Self Flagellation

It’s bad ju-ju. I was sliding down a slippery slope with “what’s wrong with me” syndrome for a couple days, but it really doesn’t help to come up with reasons why I’m no good. (You shoulda seen the post that I was going to put up about how I’m not biologically fit to date. I had back up documentation and everything.) Besides, it elicited all sorts of negativity from friends about Phil—things like “if i see him can I kick him in the shins?” and “he’s stupid”—and so I was having to do a lot of Phil defending about how he’s entitled to his feelings. Which he is. But this is not what I want to be concentrating on.

The self-flagellation did however help with the onslaught of positive reinforcement about how fucking awesome I am. I even got a top 10 list rebuttal to mine: “Top 10 reasons Phil McCrackin is a dumbass for dumping rach.” I won’t share it all because that would make me uncomfortable and it’s not always very nice, but here’s my very very favorite one:

10. her ass. I mean seriously, the girl has a nice ass. I know she thinks
she’s got that extra 5 lbs, but the 5 lbs is in the right place, know what
im sayin?

(I checked my ass in the mirror earlier today and all I saw was big. But I’ll take it. Today I will take it.)

7. if he were ever going to build a log home … Hello!?!, she is what some
might call an expert on the subject. You can’t get that kind of valuable
information just by reading a magazine. Or wait, maybe you can … Ok,
forget that one.

1. it’s not like she was lighting matches to cover the smell of her own crap.

(Uh, though i did fart around him. They didn’t smell and he said I could. Maybe that’s what went wrong. I read somewhere that Eva Longoria keeps her relationship with Tony Parker sizzlin’ (I believe that was the word) by never farting around him. Next time. I’ll get ’em next time.)

So moving on. I’ve deemed March 1st as the day this will officially stop sucking. Technically, this day should be 2 weeks from last spoon. This is how long it takes to withdraw from the chemical bond created by all that oxytocin that gets released when you’re hugging and spooning on someone. (It’s like rehab. Just like Amy Winehouse.) But I’m bumping it up a week because, for god sakes, we didn’t date THAT long.

I tried to remember what I’ve done to move on before. What did I concentrate on? It always involves going back online and finding new dates. I took a peek the other day at the prospects, and ooph–I might need a new m.o. I think I will concentrate on finishing the book. (Which is what I should have been doing all along. Whatever.) And maybe making this blog more informational and interesting and less about me me me. And I’m gonna work on getting my slim jeans to offer a little more room again. My ass will always be huge to me, but as long as I can squeeze it into cool jeans, I’m gold.

So yeah, book, blog and booty.

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2 responses to “Self Flagellation

  1. some people actually find farting a plus. My husband, the fecal-feliac, believes farts are like parties and BJs: the more the merrier.

  2. Let me know when you’re ready for the Britney.

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