Behrendt Greg - Its Called a Breakup Because Its Broken: The Smart Girls Break-Up Buddy

CONTENTS

Chapter 1
IT'S CALLED A BREAKUP BECAUSE IT'S BROKEN

Chapter 2
THERE ARE NO NEW MESSAGES

Chapter 3
HE'S NOT HIDING AT THE BOTTOM OF THAT PINT OF ICE CREAM

Chapter 4
IF YOU MENTION HIS NAME ONE MORE TIME

Chapter 5
STOP CALLING IN SICK

Chapter 6
IF HE WAS SO GREAT, YOU'D STILL BE TOGETHER

Chapter 7
FANCY MEETING YOU HERE!

Chapter 8
WHAT'S HE THINKING?

The First Commandment
DON'T SEE HIM OR TALK TO HIM FOR SIXTY DAYS

The Second Commandment
GET YOURSELF A BREAKUP BUDDY

The Third Commandment
GET RID OF HIS STUFF AND THE THINGS THAT REMIND YOU OF HIM

The Fourth Commandment
GET YOUR ASS IN MOTION EVERY DAY

The Fifth Commandment
DON'T WEAR YOUR BREAKUP OUT INTO THE WORLD

The Sixth Commandment
NO BACKSLIDING!

The Seventh Commandment
IT WON'T WORK UNLESS YOU ARE NUMBER ONE!

*Bonus Chapter
DUDE, GET OFF HER LAWN
(The Tough Guy's Breakup Buddy)

This book is for the True and Mighty.

GREG'S INTRO

L ong, long ago in a sad galaxy far far away, I was dating this stone-cold Superfox. And when I say dating, what I really mean to say is that I was sick in love with her, while she thought I was a really good guy. Needless to say, things fell apart. We had one of those awkward breakups where you're living together and sleeping in the same bed but you're not going out anymore. Excuse me, I know you're seeing someone else, but can I have some of that pillow? Ouch. Who does that? Me, as it turns out. I was so smitten (read: in love with not getting what I want) with this girl that I was sure that if I was just near her, taking any crumb thrown my way and drinking myself to sleep every night, she'd find me attractive again and want my sad ass back. Well, it wasn't long before she decided to bail. So off she went to New York to pursue her career, and, more important, her new man.

Now, you'd think that after someone leaves you for another person and moves to another city across the country you would get that it's over, because it is. But I didn't. I was in love with the romantic and ill-conceived idea that I could get her back. And how would I do that? Drunken late-night phone calls rife with begging and tears. Bravo! How hot is that? Sooooo not hot, and not the least bit effective, either. Not only was I dragging my heart through the muck, but also my dignity. I had managed to degrade myself even furtherfrom someone she wasn't in love with anymore to someone she pitied and avoided. Now, to be fair, this particular girl was patient and tolerant with me, but I was making life miserable for her. I began to alienate my good friends with my obsession, my work began to suffer, and I looked like shit. Even worse, I was drinking like it was the day before Prohibition.

Well, one night after too many tequila shots I figured I would blow in a call to Ms. New York City just to see if there had been any change in her insistence that she was not the girl for me. (Here's where the story gets good.) She was living in the New York Paramount Hotel at the time, waiting for her apartment to open up. With the number committed to memory, I drunk-dialed... Paramount Hotel, said the fellow on the other end. Now realize this: It's probably 2:30 A.M. Los Angeles time, making it 5:30 A.M. in New York. I don't know the exact time because numbers weren't making sense. Good start. So the desk clerk answers, Paramount Hotel. How may I direct your call? Well, I was so smashed that I couldn't even pronounce my lady's name. Seriously, I'd have made more sense if I'd just barked like a dog. The desk clerk said, I'm sorry, sir, can you say that again? I tried again, unsuccessfully. Sir, perhaps you'd like to spell it? (Oh my God, man! Have some self-respect. Put down the phone, Greg!) But I didn't. I took a stab at spelling it. Finally, he understood whom it was that I was trying to reach. But right before he was about to put me through to her room he said the most amazing thing. He said, Are you sure you want to make this call, sir? What? I thought. Are you kidding me? Out of the drunken blackness came this anonymous voice of concern. Am I sure I want to make this call? And I had a moment. No, I thought, I don't want to make this call. I've made this call before. This call never works out. This call always makes it worse. This call takes me further and further away from the place I want to be. Which is a place that is dignified and cool. No, I said. I don't want to make this call. Thanks. And I hung up and passed out, fully clothed, the last shreds of my dignity still intact.

The next day, hungover and sad, I remembered the voice on the other end of the line. The voice that had said, Are you sure you want to make this call? I thought, Wouldn't it be great if you had that voice in your head all the time? Your own personal breakup buddy, someone there to make sure you don't make the bad phone call, the ill-advised drive-by, the decision to dress up in their clothes and pretend you're them as a way of getting inside their thoughts? That's why we've come up with this book. This book is that voice. We are the friends who care enough about you to make sure you do this thing right. Breakups hurt like a motherf*#ker, but they are not the end of the world. The pain is temporary, and if handled properly, they can even be life-changing. Our goal is to help you turn your breakup into the event that changes your life for the better. After all... you are a Superfox.

Greg

AMIIRA'S INTRO

I t's past two in the morning. You're on your third glass of wine. You're wearing his sweater because it still smells like him (and quite frankly, he never really smelled that great, but I'm going to give it to you because I've been there). I've been the saddest girl in the world, with a mangled heart and the certainty that getting over him was impossible. I've been the girl so in love with a person incapable of giving me what I needed out of a relationship that I not only married him but gladly gave away every last shred of my self-esteem to keep him. I've been the girl who not only suffers through an unhealthy, demoralizing relationship but then goes back to it in hopes that time spent apart has inspired him to love me enough to change... or even try. And guess what? It didn't. I've been consumed with despair, confusion, angertruly devastated by the end of a relationship that I thought was going to last forever. I've cried into glass after glass of pinot grigio, smoked packs of cigarettes, lost my appetite, my ability to sleep, and my ability to function. I've obsessed, rebounded, been pissed, sought professional help, leaned on my friends, moved across the country, got dogs, made new friends, shopped excessively, and even had other boyfriends who did love me despite the fact that I was still so hung up on the past that I was completely incapable of giving them what they needed from me. Truth be told, I rode that horse long after it had up and died and married someone else. On the outside, I wore the illusion that I was over it and that the end of the marriage was best for us both. But that charade was all smoke and mirrors and empty words. Being brokenhearted is like having broken ribs. On the outside it looks like nothing's wrong, but every breath hurts. Let's just say my ribs were broken for a long time.