So, thanks to the impassioned advice of my pal, The Propagandist, I ripped up that Loser birthday card – the one that called me his beautiful f***ing darling, the one he wrote after he cheated on me – and threw it away.



And it felt…sad.



I immediately wondered “what have I done?” and wanted to gather up those tiny pieces and tape them back together. I hope they emptied my trash at work last night so I don’t have to sit there with those fragments haunting me.



[ARCHIVE SCRUB OCCURRED HERE - OUCH!]



And now, for the latest updates. In a stunning display of cluelessness, Dr. S., now known as MFHPWB (for Mr. Full of Himself Pedriatician Weeny Boy), e-mailed yesterday (a WEDNESDAY) to ask me out for FRIDAY night (as if I wouldn’t have plans, as if I’m sitting around waiting for his weeny-boy self to ask me out), after ignoring TWO of my invitations last week. Like, hello? Even friends respond to invitations yay or nay.



Sigh. The panel of cynical galpals says to respond, simply, "No thank you." But, ice princess though I long to be, this goes so against the grain for me. So I am pondering.



Meanwhile, despite GalPal #2's’ “blah” assessment, Memphis Boy is growing on me. In more ways than one. Heh heh.



Oh, jus' joshin'!



But he's smart and cute and nice and a real li'l thinker. And at least he kisses me now. That’s all I really want out of life, anyway. Kissing is so much better than all that other crap.



I do have to, uh, control myself a li’l bit with him, but a li’l self-control never hurt anyone, right? Ah, the thirties. Gotta love 'em.