Hold on folks, it’s about to get real.
After three-and-one-sixth years together, Manny and I have called it quits. After all our quirky similarities, love for collecting pets, and leading a seemingly pioneer life – among other things – the sun has set on our day in the sun.* It’s over, done, finished, kaput, and for the Harry Potter lovers out there, finite incantatem – which just means that something explodes. From magic.
Sure I’m “devastated” and “want to crawl into a hole every day and wake up as a different person.” And maybe my “heart feels like it’s going to puke,” but this too shall pass. Because my Mom told me it would.
In conclusion to my whining: no bashing shall take place here or otherwise. In the words of Sara Barellies’ Undertow: “I couldn’t find a better man to let me go.”
Besides, I also remembered all of the things about me that are awesome, like how I have the hugest book collection or can make my ankle pop 14 times without even trying. Or how my family is better than anyone else’s family. And I especially remembered that I write for money, which is the best job that has ever existed.
The Self Cleanse
Aside from hardening my heart into an impenetrable piece of stone, so that no man can get in without a powerful laser (preferably one that’s strapped to a shark’s head; “I expect sharks with frickin’ laser beams on their heads!”), I’ve come up with a plan. A foolproof, two-step list to get on with life.
Step one: surrounding myself with all things anti-Manny. So as to let the auras out there know it’s in cleansing. (You know, if I was into that type of voodoo.)
So far, I’ve signed up for a Color Run and played as much Maroon 5 as possible. Also on the list: eating butterscotch something-or-other, surrounding myself in mens’ capris, and somehow harnessing the power of squirrels eating out of bird feeders.
World-Competitive Dinner Dates
Now, step two: imagining potential Mr. Bethaneys. And what better pool to pull from than Olympic athletes – specifically ones that can flip over miles of snow?
Get ready boys, because I’m just waiting to share a falafel plate with each of you.
A losing Shaun White is one I can get on board with. Why? Because I’m super supportive. To re-build his confidence, I’d provide neck rubs while he cries into his medal-less chest. And then, weeks later when reporters are all, “What happened at the Olympics?” I’d butt in and say “SORRY WE CAN’T HEAR YOU OVER ALL THESE X GAMES TITLES.” And then I’d be the first person to find a legal loophole where paparazzis aren’t allowed to take photos of you without your permission, which would be never.
Besides, as a fellow hair donor, a Shaun White with short locks is one I have basically everything in common with. Now let’s get rid of that piece of barf pieced through his ear and we’ll really be making progress.
In maybe the cutest hashtag announcement of all time, Nick Goepper told the world live that he was looking for love – in Russian. And paired it with the hashtag #IwanttodateNick. Talk about an insta-swoon. Bonus points: he’s funny. (Don’t think I didn’t hear all those jokes on The Today Show, Nick Goepper.)
He’s too young for me, right? Cause I can’t think of a better way to learn to ski.
If rescuing a slew of puppies doesn’t get you a girlfriend, nothing will. It just shows what a sensitive, caring, and athletic hunk of man he really is. Mr. Gus, I want to snuggle each of those adorable pups … so long as you’re on the other end of the couch.
Also on the list, but whom NBC has taught me little-to-nothing about:
- Bobby Brown
- John Daly
- Joss Christensen
- Steven Langton
- Jeremy Bloom
And not on the list: anyone who the Internet told me was married. I ain’t no home wrecker.
So boys, now is your chance. It’s time to come out of the woodwork and make me fall for you already. Commitment-phobes need not apply.
P.S. I’m on email.
*Words of wisdom from Janice in Friends.