Your Ex-Lover Is Dead!
I woke up on the U-Bahn. A woman’s voice was telling me I was at Sophie-Charlotte-Platz. I got off without knowing how I’d gotten there. I’d been single for a week, and everyone had the same prescription: drink until it stops hurting. Thomas, Hannah, Kathi all nodded like they knew what they were talking about.
So I showed up to Thomas’s birthday party and basically drank everything. Made out with some blonde girl at the club who was just as demolished as I was. Threw up in my bathroom later, which felt like the appropriate ending to the week. And the weird thing is, it actually worked. I felt better. Not great, but better.
My phone died the same week. Old Siemens thing, five years and four relationships, completely done. So I went and got an LG Shine—the pink one. I like companies that just commit to a color. There’s something honest about that.
The actual formula for getting over someone: you drink, you puke, you buy something stupid, you get a haircut, and you go look for whoever comes next. It’s simple. It works. And here’s the bonus—your stomach’s too wrecked to eat anything, so you lose weight without trying. Heartbreak as a fucking diet plan.