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But you can write about it on your blog!!

If I hear one more of my friends say that sentence as justification for making me do things I don’t want to do, I promise I will personally disband The Breakup Blog simply to make a point. 

Ok. That is a bit extreme. I wouldn’t go that far, however, my friends are collecting bad karma points for taking advantage of me in that particular way.  And therein lies the problem with being a writer whose misery becomes a source of entertainment for others. When I don’t want to do something my friends want to do because I know it will unduly cause me discomfort, shame, or some combination of both, they gleefully remind me that I can “write about it!”

Case in point:

This weekend, I joined one of my girlfriends for a glass of wine at a cute wine bar in her hood.  As we chatted, she continued to text back and forth with a friend of ours who also happens to be really good friends with my most recent ex (not HIM him, but an ex nonetheless.)  

Before I’d even finished my first glass of wine and was able to get a good buzz going- essential for reckless decision-making- she asked if I wanted to meet up with our friend at another nearby bar. I shrugged and agreed, until I looked at her most recent text. I immediately spotted in the response to her question of who was there my ex’s name.

I started shaking my head and my friend smiled sheepishly. “Come on,” she insisted. “It’ll be cool.”

You see, I have no problem seeing my ex. His new gorgeous girlfriend, however? Furthermore, I had been napping before I decided to go out and in my rush to get there had skipped doing my makeup and had pulled my hair back into a sloppy ponytail. Seeing my ex and his hot girlfriend while feeling completely unattractive? No thanks.

She wouldn’t give up, though. And then she uttered the words, I have come to recognize as my friends’ go-to last ditch effort: But you can write about it!

I checked my phone, saw that it was barely 11 PM, and rolled my eyes. Groaning, I consented because the only thing lamer than being dragged to a bar to confront your ex and his new girlfriend is being shamed into retreating to your house before midnight on a Saturday night because of your ex and his new girlfriend.

In hindsight, it wasn’t that bad. I borrowed lipstick from my friend, immediately ran into the bathroom to try to “sexy” up my hair, and never even had to be awkwardly introduced by my ex to the girl who took my place. My ex was cordial and we amicably chatted about what we’d been up to.

At the end of the night, I even got a delicious bacon-wrapped hot dog and cheesy tater tots from the gourmet food truck outside the bar and collapsed into my bed slightly tipsy and comfortably full. 

My friend will most likely read this and text me later to let me know how right she was and how I was able to write about this, but to her I say: screw you, whatever.

This is my friend on the left. If you see her on the street, please punch her for me.

The Problem with Girls…

So I can’t speak for all girls. But I can speak for myself. And I can speak for most of the girls I know, and most of us have one vital flaw.  We are way more invested in the guys we date than they are in us.

Now I’m not talking about “the one.” No, when it’s right- and I’ve seen couples for whom it is just right- both people are equally invested. But I’ve had enough relationships spanning from two weeks to eight months long to know that the difference between girls and guys is this: by the second date, hell sometimes even by the end of the first one, we have sized the guy up. We have decided where we will be getting married, what we will name our child (be it boy or girl), and even picked out our house and vacation home.

I have had my heart “broken” more times than I can count, before and after I met “him” and though I can now tell the difference between the kind of breakups that make me want to pout, bitch to my girlfriends, and chug a pint or two and the one that haunts me for months, both kinds still hurt.

That being said, it’s a new year and with that comes resolutions, or as I like to think of them, gifts we give to ourselves. This year, the gift I give to myself and to all the beautiful ladies I know and don’t know, is to not give of myself so freely to any cute guy who happens to buy me a drink. To take my time, choose wisely, and give selectively. 

Just because you’ve been hurt, and we all have, doesn’t mean we need to build walls around ourselves. It just means that maybe we should be pickier about just who, and how quickly, we let through our doors.

For all those who are wondering…

What’s with all the new social media?

Last week, I went to NY and met some amazing literary agents, one of whom will hopefully end up helping me with turning this blog into a FULL-LENGTH BOOK! 

On my recent trip, though, I was reminded just what a huge part you (my readers) have played and continue to play in The Breakup Blog’s success! That being said, I want to hear from you! Any advice, any questions, anything you hope to see or hear about in the book, LET ME KNOW!

I am now on Facebook and Twitter and will be making some fun changes to this blog complete with more stories, breakup content, and resources. More than ever, I need you guys to help the Breakup Blog grow and reach other dumpees and love-ravaged souls. Please join in the Breakup Blog revolution and follow me:

Facebook

-and-

Twitter

xoxo thebreakupblogger

Now what?

Today it dawned on me that over the past several months, I’ve spent a lot of time talking about the “getting over him” process, but very little about what comes after it. Maybe because I don’t feel like I’m there so I just haven’t added anything else to my agenda. The more I think about it, though, the more I realize that maybe there really isn’t a “there.” And if I wait for this elusive “there,” then I’m likely to be finding myself looking for my denchers after sex and not just my panties.

Not to say that I’ve been holed up in my bedroom eating Lean Cuisines this whole time, sobbing into my bedsheets. That only lasted for the first couple months. I’ve been plenty busy and I’ve dated and broken up and had more than a few nights *ahem* sowing my oats around the greater Los Angeles area.

But opening yourself to someone new, being vulnerable again, after you’ve had your heart torn in half then ground into the pavement until it has morphed into a fine dust, well that takes guts. Because two years ago or not, I still remember the tears and the pain of laying in bed not wanting to move and I promised myself I’d never let myself feel that way again.

And then I remember the most vulnerable characteristic I possess— the fact that I’m a human being. And at the end of the day, we just wanna be loved. And love.

So what comes next? I guess after all the debris settles from the last love-induced leap, all that’s left to do is walk right up to the next cliff and toe the edge. To open your arms wide, hope for the best, and let yourself fall.

Ignoring Your Inner Psycho-Child

It has been 647 days or 1 year, 9 months, and 9 days since I took to the internet to share my every OCD, homicidal, self-piteous feeling after my breakup with my ex. I know this because I just used a website to calculate this, which evoked a mix of emotions, not the least of which was shame that I still scan Facebook on a nearly weekly basis for traces of him.

But something has changed because when I come across proof that he does still exist— a smiling picture here and there of him and his girlfriend, his new business’ website, and even Youtube videos— two emotions sweep over me and neither of them is longing. Honestly, I can only explain my continued digital hunt as a bad habit, a tic of sorts, something to occupy my time while avoiding looking for a grown-up job that will utilize my degree.

You see, I don’t fucking miss him anymore. I really don’t. I’ll admit I am at once jealous of his new life without me and of his happiness, but more than that I am RELIEVED. Because I have changed— all those terrible qualities he used to accuse me of, I have,for the most part, grown out of— and when I see his arrogant grin smiling out from pictures, I know he hasn’t.

It may have taken me nearly two years to get here, but I have finally reached a point where I can say I DON’T want him back. I mean, if it wouldn’t be so insanely weird I’d probably climb to the top of the Hollywood Hills and proclaim this fact to the world because it has taken for-fucking-ever, but in an effort to appear sane, I’ll just share it here.

In these past two years, reading feedback and even hearing it in person from friends, I have come to the realization that most people, if not all, will experience at least one relationship that will send them barreling toward the edge of Crazyville and if they are lucky, the best they can hope for is for it to be a short trip.

But for many of us who experience that long journey of clawing our way back to join the rest of humanity, there is that lingering nutcase that remains hiding inside of us. The psycho-child who you hide from future boyfriends or girlfriends and even close friends that secretly continues to look him or her up online or holds onto pictures of the two of you and insists that you still miss him or her. The psycho-child that quietly insists that if he came running back to you, you’d drop everything and be with him.

Well, I’m here to tell you, ignore the psycho-child. Unless of course you want to be miserable, in which case, I guess go for it? Because two years out, it’s pretty unlikely that you really truly miss him or her. I sure as hell know I don’t. I miss a thought, a feeling. That intensity you get when you fall in love as hard as you must to end up as heartbroken as you do in the end.

But him? Hell no, I don’t miss him at all.

A personal ad for the ages…

Over the past few months, I’ve had a few minor run-ins with members of the male persuasion which have made me think that, though my ex exacerbated these negative tendencies, I’m probably a little crazy, immature, and/or neurotic all on my own. I mean, I, of course, no longer stalk my ex or any new guys for that matter, but I’ve caught myself more than once stubbornly needing to get my way with a guy or working myself into a frenzy over a boy that didn’t call me back. Frankly, despite growing up immensely over the past couple years, certain habits may just be too hard to kill.

And as this realization popped into my head while driving with the windows down on a sunny afternoon a few days ago, I burst out laughing to myself illiciting a weird look from the guy in the car next to me. Because whoever decides to love me and (gasp) even deigns to marry me, is going to have his hands full. I am going to be the craziest, most difficult, most loving and beautiful partner ever. And he is not just going to have to be ok with that— he’s going to have to love that about me.

So I came up with this personals ad that I think pretty much sums it up:

Single, mixed race female. 25-years old, but vacillates between acting like a six-year old and a 75-year old. Will drive you up a wall with incessant chatter then turn around and need like a full weekend to myself.

Will throw temper tantrums when you ignore my texts for more than an hour, but will fold your laundry and even match up your socks.

Can’t cook, but will order your favorite takout and put it on a plate and make it look really pretty. Hates to clean, but loves to leave you little notes reminding you how cool I think you are. Will sit on the beach for hours while you surf or listen to you play the only song you know on your guitar and insist you sound good even when you keep screwing it up.

Driven, but prone to moments of extreme laziness. I will whine and mope and be extremely emotional then turn around and be the most rational person ever. I’ll give you great advice or just listen when you need to vent.

I will snore in your ear until you want to suffocate me with a pillow, but I will wake you up with the most insane morning sex. I’ll leave a mess of clothes, but only because I will be looking for the perfect outfit to wear to dinner with you and I’ll always clean it up eventually.

I will drive you up a wall, make you want to strangle me. But I will love you with every single tiny insignificant part of me. I will love you for all that you are, not just for who you could be. Most of all, I will be a better person because I love you and you me.

If you can handle all that, let’s party.