OK. So here I am, two months after the latest dating frenzy began, back -- almost -- where I began.



A little older, yes. A little grayer - probably - though my expensive coppery blonde highlights cover it up, mostly. Further along with my book, which means: at least all these stupid guys aren't getting in the way of my quest for bestsellerdom- I mean, artistic fulfillment.



Hipster Hottie Boy seems to have taken himself completely out of the picture. Gone. Like the Wind. Maybe he's got some other action going on, or maybe he was just pretending to swoon over me all evening long on our date, way back when, when I used to have dates, or maybe he's just a girly man. In any case, WHO NEEDS HIM?



He was just a backup for the Captain anyway. Cap'n Fear of Intimacy (CFI), that is.



After our little Discussion on Sunday, I have determined that I should probably toss him overboard before he sinks this little ship. The only problem is, he didn't make that as easy for me as I would have liked. That's because he is passive. Can we spell that children? P-A-S-S-I-V-E.



Captain afraid to make decisions. Captain no want to face own feelings. Captain say, let girl do all work! Much easier! Let girl decide where this going!



I made my position perfectly clear: things aren't working out the way they are, let's either crank it up or ditch this puppy here and now.



It would have been much easier for yours truly if CFI had said sorry, babe, I can't take this any further with you. Love it or leave it. And I would have left it. Toute de suite.



Instead he waffled, hemmed and hawed, changed the subject numerous times, and ultimately put the ball back in my court. Gave me some small indication that, if I expressed exactly how I wanted this relationship to change, he might step up.



The problem is, I don't believe it. But I want to. Of course I want to! I'm a sucker! We all know that. A sucker with a heart that's too big for my own good! A heart that's big, and warm, and open enough to give half of it to him to replace that scared little thing encased in bubble wrap that he's got "beating" in there.



Sigh. That severely underpaid dating coach, GalPal #1 told me in no uncertain terms to dump him. Surrogate family A. and J. advised the same thing. Guypal #1 told me to step back and think about whether the CFI really has the qualities I want in a man. But if I did that, the answer would be NO, NO, NO!



Because The Captain is still a boy, not a man.



But I have a weakness for boys. Clearly, indubitably, obviously, sadly. I myself don't want to grow up, isn't that clear? Why else would I fall for the ones who just aren't ready for me - time and again?

Biopsy results = Inconclusive.

More tests needed.

It's one of those Sunday nights where I want, more than anything, to just forget about myself and my silly heartbroken laments.



In other words, it's a night where I want to hang out with someone. Anyone. And no one is available. It's as if all my friends have left in a spaceship together, or decided to turn off their phones, because who really wants to hear any more of BB's stories about crushes gone wrong?



Who wants to see her big brown eyes brim over with tears when you pass her the parmesan? Who wants to hear about her "desperate," "pathetic" search for someone to love (And thank you, all ye male readers of the last two months who have felt honorbound to tell me what a loser I am! What good deeds you are doing for the world!)



Well. On a completely different note.



In the midst of writing this (as we speak) in my fave coffee shop, who should waltz in here but El Capitan. Who should be sitting across from me as we speak, eating a biscotti, but the person who did not call me this weekend, despite knowing very well that I wanted him too?



Now he just breezily sits down across from me, pretending that I - just like him - am someone who doesn't take my attachments to other people seriously.



Hmm.



Perhaps the showdown is going to come sooner than I thought.



I was going to have that little talk with him that was bound to come sooner or later, but I didn't think it was going to be tonight.



But now? That he's in front of me?



Well, it's a little hard for me to sit here and write and pretend like everything is OK.



SIGH.



Wish me luck.

I do so love it when my readers give me good advice. Here is some I received yesterday regarding men in general, and the Captain in particular:



Go ahead and take chances...If you really like a guy, don't date three at once just so you don't feel exposed. I am not advocating that you hand over the you-know-what card, but rather let yourself be hurt if he turns out to be a sunbeam-walker or whatever your metaphor was. I have to believe that these guys feel your own hesitation to commit and back away. No one likes to feel like one out of three.



This "take chances"philosophy is the one I've been trying to live by the last couple months with the Cap'n. I'm constantly out there on a limb telling him how much I like him, initiating plans with him, and remaining (relatively) undeterred in the face of his reserve. In short, I am trying to coax him out of his big, thick tortoise shell with sugar.



But, I have, as my reader pointed out, been dating other people. And not so much because I want to, but because that's our "agreement." Because I don't want to put all my eggs in one basket, count my chickens, etc. And, because of it, I have had some steamy makeout sessions. Some fun, flirty times in smoky bars.



I think though, that is these other boys, not so much The Captain who feel the one-out-of-three syndrome. Take Hipster Hottie Boy, for example.



I have not heard from him since our group date last Friday, despite the fact that he was clearly into me. There seems to be a consensus among my friends that his feelings were hurt because after our drunken night on the town, I let GalPal #1 drive us home (instead of letting him walk me home), and told her, almost as soon as we got in the car, to drop him off first.



I didn't really think about what effect this might have on a fragile male ego. That, on a second date, after a long night of flirting, a boy's feelings might be hurt if I seemed in a hurry to get rid of him. If I seemed like I wanted to avoid being alone with him.



Which, in a way, I did. But I was one, shy (hard to believe yet true!), and two, hesitant, because well, you know. There's this other guy I'm into so I'm less likely to throw myself into the makeout arena (except when boys come up to visit from Oregon.)



And now? To my chagrin, no word from HHB.



It's such a fine line I'm straddling right now. In being patient with the Cap'n, I worry that I'm just opening myself up for heartbreak again. But I'm doing something differently this time, that I can't quite explain.



It has something to do with patience, and something to do with optimism, and something to do with controlling my own fears and looking at things from someone else's point of view (his.) It has something to do with positive reinforcement instead of pushiness, and something to do with trust. And most of all, it has something to do with me remaining in control and deciding what I want out of this situation - not letting him make the decisions for me.



Maybe my astute reader is right that it doesn't serve any good purpose to go chasing other boys down dark alleys. But it's easy for someone else to say "it's better to let yourself get hurt." How many more times can my heart get broken before it turns into a hardened mass of scar tissue? How many more chances can I take before I decide it's not worth it anymore?



These are the things I still don't know.

Yesterday I got an e-mail from SexyEx, proudly telling me about his new girlfriend and asking me about my status. "Every time I talk to you, you seem to be starting or ending a relationship," he said.



Well YEAH.



And I'm TAHHHHHRED of of it, people. And I fear that something is horribly WROOONNNGG with me, people. And I don't know what to DOOOO about it, people, short of "stop looking" which is the absolute most ridiculous - and common - "advice" that I recieve.



How many times have people said to you, "Oh, I always find someone when I'm not looking." And how many times do you want to slap them upside the head and tell them to shut the f--- up, because what kind of human being doesn't look for love? Losers.



Meanwhile, I have not heard from Hottie Hipster Boy (Or is it Hipster Hottie Boy?) since our date on Friday, but I'm hopeful that his sweet self will call.



I have thought more about the differences between HHB and the Cap'n, because when one is dating two people, what else can one do but compare? And I've realized that HHB, at 28, is a beacon of stability, with a long, steady job and long, steady relationships in his past.



The Cap'n, well. At 34, has neither of those on his resume. And though he claims now, that he is ready for a change; that he is ready to tame his restlessness and root himself in Seattle, I have serious doubts about his ability - and desire - for a serious r-e-l-a-t-i-o-n-s-h-i-p, never mind that he has started to say the most romantic things to me that have ever come from a boy's mouth.



But whatever. At least I have my Art. Breakup Babe the book is about to get sent out in proposal form in short order. And any month now I should be making my rock-and-roll keyboard debut wearing some fabulous outfit.



So really I'm so busy writing and practicing that I'm not looking! I don't have time to care!



(Now if only that were true.)

Well. After last night, Hottie Hipster Boy's stock has risen!!



He is, as Galpal #1 pointed out, the quintessential BB "type:" dark-haired, medium build, hip, hot, happening, and much too young. HHB is alas, a mere infant, clocking in at somewhere around 28.



But never mind that. Although we do at times jump to conclusions about boys around here based on looks and age, we're not doing that right now. We're not that superficial anymore.



So, ignoring his questionable age for the moment, let's look at the facts. HHB is sweet. He's polite. He's attentive and smart, and has a quiet yet friendly way about him that appealed to all of us who shared a long, drunken evening together last night. He's outdoorsy in that studly way that makes me swoon.



Plus, despite the fact that he's barely out of diapers, HHB has cool yet steady job, a nice car, and a beautiful condo in the swankiest part of Capitol Hill.



And he seemed very into yours truly. Always leaning towards me. Laughing appreciatively at my jokes. Gazing at me, according to Galpal #1, "adoringly," whenever I said or did something. I ate it up, as you might imagine. My temperature rises just thinking about it.



But what happens in the next week will be the clincher. If we meet up again, it will be the all-important third date. The kiss has gotta happen then. And he's gotta be the one to ask me out next time, 'cause I did it this time around.



Then, if all that goes down, things will get a lot more complicated in Boyland.



Then again, I'm currently waiting for Mr. Unbearable Lightness of Being (aka the Cap'n) to return a call, and if he doesn't....well, things could be a lot less complicated.



But he better call me, d*mn it.

I know you are all rather confused about who's who and what's what in BreakupBabeLand. So, in preparation for the upcoming weekend, let's do a little review.

• The Jewish Ski God. Out of the picture, ok? It was fun while it lasted - a hot, steamy weekend at the waning end of winter - but it did not have the legs for the long-distance thing (he lived in Oregon, if you may recall.) Or who knows, maybe he found the blog and was so upset about how I desecrated his intellect that he decided never to e-mail me again, but whatever. Next.
  
  
  
  
• The Captain. I think you're all mostly up-to-date on the goings-on of this pretty little pearl in BB's string of commitmentphobic men. Things continue to take on a more serious tone when we're together. The "L" word is hovering in the distance, at least for me, 'cause this boy has the smarts to keep me entertained and challenged, and because he's such a damn fine kisser.
  
  
  
  But. His free-spirited soul, I can tell, is caught between going and staying. Between giving it all - which he's never done before, and dancing off on a sunbeam- which is what he always does. As per usual, I only suspect I'll see the Cap'n this weekend, but I don't know for sure -- because making plans is against his stupid, sunbeam-y religion.
  
  
  
  
• Hipster Hottie Boy (and if anyone has a better name, please share. Do you know how many freakin' acronyms I've had to come up with?)T he one I met skiing two weeks ago? The one who used to date the woman who lived across the hall from me? Well, we had one date last week, and now we have another tonight.
  
  
  
  I didn't have strong feelings one way or the other after that date except that boy is cute, along with an appreciation of his finer qualities: intelligence, confidence, outdoorsiness, book-smarts. Plus, BB is rather crushed out on the Captain. BUT trying to keep her options open, not put all her eggs in one basket, not count her chickens until they're hatched, not build castles in the sky etc etc. So HHB is definitely worth a second date.

That's the goods. Over and out.

This work week is only two and one-eighths of the way done and already it's been a bitch.



Yours truly has been down in the dumps.



Yes, I know I have my health. A cush job. A swank apartment. Everything I could possibly want, actually! Except a dog. A cute boy to love for sure and forever.



And my dad.



My dad died six years ago tomorrow.



Back then, I was kind of a mess (if you can imagine that). Gainfully employed, yes, precariously launched on my career path as a writer, but still struggling with the discipline and drive it would take to succeed. I had a boy to love, but it was a dead-end street and I didn't want to admit it.



My father, though, always talked me through everything. If I needed advice, I called him. If I needed encouragement, I called him. If I'd just done something I was proud of, I called him.



In the last few years, our relationship was better on the phone. The few times a year I saw him in person were always a shock. During the last few years, he looked sicker each time. More hollow, more withdrawn, more frail. I didn't know what to say to bring back the man who had been the sarcastic and charismatic center of our family for so long.



But on the phone, he was always talkative. Enthusiastic. Excited to hear about my life, my plans, my outdoor adventures. I went out and had adventures just so I could tell him about them.



Not long before he died, I dreamt I was walking down a busy street talking to him on a cell phone. As I walked through a crosswalk, the line faded in and out several times.



"Dad," I yelled! "Dad!" I could hear his voice still, but it was garbled. Not making any sense.



Then I lost the signal altogether.



I've still got my mom and L'il Sis of course. The newest addition to the family - Super-Brother-in-Law. A passel of great friends.



But this time of year, especially, I miss my dad.



There's only so many people in your life who will love you unconditionally. And if you're lucky, which I was, your father is one of those people.



And when you've spent the last year dealing with heartbreak and grief, and trying to get your shit together again so that you can love someone and they can love you - well, that unconditional Dad love would come in real handy right about now.

I would be remiss if I did not tell you; I am still holding the you-know-what card.



I've never held it for this long.



He asks for it a little more each time, and you know what? Soon he's going to be begging!



And when he does, when he's so overcome with desire that he gets on his knees and says "What will it take? What do I need to do to? Tell me! PLEASE!!"



I'll say, "Honey, it's simple. We're talking 20 karats, a mere $6000, and the rest of your life."



Or maybe I'll just say, "OK, buddy boy, I'll have s*x with you once you're willing to make a plan with me more than five minutes in advance."



Whatever I ask him, it's going to be a very small price to pay for what he gets.

OK, was I high on something last week or what?



As my wise friend AB pointed out, I am binge dating again, and it's just not healthy!



I went on three freakin' dates last week, and I'm telling you, people, I just don't have time for that nonsense. I have serious work to do before I can become a bestselling novelist/rock star and these alcohol-laden, late-night dates are getting in the way.



But really, it's all because I like The Cap'n so much and though things seem to be progressing well, I'm trying to protect myself from getting hurt. In other words, I'm engaged in some serious DefensiveDating(tm) right now.



Though I may get temporarily high on the bright lights, and the glamor, and the (fleeting) power I seem to hold over men, I'm tired of it all. Just plain old tired.



So what I want to know is this: when do I get to let my defenses down?

Delving into the archives, I see that approximately two months ago I was in a dating slump. Whining about it too.



Well! I have come out of the slump swinging!



It's like the early days of the tech boom. Back then, I could fire my resume off, and within hours - minutes! - some dot com manager would be on the phone begging me to edit Web copy at some ridiculously high rate (three free catered meals a day and alcohol-soaked parties included!)



These days, my phone number seems to have the same effect. Why, just this weekend, up at my little ski retreat, with the Cap'n safely back in Seattle, I ran into a handsome, dark-haired, ski stud (yes,another one!) who looked awfully familiar (no it wasn't the Jewish Ski God!)



After chatting for a bit, we figured it out. He used to date the woman who lived right across the hall from me. For a year I saw the two of them parading in out and out together, late at night, early in the morning, as pretty a couple as you could ever hope to be. And I always felt a pang of loss for the companionship I once had, while also thinking Damn that boy is cute.



"Well," I say, when we realized who the other was, "She just bought a house right? Do you live there together?"



"No," he says shaking is head, his brown eyes filled with regret. "We broke up in May."



HELLO!



"Oh really," I say, shaking my own head in sympathy. "That's too bad." NOT.



So, having nothing to lose, and expecting nothing in return, I instruct the owner of the lodge, by now a friend of mine after so many years, to hand him my card after I leave.



And voila - like magic - two days later he calls! I've not spoken to him yet, but the funny, articulate message he left makes me think he could actually be a threat to the Cap. Then again, the Jewish Ski God faded in and out like a hologram,so you never know.



But I'm on a roll, no doubt about it. Whoohoo!

All right, all right, sorry for that delay. I've been gallavanting about in the mountains, and trying to charm the pants off The Captain.



Wait a minute. That didn't come out right.



Getting him to take his pants off is not the problem. I mean, is it a problem for ANY guy? Have you noticed that they just love to walk around with their pants off, preferably with some tacky t-shirt on top, sack o' goodies waving freely in the wind?



But I digress. No matter what you think, I am not obsessed with the male anatomy just because I have not HAD SEX IN ---



Never mind. It's not because The Cap'n hasn't tried. He's trying all right. But here's my plan - and tell me what you think - next time he asks if he can f*ck me, I'll say - "Sure -- once I see that ENGAGEMENT RING!!"



I don't see how this plan can fail, do you?



There is the slight issue of his committmentphobia, and the fact that he's - oh - never had a girlfriend, much less a fiancee, but my new M.O. is to be postive! Optimistic!



Plus, we had a fabulous 28-hour date this past weekend, during which The Cap could not seem to get enough of my charming company. And lest you think it is all about how he feels about me - I like the Cap because he is smart, funny, sarcastic as hell, and sweetly loving under that cynical exterior. Plus he likes to talk about books and travel around the world.



Now, the Jewish Ski God was hot - dark-haired, smoldering - in a way that appealed to me instinctively. My attraction to him was tres physical.



The Cap'n, with his rangy build and fair hair is not so much my type. Physically. But intellectually? It's the Cap'n who turns me on. And besides, he's one hell of a sexy salsa dancer.



So. The JSG is out. In my old age, I have learned (the hard way) that physical attraction does not a relationship make. Besides, Galpal #1 has ordered me to let him go because she finds his e-mails (which I forward to her on a regular basis) insufferably boring. To quote:



"If you don't dump him I'm likely to whack him over your sink someday so you're really doing us all a favor by ending this now."



So what choice do I have? It's a good thing he doesn't live here because just looking at him made me melt into a puddle on the floor.



Meanwhile, per my agreement with The Cap'n, I'm keeping my dating options open. Why, I have a date with a hot architect in San Francisco when I go down for my mother's birthday next month! Oh, and a date with a l'il hipster musician/rich computer programmer boy tomorrow.



But here it is - I'm holding out hope for me and the Cap. He's got issues, that's for sure. But I've said it before and I'll say it again: I have a good feeling about this one.



And you can quote me on that.

After a pleasant evening spent conversing with my insightful friend Guypal #1, I have come to see an essential truth about my dating behavior that I did not see before:



I am effed up.



I can attract men but not keep them. At least not the ones I want.



I go into every dating situation assuming it's not going to work out, assuming the guy is a jerk, assuming they won't want me.



So is it such a surprise that that usually happens? Someone famous said something smart like "Attitude determines outcome." Well if that's true no wonder I usually end up crying in my beer.



Here's what I want. I want to be in control without being detached. I want to be assertive without being pushy. I don't want to have a nervous breakdown because some guy hasn't sent me an e-mail in the last two hours. I don't want to freak out because things aren't going exactly how I think they should go.



I want to have patience.



I want to go into each situation knowing - and remembering this - I am very worthy of someone's love. And sometimes, I don't know why, I forget this very simple fact.

Egads, how did I go from being a nun to dating two people at once? It's so last year of me!



And why am I suddenly so paranoid that one or both of them is going to find this thing and dump me flat on my a*s?

All right, I'm sorry to say, but the Jewish Ski God was not cute.



No. He was hot. Infernally hot.



Damn it.



This is not good news for yours truly.



Yours truly does not need to be in lust with a gorgeous Jewish lawyer/outdoor God who currently lives in Salem, Oregon, and in two months is about to return to his hometown of Lake Tahoe. Nevermind that yours truly would probably move to Tahoe in a shot if she found the right guy (and he DID ask if I'd consider moving there).



I mean, I love Seattle and all my friends here, but we're talking biological destiny. It is TIME for me and my darling unborn children to get a move on here. Chop chop!



Besides, I would never move to some random place without the caveat that my beloved husband would consider, at some point, moving back to my beloved Seattle. And the JSG did say he'd consider it.



I'm too full of lust to tell though, if the JSG and I are truly compatible. He has many qualities that I've oft looked for in a man, and a few that I'm ashamed to admit I like. The ex-bad boy thing, for example. The quasi frat boy side. The ski stud persona coupled with an unrelentingly (sometimes annoyingly) intellectual brain. All this paired with a flirty, take-charge, sexy, affectionate alpha male, and oh my. You got the stuff that girly wet dreams are made of.



At least this girly's wet dreams.



That is not to say he is perfect. He takes himself a bit too seriously. He can be kinda full of himself and kind of exhausting, and ask silly questions at the end of a long, hard day, like "What is your favorite analogy for life?"



The Captain, on the other hand, with his tongue always in cheek, would never ask such a question. The Cap - who I have not forgotten, though it may seem I have - is fully sarcastic and cynical all of the time, which I have to admit, I like.



And if only the Cap had been a little less flaky about planning this weekend with me, I would never have invited the JSG up into my apartment, my city, my heart. But there you have it. The Cap is cagey. He wants to spend time with me, but on his own terms, and maybe, just maybe, I'm the same.



So with all that stake-putting-in-the-ground action between the two of us, the Cap and I could never quite agree on a plan for this weekend, and meanwhile JSG was expressing an infectious enthusiasm to come meet me, so what could I do?



And now? It's anyone's guess what will happen.



I still predict I'll die old and alone, locked up in my sister's attic with only my yellowing snapshots for companions.



But damn, at least the makeout action has been good lately!