Thank god some of the Kennedy chicks made divorce a legitimate out for women everywhere. Most of them were poster-ladies for the Catholic church at some point, and their respectable pantsuits and old money gained them the love of American's and made legalizing a separation a little less taboo. Others chose to drink and medicate their way through life (personal fave). Some Kennedy women went as far as paying people to shoot their husbands under the guise of an assassination (personal theory).
In short, they dealt with broken romances like the rich, well-bred darlings they were, with a little bit of the crazy bitches from "Snapped" mixed in.
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| Why in do they always keep the murder weapon? |
I can't really introduce my personal break-up style any better than that. So here are some facts:
1.) I broke up with my boyfriend- let's play nice and call him Assface- a few nights ago. Which means I suffered 1.5 years of listening to him bitch like a tween about everything, for nothing.
2.) According to Assface, we were "officially" over long ago, though I'm still not clear on when we were totally done. And even though we lived together until, like, a week ago. And even though neither of us ever said the words that magically turn a relationship into dust: we are over.
3.) To his credit, I may have facilitated the break-up. About a week ago he agreed to help a buddy out by house-sitting for him this week, and I said we should make it kinda like a trial separation. Then we both laughed and agreed that we already knew it was over. Then I said "I'd given up on us" months ago and "it's like we're just really awesome roommates" and fell asleep. Sure, this happened. But I'd like to point out the obvious- I was really sleepy. And nothing you say, or do, counts when you are drunk, in labor, within your birthday week, during Bruins playoffs, during a Patriots game, or really sleepy. I was sleepy.
4.) I refused to believe he signed a year lease and was truly moving out and on until I met with him face to face at the bar 2 days ago. In a style true to myself, I:
* Walked in with full swagger, completely ready to accept his apology (after he started forking over his cash to the Coach lady for a bag with a color that said late-spring instead of early-spring) even though he had text me 15 minutes prior to explain that- while we could meet up- he wasn't changing his mind.
* Was so sure he was going to remember how in love with me he was the very second he saw me, that I started laughing to myself at the bar like Cruella Deville thinking about her next puppy coat.
* Attempted to disabuse him with comments like, "I know you. You can't possibly be over me." and "Let's just go back to your place and remember why you love me."
Like any intelligent male, he jumped at that one. His only caveat was that we weren't getting back together afterwards. Luckily, I totally knew better, so we got our food to go and headed back to his buddy's house, where he was house-sitting until he "moved into his new place".
I have to admit, at this point my feelings were all over the place, and I had this weird gooey sensation in my stomach, like maybe I didn't have the upper hand. I was a tad confused because he was sticking to his guns all of the sudden. That never happened. Ever. Plus I had gotten drunk, which always happened. Always.
Regardless, I knew going back to his buddy's house would be fun; like a hotel date where we could be out of our house and away from my daughter, but with that added benefit of being able to forever look at your friend and know you banged someone all over their kitchen table.
When we arrived and were all settled, and I had pretended to give a shit about his buddy's pets and house, and we had playoff hockey on TV for that perfect background ambiance to accompany our mad make-up sex, I looked at Assface and said, "I know we aren't over, because I'm not ready to be". He said something along the lines of "blah, blah, I can't live with you anymore, bleh, bloo, blee, you make me crazy because you are crazy, blah, blah", and I started to get the feeling that he was really willing to end this.
No reason to panic. My daughter was safely asleep at home with a sitter so I decided to (and this is gross, so don't judge me) cuddle for a minute and make the following points:
1.) Hockey playoffs were in the first round and I wouldn't have anyone to watch the Bruins with because the only chick I know who's even remotely into hockey is a freaking Colorado fan. Out of the whole Bruins lineup, she can only name Chara.**
**Just so we're clear, the B's lost today in double OT. I really shouldn't be dealing with this kind of stress at a time like this.
2.) If he moved out, I'd have no big screen and no Direct TV. I can't afford that on my own. And I'd just started getting into "Game of Thrones", which HE got me hooked on. Plus, "True Blood" was going to be back on air soon, I needed a big screen to look at Ryan Kwanten.
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| You can't do this justice on anything without HD. |
3.) I'd lose about 1/2 of all my income.
4.) He had just bought a new mattress. As in, HE bought it. As in, I'D have no mattress.
5.) I'd have to put effort into getting laid (well, as much effort as a girl has to put in, so, none really).
Now, keep in mind I was still pretty sure that we would be back together and banging on the dining room table within the hour, but as I declared my reasons for staying together out loud, I realized I wasn't as invested in Assface as I was in how easy it was to be with Assface. And we had both known about this forever.
By then I was just annoyed. So in a last ditch effort I decided I shouldn't drive and we should "sleep it off" (by which I meant that I'd sleep with him and capitalize on his pathetic niceness, leaving him no choice but to come back home and renew the Direct TV subscription). I took off my clothes and crawled into bed with him. I waited the normal .25 seconds for him to start doing a horrible job at figuring out what a girl wants and...nothing. By the time we hit the solid 3 second mark, I figured it out.
We were over.
So I stood up, put on my jeans, and drove home to a bigger bed. That was Day 1.
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