Anatomy of a Break-Up (Day Twelve)

It's day twelve and I can't be sure, but I think I feel a little bit of sadness underneath my anger which is hidden under my shame. For someone who's spent her whole life dealing with an emotion, the mixture of all three is like being hungry while wanting to puke and somehow still craving Indian food.

So, essentially, my break up currently feels like morning sickness. And if I had my relationship's baby I'm pretty sure it would be Courtney Love. Which is disheartening to say the least.

I hate the baby.

I guess it also feels a little bit like a hangover, but to me, a hangover implies that there was a good time first which led to the hangover. Unless you were roofied.
Let's go with that. Assface roofied me into a relationship and now I'm hungover.

In order to get through this ridiculous cocktail of feelings, I've been listening to some guided meditations by a guy named Martin L. Rossman. You can find some of his stuff here: http://www.thehealingmind.org/

Once you get past his name, the sound of his voice, the use of the phrase "wet noodle", his enthusiasm for stairs, the way he reassures you so often you start to feel a little nervous and a few other minor details, he really is helpful in putting me to sleep.

And that, dear readers, is what I've learned meditation is all about- feeling enlightened because you're one of the 12 Americans out there that get enough sleep. People can say whatever they want about aligning their chakras and finding their spirit guide while they meditate, but the point of meditation is to relax the body completely, tune out the world and concentrate on nothing. Which is sleeping.

Yes, it's sleeping in a siting position. But it's easy to learn that. It doesn't even take meditation, you just have to watch "Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy".

One of the most famous statues of Buddah. Showing him do his thang. Sleeping.

I think there's a whole lot of jealousy going on inside of me as well. Assface just got the best deal ever- increased paycheck, free time all the time, a sweet in-city apartment, and the TV. I'm a little bummed to be the one sitting here a solid 25 minutes away from the city and listening to a dude named Martin sweet-talk me into night-night time.

Anatomy of a Break Up (Day Eleven)

The Bruins lost the series today. That officially eliminates the only other source of happiness in my life besides my daughter.

I feel like I'm disrespecting all of Boston right now, but I have to say it's an appropriate ending to the season. They played like they still had the Cup in their hands. I know players throughout the league are getting called out left and right for hits that are borderline dirty at best, but we're best when we're borderline dirty. That's when we get it done. We have a team with an insane amount of talent but the whole season felt out of synch. When one guy was on the other was off.

Looch and Thorton needed to beat the everliving out of a guy or two (Ovechkin comes to mind), Timmy needed to step up his game (I know he can't have last year's stats every year, but still) and Krejci needed to be...where the hell was Krejci this whole time?

Still, I feel the need to say that they were dealing with a lot of injuries and a couple of guys still brought their A-game. I also need to post this:

Everything in this picture is a good thing.

And this:

The Improper Bostonian knows deep down, Marchand is a good guy in a suit.

My daughter was scheduled to do dinner with my ex before the game. They were going to chat and pretend like he wasn't the kind of guy to peace-out on her the second he manages to BS his way into another relationship with his whole "I love kids" and "you could never push me away" and "I'm financially stable" lies.
She bailed.
Kid's 8 and she can tell he's insincere.

To top it off, Assface did the accidental text thing. Without any prompting, after the B's lost, this sweet convo happened via text:

Assface: Maybe 10 for me.
Me: ?
Assface: Sorry wrong recipient. Meant to text Hatch.
Assface: 8 AM seems close
Me: ?
Assface: Sorry. Went out for the game and am a little buzzed. I meant to give Hatch shit that I'd be late. How are you?

Me: Yeah, like I'd respond to that. What a dick. I know he has an iphone (totally turned Apple because of me) and they auto correct and adjust and can be touchy, but his use of the word "recipient" while so inebriated is a little shady.

And then to do it again? It's not like he has paws or can't find a way to touch Hatch's name on the text list instead of mine. Also, I'm the resident sports related alcoholic/ just plain alcoholic in the (now abolished) relationship. This guy got buzzed maybe 4 times in the 1.5 years we were together.

Now that I think of it, those were the 4 times I really thought we had potential. He can be fun when he's drunk.

Anatomy of a Break-Up (Day Ten)

It's day ten and I've decided that I will go on with this whole I'm-so-sad thing until I reach day 26. You're welcome.

My decision to rock 26 days of sadness before getting over it was derived, in part, from the tedious calculations outlined in the half time rule. For those of you who are socially retarded, this rule states: the amount of time spent getting over any relationship is exactly equal to one half of the amount of time spent in the relationship. Assface and I were together roughly 1.5 years, so by that rule's standards I would spend 9 months getting over him.

Let's put that in perspective: 

You could pump out a human in that amount of time.

Or whatever she's having.

If all the conditions were lined up just right, you could make a one-way trip to Mars.

In nine months, this dude made this weird, yet constructive, art project:

Logan Mankins, an offensive guard for the New England Patriots, just had surgery for a torn ACL. Recovery from such an injury usually takes right around...that's right, 9 months.

This is not Logan Mankins.
 But this picture evokes painful feelings that breaking up with Assface never even came close to.

There is no way I am wasting 9 months of my pretty on that guy.

Ergo, I took into account the second law of break ups: one person always cares less. This law states that the person who was least invested in the relationship is allowed to cut their mourning time (set by the first rule) in half again. Which means I have about 4.5 months of bitching before I have to officially shut up.

One person always cares less

Unfortunately, that takes me all the way through the summer. And someone famous once said

"If a June night could talk, it would probably boast that it invented romance". 

Which is a poetic way of saying summer is meant for flings and exposed skin and deck drinking, and I refuse to spend a whole summer pining over something that, deep down, I never really wanted. So I decided to hit up a lesser known bylaw called the combo rule. This bylaw states that a person may further reduce their period of grief, again by half, if they have done a minimum of 3 of the following:

- stolen a bus
- shot a human being with a dart gun at close range due to terrible impulse control
- attempted to heal their chi through acupuncture
- performed a case race
- accepted a marriage proposal and changed their mind later in the afternoon
- spent over 3 years of their life with a straight bourbon being their go-to drink
- married a celebrity
- made up a drinking game to "Dora the Explorer"
- owned an LL Cool J tape or CD
- got knocked up during any spring break but somehow never had a baby
- have the first name "Destiny" or "Bret"
- caught herpes not because their ex cheated, but because they're really, really dirty
- started a fight over anything sports related
- dated someone in every branch of the Armed Forces, twice
- stepped foot in any area of Mexico that is not official resort territory
- never lost a round of "I Never"

I am one of the unfortunate souls who can check three of these horrible truths off my list of shame. I'm not proud of it (well, kinda), but it reduced my time from 4.5 months to roughly 2 months. Which is still a little much.

So then I just decided to cap it at 26 because I like the number. It's even, it has a six in it. It's just a great number. And if I'm still crying by then, someone needs to turn on "Dora the Explorer", pour me a glass of bourbon, pull out my acupuncture needles and stab me to death with them, because that's just pathetic. 

Anatomy of a Break-Up (Day Nine)

Sleeping with LaFayette on the couch wasn't so bad.

In fact, I awoke today with a lighthearted and open feeling radiating through me. Most likely due to the new open space concept I had going on in my room and living room from the big move. But I knew when I turned and rolled off the couch and onto the floor and looked at my empty bedframe that today marked the day of some seriously minor, but kinda important, emotional breakthroughs. I also knew I needed a goddamn mattress.

I had a new outlook, so when Assface text me this link: http://www.barstoolsports.com/boston/super-page/who-is-the-gayball-paperboy-with-gisele/  and then followed up with: it's the waterslide off-season all over again, I didn't freak out.

Instead, I did just what my shrink said to do. I sat with my shame. Which means I just sat on my couch with this image in my head:

Lo and behold, after about 3 minutes of thinking about that sad, sad day, I stopped thinking about Assface altogether. I remembered what was really important in the world- things like my daughter, taking out Rex Ryan and Manning with a sniper rifle, and the Bruins next playoff game.

Not only was I cured from my constant Assface thoughts, but remembering the day the Pats lost made me a more tolerant person in general. I didn't backhand my niece when she accidentally turned on the Wii while the Bruins were battling the Caps in the third period.

I didn't tackle my sister when she asked who the "really tall guy" on the B's team was. (To be fair, when I glanced at my daughter her little face was contorted with rage and I was pretty sure she was going to take down my sister. She knows the Bruins line-up better than I do and her love for Chara is undying. She talks about him incessantly. I had to look away because the stinkeye she was throwing at her Auntie was messing with my mellow vibe.)

And when the Bruins took it in OT, I honestly believe that was god's way of saying "Good for you, sitting with your shame and all" in his Morgan Freeman voice.

I can't be sure, but if this is what comes of shame sitting, I'm fucking in.

Anatomy of a Break-Up (Day Eight)

Today was the big move.

Here is my day summed up in Haiku:

you took the TV asshole

the Bruins lost to the Caps again

had to watch online stream

Here is what I thought of when I told him that I wouldn't actually be there to help him move like we had planned, back when I thought he was a decent person, again in Haiku:

hope your spine severs fuckstick

it is good you are moving alone

maybe you'll lose some weight

Many, many moons ago, I was pretty easy going with this split. I realize that I may have played a small role in it and I am acutely aware that it must be hard for Assface, getting on with his life after me. I also truly believed Assface deserved to be happy, and our stupid conversations were so polite even I couldn't figure out how to get a few blows in. Those days are gone.

Originally, when he mentioned needing help moving out, I offered to be there for him. When he asked if I was cool with him bringing a bunch of friends over to rifle through our things so that he could rip them violently out of my possession, I told him bring a caravan for all I cared. I even told him to bring his little work girl-friend who weighs a solid 82 I-don't-do-drugs pounds, and who would be able to help him lift exactly nothing. No longer my not-friend. 

Today I called and informed him that I would be taking my daughter to the family camp for moving day- a completely reasonable idea. I don't think she should have to witness that type of move. As a child, it's one thing to know the main father figure in your life is leaving you, but it's a whole different thing to actually watch him leave.

I decided I would pick up a friend of my daughters' and then take the girls to the camp where my sister and her little fam were. I also told Assface that, while I didn't mind him being at our house without me, there was no reason for crackhead-McGee to be there,  because she'd be/is useless.

Can you help me grab the...never mind. You just sit there with that crack pipe...I got this.

I also told him to ixnay the 14 buddies and stick with 1. All the heavy crap we had other than the TV and mattress was mine and if he couldn't move it by himself then he should work out more. Fatty.

He came earlier then I had hoped, which I should have known would happen. Him coming to early was a recurring issue in our relationship.