Last night on my way home from work I stopped into Sabon which is a soap store. Anyway I bought this body oil, because I get very dry skin in the winter and it smells like musk, which I’ve heard makes you smell just like you, but sexier!
Anyway, I went out last night with my roommate and we ended up playing flip cup and I wore a denim jacket and a big see through white tee and a black bra because I am so downtown cool these days. And I asked everyone (everyone who is a boy and my friend. ”Friend” used loosely) if I smell like me but sexier. Everyone said yes, even though that is the only right answer to such a question.
Also, my skin is already really soft so I highly recommend said product.
All of that to say, I think I’m going to go on a 24 to 48 hour liquid cleanse because lately I only eat candy. And I think I’m actually going to start writing this blog.
I wrote this a while ago to submit to Thought Catalogue. They did not like it. :( Maybe y’all will. XO!
Last night my boyfriend called me. As soon as I picked up the phone, I knew.
“Yes or no, are you breaking-up with me?” I am not one for niceties when I’m anxious. He was quiet for a while.
“Yes.” It continued from there with, what I assume was, a normal break-up conversation. Some “you’re great”s, “it’ll be okay”s, “I still love you, I just am not sure how much”s and a lot of “I just need to be alone right now.”s A whole lot of those. An impossible amount of those.
Here’s a fact: I do not cry over boys. I cry over, literally, everything else. When I was eight, I cried so much during an episode of “Touched by an Angel” that I ended up with stress-induced hives. Time McGraw’s “Don’t Take the Girl”? You betcha. I have not seen a movie about an animal in the past decade, because they always die at the end and I’m just not good at processing that. If people are standing too close to me when they talk to me, open the flood gates. My sister got a new puppy a few weeks ago, and I cried a little, because, you know, it’s going to die someday.
I, however, do not cry over boys. Not since I was thirteen. The first boy I’d ever kissed sat me down and told me he just was not interested, so I bawled like a baby. When my dad came to pick me up from the day camp where all this went down, I ran to the car in tears and told him that he could not ask questions. I was spending the night at Whitney’s and would see him in the morning. Her older sister bought us store brand apple soda and we ate an entire jar of peanut butter. I had not shed a tear over a male since, and I have dated the Manhattan gauntlet. Kissed actors and poets and trust fund babies and at least a dozen men who are in Finance (don’t worry- they promised they weren’t “typical finance guys”!). Some of them were my boyfriends. I thought I was gonna marry a couple. No one ever made me shed a tear.
Until this one. I’ve cried over him at least a dozen times in the past twenty-four hours. I’ve been playing Taylor Swift’s “Last Kiss” and “We are Never Ever Getting Back Together” on loop. I’ve thrown some Mirada Lambert in there (You can take the girl out of Texas…). I started hyperventilating in line to pay for a Diet Dr Pepper at 7/11. I called my mom and asked how she was and then just sobbed. I am acting like a total girl, a total crazy girl. (Example texts to the ex: “You know, I opted not to audition for the Bachelor for you.” and “:-P I’m not crazy! ;-)” ) I just can’t hold it together, and I think I know why.
This guy was different. Maybe he is different. He is pretty normal. Tall and athletic, he does something with accounting or banking. (I never really paid attention…) He drinks too much and he’s funny as hell. He is normal, I’m normal. “We” were different. He could always make me laugh- we laughed during the break-up conversation. He first told me he loved me when he was wasted, outside of a bar in the West Village, on our third or forth date. He named our kids, sent me links to apartment buildings in various other cities. We were going to escape together, Manhattan is expensive and cold. He was so sweet. Always wanted to hold me, always complimentary, kind, comforting. It was so so good, perfect. I thought I was done. Marriage seemed like an exciting, if far off, destination. I still don’t think I was delusional, we talked about it all the time, it would be hard, but it would be worth it. “I promise, I’m not going to break-up with you. I would never hurt you.” “I want to be your first kiss of June and your last kiss ever.” Sometimes, he needed space. Sometimes, I got anxious and texted him four times in a row, but when we talked it was always good, always easy and safe and happy. “I just need to be alone right now.” Until it wasn’t. And I just broke down.
I think most people find one that’s different. When that ends, if it does, maybe it’s okay to be a mess. I haven’t eaten anything except Diet Dr. Pepper for at least thirty hours and I don’t think I’m going to be able to wear eye make-up until November. Maybe it’s find to sit on the street and cry, maybe it’s okay to call your mom and then yell at her for having the gaul to ask if you’re okay. Maybe it’s okay to hope it’s not over. Maybe it’s not over. Maybe it is over. Maybe it’s not okay for him to just change his mind one day. Maybe he should keep his promises. Probably, it doesn’t matter. Maybe he’ll call. Maybe I won’t answer. Probably, I will. Probably, this isn’t that exceptional. Probably, it’s just what loving someone in your early 20s feels like.
I went out last night, for the first time since the break-up. I have no eaten anything solid since last Tuesday afternoon and I got a haircut, so not only am I thin and beautiful, my tolerance is shot; all the makings of a perfect evening!
Anyway, I was having a relatively fun time. I ran into a few friends I haven’t seen in a while, the bar was full, the energy was good! I even caught the eye of a tall, attractive recent Ivy League grad who told me stories about his days as a college athlete and his new life doing something lucrative and fiance-y!
We got along quite well. We laughed, there was arm touching and hair flipping and waist feeling… But I guess I’m not quite ready to date or move-on quite yet, because totally out of the blue, I looked him in the eye and let him know that his life, “on the whole, sounds pretty gay.”
If there are 120 calories in half a bag of dried mango slices, and I can eat one slice without throwing up, approximately how many days to I have until I die of starvation?
The boyfriend and I broke up. I’m a mess. Today my mama suggested I “go out and have fun with a ton of guys.”
I am also taking a semester off college. Welcome to rock bottom!
Not a real break. I’m working on writing something sappy and informative and stuff to post about it. Maybe it’ll even give someone perspective someday.
Anyway, the break was not my idea, it ends in 11 days or something stupid like that. I feel like I’m gonna throw up all the time. The thought of consuming anything but seltzer and ammonia fumes from my mid-misery salon visit makes me dry heave.
I am finally gonna lose 8 pounds!
I guess this whole time I’ve only been one two week break from the selfish asshole I’m madly in love with away from my goal weight.
When you’re in the sort of beginning of a relationship, right after the first time y’all say “I love you”s and you find yourselves standing in the doorway or quiet at the end of a phone conversation or Skype call. Lingering. Just waiting for the other person to say “I love you” again, first this time, so you know they still mean it and still want you and you’re kind of worried that they’re thinking, “holy shit I was so blasted last night.” and wondering if they can still duck out gracefully.
