Five Stages of the College Breakup

With Your Anniversary Day quickly approaching now is a great time for all you cheapskates to dump that significant other anticipating a crappy gift. And breaking up is what I intend to address with this article. You see, breaking up with someone is sort of like putting a pet to sleep, in that everyone finds it funny but you.

Let’s make believe I recently broke up with “Samantha”. Now, let’s pretend one of my friends (we’ll call him “Stupid Jim Hansen”) found me riding the red eye express with a box of Kleenex in one hand and the pink mini iPod I gave “Samantha” in the other. And let’s pretend that pink mini iPod was playing a Kelly Clarkson song (this is purely theoretical). Maybe “Stupid Jim Hansen” would say something like, “Dude, you’re totally going through the five stages of loss: Anger, Denial, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance.” Thanks, asshat. Your Psych101 wisdom is just so goddamn comforting.

Well, with Dump Day, I mean Your Anniversary Day coming up, I intend to write the five stages of loss for us college students.

AIMger – In a flagrant showing of maturity, you decide to confront your problems on AIM.com. You sit, waiting like Charley in a trench for that away message to come down so you can bombard that formally special someone with a barrage of “wtf”s and “no 143”s. Fingers will fly as if you’re translating a Kanye West/Twister rap song into sign language.

Destyle –In a dismal attempt to be cool, you hit the town flapping money and talking game like you’re a P-I-M-P. If someone asks about the ex, you might nonchalantly sip your beer and respond, “Oh, that person I used to hook up?” Newsflash: You’re not cool. You’re the lowest loser on the loser pecking order (known as a leaper loser). Listen up braggadocio; wipe that stupid grin off your face. Yeah, you know the one, the one that looks like you just ingested a McFecal Deluxe. No one is buying your cool guy routine. Go back to your computer, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars.

Bar-Goggling – This is the pitiable stage where you realize that person is not coming back. You and that someone will never spawn children to send to Michael Jackson’s (or subsequent sex offender’s) private ranch home. In your lament, you enter their name into a Goggle search with the intents of learning secrets pertaining to their lives. For instance, say I Goggled “Samantha’s” name; maybe I’d learn she was a runner up for Miss Teen Massachusetts while simultaneously finding out that I’m a huge stalker.

Beeression – It’s time to drink that person away, and you’re not stopping until consciousness is lost or pants are peed. In a fit of Beeression you may slip back into a stage of being AIMgry and under the auspices of a drunken stupor you may come up with some stellar ideas. Example being: maybe in a weak attempt to get your ex’s attention you’ll claim to have contracted a rare disease which leaves you only days to live. Ironically, though, a venereal disease got you dumped in the first place. Go team Desperate!

Sexceptance – Bumming at a party, someone might find your needy disposition “sexy.” For guys, these girls are usually either fat beasts or sluts. For girls, these guys are me. So perhaps you’ll find her at the bottom of a pudding-wrestling pit or simply eating the pudding-wrestling pit. Regardless, take the Family Double Dare Physical Challenge and let her put some chocolate stains in your underwear that aren’t skid marks. Or simply suck the face off a random battle cow. If you’re lucky, the ex will witness your sordid soirée and exclaim, “Hey, hey, hey, WHAT is going on here?” That is, if your ex is Mr. Belding.

Let’s do an MC Hammer breakdown and review the aforementioned five stages: you’re a loser, you’re a loser, you’re loser, you’re loser, you got an STD and/or you have an obese stalker. Nice. I love dating in college! Thus, in the end, all you’re left with is an iPod that’s like a pink mini bastard child and so little dignity that you would write a blog article about your miserable love life. Well, at least I can brag to “Stupid Jim Hansen” that I made out with a Miss Teen Massachusetts runner up. Unhappy Anniversary!