anyway, what follows is a rough outline for what would be my self-help book, should i ever be overcome with a desire to get gussied up and pay a visit to Dr. Phil. enjoy!
a couple of years ago i was party to a breakup, the details of which are mostly unimportant except for i didn't see it coming at all. i took it poorly, drinking two bottles of chardonnay without dirtying a glass. between bottles one and two i decided to put my new bookshelf together, but lacking a screwdriver, i tried to use an exacto knife. this resulted in me cutting my feet on the shards of broken exacto when i went to the kitchen to fetch bottle two, then taking bottle two with me on the subway to wal-mart to buy a screwdriver. so, all in all, i handled it pretty well. hey, the shelves got made.
about a month later i was in a bookstore and picked up a copy of He's Just Not That Into You. now, i am basing my experience on this book on fifteen minutes in a bookstore while hyper-fragile. i'm sure dude is great. oprah loves him!
anyway, i felt like the book was judging me. i could make him into me, if only i weren't so needy and lame and sad and chardonnay-flavored. it was not a good experience for me.
another month after that, i was at home (was there wine? there might have been.) watching the bestest movie of all forever: Dirty Dancing. like all women who went through puberty in the later eighties, i feel i've spent my whole adult life scanning the bar, looking for johnny castle. then, the end of the movie, and the bestest line of dialog of all forever: "Nobody puts Baby in a corner."
epiphany: that asshole would have left me in the corner. heartbreak? healed! drinking problem? glug glug!!
