Just for today, it's OK to not have a boyfriend. In the past, I turned to relationships with men to fill the emptiness and pain left over from my childhood. While I am tempted to call my last boyfriend, I know today that it's not appropriate to call people whom I have told "I don't want to speak to you again." Just for today I can let go of old relationships. And if I choose to drive by his place of employment or home, I can let go of any thoughts I might have of what he is doing, where he is going and who he is with. I can also let go of how little he is thinking of me. Letting go is a new process for me. Perhaps, just for today, I can start by letting go of my thoughts about letting go of an old relationship and understand that God hasn't lost my file - it's just slightly misplaced.

In a concerted effort to avoid returning to fantasies of old boyfriends (which inevitably lead to phone calls TO old boyfriends, which consequently lead to DATES WITH old boyfriends, and so on...), I have decided to turn my thoughts over to an ideal of a healthy relationship. So, you ask, what is a healthy relatioship? Good question. A healthy relationships involves very little drama, guilt and manipulation. Having obtained a black-belt in guilt, I have since decided to lay down these apparent useless skills (unless I'm working in sales or raising money for a non-profit) and approach the world of dating with a "for fun and for free attitude." In my pre-Debtor's Anonymous days, I did master the "free" part of this philsophy and used dating as a tool for eating out (today I always shoot for Even Steven). A healthy relationship makes people want to spend time together and share things together. A healthy relationship fuels trust and confidence and helps each participant be more fully themselves. Just for today, I can fantasize about a healthy relationship.

I am not only willing, I am committed to letting go of old boyfriend(s) who can't, or don't want, or don't know how, or have issues with their parents so they can't, or whatever (I'm not really interested anymore), HAVE A LOVING RELATIONSHIP. Tonight, I will light a candle (which I actually do every night) and write said person's name and burn it (except I might do it over the kitchen sink because fire scares me). Or maybe I'll discover a new ritual that doesn't involve fire. Maybe I'll write his name on a napkin and turn the faucet on so that it makes the napkin so wet you can't read his name! (Though, that doesn't have quite the power that fire does). Ok, on second thought, I'll rip it and put it in the freezer! OK, so who really cares what new methods I employ...the point is, is that I'm willing to have a loving relationship with someone who is free from all of their crap. Just for today, I can let go (for real this time.)

I am over the hump of extreme grief that came up upon hearing about my ex-boyfriend's new relationship. Having spoken to him, I remember why things didn't work out with him. While I'm struggling to have a conscious life and be present in my feelings, he is still living on planet Emotional Shut-Down. There were other small differences, but I wonder if those matter at all. Do I really need to be with someone who read "The Great Gatsby" twenty times? Do I care if someone shares my political beliefs? Do I really care what my partner thinks about our president? What does all that matter, if two people can share their feelings of mutual love and respect. I guess I'm relieved to know that I'm not as shallow as I thought I was. I guess what I really want is to be with someone who knows what's going on with himself. Just for today, I am getting over the pain of breaking up.

So many people are desperately searching for love. Fortunately for me I have several miserable past relationships to reflect upon whenever I begin to feel like the only single person in the world. At those times I can realize that being single is infinitely better than being enmeshed in a sexless co-dependent relationship. If it weren't for the time spent in such relationships, I would never know the joy of being single. Just for today, I can be grateful for my extensive history of dysfunctional relationships.

My psychic friend Lucinda gave me a reading last night about my relationships. She told me that none of my recent relatioships were or are my soul mates. She does see me with my soul mate who apparently is a slob and turns to me for emotional support so he can go out in the world and be a big shot. I tried to explain to her that she must be getting the past, because if that's my future, I really don't want anything to do with it. Last thing I need is to be chained to some guy who needs to be picked up after and who will suck me dry emotionally. Hey, if I had emotional support to give I would be giving it to myself. Who cares how much money this guy makes or prestige he has in the world. I'm not interested in sleeping with a resume. I guess it's my fault for asking her in the first place. Just for today, I can ignore psychic readings.

Do I really need to wait for my soul mate? This question is the single most plaguing, most tormenting question in the dating world. All the books written by married people say that you just can't know anybody for the first three months. But if someone is my soul mate, doesn't that, by definition, mean that I know him already? I know that I've met at least two soul mates in my life, and, yet, I still haven't found a committed relationship. My first soul mate I met when I was 12, right before he went into Juvenile Hall for selling pot and throwing a desk on a teacher. My most recent soul mate is currently in Paris with his new girlfriend. As far as I'm concerned, soul mates haven't really enriched my life so much as given me reason to lament. The only thing that keeps me looking for my soul mate is my worry that I wouldn't be able to stick out a long-term relationship with anybody else. Just for today, I can hold out for my soul mate.

Whenever I complain about coming home to an empty apartment, my pet-owning friends insist that I get a cat or dog. My response: why don't I just throw in the towel altogether and shoot myself in the head?! While I know they love their pets and only want what's best for me, and while I love animals, too, I just find the prospect of substituting the need for human companionship with another species, a little disturbing. Sure, I could sleep with my cat or dog, but is that really what's best for all of us? If that takes away the loneliness, why should I date ever again? Perhaps my heart is cold and shriveled and that's why I am single in the first place. And maybe a litter box, and hair, and feces isn't really too big of a price to pay for having another mammal in my space. Just for today, I am open to the prospect of being a pet-owner.

Who is John Gray (the guy who wrote Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus) to say that I, as a woman, get my self-esteem and identity from my relationships? Who says that I don't get self-esteem from accomplishments out in the world? Who says that I don't go into my own cave in relationships? Why does this simple, control-freak of a man sell so many books? I weep for those who have tried to fit into his vision of women. It must be a Stepford Man's wet dream to write a book that women read and try to follow to find love. I now proclaim October 22nd "Dating Book Burning Day" for all those heathens who dare strive for honesty and integrity in their relationships.

I had a minor breakthrough (though now, like all breakthroughs, it seems painfully obvious) about the nature of relationships. It sort of falls in line with the breakthrough I had after college when I realized that I believed that the majority of professional middle to upper class Americans LOVE their jobs (this is when I was 22). After entering the workforce, however, I came to the realization that this may not always be the case.

Recently, (like this weekend), I realized that, concurrently, I have always believed that ALL people in relationships LOVE their partners or significant others absolutely and without a shadow of a doubt and that's why they are with them. Certain awarenesses have made me realize, again, that this may not always be the case, as well. In the case of jobs, I eventually came to see that while there are people who do get to be Rock Stars and Professional Athletes, and many who love being Restaurant Managers or Surveyors or Gardeners, or Whatever, and some less-privilged or less-entitled-feeling people who greatly appreciate work that some consider menial, the majority of people don't tap dance to work... Likewise, people may be in relationships with others for a variety of reasons.

This breakthrough falls in line with one I had many years ago when I realized that OTHER PEOPLE HAVE PROBLEMS, TOO! No matter how well they act like they don't.

I think the real breakthrough is BOY, AM I SELF-ABSORBED!

Just for today, I can take a look at my unconscious beliefs.

I am realizing the importance of boundaries. And I'm not talking about the controlling manipulative kind (for instance, "Excuse me, but I'm going to have to set a boundary about you talking about the weather. I have weather issues, because in my childhood the weather changed a lot, so it brings up a lot of trauma for me to listen to you talk about how it might rain later today.") I'm talking more like ghetto boundaries, like "no, she dint," and that sort of thing. The kind that kept Russia from pulverizing the US in the cold war. The kind that make people think twice about making fun of Mike Tyson to his face.

I think in the past I confused kindness with disconnection with reality. If someone acts like a horror show bitch it's within the natural course of events, intuitive for most people, to a) stay away or b) behave or talk in some manner that effectually sends the message to "*#% off," it doesn't really matter how. I think when Jesus said, "Turn the other cheek" he was just misquoted and didn't get to finish his sentence (which so often happens to celebrities). He probably wanted to say something like, "Turn the other cheek to someone who has their act together (assuming that there is an Aramaic expression for 'get your act together'), or to something joyful in your life." But Luke (or whoever) just wrote down what he wanted to hear because he wanted to justify his own abusive behavior to his wife (or whoever). And what better way to guilt someone into condoning your behavior than to say "Hey, according to Jesus, you need to accept me more and not dwell on how I just threw a tantrum and broke all the water jugs!"

Just for today, I embrace my own boundaries.

Every time I talk to my one friend she has a different relationship status. "We're totally in love!" or "We're just good friends!" or "It's totally over!" I'm totally cool with whatever she does because I understand that it's a "process."

I no longer have a problem with my girlfriends (or guy friends) sharing with me about their bad relationship woes and then going back for more. The truth is, the only way to know what a good relationship is, is to experience a lot of bad and mediocre ones, whether it be in one particular relationship, or in multiple ones that are really the same one with different names and faces. (And, hey, I admit that it takes two to Tango, and that as fabulous as I am, I may have been more than one guys bad relationship...cuz, if it ain't right, it ain't right on both sides...see? I'm mature.)

It never works to just ditch the guy, because you'll meet him again five seconds later at the coffee shop, making you a latte, or at your friend's birthday party, or the gym, or New Year's party, or wherever you go. Because it's not the guys problem, the problem is that when we have self-esteem issues, they emit vibrational pheromones out of our pores (pardon this sloppy mixed metaphor).

As cornball and cheezeball as it sounds, the only way to let go is with...guess?...it's not a jeapardy question...(if you've done a lot of therapy)...yes, we all know, people...it looks like a heart...yes, it's with LOVE! In my experience, the relationship isn't over until you can say "He's a great guy, and (perhaps) someday will be a great husband or boyfriend (with varying degrees of counseling)," and you have to mean it, cuz you can't fool the universe.

So, instead of getting mad at my friend's boyfriend, I say "Girlfriend, you keep working on your issues and stay in your process! (which doesn't quite sound the same with a ghetto accent, but you know what I mean.)"

Just for today, I accept the processes of my life and those of my friends.

In my 32 years I have learned that people (those of us with "issues") have different reactions to the fear of intimacy. My personal reaction is to run out to cute stores and blow my wad on really cute bags (which are now a bottom line for me, because bags and purses are like men after a certain point of inebriation - they ALL look cute and I have no ability to discern which one will still suit me the next day.) Sometimes, to sober up, I'll ask shop owners if said cute purse was made by slave labor in China and they'll look at me like, "Hello?! Are we on planet earth?" At which point I begin the Guilt Appeasement Process by pulling statistics out of my ass about how despite rampant poverty and disesase in third world countries, the family unit is a lot more functional and people are a lot "happier" than in the more advanced Prozac-conscious countries like the US. Anyway, that whole process is a lot easier than looking someone in the eye who knows me beyond and beneath the "fabulous" level and saying, "my feelings are hurt...shit."

So last night I went to a party and there was this guy who I know who I spent some QT time with on his fortieth birthday, and his fear of intimacy is so great that he couldn't stand in front of me and have a conversation. He had to be facing another direction as if he were fighting off hoards of women with his body (even though nobody was standing in front of him), while he turned to me and asked me if I had tried the yogurt dip. That's some fear of intimacy, I'd say.

The United States, as a country, expresses a communal national fear of intimacy by invading other countries with NineWest, and the French Connection. That way Americans don't have to confront their own fear of differences when they go to other countries and people are dressed differently.

Just for today, I can allow everyone to cope with their fear of intimacy in their own way.

It's become pretty clear that my notions of intimacy don't lend themselves to, well, intimacy. Togetherness for a five hour stretch (two hours spent in a movie theater), followed by a week of e-mailing (breathing space) doesn't bode well for life-long co-habitation...What am I afraid of? I guess I fear that at some point after five hours of togetherness with an S.O. (significant other) one of us will turn on the other like said other is demon spawn.

I tried to buy stamps from the stamp machine today when it rejected all of my money; bills, coins, everything. I turned to the long line that had formed behind me and expressed my plight like the earnest victim I am. They all looked at me in irritation for holding up the line, as if the stamp machine had a personal investment in rejecting my coins, and not theirs. I looked at them as if to say, "People, we're in this together! Don't you see?! This machine does not see me as separate from you...we are all one in the God's stamp machine world. Help me so I don't have to go upstairs and get different coinage you demon spawn!" What I got was blank stares...demon spawn, all of them (a pretty diverse group to, see the demon spawn comes in all shapes, sizes and races). Nobody bothered to dig through their purses for change or bills that they could exchange for my reject change and bills. So, I made a big show of holding up the line by continuing to plop in my reject change, just to annoy them. Yes, that's how juvenile I am...I punish people for not doing what Jesus or Buddha or Deepak or Oprah would do.

How does anyone that juvenile experience intimacy? By calling those who irritate her demon spawn? I'm surely not ready for loving togetherness that exceeds a five hour stretch of conscious non-movie, TV, or sleep time.

Just for today, I can accept my issues with intimacy and my need to demonize God's demon spawn.

In order to distract myself from the onslaught of flu symptoms in 90 degree weather, I had a long conversation with my co-worker Marco about the importance of like-minded political views vs. personality in intimate relationships. I have in the past (for some reason) attracted alpha males with radically different political views than my own, and while it certainly brought out some of my own less than attractive chararasterics of being unable to have fair, open-minded discussions, I can't really say that it's the thing that drove any of my relationships apart.

I hold fast to the belief that the deal breakers in relationships are never ginormous things like alcoholism or infidelity, but tiny indiscretions. For instance, if someone is struggling to carry something and Hombre does not jump up to help....dealbreaker...done. Not wiling to accompany me on family get togethers...1/2 dealbreaker. Not offering to help carry dishes...1/4 dealbreaker. Support Bush...1/8 dealbreaker. See how that works? The importance of like-minded political views are far beneath high-concept qualities like kindness and consideration. (This is a far cry from the days when I actually found, I'm embarrased to say, absolute jerk-off behavior attractive and justified it with a lunatic's understanding and total neglect for my own well-being...but I digress.)

I suppose my unwillingness to value political like-mindedness is impacted by the fact that I have known some real giant A-holes (men and women) whose political beliefs I totally agree with 100%. And while I wouldn't mind watching them work their issues out in screaming matches on Talking Heads Shows, I wouldn't want to live with them. I think Americans take politics to an insanely personal degree and (as all the screaming matches on Talking Heads Shows attest to), it makes it scary to espouse your beliefs, unless you're swiming in the mainstream or are some kind of psychotic zealot. I think in the end what really makes people scared of disagreeing is the fear that they won't be respected, acknowledged, or even heard. Which brings me to the real important element in any relationship which is respect and understanding. And if life has taught me something it has taught me that some personalities just can't do things like look outside of their own minds...not to judge these people. We can't all be Jesus or Buddha or Nelson or Oprah, but I'm talking about every day interactions.

Just for today, I understanding in relationships over political differences.

It is possible to have a sexual release without the burden of money, prestige, and power. The fleshlight is the answer.

It occurred to me in a moment of clarity that I have never experienced as much peace from detaching with love, or loving my enemy as I have from telling my enemy to #*@! off AND THEN loving him/her from the safe distance of total absence from my life. I just think there is a big giant chunk of information missing in the new age patter on how to conduct human relationships in a society where the government can't even come up with a logical sounding lie to justify unfathomable acts of aggression for...(still not sure). I guess it just doesn't sound very evolved to publish a book called "The Language of Telling People to #*@ Off." And this is where I envy mafia men (minus the whole violence and corruption thing) because there's no confusion about boundaries (from what I've gleaned from TV, movies, and DeNiro's work). You're either in or you're out. It gives me a feeling of peace that hundreds hours of therapy, meditation, yoga, and organic food have yet to produce.

Just for today, I can let go of resentment in my own (somewhat twisted) way.

The good thing about remaining forever clueless about relationships (i.e., single) is that I can safely stand in judgment of all relationships and annoy my married friends with my little theories founded on irritating self-help books on dating and relationship. Even though I am convinced that these books are written by a bunch of silly sillies who secretly wish they could write Dr. Seuss-style poetry about blue fish and androgynous beings with big feet, but have settled for dissertations on "I feel" statements in faithless resignation, I read them in the hopes of finding a full-proof way to find a relationship that doesn't require me to freeze-frame myself (cuz that's tiring).

Some of these books seem to side with Pat Benatar's 80's hit "Love is a Battlefield." Those books contend that we are destined to find someone who matches our own drama like a lock and key, so we can "work through our issues", and if you happened to be raised by the anti-christ...well, then that's a bummer. Then there is the school of "Calling in The One" which says that we can actually find "The One" with whom love will be a towering blossom of peace and tranquility, and the reason you haven't found it yet is because you're not yet a towering blossom of peace and tranquility yourself.

None of these books say that I'll manifest a relationship by eating lots of red vines while watching Shrek II, but I'm keeping the faith...

Just for today, I accept my cluelessness about relationships.

Please note: I am aware that my chronic ruminations on relationships is turning my blog into a venue for maudlin whining and that there are other things besides my lack of a personal life worthy of comment (Prison scandal in Iraq? The new Al Gore?). But, just bear with me...(for today).

At one point in the blur of days that qualifies as my life, I had an on-again, off-again boyfriend. It was dysfunctionally perfect for about a year, until, at one off-again point, he decided to go and get a full-time girlfriend. The nerve! So insensitive. Just because someone tells you that they want to end communication entirely is no reason to shut the door on a relationship. But I guess he wasn't as studied in the language of indirectness as I am. Of course, in retrospect, I realized that he was GREAT, and that I was living on Planet Stupid (why is the word "stupid' so funny to me lately?) and that I had totally *&@ up and taken for granted a warm, loving man because I had projected onto him all the negative stereotypes of men I had accumulated in my many lifetimes. I decided to see the relationship as a rare working heater or furnace in the snow storm of my life.

Anyway, I started having dreams about him and in one dream his new girlfriend actually came into my house and told me to turn off the HEATER (this is the honest to God truth!). Won't need a shrink to interpret that dream!

Just for today, I accept that my dreams leave no room for interpretation.

I told my friend the other day that I could probably sleep 30 Ugandan children in my apartment and, while crowded, they would probably have much more fun than I have ever had on any given night flipping through cable. It was then that I knew I need to stop living in my fortress and come out of hiding.

Some people hide behind careers, relationships, marriages, and lists of errands . I hide out literally. And I do this by spending all my time in an apartment of which no other living person has a key (more on that later). Right when I had the Ugandan epiphany, I also realized that I wasn't keeping any dangerous people out, but locking the real crazy in.

So...amazingly, I'm starting a relationship (I think..pretty sure) and for the first time in my life I refuse to approach it with fear and skepticism, like another battle in the gender wars, but with courage and defenselessness. Which, for me, is like deciding to talk backwards all day ("you..are...how"). Not to sound like the voice over of the last scene of a Hollywood cheezefest (does The Notebook appeal to anyone), but it takes more courage to believe in love (boy, that DOES sound cheezy!), than to do other things, like, scuba dive with sharks, or jump out of airplanes, or start wars with countries for no apparent reason, or write blogs, or check my e-mail for the eight millionth time that day.

Just for today, I can have courage.

I'm getting triggered by The Guy's (the person I'm dating's) triggers. And then my triggers re-trigger his triggers and it's a big trigger show down into the depths of miscommunciation and family of origin hell. I know I have no choice but to walk this path or else resign myself to the solitary comforts of staring at the hypnotic motion of my ceiling fan while contemplating the best way to clean the mildew in my bathroom and to fulfill my dream of participating in a marathon singalong of "Jesus Christ Superstar." I've also conteplated the positive side of becoming Creepy Cat Lady, but decided that there aren't any...

Just for today, it's OK to get triggered by somebody else's triggers.

While I have no problem sharing my innermost feelings with total strangers who stumble upon my site looking for information about sinus cures or the location of the nearest Loman's, I am surprisingly withdrawn and in hiding when it comes to relationships. Whoever I'm with has to pull information out of me with pliers that I would otherwise spew like a geyser all over my blog. While John Grey (Men are From Mars...blah, blah, blah) says that men go into their caves and women go into...I don't know...a nail salon...I'm not sure (that guy is such a sexist idiot), I feel that if anyone is in a cave it's me. Because I think, for me, sadness and loneliness is a place I go into to be by myself and get some privacy. I once read someone say that it's like touching the bottom of a pool because it's all upward motion afterwards. But the problem is that I can't check into cave land as easily if I'm in a relationship . Growing up, I think I identified with more with my father, because up until a year ago I thought that women who went around whining about wanting marriage and kids (read my April blogs) were CRAZY, INSANE, and BORDERLINE PATHETIC. But having repressed my natural need for a committed relations with a soul mate (ideally, "The One") and procreation, this past year it started to spring out of me like the aliens sprung out of everyone except Sigourney Weaver (until second or third sequel). So now I have to come out of hiding...otherwise, what is the point of having a conversation with anyone, period?

Just for today, I can come out of hiding.

I just sent a scary e-mail to the GUY (the guy I'm dating) telling him a bunch of things I wouldn't be able to say in real life. Because despite what my therapist thinks, I am a grown woman who doesn't "expect people to be able to read my mind," but am mature enough to ASK FOR MY NEEDS TO BE MET!

So, I sent a scary e-mail asking scary questions like:

"Would you take me to see iRobot?"

(Not that he doesn't take me out, but, unlike me, he's not one to getexcited about cheezeball formulaic Hollywood movies.)

Because I'm ASKING for my NEEDS TO BE MET!

PLEASE NOTE: While I respect conventinonal self-help psycho babble for creating concepts like "asking for your needs to be met," after having listened to Esther Hicks-Abraham (she's this Texan housewife who chanels friends from a previous life...it gets even weirder, but just click on the link...) and understanding that we are all actually vibrational magnets on different planes of consciousness, I've come to see verbal communication as slightly primitive. Because sometimes I will think of someone and they will call, or I will need some money and it will come and I never verbalized my needs to anyone! I have also found that sometimes when people are really close, like couples who have been married for thirty years, they actually CAN read each other's minds (I guess my shrink hasn't experienced that) and they don't have to send any weird scary e-mails. However, because I'm not that connected with any living thing (except maybe one of my plants and my downstairs neighbors abusive boyfriend who really connects with my crankiness, because those are the exact moments that he will begin his yelling marathon with his girlfriend...which he always wins)...

...Because I have not yet developed a deep meaningful mutual connection with anyone, I have to, for the time being...

...ASK FOR MY NEEDS TO BE MET!

(I am very proud of myself).

Just for today, I CAN HAVE NEEDS!

I went camping with my (yes, it's official) boyfriend and had exactly two "fights" in a matter of five days. I spoke to my friend from the sixth grade about it and realized what an embarrassment I am to myself. Here I thought I was so advanced at life (which is I guess what happens when you've had ten years of therapy and 12-step programs and you start believing that there might be some place to arrive in relationships, like A.P. English or the Olympics or Harvard.) So here I thought I was in an Advanced Placement Relationship cuz I've "worked on myself," (i.e., stumbled into adulthood after a fifteen year adolescence) only to discover that I still have more in commone with a 17-year-old sorrority pledge than my "normal" married friends (i.e., those friends who look at me like I'm crazy when I discuss my latest therapy session).

Here's what we fought about:

1) an old girlfriend

2) whether he appreciates the recent fullness of my figure (i.e. "does he think I'm fat?!")

The image I had of myself as a feminist warrior has been completely shattered.

Just for today, I accept my remedial side in relationships.

My boyfriend and I went to the beach where I did my best to shed years of office-vibe build up in honor of this great day. We had a great time until Issue #354AC reared its ugly head and we spent the next two hours in relationship combat out there under God, the hot sun and beach umbrellas... The good news is that two hours later when the sun was setting and people were packing up their their umbrellas (OK, so I still don't have one...), I could hug and kiss my boyfriend AND mean it! Despite my attempts, my boyfriend won't let me get away with any passive aggressive eye-ball rolling, and so I am forced to dissect the minutia of our well-matched dysfunctionality until we see the light of truth. At one point in my life, the idea that such relationships existed (let alone the idea that I could be in one) was beyond lunacy...

In honor of this day would like to send out a formal apology to those well-intentioned guys who suffered through the apocalypse of my total lack of faith in male/female relationships.

Just for today, I can celebrate labor day by laboring at love.

Listen, ladies, I know a lot of you have had bad experiences and are hurt and scared, but lets not support each other in slamming the proverbial door of our "houses." I don't know about you, but someone please shoot me IF when I'm 50+ I ever write an article about the joys of a single sexless life in magazines that are supposed to inspire women over 40, but are really pounding the nails into the coffin of the idea that the trajectory of a single woman's life is a slow painful ride to the Convent of Antiseptic Fun (watching butterflies mate, cleaning the grill by yourself, spending $100 at the bead store). I mean I'm all for the option of living the single life, young or old. I did it for years, so I know the joys of buying Chinese food and watching two full seasons of Sex and the City, and I know how to change the light bulbs, and check the oil (of my car), and call my friends or therapist when I'm "triggered," but we're sexual social animals, folks! And even when the batteries were charged, I couldn't turn my teddy bear into a full sized warm body, and I could only leave so many messages and post-its for myself with messages like, "You deserve love and joy." I don't care how much of an alcoholic sex-addict your father was or how bad your first two marriages were...if we were meant to live alone we'd have more organs and appendages.

Also, if you're looking for another reason to shoot me, then please do any blanket condescending statements about relationships like "One person can't meet all your needs," or "there's more to life than a relationship."

I'm glad that I can take care of myself financially and emotionally, cuz if I couldn't all relationships with men would be prisons. But that's no reason to preach the benefits of isolation as some sort of victory over society.

Just for today, I can support women in their search for love!

Relationship Status: Temporarily on hold.

Basically, as the dust settles and the dawn begins to emerge from the nuclear fall out and ash, what I am seeing is that I've been caught up in the web of trying to make another person see my point of view. Saying "ouch" or "that hurts" never really cut it in my family of origin. For reasons that I won't go into, whenever I was in physical or emotional pain logic was employed to talk me out of it..."Come on, it's only fire...." or "come on, there's nothing wrong with rabbit teeth..." And when that didn't work, irrationality was fully embraced with a sort of casual apology akin to that given to Iraqui citizens when the US military "accidentally" torches the wrong area of town..."Whoopsie...uh, gee that sucks. Hey, sorry about your house. What? Now you're mad? Geez, we said we were sorry...geez..."

Never underestimate the power of the mini-revolution that precedes the large scale ones. You can't tell me that Ghandi didn't get really pissed at some point. And you can't tell me he wasted his time explaining to people why some things made him happy and some things made him sad.

Just for today, I say enough is enough.

My now ex-boyfriend and I had "a talk" the other night that resulted in the termination of our relationship. Because he had been vacillating about his feelings on the continuation of our relationship, he opted to bring me flowers for this "talk." This was very nice. Except for the fact that in the course of the "talk" he informed that "something is missing (in our relationship)" and that it "has never felt right." I sat there with my flowers and soaked up the irony in order to distract myself from the pain. Whatever they may be, the flowers became a beautiful boquet of "something is missing" and symbolic of all that I am not in his eyes. Did I still want to take this boquet home? Of course I did. They were beautiful flowers. I took them home, but not after making a big scene of marching out of the coffee shop and abandoning them to the people that worked there. The impact of my dramatic effect was sufficiently lessened when I creeped back into the coffee shop a few minutes later to ask the guy behind the register if I could have my flowers back (even though my ex had offered him to the cashier to bring to his wife.) Sorry, cashier, you have to suffer pain to earn these flowers.

I'm hoping they will last through Valentine's Day.

Just for today, I can appreciate beautiful flowers.

I've lived alone for eight years. So, coincidentally, has my boyfriend. We spend every night together (except for that week when we were broken up that we spent apart because...well, we were broken up) and we both want to live together and, as of now, commit to each other for life. I'm not packing yet, but I am considering this drastic possibility. After all, I'm 33 and have never lived with a man (not counting when I was 23 and lived with a possibly gay/bi-sexual roommate who smoked a lot of pot and casually read tarot cards...which should never be read casually)....Anyway, this idea of living with someone and creating a home for two, instead of flying solo has been taking up a lot of space in my head. The idea of shopping at Trader Joe's for two people, and paying taxes for two people, and seems so strange and foreign to me...it almost feels like I'm breaking some rule someone made for my life having to do with my adherence to a strict religion of rugged individualism. It also, like most rites of passage, feels like I'm the first one to do it. Kind of like when I started smoking clove cigarettes when I was 12 (though, I WAS the first of MY FRIENDS), or like when I first made out with a guy and he mauled my face with this tongue (which is not what kissing looked like in the movies). It just feels so different, that I'm worried it could be wrong. And yet, the thrill and freedom of my single life in my fabulous single apartment started to fizzle out along with the last episode of Sex and the City (minus the deus ex machina ending where Big became emotionally available...when did he go to therapy?).

The point is: I'm ready for the next phaze of my vida (and, quite frankly, at 33, there are some - though I won't say who - looking at their watch like, "It's about time, Kiddo! - and you know who you is)

Just for today, I'm willing to live with a man (preferably my boyfriend).

My boyfriend is (was) growing out his beard for a part in a play. At least that's what he said. I happen to think that not shaving or wearing shoes is his way of telling The Man to go screw himself (which is very 60's). I'm all for rebelling against The Man, but I have to draw a line somewhere, and an untrimmed mustache rivaling those I've seen on homeless men is a great place to start. I was extraordinarily patient for a period of time in which a forced a Mother Theresa air of acceptance and generosity (I know Mother Theresa didn't have sexual relations, but if she did she probably wouldn't care if her partner looked like Rumpelstiltskin). I broke down yesterday and said that if he wanted to look like a caveman and go out with me, he's going to have to land the lead in Castaway II. He evidently values our relationship more than the free-loving beard and he got a beard-trim that gave him a very sexy five day shadow.

Just for today, I have boundaries around my boyfriend's facial hair.

My boyfriend and I had a Weird Lunch with three other people. While weirdness with my boyfriend is pretty normal, this was the kind of group weirdness that crops up when one party crashes another and you're not really sure why you're all having lunch together. They were nice enough people, but the conversation never got past my earnest initiations which ranged from "Has anyone seen Palendromes?" to "This tuna tastes like old chicken." Everything fell on the table like wet toast and I had to ask myself, is it not better to just say, "we'd like to eat alone?"

Just for today, I have boundaries.

I hate to sound like such a cliche, but gay men do make such great boyfriends. They get where I'm coming from, but they're like...male. One good gay boyfriend, a therapist, and HBO...what more do I need?

Just for today, I embrace the single life.

I was going to blog earlier and then I turned on the television and heard the song "Born to Handjive" and thought, "when my childhood beckons I must heed the call." Yes, the movie, "Grease," in all it's cheezy glory occupied the last hour of my life (and boy do I still get a high off "We Go Together.")

Anyway, I am recovering from my break-up by burying myself in self-help books and technical labels that reduce human relationships into neat little packages with bows on top. (Is anything good for you anymore? I guess watching Grease can't hurt anybody. No, wait, that's my TV addiction!) Am I a co-addict? A co-dependent? A co-avoidance-addict-co-dependent-enabler/addict? I don't know. But it is sure keeping me busy. One things for certian...and that is that I have not read every self-help book known to man...yet.

Just for today, I prefer the movie "Grease" over self-help books.

I have a Shakespeare anthology that I love because my mother used it in college and then, when I went to college, I used it as well. It has both of our notes in it and I love it because I love Shakespeare and I love my mother and it represents a passion that we both share. The other night I busted it out in acting class to find the monologue that a fellow thespian was about to perform on stage. However, just at the place where my fellow thespain began her monologue was a giant black hole in my book.

"What's that?" asked my other fellow thespian who was reading over my shoulder.

I was embarrassed to tell her the story, so that is why I will share it in the broad daylight of the Internet. A few years ago a momentary infatuation brought me flowers and in a fit of insanity, I stuck a flower (because sometimes when I'm in relationship to a male, my normally highly functioning brain seems to switch to the OFF button) in my favorite Shakespeare anthology and, thus, ruined a true passion for one that proved false (insert appropriate Shakespeare quote here). The flattened flower, which I removed in a moment of disgust, left a big moldy black hole in a bunch of pages (VERY STUPID, I KNOW!). Which brings me to the moral of the story which is a) never press flowers in a book you like b) never - under any circumstances - press flowers given to you by a guy (even if he's your husband) and c) don't choose Cleopatra's "I dreamt there was an Empereror Antony..." monolouge cuz it's kinda Tiger Beat (if you know what I mean...if you don't, don't worry, it's not important)....

The point is this: few relationships will outlast Madres and Shakespeare.

Was that not a humbling story to tell?

Just for today, I can humble myself on the Internet.

....which is not hard to pick up on, as I'm a terrible actress when it comes to preserving the dignity of my appearances.

Aside from work, the most exciting thing that happened to me all week was getting felt up by my male doctor. Ok, so he didn't really feel me up, he gave me a "breast exam." Come on, is there really that big of a difference?! If I didn't find him somewhat attractive (in a disturbing patriarchal Republican sort of way), I guess you could say he was doing his job. But being a very prudent (hard up) participant in the social dating world (hahahah), it felt like action to me.

I'M JUST KIDDING, EVERYONE (and by everyone, I mean mom, grandma, and any other family)!!! My doctor is actually a very nice man (even if he does prescribe antibiotics like their tic tacs) who is dedicated to his work. I'm just reaching a new milestone of singlehood...!

In truth, though, I am really enjoying being single for once in my life. It's a million times better than the dysfunction junction that I had confused with relationships. Beside the firm body, youth is highly overrated. It's much more gratifying to have a grip on reality and know one's limitations.

Just for today, I am happy to be single.

I'm looking for a good psychic, astrologer, numerologist and/or Tarot card reader, so if anyone has someone solid (just because you deal in the occult doesn't mean you can't be stable) you can recommend, I'm all ears (I can't believe I've gone this long without one...). I'm also looking for a good past-life analyst. Here I've been working so hard in therapy on my childhood issues, not realizing that maybe it's not all about THIS childhood (I won't get into my murderer from a past life...that's all in my screenplay). Hey, no condescending eye-ball rolling! (Unless you live in NY City), I'm in need of some serious irrational guidance.

Just for today, I can ask to get my needs met.

One of my oldest friends came in to town on Friday night. We ate Vietnamese food, drank Jamaican beer (Horay, Red Stripe!), and talked up a storm. After a couple of martinis we came back to my place and pulled out the photo albums. The memories span from 8th grade through senior year in college. Certain friends simply aren't allowed to depart from your life. How else would I remember the nightmare 8th grade ski trip where she and I decided to ski through a snow storm that had driven everyone inside. At one point, my ski fell off and she trekked down the slope to get it (thank you!). On the bus ride home (who drives a school bus to a mountains?...besides my junior high school?), it rained inside due to the condensation two of our friends sang "S.O.S." by The Police until we all yelled at them to stop because we were all so cold, wet, and tired. It was a sucky ski trip. But a great memory to have with an old friend.

Just for today, I can reminisce with old friends.

While I was still dating him, my ex-boyfriend's mother gave me a ring, a large greenish turquoise and silver thing from Peru. She gave me a lot of gifts, many that suited me and that I loved (like a white top that I frequently get complimented on). She had immaculate taste for me and seemed to know me far better than her son did. If truth be told, she was probably the one who kept the relationship going after month two. But this ring was a pain. It fell off, got caught on everything, and probably looked too big for my hand.

I know that a bad relationship takes two people and I have "my part" (shaming, non-communicative, etc)...BUT, NONETHELESS, I find it hard to believe that any relationship where the man frequently questions (out-loud) if he's attracted to his girfriend (as if it were my problem) and compares her boobs to those of Pamela Anderson and other man-made creations could possibly prosper longer than three seconds (for those of us struggling with self-esteem...zero for all other women). What can I say?...I have some issues.

I looked him up on MySpace a while ago (in a moment of perverse curiosity) and read in horror that he's now looking for, "Large breasted women who know how to rock and won't be a pain in my ass!" (I have to give him kudos for being direct, though, I can't really imagine that such phrasing would bring the ladies in droves...I hate to be sarcastic, but can you blame me?)

At this point in time, it's all ancient history. It was only a year ago that I was heart-broken and bereft, but it seems like a life-time ago that I was hanging onto threads of slippery hope that somehow this person who I proclaimed to be my "soul mate" (blush) and "the one" (with exagerated air quotes) was "not really" (I'm on a role) a callous creep, but a man defending against deep and fragile vulnerability. Like the stereotypical abused woman embroiled in some domestic violence nightmare, I lived in the fantasy that I was in love with a man who felt things like compassion and love, but who wore a mask of hate...(deep down inside Hitler was sorry, he was just trying to look cool by killing all the Jews). Enraged and embittered, I didn't know how to use anger to protect myself from that which would make any sane woman furious. I was stuck between my fantasy life and a guy who hated his mother. I wish I didn't have such lessons to learn, but thanks to this guy, I don't need to go there again.

So, wasn't I writing about a ring? Oh, yes. Despite the pain involved in this relationship, it was still a connection that felt deep and meaningful. Don't underestimate the power of pain, it's a step above numb and any lonely soul will tell you that at certain times a painful bond is better than no connection at all. So, when it finally ended (a strange combination of excruciating pain and relief), a part of me must have still hung on to some hope. What else would explain why I would continue to wear the ring his mother gave me? It caught on everything and ruined towels and sweaters. It was too big and frequently fell off. "So, what if I lose it?" I rationalized. But I couldn't. It'd slip off and then somehow find me again. It came off at a do-it-yourself car wash and I didn't realize it till I was halfway home. I turned around and found it in the gutter. I found it in stores, sidewalks, and my purse. I kept thinking I'd gotten rid of it, but there'd it pop again. I convinced myself I liked the way it looked. I even had a "New Moon Goddess" ceremony in which I removed the bad energy from it.

Last Sunday night I was salsa dancing and I found it missing. There is one guy I dance with who I always feel is trying to steal my rings. I was having a wonderful night of dancing. Salsa is my new drug of choice. I feel so carefree and sexy. Such great music, so many cute guys, so much joy...(I highly recommend it)...it was late in the night by the time I realized that it was missing. I looked for it, but not that hard. It was more of an excuse to get rid of a particularly annoying dance partner (I'm so much better at letting go these days)...

I have a feeling that if I call the place, they'll have the ring waiting for me. My therapist would say that it's hard for me to feel joy, to feel "expansive." A big cumbersome ring, that's safe and easy. Who would I be without the pain, bitterness and resentment? Who would I be without a guy who told me that I wasn't pretty or attractive enough for him?

It's a little sad to let go of what I once cherished. But I'll get over it...I think I already have.

Just for today, I can let go.

P.S. I had to turn off comments because I was being inundated with SPAM. But, if you have a response, email me and I'll post it.

Many years ago a psychic/friend assaulted me with her insight on some of my more challenging relationships. Next to "yoga teacher," "psychics" seem to require the least credentials, and, yet, are somehow endowed with a suspiciously large amount of power. Let's just say, for reasons that I cannot explain, I trusted her. Well, as it turns out, she is the type of psychic with insight into past lives. Not only that, but I learned that a particularly sucky relationship was due to the fact that said person was my "murderer from a past life." Talk about dysfunction! That's gotta be some expensive couples counseling! As for the details, (where?! when?!...dunno...something about living as a nun in a convent...(sigh) see, even my past lives are boring...), that was going to cost more than free, so I chose to remain in ignorance.

Today, due to a mysterious series of events, I somehow wound up having lunch with this particular murderer from a past life (to my understanding there's only one...but who knows?). I know what you're thinking: where are my boundaries?! When I first received this psychic news, I was terrified. I swore I could not occupy a room with him. I even had another friend announce to me, "Your murderer from a past life has entered the room!" whenever such happenstance occured. But, as time has trudged along (we're talking a decade), I have started to feel more secure with this incarnation and I have come to the conclusion that this past life relationship doesn't present any more or less danger than any of my other relationships with men (which should really give reason for pause...). The point is...I ain't gittin' murdered no mo'!!!

If there's one thing this life has taught me, is that I'm a sacred vessel of life. It's not OK to speak to me in a condescending tone, it's not OK to be sarcastic towards me, and it's NOT OK to kill me.

Now that I know this, I can socialize with anybody. Lunch was great.

Just for today (and this lifetime), I have boundaries.

My friend and I took Mojo Rising out to lunch because he's moving on from our current work situation. I'm going to really miss him. Who else is going to deliver the irreverent refrain amidst frantic chaos, instruct me about the intricacies of his harem, or encourage me to date 20-year-olds? I need to surround myself with irrationally fun people because maturity is so overrated. Left to my own devices I'll check my bank account statement ten times a day and plot my Netflix schedule, while checking off "buy label maker" from my obsessive To Do List. OK, so maybe I'll have a five minute salsa dance with a 23-year-old gardener who has a thing for giration, but, really, with ten non-consecutive years (rough estimation) of singlehood under my belt, how %$#@ cheap is that...? I know there's more to life than shopping, working, and ritualized fun...

Just for today, I value my fun friends.

I had dinner with two friends last night, both of whom are living in blissful co-habitation (no need to bother with labels like "Married," which could refer to anything from domestic violence to peaceful sexless companionship). My friends are clearly having sex and still speaking to their respective partners. Needless to say, I dodged all references to my dating status out of fear that I might shame spiral into my chicken tamale (and that would be a big mess). There was clearly an awkward moment when it became my turn to talk about my personal life and all I could say was, "Internet dating sucks...how's the green chile?" I thought of volunteering something like, "A salsa guy told me he wants to get in my pants..." but besides being a cliche, it didn't seem to follow the thread of conversation about my friend and her husband's recent purchase of a second home in Costa Rica....

At a certain point in life, the inability to have an intimate relationship feels like a public source of shame. Who cares that most relationships I know of are dysfunctional, distant, or take place for a bare few seconds each day. Unlike these people, I don't have anyone to avoid by working, shopping, eating, or day dreaming that I still have a shot at meeting George Clooney (we do live in the same city). Not to mention, I don't have a good excuse, like I'm training for the Olympics or am recovering from a recent head transplant (though, it's sounding like a viable option). At least my mom admits that "I'm special," in every sense of the word. Those are the words that my high school Spanish teacher told her and she won't let me forget it...I guess all I'm missing is a live-in companion to make sure I don't pop my eyeball out with my tooth brush...

Just for today, I can vent about my personal life.

Yesterday, I went to the Farmer's Market to experience sun, fresh fruit, fresh veges, and my requisite state of annoyance at the vibe...(I'm starting to think I go because I like feeling annoyed). This time it wasn't the I'm Not Really Trying to Be Fabulous, I Just Wake Up That Way vibe of casual glamour (just admit it, Farmer's Market Ladies, you spent an hour picking out your lululemon yoga pants) that irked me, but more the conversation between the Lady Who Asks Her Husband If She Should Buy Some Peaches and her Husband that I had to overhear. Why are you asking your husband, Lady Who Asks Her Husband If She Should Buy Some Peaches? Does he know something about your cravings that you don't? Is your entire relationship a codependent sham based on your inability to trust your own natural bodily instincts? If you want to eat a peach, then buy a half dozen (you're wearing a $150 yoga outfit, surely you can afford a $2.00 organic peach!). If this is the current state of American marriages then I will surely be single for the rest of my vida...(slight bitterness going on here...).

The Good News is that, while I don't have a Boyfriend, I do have many sweet relationships with my many dance partners. In these very different relationships, I experience an odd, brotherly, salsa love with guys who have taught me and nurtured me through different levels of salsa dancing with mucho amor (sometimes a bit too much...). They may not know what I eat for breakfast, (or if I want to buy a freakin' peach at the Farmer's Market), but they do know when I'm trying to control (I have issues in that area), lack patience, or faith...you can't hide when dancing, salsa tells all...

Still no forecast on the child bearing years (I realized today that I don't have kids out of fear that I will forget to pick him/her/them up from day care and will, consequently, get arrested).

Just for today, I can be single and childless.

I was feeling a little bit lonely this weekend since a lot of my friends are either on vacation (the nerve of them) or have recently moved away (the nerve of them, too), AND my therapist is on vacation (WHAT is up with THAT?!...). But then I had a crisis of a "personal nature" (I won't go into explicit detail because I'm curbing my God-given compulsion to spew forth such details as might horrify and disgust potential friends, employers, suitors and anyone else reading this to whom such information might paint me as ignorant and/or disrespectful of social norms...which I am) that I needed to talk to somebody about. I went through my cell phone directory and realized that the only two people I could confide in were two old friends (one of 10 years and the other of 25) to whom I speak to somewhat infrequently. It made me think about the nature of intimate relationships and provided me with a new definition of a true friend...

True Friend: Someone you can not only call, but on whose voicemail you can leave a detailed message about your hoo hoo, and they will react to it as if you were discussing bad weather (which you basically are...I'm sorry, just couldn't resist).

They both called back, listened, shared some feedback and told me that I could leave such messages anytime (so long as it's not the land line...I can just imagine my friend's husband taking the message down...).

Just for today, there are certain relationships in which I can talk about my hoo hoo and others in which I would be hard pressed to admit that I have one...

Super Evil Flash Programmer is all stressed out about being married and, therefore, not available to provide the usual creative inspiration that I have, unfortunately, come to depend upon. Yet, another reason why I oppose marriage. It takes away all the interesting people and makes them like everyone else. Sorry, if I'm offending You Married Folk, but there's gotta be some compensation for sleeping alone (I don't always sleep alone, but there's not exactly an indenture on the other side of my bed...what's up with the TMI?!...must be the holidays...).

Don't get me wrong, I'm trying to help Super Evil Flash Programmer through his post-newly-wed crisis with appropriate forms of support, such as listening and offering suggestions (that are most certainly The Right Thing), but (not to get all West LA Spiritual on you), we can only be teachers, not saviors. I love how West LA Spiritual (yoga, recovery, therapy, blah, blah, blah...) so beautifully justifies and supports my ever-increasing self-involvement...

Not that I don't want to help people. I do. It's just hard to find a way to "be of service" that actually helps, rather than irritate for the purpose of easing my own conscience. I tutor my friend, Powerful Activist Woman, who works and lives in the "ghetto." She pays me to work with her, but seems remiss when I offer her my charity. I figure she's saving me from the embarrassing consequences of my own White Guilt. Really, she's the one I should be paying. I believe that most people, whatever their struggles, really just want to learn how to fish and don't want the baked salmon or lightly battered tuna tar tar that we're all trying to shove down their throats...in the end, PAW is my hero.

I am also inspired by my colleague, Miss Ironic Sunshine. She's 26 and wears a different Flight of the Conchords t-shirt practically every day, crocs, and a walk-man playing a tune by some former boy band member. She never, ever seems the slightest bit irritated, annoyed or disenchanted by life. I want a cabbage-patch doll of her (why am I turning everyone into toys?...that's twisted and weird)...

Just for today, I can find new heroes.

Last night, I went out for drinks and tapas with an old I Don't Know What To Call Him. He's actually the brother of an old flame, but I dated him, too. Yes, I know how slutty (among other things) it looks. Strangely, I'm still friends with both guys. Years ago I bought my couch (and lots of other furniture) from brother #1, and then proceeded to date him for over a year (I have since learned that such furniture relationships are not uncommon). Later, when things didn't work out, he set me up with his brother (#2). (This history is not something I want to tatooe on my forehead, but I will blog about it because not even my own reputation is sacred when it comes to material...too bad I don't have a hobby like raw food cooking to keep me from ransacking my personal life.) It's probably to the credit of both of them that I liked them enough to a) date them and b) remain friends with both of them.

I, on the other hand, have always been way too much of a control freak to allow relationships to go through changes and iterations, and so am not one to stay in contact with old boyfriends. But due to their good nature and other mysterious reasons, I have a familial relationship with these guys that betrays my pattern of casting out old boyfriends like a pair of stretched out jeans. Like my couch (which, 6 years later, still looks brand new), bookcase, and bed (purchased from brother #1), and a few other home furnishing items (purchased from brother #2 who also sells furniture), they seem to occupy a permanent place in my life. It sort of validates my theory that certain people are meant to be in our lives, and try as we may, we could no sooner could get rid of them than we can remove our own limbs (please pardon this Stephen King-ish analogy).

As a recovering control freak, it's really different (for lack of a better world), to just kind of let relationships be what they are and not judge them.

Just for today, I can hang out with an old friend.

I've been a night owl for months, but now with the time change I'm seeing more darkness than sun (I'm also delirious with sleep deprivation).

Last night, I was at the salsa club untill 2:00 am. The bouncer had to repeatedly ask me to leave (and there wasn't even any music playing!). Then I talked to Relentless Salsero (he's been on sabbatical from my life for a while) for an hour about the platonic nature of our relationship (he claims that he never "really tried" to get me to go to bed with him...lucky me) and crazy people in Salsa World (not including him). Actually, Relentless Salsero seems to have accepted the parameters of our friendship, and now we can actually try to be friends without his relentless pursuit of me. So, to be fair, I will now refer to him as Relented Salsero.

After getting home at 3:30 am, I read for twenty minutes about the crazy people who climbed Mount Everest (another book...yes, I'm obsessed). Somewhere around 4:00 am I fell asleep

Just for today, I need a nap.

I was having coffee with Avant Garde Artist Friend on Sunday and talking about dating, when I disclosed the number of emails in my inbox from old boyfriends and other confusions from recent history.

"I don't know what's going on. It's like I'm recycling," I said.

"That's so green of you."

I hadn't thought of it that way, but, really, it makes sense. Why waste valuable time spent on past relationships that take days, months, years to decompose?! Why not recycle old boyfriends and keep this world free of toxic relationship waste...(is this thing on?)?!

Because they didn't go anywhere to begin with?

Oh, yeah.

Well, whose to say I'm not going to end up buying the same outfit with a different brand?

It gets to a point where the confusion overwhelms rational thought. However, truth be told, getting to know new people is simply a lot of effort and I'm just plain lazy.

Just for today, I can consider the benefits of recycling.

I just had lunch with an Old (as in "a friend from a long time ago", not as in "dang, we old!" - though, let's face it, we are) College Friend who I hadn’t seen since graduation. We did our best to compress 13 years into 1 1/2 hours, or 26 years of combined time. She said I looked the same, but she's also missed a lot of phases. Like the 15 lb Weight Gain, Pat Benatar Hair Cut, and Blond Highlights phases (not necessarily in that order). She also missed the depression, bad relationship(s), boring job(s), and apartment-smaller-than-most-SUV's phases. Basically, she arrived back into my life as I have come full circle to Long Brown Hair Aspiring Writer, minus the bushy eyebrows and LL Bean attire. Which is exactly where I was when I graduated from college 13 years ago. Can't say I've made much progress but at least I've settled on a hair style.

However, strangely enough, she also had her own depression, bad relationship(s), boring job(s) and apartment-for-compressed-people phases. Don't know why life has to suck before you learn to appreciate it, but that seems to be how it goes...

However, we do differ in some respects as she is currently on the Marriage Track, and I have yet to find that railroad. She assured me that The Single Life is worth embracing, while she also believes that marriage and partnership (and all the PIA that comes with it) is a path to health and happiness.

"I just keep telling myself that it's good for me..." she said.

"It sounds like you're taking vitamins."

In college we were both judgmental of snooty privileged East Coast people who were either totally oblivious of our judgmental-ness, or just didn't care (probably both). Now that we're experienced in the ways of the world and, if anything, justified in resenting the Haves (while we aspire to be them), it seems like kind of a waste of energy.

Still, spending time with her was great. Like taking a deep breath of mountain air after breathing in Los Angeles for 13 years.

Just for today, I can have lunch with an Old College Friend.

Today, Evil Flash Programmer took me out to lunch and gave the download on married life. Apparently, after only a few months of marriage, EFP's Brazilian Bride proved unfaithful. Fucking bitch.

Not that I said anything to that effect to Evil Flash Programmer. I was very supportive and full of cliches like, "Relationships are hard," or "At least she's trying," or "We can't control things, sometimes. " That's how I am with all people who I care about. Outwardly supportive of their relationship, but, inwardly, keeping score. I left feeling sad. I hate to see Evil Flash Programmer unhappy. The crap we put up with all for the fantasy of love.

Well, at least I don't have that problem now.

Just for today, I can have lunch with Evil Flash Programmer.

The other night, I happened to be talking to a Couple Friends (two people who form a joint friend) about the nature of inter-racial attractions (White Man/Asian Woman, etc.) when I noted that I have several white female friends of mine who have confided in me that they find themselves attracted to black men and vice-versa.

"Do you want to be with a black guy?" said the Guy Part Of The Couple.

"Well, that's not the point..."

"Why are you blushing?"

Hmmm...I don't know. Maybe because I've gone down a road of no return. There's no way out of that one. If I say I don't want to be with a black man, I sound racist. If I say I do want to be with a Black Man, I sound really racist.

Like my friend, Jim says, "No woman likes to hear that a man likes Asian girls." Who wants to be liked for their racial affiliation? Not me.

I could resort to the old, "I am open to all possibilities?" but anyone who really knows me, understands that it takes a metaphorical jack hammer to get through the crust of my self-imposed prison of ice. (Except for my blog, in which I can push the envelope of inappropriate over-sharing).

Can we talk about something else?

Just for today, I can blog about my conversations.

The other night, while riding down the bike path, I ran into a guy who had been dating a friend over the past year, but - as he informed me - recently split up.

"She's a wonderful girl. I have nothing but kind words to say about her. And she's beautiful."

No, not the Nice Guy Break-up! Please, anything but kind words! That's what a woman wants to hear at the beginning of a relationship. Not at the end. Oh, men, you're so confusing...!

This, I have decided, is a particularly male behavioral trait. I've been through a few of these myself, and from most accounts, he's not faking it. The Nice Guy Break-Up is not for appearances sake, so much as running-for-the-hills sake. I'm not saying I want a voodoo doll created out of my bra strap. I don't want want to see my coffee cup smashed to little bits and pieces. I don't want my secrets spewed out to mutual friends. I'm not looking for pyscho...I just think a woman deserves a little bit of...loss-fueled emotion. Did I make an impact? Am I less influential than an Oprah endorsement?

"It was great, she's great, but it's not the right time."

"Well, you sound great."

I haven't talked to her, yet. Maybe she's fine, too. Though, if my own experience is any indication...probably not.

Just for today, I don't understand men.