You sit with a hole in your chest (and in your wall). You review the scenario in your head, over and over again (because she taped her break-up speech and your computer is stuck on replay). You can slowly see all the red flags that should have warned you in the beginning (like when he tried to explain that he was a prostitute with high standards). You reach for the phone and speed dial the person you need most right now, your best friend. Upon hearing your tale, your best friend does the one thing that all best friends must do when the time comes. They buy a few kegs, several hundred plastic cups, and chips with your choice of dip.
Because sometimes break-ups are a cause for celebration.
Take my friend Joe, whose name was changed to protect him from the evil past of his extraordinarily horrible girlfriend, Mary-Ann. (Mary-Ann’s name was also changed, but that’s just to keep her out of loop.)
Mary-Ann was not “average” by any means. She used to be skinny like I used to be Hispanic. She was not very pretty, which wouldn’t have been a big deal if she didn’t have the personality of deranged mutt with halitosis. Did I mention her fake children that she’s had for 4 years?
For some bizarre reason, I was actually trusting of this girl, to the point of introducing her to my friend Joe. I’m sorry, Joe. I don’t know what I was thinking. Was there anything you did to deserve such a run down by the Karma Bus? I mean anything? No dead babies, no kidnappings, no siblings sold into slavery? Are you sure?
They got along very well, and by that I mean that she could spread her legs very far for some one who never stretches. They got along so well that when she decided to ask him out, he said yes. There is a bright part to this story I swear.
Due to her constant bitching (and his ability to think objectively), Joe had a pretty good idea what his friends meant by when they said “She’s a manipulative, clingy psycho, and we understand if you cry “date rape” after the much needed break-up.” Joe learned that you can be too desperate and that sex can be quiet horrible. To celebrate, he dumped the brainless beast and threw a luau with her has the center piece.
And no one had to listen to crappy break-up music or Mary-Ann's wretched screeching again.
The moral of this story (which happens to be quite morale boosting): “Throwing a party with beer pong and strip poker is the best way to celebrate your new found happiness.”
Labels: Celebrating your liberation, dating(ish), Karma Bus takes no prisoners