When I started this blog, I let only a few girlfriends read it. Boys were strictly not allowed.



Then my narcissism took over and I expanded my audience. Boys could read it but only boys that I would never possibly get involved with. Boys with whom I had the least bit of a flirtatious relationship with, boys in whom I had even a speck of interest – were still not allowed to read it.



Once, when I had first started it, GalPal #3 let slip the name “Breakup Babe” to her husband,who promptly went and found it. Then he told her, “She should never, ever let any guy she’s interesting in dating read this.” Well no duh.



Of course I still talked about it all the time. To anyone who would listen. My blog this. My blog that. Up until recently, I even told the guys I was actually dating that I had a Web site where I wrote about all our exploits. I just wouldn’t tell them how to find it. For all of them, I think, it was a turn-on.



But I know it’s risky to even mention it. What if one of them were to find it? What a disaster that would be. I’ve had a few nightmares where this or that boy gets online, reads the dirt I’m dishing about him, and starts posting nasty comments.



Well ladies and gentleman, that dream has become a reality. Pierced Political Boy (our Canadadry of last week, I suspect) the one I met, fell for, and, most recently, lost via my blog, is lurking around, angry and upset, waiting for the next mean thing I say to hold up as more proof to himself that I’m a dishonest, game-playing, self-absorbed, insecure mess. Oh, and let’s not forget needy and high-maintenance!



Or maybe he’s come to his senses and stopped reading the blog by now. In any case, this PPB fiasco has just proved what I knew from the beginning: this is no place for any lover, past, future, or present, to be poking around.



This is the place where I laugh about my broken heart to help mend it. This is where I spin stories for your entertainment and mine, where "truth" is sometime twisted for effect. This is the place where I vent about the boys I date to ease the inevitable trauma of dating.



Because if I weren’t laughing; I would be crying. Seriously.



I cry anyway. Pick a guy, any guy, I’ve mentioned in this blog, and if I knew him for more than a month, I probably cried about him. And in fact, if I write something mean about a boy, my meanness is usually in direct proportion to how much I cared for that person.



Loser, for example. Let’s go for a dip in the warm ocean of tears I’ve cried for that guy, shall we?



Except for Loser, though, most guys actually get off pretty easy on this site. I’ve hardly even plumbed the depths of bad male behavior I’ve experienced in the last few months. That’s because, I suppose, my heart hasn’t really gone out to anyone new yet.



Oh, it’s tried. But the right person hasn’t come around, and thanks, in part, to this blog – which allows me to maintain perspective and see the realities of a situation -- I haven’t fallen in love again. Yet.



In any case, when I do, he will most certainly 100% never on pain of death be able to read this blog. And I will never again date anyone I meet through Breakup Babe. I mean, that girl has absolutely no standards. Sheesh.