The Break-Up Commandments for the Tossed Aside ... Part Deaux.

Back to the Grind: Commandments 4 - 6

The work week was floating by in slow motion. It seemed I could never be satisfied. When at work I had periods where I was focused on the task at hand. The minutes ticked by and my broken heart went unnoticed. At other times the ex was all I could think about and work seemed like so much effort. When I was at home there weren’t any distractions. I felt tired and scared shitless and overwhelmed.

It is was at those points in time I had to do a little self-comforting. And thus I discovered Break-Up Commandment number four:

THOU MUST DEVELOP BREAK-UP MANTRAS

When the emotional part of me was taking the lead and I felt myself at the edges of my sanity with panic and grief, I didn’t have much spare energy available to talk myself down. So I clung desperately to the following series of predetermined truths to cut down on the hysterics.

1. He cut and ran at the first sign of real trouble. I am built to love unconditionally and to work through anything. My family has been through some pretty trying experiences and we have loved each other deeply the whole way through. Him just giving up was unfathomable and unacceptable to me. This was not the person I can spend a life with. That was quite a mouthful to repeat to myself when I was at the verge of a full-blown, snotty cry (no pun intended). So, I shortened it to the following:

“He was flight and I am fight. And fight kicks flight’s ass!”

Say that 5 times fast!

2. Because he didn't stick around for the hard stuff, he never really cultivated deep friendships either. I have several people I can call at four o’clock in the morning. I couldn’t think of anybody like that in his life. (Should have been a huge red flag! I can be so blind sometimes)

“Eventually he’ll run from everyone and end up alone. Hmmm … Karma sucks dude.”

That was a tad vindictive. (Ok! More than a tad, I admit it.) But, it made me feel better knowing that he’d eventually have to face the consequences of his actions. It was comforting knowing that I would not be the only one to suffer.

3. I resolved to use the misfortune to my advantage. I started writing again. I trained for a long bike ride in the late spring. I’m got my house in order—since (Thank the Karma Gods!) I found a place to settle for the foreseeable future. I was determined to come out of it smelling like roses. Just to spite him.

“Just call me Andy Dufrane! I’ll crawl through this river of shit and come out clean on the other side”

If you have not seen Shawshank Redemption I have two things to say to you …

1) Shame on you. 2) Go buy it immediately.

Our past together didn’t help me. The present was painful. So it was important for me to have some mantras that were hopeful about my future. Seriously. Future Me I dreamed of was one kick-ass chica! (Just go with it. It was my ridiculous way of trying to ensure I would’t get dumped like that again.)

Thus I established Break-Up Commandment number five:

THOU MUST SET GOALS AND VISUALIZE ACCOMPLISHING THEM

I decided to spend more time cycling because it is something I really enjoy. I’m more of a baptism by fire kind of girl, so I registered for a 75 mile bike ride! Eeek! The most I had ridden in one sitting was about 20 miles so I had a loooong way to go. Good thing was I wasn’t worried about my heartache when my legs were about to fall off from the training rides!

I agreed to start attending a friend’s work out group every morning. Me + Cardio + 5:30 AM = righteous bitch! I didn't stick to that for long. Let's just say that a million lunges in one workout left me with serious inflammation in the tendons in my legs and I literally couldn't walk. So I decided to stick to cycling at more resonable hours of the day instead.

I also fantasized that I could write a chick lit novella about all my post-mortem adventures, get published and have the last laugh! Jen Lancaster, eat your heart out! This blog is my baby step in that direction. I really hope you guys like it!

Eventually, I planned on dating again. Just not right away. It would have been poor first date conversation to mention that I find the praying mantis fascinating because the female decapitates the male during sex. Call me crazy, but I doubt would have made it to date number two. Hmm ... Maybe if I were wearing my pink hooker heels. 

Sometimes all that self-empowerment, goals and mantras seemed like utter bullshit. Eh. Maybe it was. But at least I was trying. When that happened, I found it helpful to quit stalking his FaceBook and embrace Break-Up Commandment number six:

WHILST THOU IS ACTING LIKE A DEFEATED COW, SUMMON THY LADIES AND MAKE HASTE TO HAPPY HOUR 

Ahhhhh! Happy hour. How I love thee! This commandment was directly influenced by commandments 1-3. I would grab my awesome ladies, throw on a hot outfit and hit up happy hour for some sport flirting. It helped to blow off some steam

(If happy hour isn’t your thing find some mid-week activity, art opening, anything in your area and embrace it. Have a wing woman or women in toe. Do something you enjoy and spend some quality time with your friends to get your mind off things. Although if you are reading this you are probably a friend of mine. So by default you enjoy happy hour as much as I do.)

On one such occasion, I summoned the ladies and we hit a low-key bar for drinks and discussion. The four of us gossiped. We bitched about men (me and another unsatisfied friend), bragged about men (my 2 friends that are very satisfied). I liked that. It kept the conversation balanced. One buddy described her man’s dedication in the sack (very satisfied indeed!) and I say AMEN! God bless the boys that make our O a personal mission! We all laughed and gave her high 5’s at having landed a good catch.

It reminded me that there are good men out there. Not all of them are going to quit on you without warning or refuse to make an effort where your happiness is concerned (both in and out of the bedroom).

I left the bar feeling a little lighter. I went by a drive-thru on my way home. TAKE THAT! I’ll eat junk food if I want to … Fucker!

 Stay tuned for the next installment where I fall in love ... with sweatpants, return to my reckless behavior and get a little sidetracked on my discovery of the Break-Up Commandments

The Break-Up Commandments for the Tossed Aside: Genesis

At the beginning of the year I got dumped. It sucked. During the healing process, I wrote this list of Break-Up Commandments and I didn't had the guts to publish it until now. I locked it away in my vault, but tonight I read it again for the first time in months. And, I laughed my ass off.

I decided to post it after all.

I made a few minor modifications. (Mostly I just went through it and deleted all the parts where I went off on bitter and angry tangents attacking my ex). I still think what survives underneath all my neurotic bullshit is a fairly accurate break-up experience.

I've decided to share my tale of rejection for one main reason: That maybe something good can come of my misfortune. I’d like to think I can help other discarded saps like myself. I've been there and I survived. If nothing else you guys can have a few laughs at my expense. So here they are ...

The Break-Up Commandments for the Tossed Aside:

Genesis: Commandments 1-3


I’m still not entirely sure how it all went down. Suffice it to say, I got dumped. Actually, no. That will not suffice. It’s more like I was unceremoniously dismissed with little cause and no closure a mere three weeks before I was to move in with whom I thought was a man that loved me.

Ouch.

And, as I have told myself on multiple occasions in those first few days: “This really happened.”

A few hours after my world crashed around me I decided I needed a plan of recovery. Sitting in the dim light of my girlfriend’s kitchen and clutching a cocktail like a fat kid would a Snicker’s bar, I discovered Break-Up Commandment number one:

THOU MUST HAVE EXCEPTIONALLY GOOD FRIENDS.

The post-mortem bitch session is an instrumental first step towards recovery. It allows you to vent your frustrations and at the same time receive the support you need to overcome the rejection you are feeling.

Thank the Lord I have friends who immediately offered me a stiff drink and even a place to live.

In. That. Exact. Order.

My friends know my priorities! Love you guys!

So drinks in hand and surrounded by the love of my friends who have been with me through everything for over a decade, we berated the bastard up one side and down the other …

We discussed his complete inability to give a real reason for our demise—When pressed, he finally said I did not eat healthy enough. Ha! What the crap was the eighty dollars of organic fruits, veggies etc. that I bought from Whole Foods? I guess he thought I bought that for kitchen decorations. God forbid I crave junk food every now and then. Just warning you ladies … Bugles and Easy Cheese are a capital offense!

I can assure you, dear readers; this was not guy code for I am too fat. I am 5 foot 4 and skinny as a rail. I weigh 120 pounds, so there is no way his comment could be misconstrued as a politically correct attempt to convey the fact that he found me huge and unattractive.

The next morning I realized it didn’t matter what the real reason was. The outcome was still the same and I would not have been satisfied with any reason he could have possibly offered. I loved him and he broke my heart. No amount of logic was going to penetrate my stubborn skull at that juncture. I was in too much pain to accept even the most deeply valid criticisms of my character.

I am flawed. We all are. I loved him despite his flaws and I just wanted the same in return. I didn’t get it and my ego was much like last night’s beer sitting on the nightstand: Flat and half-empty.

Hence my discovery of Break-Up Commandment number two:

THOU MUST BUY AN EXCEPTIONALLY HOT BREAKUP OUTFIT.

Sometimes the universe conspires to help us through difficult times. At least that’s what I decided given the circumstances. I, miss procrastinator extraordinaire, had already filed and received my tax returns. I had not spent much of it yet (also uncharacteristic of me) so I was in the perfect financial position to do some serious retail therapy. Air kisses to the Karma Gods for this one!

I hit the mall and bought the perfect booty jeans, kitten heels and a top that made my skinny lil frame look hour glass. I also treated myself to my favorite perfume (Gap Grass. Love that stuff!) and even the jewelry to tie it all together.

Forgive me here. I am new to the shoe fetish. But let me tell you these bubblegum-pink, 6-inch, matte-finish masterpieces are hotter than a whorehouse on nickel night.

I didn't care that I was riding my bike to the party! I thought I could make it work. Oh and make it work I most certainly did!

Never underestimate the power of Break-Up Commandment number three:

THOU MUST SECURE A GOOD GRUDGE MAKE-OUT.

After having spent the previous 24 hours feeling dejected, unloved and unwanted (and shamelessly checking my phone every 3 minutes) I arrived to the party wearing the outfit I coordinated for a very specific purpose. I needed some male admiration. My ego may have been in tatters, but I looked as beautiful as I could possibly look and to be assured of that fact I needed to earn a few complements.

I danced (while trying to ignore that almost every song we played I had also danced with him). I drank and I laughed with my friends. As the night went on I eased into myself. I made all the painful declarations of “he dumped me,” in response to my friend’s inquiries of where the ex was. News spread fast and soon I didn’t have to explain myself any further.

Sometime later in the party I realized with delight that I was still standing. This horrible thing happened, but I was still on my feet (in ridiculously hot heels no less). I laughed and patted myself on the back. I managed to flirt and smile and get the attention that boosted my ego back to something tolerable.

Someone came up to me and told me that my ex was crazy. That I was beautiful, and funny and smart and the entire package. I didn’t care if he was using it as a ploy to win my favor. He was telling me exactly what I wanted to hear. He kissed my forehead and gave me a giant hug. For a moment my icy heart warmed and I felt like I could breathe. At the same time I mentally applauded the ornery devil for being so shameless and smooth. I felt like we were co-conspirators.

I danced and drank and laughed some more. I told myself that even though I was hurting, I was surrounded by friends who cared about me and I still managed to have a good time. I told myself I would survive it. The thought made me feel empowered. Well, it might have been the thought coupled with several beers, but I digress.

Later on I was about to make my third foray into the ladies room when my co-conspirator greeted me in the hallway. We shared a lusty look at one another and without a word we ducked into the bathroom. We were on each other so fast I’m still not even sure the door was locked, but I didn’t care.

His lips were on mine and he was clutching back of my hair with one hand as he ran the other along my ribcage, along the small of back and pulled me towards him. His lips met mine and my stomach fluttered with the fear and excitement of doing something so reckless.

After some frenzied kissing we righted ourselves smiling and panting at each other like a pair of wolves on the hunt. He gave me a sweet small peck on the lips and we snuck back to the party.

My heart was pounding. I knew that I was being ridiculous and acting on impulse but I didn't care enough to stop myself. Sometimes you have to be ridiculous to survive.

My cheeks were flushed and my lips tingled from the pressure of his kiss. We went on to join the talk and dance as if nothing happened. But we shared a look from across the room. I liked having that secret. It was fun and exciting and dangerous.

The night wore on and my girlfriend and I went back to her house. When the door shut behind us turning the roar of drunken talk and laughter into a festive murmur, I was sad to leave the noise of the party behind. It had so wonderfully drowned out the noise in my own head.

But, I was thankful for that brief escape from the solitude. For those fun and also incredibly HOT moments I was able to forget about the man that hurt me and laugh a little. I was also glad I had the chance to feel like I was something to be desired instead of discarded.

I went to bed knowing I could survive this and be happy again. The perfect ending to my first full weekend in break-up hell.


Stay tuned for  ...

Back to the Grind: Commandments 4 & 5

When Shanny met Friendly: On friendship, dating and why sometimes “friends” is the worst F-word of all.

Billy Crystal sparked an interesting debate in the never-ending battle of the sexes when his misogynistic character Harry in When Harry Met Sally, stated: “Men and women are incapable of being friends. The sex part always gets in the way.” 

Despite what side of the friends-only fence you sit on, I think we can all agree that relationships between men and women are at times puzzling and precarious. 

I personally take the friend-ablity of the opposite sex on a case by case basis. There are several factors involved that can tip the scales from an actual friendship where you make regular plans to hang out in a platonic manner to the kind of pseudo-friendship where you just say hello when you find yourselves occupying space in the same social settings. 

Factor Number One: Has this person seen you either partially or completely naked? 

If the answer is yes then it is likely, after having dated for any period of time, you cannot rationally be that person’s friend. Not for a while at the very least. The boundaries of intimacy were breached and only one rare exception exists in my world where I genuinely consider a man in this category to be my friend.

Don’t get me wrong I can be nice and civil when I run into an ex. It’s usually fine. It’s just that they are not someone I am going to invite to my birthday party or call up to see if they want to join me for happy hour. 

Break-ups are awkward. Oftentimes hard. And damaging to the self-esteem. Every time I have attempted an actual friendship after a breakup it has ended in disaster. Because one person or the other still has intimate feelings. Then that person (once me and thrice them) gets hurt all over again when they discover that friendship is the most the other can offer. And it doesn’t help to face this information while the self-esteem is still fragile from the maiming it took during the initial break-up. 

Not good. So I am not surprised I can boast of only one true, post-intimate friendship. 

Factor Number Two: Do they want more than friendship from you? 

This is always a thin-ice situation. Even if you explicitly say, “I just want to be your friend.” They may choose to hear: “You need to work harder to woo me and then I will date you.” This miss communication usually ends with drunk texts and drunk dials and guilt trips from the wounded party. Usually right around the time you start dating someone else and they realize that when you said, “I just want to be your friend,” you really meant, “I will never have an interest in dating you.” 

It never ends well. So no matter how much they say, “hey let’s go to the movies!” (or a concert or brunch or dinner or for drinks) You should never go anywhere with this person if it is just the two of you. Keep it to group settings. Strength in numbers!

Factor Number Three: Do you like them as more than a friend?

If a guy likes you, He likes you. There are no justifiable excuses for why you two are not dating already.  He’s not going to wake up one morning and see with new eyes this woman that’s been under his nose all along. Men are direct. Literal. They really aren’t that complicated and they sure as hell do not analyze every word said or gesture made like you do. So chances are if he’s met you, was single and did not ask you out then he isn’t going to. And, if he does years or months later that is generally a huge red flag. Because you are an afterthought. Not something he wanted enough to ask for straight away. 

Let me guess. You think but he’s shy or he was hurt once so he’s afraid of getting hurt again? Bullshit Ladies! Let me put those “I’m scared!” Or “I’m shy!” boys into perspective for you: That means that he is more scared or more shy than he is interested in you. Sorry, but that is just not enough. Oh! You like me! But not enough to grow a pair and see where this is going because some dizzy dame broke you ikle heart 2 years ago? Blah. It is just an excuse. If he’s interested, he acts interested. That’s all there is to it. 

The only exception is a matter of timing in which you or he or both were in relationships that prevented any dating in previous stages of life. Then and only then is it acceptable. 

So if he is single you have to stop playing the martyr. Quit being the buddy he takes to his work’s Christmas party or he gets to watch his dogs while he is out of town. Tell him to eff off and go find someone who really sees you and likes who you are. 

Same goes for you boys. If we don’t say yes the first time or say we just want to be friends then we really mean it. Don’t waist your time and money going on “friend dates.” They never pan out. You may guilt your way into an actual date but these relationships never end well in the long run. Give your heart and your bank account a break and save the dates for a girl who is really into you. 

 Factor Number Four: Is there mutual unattraction?     

                                                          

Yes you have things in common and enjoy each others' company but there are enough factors about one another that have you convinced that they are the last person you would ever be happy dating? Yes? GREAT! You have just found a friend of the opposite sex! Most commonly one or both of you are gay,have known each other through mutual friends for several years, met while dating other people, are related in some fashion (and don’t live in Arkansas). 

The stars have aligned and friendship formed where we once thought it was impossible. Now stay away from the whiskey and keep the “sex part” from getting in the way! 

Ciao!
Shannanigans

On Fashion and Trophy Dating (and camoflauged man purses)

My friends and I were having a discussion over a few cheap beers and we came to this conclusion: Never date a man that wears cargo shorts.

The upstanding man at the table relented that the cargo short was not in his fashion repertoire.

"I didn't even know they still made them," Ali stated with both awe and concern. I like to think of her as Alley because I have to ride my bike down an alleyway as my most direct route to her house. But, I digress. 

This is the second unflattering reference to cargo shorts I have had in as many days. While sitting at Mod's on 5th and Boston and waiting for my delicious salmon sesame seed crepe, I was reading the daily funny pages. The cartoon was an old couple talking. It went like this:

Old lady: "Are those cargo shorts?"

Old Man: "Yes. They are amazing. They have all these wonderful pockets where you can keep all your stuff."

Old Lady: "I see. So basically you are wearing a giant purse."

Follow me, dear readers, as I attempt to anthropologize the reasoning behind our newly found dating rule. Let us make a study of the cargo short wearing man:

Cargo's were originally designed for outdoor activities and military needs. The extra pocket space was required to carry items necessary for the wearer's survival and well being. Manly indeed.

But, when you take them out of the war zone and into the arena of your local shopping mall or restaurant they are as the old lady said--nothing but man purses disguised as yuppy fashion.

We pontificated on the type of man who needs a purse but wants to disguise it in such manly camouflage.

This man is nothing more than a pretty boy. He needs the extra pocket room to carry his chap stick, little black book, and extra sand for his ever chaffing vadge.

He has a lot of buddies, but not a lot of friends. Surface is as far as he goes. It is all about paint and polish and glamour for this man-purse wearing fashionisto.

He and his buddies all have nicknames (taken usually from their last names) that they earned at the Frat house in college. When not using their nicknames, they call each other, "dude" or "bro."

Inevitably they date the simple blonde girls. I am a cute little blondey so I have run into more than my fair share of the "dudes." Thankfully they usually run for the hills when they discover that under the trophy wife exterior, I actually have a brain in my head. All it takes is a few moments of conversation and a 3 syllable word.

They'll move along to talk to an actual tropy wife. And, so will I--to someone with whom I can discuss the latest book I have read or art exhibit I have seen. Everybody wins. Everybody is happy in the end.

Sometimes I guess you can judge a book by its cover. Or in this case ... a dude by his man purse.

eHarmony brought more eHumor than anything else ...

I like dares-- especially the harmless ones where only your ego is in danger of being maimed.


My roommate dared me to put up a profile on eHarmony. He argued that I was too picky and expected too much to get very many matches.

I thought he was crazy. So I accepted the challenge (without knowing the personal novel I was going to have to write to complete the stinkin thing!)

They asked me everything but my mother’s maiden name and how I would rate myself in the bedroom. (By the way eHarmony, you should add the latter question to your survey. I bet people want to be matched on sexual prowess, too.)

So about 300 questions and an hour later I was ready to view my matches.

9 matches.

Seriously! That’s it? HAHAHAHA! Damn the Roomie for being right! Thank goodness the profile crap was free (except for that hour or so of my life I won't ever get back).

So I browse through the matches. (Without pictures. You have to pay to see them so I’ve included pictures of what I think they look like based on their profiles)

Let's see what wonderful men I am matched with!

Who might be my future co-star in the “We met online and now we’re married!” – Happily ever after commercials??? Oh! The suspense!

Well, let me tell ya. I’ll be a spinster for life if those 9 profiles are the best eHarmony has to offer.

The first few weed-outs were easy.

35. Nope. Too old.
35 again. NOPE!
26. Nope. Too young.
Lives in Bartlesville. Nope.
Lives in Fort Smith? Dang how far out did I set my match radius? Nope.

Ok 4 left.

Hmm. 28 in Tulsa. Sounds good. Let’s see …

“I’m a pretentious artsy type that digs European culture and looks down my snooty little nose at my fellow countrymen.”

-- Why are some artistic people so anti-American? Just a thought for you … YOU LIVE IN AMERICA! And in the heartland, no less! Move to the snotty East Coast or Madrid if you are so inclined to despise the people here.










Ok. 32 in Tulsa. Promising ….

“I am an oil worker with lots of tattoos and 2 kids.”


--Oil worker, ok. Tattoos, ok. 2 kids and one is a TEENAGER? Nope. Jeez. I just can’t. She’s half my age.







27 in Tulsa. 3rd time’s a charm …

“I am a super Christian and I never smoke or drink. I have just returned from Africa on a mission trip and am now getting my masters from ORU”

– I don’t mind Christians. I believe in some form of God. I was raised and am now a recovering Catholic. But, I do smoke. And, I do drink. I also get a little panicky around the pew-jumping, bible-thumping, babbling like they are hallucinating type of Christians. I just can’t hang. My faithful upbringing was far too stoic and structured to reconcile myself with a full band, stage lights and people screaming in the isles on Sunday morning.

Oh, and as for missionary. I enjoy it. But I think we are off base in how we define the word.


29 in Tulsa. Well last, but maybe not least …

“I laugh at my own lame jokes lol just want 2 tell u that I forgot how 2 type out full sentences n use punctuation I spelled out exspecially tho u should b proud lol”

– LEAST! Most definitely least!






So those are the fish in my eHarmony Sea. Glad I did that as a dare rather than out of desperation or I would have been seriously depressed.

And if I am a little picky—it’s just because I deserve it.

Have a good weekend everyone. I think I’ll stick to going out and meeting men the old fashioned way!

I Hold These Truths to be Self-Evident

I'd like to preface this post with a cautionary word to the wise: I am not responsible for the consequences if you follow my advice considering that I have experienced both great success and epic failure in developing these basic tenants of my womanhood.

Without further ado: The Female Lover's Bill of Rights ....

I am entitled to steal your clothes. I may wash them and give them back. Or, more realistically I may keep them for an undetermined period of time. As consolation for your dwindling wardrobe just know that I'll probably think of you 93 times a day while wearing your shirt, boxers, sweatpants etc. Actually, I'll probably think of you 93 times anyway.

The post-coital cuddle is part of the experience. It is my right to snuggle up to you and thank you for your glorious performance.

You must appreciate that I am a woman. As such, I have estrogen saturating my blood stream. At times this will make me forget all logic and reason. I will do my best to tame that craziness in exchange for your promise not to make any sudden movements when you see my eyes glowing red with hormonal rage.

The toilet seat should always remain down. No lady likes to get stuck in the ca mode at 4am.

Opening the car door or offering me a hand up/down is always noted and appreciated.

It's probably best to feed me drinks and take me dancing if the Sooners loose. Unless I am distracted I am going to be a mopey little brat for the remainder of the evening. I am allowed to be a brat until I wake up Sunday morning. If it is the Texas game, I get all day Sunday, too.

I should be your last call of the day.

You must always appear to like my haircut, my cooking and my mother. Unless I bitch about the sub-par haircut or cooking first, save your negative comments for boys night. On the other hand there is no circumstance on this planet in which you are allowed to talk shit about my momma.

I am entitled to affection, flattery and thoughtful gestures. Just like you are entitled to lingerie and other naughty surprises.

I know you are stronger than I am. But you should usually let me win when we wrestle.

Goodnight All,

Shay