Charley was really mad when I told her Ben was seeing someone else. So much so that she asked if she could use my credit card to send him a glitter bomb. I was so down with that idea, I had her send the biggest one the website offered. Apparently, they put a spring mechanism in a box with a shallow cup full of glitter setting on it. When the box is opened, the cup flings out and sprays glitter everywhere. Can you imagine, the herpes of the craft world shooting all over the apartment of your worst enemy? Such a brilliant concept.
Although glitter isn’t even enough to take away the pain of discovering that Ben is a cheating cad. Normally, I’d just chalk the disappointment up to life experience, but that’s not going to work in this situation. I really liked Ben. Really. A lot. Also, I have to see him every week at Wake Up America!, so I won’t just be able to walk away and forget he’s alive. Then a terrible thought hits me. Our kiss is probably going to air on Monday when we’re on TV again. Under no circumstances can I allow that to happen.
I pick up my phone and fire off a text to Waltraut.
LibraGrl: Hey, listen, um … well, it’s like this. Things are not going well between me and Ben and I would really appreciate it if you didn’t air our kiss.
* * *
Waltraut: What happened? I thought you guys had such a great time in Florida.
* * *
LibraGrl: We did, but things turned south after we got back to New York. I know how excited you were about the kiss, but really, you can’t air it, okay?
* * *
Waltraut: It’s already gone to the producers, so I’ll have to talk to them. I’m not sure they’ll pull it though. They were really excited when they saw it.
Damn. Damn. Damndamndamndamndamn.
LibraGrl: See what you can do, okay?
* * *
Waltraut: Of course. It’ll be fun to have you back on Monday. We got a ton of emails and calls from disappointed fans when you weren’t on this week.
I do my best to focus on work for the next few days, but I do a miserable job of it. It’s like I just don’t care anymore.
On Saturday, I fixate on how Ben is going to an engagement party with Gwen this weekend. Are they spending the night? Are they going to get engaged themselves like it sounded like Gwen is expecting? By the late afternoon, I’m so upset I’m ready to rip my hair out or start breaking dishes. I settle for trying to invent the perfect break-up cocktail.
I start with a vodka base, a vodka middle, and a vodka topper. Then I shake it all together. In an attempt at feeling less like a boozy alcoholic, I add a dash of orange juice and turn it into a Screwdriver. Although, I decide to change its name and call it a Screwed-Over-Driver. I drink three of them before the first starts to kick in.
As I’m a total lightweight in the alcohol department, I don’t have a lot of experience with being sloppy drunk. Turns out I don’t like to be drunk alone so I start texting people.
I start with my brother Zay.
LibraGrl: Hey Zay! Ha, get it? HeyZay rhymes! So does, say, Zay wanna play? Hurray!
* * *
Zay: Sera, are you okay?
* * *
LibraGrl: Totes and way!
* * *
Zay: What going on?
* * *
LibraGrl: I’m in the fray of today mon cher-ray!
* * *
Zay: Seriously, I’m going to call the paramedics if you don’t say something that makes sense.
* * *
LibraGrl: …
* * *
LibraGrl: …
* * *
LibraGrl: Men are pigs, eh?
* * *
Zay: Uh-oh. Did something happen with Ben?
* * *
LibraGrl: Dunno. Would you think he’s a cheater if he’s about to marry someone else after sexing me up?
* * *
Zay: Ew.
* * *
LibraGrl: He’s the north end of a southbound donkey all right.
* * *
Zay: Agreed. But never use the words “sex me up” in reference to yourself. Better yet, never use those words.
* * *
LibraGrl: He done me wrong. That low down, good-for-nothing son of a female dog in heat. I hate him. I super double-dog hate him. And I hate his cat, too!
* * *
Zay: Should I come over? You’re making me nervous.
* * *
LibraGrl: I’m not going to stick my head in the microwave if that’s what’s worrying you.
* * *
Zay: I wasn’t until you said that. I’m on my way. Stop texting people, okay? There are some things you can never recover from and drunk texting is one of them.
* * *
LibraGrl: K. Off to text Ben. Gonna give that snake in the grass a piece of my mind!
* * *
Zay: Sera, don’t …
* * *
LibraGrl: BYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!
I feel great. Great like I’m eight out of state carrying freight by the weight. It’s rhyme time, friends of mine. I wander around my apartment when a sudden urge to eat chocolate hits me. I tear through my kitchen cabinets like finding it holds the key to world peace, but the only thing I come up with is unsweetened cocoa.
What kind of Libra doesn’t have a solid chocolate stash? A bad Libra, that’s who. Although, I’ve eaten a ton of chocolate during my mourning period this week which makes me a good Libra again.
I plant myself on a bar stool at the kitchen counter and pour some sugar from the sugar bowl right into the cocoa. Then I stir it before putting a big spoonful into my mouth. It’s dry, very dry, but once I mix it with enough spit it gets better.
I pick up my phone and text Ben.
LibraGrl: You suck eggs, Banana Pants!
When he doesn’t respond, I remember he’s at an engagement party.
LibraGrl: Screw you, you phoney baloney. I hope your boss sends you to Mars and leaves you there.
* * *
LibraGrl: I hope you go on Survivor and they don’t give you any rice and you have to eat rats.
* * *
LibraGrl: I hope when you fall asleep tonight someone sneaks into your apartment and gives you a perm.