It was basically the end of the world. I was two years out of college and single. Again. The worst thing about my breakup was that I wouldn’t have a reason to go back to my alma mater and party like my sophomore self (a fucking rockstar, I might add). Dating a guy three years younger than I am had its perks, and those perks were rudely stripped away from me when he decided he’d rather not date someone who worked a 9 to 5, and who also lived five hours away from him. I don’t blame him.
Who was I kidding? It definitely was not going to work. For some reason, I thought it would, as I had the time of my life hitting up the “party scene” at my tiny college in Ohio. You guessed it: the party scene wasn’t that great, but it sure beat the company-mandated happy hours I had to go to, which, to my surprise, did not involve free Natty Light and keg stands.
Seeing as this ending was more than just the typical split, let me walk you through my self-destructive path to getting over my breakup with college–and my asshole ginger ex-boyfriend.
1. No Food, Only Alcohol
You know those girls who turn to Ben and Jerry when they’re dumped? I’m one of them, but this time was different. I called into work, like the responsible adult I am, and asked my boss for a week of vacation. Then I bought a handle of vodka, which doubles as my best friend at times like these, and drank. For days. Eating wasn’t even on my radar because I decided I was going to get skinny and hot. That lasted for about a week and then it was all, “Hey Ben, hey Jerry!”
2. A Foray Into Online Dating
Once I ran out of alcohol and consumed at least eight pints of Phish Food, I decided it was time to get back out there and show the world I was one hot, single lady. The pep talk from my mom assured me that there were other men out there who could tickle my fancy (thanks, Mom?) so of course I got online like any reasonable postgrad would do. I was going to blow Match.com away with my hot self.
The emails came pouring in, which completely
affirmed I was a dime restored my confidence. I felt good, and I even went on a few dates. But I was selective, you see. Not a drinker? Not worth my time. Okay, that was pretty much my only criterion. Long story short, even for free, Match.com did not convince me to sign up for another month of that shit.
3. “Friends With Benefits”
After the disaster that was Match.com, I decided that as a strong, independent woman, I’d like to keep getting railed by my ex. Because angry, resentful, I-love-you-but-I-want-to-kill-you sex is the best sex, right? Well, think twice before you travel down this road, ladies. Not only did I cry when he left, but I cried when he showed up, when he took off my clothes, and when he finished. My personal favorite crying moment? I wailed through tears when he slapped my ass in the midst of the deed. I’m surprised he was able to keep it up. Actually, I’m impressed. Damn, maybe he was a keeper.
4. Vacation, Part Two
I’m really surprised I’m employed, because I took another week of vacation after sleeping with my ex. What was I supposed to do? Only drink during non-working hours? That just wasn’t going to cut it. To make matters worse, I don’t get paid vacation as an entry level bottom feeder, so I’m still recovering financially from this two-week shit show.
5. The Survivor Stage
I’d like to call my current stage my survivor stage, but I’m not really quite sure what it is. All I know is that I’ve convinced myself that going out and getting shitfaced on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday is acceptable behavior as an adult, and that having sex with three guys in one weekend is powerful, not slutty. I’ll probably keep telling myself that for another year–at which time I’ll probably want to seriously get my shit together. Until then, party on, single ladies.