"That boy is a monster."

Tuesday, October 12th 2010

Units of alcohol over the weekend:
Friday: 1 glass of wine. What?!? I’m on a diet. Ale’s and Mark’s (Middletown, CT).
Saturday: 1 vodka soda (still on diet). 5 beers (oops) Archie Moore’s (Wallingford, CT).
Sunday: None!

Calories:
Oops. 8,000. Give or take a few thousand.

Weight:
-4. But I was +5 the week before, so really +1.

Food consumed today:
beef jerky
trail mix
carrots
avocado
salsa
ice cream.

Kate Moss, here I come!

Purchases I've made since my divorce that I regret; or, Why I only have .43 cents in my savings account:
-a shirt.
-a ridiculous head band
-GYM CLOTHES. Ugh.

Being the insightful, reflective person that I am, I am starting to realize that things can change a lot in a year.

And when I say “change,” I mean improve.

For example, you might go from being married to a total DB, to having your dog be an agility all star.

Just saying.

So, my fellow shop-a-holics/Asti lovers/a few random guys who were coerced into reading this blog...

This Sunday was the 1 year anniversary of the day DB told me that he was a total DB.

I am a more worldly, confident (i.e., skinnier) individual. At a size 12, I know that even though I am a little chubby, I am beautiful. At least, that's what O Magazine tells me.

With the right hair, clothes and accessories I am starting to think I deserve more than tattoo artists and serial killers as boyfriends.

Although, they have their strong points, too.

I now know I deserve new Swarovski Crystal accessories and spa treatments each month, and french fries every few weeks (or hours).

This past year has reaffirmed that I have the best (skinniest) friends in the whole world. They don’t judge me for watching Desperate Housewives, eating Taco Bell, or being in debt. They love me the way I am.

If this blog were about them, I would go into more detail.

But it’s not.

I have realized that if all else fails, there is nothing like PlentyofFish.com to make you feel like a princess.

So what if half the guys don’t have a car, and still live at home? True love is not based on material items.

I can just imagine it now: A wedding at his parents house! How quaint. With daisies, sundresses, and hamburgers.

Ugh, how dreadful.

So, looking back, it was super thoughtful of DB to come out of the closest as being a DB (and whatever other implications coming out of the closet may bring with it) on a holiday weekend.

After DB told me that he was in love with another girl, I was clearly forced to take the week off from work to dwell in my sorrows.

Since it was a holiday weekend, I was able to use only 4 sick days at work, instead of 5, when I was in the midst of my mental break (and when I say "mental break," I mean shopping, sleeping in, and drinking cocktails with my mother).

It was perfect. This saved vacation time, allowed me to take a trip to Ireland the following March, and meet the real love of my life (i.e. fling), Colin.

Luckily, DB did not let the 1 year anniversary of his "mistep" (see "affair") go unacknowledged. In true DB fashion, at around 10 am on Friday, while I was sitting quietly as my desk doing whatever it is I do at work, my blackberry vibrated.

I look down, and I see an email from DB titled "juuuuust like read ittttt. ok thnx byes.”

Three thoughts run through my mind.

1. English anyone?
2. I thought I had coordinated with Google execs to block any emails from him.
3. Why did he have to interrupt me when I was just about to check MSN.com for interesting headlines.

Whatever.

I guess I'll read it.

As I'm reading DB's heartfelt letter about how he “fucking loved me,” and how he's having "the worst summer of my life," I begin to wonder how low his IQ actually is.

Does he really think I care about his summer? And how horrible could it have been, if he was out meeting 18-year-old, future girlfriends at Boy Scout Camp?

Actually, that does sound horrible.

I continue reading, until I get to the part where he calls our marriage, “this thing that we had.”

Daisy threw up a little when she read that.

This is course for pause, as I begin to think about our marriage.

I wonder what it feels like to be in a relationship where you don’t always wonder if the other person really loves you?

What does it feel like to not have that feeling of anticipation that they may walk out of your life at anytime?

I realize that I will have that someday. And that I already have it with my family and friends.

As I’m reading this email I almost feel bad for DB. It must be hard to know that the people in your life can’t depend on you.

The more I think about DB, the more I realize that it really is an odd feeling to think that you know somebody, only to realize that you don’t know them at all.

Although to this day, I can’t believe I knew (and/or married) someone who wore extra small T-shirts, and ripped jeans every day.

My bad.

Maybe it’s better that he isn’t the person that I thought. Maybe he has gained a sense of style, and now shops at Brooks Brothers instead of Hot Topic.

But I doubt it.

I am not mad DB fell in love with someone else.

I’m mad that he spent my parents wedding fund on a really fun wedding that I can’t post pictures of anymore.

I mean, I don’t have a problem posting pictures where Brad Pitt’s face is glued over DB’s, but I think other people may find it awkward.

Especially future boyfriends.

I am mad that he still has my Tiffany’s vase, when everybody knows that people with $500-a-week paychecks CANNOT afford Tiffany’s vases.

I am mad that an email from him somehow got through the filtering system I set up on Google.

And I am the most mad that DB, with his bad haircut and stonewashed jeans, still thinks he is relevant.

Because I promise him, he isn’t.

Either way, on the 1 year anniversary of the day my life changed, I was at my first ever agility competition with Daisy winning first place.

I have decided that winning first place in an agility competition is a sign that it is okay to be single and love yourself. It is not always easy, but it is better than relying on someone else to give you that confidence.

It dawns on me, as I stare at Daisy's blue ribbon, that things really do happen for a reason.

If it wasn’t for DB, I would not have Daisy.

Or alimony.

Oh wait, I only have 1 of those.

Fuck.

Now, how am I going to pay for the $573 in clothes that I just put into my BlueFly.com “Shopping Cart”?