If the last decade of dating has taught me anything, it is this: people suck at dealing with breakups. I am referring of course, partially to their own breakups, but more importantly, to other people's dramatic splits.

We've all been there. You think things are going swimmingly, when out of the blue, your significant other wants out. It may come as a shock or it may have been foreshadowed by a long, slow buildup of dread. All you know is that you feel like the floor just dropped out from beneath you and your organs have suddenly turned into soup. At a certain point, everyone has had to go through this particular type of scorched earth devastation, where you quite seriously feel like you'll never get over it, ever, ever. But we all do. And there has been a lot of ink spilled on how to get over a break up. But even with all that out there, talking about breakups is tough, and often results in some truly horrible advice from the most well-meaning people.

It doesn't help that we've developed a kind of breakup formula through constantly replaying the same tropes in romantic comedies and chick flicks. In this narrative, the brokenhearted girl spends time eating Haagen-Dazs while listening to mournful love songs (or, alternatively, "I Will Survive"). But soon, usually with the help of a sassy sidekick, she snaps out of it, gets a makeover, some new outfits, and an upbeat theme song. This is what I like to call the Bridget Jones Method. And while the BJM may be great for some - especially those who inhabit the wonderful world of television - in the real world, ice cream and Gloria Gaynor just don't cut it.

So, while I can't give you five easy steps for getting over a heartbreak (I'm still working on that myself) I can tell you what not to say to someone who is going through a rough patch. These are all things I heard in the days following my breakup and the subsequent move-out (to the friends who told me this stuff: I'm sorry, I know you meant well, but really? Sleeping with his brother? Come on).

"Now is the time to go through a complete life change."
Sometimes breakups can act as a catalyst for complete and total change. However, a couple of weeks ago when a friend of mine first told me this, I wanted to reach through the phone and strangle him. Too often it seems like something is expected of you when you go through a rough patch. And you know what sucks? Acting like a big giant bleeding wound is actually some sort of boon, a golden opportunity for renewal. It might end up being just that, but let's not pretend that you should be thinking about a happy future while your still smarting from the event itself.

"You should do something empowering – like shave your head."
I suppose I should come out right now and admit that I am anti-makeover. I don't understand exactly why hair-or lack thereof-has become such a symbol of female empowerment. But it has. Unfortunately, "shaving your head" is seen two different ways: Crazy woman (example: Britney Spears) or survivor woman (example: Bianca from ANTM Cycle 13). Both of these standards are problematic, but my biggest issue with the shaved-head (or dyed-hair, or even hair-cut) route is that it assumes changing something as superficial as your looks will help you get over something as real as a broken heart.

"Whatever you do, don't lose your dignity."
Okay, I know this seems like decent advice, but it's the last thing you want to hear when you've just spent the night sleeping on the bathroom floor cradling an empty bottle of Stoli blueberry like it's your long lost child only to wake up and realize that your eyes are literally crusted over from crying and your hair has started to look an awful lot like this because even though you've been spending an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom, you haven't made it into the shower quite yet (not that I'd know what that's like, mind you). Dignity is one of the first things to go in a breakup. One of the most helpful things I heard in the week immediately after my own split was this: "Don't feel bad, everyone begs."

"Go out and have revenge sex."
Are you kidding? This tactic may be familiar - and often featured in movies and novels - but I doubt that any good has ever come from following this particular piece of advice. There are those of us who get extremely angry and vindictive following a harsh breakup, but acting on these emotions is never a good idea. There are plenty of great reasons to have sex, but revenge ranks pretty low on my list. To make things even more interesting, my friend suggested that I seduce one of his closest friends-or better yet, his brother. Again: Just say no.

"Take time off, give yourself space."
This almost seems like the flipside of the revenge-sex coin, but there is actually a happy medium to be found between fucking-for-revenge and sequestering yourself away from the dating scene. However, I am not advocating you suddenly jump into another relationship, or that you go out and cheetah (or puma or cougar or whatever large feline is popular right now) some man (or woman) into bed. But don't discount the effectiveness of a well-executed rebound either. And "taking time off" can sometimes be code for "hiding under the covers," something that is particularly easy to do when you work from home and don't really ever need to leave your bed. While I don't want to start handing out my own misconceived advice, I have noticed that spending significant amounts of time with other, non-ex-boyfriend people can be very healing. Plus, it's a good way to keep yourself from dwelling to the point of obsession (and it helps keep the post-breakup drinking in check, too).

Although I have found most of the above advice particularly unhelpful, I realize that, as with everything, your mileage may vary. And while talking about breakups can be uncomfortable and awkward, every person I spoke to had some sort of advice, some bit of wisdom they learned from their own painful experience. Some seemed to recall a Kübler-Ross type of period, a series of stages that they needed to pass through in order to grieve. Others focused on distraction, keeping the mind busy until the initial pain had subsided. Removed from the immediate messiness of the personal story, the get-over-it advice was an easy way to relate and commiserate. But these tactics - along with the chick-flick, rom-com method - simply don't work for me. Some of these well-intentioned suggestions served simply to infuriate me, but looking back, it's much easier to see my reaction as what it was: displaced anger. As for what does work, I'll leave that up to others to decide.

The "turkey drop," according to NPR, is a breakup that occurs over the Thanksgiving holiday, typically between college freshmen who return home for the first time and finally pull the plug on a high school relationship, though as Dan Savage notes, adults can fall victim to the "turkey drop" as well, due to a desire by one partner to split before the pressures of the Christmas-New Year's-Valentine's Day season kick in. "Thanksgiving is really when you have to pull the trigger if you're not willing to tough it out through February," Savage says.

Savage has a point: it's pretty rough to break up with someone at Christmas, and even harder to ditch a relationship right around Valentine's Day. But at the same time, it's even crueler to stay in a relationship you'd rather not be in just to protect someone's feelings throughout the holiday season, isn't it? I'd imagine that racking up all of those Christmas and New Year's memories is just adding fuel to the post-breakup fire. (Though I have known couples who have stayed together through the holidays, not for their own benefit, but for the benefit of their children and/or family members.)

Still, some "turkey drops" are unavoidable: I actually went through it during my freshman year of college, breaking up with an on-again/off-again boyfriend whom I suddenly had nothing in common with after being away for three months. He was relieved, actually, as he felt the same way. It's quite strange when people you've known for years become strangers; I'd go so far as to guess that many people go through "turkey drops" of sorts with friends during this period as well, due to realizing you're not the same person you were mere months earlier, and neither are they.

So what say you, commenters? Have you been through a "turkey drop?" And do you think it's ultimately cruel or kind to initiate a breakup during the holidays?

Want To Break Up? 'Tis The Season, So Better Hurry [NPR]

[Image via Natalie Dee.]

Of course, everyone knows that Moakler's divorce party was a bit of a joke, as Moakler and Barker have since reconciled and split about 8 bazillion times (and are reportedly currently together). But Moakler is not the only one who chose to celebrate the demise of her marriage with a shindig: as Ruby Warrington reports in today's Times of London, "Divorce parties are becoming big news, and range in style from discreet intimate gatherings to hen-style nights of hell-raising."

Warrington explores the growing divorce party industry, which is already cruising at top tacky speeds: with such craptacular divorce party paraphernalia as "wedding-ring coffins, Just Divorced L-plates, "stressticles" (stress balls shaped like, yep, you guessed it...) and plastic ball-and-chains." In short, the Divorce Party is just like the Bachelorette Party, only flipped.

Divorce parties range from intimate gatherings with close friends to celebratory vacations to "separation celebrations" wherein the unhappy couple chooses to say goodbye to their relationship in a celebratory manner, surrounded by family and friends. "The life you create as a couple is also about your friends and community," life coach Larah Davis tells Warrington, "I wanted to be upfront about everything, so people wouldn't feel as if they had to walk on eggshells around us. You need people answering your calls at a time like this. And we still had a business to run, so it was vital we were able to move on with integrity."

That's all well and good, I suppose, but isn't it a bit awkward for your family and friends to invite them to a party celebrating your divorce? It just seems a bit...off for some reason. What if your family is really upset about the separation? What if your friends feel like they are being forced to "celebrate" an occasion that bums them out quite a bit? Understandably, your divorce is incredibly personal and if one feels that they are in a place to say, "Hey, we're both happy, this didn't work, let's all just move on," that's one thing, but it seems that in all of the celebration, the underlying reality that this is a partnership that has failed is sort of tossed about as "Eh, oh well," which is a bit sad, if you think about it.

Then again, if one leaves a really terrible relationship, it stands to reason that one would want to celebrate her new found freedom, and so I suppose the whole divorce party phenomenon makes a bit of sense in that respect. And it also makes sense that people wouldn't want the "Oh, no, divorce!" cloud hanging over their heads every time they speak to loved ones, and a celebration, a means to say, "Hey, I'm alright, things are going to be okay," can help to brush that cloud away. Everyone grieves in different ways, everyone celebrates in different ways. And I suppose for many people, the easiest way to move on is to try to combine the two, saying goodbye to the past with goofy cakes and party favors all while knowing, deep down, that once the farewell party ends, the future begins.

Divorce Parties Are Helping Beat Break-Up Blues [TimesOnline]

[Image via CelebSource]

Now of course they were "just friends." But they were seniors, meaning anyone moderately wealthy was on some fancy trip somewhere, and so if we had been Emily, in our final year at one of those schools where no one is not moderately wealthy, marooned in our hellishly "festive" hometowns with no one but Brian and our pent-up rage directed people with legacies of controlling cartels and excelling at winter sports, the fact that Brian had been "selfish and immature" in high school would in no way serve as any sort of deterrent to us fucking him. Nor would the fact that he was sleeping with two other girls at the time... because we have no standards.

Anyway, in other words, if we had been Emily, we would have just slept with Brian the night after the last exam, no longing glances or uncertainty-stoking makeouts necessary, and we would have never received this fantastic specimen of What Happens When Your Moderately Ridiculous High School Boyfriend Spends Three And A Half Years At A Liberal Arts College Only To Have You Refuse Him On Winter Fucking Break.

Dearest E,

First, let me apologize for this letter. Its melodramatic sentiments are perhaps unfounded given the nature of our relationship, but perhaps not. I would try to talk to you in person, but I am afraid i can never find the right words.

I have always wished to be a more patient person. Patience, like many other things in my life, comes and goes from me as she pleases. When she does decide to visit me, she is usually accompanied by her less noble companion: indifference. To not care about something, means you can be eternally patient with it. Unfortunately (for me at least) the human condition is such that "caring" about things inescapable. It's times like these I wish i was a monk.

I had a hard time falling asleep last night. You and many other thoughts of things that make me anxious would not leave my mind. That is why I am writing this even though I don't think its the best idea.

I, like you are, am unsure of what the connection we have is and where it comes from. Since it has been on my mind, I have been considering the possibilities of this connection. This is something which I am hesitant to speak of because since we both are in the dark on what it is, it could be that it is different for each of us... but whatever.

It could be that after being single for a while (though it really hasn't been that long, it just feels like it) I am starting to wish for the comfort that comes with having a girlfriend. Perhaps you have considered this idea as you split with Ryan around the same time as I did with Michelle... But if this were true, then our connection would be false, so I don't think thats it.

You know all to well that lately, I have been in the company of many different girls. There is a theory about men who seek out many women. It says that these men fit neatly into two different groups: those who seek out many women in the hope of finding one woman in all of them, and those that seek the knowledge that comes with being so close with so many. I don't really know where i stand, probably because I am too young and haven't really been with that many women. Lets say I am somewhere in the middle.

This may seem like a digression, but here is my point: You are different. I do not consider you a part of my quest for either knowledge or the woman in all women. When I am alone with you, all other girls disappear from my mind. I can't tell you what a relief that is for me. Maybe thats what my pull towards you is, my relief from the "quest".

But still, I am not sure that it is entirely it.

There was a time that we were in love. Does something as deep and complex as love ever really disappear completely? What is love?...Don't get freaked out, this isn't a declaration of love for you. Though i am sure that i love you in some way or another... I suppose that like all human emotions, love has different levels. Which one we are on (if any) and what that means i do not know. But I do know that I would like to be on it with you for the little time that we have to be with each other.

And so I have told you what I want. That wasn't so bad.

...

I have a feeling that you like Jeff way more then you let on. You complain all the time about how he doesn't pay attention to you, and that means one thing: that you seek his attention.

I feel that you are keeping me on the metaphorical leash, intentionally or otherwise. Why else would you look at me the way you do?

You know that I could care less about you and other guys. Be with as many as you like as long as you kiss me like you did the other night! For me, being with different girls reaffirms the possibilities of life. Everyone is different after all... But I think this idea is something of an impossibility for you. You're quest is unknown to me, but I can't imagine that it involves being with many different men. (BTW I believe that being with one person is also reaffirming in a different way. You are good to think the way you do, it makes you shine.)

And so it is time for you to decide what you want... for once. (ha!)

To clarify: I cherish your friendship. I think you are an incredible girl, unlike any I've ever met. No matter what happens i will still love you as a friend, but i think it is about time we cut out the games and be honest with one another. If you think it better to be friends, then stop being so provocative around me. I am losing sleep after all.

I can only hope that you realize that I am, unquestionably, the best choice.

Let me know what you think. And again, I am sorry about the serious tone of this letter. I take comfort in knowing that you know I am not so serious a person.

Submissions? Email crap@jezebel.com, and please visit Crap The Blog for our forthcoming reviews of three new works of chick lit that revolve around how the internet has totally laid waste to this whole stupid "love" concept.

Anyway, Barthes wrote a book about how lame and maudlin and gross, if not altogether bonerkilling, the words with which people have been taught to express the desire to fuck one another tend to be, and it would be hard to disagree with him if in the intervening decades the average romantic utterance had not seemed to shrink commensurately with the amount of space on a silicon wafer necessary to store it. Could Barthes have known this? Could he have imagined the era in which the subtle and highly-targeted accumulation of photogenic and/or accomplished Facebook friends would become a legitimate courtship strategy? (No seriously, some guy I met at a bar the other night told me his friend had read all about it in a self-help book about "how to make your ex jealous." Reader, I Facebook-friended them both.)

In any case, it is times like ours that can drive the most hardened unsentimental romance skeptics among us to greet a sudden break in the routine — a separation, a breakup, a vacation, an impossible situation with an Argentinean journalist, whatever — as a call to express one's sincerest wishes and most embarrassingly heartfelt feelings. Like, at this point that can mean anything from "Why are we thus divided having kissed? Why are we yet two bodies and not one?" to "yo babe i am sorry i didnt share more of the coke on saturday, i miss you."

Which brings me to Melanie's moment of solitude, a semester abroad in France wherefrom she composed a classic, safe-distance, tender communique to her old hookup-buddy James, even going through the trouble of sending it through the mail so that it might reach him in a mode unhaunted by business school projects and porn. Now, I am not sure if it is more of a female thing to compose such an uncharacteristic missive in the absence of a once-ambivalently loved one, but I do know that one could compile a book alone of the totally amazing responses Crap Email recipients have received to what they assumed to be harmless — and indeed, selfless! — expressions of fondness. (Because once you get a dude alone with a laptop and his (self-professed lack of) feelings, whoa.)

Only James, however bothered to consult the DSM, quote every single movie on his dormroom wall…and forward it immediately to their mutual friend Leila, with the message "look at how big my balls are." Uh, yeah dude.

I guess this has been a long time coming. I don't really know how to start, so I'm just gonna take it one frame at a time as I experienced it, give you some insight into my thought processes. It's 12:23 AM right now. We'll see how long this takes...

So I got back to Brooklyn Sunday night from PA, and as I was unpacking all my shit, my roommate waltzed in and gave me a handful of mail. "While you were gone...just make sure you pay the bills, don't want them to cut off the electric on us." "O.K. thanks, just leave me cash tomorrow." "No doubt." I go ahead and turn on my computer, check my email, check facebook (because why the fuck not, right?) and then log onto the Chase website, pay the Keyspan and CableVision bills, see what new movies are out, check my schedule and what time I have to wake up the next day for class, and so on and so forth. Then I look through the rest of the stack of mail, separate the scientology letters addressed to Wainwright (real name Jameson, I think I already explained him), some more addressed to a jamestine Rivera, and some more addressed to an Ismael Figueroa (I have no idea who they are. Neighbors I guess). Then I come to a handwritten envelope, addressed to me at my address here, no return address. Curious as to what it is, I open it...wow! A handwritten letter! Nobody sends those anymore; the only people who send those are in the military. And the first words on it: Hey James, it's Melanie.

I had no idea what to expect. I read it once. I read it again. I read it a third time. By the end of the third time through, and I've got to be completely honest, it had me kind of fucked up. You said some real shit in there, and I just wasn't ready for it. Here's exactly what you said: "I want you to know that I'm glad I got to know you, and it's not only because I think you're handsome and have a damn charming smile, but also because you have a lot of character and a great and very distinct personality...obviously, you probably know that I do like you a lot, and if you didn't, wow...it's something you should know." The tone of the whole letter, and that bit in particular, just kind of had me on a roller-coaster of I don't know what. I'd say it was emotion, but there was more to it than emotion. It all just kind of hit me at once, and it was your words that triggered it.

There's something you should know about me. No, I'm not gay (I know you were expecting me to say I turned, but you would be WRONG on that one, haha). But no, in all seriousness, whenever I feel emotions, I never know if they are real because I don't stop thinking. I'm way too analytical for my own good, to the point where it's borderline sociopathic. Yes, I'm a sociopath. Not in the sense that I'd steal an old lady's life savings and think nothing of it, or torture little animals, but in the sense that I don't experience emotion like other people. I separate myself. I separate myself and analyze my emotions as I feel them, so the question that begs to answer, am I really feeling anything if I am analyzing what I would be, in theory, feeling? And when I look back at what I was feeling, I realize I was actually feeling nothing. I realize I was completely unaffected by whatever had happened because I had just removed myself from reality and thought it all out. 100% mind, 0% heart, the definition of a sociopath.

I have felt true genuine emotion twice in my life that I can remember, and they both had to do with death. The first I can remember is when my aunt died, and that was when I was about 10. After the funeral it just kind of hit me on the car ride home, and a few tears actually streamed down from my eyes. The second time came the night after I had a dream in which my father died. It wasn't a ridiculous dream like the ones I normally have and that you're used to hearing from me, with midgets and dinosaurs and zombies and shit like that, but a regular dream that really turned out to be more of a nightmare. My dad had been in a car crash, and he died in the hospital while I was in the room with him overnight. Nobody else was there, just the two of us. I woke up with my nerves kind of rattled, got a glass of milk, and went back to sleep with no problem. It didn't hit me until the next day when I was listening to the radio in my room and this song came on by Luther Vandross, "Dance With My Father." It made me cry. I locked myself in my room for an hour until I could calm down and regain my composure. It hurt. That was three years ago. I haven't listened to the song since, and I've never told anyone about this, not my brothers, not my mother, not my grandparents, not my friends...nobody. This is what I'm talking about when I speak of emotion.

So maybe it makes more sense to say that I am in some sense a sociopath rather than saying I am heartless. I do have a heart...I just don't know what it feels like to use it. You like Al Pacino; just think Michael Corleone. There's a reason why The Godfather Part II is my favorite movie. It's because I can relate to the main character in ways I imagine many other people cannot. Think about it: nobody says their favorite movie is The Godfather Part II because they can relate to Michael Corleone.

So what does that say about us? What does it say about me? When I read your letter it was so real. It had such a personal touch that could never be conveyed in an email or a facebook message, or in a phone conversation or even in person. There's something about a handwritten letter, the fact that it is writing, that it is done via a stream of consciousness, but with the precision of a mind that knows where it's going. Like I said before, I have some sociopath tendencies. Call me an asshole for it, call me a jerkoff for it; it's probably true. What I took from your letter, when you said "I'm glad I got to know you," it was almost as if you were throwing in the reins, chalking it all up as an experience, a fling that was a good time, something fleeting, maybe a little bit of fantasy, of a romance that could only exist in a couple months of college, and then live only as a memory in the future.

What hurts me is the fact that I knew exactly what was happening. Why had I never committed to anything? Why hadn't I taken any step? Maybe it's the fear of being in a "relationship" that keeps me from doing that, the fear that I could maybe dedicate 15% of my time to a girl when I could be dedicating 100% of my time to myself, to my career, towards reaching my goals. It's self-centered, I know. It's selfish. I'm an asshole for being that way, but I can't help it. I don't think it's a matter of consciously not wanting to commit to anyone; it's this subconscious masochistic desire. I would rather succeed in my movies and live as a tragic character in my own story, and in that, yes, I loved, but I never committed myself to love, not to any person. Maybe it's that I'd rather live with the thought that I've committed myself to a love for what I do, to my movies, to my passion, and I'd only been accountable to myself. I know I will adversely affect anyone who I come into contact with, to anyone who I start something with, but when it comes down to it, it's the freedom to simply be and do what I want that drives me. That, and this self imposed tragedy that I put myself through. I'm ridiculous, I really am just a character; I live in a movie.

I think maybe it's because I've been hurt before. I've had my share of rejections. I was angered and embittered by them. Some people would complain that they have been rejected because they are not good enough, and whoever rejected them is the asshole for not seeing them despite their shortcomings. But to be rejected because you're too good? Because you're going somewhere and don't need a person like me holding you back? There's no fighting that. Not in a town where everyone aspires to have a family with three kids, two cars, a mortgage, etc. When you're sitting across from someone and telling them your plans, telling them your dreams, sharing and opening up to them because you trust that they know you, that they like you for you, and for them to just abandon it all because you're just too good, too damn promising, that hurts because what the fuck are you supposed to say to that. I'm sorry I'm going to NYU, I'm sorry you think I'm a genius, I'm sorry I'm not going to fucking trade school like your asshole ex-boyfriend who's going nowhere outside a thirty mile radius of where he was born, I'm sorry you're content with your little plot in this world, I'm sorry I have big dreams. You wonder where the ego comes from...the truth is I don't have a huge ego. I have confidence, but that doesn't mean I have a huge ego. Sure I joke and laugh about it, make it all into this circus sideshow. But what else am I supposed to do? It's the result of a mentality that I've come to abhor, and I use it because it makes me seem sociable. It makes me feel like I can tolerate people, and more importantly, tolerate myself, my own insecurities.

So what was I thinking all this time. I was thinking about you. I was thinking about Patrycja. I was thinking about Bel. I was thinking about Sydney. I was thinking about Sonia. I was thinking about Samantha. I was thinking about Ashley. I was thinking about Lexi. I was thinking about this girl who sits across from me in Marketing Research but I've never had it in me to go and talk to her because what if it's awkward or I don't give a fuck, I'm tired and want to go home, or for whatever goddamn reason I never talked to her. I was thinking about all the girls I've ever had an interest in, fantasizing about what it would be like to be as close to them as I was to you, but wasn't for one reason or another, or that it would never work, or that it's just a shame things didn't work out between us because we really were perfect for each other. I was thinking about when I first stopped you on the street outside of Proof, when I said, "Hey, you work in the equipment room at Coles!" and your awkward friend said, "Stop being awkward!" and I was like, "You're being awkward, I'm saying hi to someone I recognize!" I was thinking about when I should go in for the kiss. I was thinking about when I was trying to watch The Godfather and you just wanted to make out. I was thinking about how fun it was to throw chicken bones across the street over taxis, and how fun it was to experience the cinematic achievement of Almost Heroes, and how when the last time I saw you we were in that Spanish restaurant and we didn't really speak much at all but we still managed to say everything and how that meant something, and it was nice. And the truth is that I miss you. I miss hanging out. I miss having a close friend around. I miss that we can't bullshit online about absolutely nothing for hours on end because of the time difference. I miss complaining to my best friend Patrycja about how I'm tired and I'm not getting any work done because I'm hanging out with melanie when I should be doing my homework. There's a lot that's empty right now, and it's feeling even emptier with every word that makes it onto this screen.

So in short, I really don't know what I want to say. I've ranted quite a bit, told you some things that I've never told anyone before…talk about putting my balls on the table, heh. This hasn't been easy for me, but this all needs some closure. I guess what I'm trying to say is this: I never wanted a relationship. If I really wanted one, I would have done something about it because that's just how things are. Peter Boyle's character pretty much said it in Taxi Driver:

Look at it this way: a man takes a job, you know? And that job, I mean, like that becomes what he is. You know, like, you do a thing and that's what you are. Like I've been a cabbie for thirteen years. Ten years at night. I still don't own my own cab. You know why? Because I don't want to. That must be what I want, to be on the night shift driving somebody else's cab. You understand? I mean, you get a job, you become the job. One guy lives in Brooklyn. One guy lives in Sutton Place. You got a lawyer. Another guy's a doctor. Another guy dies. Another guy gets well. People are born, you know? I envy you, your youth. Go on, get laid, get drunk. Do anything. You got no choice, anyway. I mean, we're all fucked. More or less, you know?

So I guess to kind of decompose that into something relevant, we had our good times. We had our fling. I think you already know that…hell, you said it yourself. That's not to say we won't again, who knows. I'm trying to look at it like an open-ended TV show. Who knows what's going to happen? I sure as hell don't…indecisive, remember? You had better have fun in France. Kick some ass for me, make me proud. Don't turn into too much of an asshole…

I hope I did this whole thing justice. I tried not to be too poetic…tried to keep it real. If it got a little saucy at a couple points, I'm a movie person, what did you expect? Of course I need to have the emotion and theatrics and whatnot. I'm a Spielberg guy, what can I say. Be cool…

Luv ya
~James
3:09

The John Edwards sex tape, or Tina Brown calling his dying fucking wife a crazy media whore?

Beholding the gross emails your husband sent to one woman, or to fucking five? The fact of the cheating, or the fact of him being an entirely different person in his emails to some woman sitting on the fucking beach reading fucking Alan Greenspan as the late capitalism he created implodes on itself who then has the audacity to call the hacking of her Hotmail account an "evil act" like, yeah, the invasion of your privacy is up there with North Korean labor prison! Or wait, the part where he blames it all on the fact that his wife had actually achieved shit in her life in contrast to his unemployed Stepford mother and her full fucking tank of light sweet crude "unconditional love," or how he used to work for Goldman Sachs, or the part where some cheesy ditz whose idea of banter is "You are so hot" also was not only the actual girlfriend but fucking muse of a celebrated American writer, and speaking of celebrated writers, what about how Dexter Filkins' ex-wife thanks him profusely and generously in the acknowledgements of her book when he was probably lying about not cheating on her because that is what men do but also there are about 976 names that come before hers in the acknowledgments of The Forever War?

Which is all by way of saying: look, if it is true that "the person who is brutally honest enjoys the brutality quite as much as the honesty, possibly more," as I read some witty dead person quoted by someone in my Facebook newsfeed the other day, then maybe it's just because we've had to learn to love the brutality. At least it is a little less insulting to our intelligence, right? And if a loved one's petty brutality gets your email posted to this blog, a Pyrrhic victory is the only kind you can really hope for with most dudes, right?

Which brings me finally to William* and Stephanie (also a pseudonym) who met in a class called "Shakespeare and Plutarch" - so she knew what she was getting into (and she never meant to get into it) - and one night about four years later got really drunk and woke up dating. They made big plans to move to New York and work in publishing (good thing it is so hard to be a pompous delusional alcohol-abusing permadolescent in this town!) but he fucked that up when he came in one night about four months in and refused to discuss what he'd been doing, which was Stephanie's "friend." William is still in Minneapolis according to MySpace, where she found the below a few afternoons later:

—-—-—-—-—-— Original Message —-—-—-—-—--
From: Myles na gCopaleen [Seriously dude? -Ed.]
Date: Apr 16, 2007 5:17 PM

Stephanie,

I haven't known what to say for too long already. But I did want to give you some air, some space from the bullshit. But let me say I'm not an insincere person. Despite the baldest lies, my feelings for you aren't phony, and so I'm sorry that I've shattered your trust. It was always good to be your companion and your lover and I care about you a lot. I'm sorry I wasn't honest about my need for non-monogamy, not to mention the times I flirted with it in your presence. I wanted things to stay as they were between us while I dated casually, which is naïve at best. That is, I wanted to date without anyone coming between us. Not being naïve, I was trying to keep what we had (which was almost all lovely) separate from ‘complicating' people. I didn't want to compete for you with others, and I didn't want you to feel like you had to compete for me. So I became a hider and a liar by degrees.

This isn't foreign to me, obviously. I've never completely broken from the cycle of behavior that formed in my teenage years with my parents, which consisted of intermittent rebellions in secret, justified as the only means to get what I wanted (and felt I deserved, more or less). Certainly, you're not controlling or smothering like my parents were, yet I still carry a self-justified ‘will to autonomy' that persuades me, ad hoc, to make compromises with honesty. Obviously, the means I use toward my ends nixes any real justification. It's a whole lot of barely-veiled denial.

You have always been generous and I regret that I returned your kindness more in words than actions. And my crankiness compounded by the lack of back massages in your direction. And all the gnarly outgrowths of my failed relationship with elizabeth that I refused to prune.

I miss your wake-up faces and your cheshire smile, sensibility, and rare abilities, if you catch that meaning. and I never felt like I was spending time with you, but sharing it. You've gone through a lot of hell lately and have a lot going for you simultaneously. I may have made it easier before I certainly made it worse; I think we have spark and potential yet, so I hope something can be salvaged. After all, it's springtime and there are walks to be had and picnics to attend to. Water and dappled spots to be found. The cinema, the stage, and this little city we live in. pictures I haven't seen yet. Stories I've already told you. Food to eat and philosophies to bleed. Biking, if I ever get one. I don't expect anything of you, because you obviously have every right to hate my guts and I don't want to fuck up your life. But remember, you were once a cheater too, and more importantly, I really could be part of your life without fucking it up. It's been made manifest that you needn't put up with anything from me so I'm at your mercy. Maybe distinct compromises need to be enunciated. when the time comes, Stephanie, things will be different by necessity and by will and from experience.

Call me, write me anytime, and anything I can do for you, I owe it to you. Not for any obligation, but for you,

-Wm.

*I named him after this guy, obviously.

Also, be sure to add Crap The Blog to your RSS reader because one of the days Georgia and I are going to start updating it regularly, and plus if you have any submissions we have a new email account, crap@jezebel.com for that.

Related: ‘Moveable Feast' Is Recast By Hemingway Grandson [NY Times]

"In retrospect, I don't know why I did this" is what April* had to say about her two-makeout courtship with Todd, a law student whose online dating profile promised he was "very intelligent."Well kids, we can all learn something from this week's constructive edition of Crap Email From A Dude, the theme of which is self-control, which is why we're using a picture of precocious New Yorker writer Jonah Lehrer, because we are trying to exhibit self-control in order to abstain from using the totally obvious joke picture so you guys can have an animated GIF-off in the comments.

If only April had possessed sufficient self-control she most certainly would not have made out with Todd again after the trauma of their first makeout session, during which he came in his pants.

But she did, and that is when she learned the age-old lesson about history repeating itself, especially with regard to guys who come in their pants the first time you make out with them.

Obviously, the whole debacle was April's fault, as no such thing had ever happened to Todd before. Surely the sticking point so to speak was that April was so very "experienced," he explained, and then clarified that what he meant by "experienced" was "promiscuous."

To make matters worse, April, that total whore, started seeing another dude, causing Todd to go a little batshit on the phone, although who can blame him when it was becoming painfully apparent that he had contracted gonorrhea of the throat from April, and the least she could fucking do was get screened for STDs.

She actually did do that,* even though she had never had sex without a condom, because women are pushovers I guess, but her clean bill of health finally drove him away, because he only experiences premature ejaculation when he can fantasize a girl is an actual whore, or something. April did her best to repress the memory.

Four months later she received this thing. Don't judge it by its subject heading, Nabokov invented the emoticon you know, etc. etc.

—-—-—-- Forwarded message —-—-—--
From: Todd Michaels*
Date: Thu, Feb 5, 2009 at 3:31 PM
Subject: Hello :-)
To: April Lee*

Hello April,

Long time no speak. I arrived back in Sydney a few days ago. I wrote this for a friend but thought I should send it to you just to get a different opinion on things (other than my own).

Cheers,

Todd

P.S. Let me know if you want to catch up

Chocolate and why sex with no strings doesn't work.

The intricate relationship between sex and love.

Sex is a source of pleasure, it makes people happy, similar to chocolate. That said, like sharing a chocolate, a large part of the enjoyment is seeing someone else happy. When people engage in sexual intercourse without intimacy it is like eating only chocolate. It start with a good feeling but afterwards it makes us feel sick afterwards.

Before I broke the rules I could not understand why I could not eat chocolate all day. What could be wrong with something that tastes good and it fills me up. The problem is we can't just survive on chocolate. Just as we can't just survive on sex. Our sex drive is linked to our need for intimacy and close relationships with others. If we don't respect these rules then when we have sex with someone we are intimate with it loses its meaning. The meaning is hard to distil down, but it is essence can be explained by looking at the difference between a kiss that arouses us and kiss that sends electric sparks down our spine and makes our heart tremble. Both can be physically identical in yet the meaning we assign to it is entirely different. Analogous to the difference between being given a piece of chocolate versus working all day for a piece of chocolate. Same chocolate, different value. The piece of chocolate that we have worked for tastes so much better.

Counter intuitively, sex without intimacy is worse than no sex and no intimacy. This bad taste is as natural to me as it would be for me to dislike chocolate without cocoa. I am not sure if it is nature or nurture but one can't properly enjoy one without the other.

Wanting sex and actually having sex are two entirely different thing. It is the difference between looking at chocolate in a shop window and breaking our diet and scoffing down a chocolate bar. We are pre-programmed to crave the chocolate however we also have certain rules about when we actually eat chocolate. Same with sex we all want it but there are only particular circumstances in which we would have it. These rules may seem arbitrary but they do service a number of useful functions including:

· Keeping us safe from STDs
· Creating good DNA matches
· Stopping us forming unhealthy relationships

At its simplest, these rules stop us making decision we might regret later. Sexual activity puts us in an extremely vulnerable position, mentally and physically. Though we are not normally aware of what the rules are we can feel it when we break them.

In a sentence, sex should not be an activity undertaken simply because we want it.

More "self-control" tips for next time: even if you live someplace like Australia with socialized health care, as April does, resist the urge to get tested for STDs on the recommendation of some lunatic you never actually fucked. In fact, even if you did used to fuck him, and you never thought of him as being totally insane, if a dude asks you to go to the doctor to get tested for an imaginary STD he thinks he has but can't be bothered to check out himself, it is a good chance to turn his perverse guilt trip around on him and remind him that if he has symptoms and you don't, he almost assuredly got it from some other woan, dissipated pussy glutton that he is, and he can forget about boning you again until he is ready to fill a Cipro prescription and pick up your Nuva Ring at the drugstore while he is at it, because you did not as an average girl already wasted like 87 times more time and money on sundry health care bullshit than the average dude attending to the continued viability of your reproductive system because it was so totally worth it to spend your twenties having flings with shitheads like him.

This has not even actually happened to me, I am just saying. I could perhaps be getting PMS.

*Names have been changed.

The Frisky's list is based on the video "How To Break Up With Your Girlfriend In 64 Easy Steps," but while that video is cute and funny and kind of true, The Frisky's version is basically just a list of boring rom-com stereotypes. Check out steps 1-4:

1. Get a boyfriend
2. Tell everyone you know you have a boyfriend
3. Update your Facebook profile to reflect that you now have a boyfriend
4. Stop hanging out with your friends so you can spend every minute with your boyfriend

See, women are loose-lipped, clingy, and care about guys above all else. Oh, except . . .

6. Start reading The Knot and daydream about planning a wedding with your boyfriend

Weddings! Oh, and this:

16. Spend a weekend watching as many episodes of "Sex and the City" as you can

You know it's true, ladies. But why do our pink, gooey hearts love aisle walks and Carrie Bradshaw so much? Oh, right, it's because we're pathetic. Observe:

18. Go to Macy's just to smell your ex-boyfriend's cologne

And:

30. Find an old copy of Time Out
31. Text him and ask if he wants his old copy of Time Out
32. Wonder why he isn't texting you back
33. Text him something you overhear on the street the next day that you know he'd think was really funny
34. Wait for him to text back
35. Call him and leave a message asking if he's getting your texts
36. Wait for him to call back
37. Call one of his friends and ask if he's okay

Ok, so breakups are messy, and we all do lame things from time to time. But The Frisky's list isn't even funny, it's just 44 slightly different cliches. Is there like a female-stereotype robot in a warehouse somewhere just spewing out this stuff? Somehow, we think you can do better. Oh wait, you already did!

How To Break Up With Your Boyfriend In 44 Easy Steps [The Frisky]

The “Museum of Broken Relationships” is a traveling display of donated items related to failed relationships. The founders hope that the museum will provide a safe place to dispose of emotionally-laden objects that are too precious to throw out. So far, the museum has visited Croatia, London, Berlin, and now Singapore. At each stop, the museum picks up new items. In Berlin, an ax used by a woman to break up her ex-girlfriend’s furniture was on display next to a wedding dress, and in Singapore, a woman donated her “tear-soaked teddy bear,” the only remainder of her failed romance with a Chinese man, to the museum’s cause. The museum can also be accessed online. [Reuters]

"No one lounges around cuter than Kate Hudson." Yes, these are deep thoughts from the actress who is pushing the film Bride Wars co-starring and produced by Hudson. Hathaway, who is still smarting a little from her breakup with Raffaello Follieri, her boyfriend of four years, also has trouble shopping for loungewear: "This is harder than I thought," she confesses. "I haven't done this yet. I don't know how I want to look when I lounge around." Although she claims the relationship was over-ish before her dude was busted:

"I was a 21-year-old kid when I met him. It wasn't a huge, dramatic breakup. We were in the process of winding it down when he was arrested. I don't talk about this, except when I'm asked. It's not a part of my life anymore. It's a complicated situation that has the ability to define me in ways I am not comfortable with."

Here are some other things Hathaway utters which, frankly, sound typical of someone who has just gone through an awful breakup:

"I'm proud of myself when I'm deep in a squat, pulling from my core."

"I realized that the past five years of my life had been spent accumulating things I like but never asked if I love."

"I'm looking for a pared-down truth."

Oh, and be sure and watch the video, in which someone asks her if she is okay or something and Hathaway says, "It doesn't matter whether or not I'm dying, I'm on the cover of Vogue."

Lastly, when Hathaway tries on a Diane von Furstenberg dress, she muses: "I can go on a date in this. Oh, my God. That's such a weird thought."

The Awakening [Vogue.com]
Related: Beauty Moment [Vogue.com]
Behind The Scenes With Anne Hathaway [Vogue.com]

Breakups are so stunningly painful your body, mind, soul and heart go into shock. But even worse is when the dumper has trouble expressing why he or she is breaking up with you. Even if what is said is ultimately true ("It's not you, it's me"), it sounds so fucking vague and meaningless, you're left pulling your hair and crying, why, why? Somehow having a calm person, an impartial third party who can filter the information seems like a good idea. Except for the part where you end up throwing stuff at him.

Plus! There would be benefits for the dumpers, too: Being forced to write down your reasons for ending a relationship insures that you actually find the words and articulate your desires, disappointments and issues. Being the one who does the dumping is incredibly hard: You actually have to take action and make a terrible impact on someone's life. Maybe some would find using a third party cowardly or selfish, but when something as delicate as the heart is involved, shouldn't a professional be called in?

'Heavy-Handed Wife... I'm Dumping You!' [AdRants]

Cut between the shots of Pink acting out are shots of Pink singing to Carey. Sometimes he ignores her, sometimes he rolls his eyes, sometimes they're at each other's throats. And, for a moment, he embraces her.

Schaefer claims this adds an "element of 'no really, we're actually handling this in a freakishly mature way.'" I don't know what you call it, but I love Pink. Love her. Clip below.

P!nk’s New Video Shows You How To Deal With A Breakup In A Totally Mature Way [BWE]

"What he's done for me is irreplaceable," Simpson says about her newfound confidence. Fortified by a glass of chardonnay, she sets the record straight on coping with the tabloids, her acting career and, of course, her new, happy life with Romo. "It feels like forever," she says about the months they've been together. "I love this guy. Can you feel it?" You can't help but feel it.

"I'm not going to lie and say that I don't want to see Tony and me in the pictures. It is good airplane reading if you throw it away when you get off; I'm good at that. I am not the type of person who believes everything she reads, but I like to look at photos and see what people are wearing."

"The cute story is that my family and I were watching a Cowboys game. I was going through my divorce and—Tony would die if I told you this—but [on television there was a story] about him. They said his celebrity dream crush was Jessica Simpson. My family was like, 'Did you just hear that?' His picture came up and I'm like, He's really cute. Then I heard [that I was his crush], and I'm like, Oh my gosh! ...One of my best friends played on a basketball team with Tony. He introduced Tony to my dad, and they hung out. Then Tony e-mailed my dad, 'Cute date,' when we were at the Country Music Awards [last November], because we were sitting next to each other in the audience and I guess we made a camera shot. My dad was like, 'Look what Tony said.' I said, 'Give him my e-mail address. We'll see if he's good with words.' Then he e-mailed me, and we flirted over e-mail and on the phone. We got to know each other by talking, which I think is the best way. We set up our first date on November 20. Today is our four-month anniversary, but it seems like we've been together for so much longer. I said five months to him today, and [Tony] goes, 'Baby, that hurts my feelings that you don't even know.'"

"He reintroduced me to myself. I thought that I had to be deeper, more profound and more artsy. You change with the guys you date. [I thought] I had to be more intellectual. Come on—just be yourself! Tony taught me that because he loves me [as me]. He made me feel comfortable [being myself] again."

"...I think it's ironic that I fell in love with a man I thought I would never be interested in because he's an athlete. I was always, An athlete? Heck no. Because it reminded me of being married. This article could come out and Tony and I could be broken up, but he still deserves all the accolades for bringing me back to who I am."

Earlier: Glamour's '50 Most Glamorous' Does Not Include Cover Model Jessica Simpson Something Blue

It took these teens an average of 10 weeks to get over their relationship angst, and, according to Eastwick, "It would've taken about double that amount if you'd gone by their predictions." At first I wanted to call bullshit on this study, because most college freshman relationships are completely transient; you're not talking five years living together with a mortgage and a dog. But then I remembered being 18 and how goddamn melodramatic I was. I thought I was in the be-all, end-all of relationships my freshman year, and was completely and utterly devastated for almost a semester after that four month relationship ended.

Anyway! Eastman attributes the reasonably short recovery period for most breakups to the emotional resiliency of people and to the unpredictable nature of life. "Life goes on in the wake of a breakup," Eastwick told Live Science. "And when you're making your predictions, you aren't thinking about all the things that could be positive that might happen in the next week or two." He added, "[People] often don't realize the kinds of psychological defense mechanisms they'll use at the drop of a hat."

Breaking Up Not So Hard, Study Finds [Live Science]

• Barack Obama rejected/denounced his old friend Jeremiah Wright on television today on the advice of certain wise commenters and also prominent columnists and locking in a critical majority of my family members. Watching it was less fun than watching him shake the dirt off his shoulder but as Jigga would say "so necessary." [Wonkette]
  
• So the question remains: why the fuck did Jeremiah Wright give all those damaging, yammering unyielding undermining speeches? Newt Gingrich thinks he's just jealous. [ABC News]
  
• Though maybe he was just testing God? [Chicago Tribune]
  
• And Barack Obama finally de-friended him...only after consulting some cynical pollsters? Take it from a Republican. [JohnLocke.org]
  
• An African-American studies professor from a long line of Mormons wishes Mitt Romney was around so everyone else could be reminded how tame black liberation theology is next to some of the fun ideas Joseph Smith had. [TheRoot]

• There are a ton of conflicting poll numbers I could treat you with today but I'm going with the one discussed in this story because I'm sick of clicking on new windows and it concerns Indiana and because I'm biased, so kill me. [Indy Star]
• And here, anyone offended by my bias... [SayNoToCrack]
• Awkward segue alert! A teen FLDS member just gave birth to another inbred child of what was probably at the very least statutory rape, if the mother had any idea of her actual age. [AP]
• WHICH five IMF members did not vote in favor of giving more voting rights to developing countries? No really, which? [WSJ]