The average American woman will be dumped (i.e., have her heart torn out, while still beating out of her chest, Indiana Jones-style) at least 2.47 times in her life. Well, actually I just made that statistic up. But it sounds realistic, right? Because, for the most part, we have all experienced something akin to heartbreak and know the sort of seasick feeling it can leave you with for days (in my case months) after. And yet, each one of us thinks our breakup story is somehow fundamentally important and riveting for others to hear.
After a breakup we find ourselves repeating the story of our split like it’s a mantra for why we haven’t brushed our hair or have taken to wearing our period panties when it’s not our time of month. Once in a while someone will lean over and give us life advice, like there is no reason to store empty beer bottles under the bed or it’s very weird and inappropriate to constantly let your cat watch you go to the bathroom, and instead of internalizing this valuable information, we’ll take a bite of the grotesquely sweet thing we are eating, and say, “You know I was dumped recently?” Keep reading »
Last July, The Frisky ran a 30-day guide to getting over a breakup, penned by writer Jamie Beckman. The calendar was such a hit that a publishing company approached us about expanding the idea into a book, which we immediately put into Beckman’s trusty hands. Now, nearly a year later, we’re celebrating the upcoming release of The Frisky 30-Day Breakup Guide by re-posting the original tips (which have been expanded upon in the book) and having a newly single writer test drive the book’s advice. So what’s the story behind Beckman’s brainchild? It should come as no surprise that bouncing back from her own breakup inspired her to offer advice to other women going through similar heartbreak. After the jump, Beckman tells us what she learned from her breakup, how a recipe for key lime pie helped dry her tears, and what separates The Frisky 30-Day Breakup Guide from other self-help mumbo jumbo. Keep reading »
When I woke up today and saw that my task was to create a “Breakup Bible,” my first thought was not a happy one, especially after yesterday’s Facebook debacle. I officially went from having no relationship status (I’m one of those minimalists who never put much info on there anyway) to a tiny, sad heart next to my name with an announcement that I was single (which is actually not entirely true, but I’ll get to that later). I received a flood of condolence emails from people I haven’t talked to in years, which made me feel as if I am now entering a life stage where a black veil would be the only acceptable attire. It was taking more than my usual three cups of wake-me-up to bring me to my happy place, which, admittedly, these days, is occupied half the time by daydreaming about my ex and the other half by cheeseburgers. Keep reading »
Hi, my name is Maude, and I spend Sunday nights crying on my kitchen floor. How’s that for an introduction? Unfortunately for me, it’s true. I can make it the whole week without a single tear. Sure, I’m eating inordinate amounts of ice cream, proving that I’m a total sad-sack stereotype, and true, I can’t listen to my iPod without wanting to crack open a beer, but still, I can make it through the week. Then Sunday night comes, and I’m so exhausted after yet another weekend of over-compensating by running around New York and drinking enough that come 2 a.m. I find myself asking inanimate objects, like bike skeletons left on the street, “Are you my boyfriend?” But by Sunday I give up searching and just end up mopping the kitchen floor with my tears.
As far as I can tell, this weekly crying session has no positive benefit—it’s entirely ineffective as a cleaning mechanism (only about a cheek-sized area actually gets clean), freaks out my cat (and possibly my upstairs neighbors, since I tend not to suffer in silence), and reminds me every week that, while it’s been five months and counting since I was dumped, I’m still not over my ex. Keep reading »