Heartbreak for Dinner: It's Kind of a Long Story (24 page)

No woman is an island, and this book is the sum of all the fascinating
people I have met along the way and the experiences they so kindly offered me. My
apologies to those I forgot in advance. It means nothing except old age is quickly
getting to my once pristine ability at retaining information.

I’m compelled to kick this off by thanking Angie, whose invaluable
gift of loyalty reigns so true it makes me want build a fortress around us and pray
we remain sisters forever. To Jeannie, two decades of friendship classifies you
as family and I love you oh-so-much, even when you think I’m an immoral heaux. My
eternal gratitude goes to Chris, who changed my life by pushing me to write this
book and into the light of something that brings immeasurable joy to my humble existence.
To Cynthi, I’m so lucky to have met you, as you’re the only girl I know that shoots
people for a living and that makes me feel safe and cuddly, like those gummy bears
we love to freeze in vodka jars. To Claudia, Janet, Bee, Honna, and all the friends
who contributed in shaping me to a better version of my former self,
you have
no idea
how much you changed me. This book would not exist without the thousands
of strangers who read my blog and gave me kind words of encouragement. I’m aware
it may not have seemed like much at the time, but for me it was everything.

To all the men of my world, I am eternally indebted to your peculiar
ways of execution. To Douglas, who offered me so much and accepted so little, may
the light always guide you toward places worthy of your soul. To all the boys who
came after, thank you for the hilarity and confusion and writing material; you are
all a bunch of bitches. To Sadick, for being everyone’s husband and personal advisor
on drunken nights we really wanted male perspective, even after our hearts had been
broken for the hundredth time. To Miguel, who’s kindly agreed to marry me if I’m
still single at 35 and I love more than cream-filled donuts after a week on the
Atkins. And last but not least to Xavier, who edited this work and was still able
to look me in the eye after being subjected to my neurosis before anyone else.

A very special recognition goes out to my partner-in-heinous-crimes,
Glenn Rehn. You shall have an infinite supply of vegetarian quesadillas from that
restaurant on 68th once this book makes me famous. Also, I swear to hurl two computers
and a fax machine at you-know-who just like we discussed while I yell, “I’m rich,
bitch!” and jump out the window with a parachute made of garbage bags.

I presume it would be mandatory to take this portion of my acknowledgments
and thank my family, but none of them speak English and it would be a complete waste
of my precious time (te quiero, Mimi). Instead, I will draw them this picture, and
they’ll know exactly what it means:

Thank you, and to all a goodnight.

Annah Rondon is the writer and creator of the (almost) famous
blog titled
Red Means Go
. You probably know more about her than most of her
family if you made it this far, so high-five yourself and take a shot of apple moonshine
right this instant. When she’s not busy writing or stalking Channing Tatum online,
she’s eating tomato sandwiches, cursing people out in traffic, perusing your grandma’s
garage sale, or making duck faces when being photographed in spite of those who
judge her. She currently resides in Miami with her four rescue dogs and stuffed
animal, Sir Care Bear the III. If this book makes her wealthy, she’s moving to Sydney
with her canine zoo and buying a koala, which she shall name Georgia Peaches.

Koalas are pretty damn awesome, guys. But peaches from Georgia
. . . well, they are the absolute best.