It has been two months since I’ve written on here, and I have a good reason for that: I decided to concentrate on other things.
Luckily, I am a writer, and I found this piece of fiction on my laptop, which was part of a blog experiment some years ago. It’s fictional. That means that none of it is real.
Welcome to Singleton. Population: one.
I don’t know about you, but for me and so far, 2013 has been the crappiest year in the history of ever. And with ‘crappy’, I mean that my long-term relationship of eight years came to be non-existant. Actually, my boyfriend, who we’ll call Adam Lindberger – because that’s his name – broke up with me on January 1st. Not only is he an asshole for that (and asshole will be a name referring to him quite often), but he’s an even bigger douchebag for admitting he had an affair with – and hold your breath, ladies and gents – my (former) best friend. For over a year. The fact that she also stole my promotion and is now basically my boss, didn’t exactly transform the rest of the year in a joyride either.
But back to the breakup.
After I cried and mourned until, like, last week, my runner-up best friends (let’s say: Jen, Sophie and Tom), brought me back to life by – literally – taking my hand, pushing me in the shower, forcing me to comb my hair, clothing me in a DVF dress and taking me out into the world… where, I must admit, there are no good men left. So basically I’m screwed. And not quite sure why I’m calling those three ‘friends’.
Tom is the gay friend I’ve been having since highschool. Jen is my shopping buddy. She’s involved in a relationship that – in Facebook terms – can only be described as ‘complicated’, but it somehow works. And Sophie is married. Like happily. She has two kids who are so horribly cute and perfect it sometimes makes me want to puke. Which I don’t, because I love her. She’s amazing.
Since I’m trying to get drunk as often as possible - to forget my misery and therefore you should not judge me! - I somehow vowed to them I’ll go back out there and restore my faith in relationships. Also, there may be a video somewhere of my standing on the Brooklyn Bridge while flashing the river yelling “I’m gonna get my fairytale wedding, mottherfuckers!”… long story short: I’m basically being blackmailed into online dating. I know. I tried to talk myself out of it too. I mean, everyone knows the internet is filled with creeps and murderers, right? But to be fairly honest, I don’t have much else to do in my spare time. It’s not like I have a wedding to plan. Not anymore, at least. And the binge-eating had to come to an end eventually. Also, I think Tom was getting his hopes up that my leather pants soon wouldn’t fit me anymore. Him stopping by every day with a six pack of beer and a full cheesecake and ranting about its nutritional value while spoon-feeding me, only increased my suspicion of him eying the pair. Got to get my act together.
If I’m going to get catfished and/or murdered, I at least want to look my best.
Just in case I meet Mr. Right.