I dumped myself last night.
Not to be a braggart or anything but I think I did a pretty good job.
I'm sure it helps that I had time to prepare. I've known it was coming for about a month. Cancelled dates. Truncated dates. Dips in text volume and phone calls. Is it a good sign if the person you're dating doesn't want to see you on Saturdays and Sundays? Probably no.
I started notifying the public. Awesome! went to OK went to Eh went to BIG LONG EMO DIATRIBE when people asked how it was going with the boy. No use acting like everything's OK and two weeks later seeing his name on an email invite from one of my friends not in the know. My friends are friendly to a fault.
Last week I got really serious about my dumping and issued a cry for help. In other words, I fucked my hair up. ROYAL. What I asked for (a few tiny streaks of platinum against a rich chocolate brown) was not what I got (large hunks of granny-like grey and an uneven not-quite-brown-but-not-quite-black tone). For this I paid $150, the majority of which I believe went to the hairdresser's heroin fund. I should have got up and left the chair the third time he disappeared into the back room for 10 minutes and returned incoherent, dropping scissors and foils.
Next part of the prep was the iPod. I loaded it with breakup songs. Everything from classy (Chain of Fools by Aretha, Easy Like Sunday Morning by the Commodores) to assy (Bye Bye Bye by *NSYNC and Since U Been Gone by Ms. Kelly Clarkson) to downright immature (One More Minute by Weird Al Yankovic and Fuck It I Don't Want You Back by Eamon). iPod was not happy about this. I promised him we'd go back to heavy metal and violent gangster rap once the sting wore off.
The final steps took place day of. Boy (hereafter known as 'Richard') contacted me over AIM to inform me he'd once again be shortening the allotted time for our date by two-thirds. I replied that this has been happening a lot. Perhaps he's feeling unsure about the relationship? He initially denied but agreed to meet in person to discuss.
A perfectly timed hair appointment that fixed the mistakes of the week before and a laundry sack full of clean clothes made me the best looking about-to-be reject this side of the Mason Dixon. I stared into the mirror a while and imagined myself a soldier about to go into war.
I grabbed my purse and looked around the apartment for any depressing Richard reminders that might be lying in wait when I got home. Wow. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The only things he ever bought me were a bouquet of tulips from a bodega, a lime, and a mango. The tulips were dead, the mango digested. The lime was still sitting on top of the microwave. I threw it in the garbage. When the hell do I ever buy Corona?
At the bar I provided Richard with a brief recap of his halfassery and a list of possible motivations. One by one, Richard cycled through his excuses: I have a busy schedule. I'm bad at relationships. I really need to focus on my career. I'm not in love with you. (DING DING DING!)
I told Richard I thought it was the last one and he eventually agreed. After that, what do you do? Nothing. We finished our drinks, said goodbye on the corner of 10th and 1st ave and I went to meet an ex of mine for cocktails. Said ex is someone I've been Richarding off and on for 3 years. Like JT says, "What goes around, comes around." Today it's your turn.
I'm not mad that Richard doesn't like me. That kind of thing you can't help. I'm more upset that I had to do my own dumping. But I understand. Breaking up with someone is hard. There's all sorts of ways to fool yourself and avoid it. I can think of one relationship where I put off the task for almost two years. Better now than later, right?
Right. It still sucks though.
Just called myself to see if I had any voicemail. Pressed the wrong button and accidentally listened to my outgoing message. My outgoing message is retarded. 
