Day 1: Feb 28th, 2012.
Closure
That's the day you realize you can do better. He's a loser, yes, yes, yatta yatta, he's an ass, he deserves the new girl, she's a bit of a loser herself, all that dosh.
That day you go out shopping with the girlfriends, come home with lipstick that's too red, heels that are too high, thongs that are too lacy to be worn under anything at all and a dress that's too low at the neck, too high at the hem. You check out the hot desi guy in the smoking area, pretend you don't have your lighter as a starting point for conversation, giggle too much, smile too wide, and when he appears uninterested, go back to your friends and talk about how his pants were too tight around the front anyway. You decide to learn a new dance form, prance around in your room in your highest heels, in only your highest heels, day dream about making the vile ex jealous of a fictitious Ryan-Gosling-Meets-Shashi-Tharoor, then day dream about getting with the fictitious Ryan-Gosling-Meets-Shashi-Tharoor. You breeze through a Julia Robert's movie marathon, discover that women are far too lovely and gorgeous and wonderful to be with men anyway. You play pictionary with a bunch of freshmen, mistake the sketch of a pair of scissors for an unmentionable part of the male anatomy, the continent of Europe for amoeba, lose by a mile, come home and start a blog.
A fairly good start, I would say.
Closure
That's the day you realize you can do better. He's a loser, yes, yes, yatta yatta, he's an ass, he deserves the new girl, she's a bit of a loser herself, all that dosh.
That day you go out shopping with the girlfriends, come home with lipstick that's too red, heels that are too high, thongs that are too lacy to be worn under anything at all and a dress that's too low at the neck, too high at the hem. You check out the hot desi guy in the smoking area, pretend you don't have your lighter as a starting point for conversation, giggle too much, smile too wide, and when he appears uninterested, go back to your friends and talk about how his pants were too tight around the front anyway. You decide to learn a new dance form, prance around in your room in your highest heels, in only your highest heels, day dream about making the vile ex jealous of a fictitious Ryan-Gosling-Meets-Shashi-Tharoor, then day dream about getting with the fictitious Ryan-Gosling-Meets-Shashi-Tharoor. You breeze through a Julia Robert's movie marathon, discover that women are far too lovely and gorgeous and wonderful to be with men anyway. You play pictionary with a bunch of freshmen, mistake the sketch of a pair of scissors for an unmentionable part of the male anatomy, the continent of Europe for amoeba, lose by a mile, come home and start a blog.
A fairly good start, I would say.
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