You already know this if you follow me on Twitter but for those who don’t, well, the guy friend and I have parted ways. Which all happened in a grueling three-hour conversation last night, during which time I became progressively more drunk and more irked. I am not proud of everything I said, but I am proud of the fact that for once in my (relationship) life I stood up for myself and what I want and deserve from my partner. And he wasn’t able to meet me there, so, he’s out. I don’t want to share details any further than that, but let’s say it really wasn’t pretty.

On that note, I am blasting Ani Difranco’s Not a Pretty Girl as I type this, thanks to my girl Clarabella. She posted the most perfect song, “Asking too Much,” for me on her Tumblr today after I declared it to be Ani Difranco Time until further notice, which reminded me I hadn’t listened to that album in far too long. Oh, you didn’t know I was a Righteous Babe? You should have guessed.

Check out the lyrics to this song because they pretty much spell it all out — the themes if not the actual events — and I’d rather have you read or listen to Ani’s version than have to clumsily explain everything that went wrong myself. As I said earlier today, it is the smallest of small satisfactions that I called it before it happened, but I’ll take it. I saw this one coming and had appropriately steeled myself.

The only thing I forgot was to stock my kitchen with booze, my medicine cabinet with Advil, and my fridge with Diet Coke. Thus, I had to venture out to our weekly pub trivia tonight for boozy reinforcements. In case the guy showed up I was armed with 4″ heels that make me an imposing 6’1″, which is a whopping 9″ taller than he is. I may be petty but at least I am not small.

(I am also not proud of that low blow, but what do you want from me when the metaphorical bruises are this fresh? At any rate, a low blow is the only kind that would hit its mark.)

But I don’t want to talk about any of this, least of all that he did in fact show up tonight in spite of the fact that these people were my friends first and I have fucking DIBS goddammit.

Here’s what I do want to talk about: You. You people. I drunkenly posted about my hurt feelings on Twitter late last night and right away my night-owl friends were chiming in with messages of support and friendship. This morning when I woke up with a hangover and a migraine and a sadness, I had tweets, DMs, emails, and texts from friends all around — many of whom I know in person, but many others are blog and Twitter friends I have never even met in person. It always amazes me how the community of friends you can make through writing online can turn out to give so much support and kindness and love and good humor just when you need it most.

So thank you for letting me know you have my back and making me laugh (or cry sweet/happy tears) and generally shoring me up when I am feeling shitty.

Thank you.

I have written before about how hard it is to put myself out there emotionally and to connect with people, but the thing is that it has never been hard for me to do that in writing. That’s why I have this website. I can put it here. I can be honest and ugly and vulnerable when I am writing and I suppose there is some risk inherent in that (someone might be offended or hurt by what I write; people I work with might see me in a less-than-professional light; there might be some as-yet-unimagined consequence to writing about my life publicly), but the risk in this case is worth it.

I put it here and you read it. Maybe you identify with me; maybe you advise me; maybe you laugh with me; maybe you are entertained. Usually you understand and you are kind and receptive and clever and funny about it and I so, so appreciate this.

Accepting the risk of being vulnerable in personal/dating relationships is a lot fucking harder for me. But you know, I tried. I tried really hard and it wasn’t good enough but I am not done trying.