Dick Whitman and I broke up.
Could someone just come bash me over the head now and put me out of my misery?
And before you go hating on the Dick Whitman, as you are all wont to do and I heart you for always being on my side, it was my fault. Totally my fault. And I would love to give you every last detail because have you met me? But I don't want to invade his privacy.
As opposed to the part where I told you all about our dates, and his house, and that he was a good kisser, and his errant apostrophes. Yes. Privacy is number one when you are dating me. Which he isn't.
So to be VAGUE, I had convinced myself he didn't like me that much. But when we talked, it turns out he liked me more than I knew. Because here is a shock, but I am kind of all emotions all the time and he was more careful and measured and because he wasn't acting the way I would act, I thought it meant he was all, Eh, about me.
Yeah. But after we talked, now he does not want to see me anymore. I was supposed to meet a bunch of friends last night and instead I hugged Tallulah and watched Marley & Me in the dark. Again.
Tallulah gets so sick of me when I watch that movie. I am an albatross on that dog.
I feel like a big giant cloud is hanging over me. I am a Ziggy cartoon again.
So if that weren't ridiculous enough, I checked my email last night and TWO DAYS AGO my old workplace boss had emailed me on my freelance email, which I obviously rarely check.
Remember my old workplace? With the Donkey Kong machine and the pictures of all of us as kids in the lobby? Remember how I loved it? And they broke up with me and with 39 other people last year?
"So! How do you like your new job? Call me!" said the email. Yes, I am so unhappy I am hallucinating that my email is speaking to me.
Oh, crap. So naturally I DID call him, even though it was after hours on a WEEKEND, and it turns out Jane West? Who sat next to me at that job? Is coming to MY company.
It's like 10,000 spoons when all you need is a giant atom bomb to go off right near you so you don't have to feel this bad. As opposed to those teensy atom bombs. Mini Atom Bombs! Only during Easter!
And because life is ridiculous, I could find NO ONE to talk to. NO.ONE. Finally my phone rang and it was of all people Giovanni Leftwich, my old high school boyfriend. I told him the story, and as I did I reached my own conclusion.
I love my new place, too. It's six minutes away. My coworkers are fabulous (even the guy who teases me with the brown recluse) and my bosses are even fabulouser. What the hell am I even thinking? Plus, they didn't DUMP me.
"This is like when a terrible old boyfriend finally calls you when you're happily married," I told Giovanni. "No offense."
So yeah. Ima stay where I am. But it was exciting to be asked back. You take the good, you take the bad, you take 'em both and there you have? The facts of life.
The facts of life. Sans Dick Whitman.
Crap.
