a painting from the Renaissance. Like the Venus de Milo”. Then you said the words that every girl wants to hear “You deserve to be worshiped” (How do you say no to that?!). And that’s exactly what you did: you started at my feet, massaging them, sucking on each of my toes, kissing my ankles, allowing your tongue to travel up my calf…no body part was neglected that night as you worked your way back up to my lips to kiss me (much, much later). We never slept together that night but, I remember my back arching in pleasure as I came. hard. many times. on your living room floor. It was totally hot. It was exactly what my body needed. In the morning, I crept home with shaky legs on a multiple orgasm high.

Everything went downhill from there.

That many orgasms in one night can turn you into a bit of a dum-dum. I had a serious case of sexually transmitted stupidity. This explains dates #2-#5.

Date #2. A few days later I went back to your apartment. Everything looked different in the light of day, without the distraction of the margaritas, the candles, THE WINE, or your head between my legs. How did I not notice that your curtains were made of fabric printed with a Marijuana Leaf motif? Or the giant Marijuana Leaf FLAG on the living room wall? Or the creepy terrarium with the Lizard inside? Or the Star Wars paraphernalia? And how did I not notice the giant BONG on your coffee table? Or the other half dozen bongs all over the living room? Was this really the apartment of the guy I had shared Chardonnay and a candle-light pic-nic with just a few nights before?! When you caught me staring at the bong, you asked “Wanna take a hit off of my Old Lady?” (huh?). I politely declined. Despite growing up on the West Coast weed has never been my thing. You replied “Suit yourself! Don’t mind if I do!”. Then you dove face down into the bong. I sat on the couch, drinking the beer you had handed me (after mentioning you’d already had 6) and watched you orally pleasure your “Old Lady”. I would have preferred if you had been orally pleasuring me. But, like I said before I was 19 and a bit of a dum-dum. At this moment I was really turned off by you but then I thought of the orgasms (orgasms? bong? orgasms? bong?) and said to myself the thing that all 19 year-olds making bad dating choices say “I’m just going to see where this goes”. I dove down and took a hit off of the “Old Lady” and hoped for the best…(continued)

Hooked? Good! You don’t want to miss Date #3, so click here to keep reading.

Dear ________ ,

Originally I wasn’t going to write you a letter because our break-up was pretty cut and dry. You were too old for me. We were both at different points in our lives. When we broke up, we shook hands as friends and never spoke again. But here is what I should have said to you when I had the chance:

YOUR FRIENDS TOTALLY SUCK.

They’re pretentious. They’re elitist. They are total ASS-HATS.

Hanging out with them while we were dating was honestly one of the most painful experiences of my life. Don’t believe me? Let me refresh your memory. Here are a few things that happened while we were dating that convinced me your friends were douche-bags:

1. The Ikea incident: While we were dating I had to move apartments. Your best friend kindly volunteered to help me move. While you guys were moving you managed to break the legs off of my Ikea computer desk. When this happened, you and your friend started laughing.

Me: “You guys just broke my desk”
Your friend: “It was a crappy desk anyways. I think I just did you a favor. What is this.. Ikea?”
Me: “Yeah thanks. Now my desk has no legs”
Your friend: “You should really spend the money and buy better stuff Simone. Ikea is for low income people”

I really wanted to yell at your friend and say: I just graduated university and have 30K worth of debt. I AM LOW INCOME. And you just amputated my desk. ASSHOLE.

But I didn’t. I swallowed my feelings while you stood by idly, laughing with your friend as he made fun of my stuff. I should have broken up with you then.

2. The Wife: Your best friend’s wife is a total SHE-DOUCHE. I just had to put it out there. She’s one of the most controlling, competitive people I have ever met. I tried to be friends with her but it stopped being fun when I realized she tried to control every. single. social. situation. The worst was when we’d hang out with both of them and she’d pick these crazy fights with your best friend. They’d be swapping passive aggressive comments across the dinner table while we were held hostage, listening to this crap. It was seriously stuff right off of the pages of “Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Wolf”. If I wanted to watch that, I’d rent the DVD. At least then I’d be allowed popcorn. The worst fight was definitely the one that took place at the Mexican restaurant. Between your friends embarrassing comments about how much they loved “ethnic food” and their public display of relationship problems, the staff was totally staring at our table. I just wanted to grab one of the oversize sombreros off of the wall so I could hide under it until this whole mess was over.

I know you found these fights totally awkward and inappropriate. But you never did or said anything.

The day I completely wrote your friend’s wife off as a SHE-DOUCHE was the night I showed up at your birthday toting my vintage Louis Vuitton bag. I had recently got my first “real job” and just felt like dressing up that night. As soon as she noticed the bag she was suddenly nicer to me than she had ever been. She pulled me aside and said condescendingly “Oh, Simone. Isn’t it nice to finally be able to buy nice things for yourself?”. Then, she held up her $700 pocket book and said “Welcome to the Club!”.

What I really should have said to her was this: The purse is three years old. I bought it with my own money (vintage). And despite being a CHARITY CASE in your eyes, I DO have nice things. I just don’t wear my nice things around you because frankly, you’re not worth it. And unlike you, I don’t need to rub these things in other people’s faces because my whole sense of worth isn’t built around what kind of monogram is on my purse. I actually feel really bad for you that this is how you see yourself and the world. Whatever “Club” you think you belong to, I’m not interested in joining…(continued)

Hooked? Good! Click here to read about “The Hitler Incident” and “The Trapeze” (trust me, it’s worth an extra click).