So I did it. Yay, me!



I dumped someone.



You go girl!



Me, who usually clings to going-nowhere relationships like a life raft in a violent ocean, until cute boy XYZ, aware that we’re going to die a prolonged, painful death anyway, does the humane thing and pushes me overboard. Splash! Gurgle. Drown.



The time, however, it was moi who pushed cute Silent But Deadly Boy (SBDB) and his many chest hairs off the raft. Before he got to tell me “Blah blah there are too many variables (that’s a big word, don’t hurt yourself, SBDB!) in my life to commit blah blah, You’re still hung up on your ex anyway, blah blah, I have a gut feeling we’re not meant to be, blah blah, but by the way, can I f*ck you one more time and say, and can we still do that thre*some?”



Oh, I had loads of fun drinking, dancing, and drugging with SBDB and his big ole’ you-know-what. He was a good rebound. And I suspect Mr. "Too Many Variables" might come crawling back.



You see, that’s my master plan. They’re all going to come crawling back. In fact, they’ve already started. First Sexy Boy (SB), and then the L’il Rockclimbing Spy (LRS). I won’t bore you with the details. Yawn. And I know it has to do with me not being interested in them anymore, which is a subject I don’t really want to explore, because I’ve been told that to keep a guy’s attention, I need to play hard to get or play by The Rules, and I just CAN’T. I’m sorry. I’m constitutionally unable to play hard to get, unless I just don’t f*cking care.



Anyway, it’s nice to have them flitting around, as long as they don’t distract me, which is a danger, as I’m easily distractable.



Meanwhile, I have bigger fish to fry. Yes, Breakup Babe will be going to Los Angeles this weekend for fun in the sun, Hollywood parties, and negotiations for Breakup Babe, The Movie. I’ll be meeting with Marissa Tomei, Sarah Michelle Gellar, and Janean Garafolo, who are absolutely dying to play me, along with Johnny Depp, who has some bee in his bonnet to play the doctor. Pee Wee Herman is auditioning for the role of Loser and they say Brad Pitt wants to play SBDB, but I don’t think he has enough chest hairs.



I’ll also be rendezvousing with the newest and brightest star in the BB galaxy, Pierced Politician Boy (PPB) (PPB, this is the last time you’re allowed to read the blog), with whom I had the most fabulous blind date ever in Portland two weeks ago. Have you ever kissed anyone with a pierced tongue? Highly recommended.

Damn it. Is there anything more annoying than getting ready to break up with someone and having them postpone your date by an hour? Jesus. People have no f*cking consideration. I mean, I'm dressed to the nines, ready to go, and now what? Twiddle my thumbs? I'm gonna get drunk and lose my nerve, I know it. Just like I did last time.

OK, I am not going to beat myself up over my addiction to boys, sex, drama.



(And doesn't this woman sound like my evil twin?)



I want love, just like every other human being on this godforsaken planet. The problem is, and I have just realized it, I am on the f*cking rebound.



My relationship with SBDB? Rebound. That's why I want what he can't give: constant warmth and affection like I got from Loser before he went to the Bad Place.



OK, take a guess; who am I?



Hot

Cold

Hot

Cold



RIGHT! I am SBDB. Now I am HOT because I'm having s*x with you but now I am COLD because well, I could be out at a bar meeting other women right now (not that I really do because I am not very suave but, who knows, if I weren't with you I COULD be!) Oh, I am not being fair. But who gives a sh*t? I can crucify him if I want for dramatic effect, N'EST-CE-PAS?



Yesterday I saw Loser with his new companion. That made my day, as you can imagine. Especially when I waved and said "HI!" and they both ignored me.



Well excuse me! What have I ever done to THEM except be alive and intimidatingly hot?



I cried afterwards. Cried and cried.



And then I realized that all these boys lo these many months? The LRS and Memphis Boy and The Doctor and SBDB? Rebound rebound rebound rebound. Lookin for love in all the wrong places, lookin for love in all the wrong faces, as they say.



Looking for that thing I lost that's never coming back again. At least not until I sit back, take a break, and let it come to me instead of chasing it frantically down every dark alley in Seattle.



Well, now it's time to look inside myself. And I always make these resolutions about how I'm not gonna date for for a month or a week but it ends up lasting about a day, til the next cute boy asks me out and then I feel bad, like look how weak I am.



So I won't make resolutions. Except to try to overcome my fear. The fear that I'll never find anyone again and die old and alone and childless and that if I just keep dating x,y,z, I'll find that "security" I had just six short months ago and will never be lonely again for the rest of my life of course until x,y,z dies in which case maybe I'll be old and alone but not childless.



Anyway, you get the picture.

For someone who has had continual dates for the last four months; who has had a boy to kiss on every occasion; whose life has been a nonstop whirl of sparkly dresses and designer cocktails; who has a great job; a fabulous apartment; perfect health; tons of friends; who is medicated to the gills; and who is (temporarily) a size 4 due to generous sizing on Banana Republic's part; I feel awfully alone and sorry for myself today. Boo hoo hoo.

Really, you know, I just think Banana Republic made an extra large batch of pants.
Could be a marketing ploy. A pretty good one too, dontchya think?

If dating is a rollercoaster (and it is), I've just hurtled through a corkscrew, screamed my way down a thrilling drop, and hit bottom with my stomach left somewhere behind in Portland. Would someone please let me off, please? But the bored roller-coaster guy has gone home to bed and I seem to be alone into this metal box with no rest in sight, until perhaps it decides to become unhinged and goes flying off into the ether with a groan of metal and a firestorm of sparks, at which point -- who knows? -- maybe I'll go join Willie Wonka and Charlie in that great glass elevator in the sky.

You know that when your biggest pleasure in life is spending $120 on two pairs of pants at Banana Republic that something is missing. Love or religion or good deeds for others or something. But they were size 4 pants. Do you know the last time I wore size 4? Never. Do you know how much, a year ago, I wanted to be a size 4 (or a size 6 or even a size 8 for that matter?)



I think I would trade those two pants size back for a little bit of the good stuff again, you know? But maybe it's something that I gotta make happen, not something that some guy who is magically going to fall in love with me and give me a happy ending like in that hokey "Sweet Home Alabama" movie that I watched on the train and which, in my sleep-deprived, emotional state, made me cry for one hour -- is gonna make happen.



I have enough love inside myself for me and a lot of other people in this world, and maybe it's time I get back to trying to help other people for a while instead of bemoaning my own aching heart. And it I happen to look just a little better doing it in my size 4 low-rider Banana Repuplic pants that will pretty much show my butt crack if I'm not careful, well so be it.