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Wednesday, February 26, 2003 ( 6:53 PM ) Rebecca I’ll have you know that I have not been on a date in over a week. And you thought I was an addict! Ha. Oh OK, I’ll come clean. I tried to go on a date last week. In a moment of boredom two weeks ago, I finally deign to respond to one of my Nerve.com supplicants; we correspond; everything seems peachy. He’s 29, looks like Frodo, plays in a band, and lives with his parents in Olympia (you’d think I’d learn and go for the 45-year olds with good jobs who don't look like hobbits but NOOO). We finally plan a date, talk on the phone to confirm for TWO WHOLE MINUTES. Then, half an hour later he calls me and tells me he has a “gut feeling, based on our phone call, that it just isn’t..." (anguished pause) RIGHT." And cancels our date. As if. He's a 5'7" dwarf who lives with his mommy! But here at BreakupBabe.com, we have saying for these kinds of situations: WHATever. Meanwhile, my long-distance, uh, whatever, limps on. It’s very sad, non, that the boy with the most potential has to live so freaking far away (and have any of my astute readers guessed who it is yet?) Anyway, conversation snippet from last week, when I was not at my most, er, CONFIDENT. Me: “Hi, it’s BB!” I hope he's happy to hear from me!" PPB: “Oh, hi BB!” He doesn't sound that happy to hear from me! Me: “How are you?” Why haven't you called?! PPB: “Oh, pretty good, how about you?” He’s hiding something! Me: Oh good. Really good. You don’t like me anymore, do you? Etc. Never mind that he ended the conversation by saying he wanted to see me in April. It was not my finest moment. It’s hard enough just starting to date someone when you live in the same city and can feel their arms around you in between moments of insecurity. Sigh. Must calm down. Must not have high hopes. Must not have any hopes. Must be like dust in wind. Must go on other dates -- I mean, must go to sleep early with good book and wake up early, and- Oh my God, sorry for the thinly veiled Bridget Jones ripoff there, But after all, I am, as my fan Betty from New York said when she so KINDLY nominated me for MSNBC's Weblog Central, "Brigette (sic) Jones with an edge." Belated thank you, Betty! | # E-mail Breakup Babe Friday, February 21, 2003 ( 3:51 PM ) Rebecca I saw a dude in the cafeteria today getting the following items for lunch:
Bastard. He was standing right behind me in line, where I was primly purchasing my salad with nonfat ranch dressing and hyperventilating about the two whole pounds I've gained. (Where’s the scale? Maybe I’ve gained another pound since yesterday!) And it's not even like this guy is one of the 30-ish, fat, balding-yet-with-ponytail, millionaire developers who run this place, and at whom I can glare while they’re purchasing their double bacon cheeseburger, fries, and chocolate cake for lunch and think “Rich ponytail dude, you are a heart attack waiting to happen in five years!” (While in fact, I, with my Boca Burger sans bun, no fries, broccoli on the side, am probably the heart attack waiting to happen, given the genetic cesspool -- that term courtesy of L’il Sis -- from which I spring.) No, Pizza-and-Doughnut-Man was already old! Early sixties maybe! He’s survived that long on his diet of lard, cholesterol, and sugar! And it pisses me off! Cause you better believe I would eat that day every day if I could. He was, of course, not exactly svelte. In fact, he was sort of rotund. But with his white beard, it made him look like a lovable Santa Claus wannabe. All the grandmas are after him, I bet. And with all those doughnuts and all that booty, he is one happy fellow! And I bet he doesn’t agonize over two LOUSY pounds. ANYWAY. On to juicier topics. I bet you’re all DYING to know about my trip to Smell-A. Well. There were the movie negotiations (which are too boring to get into, except for the catfight between Marissa Tomei and Sarah Michelle Gellar over who got to play me, which turned into a steamy l*sbian sex orgy). And other than that, let's put it this way. The “Fun in the Sun” vacation that I dreamed of was really more of a “Drive Around in the Gray and Cold Vacation.” I did, however, get to know Pierced Political Boy better (Note slight change of name, at his request, though he is officially not allowed to read the blog anymore). In the biblical sense. I KNOW, it was really only our second date -- though to be fair, our first date DID last 24 hours! On general principle, I don’t give it up so easily these days, but drastic situations (i.e. PPB living in Smell-A), calls for drastic action. And I am nothing if not someone who rises to the occasion, especially when s*x is involved. PPB, I must say, also rose to the occasion with amazing zeal, given his advanced age of 32. Also, *extra credit* to PPB for lavishing attention on me wherever we go, making me feel like the specialest person on Earth. Ain’t no one been that sweet to me since…well… OK, speaking of The Great Unpleasantness, here’s a question. I’ve decided that I don’t need to call Loser Loser anymore. I am SO over that. I can’t of course, call him by name HERE, lest he finds this site (has he already?) and decides to sue me, TP my house, etc. I need a new name for him. A male name that is completely emasculating (as is his real name; too bad I can’t use it), to properly portray the rather weak and pathetic non-Alpha male that he is. An acronym would also do. A subset of my friends are already calling him “Luther,” which, as you might guess, is a variant of Loser. I’m partial to “Frances.” But if anyone has any ideas, please let fly. | # E-mail Breakup Babe Wednesday, February 12, 2003 ( 9:16 PM ) Rebecca So I did it. Yay, me! I dumped someone. You go girl! Me, who usually clings to going-nowhere relationships like a life raft in a violent ocean, until cute boy XYZ, aware that we’re going to die a prolonged, painful death anyway, does the humane thing and pushes me overboard. Splash! Gurgle. Drown. The time, however, it was moi who pushed cute Silent But Deadly Boy (SBDB) and his many chest hairs off the raft. Before he got to tell me “Blah blah there are too many variables (that’s a big word, don’t hurt yourself, SBDB!) in my life to commit blah blah, You’re still hung up on your ex anyway, blah blah, I have a gut feeling we’re not meant to be, blah blah, but by the way, can I f*ck you one more time and say, and can we still do that thre*some?” Oh, I had loads of fun drinking, dancing, and drugging with SBDB and his big ole’ you-know-what. He was a good rebound. And I suspect Mr. "Too Many Variables" might come crawling back. You see, that’s my master plan. They’re all going to come crawling back. In fact, they’ve already started. First Sexy Boy (SB), and then the L’il Rockclimbing Spy (LRS). I won’t bore you with the details. Yawn. And I know it has to do with me not being interested in them anymore, which is a subject I don’t really want to explore, because I’ve been told that to keep a guy’s attention, I need to play hard to get or play by The Rules, and I just CAN’T. I’m sorry. I’m constitutionally unable to play hard to get, unless I just don’t f*cking care. Anyway, it’s nice to have them flitting around, as long as they don’t distract me, which is a danger, as I’m easily distractable. Meanwhile, I have bigger fish to fry. Yes, Breakup Babe will be going to Los Angeles this weekend for fun in the sun, Hollywood parties, and negotiations for Breakup Babe, The Movie. I’ll be meeting with Marissa Tomei, Sarah Michelle Gellar, and Janean Garafolo, who are absolutely dying to play me, along with Johnny Depp, who has some bee in his bonnet to play the doctor. Pee Wee Herman is auditioning for the role of Loser and they say Brad Pitt wants to play SBDB, but I don’t think he has enough chest hairs. I’ll also be rendezvousing with the newest and brightest star in the BB galaxy, Pierced Politician Boy (PPB) (PPB, this is the last time you’re allowed to read the blog), with whom I had the most fabulous blind date ever in Portland two weeks ago. Have you ever kissed anyone with a pierced tongue? Highly recommended. | # E-mail Breakup Babe Friday, February 07, 2003 ( 9:10 PM ) Rebecca Damn it. Is there anything more annoying than getting ready to break up with someone and having them postpone your date by an hour? Jesus. People have no f*cking consideration. I mean, I'm dressed to the nines, ready to go, and now what? Twiddle my thumbs? I'm gonna get drunk and lose my nerve, I know it. Just like I did last time. | # E-mail Breakup Babe Thursday, February 06, 2003 ( 9:56 PM ) Rebecca OK, I am not going to beat myself up over my addiction to boys, sex, drama. (And doesn't this woman sound like my evil twin?) I want love, just like every other human being on this godforsaken planet. The problem is, and I have just realized it, I am on the f*cking rebound. My relationship with SBDB? Rebound. That's why I want what he can't give: constant warmth and affection like I got from Loser before he went to the Bad Place. OK, take a guess; who am I? Hot Cold Hot Cold RIGHT! I am SBDB. Now I am HOT because I'm having s*x with you but now I am COLD because well, I could be out at a bar meeting other women right now (not that I really do because I am not very suave but, who knows, if I weren't with you I COULD be!) Oh, I am not being fair. But who gives a sh*t? I can crucify him if I want for dramatic effect, N'EST-CE-PAS? Yesterday I saw Loser with his new companion. That made my day, as you can imagine. Especially when I waved and said "HI!" and they both ignored me. Well excuse me! What have I ever done to THEM except be alive and intimidatingly hot? I cried afterwards. Cried and cried. And then I realized that all these boys lo these many months? The LRS and Memphis Boy and The Doctor and SBDB? Rebound rebound rebound rebound. Lookin for love in all the wrong places, lookin for love in all the wrong faces, as they say. Looking for that thing I lost that's never coming back again. At least not until I sit back, take a break, and let it come to me instead of chasing it frantically down every dark alley in Seattle. Well, now it's time to look inside myself. And I always make these resolutions about how I'm not gonna date for for a month or a week but it ends up lasting about a day, til the next cute boy asks me out and then I feel bad, like look how weak I am. So I won't make resolutions. Except to try to overcome my fear. The fear that I'll never find anyone again and die old and alone and childless and that if I just keep dating x,y,z, I'll find that "security" I had just six short months ago and will never be lonely again for the rest of my life of course until x,y,z dies in which case maybe I'll be old and alone but not childless. Anyway, you get the picture. | # E-mail Breakup Babe ( 9:34 AM ) Rebecca For someone who has had continual dates for the last four months; who has had a boy to kiss on every occasion; whose life has been a nonstop whirl of sparkly dresses and designer cocktails; who has a great job; a fabulous apartment; perfect health; tons of friends; who is medicated to the gills; and who is (temporarily) a size 4 due to generous sizing on Banana Republic's part; I feel awfully alone and sorry for myself today. Boo hoo hoo. | # E-mail Breakup Babe Tuesday, February 04, 2003 ( 9:16 PM ) Rebecca Really, you know, I just think Banana Republic made an extra large batch of pants. Could be a marketing ploy. A pretty good one too, dontchya think? | # E-mail Breakup Babe Monday, February 03, 2003 ( 7:19 PM ) Rebecca If dating is a rollercoaster (and it is), I've just hurtled through a corkscrew, screamed my way down a thrilling drop, and hit bottom with my stomach left somewhere behind in Portland. Would someone please let me off, please? But the bored roller-coaster guy has gone home to bed and I seem to be alone into this metal box with no rest in sight, until perhaps it decides to become unhinged and goes flying off into the ether with a groan of metal and a firestorm of sparks, at which point -- who knows? -- maybe I'll go join Willie Wonka and Charlie in that great glass elevator in the sky. | # E-mail Breakup Babe Sunday, February 02, 2003 ( 10:14 PM ) Rebecca You know that when your biggest pleasure in life is spending $120 on two pairs of pants at Banana Republic that something is missing. Love or religion or good deeds for others or something. But they were size 4 pants. Do you know the last time I wore size 4? Never. Do you know how much, a year ago, I wanted to be a size 4 (or a size 6 or even a size 8 for that matter?) I think I would trade those two pants size back for a little bit of the good stuff again, you know? But maybe it's something that I gotta make happen, not something that some guy who is magically going to fall in love with me and give me a happy ending like in that hokey "Sweet Home Alabama" movie that I watched on the train and which, in my sleep-deprived, emotional state, made me cry for one hour -- is gonna make happen. I have enough love inside myself for me and a lot of other people in this world, and maybe it's time I get back to trying to help other people for a while instead of bemoaning my own aching heart. And it I happen to look just a little better doing it in my size 4 low-rider Banana Repuplic pants that will pretty much show my butt crack if I'm not careful, well so be it. | # E-mail Breakup Babe |
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