It’s Called a Breakup Because It’s Broken: The Smart Girl’s Breakup Buddy

It’s Called a Breakup Because It’s Broken: The Smart Girl’s Breakup Buddy
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The latest book by Greg Behrendt, author of the multi-million plus copy bestseller ‘He’s Just Not That Into You’, is another hilarious, wry and wise take on relationships and how to move on when one goes sour.‘He's Just Not That Into You’ is more than a book. It's a revolution. The phrase, coined by Behrendt for an episode of ‘Sex and the City’, has now entered the language: it features in ads, it’s referred to in newspaper headlines and it has spawned spin-off spoof books and more.‘It's Called A Break-up Because It’s Broken’ promises to do this and more. It will help you get over anyone and move on. Behrendt's voice is unique – combining tell-it-like-it-is advice with humour and the 'guy's eye view'. The book is filled with solid advice to help you let go of your ex – for example: 'It's 3 am, the bottle of wine is empty, do you really want to make that call?'Each insightful chapter is complemented with a Q-and-A with Greg on what he's thinking, case studies, and games. Greg and Amiira tackle tough issues such as break-up sex, how not to lose your friends during a break-up, and 10 great places to cry. It's the ultimate read and reference for anyone who has ever been in a relationship.

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HarperElement

An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.hapercollins.co.uk

First published in the US by Broadway Books 2005

This edition published by HarperElement 2006

Copyright © Greg Behrendt and Amiira Ruotola-Behrendt 2005

Greg Behrendt and Amiira Ruotola-Behrendt assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.

Source ISBN: 9780007225187

Ebook Edition © AUGUST 2009 ISBN: 9780007343508 Version: 2015-02-02

This book is for the True and Mighty.

Long, long ago in a sad galaxy far far away, I was dating this stone-cold Superfox. And when I say dating, what I really mean to say is that I was sick in love with her, while she thought I was a “really good guy.” Needless to say, things fell apart. We had one of those awkward breakups where you’re living together and sleeping in the same bed but you’re not going out anymore. “Excuse me, I know you’re seeing someone else, but can I have some of that pillow?” Ouch. Who does that? Me, as it turns out. I was so smitten (read: in love with not getting what I want) with this girl that I was sure that if I was just near her, taking any crumb thrown my way and drinking myself to sleep every night, she’d find me attractive again and want my sad ass back. Well, it wasn’t long before she decided to bail. So off she went to New York to pursue her career, and, more important, her new man.

Now, you’d think that after someone leaves you for another person and moves to another city across the country you would get that it’s over, because it is. But I didn’t. I was in love with the romantic and ill-conceived idea that I could get her back. And how would I do that? Drunken late-night phone calls rife with begging and tears. Bravo! How hot is that? Sooooo not hot, and not the least bit effective, either. Not only was I dragging my heart through the muck, but also my dignity. I had managed to degrade myself even further—from someone she wasn’t in love with anymore to someone she pitied and avoided. Now, to be fair, this particular girl was patient and tolerant with me, but I was making life miserable for her. I began to alienate my good friends with my obsession, my work began to suffer, and I looked like shit. Even worse, I was drinking like it was the day before Prohibition.

Well, one night after too many tequila shots I figured I would blow in a call to Ms. New York City just to see if there had been any change in her insistence that she was not the girl for me. (Here’s where the story gets good.) She was living in the New York Paramount Hotel at the time, waiting for her apartment to open up. With the number committed to memory, I drunk-dialed…“Paramount Hotel,” said the fellow on the other end. Now realize this: It’s probably 2:30 A.M. Los Angeles time, making it 5:30 A.M. in New York. I don’t know the exact time because numbers weren’t making sense. Good start. So the desk clerk answers, “Paramount Hotel. How may I direct your call?” Well, I was so smashed that I couldn’t even pronounce my lady’s name. Seriously, I’d have made more sense if I’d just barked like a dog. The desk clerk said, “I’m sorry, sir, can you say that again?” I tried again, unsuccessfully. “Sir, perhaps you’d like to spell it?” (Oh my God, man! Have some self-respect. Put down the phone, Greg!) But I didn’t. I took a stab at spelling it. Finally, he understood whom it was that I was trying to reach. But right before he was about to put me through to her room he said the most amazing thing. He said, “Are you sure you want to make this call, sir?” What? I thought. Are you kidding me? Out of the drunken blackness came this anonymous voice of concern. “Am I sure I want to make this call?” And I had a moment. No, I thought, I don’t want to make this call. I’ve made this call before. This call never works out. This call always makes it worse. This call takes me further and further away from the place I want to be. Which is a place that is dignified and cool. “No,” I said. “I don’t want to make this call. Thanks.” And I hung up and passed out, fully clothed, the last shreds of my dignity still intact.



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