Epiphanies and Dreams

Random Self-Portrait

Cozy sweater? Check.

Favorite sweat pants? Check.

Too much wine, per usual? Check.

Let the blogging commence.

Not to belabor the whole break up thing, I mean it HAS been like a month and a half or something. Right? How long has it been? I'm told you get half the time that you were in the relationship to get over it. So I'm right on track, methinks.

Anyway, I had another love life epiphany last week, all thanks to Parks and Recreation. Now, if you watch the show, you'll enjoy this bit I am sure. If you don't, muddle through or skip over. I'll have plenty more for you, I promise. BUT, if you don't, you should. It's really brilliant. AND if you're planning on starting to watch, you should def skip over the next couple of paragraphs, because there will be a spoiler or two. Je promet.

So, I'm watching last week and Andy does another retardo move and Ann looks at him with just such a pitying look like, mmm no, dear. And I think, Why the hell was she ever with him? And it hit me! I'm Ann! Pretty damn smart, sweet, kind of a doormat, unlucky in love. And HP (the newest ex. keep up.) is Andy, the overgrown man-boy who does dumb-ass shit and lived in a pit.

It all makes sense. What the hell was I ever doing with him?

I was telling this to a friend the next day and she was like, "UM YEAH! We all thought that."

Sigh. Yeah. I guess I'm just kind of clueless.

Until recently, I'd been clinging to this idea that he was such an idiot for tossing me aside (which he is) and I just wanted him to know what he lost. I wanted him to realize what a mistake he made. But I know now that he won't. He won't ever know that or believe that and I have to accept that. I have to be okay with that. I know what he gave up and that has to be enough. 

Not that I regret my time with him necessarily. We had some good times, though I can't think about those too much yet because then it gets too easy to romanticize it all and forget what sucked and then I get sad. I'm done being sad. It's time to let the sad go. And I have to concede that he was the first man to ever tell me he loved me. However he felt at the end, which I admittedly don't know, I do believe he loved me once. And that's a gift. He loved me and I can't regret that.

But when I think back to how unhappy I was the last month or so, I have to be grateful it's over. I want to thank him for that, I think. I was so unhappy! I was unhappy and I just didn't want to see it and I clearly wasn't brave enough to walk away. So whatever his reasons for leaving, at least he did me that favor. I see that now. I don't forgive him for breaking my heart, not yet, but I do thank him for doing what I couldn't.

I've been dating a bit. Just putting my foot out there. It's probably too soon and I know my heart's not in it. I'm sure he's having some torrid affair with some chick with big boobs and I should do the same. Well, except big boobs aren't really my thing. I prefer boyish girls. I just mean, I know some hot sex would help distract me. But I haven't really felt the desire yet.

Still, Goldie has been getting quite the workout. Speaking of which, I need new batteries.

But I think I know why I haven't been into the dating scene. I've been waiting for my true, future husband: Sir Richard Branson.

Yeah, slightly creepy

He's handsome, if slightly creepy. He wants to save the world. He's all athletic and shit. Plus he's fucking rich as all hell so he could just put me up in a chateau in France where I could just be an artist and travel and eat yummy food.

I know he's married, but I don't even need to marry the guy. Domestic partnership would be fine. And I know his wife would love me. Because, well, obviously, I'm adorable.

Plus, people, he has a space shuttle. A space shuttle! Not only have I wanted to go to space since I was like 6, but I'm positive that the only way to survive the zombie apocalypse is in space. I should know. I had a dream about it.

And we wouldn't be one of those couples with pet names (though I do like the pet names). I mean, he'd have one for me. But Sir Richard Branson is much too cool for pet names. I'd call him by his full title at all times.

Sir Richard Branson, dinner is ready.

Sir Richard Branson, so nice of you to buy me that baby giraffe!

Sir Richard Branson, you were great in bed last night. Rawr.

It's meant to be. Obviously.

Still, if I can't have Sir Richard Branson, I have been having dreams that I'm at a museum and meet a guy who looks just like Zachary Levi, but when he's scruffy of course, and it turns out he's an architect and he thinks I'm just delightful, naturally, and we fall madly in love. The end.

Yummers

Hey, it could happen.