Well. You’re going to have to excuse me. Here at BreakupBabe.com, we’re having a bit of an identity crisis, or, as those peace-loving folk the French might say, a crise d’identité.



This is because a friend of mine told me recently that if he read this blog without knowing me, he would think I was (and I quote), “a sex-crazed, power-mongering, VD-ridden, marketing chick.”



What does this matter, you might be thinking? C’mon, just get on with the latest sexcapades! You haven’t written anything for a freakin’ week, and now you want to waste our time with soul-searching?



I will only spend a moment on this, and that is to say: It matters to me because writing is my thing. It troubles me to hear someone say this, because it means I am not communicating to you in the way I should.



Oh sure, there have been sad moments. Times where we’ve all shed a few tears. But they’ve been few and far between, because most of the time, I deal with my sadness and my insecurity by being a brazen, sarcastic, mouse-wielding goddess.



But that’s not me. Or not all of me, anyway. I mean, I’m a nice person. A sweet person. A loving, cuddly, warm person. A scared person sometimes. A lonely person other times. A vulnerable and tender-hearted person. A good friend, kick-ass sister, and a delightful, only slightly difficult daughter. A person who gives my heart away too easily, and then has to mock those who pulverize it so I don’t cry.



That’s all I wanna say. That and you might be seeing more of me soon as I try to make my writing a little more human(e) without losing my edge.



But enough of that. Now…it’s time for BOYS BOYS BOYS! SEX SEX SEX! Oops, wait. Scratch that second one. (There is none of that, remember? I’ve been re-virginized, hallelujah!) And I’ll be brief, because I’ve taken up so much of your time already:



In Brief

Pierced Political Boy

You know, this one made himself out to be something he wasn’t. For months, he posted comments on this here blog, promoting himself like crazy. Giving good advice but pumping himself up in the process.



So we met. We frolicked. A lot. It was hot. Because arrogance, alas, can be sexy. Plus, he was adoring. In person. But with 1000 miles between us, his true colors have come out. Communicative sometimes, but only when it suits him. Cryptic. Non-committal. Self-absorbed. Blowing me off, but not admitting that he’s doing it. In other words: Not f*cking worthy.



Cute Train Boy

Excuse me while I daydream. Oh – wait – you want to hear about him? As you might recall, GalPal #1 (my agent and manager rolled into one), met him on the train from Portland a couple weeks ago. After using ESP to determine that he was my type, she sent a loud machine-gun round of questions his way (no doubt loud enough for the entire car to hear): Are you single how old are you what do you do are you outdoorsy do you want to meet my friend?”



To make a not-very-long-story short: We met. We had fun. He was sweet and smart and together and calm and funny. We kissed. He kissed me without hesitation and yet with the sweetest, most starry-eyed look I've seen since forever. We said we’ll get together again. We’ll see. I hope he doesn’t turn out to be like the rest. Non-commital and cagey. Maybe, just maybe, he’s as sweet as he seems.



‘Cause Lord knows, I could use me a little sugar.