On Post-Breakup Protocol

Dear Readers, this is a resurrected blog post that I am stealing from one of my dearest friends. She wrote this shortly after an extensively sucky (because all breakups suck, but this one really sucked, I know because I was there) breakup. I call upon it now because I know that many of us have felt this way at some point or another, if not in the same words (which in this case are hilarious, masterful in description of the subject matter, honest and ingenious. This is why I must plagarize, because they are impossible to duplicate).

Keep in mind as you read that this actually happened years ago, and she is now happily married to someone else who even now strives to deserve her awesomeness:

October 12th

I've decided to stop being so lame. I went to the movies last night with some old friends and who in the hell do you think I would run into? Yes some old flame. Now I could have handled myself under most circumstances, but Veronica had convinced me that we needed to dress abit trashy to celebrate our rebellious and freedom from the manfolk. Whatever. I wasn't dressed that trashed to all those who are pointing fingers at me. Please remove the mote from your own eyes.
Anyways. The last thing I wanted to do was make the, soon to be regretful, ex feel justified for us being 'seperated' by proving that I had low standards and was really nothing more than a high class hoochie. I must go down always with awe and respect ya know, and this would surely not be the case.
Fine, I evaded my entrance to make sure he was long gone. make it all the way to the theatre door, and ef*&(^*^%$$##%... he leaves from the theatre next to it.... with, what everyone agreed on, appeared to be a date. Damn men to hell. I'm glad he thinks he can move on. Oh ps... I had hiked my skirt down so it looked quite modest. ... HAAAA.
I was despite my best efforts shocked, and slightly broken, but I managed to smile and wave and I am pretty sure the slut/whore/wannabemyreplacementbutshe'llneveramount was hideous and smelled of poo.How is it that boys that date me always manage to find girls so quickly after me, that are soooo far better than me....
Is it so wrong that this course of behavior leads one to question her own worth and look closer to make sure that her eyes are even on her face etc. I know I am not that frickin awesome, but I know that I am working on it continually and plan to never stop trying to become awesome.
So what that I'm not there yet... I'm planning on getting there and I'm planning on there being a handful of jackoffs that doubted my potential, that WILL be blown away, and regretful, that they didn't try harder to keep me around. WAHAHAHAHA. Have people no faith? Whatever... I love life, I love my friends, and I feel soo ready to move on with that.

Song of the Day to you lovers of lyrics: Dolly Parton- Go to Hell

Original post: http://falunka.blogspot.com/

Anyway, all I'm trying to say is that everyone is eventually going to break up with someone who they thought was special... and in the end everything works out. But for now, you're going to feel like crap. So, just try to salvage a little bit of dignity by treating yourself with love and respect (and choosing to not give a damn what other people think helps a bit, too) and throw a little perspective on the situation.

It WILL get better. You WILL find someone who will love you even more. And he probably didn't even notice what you were wearing, anyway.

Why KFC Is Never a Good Date Option

Sometimes I find myself with a weird-scenario subtask burbling in the back of my brain. Perhaps it's because I'm an engineer - I'm always crunching various problems of priorities in the back of my mind. Perhaps it's because I'm a girl - we day dream quite a bit. Perhaps it's because I'm me - and anything that isn't semi-rehearsed often ends with my foot firmly planted in my mouth. Regardless, today I realized that Kentucky Fried Chicken is not a good date option. There is no way you can order a meal aside from "I'll take a number 3, thanks," without sounding just awful.

1. Would you like thighs, legs, or breasts? Yeah. Like there isn't innuendo in that one.


2. Light meat or dark meat? Politically incorrect.


3. Do you want a side-dish? Sounds like you might be voicing insecurities about somebody on the side.


4. Cole Slaw? Dirty by definition.


5. Not to mention anyone who considers a venue featuring the word "Fried" is really slumming it.

It's just best to give up before you start and order pizza.