Category Archives: exes

We gotta be careful so that no one will know – secret lovers, yeah, that’s what we are. Oh, oh no. Wait. I TOLD PEOPLE.

OK, so honestly, I had this whole Random Crap Tuesday post all cooked up like a fancy souffle and then someone was all “what are your PLANS for VALENTINE’S DAY” all screechy and shit and I realized motherEFF I kind of have to address this frigging holiday, don’t I. So I took some of the stuff OUT of the Random Crap Tuesday post and left in some of the stuff that was TOTALLY ROMANTIC and there. I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY SCREECH.

What am I doing for Valentine’s Day? Punching you in the face for asking? How about that? No, honestly, I haven’t celebrated Valentine’s Day once in my entire life, why the hell would I start now. Valentine’s Day is a holiday designed to make people without a relationship feel like shit. We WOULDN’T feel like shit if the coupley people weren’t all “oh, you must HATE Valentine’s Day” all the time, in that voice you use to gentle horses or maybe to talk to suicide bombers. Let me tell you where you can cram that voice, Myrtle.

Valentine’s Day means nothing but cheap chocolate day tomorrow, and that’s it. I don’t care about it otherwise. The closest I came to celebrating Valentine’s Day was one year in high school I was SO EXCITED because I totally had a boyfriend for Valentine’s Day, like for the first time EVER, and this was AWESOME, I was totally going to get PRESENTS, and then he broke up with me two days before the big day because he thought one of my friends was flirting with him so he had a better chance of getting laid if he went after her. When he actually DID go after her, she laughed in his face, which I guess was a nice bit of revenge. And also a couple months later he shaved off the three hairs he’d been cultivating for months that was his version of a moustache and they never grew back. Like, ever. I saw a photo of him on Facebook recently and he’s still bald as an egg. SO SCREW YOU DICK MCGEE.

But! I can’t let you all down. You totally want something romantic. Because it’s Valentine’s Day. SO! I totally have the cure for what ails you. NO NOT LIQUOR. But that might work, too, don’t rule that out.


(That’s a funny header because once I talk about it, it’s not really a secret anymore, NOW IS IT.)

I totally have a SECRET BOYFRIENDDDDDD! Who might be reading this RIGHT NOWWWWWWW!

So one of my readers, B. (I should probably keep her secret, right? This is probably all supposed to be on the DOWNLOW like a PRISON BREAK) and also one of my friends from the Geek Girls Book Club AND one of my Twitter friends AND one of my Facebook friends AND one of my Saturday night drinking buddies (she’s really a quintuple threat, then) said that one of HER friends decided that I would be a PERFECT match for her (the friend’s) brother-in-law. After telling B. that might get awkward if this guy was married to her friend’s sister (he is NOT, whew) she totally DOWNLOW LIKE A PRISON BREAK sent me his name so I could internet stalk him. Um. I mean, gently research him. In a most gentle way. Like a kitten! Like a little baby kitten, so gentle was my researching. Like the baby fur on a baby kitten. (ZOMG. When I worked at the Humane Society? People would come in looking for “baby kittens” all the time. I didn’t point out the redundancy of their phraseology, but would direct them to our cat room. They’d come out with lemon face, all, “NO BABY KITTENS I SAID” and I’d say, “Um, those are babies, they’re like 8 weeks old” and they’d say, “I SAID BABIES. BABIES! Like a WEEK old!” You can’t even legally adopt OUT a week-old kitten. A week old kitten needs to be with its MOM. You jackass baby-kitten ageist.)

ANYWAY. Because I totally rock Google, I found Secret Boyfriend like, almost immediately (except I was thrown off because the first thing that popped up was like a million references to a mixed martial artist with the same name, and that was off-putting, because the mixed martial artist – BEE TEE DUBS autocorrect keeps trying to change that to “marital” artist, what? Mixed marital artist? That is…not right. But kind of funny – had one of those Channing Tatum “my neck and my head are the same circumference” things going on, and well, that’s so nice, B., but I’d be a very bad dater of someone with a humungous neck, I’d always be all “that’s just a huge neck you have, babe, seriously, I can’t even take you seriously right now or even look you in the eye with that huge honking neck of neckiness going on.”) But NO! I totally broke through the fourth wall of Google and FOUND MY PREY. I mean. Um. Gentle like a kitten. A BABY KITTEN.

So secret boyfriend is adorable and also A DOCTOR. OK, not a blood-and-guts doctor with the cutting and the rude arrogance. OF PHILOSOPHY. The SEXY kind of doctor. I think the odds that secret boyfriend knows how to use a semicolon correctly are very high, like in the 90th percentile at least. ALSO he kind of looks like a more intelligent and less crazy-haired Mark Ruffalo. So henceforth he will be known as Dr. Ruffalo. And he is a PROFESSOR.  At a COLLEGE. Who has PUBLISHED ARTICLES THAT HAVE REAL TITLES ATTACHED TO THEM. I mean, look up at my title up there? The titles of his articles are nothing like that. They use real words in them. And they don’t even use song titles. I KNOW.

Um. So after I picked myself up off the floor and asked the janitor to borrow his mop to clean up the drool-puddle, it was totally decided that OPERATION DR. RUFFALO would be in full effect. Oh, by the way, Dr. Ruffalo lives approximately 2,200 miles away from me, not that I Mapquested that or anything so I could put in the mileage here for you guys because it wasn’t as funny to make up a number and also because I’m like the best stalker ever. Also? In another country. One that is NOT AMERICA. Oh, sorry. Sorry. MERKA. NOT MERKA. And doesn’t know I exist. And I’m preeeeetty sure would read ONE PAGE of this blog and he’d die dead of death because if you’re a big fancy fancy person you probably only have so much tolerance for “douchecanoe” and “asshat,” you know? Also? ALSO? HE IS NOT ON TWITTER. I know. This, in itself? TOTAL RED FLAG YO. OH! Also he has the same last name as a BADGUY. The badguy used to date one of my close friends and we found out way too late he was a lying liar who lied. B. assures me that the people in Canada probably aren’t related to the lying liars who lie here.


Did Romeo and Juliet give up when their families tried to keep them apart? NO. They COMMITTED SUICIDE BY ACCIDENT. Um. That is a bad metaphor. Here, this one’s better. Did Cher and her stepbrother from Clueless give up when…no, listen, I’m not even going to go there, I know Paul Rudd played him in the movie and I’d totally lick Paul Rudd like a lollipop, given the opportunity, but it always skeeved me right the hell out that she was dating her stepbrother even though they weren’t TECHNICALLY related. That one’s out, too. Oh, wait, I know. Did George and Lenny give up when Lenny murdered someone by petting her hair too hard and the itinerant workers were all “lynch mob!” Oh. Yeah. Yeah, they kind of did, George shot him in the head. And they weren’t even romantically linked except if you’re writing creepy sexually-inappropriate shipper fan fiction. DAMMIT I SUCK AT THIS.

SO! In honor of it being A DAY OF LOVE (please excuse me while I gag), I am going to have a conversation with my total new boyfriend Dr. Ruffalo. You can all listen in. I’ll let you.

Dearest Dr. Ruffalo! B. has assured me that we are totally going to fall in love and that you have been directed to read my blog. Isn’t that nice? Aren’t you so excited that your future is planned out for you? I know I am. I mean, I’ve been worried where I’m going, what I’m doing with my life and such, and here you are! I promise I am not crazy. Oh, wait. No, I totally am, that’s a lie. And what kind of foundation can we build our love on if it’s built on a foundation of lies, Dr. Ruffalo? A shaky one that’s prone to mudslides, is what. No one would like that.

Listen, I’m pretty sure you would like a laundry list of what I would bring to a relationship. I can provide that. I’m not shy. I totally talk about my gynecologist right on my blog to STRANGERS, I mean, I’m pretty sure propriety was thrown out the window like, months ago. Ahem: I bring to the table a marked dislike of most foods, a cat who may or may not be mentally ill, a legion of Twitter and blog minions, and a laugh that is loud enough to frighten small children into dropping their ice cream cones onto hot sidewalks. These are a lot of things to bring to the table! That table might totally break under the strain of all that awesome. I worry about that table, I’m telling you right now. We should shore it up with two-by-fours or something. OH! I also bring to the table the inability to shore up tables without hitting myself with a hammer and making myself bleed. I hope you are good with hammers, Dr. Ruffalo.

So! Dr. Ruffalo. I have no doubt you are halfway to in love with me right now; the ball is in your court. That is not a euphemism. Or – wait, did you want it to be a euphemism? Now that we’re in this secret romance, probably I have to start thinking of your wants and needs, too. If you want that to be a euphemism, Dr. Ruffalo, it is TOTALLY a euphemism, and aren’t you so impressed with my euphemism skills? I should add that to the list of things to put on that table up there. Except now that table’s sure to collapse, damn, and I don’t even know if you’re good with hammers yet.

I have attempted to Missed Connection people on here before, Dr. Ruffalo, most notably the guy who looked like Al from Tool Time but wasn’t that I saw at a play once, and Randy who hated me but also I’m pretty sure that meant he loved me. THESE THINGS WERE NOT SUCCESSES. I have higher hopes for you and our secret romance.

Oh! I am also totally good at sciency things, because I have a sciency friend. And I’m willing to try tea but it might make me gag, just a heads-up. And I’m totally learning German and a little Norwegian – like today? I learned that “rumpetroll” means tadpole in Norwegian. Taken literally? BUTT-TROLL. I know, right? Think of the pillow talk we could have, Dr. Ruffalo! I mean, I’m thinking it would be hard for ANYONE to resist me, right? Right.

Dr. Ruffalo, if you could like to contact me, please feel free. I give extra points for grammatically-correct comments, tweets, and emails, and will totally go to second base over a pleasingly and correctly-placed semicolon. Just a tip.


Oh. Also I like caps-lock. Like, a lot, a lot. So don’t try to come between me and my caps-lock? You won’t win. Just looking out for you, sunshine.


Oh, here’s a picture of the real Mark Ruffalo wearing glasses so he kind of looks scholarly so you can all imagine my new secret boyfriend in your head. We’re going to make a lovely couple.

Oh, man, he's reading AND wearing glasses. This is one steamy photo right here.

(Imagine him with no facial hair and normal head-hair and not Hollywood actor head-hair and they are the same. Except kind of not the same, same. But sort of. Kind of. DR. RUFFALO LADIES AND GENTLEMEN.)

So! Happy Valentine’s Day, all you coupley-couples. Happy Tuesday, all you other people. Happy Day-Before-Half-Priced-Chocolate-Day, people who are deal-savvy and chocolate-obsessed like me.

And happy day to YOU, Dr. Ruffalo. HAPPY DAY TO YOU SIR.

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!)

Selected Items from the "Reasons Why I’m Currently Single" List

#27         One of my exes got us kicked out of somewhere once because he wanted to start a fight with someone. I don’t remember why. All the way home, he kept punching his hand and muttering how he could have taken him. (He couldn’t have.) My father still calls him “The Pugilist.”
#45         I like being able to go out and do things without having to tell anyone where I’m going or when I’ll be back. If I wanted a minder, I’d still live at home with my parents.
#59         I don’t like the idea that someone else would have a say in what gets watched on the living room television. If I want to watch Bridezillas, that’s the way it is. I shouldn’t have to bargain with someone about it.
#71         Another ex, when faced with our imminent breakup, laid in the road and said he’d rather be hit by a car than lose me. I thought this was romantic, rather than COMPLETELY PSYCHOTICALLY INSANE. I obviously do not have good taste in men; therefore, I should stay away from them.
#99         Comfort trumps sensuality when sleeping. I don’t want to wear lingerie. I want to wear sweats or a stretched-out t-shirt.
#117      I have no idea how to flirt. I’m still in the “punch someone in the arm or insult them to show them you like them” 3rd-grade mindset. This does not work well when you are in your mid-thirties.
#128      I sometimes get crazy eyes when I am really excited about something. If I was in love with someone, there is a good chance I would have permanent crazy eyes; this could not bode well for my chances in living a normal life.
#134      One of the guys I met while online dating packed a bag on our first date – our first time meeting one another – and when the date was over, and I made to get out of the car, showed it to me and got very, very angry that I was not inviting him up for a sleepover. “But I find you attractive! When is someone ever going to find you attractive again?” he said. He seemed normal, until the date. See #71 – bad, bad taste in men. Should not be allowed around them. Or, I should, and I could be used like a drug dog, and could sniff out the crazy ones for nice girls to avoid.
#146       I’m kind of a bitch. I don’t really want to constantly have to be on guard about that. Some days, things really, really piss me off. It is not a good idea to get in my space on those days. But if you had a significant other – they are always in your space. Oh, also I have personal space issues, so there’s that. OK, let’s just say, I’m a big old ball of crazy, and it’s exhausting to think about hiding that from someone.
#151       The kids that called me a huge nerd in high school were right. I’ve embraced it, but the awesome nerd guys are mostly taken by the other awesome nerd girls.
#157      I’m still waiting for a Breakfast Club-era Judd Nelson to marry me, so I’m really kind of unavailable.

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