Category Archives: breakup

Normal people don’t sit at home and look at porn on the internet.

I'll be the one rocking and crying in the corner over here, okay, thanks. Ugh.

OK, this post is totally NSFW. Well, it’s Saturday, so probably you’re not AT work. Unless you’re me. Or my coworkers. Then you’re totally at work. And you’re miserable, because your job sucks and the callers are mean and also the thingamobobbers in the chairs that lift them up to a reasonable height aren’t working so you’re sitting like two inches above the floor and you have to reach UP to get to the keyboard, so you feel like maybe you’re in hell.

But anyway. Yeah, I’m not kidding about the NSFW-y-ness of this post. It’s porny, you guys. TOTALLY PORNY. Yet I’m fairly sure I finished it with the minimum of cusses. Do you know why? Because I’m as talented as I am lovely. SHUT UP I AM. So anyway! Yes. If you are of a delicate constitution, or if you don’t like perviness, or for whatever reason you’re all “no no not today my good sir” then you can come back tomorrow. What am I blogging about tomorrow? I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet. What do I look like, a Magic 8-Ball of blog topics?

One of my most amazing and lovely friends brought a situation to my attention that I think needs to be addressed. She would have liked to address it herself, but she is currently job-hunting, and does not think it would be the best course of action to post about this in such a way that maybe a potential employer could read this and be all, “Hmm. Maybe we will NOT hire her, because of the dirty.”

I have promised to keep her anonymous, and SO I SHALL. Let’s just leave it at, I adore her, she is awesome, and she kicks SO MUCH ASS, you guys, seriously, and my life is infinitely a richer place for having her in it.

ANYWAY, enough of the love for my anonymous friend. I need to give her a top-secret anonymous name. Let’s call her Rose. Because she’s gorgeous, but you don’t want to push her too far. BECAUSE THORNS. (Metaphorical thorns, obviously. She’s not all thorny. She’s not like that guy that grew bark on his arms. DO YOU REMEMBER THAT GUY. Ugh. That grossed me out SO BADLY. What? You have no idea what I’m talking about? THIS GUY. You’re welcome. And ew.) Thorns of WORDS. Barbed, awesome, perfect-for-any-situation words.

Anyway, Rose emailed me and said, hey, Amy, so I was thinking, this needs to be addressed, because it’s obviously a very serious problem. And today I looked into it, and ZOMG you guys. SUCH A PROBLEM.

What’s the problem, Amy? I can hear you asking. Yes, I can totally hear you, I have ears like a damn BAT, I’m telling you.

The problem is: taking nude photos of yourself to send to people online. Or to post online. Or otherwise for online consumption.

Now, before you get all up-in-arms and all “But AMY, it’s a DIGITAL AGE, we’re all DATING ONLINE, how ELSE are we supposed to BE INTIMATE” – just wait a second, slappy, I’m not finished.

For the most part – FOR THE MOST PART – sending nudie pictures of yourself to someone is NOT A GOOD IDEA. Let me reiterate, using smaller words. Do. Not. Send. Nude. Pix. On. Line.

Here is why, in list form for easy consumption:

  1. Most than likely, that relationship isn’t going to last. And you’re going to spend the rest of your life waiting for the other shoe to drop. The other naked, naked shoe. And for your mom to email you all, “Hey, your Aunt Matilda just emailed me this, she saw it on Facebook, is this your cooch? Why does someone have a photo of your cooch?”
  2. Naked photos aren’t that sexy. Sorry. They just aren’t. Being naked WITH someone? Totally sexy. Don’t get me wrong! I love some good alone time. But naked photos? Not really all that sexy. Like, you of course have to SAY they’re sexy. You have to be all, “Wow! That sure is…a large…photographic rendering…of your…swimsuit area! BAD TOUCH!” but mostly you’re thinking, “this would be a lot sexier in person. This is kind of a letdown, all-told.”
  3. What if you become a big famous famous person. You know that person you THOUGHT was worth sending tit-shots to is selling your photos to Extra for like $17.50 because they need that money to buy Ho-Hos. And then, MORE CALLS FROM YOUR MOM. “Honey? I just saw your boobies on Extra! Why does Extra have your boobies on my television set?”
  4. What if you’re emailing that photo and you accidentally send it to the wrong person? There is NO WAY you’re getting out of that one, Perv McPerverson.
  5. If you are in elected office, NEVER SEND NAKED PICTURES. There’s never a good time to do this. Not ever. Not even, like, if someone’s holding your mom hostage and tells you they won’t shoot her in her head if you send them a photo of your wang. DON’T DO IT; IT IS A TRAP.

But let’s say, hey, you’re in a committed relationship. Or, maybe you decide, hey, everyone’s doing it, this guy that I’ve known for like two weeks seems totally trustworthy, WHAT’S THE WORST THAT COULD HAPPEN. (This is not a good idea; please see notes 1-5 above.) Or, barring that, you just totally like to send naked photos of yourself to people. What? You want advice? I WILL GIVE IT TO YOU.

Rose pointed me in the direction of this website. IT IS NOT SAFE FOR WORK. Or children. Or people who like to NOT bleach their eyeballs after looking at the interwebs. Listen, if you click on that link, it’s not going to give you a virus, as it’s just a Tumblr. But if it DID give you a virus, it would be syphilis.

At first, I was just very confused, because she said there was a lot of porn on the site and it was just people wearing Guy Fawkes masks. (SIDE NOTE. Guy Fawkes masks give me the shivers. No, seriously. I think they are the worst. I think they are nightmare material. I think they are horrific. So this website is NOT AT ALL SEXY TO ME. It is FALSE ADVERTISING to call this SexyFawkes.) I couldn’t understand what was sexy about this, as it was just random people standing around in Guy Fawkes masks, and then I went into the archives, because Rose is one of the smartest people I know so I knew she wasn’t a liar, and HOLY HELL, PEOPLE.

I’m totally a prude and WHOA NELLY. ALL THE PORN. In those creeptastic masks. THIS IS AWFUL.

Apparently, from what I can tell, people send in photos of themselves in these masks that I think my death will wear when it comes for me and they can be doing whatever they want, as long as they’re wearing the mask. No, I’m not 100% sure what the point is, either, if there indeed is one. I guess to be famous? On the internets? Things that they have chosen to be doing: standing around aimlessly; showing me their bits; doggie-styling their girlfriend (YOU STOPPED AND TOOK A PHOTO??? I mean, kudos on the multitaskery, but she wasn’t angry you were all “Hey babe, just have to set up the tripod, wait a sec, ‘kay?), and, in what was my most favorite, apparently showing the entire interwebs what your cervix looks like while playing with anal beads. (Per Rose: “Save a little mystery–only your gynecologist should be able to look THAT far inside you.”)

Yes, I’m a little perplexed as to who is sending nude photos of themselves wearing a scary-ass mask to a Tumblr site. But I’m old, maybe it’s what kids today do for kicks, like the 2012 version of Whip-Its or something, what do I know. It seems that the youth of today have much less shame about their bodies. That’s nice! That must be a nice feeling to have, right? I mean, my mom taught me that you keep that shit covered up unless you’re married and making a baby? And yeah, I laughed that one right out of the courtroom early on. (No, there’s no courtroom. It is ALSO a metaphor.) But these kids did that ONE BETTER. They are not only showing it to their potential partners, they’re showing it to EVERYONE. Well, at least they’re wearing a mask, so they’re anonymous, so someday they can get a job at McDonalds or something. Yes, a mask. A MASK THAT WILL HAUNT MY DREAMS. My filthy, dirty dreams.

OK, so if you are Pervy Pete or Ding Dong Joe, you have already abandoned my site and are merrily looking at tits and dicks and that’s nice. But here’s the problem Rose had with the site.

A lot of these purportedly “sexy” photos are NOT SEXY AT ALL. MISTAKES WERE MADE.

Some of the problems:

Location. Rose pointed out some major problems: “Choose a location that doesn’t look like you live with your parents, such as a kitchen that hasn’t been updated since the 70s or a rumpled futon in their basement.”

Another problem – listen, I KNOW the best place for cellphone photos is the bathroom. I know that. Not only does it have the best light, you can see what the photo will look like in the mirror before you click it. I get it. I DO. But you can also frame it so that your shower curtain isn’t visible. OR YOUR TOILET. Come on, seriously? I mean, I’m probably not in a sexy mood anyway with a photo of your shower curtain and that effing MASK but I don’t want to see your porcelain throne, thanks.

Also, if you take a photo of yourself in your bed? I’m not saying you need to spring for the satin sheets, but probably CLEAN sheets. Sheets without unidentifiable GUNK on them. Also, balled-up dirty socks is not really making me want sexy-time.

Oh. OH. If it wasn’t so gross and I didn’t think I would contract crabs I’d show you the photo but if you go back like ten pages or something in the archives (NOT THAT I DID THAT WHO WOULD DO THAT) there is a nudie picture of some guy who I swear is standing in the open doorway of a cheap motel in the broad daylight. WHAT THE HELL. You weren’t afraid people would be walking by? I don’t…what? Who thinks this is a good place to have a photo session?

Posing. Per Rose: “Choose a pose that is flattering to your physique. If you’re a guy, scrunching your body up to maximize your tummy flab isn’t winning the ladies over.”

There were also a lot of ladies attempting the sexy “cat-pose” like crawling toward the camera or whatever and listen, that’s nice, in a music video from 1987, but in real life, you’re just looking silly right now. I don’t want to pour any sugar on you. Just stop it.

Technology. Again, per Rose: “If you’re going to Photoshop your photos, but you don’t know how, enlist an expert. Or we’ll just be laughing at you when your artistic efforts turn out stupid.”

I assume this is referring to the photo I must have stared at for about ten minutes, trying to figure out WHY IS SHE SO SHINY. I couldn’t tell – did she coat herself with baby oil? She looks like she’s made of plastic. Is this girl made of plastic? WHAT IS HAPPENING. And then I thought of Rose’s comment and I was all, “OH CRAP IT’S ON PURPOSE WITH SOFTWARE” and then I laughed and laughed because why is this a thing you would do? I guess you wanted to look like a life-sized Barbie, only grosser and much more skanktastic?

Weird props. Things that confused me: the guy who was naked and erect but draped in Christmas lights. (MERRY CHRISTMAS. Here is my penis. I am wearing a stalker mask. BEST GIFT EVER.) The aforementioned cervical-exam girl (listen, she had more props than just the beads. Also, there was what I think was a vibrator, but it also might have been a rectal thermometer. It did not look sexy; it looked clinical and sterile. Well, once-sterile. Not after what she was doing to it.) The woman who was naked and had Christmas bows over her nipples but not anywhere else (um…maybe you could have spring for some additional wrapping material for your hoo-hoo?)

Random confusing thing. What woman is going to not only give a blow job to someone wearing that horrible mask of grinning fear-related death, but let him PHOTOGRAPH IT FOR A WEBSITE. Unsexy.

So, tips. You want tips. I will give you tips. It is clear you need them.

  1. Don’t send naked photos online.
  2. If you absolutely, positively, MUST send naked photos online, please re-read number one.
  3. FINE. I see you are bound and determined to ignore me.
  4. Take the photo somewhere un-gross. If you must take it in the bathroom, please don’t let it look like you’re taking it in the bathroom. If you’re taking it in your bed, wash your sheets and stow the dirty laundry. If you’re taking it on the carpet and it looks like industrial carpet from a weirdo’s trailer where someone might keep women in cages, well, I can’t help you. Please see #1.
  5. Don’t pose like a dumbass.
  6. Don’t make yourself look like a life-sized blowup doll because it will give me nightmares and also hysterics.
  7. If you must use props, maybe use ones that are appropriate. Tip: Christmas lights aren’t sexy.
  8. If you’re paying so little attention to all the sex you’re having that you can take time out to put on a mask and take photos to send to some Tumblr site, I hope your girlfriend dumps your ass. Before she does this, I hope she takes all of your records and stomps on them with her stompiest shoes. PAY ATTENTION TO THE SEX YOU MORON.
  9. I don’t want to see that far inside anyone except that see-through plastic model of a person that my biology teacher used to have where you could see all the organs and shit. I loved that.
  10. If all else fails, please see #1.

I hope this has been helpful. If not, I hope you have plenty of bleach for your eyeballs. No, not you, Ding Dong Joe. I know this was just your cup of tea. YOU ARE WELCOME. No, you can’t “come over” for a “photo session.” Stop calling me. Who gave you this number?

(Title is OBVIOUSLY from the brilliant song “The Internet is for Porn” from Avenue Q. HERE IS THE VIDEO. You’re WELCOME.)

(Psst, thank you, Rose. You’re the best. And then again just a little bit better than that.)


Forever in debt to your priceless advice

For no reason I can fathom, people often come to me for relationship advice. Often, like, three in the past couple of months, often. And, more specifically, breakup advice. Which is kind of like going to your doctor for advice on writing a novel, or going to your accountant for advice on painting a landscape, honestly, because my experience with relationships can be summed up thusly:

  • They are confusing.
  • I always choose the wrong people, some of whom are actually dangerous.
  • I try to avoid them, because:
  • They end. Badly. And messily. And sometimes there is crying.

But that notwithstanding, people come to me, all, “Amy! Help me! I need advice!” and I try to give it, because I love my people, and I don’t want to leave them hanging out there with their sad faces all sad, you know? Who would do that? An asshole, that’s who would do that. And I like to be helpful.

I think people come to me because I’m practical about shit. Honestly, most of my advice consists of the following sentence:

“He/she is an asshole, and I love you and want to punch them in the neck for you. You need to get out of that relationship and find someone who is awesome enough for you, if, indeed, there is a person out there who can live up to the complete and total awesomeness of you.”

And I mean every single word of it. Well, maybe not the punching. I mean, I might WANT to punch, but probably I wouldn’t really punch. Mentally I’d punch. Or maybe with words, I’d punch. One time I emailed one of my friend’s exes a totally scathing email because he was an asshat. Then they got back together, and that wasn’t at all awkward. Oh, wait, yes, yes, it was, it was totally awkward. For the record, I still think he’s a total asshat, and someday I suppose I’ll see him in person and will have a very hard time keeping that sentiment from my face. My face is very transparent when it comes to asshattery.

So, anyway, I thought, you know what? With all of these people needing advice on ending their relationships, what does the interwebs have to say about this? I bet a lot. And I bet it’s better advice than a crazy cat person who’s kind of the most forever alone and, if given the choice between fourteen totally whole and honest and awesome men and one completely broken douchecanoe, would invariably fall head-over-heels for the douchecanoe, every damn time, BECAUSE SHE LIKES A PROJECT.

OK, this is already getting totally the most exciting, because the VERY FIRST ARTICLE I found is from Psychology Today. So you KNOW it’s going to have very good advice on how to handle a breakup. I mean, these are psychologists. They know what they’re talking about.

So Psychology Today gives us ten tips to survive a breakup. Well! I like tips. And survival. Will there be zombies? This is totally promising.

Cry all you want. You may be afraid to start because you’re fearful you’ll never stop, but you will. Um. Can I put a caveat on this? Sure, cry all you want, but probably do it over THERE. I have nothing against crying, but I have NO IDEA how to comfort you correctly if you’re doing so. I’m the worst at that. I’m all “there there” and awkwardly patting you on the shoulder and giving you a tissue and scoping out the exits and running through my excuses to leave in my mind because THIS IS AWKWARD FOR ME. So sure, cry away, Weepy Wanda, it’s good for the tear ducts, blah, blah, just probably do it on your own time, ok? Awesome. Thanks.

Do something every day to help yourself heal. Exercise, read, watch self-help DVDs, meditate, or pray. Well, this seems to be going in a direction I was not expecting, honestly. There are things missing from this list. Drinking. Drinking is missing from this list, Psychology Today. Also, self-help DVDs? I can’t imagine anything but Stewart Smalley from Saturday Night Live when I hear that, to tell you the truth, and I don’t know how much help that would be to anyone. Those calmy-calm voices make me want to stab a stranger.

Find emotional support. OK, yeah, sure, that’s good. But probably don’t just start spouting to anyone. Random strangers don’t want to hear how much Bob hurt you the time he gave you a bowling ball for Christmas instead of a necklace.

Don’t be a doormat. I like this one. YES. Good one, Psychology Today. Because listen, you’re already feeling like shit, so letting your ex walk all over you or make you feel small is only going to make things worse. I promise. You know what’s not doormatty? Thinking of stupid things they did while you were in your relationship that at the TIME you thought were SO EFFING ADORABLE and then mocking them to yourself, usually in a totally snarky voice. I mean, not that I’ve ever done that, or anything. Nope. Not me. Not at all.

Keep busy. Yeah, I’m with this one, too. If you sit around and mope, you’re going to just feel worse. Get out and do something. What? I don’t know, join a birdwatching club, what the hell do I know. Just don’t sit around and mope and think “NO ONE WILL EVER LOVE ME WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME MOMMA.” Because that is ridiculous, and you are allowing that asshat to have a shit-ton of power over you. And do you really want to do that? No. No, you do not.

Don’t try to mask your pain by looking for a replacement. This is known as a “rebound relationship.” These never end well for anyone involved. People THINK they’re going to end well. People THINK, “Oh, this will up my self-esteem since I just went through this horrible thing.” No. No, it won’t. I mean, sure, you might be having all the sex with this new person, and listen, what’s wrong with all the sex? Very little, is what. But also, probably you’re still thinking about the other person, and what they’re doing, and what went wrong there, and the rebound thing isn’t doing much other than giving you a tree to scratch your back against, Yogi. Fix yourself first before moving on. Trust me.

Don’t spend too much time alone. I feel like maybe you didn’t have enough tips for ten and this is just a rehash of “keep busy,” right? Yeah, being around other people is nice, if that’s your thing. However, if being around other people makes you stabby, maybe don’t be around other people. It’s really whatever makes you feel better. Also, if the other people are all coupled up and whispering sweet nothings and kissing and kissing and kissing? That’s the worst, if you’re dealing with breakup shit.

Trust your feelings. This one is vague and imprecise. Dammit, Psychology Today. OK, I’m going to assume that this one is saying, “You knew all along that something was hinky, and you ignored your inner voice screaming ‘DO NOT PASS GO DO NOT TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES FOR THIS PERSON.’ So move on, Sally, you knew all along this was an epic mistake.”

Take your time. Ugh, you know what I hate? Taking my time. I like things to happen IMMEDIATELY. I’m totally the instant-gratification generation. But yeah. Sometimes shit takes longer than you’d expect. It’s the worst. Sometimes you think, “A normal person would be over this by now.” No. It’s fine. Sometimes hearts take a little time to heal, is all. You’re not broken. You’re just taking a little while. You’ll be ok.

Research. I AM. I’m doing that RIGHT NOW. I love a research project like most people love things like shopping or football. BAM I GOT THIS.

OK. So that was…shit, kind of unhelpful. Let’s see what else the interweb has to offer.

Now, it’s 2012, and people are dating online, as well as off, right? RIGHT. And two of my nearest & dearest are dealing with internet relationships that have recently gone kablooey for one reason or another. WELL! Gizmodo, which is a website that I hate with the fire of a thousand suns because of that effing situation where they baited that adorable Magic: The Gathering player into dating one of their writers then excoriated him online for being *gasp* A GEEK, (please forgive the formatting there, it’s an old post I haven’t fixed) has compiled a guide of what to do when your relationship goes awry and you have to deal with the digital aftermath. OK, so I don’t look like a plagarist, I’m linking to it, but I’m telling you right now: DO NOT CLICK. Effing Gizmodo gets money every time you do. And I hate them so, so much and want them to go broke. But their article is the best one (read: the one I could mock the most easily) I found dealing with this shit, so I’m going with it.

So according to Effing Gizmodo (my official name for their site), when you break up with someone nowadays, you have to deal not only with the breakup, but the digital aftermath of the breakup. So here are some helpful tips.

Don’t break up via text-message, you balls-less moron. YES. Additionally: don’t disappear. I can’t even begin to tell you the stories I’ve heard where online people that you’ve been talking to forever just effing DISAPPEAR like they’ve contacted the plague. LISTEN ASSHATS. Is it a game? If so, what is your objective? I don’t get this. Did you win? Did you win the game? Are you a sociopath? I really am the most confused. How a “listen, this just isn’t working for me, sorry” message rather than a magician’s disappearing act isn’t better, I will never understand. CLOSURE IS A NICE THING.

Change your Facebook relationship status, but do it all tricky-like, otherwise it’ll hit the newsfeed and you’ll be all sad-panda and getting all kinds of “ARE YOU OK” comments. Or, here, this is better: don’t have a relationship status at all. Just leave that part invisible. Don’t your real friends know you’re dating or single anyway? Who cares what the other people think? I kind of don’t get that part of Facebook.

Save the digital photos of you two together, but delete emails, texts, and IMs. If you’re going to delete some, might as well delete it all, I’d think. Why do you want the photos and not the messages? All of that shit’s going to make you sad. When I was in college, I burned photos of my ex in the dorm laundry sink. It was the best. And I didn’t even set off the fire alarm! Total win.

Hide them from your Facebook feed and unfollow on Twitter, but do not block, because that is just TOO FAR. Really? That’s TOO FAR, Effing Gizmodo? I mean, it’s not like you’re stabbing them, you’re just blocking them. Why is that too far, exactly?

Don’t delete your ex’s number from your phone, but DO rename them: Gizmodo recommends “Gonorrhea Pants Jones.” ZOMG Gonorrhea Pants Jones. YES. That’s totally a name I want in my contacts list on my phone THANK YOU EFFING GIZMODO. No. No, delete their number from your phone. If you think you will need their number, send yourself an email with the number in it. Then, if you’re smart and you have Gmail, archive the email. You don’t have to see it every day, but you have it, and can search for it, in case you need it for some reason. Which you WON’T. Because you are BROKEN THE HELL UP.

Unfriend any of his or her friends you’ve friended on Facebook and Twitter. But what if his or her friends are awesome and better than he or she is? Because honestly, sometimes that happens. I can think of a few friends I have that are the result of ex-relationships that stayed with me once the relationship fizzled. I don’t think this slash-and-burn thing is really the best idea, to tell you the truth. Maybe his or her friends thinks he or she is an asshat, too?

If you are a woman, go to Craigslist for meaningless sex; if you are a man, avail yourself of all the online porn. WHAT THE HOLY HELL NO. I mean, sure, go get some internet porn, I don’t care. But women! You are better than going to Craigslist for meaningless sex. Seriously. You don’t need to do that. Did you not SEE the Craigslist Killer movie? I mean, come ON, it was on Lifetime and EVERYTHING. There are vibrators, you are aware of that, right? OK, just checking.

Re-establish online contact with your ex once you know you’ve really, really, REALLY moved on. Let me tell you about the exes I am still in contact with. There are…let’s see. Six? Six exes. No, I mean, there are INNUMERABLE exes, but six that I keep in touch with. There are two of those six that it’s not needle-in-the-eye painful to talk to, and that’s because DECADES have passed, and decades = a lot of water under the bridge. A LOT. The others…um…well, we’re still in contact, meaning, if I wanted to talk to them, I would know how to reach them? But I don’t. I mean, I totally don’t. Because they are EXES. And that is AWKWARD. And still HURTY. I suppose grownups get over such things? Sure, sure they do. I’ll be the first to admit I’m not the most grownup about such things. But seriously, think about this, do you WANT to be buddy-buddy with someone who rejected the shit out of you for whatever reason? No, seriously, do you? I mean, in a perfect world, that would be nice, wouldn’t it? So nice. But the world’s an imperfect place, what with the screws falling out all the time. For all the “I hope we can still be friends” there’s the cold, hard reality: you’re NOT friends. You STOPPED being friends when you started the relationship, whatever it was. Sure, someday, once all that water goes a’rushin under the bridges of life, maybe you can pick up and start friendshipping again. Stranger things have happened. But probably not. Because it is awkward, and the history makes it weird, and whenever you talk to the person, you’re thinking, “You rejected me. YOU rejected ME. What the hell? Who the fuck do you think you are? And why the fuck was I not good enough?”

OK, Gizmodo wasn’t all that helpful, either.

OK, fine, the interwebs have kind of failed me. Here’s a bonus for you. Here. Here is my advice for surviving a breakup. I gave a version of this to a lovely friend recently, and he reports it’s been working out for him very well (and yay, him, who I’m totally keeping anonymous, but you know who you are, so happy for and proud of you!) Also, P.S. – as much as I believe all of this, do you want to know something curious? It’s easy to GIVE someone advice, but when it comes to yourself, much harder to TAKE the advice. I find that interesting. Like, you know what you have to do, and you know what advice you’d give someone in your position, but when it comes to yourself, you don’t think the rules apply to you, or something. Someone should do a post about this. I NOMINATE ANDREAS. Because it is SCIENCY. Sort of.

  • Stop talking to the person; stop seeing the person; stop 3 a.m. sad-emailing the person. You need to move on, and you’re not going to do that if you’re still in touch.
  • Get rid of them on social sites; this ties into number one. If you see them all over the place, healing’s hard to do.
  • Don’t beat yourself up. You’re awesome. Mistakes were made, sure. We’re human, and we make them. It’s part of being human. See it as a lesson learned; maybe you can’t see what the lesson is right now, but you learned something from it.
  • Do things that make you happy. Write or paint or craft or game or read or watch a shit-ton of television or hang out with friends. Things that fill you up and things that are about you.
  • It’s going to hurt. A lot. For a while. But one day, you’re going to wake up and realize, “Shit, I didn’t think about that person yesterday.” Then, a few days later, you’re going to think, “Wow, I went a couple days without thinking about that person.” And eventually, it’s going to be more days, and more days, and one day, you’re going to feel so light, like you could float away, because you’ve let it go. And it’s just the most awesome feeling, like your stomach is full of butterflies made of clouds, and things look beautiful again, and all is well, my little sunflowers.

And, if all else fails: you are awesome, and they are an asshole, and I want to punch them in the neck for you. And there is someone awesome out there, who will get to know you and realize, “Holy HELL but this person is a ton of awesome in a human-sized package.” And that is your person. And you are THAT person’s person. And all the shitty breakups along the way will have led you there, and all the chutes you fell through will have prepared you for this ladder.

But like I said, I’m the crazy cat lady, and why people keep coming to me for relationship advice, I couldn’t tell you. Also, stop crying on me. It’s hard to get snot out of a sweater.

(Psst, I was TOTALLY going to put some sort of funny broken-heart photo on here? But don’t EVEN do a search for “broken heart” in Google Images. ZOMG SO MUCH EMO I NEED TO BLEACH MY EYEBALLS. Also, there was a photo of someone who I think slit her wrists? And a kitty who hung herself for the loss of her love, or something? NO NO NO. Babes! Stop with the emo heartbreak artwork! It is counterproductive! And totally ick!)


Dear Adam: A Very Public Break-Up Letter

Dear Adam:


I’m sorry it’s come to this, but I’m breaking up with you.


I would say “it’s not you, it’s me,” in order to spare your feelings, but it’s totally you.


It was the photo that did it. Don’t act all innocent and”what photo, baby?” You know what photo. You’re well-aware whatphoto. THIS GODDAMN PHOTO.
I actually choked on my dinner a little when I saw this inEntertainment Weekly, Adam.
Further investigation tells me that your most recent”movie” (yes, my darling, those are sarcastic quotes) Jack and Jill has youstarring as both your character AND YOUR OWN TWIN SISTER. And that Joey Potterwill be playing your wife.
That was when I knew I had to call this quits.
No, now, don’t try to argue. We’ve had a good run, you andI. Do you remember when we met? I was in high school and you were on SaturdayNight Live. Those were good days, Adam. You were young. I was young. You mademe laugh. I’ve always been a sucker for a man who can make me laugh. I stillam, Adam. Which is why we’re breaking up, to be honest. The laughs, they’vejust stopped coming.
“Red Hooded Sweatshirt.” “The ChanukahSong.” “Canteen Boy.” “Lunchlady Land.” I loved youand your silly ways.
Then I got older, and we grew apart. I never forgot you,Adam. Please don’t think that I did! I just got in with another crowd, theindie-film types, the musicians. There was a lot of eyeliner and angst.
Years later, I met another man who made me laugh, and oneday it was very hot where we worked, and he said, “It’s too damn hot for apenguin to be just walkin’ around” and that was funny, so I asked him whatit was from, and he looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “BillyMadison?” he said. “You haven’t seen Billy Madison?”
So I rented Billy Madison, and I remembered the good timeswe used to have, Adam, and how much you made me laugh. Then Happy Gilmore.Mixed Nuts. Airheads. And we were back together! The man who made me laugh wasno longer in the picture, but you stayed. And we were very happy together.
Then The Wedding Singer. This was a new thing – you? In aromantic comedy? I decided to give it a go. I mean, there had been romance inthe other films, but silly, jokey romance, and this was an actual date movie.And Adam! You were wonderful! As was the film! And even though I hated DrewBarrymore going into it (don’t ask, she and I had some tough times, her “freespirit/stripping in front of David Letterman” schtick made me weary), Icame out of it with new appreciation for her and new respect for you! And yes,I even forgave you for cheating on me with her in the movie. We could move pastthat! True love conquers all!
I bought your comedy albums – on cassette tape, becausethat’s all I had in my car – and listened to them over and over. Your voicecheered me up after bad days at work. It was a good time for us, Adam. We werehappy, weren’t we?
Then Dirty Work – not your finest hour, but you were helpingyour old Saturday Night Live buddy Norm out, I get it – and then The Waterboy.Um. Well, we’re all allowed a misstep now and then. I mean, I’m not perfect. Noone is! No one at all. And the movie did well enough in the box office. Andfrat boys seemed to be quoting it a lot. So you had that going for you.
Big Daddy. Well, it wasn’t the worst thing ever. You werematuring, as was I. You wanted to make something more family-friendly. I getit! It actually had some touching moments, and Jon Stewart was in it, so howcan that be wrong? I stood by  you.That’s what you do, when you’re in love, right?
Oh, but then, Adam, you redeemed yourself. And sobeautifully. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, because this was, I wassure, your crossover movie; this was what would launch you from comedy todrama; this was your Clooney-esque step from Facts of Life to ER. Punch DrunkLove. I loved it to distraction. I watched it in the theater the day it wasreleased; I bought the DVD the day it came out. “I have a love in my life.It makes me stronger than anything you can imagine.” Yes. YES. I knew Ihad backed the winning horse. This would go down in history as your definingmoment.
And then you made Mr. Deeds.
This was bewildering, to say the least. This wasn’t even amovie. This wasn’t even a blip on the radar of Hollywood history. This was aremake that didn’t need to be remade that you seemed to be sleepwalkingthrough. What was going on? What exactly was going through your head? But Istill saw it in the theater. I did. For you.
Then The Hot Chick. Eight Crazy Nights.
Listen, I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, here, butlet’s put our cards on the table. This is when I started to pull away from you,emotionally. I didn’t see either of these movies. And I still haven’t, despitethe fact they’ve been on cable ad infinitum since. Perhaps this is a betrayalof some sort; if so, I’m sorry. But Rob Schneider is a BAD INFLUENCE ON YOU. Heis the most annoying little booger I have ever watched. I hated him on SaturdayNight Live and I hate him in everything you deign to allow him to co-star in.No. Just, no. And then an oddly-animated comedy based on a song you sang eightyears ago? I mean, it’s a funny song, but really? This seems like poor timing,doesn’t it?
I’ll admit I saw Anger Management in the theater. I felt bad;I missed you. I felt worse when I left. I had nothing nice to say. Nothing atall.
Where did my Adam go? My sweet, dorky, funny Adam? What wasgoing on?
50 First Dates – eh, it reeked of “we really had magicwith The Wedding Singer so LET’S TRY AGAIN!” but didn’t quite hit themark. Spanglish – not bad, nice try, some nice moments, but I knew you could dobetter – you did, in Punch Drunk Love – so, again, it didn’t quite hit themark.
I didn’t see The Longest Yard. I’m sure I had a reason. Ormaybe I didn’t. You know, I just don’t think I cared enough to see it. Therewere sports in it, I think. And it was another remake. And the trailer bored meto tears. I’m not even apologizing for this.
Click was manipulative enough to make me cry but onlybecause anything with a Christmas-Carol-esque “this is what could be”angle always gets to me. So that was mean. I see what you were trying to do – win me back by manipulating me with tears. Well, that’s a shitty thing to do, Adam, after all we’ve been through! And also it kind of sucked big olddonkey dick, to be quite frank. No amount of tears makes THAT go away.
I had high hopes for Reign Over Me. I really did. A 9/11movie? Good. A serious drama? Good. Sorry. I really, really couldn’t handle it.It wasn’t well-done. I think you tried. I don’t think it was all your fault. Itwasn’t the best script.
I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry. Bedtime Stories.You Don’t Mess with the Zohan. At this point, it’s like you’re writing randomscript ideas on a dartboard and throwing darts while drunk and then making amovie of whatever the dart hits. Did you honestly think any of these were agood idea? NO, I didn’t SEE them! That’s not the POINT! Did anyone see them?They’re EMBARRASSING! Your NAME is on these! Every time I go to the goddamnhair salon they’re playing You Don’t Mess with the Zohan on some sort of Satanic endless loop and I want to throwmyself into the hot wax vat to get away from how AWFUL it looks! Please make itstop!
Also, were you trying to be pro-gay-rights with I NowPronounce You Chuck and Larry, or make fun of gay people? Because I foundit really derogatory, in a childish “hee hee GAY PEOPLE they have GAYSEX” way, and I just wonder if that was on purpose? Because really? Youwere 41 when you made this. You work in the entertainment industry. Which, I’massuming, if it’s anything like the theater industry, is heavily populated withgay people. So you were just ok with being third-grade giggly about people youprobably work with on a daily basis? Hmm.
The cracks in our relationship, Adam, are growing wider andwider. You see that, right?
I went to the theater for Funny People. But honestly, I wentfor Seth Rogen, and because it looked like it would be a drama. One moment gotto me – the one near the beginning where your character was looking over videosof his career. Because there were actual videos of your actual career in there.When you were funny. Back before – well, whatever all of this is happened. So Icried, there. Because I missed you.
Otherwise, again? More donkey-dick suckage.
Just Go With It – no thanks, I don’t think I will. TheZookeeper? Um. No. No, no. Talking animals? No.
Honestly, until today, I thought, Adam and I, we’re cool.He’ll keep making these generic, stupid movies and I’ll go on ignoring them aswell as I can and it will always be a sore spot, but I’ll always love him.
Well, until today. Until I saw THE PICTURE.
Really? REALLY? This – this is heretofore unknown DEPTHS ofsuck. I can’t even DESCRIBE how disturbing this is to me. WHO TOLD YOU THIS WASA GOOD IDEA. This isn’t even a Freaky Friday-like thing. Do you know what thisis? This movie should be subtitled “A man! In a dress! Isn’t that theFUNNIEST THING YOU’VE EVER HEARD OF? Right? Right? I mean, it’s a MAN! InWOMEN’S CLOTHES! OMG, HA HA HA!”
Adam. ADAM! I’m sorry. I just can’t. I can’t anymore.
Don’t you remember your own quote from Happy Gilmore?”Why you don’t you just go HOME? That’s your HOME! Are you too good foryour HOME?” Your home is stupid but well-written and very quotablecomedies, romantic comedies, and we KNOW you can pull off drama, if it’swritten and directed well. Go home, Adam.
Your home is not cross-dressing movies. Your home is alsonot the next two movies you have coming out, which IMDb tells me are somethingcalled I Hate You Dad where you’re either playing Leighton Meester’s dad or herboyfriend (please don’t let it be her boyfriend, babe, you’re 45 years old andshe’s barely out of Juicy sweatpants) and the voice of Dracula in HotelTransylvania (I don’t know and I don’t want to know what’s going on there.)
Adam. ADAM! I’m sorry. Stop begging. It’s not becoming. ITIS OVER. I will cherish our time together. It will always mean so much to me.When one of your movies comes on, I will watch it and smile. (Unless it wasmade after 2002, then I’m changing the channel, sorry, nostalgia doesn’t mean Ihave to sit through garbage.) 
Please know I will always love that young man who sang”Hoagies and grinders, hoagies and grinders, navy beans, navy beans, navybeans, navy beans.” It’s like he was singing into my soul.
Oh, and watch out for Cruise. I assume you had somelip-action with little Joey Potter in your upcoming movie; ask Matt Lauer,Cruise can be MEAN. He’ll get ALL up in your grill. He’s got the power of CRAZYon his side, dude. Best run if you see that train a’comin’.
All my best, but please stop calling me, because I totallymean it, we’re through,
Amy.

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