Thursday, January 25, 2007
( 9:38 AM ) Rebecca
Now we go back a few years to Breakup Babe's prime to revisit a night with the Doctor. Remember him? Oh yes, how could we forget. One of the best characters ever to grace this blog, and he made it into the novel too.
You know, I am much more mellow nowadays, but sometimes I miss those melodramatic ecstasies and agonies of early, Celexa-fueled Breakup Babe.
Oh! You can now see my book as an offical entry in the Lulu Blooker Prize contest. Wish me luck!
Sunday, December 01, 2002
( 4:13 PM ) Breakup Babe
OK, I know you’re all desperately waiting to hear what happened on my last date with the doctor. You can’t sleep, you can’t eat, you’re constantly on edge. What happened?, you cry out to anyone who will listen. Why won't she tell us?!
Well, the moment you’ve all been waiting for has arrived. I’m going to tell you what happened on that fabled last date. NOTHING, OK? Nothing! Jesus, I wish you people would leave me alone.
In fact, I’ve got much better stories to tell about Silent but Deadly Boy (SBDB), whose been “watching videos” with me a lot lately, but since you people can’t get enough of that damn doctor, here it is:
1)Doctor comes over to my house. Looking. Utterly. Drop-dead. Gorgeous. Exclaims over the great beauty of my apartment. Of my APARTMENT. Talks about himself. Lets me get a few words in edgewise. Alternates between obnoxious superficiality, which makes me want to boot him out the third floor window, and kind seriousness which makes me want to curl up in his lap and stay there forever.
2)We go to dinner at intimate restaurant. We act intimate. I get a thrill pretending I actually know this stunning specimen of manhood.
3)Get st**ed in Seattle back alley. Doctor teaches me extra-special technique learned in medical school for getting super-duper st**ed .
4)Go to to Doug Martsch (musical god) show. Doctor immediately becomes serious. Every single song is heartbreaking. Turns to me, when D.M. starts another crazy-sad cover, and says “I might actually cry.” Finally, FINALLY, wraps his arms around me. At the very end. The last two songs to be exact. I love the doctor.
5)We leave show. Doctor loses serious aspect and immediately becomes fount of obnoxious superficiality, made worse by the fact that he is super-duper st**ed , and I can’t follow a thing he is saying. I hate the doctor.
6)We approach my apartment. The eternal debate begins. Do I invite him up? Will he come up? What if I invite him up and he says no? Wouldn’t it be best NOT to invite him up? I invite him up. He says yes. I love the doctor.
7)He comes up. We drink water and eat ice cream and sit on opposite corners of the red Couch o' Love. Doctor talks about himself. Doesn’t let me get a word in edgewise. Alternates between obnoxious superficiality and kind seriousness, but focuses on the former. Feel myself carried along on a conversational wave that I cannot control and do not want to participate in. This is not me, I’m thinking. He’s not getting to know me, and I’m not getting to know him. I hate the doctor.
8)At one point, doctor looks at me with that LOOK. That shy, sparkly-eyed look that says “Gee whiz, you are so pretty and great and I want to kiss you!” I love the doctor.
9) The moment passes. He doesn’t kiss me. He leaves and gives me a long, warm hug. Says “see you later.” I have a big ache in my gut. I hate the doctor.
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Tuesday, January 16, 2007
( 5:20 PM ) Rebecca
So, here for your archival reading pleasure, we reminisce about a crush I had two years ago on a cute boy called the Charming Canadian who cruelly and oh-so-stupidly rejected me for some Canadian chick. I remember one reader writing in and telling me ecstastically how this was the best blog entry he'd ever read. I don't know about THAT, but it is sorta fun IIDSSM (if I do say so myself).
Also, note that I've made a lot more entries available on this page now - why you can read back over a year now! Of course, that's just about when the blog got dull, but hey, you've got quantity here OK?
Monday, July 12, 2004
( 11:19 AM ) Breakup Babe
So. Thus beginneth the next two weeks of knowing those two canoodling Canucks are toodling their way around MY FAIR STATE OF Washington, no doubt falling madly in love as a cheesy montage plays to the tune of "I'm on Top of the World."
Here they are at Pike Place Market, laughing as a big fish flies right towards them and hits The Other Girl (TOG) on the head, and knocks her unconscious! Oops, ha ha ha! There goes that romantic dinner they had planned at Campagne!
Oh, there they are at the water's edge in Olympic National Park, heads bent over a tidepool as sunset streaks the sky, when TOG playfully teases a sea urchin,and OH MY GOSH it grabs her finger and won't let go, meanwhile injecting a paralytic poison! Oh ha ha ha!
Better yet, there they are at Mt. Rainier - MY Mount Rainier - which TOG, with her out-of-shape, untoned, pasty white legs, - would never be able to climb, not in a million years. Holding hands among the wildflowers, alone in their own little world, when OH NO! - an exhausted climber returning from the summit accidentally takes out the TOG when she swings her ice ax into TOG's kneecaps! An expensive helicopter rescue ensues and the rest of their romantic week is ruined as TOG is stuck in Harborview Hospital with the victims of gang warfare, oh ha ha ha!
Meanwhile, yours truly will continue to rip through the cluster of suitors that has suddenly swarmed around me in my drunken, scantily-clad state.
And I won't be thinking about them at all. NOT AT ALL.
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Tuesday, January 09, 2007
( 6:10 PM ) Rebecca
If you are a new reader who has come here from my novel, or discovered this site by typing something like "awful breakup heartbreak want to die" etc. in Google, then welcome!
However, here is the scoop: Breakup Babe is no longer an active blog. I will be recycling gems from my "hidden" archives here on a regular basis, which I know isn't nearly as exciting as hearing about my actual wild and kahrazy sex life, but unfortunately, as a major literary figurehead, I can no longer blog about that stuff. But you can visit me at my author blog and at Sparkly Sparkly, where I blog about the same old stuff I used to blog about here, minus the salacious details.
You can still e-mail me at email@example.com.
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Monday, January 08, 2007
( 9:41 AM ) Rebecca
OK darlings, we're going to make this short and sweet.
I have been saying for years now that I need to take Breakup Babe off life support. I’ve kept her hooked up for way too long now. Don’t get me wrong. She is great. She made me who I am today (famous author, glamorous, rich, etc etc).
When I went through the Great Unpleasantness in 2002, she saved me.
For years after the Great Unpleasantess (a couple anyway), I really was Breakup Babe.
Frantic, needy, dating every messed-up attractive guy in sight.
But I don’t think I am Breakup Babe anymore. Not like I’m all happily settled down or anything like that, ooh no. I’ve been in my fair share of stupid dating situations, even to this day!
Yet I have grown up a bit since that period of my life. I’m still frantic and needy and frightened but less so. I achieved my lifelong dream of writing a novel, and that has given me confidence that I didn’t have before. I’m also just older and wiser and ready to stop having a nickname like “Breakup Babe” hanging around my neck.
But I love blogging way too much to stop. So you can still find me blogging at my author web site and on my new blog, Sparkly Sparkly. (Some of you diehards may remember I created a blog with this name way back when I was going through “secret” blog-creating phase.).
I always liked that name so I resurrected it. I like to think of myself as a sparkly person even though a lot of the time I probably am not. But I do wear sparkly eyeshadow sometimes!
In memoriam, I give you the very first BreakupBabe entry ever. Perhaps I'll make all the archives available here once again, but I haven't decided about that. Meanwhile, let's throw some flowers on her grave and go party.
Saturday, August 10, 2002
( 1:58 PM ) Breakup Babe
Had a great time at a big, sensational party last night (except for my bout of uncontrollable, drunken crying ). Unfortunately, part of what made it fun is that I was hanging out with F. I KNOW! I swore up and down I wouldn’t do it, and really I didn’t do anything except let myself be hugged and touched and made to feel generally desirable.
If only it could stay like that. If only we could go out occasionally and flirt and fondle while the lights flash and the music plays, and that it could make me feel good and warn and forgetful, and then we could go our separate ways and the night would just vaporize into pleasant memories.
But of course today, I keep replaying all the pleasant memories in my head, because after all the rejection I experienced from M. in the last two months, it felt so good to have someone actually want to be close to me. And to have someone put their arm around me. I mean, maybe his motives were bad, and maybe he is a “wolf,” like S. used to say, and maybe he’s a wolf who’s preying on me in my most vulnerable time. But I don’t care, when someone puts their arm around you as you walk down the street, it feels loving and protective and it’s all so easy to forget that maybe all they want to do is fuck you and that once you do that, they’ll never put their arm around you again.
And it’s not even a question of whether he’s a good person or not, of if he can be, or he can be a good boyfriend or not, because even if he could be, he wouldn’t be a good boyfriend for me, despite this f***** physical attraction, which has endured over the years. Which is the whole reason I shouldn’t have let it get this far, but WHATEVER. At least I’m aware that I’m doing is silly and dangerous, which is more than I can say for myself the last time around with him five years ago.
But anyway, it was one of those nights where I could pretend (except when I was crying uncontrollably) that everything was all right, when I could --with the help of an attractive boy putting his arms around me and a good friend in a tight red tube top dancing nearby, and too much electric blue alcohol--dance the night away and feel young and glamorous and like the world was my oyster. Ha.
But I know from experience that the feeling of well-being stretches into the next day, even through the hangover and maybe because of it – everything is too fuzzy for you to really face yourself – and lasts maybe until Sunday night, when you go to bed knowing that you have to work the next day, and that work will be a series of anticlimaxes (waiting for e-mail from cute boys that never arrive), and that every moment in the hallway will moment braced for confrontation and laced with grief.
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