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Breaking Your Heart

June 15, 2006





Only time can heal your broken heart, just as only time can heal his broken arms and legs. – Miss Piggy







It’s an adage that needs updating, for it seems to me there are

three things in this world of which you can be certain: death, taxes

and break-ups. Nowadays, I would venture to say that most of us who

have experienced the pure bliss and euphoric highs of falling in love

have also descended into the depths and agonizing hell by having our

heart ripped out of our chest, thrown onto the sidewalk and smashed

into a pulpy mess.

Apparently, the bitter end of relationships also turns out to be a

good marketing tool. A quick Google search for “breakups” yields no

less than 1.82 million results for how to survive through them or get

your lover back, how to reconcile your finances, where to place the

blame and which celebrities are doing it in style.

Then there’s The Break Up,

the new “romantic” comedy with Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn that

depicts the wretched snowballing effect one breakup has on a two-year

relationship gone sour. Witness the painfully petty antics and gruesome

games one couple goes through, proving they can hate with the same

intensity with which they once loved each other! Now that’s

entertainment.

And naturally, there are tons of books on the subject. Like last year’s It’s Called a Breakup Because It’s Broken: The Smart Girl’s Breakup Buddy by Greg Behrendt—the author of that annoyingly over-hyped self-help guide He’s Just Not That Into You—and his wife, Amiira Ruotola-Behrendt.



In the book, the happily married couple (blech!) provides tips on

how to get over Revisionist Romance Disorder and Dumper’s Remorse, how

to get out of bed and not hide at the bottom of a pint of Ben &

Jerry’s Chunky Monkey, how to divvy up the mutual friends, how to not

answer calls from the ex, including ringtones to program into your cell

phone so you don’t pick up late night booty calls, notes on rebounding

and buying a vibrator, and even a recipe for brownies to make in

appreciation of your poor friends who have to put up with you during

this excruciating phase of often embarrassing conduct.

My general modus operandi of breakup behavior entails about a month

of hibernation, wherein I soak in bubble baths and the occasional

bottle (or case, let’s be honest) of vino, listen to Mazzy Star and

Sade, read lovelorn poetry to myself—my heartbroken favorites being

from the compilations To Hell With Love and Kiss Off: Poems to Set You Free—and

excessive crying, after which I move as far away from the scene of the

crime as possible. Oh, and lots and lots of chocolate.

But everyone deals with a break-up in different ways—whether they

adeptly recover from it and move on with lessons learned, or end up

forever tormenting the rest of the dating pool with exponentially

increasing self-esteem issues and unresolved relationship baggage.

“Joe,” a 30-something welder from California, told me his recent

break-up happened over the phone. He and his girlfriend had been going

out for eight months when he got recruited to Maui for a job. Two

months later, his lady-in-“waiting” said she could wait no more and

dumped him. At this point, he doesn’t even want to consider friendship.

He’s bummed but resigned about the whole thing.

“You can’t beat yourself up about it,” he said, over a beer at the

Tiki Lounge in Kihei just two days after the break-up. “If it’s good

enough for her, it’s gotta be good enough for me, right?”

Obviously, not everyone is as decisive. One high school teacher I

met at LuLu’s, “Bob,” said he and his girlfriend of six years have

broken up three times in the past month. But the reason for the

break-ups—infidelity on her part, he said—is not as harrowing as the

reason for the reconciliations.

“It’s better than being alone,” he said, staring at my cleavage.

“Besides, I would rather find someone better while I’ve got something

going on with someone else so I’m not ‘desperado.’”

Yeah… I’m gonna pass on that drink, Bob. Thanks.







Samantha Campos is pleased to

discover that she has not yet succumbed to presbycusis and is therefore

in the market for the 17-kilohertz Mosquitotone so she can text message

all her friends during class. MTW