Breaking Up Is Hard to Do.

As some of you may have heard, probably mostly due to my incessant, repetitive playing of old Phil Collins "Against All Odds" era songs for the past couple of weeks (it's like old Phil Collins looked into my adorable toddler* heart and ripped out the lyrics written there.) -- I am once again on the singles playing field.

Dating is so hard, relationships are even harder. I was kind of toying with the idea of getting a few more cats and then settling in crazed spinster-style with a bevy of ceramic Home Shopping Network collectibles.

When I get upset about things, I tend to overreact in the completely opposite direction. As in, when breaking the news to people, I somehow find myself grinning away like a crazy person. The more uncomfortable and emotional I get, the brighter my nervous smile gets. I come from a long line of emotional repressors, which is why hearing a phrase like, "I know he ran over you and paralyzed you for life and now you can only eat pudding through a straw, but ... there's no need to get angry" isn't an unlikely thing to hear around the dinner table. Should that happen. Which I hope it doesn't because, really, I don't even like pudding.

Then again, what do I know. Everything I know about feelings was learned while channel surfing a 15 minute snippet of Dr. Phil.

So usually I just generally don't know how to react to strong displays of emotion outside of a Mariah Carey album, and even then, usually my gut reaction is to sing along with my eyes closed, making fists with my hands.

Here is a hot picture of me, so I can feel pretty:




I know how to dress well. This is how you show the world your turquoise bra.

Breaking up is a different sort of experience though. I have no idea how to play the whole breaking up game, either. I keep getting warnings about appearing like the crazy ex, and now I've found out that there's a certain interval of time where you just don't contact the person at all, and, Christ, really .... breaking up may be harder than the last eight months combined. After the break up I sat on the computer, blaring the Eagles' "Lying Eyes"** and trying to figure out a way to break the news of my cancelled relationship to Facebook. On the plus side, at least I don't have to shave my legs in December.

I am sounding a lot more cavalier about all this then I really am, but I excel at making jokes out of awful situations. You don't even want to how inappropriate I can be at a funeral.

*Toddler because... when was Against All Odds written? 1984? And as a one year old I'm sure I knew a lot about emotionally crippling heartbreak.

**I have no idea why I am so enamoured of Lying Eyes, considering neither one of us forayed into the torrid streets of "the cheatin' side of town." Just wait until I break out the Whitney Houston.

Labels: Sarah Land