In the past six months alone, you'd probably need more than one hand to count all the broken hearts you've needed to mend with vodka and would probably need a Great-Wall-of-China- sized abacus to count all the used Kleenex you had to help throw away.
You'd expect that we'd be so used to break ups by now that we wouldn't even mind it that much. That the whole process would take no longer than this:
"Oh, you're leaving? Ah, yes of course it is you and it isn't me. I know, I know. Yes, run along now, I have to call (name of best gal pal) and ask her to buy me (brand of vodka). Oh! And can you return my (insert valuable item here) tomorrow? And would you mind if I kept your (insert ex's items here)? What about the (insert gift you've given him in the past)? Oh, just burn them. Sure, thanks. Have a nice life, fucker."
We could print those lines on an index card and just fill it up and hand it over the next time we are at the receiving end of a dump.
But no matter how ordinary it is, how terribly usual and predictable, we still seem to be so shocked by the whole thing. The first thought in our heads is usually "How could this be happening?" despite knowing that, statistically, it was bound to have happened.
My very first relationship lasted for 7 years. I thought we'd go the way my parents did and beat the odds. (My parents are freaks of nature who fell in love in high school and never broke up. ) When he finally broke up with me, I was devastated.
And at the moment, it didn't seem to matter how many rescue-missions I've staged for girl friends who were wallowing in self-pity and Boys 2 Men CDs, it didn't matter how many blind dates I've helped set-up, it didn't seem to matter the mountains of consolations I kept in my head, it didn't seem to matter that I had a wealth of experience nursing back other people's hearts...I found myself still at a loss with what to do with my own.
Break ups are ordinary. The pain they bring, not so much.
Forgive trhe blunders, sloshing in my system is 37% alcohol. Is that how it works? Do you add up the percentages contained in all the alcohol you drank to ascertain just how much alcohol you have? I digress.
It's a Monday. And yes it was Manic. Projects were losing steam left and right and steam had to be blown back into them. And I didn't know if I was doing a good job of that as I was lost in my own lack of steam. (If you don't know me, let me admit that I get caught up with my own diva-problems a lot as I tend to swim in a world created in my head - thus this blog.) So, despite my efforts to be peppey and cheerful and as perky as my yellow hoodie, I don't know if I was actually doing my team any service. Thankfully though, The Boss stepped in and his steam propelled what I could not. Then taking pity on me, (because I stood there unprofessionally pouting) The Boss gave me permission to hang around his office for a bit.
And that's when the party started.
See, the nice thing about The Boss is that he is one of the coolest male species I have ever met. He (along with my dad) should be the rulers by which I should measure "date-ables" against. (And yea, quote me on that.) And being part of the cool psecies, he had a whole rack of alcohol ready for the taking. And take them I did.
Glass upon glass, shot upon shot I drank - until I found myself dancing in a cubicle full of bemused co-workers. Soon, all the girls in yellow joined in. And we looked like some sort of deranged chorus line. A Yellow Cabaret composed of the uncoordinated. IT WAS FUN. We were partying like it was 1998, Halls-like Limoncellos (yellow as we were) , dripping down our frocks as we marched, twirled, and Tubthumpped away.
And as I type this, I can still feel the burning in my chest. And I know. I just fucking know that I deserve this happiness.
for turning me into the spineless googly-eyed anything-for-love female I am today.
They formed me. Their lyrics burning into my 12-year-old brain so deeply that I can still recite the lyrics of their propaganda with feelings. (And sometimes replete with actions :P)
"But EVERYONE has been stupid for love", you say, patting me consolingly on the head. That may be true. But I think when your dating life can be summed up by songs similar to those cited above, then the stupidity has reached levels of low Satan hasn't even discovered yet.
Cases in point:
1. It's your birthday. You've just come home after several days of being out-of-town. You have just been robbed of nearly 1000 US dollars. Your boyfriend of nearly a decade not only fails to buy you a gift or a card but proceeds to shout at you because HE forgot to cook you dinner. You try to appease him (yes, you read that right) and tell him dinner is not as important as his company, he calms down for two minutes then starts yelling again.
What do you do? a) Leave. For good. b) Slap him across the face then piledrive him to kingdom come. c) Hear Tina Arena croon: "If I didn't love you, if I didn't love you like crazy, if I didn't love you baby as much as I do, I would walk out that door...if I didn't love you." as you hug him and comfort him and ask him to calm down.
Guess what my answer was.
2. A guy you were set up with finally asks you out after one month of vague texts. On the night of your date, he texts that he'll meet you "8-ish". You know that isn't an actual time but decide to let it slip since he's a friend of a friend (mistake number 1). Cut to 9:00pm and Mr. 8-ish is still "on the road." Note that you do not even have a smidgen of a crush on this guy, so what do you do?
a) Stop replying and call your gfs. The night is young. b) SMS him that you're leaving then wait for him to call and grovel. c) Just wait. For another half-hour.
Again, guess which letter I encircled?
3. After 2 weeks of dating you, a guy claims to want to be with you for the long haul. He makes all these speeches that ultimately convince you that it's time to take him seriously. So you do. And after 12 days, he dumps you. More specifically, a day after he introduces you to his friends, he dumps you. Citing reasons such as: "We're too happy that I am unhappy." "My heart's not into it." and "I am damaged goods." A week after this flumoxxing break-up you hear rumors that he's back with his married geriatric ex. You message him online and ask if it's true, he answers you a curt "no" and never signs on again.