The moment you realize you're going to get over him... Priceless!

I'm thinking of changing the name of my blog to something like "The Problem With Boys" or "Love Made Me Crazy." Or maybe I'll write a book... dun dun dunnn!

That's right, there's been a breakup. The breakup occurred between a dirty, sneaky, immoral, unfaithful, poorly-endowed slimeball ... and myself.

(Like how I did that??)

I've been on the fence about writing this post. On one hand, giving him air time sends the wrong message. One might infer that I am pining and bitter and... and... and sad. Airing his dirty secrets can seem childish and immature, too. But on the other hand, crying in the bathroom at work is the world's worst cry!

I would love to say that our time together was heaven on Earth, but that would be a lie. It was more a mixture of heaven and hell, with hell increasingly butting into heaven’s time as the months progressed. Loving him was work, and only someone with as dysfunctional a childhood as my own could have possibly held on as long as I did. But throughout it all, this man became my advice giver, my confidante, my music suggester, candy supplier, my biggest critic, and my biggest supporter.

And then came the regrettable behavior. Mine. I gave him a second chance.

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The question I've been asking myself is how long do I get to be mopey and get sympathy before I'm just mopey and a loser? If you ask me, I've gone through the stages of breakup in record-breaking time: 31 days. 

Stage 1: Denial
(I don't have much to say about this stage. I was busy drinking and lying.)

Stage 2: Anger
Anger is the Mr Clean Magic Eraser for feelings. I say that about electric shredders, too. Although hitting the delete button on my computer would be more impressive, the shredder makes noise, like its angry too!

Stage 3: Bargaining
I completely skipped bargaining and went straight for the next stage. It's really comfortable there in the pit of fleece and cheez-it powder.

Stage 4: Depression
I stopped wearing the good panties. I used a sick day at work. I had iTunes opened constantly. Note to self: unless it's in a song, telling a boy you can't breathe without him might be just a tad creepy...

Stage 5: Acceptance
Wait, what? I thought Stage 5 was a repeat of Stage 2. My bad.

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Five years from now, when I see him randomly on the street, I’ll silently thank the universe before I run him over with my car.

(By the way, your stuffed chicken sucks!)