2001-02-01 :: 16:17:59

It's been a while.

I hate the fact that the last thing I wrote was about RockStar Ex because it makes me feel like I had no other life besides him.

In some ways this was true.

I'm still upset. But I don't know if I'm upset because I genuinely love him or because I'm alone or what.

And him dating H.H. now is so lame. All the friends that I've lost in this whole process who thought I was no good for him I bet are biting their words now. H.H. God, it's just too much. I mean, a 34 year old woman with no desire to move on with her life. A 34 year old woman who babytalks and wears sparkles and plays in a band. There's something so... sad... about that. But whatever. His life, his fuckups.

On the phone the other night, "We can't stay away from each other," and what to do about that. About us. How I miss him.

The new guy, my foreign quasi-boyfriend, fills in the gap okay, I suppose. And the newer new guy, Puzzleboy, is certainly fun to hang out with and fool around with and he takes my mind off of RockStar Ex more than anyone else... but, he doesn't want a relationship.

Which is fine.

I've got Foreign Guy for that. I suppose. The age difference (11 years) makes me cringe sometimes, and expecially when he gets really into watching CNN and the stock reports scroll by for hours at a time, I find myself panicking.

I don't want to think about men anymore. I want one to be deposited on my front door with merely a tag sticking out of his shirt that reads "The One," and then I would just accept him and bring him inside and make him a drink. And that would be that.

No more of this fruitless searching. This constant, desperate search to find someone to love. It's not fun, and people say it's supposed to be...this dating thing. But it's not. It's sad. It's so fucking corny. And I like to think I'm above all that.

But The Former has really thrown my world into upheaval and even though every normal woman in America would have given up years ago, I still hold my torch for him. I still hope sometimes.

These past few months have totally made me feel all weepy and poetic, like I have to go see movies about dying girlfriends starring Keanu Reeves and imagine myself falling deathly, terminally ill and as I'm draped all devastated and pale in the hospital bed, The Former will be by my side, professing that I was his always.

Or something lame like that.

I want Puzzleboy to call. I want him to want to hang out with me.

I want to drink with him and forget. He makes me laugh. He makes me forget.

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