It’s dark, it’s friggin’ cold, it’s 5:30 a.m., and I’m driving to Washington, D.C. 

I’m not looking forward to what lies ahead.  Yesterday night, I said goodbye to my lovely, little mountain hometown, my lovely hometown friends, and my lovely boyfriend.  My lovely, 19-year-old boyfriend.  Yes, I said 19.  I’m 25.  We met at the ski area where I worked.  We were both instructors.  A 19-year-old ski instructor.  Don’t judge me…look,  let’s be perfectly honest:  men don’t mature, so you might as well go for the young ones -- they have the nicest bodies…  And lemme just tell you, if you’re in the market for a nice patoutie -- a 19-year-old ski instructor is about the best you can get.  So what if I had to buy him beer.

Jeez, I’m kinda mean before my first cup of coffee.  Excuse me while I get some caffeine.

Anyway, I’m moving to D.C.  Miss Robin is going to D.C.  I am giving up my glamorous snow-bunny life and taking an office job.  On Capitol Hill.  In D.C.  My first real job.  Never in a million years I thought I’d have one.  Scratch that, it paints the wrong picture.  I meant never in a million years did I think I’d have to GET one.  But more on that later;  I need to drink more coffee.  Let’s go back to the simple stuff.

And it’s way too cold to be March, and it’s still dark, I want to go back to sleep, and I just broke up with my 19-year old boyfriend.  But I’m not upset about the break-up, even though he was incredibly cute, and awesome skier, and would probably make one hell of a father.  Why?

All Relationships End.

Now I bet you’re thinking, “Cynical little bitch, drink some more of that java and don’t talk to me until you’re fully awake.”

 But I’m not a cynical little bitch. Really.

All Relationships End was going to be title of Chapter One of the book I was going to write. Well, my friend Shane and I were going to write -- on dating. It would have started off like this:

How to Not Be a Stupid Moron While Dating in the New Millenium

      By, Miss Robin and Mr. Shane, Relationship Counsellors Extraordinaire

As the 20^th century draws to a close, we, Miss Robin and Mister Shane, Relationship Consellors Extraordinaire,  thought it would be a service to mankind if we laid out some guidelines for all those searching for true love.  Yes, the roles of men and women have changed much during the past thousand, the past hundred years, the past fifty years, and heck, even in our lifetime.  This ever-evolving symbiosis of male and female has left us… well, I hate to say it, STUPID MORONS.

But then Shane met some chick, got all whipped, and ceased calling me.  Stupid moron.

So then I was going to write the book myself.  While I was a ski instructor, and living in my parents’ attic.  (Hey, ski instructors make 6 bucks an hour and I had to pay down my pesty Discover Card bill, so it was, "Hello mom and dad!")

I felt it necessary, because well, because modern man is not schooled in how to avoid being a stupid moron went it comes to dating.  According to legend, such teachings do exist, though.  They carved on ivory tablet, hidden in a tomb nestled in the rainforests of Madagascar, and guarded by giant flesh-eating grasshoppers. 

But I’m not that all that adventurous. So, if you thought I fought off an army big-ol’ bugs just for the chance to write a book that will save mankind’s happy asses from moronity – you’re wrong.  However, I was going to pitch my tome as:

An attempt to recreate the ancient teachings through meditation, seances, and careful observation of present day follies, which if followed correctly will:

1)     get one plenty of nookie

and

2)     make the world a better place for everyone else.

But then this job thing happened.  It happened to me, care of the people whose attic I was living in.  Thanks mom and dad.  More on this later.

Now, back to breaking up.  All relationships end, so we shouldn’t be sad when it happens.  We should just be glad that somebody, somewhere, for a period of time made us happy.  Isn’t that so Zen?  My very dear friend, Jay, gave me this little bit of advice.  But then again, Jay married his high school sweetheart, which makes me think that Jay isn’t quite the breaking-up expert. 

Let’s just pretend for a moment that Jay isn’t full of shit, that he is actually right, even though he’s only ever had one girlfriend, and knows nothing about dumping or getting dumped. People make each other happy, happy, giddy, horny, whatnot, and because of that, they enter into a relationship.  Now this relationship -- or sharing of happiness, if you will -- could end when one of them, God forbid, passes on.  Or, it could be sooner.  (In Jay’s case, it could be the moment that wifie finds out what happened at his bachelor party.)

 The point I’m trying to make is that if you are really, really, lucky, you will have one Darling, and this Darling will eventually leave you, too.  But when you look at the statistics, the average person will be dumped, kicked to the curb, dicked over, have their hearts ripped out, or otherwise be broken up with about 50 more times than they would have liked. Likewise, they will have the pleasure of doing it to someone else about the same number of times.   So breaking up is no big deal.  Get over it – it was pretty much meant to be.

And if you can find a way to make me believe that breaking up is no big deal -- I’d really like to know. 

Fine, here’s what’s bugging me.  Even though, it was my idea to break up, it wasn’t my idea for him to answer, “Well, okay.  You’re moving anyway.”  He should’ve put up a fight! I’m smart;  I’m funny;  I’m cute.  A little old, but still cute.  I thought he would say we could still be friends;  that he’d like to come down and visit.  Or that he loved me and wanted to make it work. But no, he tossed me away like a used lift-ticket!  I’m a season pass!

Anyway, I’m going to D.C., and there, I shall meet someone better.

I shall meet someone better, and I’ll be making plenty o’dough.  40 thousand a year!

Life will be grand!

I hope.