It's Not Okay: Turning Heartbreak into Happily Never After by Andi Dorfman
Book: It's Not Okay: Turning Heartbreak into Happily Never After by Andi Dorfman
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Authors: Andi Dorfman
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percent chance of living happily ever after! How shitty is that? Half us are doomed from the start. I am officially destined to be alone forever, aren’t I?
Okay, fine, maybe we won’t be alone forever. Sure we think we’ve already had that pure, undeniable, can’t-imagine-life-without-him love that’s so extraordinary that it only comes once in a lifetime, but we’re wrong. Not about the undeniable and pure part, but about the once in a lifetime part. Nothing in life is final, except death, and if you’re reading this, you are very much alive. There is no one shot at love, no end all be all, not when it comes to a man. Dammit, you found it once, girl, you can find it again! In the meantime, might as well enjoy our time alone and relish the perks of being single. There are plenty, trust me:
THE PERKS OF BEING SINGLE
• The entire bed . . . it’s yours!
• You can take as long as you want to get ready.
• You can follow whoever you want on Twitter.
• Hello closet space, I’m back!
• Christmas just got a lot cheaper.
• You can #MCM any hottie you want.
• Girl trips whenever you want.
• No need to get that painful Brazilian wax every month anymore.
• You don’t have to worry about anyone searching your web history.
• The remote control is all yours. Can you say Real Housewives marathon?!
• Bye bye uncomfortable sexy lingerie, hello boy shorts.
• That hot guy at the bar? He’s fair game, baby!
• Curfew? No such thing!
• You get to do what you want, when you want, how you want.
• You are officially allowed to dance to Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies.”
----
Lesson learned: Screw the time line, enjoy the single time!
----
**UPDATE**
In case you were wondering, I successfully made the trip to Target to replenish the tissues without any major meltdowns. Round of applause for me! Eighty-seven dollars later, I had not only tissues but the latest Essie nail polish, three packs of Sour Patch kids, two bottles of red wine, Buffalo Wing Pretzel Thins, Twizzlers, and a box of Junior Mints, all of which is sitting in a giant mound next to me on my bed right now. I figured, “Screw it, if I’m going to have a pity party for myself, there at least needs to be junk food involved.” I’m not going to lie and say that I haven’t spent the day giving myself a pedicure and picking all the red gummies out of the Sour Patch bags, and no I definitely did not break each Twizzler in half in an effort to convince myself that I was practicing moderation, when really I ate twice as many halves as I would have wholes. But dammit, this is our pity party and we can cry and eat Twizzlers when and how we want to, right? (And Sour Patch Kids, and Pretzel Thins, and Junior Mints . . .)
DAY 13. 7:22 P.M.
The Fantasy Suite
I s it bad that even in my state of self-pity I’m also horny? The last time I went this long without sex was, Jeez, probably a year ago. I mean, isn’t one of the rewards of getting into a relationship sex whenever you want it? My horniness makes me want to call Number Twenty-Six and indulge in a quickie, but I know I can’t handle the aftermath.
Speaking of sex, I remember the first time Number Twenty-Six and I did the deed. It was about seven or eight weeks into my “journey,” and it was time for the highly anticipated overnight dates. Part of me was excited, considering I’d been surrounded by hot men for so long without anything more than a make-out session, and I was finally going to get time away from all of the cameras and producers, but I was also apprehensive, given how disastrous this date had gone for me in the previous season.
There were three men left; I’d gone on several dates with each of them, met their families, heard them say their “I love you”s and was now less than two weeks away from potentially getting engaged to one of them. There we were, just the four of us (and cameras and producers, of course) in the
Okay, fine, maybe we won’t be alone forever. Sure we think we’ve already had that pure, undeniable, can’t-imagine-life-without-him love that’s so extraordinary that it only comes once in a lifetime, but we’re wrong. Not about the undeniable and pure part, but about the once in a lifetime part. Nothing in life is final, except death, and if you’re reading this, you are very much alive. There is no one shot at love, no end all be all, not when it comes to a man. Dammit, you found it once, girl, you can find it again! In the meantime, might as well enjoy our time alone and relish the perks of being single. There are plenty, trust me:
THE PERKS OF BEING SINGLE
• The entire bed . . . it’s yours!
• You can take as long as you want to get ready.
• You can follow whoever you want on Twitter.
• Hello closet space, I’m back!
• Christmas just got a lot cheaper.
• You can #MCM any hottie you want.
• Girl trips whenever you want.
• No need to get that painful Brazilian wax every month anymore.
• You don’t have to worry about anyone searching your web history.
• The remote control is all yours. Can you say Real Housewives marathon?!
• Bye bye uncomfortable sexy lingerie, hello boy shorts.
• That hot guy at the bar? He’s fair game, baby!
• Curfew? No such thing!
• You get to do what you want, when you want, how you want.
• You are officially allowed to dance to Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies.”
----
Lesson learned: Screw the time line, enjoy the single time!
----
**UPDATE**
In case you were wondering, I successfully made the trip to Target to replenish the tissues without any major meltdowns. Round of applause for me! Eighty-seven dollars later, I had not only tissues but the latest Essie nail polish, three packs of Sour Patch kids, two bottles of red wine, Buffalo Wing Pretzel Thins, Twizzlers, and a box of Junior Mints, all of which is sitting in a giant mound next to me on my bed right now. I figured, “Screw it, if I’m going to have a pity party for myself, there at least needs to be junk food involved.” I’m not going to lie and say that I haven’t spent the day giving myself a pedicure and picking all the red gummies out of the Sour Patch bags, and no I definitely did not break each Twizzler in half in an effort to convince myself that I was practicing moderation, when really I ate twice as many halves as I would have wholes. But dammit, this is our pity party and we can cry and eat Twizzlers when and how we want to, right? (And Sour Patch Kids, and Pretzel Thins, and Junior Mints . . .)
DAY 13. 7:22 P.M.
The Fantasy Suite
I s it bad that even in my state of self-pity I’m also horny? The last time I went this long without sex was, Jeez, probably a year ago. I mean, isn’t one of the rewards of getting into a relationship sex whenever you want it? My horniness makes me want to call Number Twenty-Six and indulge in a quickie, but I know I can’t handle the aftermath.
Speaking of sex, I remember the first time Number Twenty-Six and I did the deed. It was about seven or eight weeks into my “journey,” and it was time for the highly anticipated overnight dates. Part of me was excited, considering I’d been surrounded by hot men for so long without anything more than a make-out session, and I was finally going to get time away from all of the cameras and producers, but I was also apprehensive, given how disastrous this date had gone for me in the previous season.
There were three men left; I’d gone on several dates with each of them, met their families, heard them say their “I love you”s and was now less than two weeks away from potentially getting engaged to one of them. There we were, just the four of us (and cameras and producers, of course) in the