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...
