One for the ladies

Come on. We have all been there. We have all been dumped. We have all been slapped with the creative label of "psycho." I think men wish, in the darkened corners of their testosterone riddled minds, that we would go as nuts as the woman in Fatal Attraction. While it is scary, it feeds their narcissism and ego. Ok...not that nuts, but they do wish we would pine for them. Ache for them. Feel that we cannot go on after a good dumping. They may think, if they were dumped, that the woman who dumped them must be mentally defective. I apologize in advance to the male readership of this blog. This may be the post you want to skip.

I have assigned myself the task of writing every Saturday morning. Actually writing. Not venting. I couldn't come up with any ideas until I stumbled across an Op/Ed bit about the movie, "My Super Ex-Girlfriend." It's a damn riot. An empowering bit for women. A reality check, in certain respects.

Ten years ago, I went through the breakup from hell. I engaged in all the needy ex-girlfriend games: the whiny phone calls, the drunken phone calls, the pop-ins, shutting myself in my apartment for days on end to cry, calling ex-boyfriends who still liked me as a form of validation, shopping sprees and makeovers to make myself seem irresistible. I bought empowering girl music, listened to bitter break up music (Alanis Morrisette was very popular then) and started dating anyone and everyone who would ask me out (I later discovered that I was not meant to serial date, as I confused my suitors easily and...to be honest...was not interested in any of them as my heart still belonged to the ex-boyfriend).

A few years passed and ex-boyfriend and I reconnected. We now have a wonderful, platonic, relationship. All the things we had in common are still there. The differences are respected. We are both a lot more mature and there is no longer that pressure to please a partner.

No harm, no foul intended to the gentleman above, but I sort of wish this concept of being a Super Ex-Girlfriend was floating about ten years ago. Can you just imagine how much money I would have saved (although...I will never regret that cream, silk twin-set, the darling plaid skirt with the buttons up the front and the brown mules which gave me an additional two inches in height)? Can you just imagine how much bad music I could have avoided listening to? Can you imagine how many bad dates I could have avoided in a feeble attempt to validate my self worth (one night in a dance club in Pittsburgh springs to mind...everyone knows Kodos does not dance)? Let's not even mention the hours wasted bitching and moaning to my gal pals about another soured, failed relationship over copious amounts of alcoholic beverages and herbal libations.

Every situation in life can be approached from two frames of mind. The logical and the emotional. I seem to follow the emotional. My logical side says, "This is just not the person for you. No harm. No foul. Move on. You knew deep down inside that so-and-so would have never been able to give you what you need for (fill in the blank here)." The emotional side is rooted in vanity and ego, "What do you mean he doesn't want me? What's wrong with me? What did I do?"

When you find yourself dumped it's imperative to hang on to the logic. But, if you cannot...there is no harm in fantasizing about creative ways to exact revenge. Just do not act on them. Really. It's not worth it. Besides, you will look the fool. You know what they say; the best revenge is living well.

Or...you can simply watch "My Super Ex-Girlfriend" and giggle.

According to the Op/Ed piece, the Ex feeds current girlfriends to sharks. Whatever you do to get over the angst, make sure it is constructive. Shark feeding seems like an interesting hobby to me. One needs to take full advantage of opportunities to commune with nature. And, there is that school of thought that watching fish is relaxing (pun intended).

It's ok to spend a few weeks in bed. It's not ok to spend a few months in bed. Step away from tv and the sappy movies, put down the Laura Schlessinger and Dr Phil books (you're not going to meet Mr Right in the self-help section of the bookstore...he's there for a reason, too), move away from the ice cream, cookie dough and french fries with brown gravy, give your best friend your credit cards and accept that relationships fail. For as much as it hurts in the present, they fail for a reason. You will be wiser and better for having gone through the good and the bad. And...if you are truly lucky, like I am, you may end up with a wonderful friend who knows you better than most.

Whatever you do, do not empower the man. Do not give him cause to refer to you as, "psycho." Do not feed his ego. Make it a game. A game you will win through grace and dignity. Empower yourself. We all look back through time and shudder when we recall our apparent stupidity and desperation. Don't let that happen to you. Ask yourself the burning question, "If I look back on this (insert particular action here) two years from now, would I consider myself freakish?" While it would be wonderful to spray paint the word "prick" on his car (Fast Times at Ridgemont High), it's not going to do you any good. Besides, the fun stuff usually involves time in jail when caught.

Then again...I'm married now and thusly relegated to being considered "eternally happy" by those still in the dating game because I sport a considerably sized piece of hardened carbon on my finger. My single girlfriends may just tell me to stuff it.

*author's note...said ex-boyfriend never referred to me as "psycho" which is why he is still a friend