Tuesday, September 30, 2003

The sun is back and I'm not too happy about it. All I can say (and I've no doubt said this before) is thank God for the drugs! Long live the drugs!



In other news, the "new" blog is history. I'm back here. Indie Rock Dad found the new blog and is now angry, and who can blame him?



I think my new blogosophy is to write only about people I don't give a sh*t about. And no doubt there will be many more of those in the years to come before my sister shuts me away in her attic to rot.



So I know we're all disappointed about how my golden summer wound up. But much as I appreciate you defending me, let's move on to greener pastures and slander someone else.



Like...oh, I know, the religious fanatic at the coffee shop I go to in the morning! It's a small coffee shop, usually mostly empty, with a few crazy regulars who all have one thing in common - they talk very LOUDLY and they do not shut up.



Today the religious fanatic was talking - loudly - about the "cosmic" effect of beans on his digestive system. The other day, he was singing joyful hymns to God -- loudly - at 7 a.m. For 10 freaking minutes. I mean, I'm happy for him that he's divinely inspired and all, but dude. Shut the f*ck up!



Ok, it's not the drama you expect from me. Just give me a little time to recover, all right?





Monday, September 29, 2003

Thank God the weather is colder today. Gray. Threatening. That's the way it's supposed to be around here. It's almost October, for crying out loud! The leaves are turning red and gold and it's been 80-f*cking degrees.



It's not right, I tell you.



The people of Seattle are, however, eating this sh*t up. They're outside for one more dose of sunshine, and one more, before winter closes in on them and turns them back into the larval creatures they're meant to be.



Me, I've still got my tan. I've got my Mt. Rainier muscles and my biking legs and I'm looking pretty kick-ass. Not to mention new 100-dollar highlights, and an ever-increasing collection of post-breakup, sex-kitten clothes.



But inside, I feel broken. When it's so damn sunny outside, the world can see how broken I feel. I can see how broken I feel.



In the immortal words of the Everly Brothers, I'll do my crying in the rain.



So bring it on, baby. Let it rain. NOW.

Thursday, September 25, 2003

It's a small (OK, big) consolation that I turn heads everywhere I go around here.



Not that I have much competition. Men, mostly, who favor long, stringy hair, balding on top, accented by generous (yet ill-kempt) facial hair.



There are a few chicks. Like the ex-wife of my my most recent ex-boyfriend (who works in the same hallway) and the now ex-girlfriend of my penultimate ex-boyfriend (who still blights a number of my meetings with her presence), but these chicks just do not have my panache.



Anyway. I enjoy all the wide-eyed, longing looks I get, mostly from men who look like they've crawled out of the primordial ooze. But there are a few hotties too. Doubtless all married, all with girlfriends, or all mentally ill.



(And special thanks to RB who saw my summit photo from Mt. Rainier and said I looked like "Lara Croft!")



But these looks aren't going to help me when I'm in the nursing home: old, alone, with no one to visit me. L'il Sis and Super Brother-in-Law will be too busy jetting around the country to their various palazzos, and visiting their perfect granchildren to pay much attention to the likes of me.



Or maybe they'll put me in the attic of their San Francisco mansion and let me rot away up there, with only my yellowing photos of happier days for company. Then I won't be able to harrass the poor old men in the nursing home with my shouts of "I was a hottie once, you know! They even said I looked like Lara Croft! Wanna get married?"



Good luck finding another brainy girlfriend who looks like Lara Croft, whats-your-name. That's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity right there. But there's always the next life, isn't there?







Monday, September 22, 2003

I'm getting chillingly efficient at this breakup thing.



It helps that it was only three months, and that I expected it to come crumbling down at any second, and like Jezebel says, I poured some "concrete walls" around my heart.



But I just keep running from the sadness and it doesn't get me. It's become a drill. I pull my friends around me like a blanket, I stay up late, I write, I ride my bike. I pedal fast in the late September sun that just keeps coming even though I wish it would rain.



He accused me one day, of not being "totally emotionally open" to him, of being "hot and cold," and I thought, on the one hand, my GOD. Look who's talking!



On the other hand, I thought, well yeah. How else am I supposed to be with someone like him? Someone who keeps pulling me closer, than the closer I get the farther he pushes me away?



In the old days, I would have let myself get completely wrapped up, red flags be damned. I would have thought, because this feels right, it is right. Because we love each other, things will work out.



Ha.



I had my little fantasies, but I certainly wasn't about to give them any room to grow. And so, to quote one of my favorite books, I would say about this breakup:



"...We're too old to make each other miserable, and that's a good thing, not a bad thing...Those days are gone, and good f*cking riddance to them; unhappiness really meant something back then. Now it's just a drag, like a cold or having no money. If you really wanted to mess me up, you should have got to me earlier."

-Nick Hornby, "High Fidelity"

Sunday, September 21, 2003

Well, I may have lost a friend-that-is-a-boy (I never did OFFICIALLY call him my b-b-boyf - well WHATEVER, now did I?) but yesterday, I gained the perfect pair of jeans.



Used. Size 6 (I gotta feel good about something, OK?). Sexy and stylish but comfortable. Feel like I've been wearing them all my life.



Total: $12.



Of course, then I had to go buy a slinky dress, a slinky tank top, a mini skirt, and sexy-stripey t-shirt (all very practical for fall, don't you think?) and the monetary damage got a little worse. Oh, there was the manicure too.



But all in all, not to bad pricewise, all things considered.



Maybe I'll even go against policy and post a picture of me wearing the jeans. It's time you guys got a look at me anyway.



For now, I'll probably be posting in both places, until I figure out who I am and what I'm doing. For those of who you don't have the new link yet, I'll send it soon. I'm being slow, sorry!



Confidential to Indie Rock Dad: don't you dare create a fake e-mail address and ask me for the link!



Confidential to CGLB: If you're still reading, I'm sorry you found this blog and I'm sorry that you had to read those things about yourself.

Tuesday, September 16, 2003

Please note: I no longer have the urge to talk to Loseur.



Saw him slink across the courtyard at work today while I enjoyed lunch with my hunky ex-hallmate South African Boy. He looked pasty and unhappy and fat.



Well not FAT. That's an exaggeration. But not good. He did not look good. He looked like crap. And I pointed him out to SAB as if he were a sideshow freak as he crossed the courtyard, eyes cast down, so obviously not looking our way.



"He looks horrible!" I said, loudly, maybe loud enough for him to hear, as we both ogled him. And then we laughed, meanly, as he disappeared like the rat he is into the nearest building.



Funny thing was, just as he tried to crawl into his hole, out came a friend of mine and former friend of his who is ALSO no longer speaking to him. And I saw him shrink from her her too, and it makes me wonder: what is it like to alienate so many people in your life, in such rapid succession?



It must be lonely's all I can say.

Tuesday, September 2, 2003

Dear Breakup Babies,



The time has (perhaps) come to start a new blog. One that doesn't carry the same baggage as "Breakup Babe."



I mean, am I gonna be dragging that sorry breakup around with me for the rest of my sorry life?



I should hope not.



Besides, it's a new era. After all, I climbed Mt. Rainier! I triumphed over adversity! The elements! My own fear! I proved (as if I didn't already know) that I am a strong, independent woman who can kick some serious ass.



And I have certainly triumphed over The Great Unpleasantness of last summer.



I'm not going to leave the blogosphere though. Oh no. It's too much fun.



So please, if you like BB, and want to continue reading her in her new incarnation, please send your e-mail address to breakupbabe@msn.com. Then I'll let you know when (and if) the new site goes up. We might just find some new uses for Breakup Babe too, so don't get out your black veil just yet.



Those of you who have a subscription on that *$#$$!! site that doesn't work; I have your e-mail addresses already. Those of who you've sent me e-mail, I have your addresses already, but send them again - why not?



And, of course, I must say, that you have all helped me so much this year. I know I don't comment much on other people's sites; but believe me, I read your adventures avidly, and look forward to reading your comments and e-mail every single day.



So thank you. And foor now, until you get an e-mail from me, stay tuned to this station.



BB





Monday, September 1, 2003

At least GalPal #1 is willing to share back.



What goes around comes around!



Give and ye shall receive!



[Insert your own cliche here!].
Hot, adventurous, mid-30s babe – adventurous, fit, brilliant, charismatic, equally at home in stilettos and crampons; sassy and independent yet loving and sweet; seeks boy brave enough to admit when the (second) best thing in his life has just happened to him.