Google Really Is Your Friend
Sooooooooooo, I want to talk about something that I’m not really allowed to talk about in real life because it means I’d need to admit that I stalked my ex-boyfriend on Facebook and I try not to do that kind of thing these days. It’s not healthy. I’m trying to create a positive relationship with social media.
Clearly, I’m not doing a very good job.
Anyway, I was working away, furiously tapping at the laptop on some project I had absolutely no interest in, when I decided to spend a few moments on Facebook. Judging people I used to know on the site has become one of my favourite boredom-busting pastimes. As I scrolled down the page, the ‘People you may know’ section popped up, and I made the silly decision to have a little look through it. And we all know how that goes, don’t we?
Dated him.
Hated her.
Dated and hated him.
Wasn’t friends with her in school, definitely have no interest now that we’re adults.
Another ex.
And another one.
And another guy I almost dated a few times.
It’s pretty depressing stuff. They should rename it something like ‘People you once knew and wouldn’t want to know again’. It’s much more fitting.
Well, someone popped up.
An ex. An ex that I don’t want to talk about in too much detail because he was a scary-as-fuck dude and I don’t really know what I’ll be getting myself into if I open my mouth up too wide. A girl can never be too careful. He had a gun in his bedroom, casually stuffed in the drawer where he keeps clean bedding. A fucking gun. And I don’t think it was a replica. I’m not a pro at weaponry or nothin’, but I’ve had a few guns in my hands over the years. I fired (legally and safely), formed opinions, and then decided I’m NOT a gun person. Nope. Not in the slightest.
And yet, despite being introduced to his actual weapon – not a metaphorical one – on date number TWO, I still went ahead and dated the guy. Why? Because this girl loves danger. (I’m eye-rolling at myself so hard right now.)
Everything was explained away back then, of course. I was so stupid and naive that I would have happily lapped up all of his bullshit. I did for a while, too. The sex was great. He was a decent drinking buddy. We had a good time. And he was dangerous. I mean, what was I not going to love about that combination? My parents woulda HATED him, and that’s probably half the reason I dated most of the men I did. The more shocking and ill-suited they were, the better.
I clicked on his profile — the real profile, not the fake one with the fake “nickname” that he gives away to other people (like me, I must add). And I stalked.
Do you ever see something and then think to yourself: “I should Google that!”?
Well, that’s what I did. I saw something, a few things actually, that didn’t seem to make sense. Things that didn’t tally up with the version of events that he’d given me. For someone who doesn’t want people on his “real” account, he sure does leave things obscenely public. He should probably do something about that, especially if he’s still hanging around on Tinder and Plenty of Fish.
What Google showed me …
Well, it shocked the fuck out of me.
Firstly, I knew NONE of it.
Secondly, I clearly hadn’t cyber-stalked him when we actually hooked up. It wasn’t even that long ago … how could I not have cyber-stalked him?
He’d been to prison for a substantial period of time. He didn’t just go to prison; he made actual headlines for going to prison. Partly because what he did was fucking disgusting, but also because he was in trouble before that too, for something relatively high profile again — and equally as disgusting. Or maybe worse? I don’t know. I want to say so much about it, but Google is a magical little beast. I don’t want to give his game away — or my own.
It’s awful, though. The stuff he did? The stuff he said? Fucking awful. Racist, sexist, getting-fired-for-it, truly atrocious shit. And it was BEFORE we met and dated. Why didn’t I Google that guy? Like, seriously, he must have been the only one I didn’t.
Sod’s-fucking-law.
I would NEVER have dated him had I known that stuff, and I’m FURIOUS with myself for ever dating him in the first place. This is exactly the reason I Google everyone I ever encounter: to avoid pricks like him. I let him fuck me. I let him put his awful hands on me, his awful dick inside me. It makes me literally feel sick. He’s everything I don’t want in a man — everything I stand against … how did I EVER think I was compatible with him? And it wasn’t just for five minutes either; I’m pretty sure we dated for a few months. I had feelings for him. I was even sad when we parted ways. For fuck’s sake, I was even jealous when I learned of his gorgeous new girlfriend … a mixed-race girlfriend.
My racist ex-boyfriend got a new mixed-race girlfriend.
Sorry, what now?
Does that mean he’s not racist now? Or was he only partially racist before? How does that work? I guess we’re all allowed to grow and evolve and whatever — and maybe that’s what he did, but clearly she didn’t Google him either. Or maybe she did and that’s why they’re no longer together now?
And we talked about stuff, me and him. I must have told him some of my dating history, and that’s pretty black AND white. Plus … he met me; I’m openly a bit of a “hippie” and I’m quite vocal about my hatred of discrimination. How could that stuff not have come up? How could he think it would be kept a secret forever, THE INTERNET EXISTS! Thank fuck it only lasted for a few months. Can you imagine if I’d married the guy?? Although, to be honest, I like to think I’d have been smart enough to have run his name through Google at least once before that happened.
The mistakes I made in my dating life are really, truly shocking. Real humdingers. I know girls get called crazy for doing research on a guy before she dates him, but mine is a classic tale of what happens when you don’t cyber-stalk a potential new boyf: you might end up with a racist, sexist, criminal piece of shit.
If anyone needs me, I’ll be hanging my head in shame in the corner for the rest of the day.
