With Training Wheels

Now that I can be sure no one is watching, I have a confession to make. There was a presence in my life, the latter part of last year, whom I was quite smitten with. True, it was probably more the idea of him that had me, but nonetheless, I was smitten. I was quite careful not to divulge too many of the details here on the internet, out of respect for what I hoped would be a full blown relationship. Alas, it came to pass that this man was not Mr. Right. I don't know exactly what he was... I do know that when he finally said to me: "I don't read people's blogs," I knew it was over.

For one thing, I thought I had come to represent more than "people" to him. And yeah, the blogging hasn't been so great lately anyway. I blame my own fears for that. Still.... I think that Holly said it best when she told me that he was my training wheels boyfriend. Granted, I have been off the horse for quite a spell and upon reflection, that was exactly what I needed to get back in the game. Of course, after a self-imposed celibacy, I feel ready to gallop a bit. Not quite up to racing again... It's strange, the nature of love. Human hearts are elastic and electric. They beat. They break. And sometimes, sometimes they attack.

Maybe that's why the mystery endures. I tried to write a love song, but ended up using the word whore anyway... What's up with that? Perhaps there's just too little of me, too. Now I've lost the track.... This I'm definitely blaming on Gwen Stefani. I tried to do a little shopping today and every store I went into was playing her fucked up new album. This shit is even more fucked up than spelling bananas! Here is, indeed, a prime example of someone with a gigantic platform and absolutely nothing to say! I miss the days when Gwen was ironic, when she was just a girl. I miss the summer of my youth. Most of all, I think I miss my heart the most.

Lately there have been flurries in the area. I'll let you know if it develops into something more.

Does my blog make me look fat?

Or rather, desperate? Or needy? Or crazy? I only ask because I think that it might scare off any prospective suitors. Imagine clicking here for the first time and reading my last post. Would YOU want to date me after that? I came to the conclusion that I am a scary mess whilst working out this afternoon. The treadmill was treading away and I tried to examine the reasons why I am alone. I don't recommend this, as it makes for a very hard workout. Forced to watch muscle-bound pornstars flirt with each other and all I really want to do is see what's on Oprah today. Move that well sculpted ass out of my eyeline, please... Thank you.

Who am I working out for anyway? Do I somehow think that masturbation will be more alluring if I, too, have a well scultped ass? I just don't know anymore. It's really not about getting laid anyway. Not that there is anything wrong with that. I just need something more. I want someone who wants me for my body and my mind. Is that such a tall order? What I do know is that I am sitting home alone on a Friday night in Los Angeles, eating soup and blogging...

I would like to think that the more information one has about another is helpful in determining compatibility, etc. But then I took this retarded online quiz about how to find my soulmate and the result said that I would have to have 68 dates before that happens. That's right, 68 different dates with 68 different people at 68 different times. I have no way of knowing exactly where I am in this numbers game, but I would suspect that I am really, really, really close.

The moral of this story, kids: I am ready for 69!