Sigh. They don't call me Breakup Babe for nothing.

Have I doomed myself with this name? (Some of you astute readers have suggested that before). Maybe I need to call myself "Will Soon Find True Love" Babe or "Bound for the Altar Babe" if I'm *actually* as serious as I say I am about meeting a guy who is right for me.

Because, seriously, I have never gone through so many breakups as I have since dubbing myself Breakup Babe. Granted, I also have a publishing contract, a first novel on the way, and boy-related material that could supply sequels. I have learned a lot (too much!) about dating in your thirties (the men are all married, mentally ill, or emotionally unavailable.) I've dated everyone from unemployed stoners to Microso*t millionaire stoners to doctor stoners!

And what do you know? Here is it is, summer, and I'm single again. Wonder what kind of stoner I'll date next?

Time to don that skimpy clothing and get drunk.

Cheers. I guess. (Picks self up off floor, pretends to feel OK, because isn't this all in a day's work for Breakup Babe?)