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xmag.com : November 2004 : I Love Las Vegas

Breaking up is hard to do. But it's harder for me than for everyone else, I swear. I SUCK at break ups. But they're a fact of a fabulous life.

The first two weeks suck. They say it takes about that long to unlearn a bad habit, which is what, over time, your bad boy has become. Men generally spend the first two weeks in a a bar or with a bottle. Ladies cry at home.

Stock the cupboards with teas and pedicure supplies. Rent dumb Jayne Mansfield and Brigitte Bardot movies. Buy a couple punk rock compilations to rally your spirits. Girlfriends are invaluable. They may get sick of wiping your tears, but that's what friends are for. Bribe them. If your heart hurts really bad and chain smoking isn't helping, take some klonopin or pot. Dress super foxy at all junctures--bad, bath, bar--and keep your nails polished and your legs shaved. You never know when you'll run into your ex or your other ex or your future ex. After the initial two weeks, things will still suck. But the knee jerk habit of calling him every night or collapsing on the floor when his work boots aren't there in the morning has faded.

Eventually you have to leave the house. The best idea is to sign up for a class to focus your mind on something else. Try Spanish or

guitar or fly fishing. Or, leave town! Season your soul on some sunny beach in Baja or Mazatlan. Or just go have wild indiscriminate sex with all and sundry. This can blow up in your face very quickly, however, and you'll meet lots of other people's ex-girlfriends, but hey! Maybe you're the kind of girl who likes explosions.

[Note the reckless tone of this last sentence. This is a good indication you are weaning yourself from your weenie. Speaking of--and this is a new technique for me--vibrators work pretty fuckin' well in this last capacity. And they don't have ex-girlfriends or STDs. But, then again, maybe you're the kind of girl who likes explosions.]

NOTE: If you have *his* name tattooed on you anywhere, NOW is the time to get it covered up. A skull and crossbones works well. Everyone loves pirates.

After two weeks of mourning and two to four months of reckless sex, you might be ready to date again.

DATING SUCKS. I know cuz I tried it. Once. Up until then I relied on meeting guys in bars and getting naked before we got to know each other. Noticing that this never really panned out, I decided to try this fabled concept of dating. I used YOU as an excuse. I said I was doing an article on dating for Exotic. Then I registered on personals sites.

It was ugly. But it got me out of the house! I met a handful of adorable guys who seemed simply stunned to be in my presence. That was good. What wasn't good was the raw hungry feeling of the internet dating scene. I'm sorry, but I prefer the drunken subterfuge--"Hey, I'm just here to have fun and if I happen to FALL IN LOVE well, that's life!"

Desperate, I started "dating" exes, exes' best friends and bosses. Then I met this guy at a bar and fell in love. And wanted it to last forever. And even thought it might. But something wasn't right. And Bob Dylan says when something's not right, it's wrong.

So, bon voyage, baby. You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go. Rock out with your cock out and maybe... someday...






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