i think i miss you most on wednesdays, and saturdays.

as evidenced by the title, i have been listening to way too much dashboard. i spent the entire weekend horizontal- sleeping or watching tv or staring at the wall trying not to picture any of the many things about him that i loved. 6 days later, here is a breakdown (how ironic) of how one should handle a breakup... or at least how i'm doing it.

day 0: get dumped. leave work with the explanation "i'm just not having a very good day." cry. cry so much that you literally can't breathe and your face goes numb and you can't do anything about the gallons of mucus leaking out of your nose because there is a brick in your sinuses. if you have friends, do this at their houses. take shots of tequila, which won't make clearly explaining the horror you have just experienced 9 times any easier. make long distance phone calls in order to do this with other friends who have been rude enough to go to college in other countries instead of holding your little retarded hand for the past 2 years. eventually, stop crying, but make sure you start again when you hear the dirty rap song whose lyrics were the caption of one of his profile pictures or see someone driving the same kind of car that he drives (if his car is a black jeep liberty, you're fucked.)

day 1: go back to work. do NOT wear makeup. FEROCIOUSLY facebook stalk the shit out of him and look unstable enough that your boss doesn't try to stop you. look at 50+% of all of his tagged pictures, the profiles of any girls that have written on his wall in the past month, and anything that he has commented on-- esPECIALLY if it belongs to dumb cunt slores... i mean, other girls.

get the fuck off of facebook. delete all texts in your phone from him. yes, even the one where he told you your legs were beautiful and the one where you two reminisced about the awesome time you had at margarita wednesday the previous night. you know what? fuck it. delete his fucking phone number. you don't need it. and if you do, you can find it on facebook which is the only reason you are deleting it at all. let's be real here.

go to an iron and wine concert or something equally emotionally charged. sob into your hands and make everyone in your vicinity really uncomfortable. go to sleep.

day 2: if this day is not saturday, repeat day 1 until it is. if this day is saturday, you are slightly luckier than the average swollen-faced fat dumped bitch. eat everything, or eat nothing-- everyone's different! don't bathe. watch avatar. watch the millionaire matchmaker and throw shit at the tv because let's face it, these old ugly bitches are GOING to find love RIGHT NOW with the help of patti stanger as you sit transfixed and probably sobbing again into a box of cheez-its. have chick fil a for dinner with your mom. watch a pivotal football game which, let's face it, almost gave me a heart attack in my fragile state. have a beer. ONE. BEER. go to sleep. have gut-wrenching dreams in which your recent ex has sex with your best friend right in front of you.

day 3: if this day is not sunday, you didn't repeat day 1 enough times and you're a stupid bad listener. wake up and roll over at like 11:30am. cry on the dog- she doesn't mind. catch up on 9 eps of grey's anatomy and 3 of dexter in bed. talk to your parents about how they need to support you when your only life partner is Hypothetical Cat Vlad. your dad will laugh. your mom will make a note to call your therapist in the morning while simultaneously suggesting that Vlad be a white cat so as not to shed on your wedding dress.

bathe at like 9pm. maybe wash your hair too, but you can pretend to be sick or that you're going to exercise in the morning if that step is too much. have gut wrenching dreams about running into your recent ex with his new wildebeest slut and you are fatter than you are when you went to sleep.

day 4: HOLY SHIT MONDAYS SUCK. wake up and attempt a workout. you can't rebound if you look like a bowl of banana pudding, amiright? marvel at the fact that until today, you have not seen your own face without any traces of makeup on it since you were 13.

decide that today is a good day to wear makeup. (don't panic- you're going to look like an alien from the planet bad transvestite. your eyelashes aren't used to this shit! what are you DOING to me?!?) wear pants that are crafted of jean instead of fleece, AND a bra that has cups. go to work and fake smile a lot. tell everyone you had a great weekend catching up on sleep, when in reality you were waking up every hour or so seeing and feeling thousands of red ants crawling in your bed.

day 5: deactivate your facebook. stalking is no longer an option. you are whiny and BORED! DYE YOUR HAIR! but not all of it because you're a pansy ass bitch. just the bottom half- chestnut. watch glee, cry like someone killed your dog when they sing "just the way you are" because who is ever going to like YOU just the way you are and never want to change anything about YOUR face? i usually don't take my makeup off at night which means it is still on in the morning and my eyes are red and since i'm a ginger i look like the bride of chucky. yeahhh buddy- just the way i am.

put on a cute shirt and go out drinking. accept a date from some guy that followed you around for 15 minutes. he's in the army. he wants to take you to dinner and a movie. whatever, i'll take a free pasta dish and glass/bottle of wine. see you friday, brandon!

day 6: you went to yoga and communed with your feelings! it felt good. you feel a little more like yourself. a jaded, world weary version of yourself, but still better than the version that feels like a flesh-eating virus is eating its entire chest cavity every time he friends a new miami bitch on facebook.

tomorrow is a week. we'll see how my chest cavity is doing then.