Well I’ll have you know THIS; I just got a cheap thrill by groping the flaccid zucchini in the fridge.

There. Are you satisfied?!

I know I promised months ago that I could turn nothing into something by being a talented drama queen, so I’m gonna try. Not just to entertain you, but to entertain myself, for crying out loud, ‘cause the zuchhini just ain’t cuttin’ it (although come to think of it, it probably wouldn’t cheat, lie, and [ARCHIVE SCRUB OCCURRED HERE - OUCH!])

So, here we go. Today I hinted to Sexy Blue-Eyed Boy (SBEB) (not to be confused with Silent But Deadly Boy (SBDB), who is soooo out of the picture) that I liked him. It was a subtle hint. Perhaps too subtle. One might say, perhaps, if one were so inclined, wimpy. But it was a hint nonetheless and if he’s got a male bone (heehee) in his body, he’ll run with it. Or else he DEFINITELY doesn’t like me.

Which would be all for the best because I’m probably just lonely and on the road to embarrassing myself with someone I’ve known forever, BUT…

Drama. We need the drama.

Oh. Yes. Friday is a big day. [BIG ARCHIVE SCRUB OCCURRED HERE - OUCH!]

OK just let me find the Xanax and I’ll be fine. Ah. Much better.

So where was I? Oh yes. This past weekend, I went away. By myself. To write. It felt strangely adult. Frighteningly adult. And just a little sad. Because it was like saying to myself, “I’m moving on.” I am dealing with my abandonment issues and I am letting go of these people who let go of me.

As you know, I’d been dreaming about my father and Loser nonstop. The worst dream came right before the five year anniversary of my dad’s death, when I woke up calling for him, feeling alone and helpless and scared.

Then, a few days later, there I was jauntily getting on a ferry by myself – the same one Loser and I had taken our bikes on so many times before -- to be the independent, adventurous, and only slightly lonely 34-year old woman that I am.

Because, I guess, life goes on. Ob-la-di, ob-la-da and all that, right?

I wish I had something exciting to tell you. Like they finally decided who is going to star in “Breakup Babe in the City”* (not to be confused with “Babe, Pig in the City.”)



Well. Let’s not even go there except to say that Sarah Michelle Gellar was fighting tooth and nail to get the role of Breakup Babe but then some sh*it went down at the studio and now the whole project got downgraded to some TV-Movie-of-the Week-type deal. So now, if I’m lucky, Winona Ryder might play me, but more likely it’ll be some TV star of days gone past who’s trying to make a comeback after rehab like Mackenzie Phillips or Danny Bonaducci.



Anyway. Next on the agenda. Boy news. What other kind of news is there? Cause we all know I’m not about to become Jesus’ little handmaiden** (as was suggested a couple weeks ago) and start helping the homeless or befriending the elderly.



Or, if my conscience does finally kick into gear and I decide to do something good for the world rather than pursue good-for-nothing boys and spend my not-so-hard-earned dollars on slinky outfits, don’t worry, I WON’T WRITE ABOUT IT.



Now. Boy news. I have no new diseases. I’m not pregnant. I’m not married. I’m not infinitesimally close to being married. I am not getting any younger And I have not had s*x in a month. A month! There! Are you happy?!



What? You want details? OK, FINE. You wanna be bored to tears with my (lack of ) sex life? FINE. Whaddya wanna know, you tell me?



YOU: Did you kiss any boys this week, BB?

ME: But of course! Just because I’m not doing IT, doesn’t mean I’m not doing anything, ya know..

YOU: Who'd you kiss??

ME: The L’il Rockclimbing Spy.

YOU: Oooh, he’s too young for you!

ME: Whatever.

YOU: Did you do the nasty?

ME: NO! How many times do I have to tell you that?! Besides, I told him he had to break up w/that 23-year old chick he’s seeing before I’d put out.

YOU: Oooh, is he gonna do it?

ME: Maybe.

YOU: You like him, dontchya? Even though is he waaayyy to young for you! You like him you like him! Hahaha!

ME: No comment.

YOU: All right, fine. So what’s up with Pierced Political Boy in L.A.?

ME: Well we talked on the phone the other day and had a good conversation. And we’re going to see each other in a month.

YOU: That is SO exciting! I’m-I’m–hyperventilating—

ME: Shut up. I told you my news was boring.

YOU: I mean, don’t you even have phone sex with him?

ME: NO! mean, no comment.

YOU: Jeez. T-O-U-C-H-Y. So, I heard you had a crush on a friend of yours. Someone with really sexy blue eyes?

ME: SShhhh!

YOU: What?

ME: I’m embarrassed, OK!

YOU: Why?!

ME: I don’t think he knows I have a crush on him, and I don’t know what to do about it, and--

YOU: Wait. Hold on. You “don’t know what to do about it?” Gimme a f*cking break.

ME: I know, but–maybe it’s just because I’m lonely. I mean, he's really young and --

YOU: Ha. As if young is ever an issue for YOU. Moving on, because we don’t want to hear more about that until you DO something about it, are there any other guys in the picture for BB?

ME: Well, I’m corresponding with an online personals guy in Portland.

YOU: Yawn. I mean, uh, cool. Gonna go down there and get you some hoochie?

ME: NO! God, your obsession with s*x is really getting on my nerves. My blind date in Portland with PPB was so hot that no other blind date in Portland could ever live up to it. But still, this guy wrote me the most charming response to my ad, wanna hear it?

YOU: Uhhh--

ME: "When you decide to move to Portland let me know so that we can begin our courtship, date, become engaged, have children, grow old together, and shop for my hearing aid and your walker." Isn't that sweet?

YOU: That’s fascinating, thanks for sharing.

ME: NO PROBLEM. ANYTIME.



*Thanks for the name, J.

**Thanks for the name, R.

Don’t you hate it when you have a great hair day and there is no one around to appreciate it?



Oh, perhaps the nameless hordes of balding yet ponytailed developers at work appreciated it. You know, the ones eating pizza and chocolate cake for lunch, and adding just a little more padding to that paunch.



Perhaps they appreciated me from afar, thinking: “Who is that strangely stylish girl in this den of fashion iniquty? Look at the way her expensive highlights glint in the sun! Look at the way her hair has just the right amount of pouf because of her meticulous blow-drying technique! Look at how her Mac lipstick perfectly matches that cool shirt she got at a consignment shop! She is...fabulous!”



No doubt there were plenty of people thinking that. If only someone had said something, instead of just me, whispering to myself in the bathroom, “You’re hot!” Willing myself back into the hallway where at any moment I could see the perpetrators of The Great Unpleasantness, the stars of my anguished dreams.



Such was yesterday. Monday. I guess, for a Monday, things could have been worse.



I know your pal Breakup Babe has been a little morose lately. I know you don’t want to hear about bad dreams and loneliness. You want s*x! S*x, boys, and more s*x! Well you got it!



Except, uh...hmm. One little problem. There aren’t any boys, really. And there’s even less s*x. Unlike Sour Bob, I have not fallen madly, annoyingly, in love with a fellow blogger. Well, I could potentially be in love with one if he didn’t live so far away and wasn’t already married to his work. The L’il Rockclimbing Spy, as befits is young age, is about to ship off to foreign lands. Sexy Boy, who seemed like he might, finally be summoning the energy to pursue me, is proving himself as paralyzed as ever. The Mr. Perfect I met through the personals two weeks ago – rich, outdoorsy, altruistic – never even returned the friendly e-mail I wrote him after our date, which is fine because HE WASN’T THAT CUTE ANYWAY.



The galpals have been working it for me though. Galpal #1 picked up a cute boy in a band t-shirt for me on the train the other day (his cuteness remains to be verified), while Galpal #3 met another cute boy (cuteness also remains to be verified) in a band t-shirt yesterday, who she claims she is going to set me up with. Thusly, according to my g-friends, the number one criteria for a boy for me is that he be wearing a band t-shirt.



I wish I could chat for longer but it is time to prepare for work. This will not be a good hair day, and as a result, I will probably run into all sorts of people I hope to impress. Boys in band t-shirts, no doubt.

This apartment needs something. Some dogs or cats or kids or grandparents or husbands or boyfriends or something, someone to love. It's a little lonely 'round here tonight, folks. My heart is too big for this solitude.

OK, so I let myself get distracted. Jesus, I’m only human! It’s been three whole weeks since I’ve gotten any action. And I guess I was just...overdue (like that library book I've had for two years!).



And Pierced Political Boy (PPB) is all moody and distant (try a thousand miles distant), Loser is in my face every single day, reminding me of FAILURE and LOSS, and lately it’s just been me and the Magic Wand.



So. This weekend, I reverted five whole months and fooled around with the L’il Rockclimbing Spy (LRS). For those of who you are new to this three-ring circus, the LRS is a fine l'il thing ten (!) years younger than me -- but Jewish and outdoorsy -- with whom I had a brief but fun fling back in the fall, that ended with “The Weirdness,” as he calls it. First there was a little “incident," which had to do with me accusing him of flirting with every single girl at a party we attended together. He got annoyed by my accusation; I thought he was blowing me off, he thought I was blowing him off, and both of us, thinking we were being rejected, just let the whole thing slide.



I was actually rather proud of myself at the time, because I am not known to just “let things slide” with cute boys, but I told myself “This isn’t going to work out anyway; he's too young; just let it go.” And let it go I did. Tres Zen of me, I know. Maybe I was cutting back on caffeine at the time or something.



But then he came back on the scene a couple months ago, claiming he’d been “amped” (excited) about me, and “jacked” (upset) that it had ended the way it did; and that he was “ready to give it another go.”



Well, my life was crawling with men at the time – Silent but Deadly Boy and PPB (who was, at the time, still sending me five e-mails day; the number has significantly dropped since he actually got me in the sack), and I was like, whatever.



A month or so later, my life isn’t so crawly anymore, and...I dunno, I must be ovulating or something, ‘cause the other night -- my goodness gracious! I’d forgotten how much I liked that smooth, hard, perfectly-muscled body – which, at 24, is much leaner and meaner than the bodies of the late 20- early 30-somethings I’ve been messin' with lately.



But hey, I’m an equal opportunity dater. I actually went out with a 40-year old dude a couple weeks ago (six years older than me, thank you!). And he was cute! But, alas, quite annoying. He had the unfortunate habit of always referring to himself in the third person:



For example:

• “Marco, I said to myself, you must be crazy!”



• “He said to me Marco, if you don’t jump on this opportunity now, you’ll regret it!”



• “I bet you’re thinking right now, Marco, if you don’t stop referring to yourself as Marco all the time, you are about to lose any slim chance you have with me!”


Etc.

I draw the line at old dudes, though. Yesterday, to my disgust, a 55-year old guy answered my personals ad. As if! In his ad, he said he was looking for women ages 30-50. That really gets my blood boiling. What’s wrong with someone his own f**ing age? Too old and wrinkly? I wrote him back and said DUDE, you are too f**ing old for me, but I’ll introduce you to my MOM next time she comes to town!” Sheesh.



I admit it, I like the young ones too. The ones who look like hobbits, don’t have jobs, play in bands, live with parents, climb rocks, smoke pot, etc. But that is because I am a Gemini, the most youthful sign of the Zodiac. However, at least I say on my ad that I am interested in people up to several years older than me. And you old dudes who are rejecting women just because they are your age? You totally suck.



Anyway, getting it on with the LRS was fun. And I just have to point out that he made reference to us getting married no less than three times in less than 24 hours.



But still, the whole thing made me lose what little serenity I’ve accrued these past three dateless weeks (I’m sorry but “Marco” doesn’t count). Sure I’ve been depressed and sleeping all the time, but at least I haven’t been hopping in and out of bed with different boys all the time, getting emotionally attached one minute and having to detach myself the next. Is that what human relationships should be about? I think not.

People, I am in a funk!



This doesn't happen to me much these days because I'm high as a kite on Celexa, but now that there are no boys in the immediate vicinity (not ones that I'm particularly interested in anyway), I am being forced to face my INNER DEMONS, and even Celexa can't protect me from them. Well, maybe if I up the dose.



But I was feeling momentarily unfunkifed there for a while after lying prone on the couch for two straight hours watching "Unfaithful," eating cheesy, chocolatey-type things, and drinking too-sweet Shiraz, when I made the mistake of checking my e-mail. MISTAKE! The only reason I did it was because I was feeling so perky from the wine, Richard Gere, cute French guy, etc., that I decided to go online and pay bills, since my resolution for the month of March is to be more ORGANIZED.



Being online, I just couldn't help my checking my e-mail (how could I help it?) and there was the e-mail I was waiting for - yay! - from Pierced Political Boy. Only thing was, PPB decides to spend a whole paragraph telling me how his ex-girlfriend has called him four times in the last 24 hours to "gloat" about something or other after not returning his phone calls for the past two months.



Um, HELLO? Did I ask to hear about your ex-girlfriend? The one you're supposedly "over?" The one who, whenever you talk about her, you can only say how poorly she treated you when she dumped you, etc? NO, I did NOT ask to hear about her, and if I did, I certainly wouldn't want to hear you gloating about her calling you to gloat about something and how you've been trying to call her for the last two months.



F*ck that. Do I need it? NO.



And now, I got so riled, I'm up waaaay past my bedtime. I sleep ten hours a lately and when I wake up I STILL have no energy. But tomorrow's another day, right? And funks go away right? Right.



Goodnight.