In re-reading a lot of my posts, I tend to write heavily about first dates. Not so much second ones, or third ones, or gulp, break ups. And as I’m sure everyone will agree- that’s mostly because break ups SUCK. Like, suck hard. Perhaps I’m fortunate because I only had one really awful break up that made me a complete bucket of crazy… but I survived it. I came through the other end with only a slightly alarming drinking problem.
But- because I’m a good person and I have not much else to write about, I’m going to go ahead and tell you how I was able to move on. Because that shit is hard. And sometimes you need a tore-up 23 year old girl with a laptop to tell you how life works. It’s cool.
1. Get you some friends. Good ones. The last thing a broken hearted, melodramatic girl needs are girls who give shitty advice or just judge you as you cry into your
bottle glass of wine. Recruit the girls who bring you more bottles of wine to be your support system, not the judgy ones.
2. Leave it be. Just don’t. I know, you think you have something really important to say… If only you had told him that one thought you had! He would totally still be in love with you! …Only, he wouldn’t. So when you want to pick up the phone/email/blog/twitter (technology is not your friend), punch yourself or something. Or go back to the bottle of wine. But do NOT make contact. Just keep reminding yourself: out of sight, out of mind. Then repeat.
3. On the opposite end of #2, don’t let him jerk you around. They don’t do that because they are having genuine second thoughts, they do that because they are genuinely terrified of being alone. I’m sure you’re lovely, but if he wanted you, he’d be with you.
4. Watch He’s Just Not That Into You and cry for a little while.
5. Cry some more. I don’t really get (or like) the girls who say, “I just got over him. I turned off my emotions and I’m over it.” No you’re not you freak of nature! You’re dying on the inside. Stop pretending like your heart works better than mine. At the risk of suppressing all those emotions and having them burst out at the worst possible moment and embarrassing the bananas out of you- feel what you have to feel. Embrace the emotion, accept it, let it go.
6. Don’t get fat. Tempting, I know. But that “Nobody will ever love me again and I’m awful and oh my god I’m just going to wear these pajamas until I die of loneliness” is not a good plan. Again, call your friend and drink.
7. But don’t drink too much! This will make you fat. And maybe make you cry… okay, it’s totally gonna make you cry and your beer belly will be laughing at you and you’ll just want to die all over again. So balance the booze with something that makes you feel good about yourself.
8. People LOVE that saying “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone new.” That might work. But I think it just makes you extra crazy, and a whole lotta desperate and maybe an HIV patient. Triple threat, and I promise, you will only be distracted but not for very long.
9. Keep going… Just keep doing what you do. Don’t let a break up tell you anything about yourself except that you are ONE step closer to finding the right guy. So that’s exciting, in a bitter sweet way.
10. Have faith that you will, one day, be able to see him from across a patio and say to yourself, “oh, there’s the guy who broke my heart so many months ago.” And then that thought will be swiftly followed by, “Wait… am I… okay?”
And you will be.
It is My Inalienable Right to Wreak Havoc in the Lives of People I Know. Run if You Know What’s Good For You… Like, Now. Go.
I like to date people who will impress me with their incredible levels of mediocrity. You don’t? Well, how mentally/emotionally healthy of you. Must be lovely. Enjoy your non-depressing Valentine’s Day, asshole.
If you were betting on how the date went with the 33 year old, and you bet “abysmal”…. Congratulations! You just won yourself a hearty pat on the back. (I’m broke, what do you want from me?)
Not only does he not understand personal boundaries (stop smelling my hair, please), or the fact that dancing is reserved for places WITH dancing (if you keep grinding on me, I WILL hipcheck you), or that it is NEVER okay to own white, leather pants (?!) but he continually mentioned how I needed a man to show me things.
Example: Me: “I don’t like seafood.”
Him: “NO seafood?”
Me: “Um.. Yes. Anything that swims.”
Him: “You just need the right guy to broaden your horizons.”
Example 2: Him “You just need the right guy to break down those walls you have.”
Me: “Please don’ talk about me like I’m an emotionally retarded 15 year old.”
Example 3: Me: “I really like watching soccer, but basketball is sort of lost on me.”
Him: “It’s okay, we’ll fix you. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be great… and a Lakers Fan.”
Well hot damn, how did I survive without you?! I was so irritated halfway through dinner that I had to concoct false stomach pains to convince him to take me home, and had to turn him down at least 4 times for Valentines’s Day. I am not a human-improvement-project. And treating me like my flaws are all so easily addressable by some guy with a strong urge to inject words that ARE NOT english into everyday phrases is somewhat insulting. And I’m sorry, but you are wearing plaid, which is sort of unforgivable as far as I’m concerned.
In the end, it’s not his fault. Yes, he was awkward and unintentionally insulting and a little overbearing, but it was all caused by his misguided attraction to me. He didn’t know he didn’t stand a chance. He couldn’t have known that I’m still nursing a very openly broken heart, and he never stood a chance against the memory of a relationship that I can’t seem to let die. Granted, ownership of white leather pants is sort of creepy, I may have been a little overzealous in my hatred of that evening. It was unfair of me to even go, but I can’t avoid real life forever. Sooner or later, I’ve got to participate in the reality of my life without him there. I can’t hide behind memories and wishes anymore. It’s enough to break my heart all over again, and normally even the reminder of all these things is enough to refresh the fractures.
But I went, which means I’m getting closer to moving on. I let him kiss me, and hold me and touch me and although I felt small and warm in his arms, I felt misunderstood and like some fictional character. So while I’d love to play the role he’s carved out for me in his mind (she seemed like a lovely girl), it’s not me. He didn’t leave enough room for the neurotic tendencies that define me, or the fierce, albeit irrational love I have for Twilight or Atlas Shrugged or D. Three things (mainly D) that you will have to pry from my cold, dead hands. I’ve got priorities, people.
My afternoon was spent with my Grandma. A fellow neurotic, deep, introspective woman who has been given more than her fair share of struggles. My hero, my mentor, my shining light of inspiration when I decide that I’m too crazy for anyone’s good. There’s a woman with pants that are a little too high, who understands what I say, and even if she doesn’t, lends credence to the bizarre thought process that guided me to my irrational conclusions. No matter how lonely I get, which oftentimes is very, I’m never too far gone from her love. So I’m always okay. I will always be okay.
So yeah, this Valentine’s Day is a little excruciating. I’m
extremely resentful, and confused and emotionally wounded. I won’t deny any of those things, and I have come to accept the state of my emotional well-being, which is pretty much red-alert. But for all the versions of “me” that people have come to know (code for: Love or Hate), I’m comfortable with the me that I go to sleep as at night. I’m okay with the girl who believes in fairy-tales but holds a cynic’s view of life. I’ve accepted her ability to turn everything into a crass joke, but her unending dedication to saving a world that doesn’t want to be saved. And there are people, okay, not a lot of people… but people, who know and love me for that very. same. girl.
So, 33, adios! I may have been a little premature in my enthusiasm for new romance. I’m sorry in advance for the awkward we-shouldnt-talk-because-youre-creepy-and-im-not-creepy-enough conversation that is in your very near future.
In closing, I leave this… which is enough to make me cry everytime I hear it.
*Update: A college friend of mine recently sent the following words: Thanks for keeping up with the blog thing, girl. Whenever I miss you, I go to your web thingy and I swear I can hear your voice. It makes it easier to find mine.**
It’s hard sometimes to know what to do with words that make your heart feel big. I’ll take it!
I went to a psychic yesterday. It needs to be mentioned that I generally don’t buy into this kind of thing, and actually am slightly weirded out by it. Regardless, I found myself sitting with Camille yesterday in a room the size of my closet, watching her flip cards over and more or less tell me what the future holds.
I won’t put it all in here, but I will tell you that she told my best friend that she’d get knocked up in the near future. No mention of husband or significant other, just a baby…. So in comparison, I think my future is looking far brighter than hers.
What Camille did mention was Mr. Pretty. I confess, I have still been speaking with him. Meeting up, talking, kissing once in a while, whatever. But when we met up yesterday for breakfast, I was totally discouraged to see that he’s beginning to change. He says he’s “fan-fucking-tastic” and has never been in a better spot in his life, so that’s great. But it just so happens that this person that I always, stupidly, thought he was deep down isn’t actually there. He’ll continue on his path and growing and changing, but he’ll never be the person that I liked to think he was, or could be. Plus, he’s hitting his dating stride sort of late in the game, and to listen to him talk about it was less than awesome.
Camille told me that God wants him out of my life, but I keep fighting it. I hang on. No shit, huh? But oddly enough, yesterday I had vowed to close that door anyway. Leaving it open just encourages lingering feelings, confusion, and ultimately it will all end with me waging war on my self… because I’m attracted to things/people that are blatantly unhealthy for me. Today I threw away the stuff he wrote me, I deleted his phone number, I need to delete him from facebook. Don’t get me wrong: I am not mad at him. But I know that he and I just don’t work– in fact, I don’t even think I want it to work anymore.
The other, far more interesting, thing Camille said was that I had a boyfriend in my near future. I have mixed feelings about being in another relationship, but if Camille was right, then he sounds like a pretty good fella. Apparently, he’s 6 foot (which I would dig), light hair and light eyes, old school, older than I am but only by a few years, a libra who is great with computers. And here’s where it gets creepy, or where I start to read too much into this whole thing; take your pick…
The guy from last weekend at the bar and I met up last night. Even though the kid texts and doesn’t call and was a little bit of a cheeseball, I figured why not. My girlfriends and I made it to the bar before him because I was worried that I wouldn’t remember what he looked like and didn’t want to get ambushed… And in he walks. I’m pleasantly surprised to find that I didn’t quite remember how attractive he really was, which is always nice. After that weird, obligatory friends-meet-other-friends thing, my best friend starts asking him some bizarre questions…. that I later realize are angled at him being the guy Camille predicted..
The new guy is, in fact, a libra. He is actually 6 foot 2, and is a computer wiz who loves to read and write and graduated from Berkely. He has sandy blond hair and blue eyes and was raised by his single mom and claims to be incredibly “old school.” He’s 29.
So naturally, I made out with him at the end of the night. And naturally, I’m totally creeped out and totally curious to see what, if anything happens here. I think we’ll call him the Libra.
And should any of you want to freak yourself out like this, just let me know and I’ll hook you up with Camille’s number.