breaking up


I have a date.

For Valentine’s Day.

I mean I had a date.

I don’t anymore…

I dumped him.

Whatever, he was a douche. I dodged a bullet! Let me explain, ok? It’s not that hard to figure out…I had a date, with this hottie. He was young, and cute. And we were supposed to be going out tomorrow night, right? But I cancelled. What? Come on…It’s too much pressure for me! I can’t do it. Shut up! You just don’t get it, it’s too much pressure to go out on a FIRST date on Valentine’s Day, ok?! Jeez0-peez-o. I just felt stressed by the whole thing, so I cancelled. I was nice about it, though. I texted him, and said it like this…



So I’m sad.

::::blows nose::::

And I want to die.

:::::loud ugly cry:::::

And I had this vision of how my life was going to be…

::::pulls covers over her head:::::

I’m in my bed, I stink like feet. My whole body stinks like feet. I haven’t brushed my teeth in like 24 hours, which for me is like 3 weeks, cause I brush my teeth every five minutes. I actually brush my teeth if I wake up to pee in the middle of the night. I do. I shit you not. There are snot-rags all over the bed, and on the floor…and I don’t flipping care. I am in my Tamakwa hoodie, and my Roots sweats, and it’s 90 degrees outside…and I haven’t eaten anything in Goddess knows how long, but so what. I drank a bottle of wine last night, and that will sustain me for all of eternity. I’m not answering my phone, or my texts and I don’t want to talk to anyone. I can’t stop crying. His picture is next to my bed, and everything is reminding me of him. I’m such a loser. Make it stop.

I am heartbroken.

Ok, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. I’m a little melodramatic? I’m not heartbroken. Maybe I’m not dying of a broken heart. But I’m hurt. And mad. And I want to get over this, and fast. How do guys do it? How do men just turn it all off…you know, all of the emotions? All of the feelings they said they had for us. How can he not text me all day? He is over me already? OMG! I am fucking dying over here! How can I survive this breakup, without losing my mind? I think, this time…I’m just going to have to do it like they do it! Yes. I am going to get over this guy, like a guy! Hell to the YES! I need to think like a MAN.

WWHD What Would Hurvitz Do? (if I had a penis, or not)  

1) Eat. That’s right. Let’s eat. And I don’t mean gorge on strawberries and pine nut salad. I mean, pull out every carb you can find, and let’s inhale. My best friend called me up, and got my fat-ass out of my bed. She dragged me to my fave restaurant, and fed me. Made me order fries, and a Toll House Cookie with Ice Cream…and I was on the road to healing. My blood sugar went up, and so did my happiness. Fuck working out. That’s the last thing I needed. Namaste, my ass. This chick needed cheesy nachos, and wings.

2) Drink. Pour me a stiff one. That didn’t really come out the way I intended. But nothing says, “get over it” like a vodka tonic with two limes. And let me tell you, it’s 5’oclock somewhere. Yesterday, at 10:45am, it was 5:00 in Australia, I am sure of it. And after a couple white wine Sangrias, I thought I was in Australia. And I didn’t even remember why Mr. Big-ish and I broke up. Waiter, another round! And keep ’em coming. I think. What time is it in Rome?

3) Basketball. Nothing better to take your mind of a breakup than sports. Men in shorts, jumping around, sweating…and acting like morons. All for the love of the game. Perfect. And more men, in the bar, jumping around…acting like morons, watching the game. Damn. Does it get more perfect? As I was sitting there with Tammy, we were noticing it was quite the cock-fest. Just us, and a bunch of guys. Now if that doesn’t help get me over Mr. Big-ish, nothing will. Yo! Down in front, I’m trying to see the game! And get your attention, wanna buy me a drink? Thank you to Tammy, for taking one for the team. She is such a good sport. And the best wingman ever. Or is it wing-woman? Or wing person. Whatever, she is the best friend. How does she put up with me? Everyone should have a Tammy.

4) The Little Black iPhone Book. Not just for men anymore. I like to call it The Little Black iPhone Book. Or more frequently called, the “Contacts” on your phone. And it’s always so good to scroll through after a break up, isn’t it? Roll, roll…roll to see who might be fun to chat with. Or talk to. Maybe drop them a little text to say, “hi”. Keep your mind off of the ex guy, and keep your fingers busy. Ya know, just let them know you’re back on the market. Nothing makes the ego feel better after being dumped, than reaching out and touching someone. Pun intended. “Hi. Mr. Face Licker. It’s Jen. Remember me? I’m single! Wanna lick my face?” Fuck. I ain’t that desperate. Yet.

So, I’m out of bed. I’m eating, and drinking. Clearly hydrated. I pee all the time. My skin is looking good. I’m smiling, and laughing…and I went to the MSU game today. Wicked. And I flirted. Lots. Which made me happy. It felt really good, to smile. I didn’t think about Mr.B at all. Well, for a while. Don’t worry about me all y’all, I’m going to be just fine. No one died, I just broke up with a guy. But thank you, for worrying. I love your messages. My heart hurts, but it is what it is…the hardest part of all this is telling the kids. Which I have to do next week. Divorce sucks. It’s not easy. But it’s not the worst thing either…

I could have actually drunk-texted The Face Licker. Now that would have sucked the big one. ;) 

xo j