Today was a thing.

First, I am doing this for me. This is my public diary. This is my soon to be guilty pleasure. This is me allowing my roommates to escape a play by play of my everyday trials and tribulations to make it to the next.

Hello. Nice to meet you. I am Nora. I enjoy writing. I enjoy an audience. I know what you’re thinking. And yes, I am an attention whore. As is the rest of the internet. You’re welcome for being honest. Now begins my actual blog.

After one year of dating, my boyfriend and I decided to take a break. I’m not sure if anyone out there is aware of what this actually translates to, but for people who fucking hate each other and don’t know how to say it nicely, it means the end. It means the bitter resolution to months of resentment.

I wish I was a part of that category.

Unfortunately for my sad self, I am drowning in a sea of hopeless romantics who want nothing more then to make shit work, but are being forced to respect their own dignity. It’s the worst. The absolute worst- knowing that you love someone and that they love you back, but that you are both in college, and that you can’t help but be a total bitch when you’re drunk, and he can’t help but push every button that you have to see how long it takes you to crack.

I’m sure you’ve heard it all before, but it’s new right now. It’s fresh.  I’m not an ugly dyke. I’ve dumped dozens of boys for probably only four or five different reasons, and not one has ever reduced me to Ben & Jerry’s and tears before. I thought that that was a stereotype created to help single fat chicks. Turns out that it applies to not quite fat chicks as well.

The damndest thing, is that feelings make no sense. I come from a family of “Daddy” and “Mummy” with matching Vineyard Vines, and a ‘habit’ for European vacations. Don’t get me wrong, this boy is classy as fuck, but he’s also the ‘fuck authority, smoke weed’ kind of hero. Not exactly what Daddy and Mummy were anticipating.

They say opposites attract. So I suppose that I’m the Tory Burch to his nipple ring.

Or the diet coke to his sprite.

Either way, I adore his shit.

Even probably his literal shit.

The unfortunate part about all of this is that we are stubborn assholes who have the communication skills of an autistic puppy.  Typically lots of nonsensical barking, and one of us always ends up in the doghouse.

I love puppies, so I didn’t want to be mean to him anymore. Also, I was sick of the dog house. Like, at least put me up in the Ritz.

So after a year of love and hate, this is me trying to convince myself that maybe I can have my puppy back. The thing about puppies, is that if their owners suck, the puppies almost always suck. They piss in the house, don’t come when you call them, chase the mailmen… you get it. You can’t love and take care of a puppy if you don’t love and take care of yourself.

No, I’m not his ‘owner’, but he is my puppy, and I owe it to us both to be kinder, happier, and more capable of loving him with every ounce of kibble that I got.

Maybe if I give him more treats, he’ll do more tricks.


About dochasann

Twenty years of trials and triumphs. Sociology major living in NYC. Overly cynical. Witty when I feel like it. Obsessed with my puppy.

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