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.