Friends

“I really don’t want to lose you. I really hope we can be friends”

Will someone please pass me the airsick bag because I am going to toss my cookies. What is it with everyone wanting to be friends after they break up? You can’t even start to date someone without having the “if all else fails we will always be friends” conversation. I too find myself saying those same words but I wonder if I really mean them. I wonder if there isn’t perhaps a better, more therapeutic way to deal with the collapse of a relationship, regardless of the length of time spent together. In the gay world an hour of mediocre sex and a quick trip to IKEA constitute a long-term relationship and so again I have to think, what’s in it for me? Why suffer through another round of IKEA if I am not allowed some post relationship venting?

I want to break up with someone and then make their lives miserable. Show them what my momma taught me. Whatever happened to the good old days when one could have a shag, a short-lived romance and then get have some fun when it ended? Bring back the blackmail, public humiliation and character assassinations. Someone dumps you, I think a brick through the window with a hate note attached is a lot healthier than having a dinner to discuss next steps for moving forward in a communicative and supportive relationship. You can’t give me that when we are together, I sure as hell don’t want it when we are apart. I want to walk up to an ex at a party and toss my drink at them, slap them, spread vicious rumors or just sleep with their current lover, best friend or brother. I want them to have sleepless nights wondering if that is just a branch against their window or someone standing outside peering in. A restraining order never hurt anyone and stalking gives the dumpee something to do to occupy their time while working through the pain and we all know that misery loves company.

Misery also loves to leave phone messages at 8:05. 8:07. 8:11. 8:11. 8:11. 8:13. We want to scream into the answering machine “I know you’re there, your lights are on and I can see you moving… Pick. Up. That. Phone. Damn. You” but we decide to have some dignity and we just hang up, leaving only a busy tone at the other end. Best not to leave too much incriminating evidence.

So I ask you to join me in bringing tire slashing, rabbit boiling and harassing phone calls back into vogue.