A few months ago, I saw Drew, an ex of mine at a birthday party for another ex. He looked good. Ok, he looked really good. But the birthday boy and I had had a significantly more meaningful relationship and we ended up reconnecting for a very brief time, during which we had some really great sex and remembered why we broke up in the first place. I had Drew’s number but I didn’t contact him until a couple of weeks ago. I’m not sure why I did (he has his theories), but I told him we should hang out sometime. Last night was sometime, apparently, because I forced him to come to the bar with me, even though he had to get up for work today. In retrospect, I’m not sure that was a great idea…
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Do you have a friend that you’re so jealous of that it makes you vaguely nauseated? You just know you’ll never be that attractive or that smart or that talented, no matter how hard you try. You still love the person (actually, the more you love them, the worse the feeling gets), but sometimes it’s sort of a pain in the ass. How do you ignore that feeling and treat them as if they don’t have that effect on you?
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Anyone who has been around for awhile (or has even read my second phattitudes post) has heard of Steve. We’ve been dating for 2 or 3 months. Maybe ironically, when I was trying to figure out how long it had been the other night because I had this post in mind, he thought I had ulterior motives. Like trying to point out that we’ve been dating for however long without any commitment. He doesn’t read much of what I write or else he might have realized my actual reasons. Anyway, in the last couple of weeks I’ve also started dating another guy, who we’ll call the mayor. Actually, it’s his dad that’s the mayor, but he joked last night about running eventually, then starting some sort of family dynasty. “First (fill in name of his extremely small town) and then the world!” Hey, I like a guy who has a plan.
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I need to quickly preface this by saying that I was inspired (read: annoyed) by two things. Both of them, duh, pissed me off. What else is new, right? But they both got me thinking, too, so here are the results of that.

First, a few weeks ago my sister, who weighed maybe 130lbs at the time, announced at the dinner table that she wants liposuction. I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t really do it, but she really wanted it. Thought she needed it. Second, I was listening to the radio on my (endless) drive home from work the other night, and I heard a commercial for cosmetic surgery. It was talking about payment plans for different procedures, but at the end something caught me. It said “Be the perfect you.” Excuse me?
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I’ll start this out the same way that I started it when I told Kemari, because, frankly, I liked the way it sounded.

I just had a mini revelation. A revel, if you will.

Do you ever catch yourself being so emo that you ache to buy a black eyeliner and a Marilyn Manson cd? Sometimes I do, except that Marilyn is a little too hard for all the pseudo-goths these days. Fallout Boy, anyone (snicker)? Anyway, that’s partly why I’m on antidepressants. But sometimes, the pills just don’t do it. I had a little moment literally just a few minutes ago and then I had another, bigger, moment, and I thought “Blog post?? Why not?” And that brings us to now.

You might be wondering what this is all about. Well, rest assured, I’m not going to tell you.
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Recently, a friend of mine broke up with yet another in a very long string of boyfriends. Let’s call her Jane. Oh, and to be more precise, he broke up with her. To anyone who knows Jane, this is hardly even noteworthy. She goes through boyfriends like I go through lattes. And they always do the dumping.

Are they just bad guys? Nope. Bad luck? Definitely not. Jane may not always choose outstanding men, but more than anything, it’s HER. She is extremely co-dependent, expects total commitment within a few days (if she makes it that long), and uses sex as a means to get it. She either sleeps with men within hours, literally, or withholds for several weeks to try to keep them around. In spite of all of this, she adamantly denies being “that girl.” Of course. “That girl” never admits to being “that girl.”
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