It would not be false to say that many of my lunch hours last Spring were spent at the downtown Barnes & Noble reading a book that may or may not be titled, It’s Called a Breakup Because It’s Broken. And something else that may or may not be equally true is that I got pretty damn annoying about that book the way many people get annoying about their boyfriends and which I also get annoying about my iPhone. That is to say, I brought it up often and inappropriately, sometimes even without any context to the conversation I was in: “Yeah, your new baby is great. Did you know that if you get an iPhone, you don’t even need other human beings?” Or, conversely, “I like your new baby. Because of this book and my new hearing aid batteries, I no longer have a use for men.”
Here’s the best part: I wasn’t getting dumped by someone; I was attempting to dump someone. Yes, I fell in love with a self empowerment book about how to get over having your beating heart ripped out of your chest- while trying to, in fact, remove a beating heart from a chest.
Side note based on the fact that I’m too conceited to assume you understand this on your own: I have been dumped before. Not last Spring, but before. In the past, I have been so dumped before that I made weird embarrassing elephantine noises while crying violently and then needed to get a spaghetti pot from the kitchen in the middle of the night to simultaneously trap tears, vomit and self-pity. It was amazing. I mention that only to say, I’m not one of those people who thinks never getting dumped is awesome because even though I almost starved what ultimately proved to be a very vindictive house cat (seriously) in the two weeks that followed, something about the excruciating pain made me feel really alive.
Let’s get back to the point though. Let’s get back to when Jane Squeeze was reading a book about how to get over heartbreak while mentally prescribing the book to all of her friends and her future ex-boyfriend at that time.
Written by Greg Behrendt (of He’s Just Not That Into You fame) and his wife, Amiira Ruotula, this book starts “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAH)HHHHHH! F*#k, it hurts.” And only gets better from there. Not only does it chronicle Behrendt’s most significant breakup from a woman and from alcoholism, but it also discusses the dissolution of Ruotula’s first marriage, psycho confessionals and a Dear Abby section of sorts. The best part? It has a happy ending, with Greg and Amiira meeting and having two kids that basically seem like the best thing ever.
Ultimately though, the reasons for me getting totally annoying about this book are two-fold. The first reason is that you never should stay in a relationship when it is over- regardless of which position you are in. Being broken up with can be elephantine noises hard, while being the one breaking up with your significant other usually involves hurting someone who means a lot to you, BUT, staying together means you’ve lost faith that either of you deserve better which is even worse. And, the second reason I love this book is that it demonstrates something that I believe to be universally true (save for Carrot Top), and that is: everything is funny. There is a hilarious irony worth waking up for every day in every situation and that trumps everything, including iPhones.