Anatomy of a Break-Up (Day Four)

I woke up this morning to my daughter bringing me breakfast in bed. Are you kidding? She's 8 and she already knows how much mama needs carbs in the morning when she's in such a state. Clearly I've done something right. We talked a little about her side of things and tried to figure out if she wanted to continue to see my ex (our ex?) every week or so. She's not sure because in her infinite little girl wisdom she realized it may be smarter to just rip off the band-aid. We decided that she didn't need to decide right then and there. If there's something that this mama's good at, it's teaching my daughter to procrastinate.

Then she ditched me to go off with a friend. The same friend she went with yesterday. I'm pretty sure that this friend's mom knows what's going on and that my daughter may be milking the fact that she's down a positive male role model to score some sweet play-dates. She's smart. Like that "Little Man Tate" kid, only cooler.

To be fair, no one is cool when they're being hugged by Jodie Foster.

Another bit o' bio: I live with my mom. And her weird boyfriend. And obviously, my daughter. And at one time, my boyfriend. And I'm so not okay with that. Unfortunately, my massive student loans and complete lack of enthusiasm for finding any job other than substituting has left me little choice. On the upside, the house is huge, there's an awesome in-ground pool (and there's not a ton of those in this state...) and I have the downstairs level to myself. Plus, my daughter has a huge yard to play in. And she's close to my mom- which strengthens their bond and gives me a free babysitter. Back when I was dating, I just told guys that I owned the house and let my mom live there because she was so old. I have a B.A. in anthropology so obviously they believed me- it's the whole implied bleeding-heart liberal thing that goes with saying you have a B.A. in such a ridic field. Though you might think that living with my mom would make me feel a little lame or insecure, you should read the blog more closely. I regard myself highly. Student loans aren't my fault- they're the governments fault. Some people occupy streets, I occupy a large house with an in-ground pool. 

Guess who's smarter? 99% smarter.

After my daughter left I hopped in the shower and realized that I hadn't cried today. I was extremely proud of myself. Then I started to sing Wilson Phillips' "Hold On" while lathering up and a tear or two may have escaped. However, that's a pretty empowering song, so I'm going to say that those were happy tears.

"I know that there is pain, but you hold on for one more day"... it's just so true

I too wanted to break free from my chains, and I was going to start today. I decided it was time for a change. I also decided that the change should be something simple because one shouldn't overexert themselves in times of crisis. That's when it hit me- my hair. I've spent years trying to get J-Aniston's hair color and I was damn close. Only instead of Aniston short, my hair is Kardashian long. What a combo, right? But today was the day to let it go. As W.P. girls preach, no one can change my life except for me. And Ashley, my hair girl, but still.

I decided on the color of my soon-to-be empowered hair through this series of texts with my sister, which, as I write out I am beginning to realize are more sad then funny:

Me: Help me change my hair.

Her: I sent you a pic on FB of Demi Lovato's hair. I think it would look awesome on you.

Demi and I also have these weird marks on our wrists in common.

Me: Nope. Sent you other pics. Which one?

Her: The 1st or 2nd pic would look good. 

Me: Which one was the 1st? And should I text him to see when he's coming over tomorrow to get his shit?

Her: No. Don't text him. And the 1st one was the chick with the tiara. 

Me: So approp for me. Because I am the queen of sadness...

Her: Really? Did you just text that? Hilarious. 

Her Again: You aren't a queen. You're a lady. Lady Tierny.**

**Quick side-note, we came up with "Game of Thrones" names for ourselves. I know that makes us sound ugly and like we lack for culture and wear sweatpants, but we aren't and don't. We just really got into the HBO show. Stop judging. They have giant wolves and the dudes are hot. 

Me: True. You should make the journey north with your baby, Lady Rosalyn. I'm sad and want to break things.

Her: Will do sissy. I will send news of my departure by raven.

Me: Fucking awesome if that really happened. But in the show they say "dark wings, dark words".

Her: My raven is white. As white as my ass. (She's a Ginger so her skin is all albino-y.)

So, in the end I went dark. And I'm pretty sure that it's such a good move because not only does my ex like Latino chicks with big asses, but my eyes are really green and pretty, which means that when I do start dating again next week, my eyes will stand out. Not as much as my boobs, but a close second.

After I was waxed, tanned, and had my hair coiffed like a beautiful Arabian princess, I started driving home and feeling good. So naturally, Assface chose that time to call.

He's coming over tomorrow to get a few things before the big move on Saturday. He also wants to talk to my daughter about her plans for the future and see if she wants keep seeing him or cut him out completely. On the upside, he's coming over on a day without a Bruins game, so he's less of an interruption, and he's moving out on a day when there is a playoff game on, so he'll feel totally pressured to get out as quickly as possible. I never thought I'd say this, but I sincerely hope his Uhaul breaks down and he's forced to listen to the whole goddamn game on a tiny little radio on Saturday.

Please make it harder. Please make it harder.

I also need to mention that our conversation was so calm, and so mature, that I thought I was going to ram into the car in front of me. It's ridiculous how nice we are to each other. He even said that he could see that I just needed a perfect mix of his security and ability to stay somewhat rational, and my previous ex's ability to randomly buy dirt-bikes and try to jump them over pools. He's never been so right.

Can you imagine? I'd be loaded and happy. Is that even a thing?


We settled on a time tomorrow afternoon for him to come over and I made it home without killing myself or someone else.

When I got into the house I fed the dogs and grabbed an axe that I found while trying to sort through his things (I guess I hid it under my desk drawer? Kinda makes sense if you know me...) and took it behind the house. I found a tree and went at it with everything I have. I may have killed it. Which is sad because it's living and everything, but it could have been a person. So there's that.

Later, my daughter came home and we snuggled in bed. She asked me if I was excited to date again and that's when I remembered that she was 8... 

Is anyone still excited to date? Before my ex I had three guys in a row bring me to the exact same lame upscale restaurant. Did they think they were original? Gentlemanly? Were they showing off their cash? Keep in mind that this is a really annoying, pretentious restaurant where all the servers are psyched because their ever changing menu is printed on 100% recycled paper and features only local, vegetarian fed, free-range, non-gluten, antibiotic and hormone free, blankets-covering-the-animals-when-they're-chilly protein dishes.

All I can think about when the staff goes over that spiel is how, unless they overdose the animals on Xanax and let them fall blissfully asleep before dying, they still end up dying. Brutally. And printing the constantly changing menu daily probably isn't canceled out by using recycled paper. Plus, I've owned pretty much everything on the menu as a pet.

Not eating them.

The odds are good that I would have been happier if one of those guys had taken me to Applebee's. 

 

That statement is 100% false.

Just remembering that I would have to begin getting my life in order and eventually start dating again made me mix up a strong cocktail, and I realized I hadn't had a drink in a while. And that made me want to go out for drinks. And then I remembered I had no cash and no one to go out for drinks with. And that led to me ending my night in bed. With a bottle of wine. Clutching a menu printed on non-recycled paper from the pompous restaurant, and trying to find something edible in preparation for the horrors of future dates.