Friday, May 3, 2013

Surprise! You're alone in life.

Does anybody enjoy seeing their exes by surprise?

I didn't think so. Even if you don't want them back and don't have any feelings for them, you don't want to see them, and you certainly don't want to see them without any warning.


A warning gives you time to prepare yourself emotionally, to make sure you've moved on, to get any crying out of the way, and most importantly: throw on some lipstick and run a brush through your hair, you've gotta make him hurt so bad that he gave up this gorgeous bombshell and let him see that you are so much above his level now.

That is not, as I'm sure you expected, how it ever works out for me.

Here is what I actually do upon the gross misfortune of seeing any of my ex-boyfriends, ever, in any setting:

Notice them nonchalantly, as I would any human being.

Realize who they are and have no ability to control the unappealing look of shock and resentment on my face.

Unintentionally do a double-take to make sure it is that unfortunate fellow and groan, "oh my gosh there's that douchebag loser moron I used to date." Even if I'm alone.

Start to wave, because I'm a classy broad like that.

Notice he is with his wife, or baby, or baby-mama.

Become suddenly and harshly aware that I don't have makeup on to cover my acne and I didn't have time to wash my hair that morning and there's probably spinach in my teeth from lunch and I've done nothing with my life.

Awkwardly finish waving and glance away busily like I have way too much going on in my dumb life, so please don't even try to slow me down to chat about your great happy successful fulfilling lives and ask me whats the hold up, how come you aren't married and pregnant yet?

Wonder why they would come to my workplace if not to ruin my day. Or to my wal-mart, my gas station, or my mexican restaurant. They should have known they would see me and make me awkward and conscious of how pointless and alone I am.

Vow to lose 30 pounds so I can stop being embarrassed of my existence.

Spend the rest of the week evaluating my life choices and consuming 4000 calories of ice cream every day to bury my inadequacy and shame under a new layer of cellulite.

Look them up on facebook to judge how ugly and unhappy they and their families are.

Never, ever get rewarded by that endeavor.

Notice all the proud announcements in my newsfeed for two new engagements, one new home, four new jobs, and eleven new pregnancies.

Delete my own Facebook status because all of a sudden bragging about my choice to eat yogurt instead of ice cream seems... sad. And I don't want anybody to pity me for not having anything real to think about and thus feel inclined to share with everyone I know on Facebook.

Question the fairness of the universe while listing all the terrible people I know who get to be married and make babies and do other fabulous and annoying things with their lives.

Write an idiotic blog complaining about it instead of going to college because it's easier to impact the world in a small-scale, boring way.