Life Is a Mystery

Dear Miss Dategirl Lady,

Please settle that age-old debate: How long should it take to get over someone? I've heard one month to every year, but is that really realistic? And how does it apply when a couple was fortunate to only have dated for nine months, like, oh, I don't know, myself and that rat bastard mama's boy I recently broke up with? I'm 19, and this was my first "actual" relationship, so I've no experience with this sort of thing. I like to think of myself as goal-oriented, and I want to have a date in mind. Or at least a number of one-night stands.

Bitter but Not Broken

Oh, BBNB,

Sadly, those idiotic formulas that profess to forecast how long post-breakup misery will last are crap. The truth is, it depends. Hopefully, this year is already better than last, and you'll be over it and on to the next one by the time you read this. Speaking of which, 2002 was one shitty year, wasn't it? You hooked up with a rat bastard mama's boy, I got my heart broken once and dinged twice, and yet another old pal offed himself via the heroin highway.

But isn't it true that out of pain comes wisdom? (Humor me.) So being that last year sucked some serious stank-ass, it would follow that 2002 also taught me many valuable lessons. Yeah, right. The most pertinent kernel of knowledge I gleaned is that a girl can only eat so many deviled eggs. See, I came late to the deviled-egg game and have been making up for lost time ever since discovering these delicious little treats last summer. Tonight, as I was staring at my feet wondering when and how my toenails got to looking like they belonged on an 80-year-old man, I realized my stomach was growling. I was going to make Nutella toast using my new Hello Kitty toaster (thanks, Jake!), when I realized there was a whole bunch of eggs in the fridge, just sitting there waiting to go bad.

You're probably wondering why a happening gal like myself is sitting home (on a Friday night, no less!) making picnic food whilst contemplating her suddenly hornlike toenails. It's because I decided to give sobriety a monthlong audition. What have I discovered about clean living? It's bo-ring. It's 10 p.m.: Do I know where my friends are? Why yes, I do. They're out quaffing colorful cocktails and chatting up handsome strangers, while I sit in my kitchen, mashing egg yolks with Dijon and fretting over my gnarly feet. It's only day three! Why did I pick a month with 31 (count 'em!) days when February, with its much more manageable 28, is just around the corner?

I'll tell you why. Last Friday—weakened by a lonely holiday season and fueled by a near-lethal combination of red wine, bourbon (!), and gallons of beer—I stumbled into an ex. Now this is a guy I broke up with in April and have been over since mid-June (formula: one-year relationship = two months recovery). I could've just exchanged pleasantries and gone on about my business, but no. Not me. First I harangued him for fucking up our relationship, then I gave him details about every single guy I've dated since him—and believe me, there've been plenty.

As I sit here, artfully spooning the yolk mixture into the whites, I wonder why I didn't just keep walking. Moving on to the next deep thought, I speculate about just how skeeved the lady at the nail salon is going to be when she gets an eyeful of her next project. After delicately giving the eggs a light dusting of paprika, I take a bite. Then another. As I'm enjoying my second egg, the image of me dragging my ex home that night plays across the movie screen in my mind. I put the egg down.

So you see, I have learned some valuable lessons. How many deviled eggs can a girl eat while thinking about relapse sex with her ex? One and a half.

How long does it take to get over someone? Two months for every year, and then you fuck him anyway, rendering the formula useless.

What to do about those toenails? I'll figure that out by 2004.

Haven't learned your lesson yet? Write Dategirl at dategirl@seattleweekly.com or c/o Seattle Weekly, 1008 Western, Ste. 300, Seattle, WA 98104.

 
comments powered by Disqus