If You Haven't Noticed

I'm kind of in a sad mood.

Still funny. But sad.

Things I Don't Want to Do, Single Guys

I don't want to pee on you.

I don't want to meet your mother.

I don't want to hear your funny story about Comic-Con.

I don't want you to call me "tough guy" sarcastically.

I don't want to go on a second date just to get a hand job.

I don't want to talk about my ex or your ex or your ex-mother in law.

I don't want to cry in front of you.

I don't want to put my head on your shoulder for support.

I don't want to commiserate about bad relationships.

I don't really want to date yet.

That's kind of a buzz kill, isn't it.

I don't want to be a buzz kill.

I'm going to step away from the keyboard now.

Thanks.

:)

Sharing

So I have this great new job I'm starting in a week. And you know, one of the first people I texted was my ex. Because it would be weird for him to find out another way.

And I miss having someone to share that with. The great moments of life. The stupid things I think about. The fact that I'm excited about two Bruno Mars songs on GLEE.

I know I'll find someone. And I'm not focused on that. Too much to do. But it was nice. Even with the other bullshit. It was nice.

Anatomy of a Break Up: The Next Seven Days

WEEK TWO

DAY EIGHT - I had started to think that I really was going to go ahead with the break up. But at this point it was still, let me have all of my things ready to go in case I decide to go through with it. My friends were worried that I wouldn't go through with it. That I would do what I always do and start to think that things weren't so bad. They had every reason to be concerned even though I wasn't telling them so at the time.

I reached out to him to say we should sit down and have a "conversation" on Tuesday. He responded back to me saying that he wasn't feeling well and that he would rather do Wednesday. At that point, I felt like I was being dicked around so I said:

"Don't worry about it. I know something's going around, so just let me know when you're feeling better."

Looking back at it weeks later, I realized that he didn't want to go through with it either. It's like that Gladys Knight song, "Neither One of Us Wants to be the First to Say Goodbye." I was still hoping that some miracle would happen and it would be clear to me why we shouldn't break up.

I wanted "closure." A word about CLOSURE, I know people have plenty of opinions about that word. Both are cliche. It's either that we need "closure" and we need to end this like adults. Neither one of us wants to be the first to say goodbye, but neither one of us wants the first to be the asshole either. And the second POV, is that "closure" is bullshit. And this point of view is totally judgmental. I stand somewhere in the middle. I wanted this relationship to end with some sort of epiphany...ON HIS PART. I may never get that.

And this conversation that I wanted, most likely would be a blame game. And it wouldn't be healthy for me to subject myself to that.

DAY NINE - A got an email from him saying that the more and more he started thinking about it, the angrier he was getting. And I knew that I had to get my stuff out.

But first I had to call my Mama. I told her everything that was going on and to my delight and surprise, she didn't have a disparaging thing to say. She just offered her support and as a good Catholic mother, said she was going to church to pray for him as soon as she was done visiting her brother who had just had a stroke. That's when my life started feeling like a telenovela.

DAY TEN - My boss was flying that day, so I knew I could be out of the office that morning and pack my stuff up.

The plan was to know what I was getting and where it was. No more than 15 minutes. In and out. I went into the home office where my clothes were. I shoved shirts and pants and undies into a suitcase. Then I grabbed my passport and some books. It felt weird just grabbing everything and knowing that I didn't want him to walk in on me. I said goodbye to our dogs and left.

As I was driving away, I realized that I hadn't grabbed my shoes. Of course. So I dropped stuff off, turned back around and went back.

I got a text message about three hours later saying that he would back up my stuff. Mind you, I'm not responding to any texts or emails at this point. So his anger is increasing the more and more time goes by and he hasn't heard from me. I knew from the email that he didn't know I had taken my stuff. Because the email also mentioned that he had changed the locks. I got all of my stuff out in the nick of time.

And that night, he realized I was gone. And texted me.

DAYS ELEVEN THROUGH FOURTEEN - Honestly a blur. And detailed over various parts of this blog. Arranged to stay with a few different friends. Defriended by various people. Defriended by him. It all started to become real. My new life was starting. And there were incredible changes to come.

Likes Long Walks on the Beach

Now that I'm out of a relationship, I seem to be giving a lot of relationship advice.

Seriously. Me. Who's NOT in a relationship! Do you all want to hear what I have to say?

I'm kind of amazed at the extreme sense of relief I have over this relationship being over. That's not to say that I didn't love him, but I just have so much of my own time again and for that I'm thankful.

I have a dear friend who just got married and now is planning to have a child. It's an overwhelming experience for her because it's something she's always wanted to do and for so long she had one excuse or another: the wrong man, the wrong time, no money--the list goes on and on. And now she's got all of the things lined up. And it's still scary.

We've been going on these long walks in Santa Monica and talking things out. I won't disclose any of her personal information, but talking to her has made me think about the things that make me happy. I don't have a hard time being single, although I did have a one night stand this weekend and it was lonely. It's just not the same grabbing your stuff and getting out of someone's bed as it is when you're in your own bed. I miss my bed. And I miss those memories. I know there are plenty of unpleasant memories as well, but being single makes you think about those things.

So back to me not having a hard time being single. :)

In the next relationship, I need to make sure I'm spending time with my friends. And I need to pay attention if the person I'm with doesn't like my friends or begins to resent them over time. He never liked my friends. There was always an issue. And even though I knew that was a RED FLAG, I felt we could get over it. He didn't like the people I was closest to. That's a problem.

When I met my ex, I didn't want to date anymore. I am tired of people who date to have sex. Especially gay guys. I'm not promoting whoreish behavior (although I don't see anything wrong with it if you're being safe). But I'm just saying we need to be honest. Do I want to fuck you or find out who your favorite authors are? Or both? But don't get it twisted. Let's fuck. Let's do dirty things to each other. Absolutely. But I shouldn't have to suffer through a horrible date because you've got a big dick or thick lips or a cute ass.

I'm happy to have a life with friends and dating on the side. But that's not even my priority. I'm starting a new job in a week. I need to tie up loose ends on my current job. And I've got a new play to finish by the end of the year. I have plenty on my plate. But I think that the life I'm leading now is the life I should always be living. Even with a partner, and kids maybe one day, and a full creative life. The mistake I made was that everything became about him. And I knew that he found things about me inspiring and interesting - that's why we started dating in the first place. But I thought that in order for him to know how much I cared about him, that I needed to make it all about him. Do I think that if I had more balance that we would still be together? No. I now realize that we were meant to be together to learn things about ourselves. And then we became stagnant. And then there were bigger problems. And the relationship had to end.

But what I want my friend to remember is that she's on no one's timetable. She found the right guy and they have a life to live together. Enjoy the time you have because it might not be forever - through death or divorce.

I'm learning to enjoy the fact that we had a great ride. Five years is a wonderful amount of time. I know I can love. I know I can be committed. I know that I can work on a relationship. And I know I can be a great lover, an incredible listener and a wonderful boyfriend. I know that I can let someone be that back to me. And I know enough to honor the relationship we had by leaving the party when it's time. Otherwise, it would have gotten worse and I would have been left with the decaying carcass that was once our relationship.

I just want my friend to be happy. I think she will be. But she just has to trust herself. Trust me, it's a lesson I seem to be learning a lot lately.

Meta Moments: This is What Happens When You're a Writer

So I'm sitting at "home" (which is what we refer to as any place I'm staying these days, mainly with friends) watching the last hour of "Something's Gotta Give" on AMC. I switch it on at the moment that Diane Keaton's character starts writing the play about what happened during the first two thirds of the movie. And of course this is totally referential to "Annie Hall", the last romantic comedy she was charming in before this. So Erica (another interesting detail) runs into Keanu Reeves' character and they start dating again. The play about Jack Nicholson's character opens on Broadway, Jack realizes it's about him. He walks by the theatre one day, stops and sees Amanda Peet's character who tells him that Erica is in Paris for her birthday.

That's where Jack goes to meet his ex lover and her current lover, fully intending to declare his love for her. Wrong place, wrong time.

Okay, so here's where it comes back to me. I must have been doing something yesterday and I accidentally butt-dialed my ex (a few before this current ex). And we both would say that we use that term loosely. We dated for a month. I know. Ridiculous. He's not an ex boyfriend. But it was an exciting month. He's a very successful comedy writer in the biz. And I was (and still am) aspiring in that area. We've talked here and there over the years. But I butt dialed him of all people, which is so random. So as I'm watching this movie about playwrights and ex-lovers and someone named Erica, I get a text from my "ex."

In the play that I'd write about this, the text means something. It's like a letter in an Ibsen play.

I'm having a chuckle, but it probably means nothing. Other than my overactive imagination keeping me company on a quiet, rainy Saturday night in Los Angeles.

Thanksgiving

I didn't have to cook this Thanksgiving.

To some people the thought of not cooking would be followed by a sigh of relief. For me, I felt a little unstable.

I'm the guy who makes everything. I'm the guy who doesn't let you bring anything. And not to be nice, but because I've been planning a menu with complementary dishes for the past three months. I'm the guy who gives the toast. I'm the guy who looks over at his partner, who has decorated the whole house, and smiles. I'm the guy who's a part of the Thanksgiving Dinner Team.

Well, not this year.

This year, I was the guy who brought his parents to Thanksgiving at his friends' house. And we ate someone else's stuffing and someone else's turkey. And it was good. I spent the whole day...doing nothing. I slept in. I went to the Korean Spa and mediated. I went over to my friends' house at my own leisurely pace. I had a glass of champagne at 12:30. I got out of my friend Steve's Mom's way because she is the Queen of her Kitchen.

I watched my parents walk in the front door and get greeted immediately by people who love me. I looked around to see where my father was. He had escaped into the kitchen to talk to Steve's Mom about food. And that's when I knew we were okay. My father doesn't really talk to people. He's shy.

Actually, that's unfair. He's the shy one in our family. And we're all social. It's the same thing with my Mom. For years I've said my Mom is not a good cook, a story which she recounted LOUDLY on Thanksgiving. But since she was with other LOUD people, it was totally fine. My ex's family was very subdued and being loud was considered inappropriate. I'm half-Latin and mainly from the neck up because I've got a BIG OL' MOUTH. So in my family, my Mom's a bad cook. But in the world of home cooks, my Mom is great. She just doesn't love it. All the men in our family LOVE to cook. It gives us identity. It gives the three of us something to talk about. It makes us comfortable. That's because it's a passion. So when my normally quiet Dad was going off on his own and not standing in a corner listening to my Mom and I hold court, I was curious. But he found common ground. And my friends are people who my parents would talk to. They are people who make them comfortable. So it would make sense that Steve's Mom would be the same way.

It's funny. Because Steve and I had been dying for our Moms to meet, but it was actually his Mom and my Dad who exchanged numbers. Before you get all eye rolly on me, my parents are still together and it wasn't like that. All though I do think it's funny that my Dad exchanged digits with Steve's Mom. And the two Mom's DID get along and they had something in common. They raised two artistic sons with a voice of their own. And they made sacrifices to make sure that we had a good life. And we do. Mine's in transition now. But it's good again.

And the good job that our mothers did was in evidence later that night when Steve and I were sitting on his bed, crying while watching GLEE. It was the episode where the whole Glee Club stands up for Kurt. It's the one that just aired about Kurt's dad and Finn's Mom getting married. The one where Finn dances with Kurt. The one where Finn realizes that he needs to man up and be a brother to Kurt, a protector.

And I saw Steve turn around and look at his Mom with tears in his eyes. A look that I know all too well that basically says, "Thanks Mom, for never finding fault and for always believing in me." There aren't enough words.

Ch-ch-cha-changes

"When another door closes, another one opens."

"When you want something, the universe conspires to help you get it."

"Luck is preparation matched with opportunity."

All of these sayings have come to mind lately. As has been written in this blog, I have been out of my relationship for almost a month, since HALLOWEEN. And once you make one change in your life, everything else starts to move. So I apologize for not blogging for a week, but life has been happening.

Where to begin?

Well, I am starting a new job on December 6th, as the assistant to two showrunners who just got a pilot picked up on USA. That went down right before Thanksgiving. The job may take me out of town, if I go with my new bosses on location. And I continue to float around from guest bedroom to guest bedroom. And I will be house and dog sitting during the holidays, so that's terrific.

My biggest complaint and the great mystery that I needed to solve for the longest time was how to get unstuck. I felt completely immobile and it was a problem I didn't know how to solve.

I saw a friend last night for a post-Thanksgiving gathering. She's now married and trying for a baby. I told her I had been thinking a lot about her lately. She was in a relationship that was going nowhere. And I remember she called me in tears about three years ago because she didn't know what to do. She finally ended her relationship with a guy of seven years. And at the time I remember thinking that I would never have the courage to do that. Yes, there were things wrong with my relationship, but if I wanted to leave I didn't think I could. And when all of these wonderful things started happening to her as a result of her changing her life, I hoped the same would happen to me. Except I wanted to keep everything the same. The Universe doesn't work that way.

And here I am now. Four weeks. I have a blog I've gotten behind on. I still haven't told y'all the story of week two, which is the week I really decided to leave. And now I'm at the end of week four. I have no place to live. I'm relying on my friends. I'm starting a new job, which won't last longer than a few months if our pilot doesn't get picked up. I've already applied for other jobs that I never thought I would apply for. My motto is "Change Everything." If I don't like it, I can go back to the things I do like.

But if my life is going through a converter right now, I want to throw as many things in that converter as possible. Because the universe is turning everything to gold. So the more I change, the more gold I will have. I like that philosophy. And I'm sticking with it.

Friday Morning

I've officially been out of my house for almost three weeks now.

I sing "Teenage Dream" and I remember that we never got to watch that episode of "Glee" together. And I can hear the bedroom conversation:

HIM: "You're Kurt and I'm Blaine."

ME: "Why are you Blaine?"

HIM: "Because I have a better voice. And you're more gay."

ME: "Maybe I'm just more emotional."

HIM: "Maybe I just want to sing that song to you."

I miss him. And it hit me this morning. I know I'm not really explaining why we broke up. Suffice it to say that I wouldn't leave flippantly. There needed to be bigger reasons to leave that made the relationship unbearable. He's not unbearable, he's actually incredibly lovable and in extreme need of love. I finally realized that I needed more. I needed a voice in my relationship and couldn't just be the emotional center.

I couldn't just hear things like:

"You're so patient."

"Thank God for you."

"He's blessed to have you."

And it started to sound like mockery. I started to feel like maybe I was a fool for being so patient and loving--two things by the way that I think are the keys to a successful relationship. But I'm not longer in one, so what do I know?

In the he said/she said movie of this relationship, it will be said that he took me to wonderful places and we ate at fabulous restaurants and felt important. I would rather feel important for the work I do and the person I am, not for where I show up. And I can cook my own goddamn dinner. I'm an amazing cook. It became all about this image and projecting this persona. Eventually, so did our relationship.

But that doesn't take away from the fact that this morning at 9 AM, I miss being his boyfriend. I know I left for the right reasons and that the relationship left me doubting myself. I'm better for having left. I know he'd dispute this if he ever reads this, but it was emotionally abusive. At a certain point he knew that. But I miss the private moments. The "Glee" watch parties together. The eating in bed and making funny faces. The laying in bed with our two dogs. But I couldn't trade my own dignity and my own path for those moments. It was just two high a price to pay.

So THAT I don't miss. And I am glad I was brave enough to leave. I may not totally believe it was an act of bravery yet, but my friends keep telling me that, so I'm choosing to believe them. At least until I can believe it myself.

Songs to Dance To: Vanessa Williams

Cause I don't wanna miss out...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MNl7BeEsVKw

I was standing at 7:15 waiting for my baby's car
Just then out stepped the driver of a limousine
And asked if I was going far
I said I've got my mind made up
I don't wanna leave him baby cause it's clear to me
That it's just to tough to find another lover like mine

With the right stuff
The right stuff baby
I don't wanna miss out on the right stuff
Ooh no with Mr. Right

Just Friday 'bout a week ago
This fellow called me on the phone
And said "I live in Paris, don't you want to go
I know you must be all alone"
Well, it'll take more than a fancy trip
Or a chauffeured limousine
Cause I ain't never seen no one
Who could give me love like this
The other fellows don't compare

To the right stuff
The right stuff baby
I don't wanna miss out on the right stuff
Ooh no with Mr. Right

Sing

He's the only to give me that lovin'
Cause next to him there is no other one
He's very sexy and oh so sweet
And he knocks me off my feet
Say it

I need the right stuff
I got to have the right stuff
I don't wanna miss out on the right stuff

Already?

My friends are starting to set me up. And I guess that's fine in terms of moving on. But have they been holding out on me all of this time? Did they have a secret list of guys they wanted to set me up with in case I broke up with the boyfriend and now all of a sudden the floodgates have opened?

My best friend always said her sister knew Marc Jacobs and she had him on speed dial in case I ever broke up. She always said this whenever I called her for a drink. Because I never called her up for a drink unless I had a problem with the boyfriend. But to be fair, she didn't call me much either. No hard feelings. Just fact. Yes, I do live in a world where it is POSSIBLE that someone I know knows Marc Jacobs. What's NOT possible is Marc Jacobs (the new, improved Marc Jacobs) ever looking at me twice. I mean, have you seen his boyfriend? Go to Perez Hilton, then come back.

This is not me being hard on myself. I give great face - YOU'VE seen it. But the body needs some fine tuning. I am comfortable enough with myself to know that. Face: amazing. Body: good.

But it was always a nice thought.

URBAN MYTH: Marc Jacobs waiting around for me with a cashmere hoodie in one hand and gym membership to Equinox in the other.

Dating Marc Jacobs would be motivation to get the pounds off for sure.

A friend of an ex-boyfriend already sent me a friend request on Facebook. I'm not sure how much I trust his judgment, but it was a sweet gesture. The ex's teeth weren't that great and neither are this guy's. It's the thought that counts, I guess.

Another friend I had lunch with asked me if I wanted to date her 23 year-old mixed race intern or babysitter or something. She showed me a picture and he's hot. But even though I'm NOT 23, I'm supposed to be the 23 year-old mixed race guy in a relationship. I mean, have you SEEN my pic. That's your second hint, go look at it if you haven't yet. Scroll or click or whateve.r

And then my friend told me about another guy over drinks last night. He's 41, good looking, white, a professional in the entertainment business who works for a major studio and he's really nice. But she wasn't sure if we're the same type. I saw that look on her face that most heterosexual's have when they're confused about how gay relationships work. I recognized that look.

"You're trying to figure out who's the woman, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Is that bad?"

And it's not bad, I told her. It's just what straight people know. There's a man and a woman. And apparently the woman is more gentle and understanding. I was definitely the woman in that regard in my past relationship. My ex's Mom even went as far to tell me one year after hanging out with her grandson that I would make an excellent mother. And if that's the case and her son as the "man" is the opposite of that...what the hell is she saying about her son without saying it.

And for the record, that is no correlation to who's the top or the bottom, as I told my friend last night.

So I told my friend to give her friend my phone number or to look me up on Facebook. If he's interested in dating a mixed race guy who LOOKS 23 (HEY! I'm getting over a break up, if I want to be deluded, I'm allowed for the next two weeks), then he should look and see if he likes what he sees. But apparently he's been dating younger and younger, but isn't necessarily interested in dating babies, so the only other question is:

"Does he date brown?" My friend's getting back to me.

Songs to Dance To: Glee

Any song from Glee this season.

But especially LE JAZZ HOT, SWEET TRANSVESTITE, TEENAGE DREAM AND FORGET YOU.

http://www.gleethemusic.com/us/episode/substitute

My New Face

The Transformation: Hair Cut 3

And here's what happened.

He almost left it like this.

Then we cut off more and more and more. I had a lot of hair.

And here's the finished product.

The Transformation: Hair Cut 2

So I went to his salon and waited.

What was I going to do?

Or better question, what was Josh going to do to me?

The Transformation: Hair Cut 1

So this is what my hair used to look like.

It's very Lindsay Lohan mug shot, according to friends. I needed a change (obviously), so I decided to get my friend Josh to cut my hair.

Only directive: make me young and hot. I don't care how much comes off.

De-Friended

It's National Unfriend Day, but I got de-friended by the ex and members of his family. A little background, to be fair: I de-friended his sister and her girlfriend last week because his sister had decided to comment on our relationship on Facebook. Something to the tune of:

"Saddened to see how quickly love can turn to hate."

Excuse me? Who would do that? So of course my ex has to defend himself and get a little dig in saying that from his end, he doesn't hate. So I defriend her, in an emotional state because I am staying with friends and didn't have a key. So I'm sitting in my car and reading Facebook and I happen upon that statement. So of course I stew. And then I'm feeling homeless and sad when I have a perfectly good home to go back to with the sweetest dogs ever. More on that later in a future post.

So the next day I start defriending the sister and the girlfriend and all members of his family I really never talked to anyway. About four hours later, I get a FB message and new friend request from her. "Why did you defriend me? I didn't break up with you." And being the person I am, I didn't want to go back on FB, so I had her number and I called her.

She picked up and was shocked to hear from me, I think. "I need to let you know why I defriended you. You took something that's between me and your brother and made it public when it wasn't yours to do. And that's hurtful."

"Well, you have to understand, I'm an emotional person."

"That's why you don't put things on Facebook!"

Then more "blah blah blah" the family's sad and my son's devastated (it took everything in my power not to say: "I bet not more than me.") And then I made an official statement.

"Since I have you on the phone, I want to make something clear. My silence is not a reflection on how I feel about you or your family and the respect and love I have for them. But I'm not in communication with your brother, so I won't be in communication with the rest of the family." And we ended our conversation. So I did add the sister and the girlfriend back in because I didn't want to create more drama.

But when I had lunch with my friend Amy and she said you could hide people instead of defriending them, I decided to do that. I really don't want him seeing my posts right now. So I defriended the ex, the sis, the girlfriend, the dad and then I went to defriend the mother.

DEFRIENDED!

Wow. I just sat there for about 30 seconds in complete shock.

Then I got over it. Certain dynamics were being revealed, which we had discussed while in our relationship. And I also discovered during the conversation with his sister that he hadn't been in communication much with the family, which was contrary to what I had heard. So it was clear that if he made it clear with his parents what the contributing factor was to our breakup, they had not shared that with her.

And then I got really appreciative for my relationship with my Mom. My Mom is the most patient person I know. And I know now that I've mirrored a lot of behavior from her, which is why I was in the relationship for five years despite some awful things. And I'm now saint either, but some of what I did was in reaction to what was happening around me. But I didn't talk about it or confront as much as I should have. That much is clear now.

Anyway, my Mom is also crazy and a nutball. And I can tell her ANYTHING. Like "You're a crazy nutball, Mommy. Now let's go shopping. And let me tell you about my balls." My relationship with my Mom is pretty singular and unique. She told me once that because she couldn't share things with her mother, she wanted to raise children to be totally open with her. And that means everything. She's very honest with me, but totally loving. And she hasn't had a mean thing to say about my ex. Not once.

So the mother's defriending was followed by my ex defriending me and then the sister and girlfriend defriended me as well. And this is my feeling about it. I wasn't hurt. It really needed to happen. This is a clear ending of a relationship that was everything I wanted at the time. And a lot of what I thought I deserved. The conclusion I came to, at a certain point in the relationship, is that I was recreating my parents' marriage, which when I was a kid wasn't good. They are still married and my Mom's gotten tougher. But when I was a kid, she took a lot of verbal abuse from my Dad and I watched it, perhaps more intently than I thought.

And in therapy once I said that I was afraid I was becoming my Mother in her relationship with my Dad from when I was a kid. It was then I realized that I couldn't do that. And I tried not to do that in my relationship. Ultimately, what I started to realize was that I couldn't change the dynamic in that relationship. It had to end. And now that the dynamic has changed, the other stuff is falling away.

What's next?

Dan Savage on the Price of Admission

A friend sent this to me. I thought I'd share.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ObrFwjesno&feature=fvsr

Exercise as a way to Support Certain Habits

I don't know who likes to work out. I know there are people who do, but they are not MY people.

My people like to drink, eat, smoke and fuck. That is a great life.

But when you think about it, a run is great cure for a hangover. And in order to eat what you want for as long as you want, you have to exercise. So the exercise supports the eating - okay, that'll get me in the gym.

There's really no excuse for smoking, other than I look cool doing it. So that will be minimal, but again, I like doing things in moderation.

And fucking. Well, you gotta look good for other people will fuck you. And I've got too much love, energy, dirty thoughts, exhibitionism, and roleplay ideas to stop fucking. And I'm not old.

Conclusion: You need to get to the gym.

I know it's a cliche to lose weight when you get out of a relationship. For me, exercise is an exercise is streamlining. My body (I'm not posting a picture of it on here, so don't ask) is not bad. I'm about 5'10", 175-178, and the last time I checked my body fat percentage was at about 16.8. But I could tweak that a bit.

Height: That I can't tweak. I might be gay, but I don't think I'm going to get any dates by wearing heels.

Weight: I probably could lose about 10 pounds, as long as I had some good muscle weight and lower my body fat percentage. My weight is fine, but for pure vanity reasons, I want to get rid of some back fat.

Body Fat: Okay, so I could lose some. I'm not sure how much. Maybe 2-3%. I don't know what's healthy, so I'm going to Google that. I could ask some fit gay friends, but those bitches aren't the most healthy. We've got bad body perception, people! 10% sounds like a good number, but how skinny is that? Maybe 12. Oh, I'm just picking numbers, better consult someone who knows these things.

I actually have done P90X and have loved it. I wrote on another blog about my experiences. And it really improved my strength. It's hardcore and it really takes over your life, so it's a hard thing for me to do intensely. But the results speak for themselves.

So here's where I set another goal for myself.

GOAL: Have the body I want by my birthday in February.

That's three months. And conveniently, so is P90X. I'm starting this week. With the diet, too. Oy! But it'll be easier because I'm not living with somebody with no self control.

That means I have to start today. Ugh. I'm going to do the P90X strength workouts and diet. What does that mean? Lots of exercises using body weight: pushups, pull ups, squats. And lowering my carb intake and portion control.

Now to the fun part. P90X does three types of cardio. They do Plyometrics, which is jump training. Yoga. And kickboxing.

I'm going to switch out the plyometrics with a hip hop class at my gym. Or any dance class. I think when I get my dance legs and core back, I'm going to go take an actual class at a studio. GOAL.

Yoga. In another blog, I talked about Hot Nude Yoga. If I'm going to take a yoga class, I might as well have the possibility of an erection. Check.

Kickboxing. Well, there's no way around that. Kickboxing is just too much damn fun. And since I don't have a kickboxing partner, I'm just going to use the bags at the gym. But who knows? If this working out goes well, maybe I'll get myself a sparring partner. Who does Nude Yoga with me. And can dance. And if they can dance, that means they can fuck. And if they're willing to indulge themselves, maybe they like to eat well. Like tearing into a good piece of steak. Grrrrr. And after a glass of red wine (drink), it's good to have a smoke. It's very Parisian.

Oh! Maybe we'll be in Paris. Or maybe I'll MEET him in Paris. GOAL.

The Best Advice I've Been Given So Far

1. Enjoy this period in your life, as hard as it is. The pain's going to be there, so just have fun.

2. Say yes to everything. This is a time of risk, so take advantage.

3. Go shopping. Get yourself some new clothes that personify the new single you.

4. See friends.

5. Take a trip.

6. Look at Facebook less.

7. Listen to your autonomous voice and what it's telling you. Also known as your inner voice or your instinct. It's probably going to be louder than usual, so it's easier to hear.

8. Don't be alone with the ex. He's unpredictable. You're not ready.

9. Cut off all communication for now. Although I didn't take the advice someone gave me to defriend him on FB.

10. Continue to reach out to people, they have information for you. It's been remarkable how much so many people have stories like mine and how much that helps to hear.

11. Start seeing your therapist again. You're going to need to talk about it, so pay someone to listen. The Southern California Counseling Center on Pico does a sliding scale.

12. Start working out hard, for you more than anything else. It will clear your mind.

13. Set a goal for the next marathon you're going to run.

14. Set a goal for everything.

15. Let people help you. Ask for help.

The List

You know that list that you make of all the things you'll do when you get out of your relationship?

Oh, wait. Maybe you don't. If you're in a healthy relationship you probably don't. I'm telling you, I'm really starting to notice some very telling things about myself.

In any case, here's the list.

1. Get a haircut. That's happening this Wednesday. I will report back to let you know what my hair looks like after I get it done. I was telling a friend today about the haircut and I said, "I'm not sure how I'm going to cut it. Not that it matters, but he always liked it long." She responded with, "It totally matters. Cut it off. I keep it short because MY ex always liked it long."

2. Get rid of things I don't need. Did that.

3. Don't do THAT again. I haven't been so successful with this one in the past. I won't do THAT again.

4. See my friends more. Appreciate them more.

5. Focus on what I want.

6. Start changing other things in my life. Start making new and more changes.

7. See my niece more often.

8. Go on Facebook less.

9. Workout more.

10. Cut out carbs. I'm gay. This one is really important and has been reiterated by my friends who say I need to get my single body back.

11. Use the word "Amazeballs" more often. I like that word, so I should feel free to use it.

12. Start dancing again. That includes yoga, too.

13. Get back to writing a blog. Done.

14. Look at my expenses and start looking at how I can cut things out and be more responsible so I can really take care of myself instead of allowing someone else to take care of me.

15. Get a cashmere blanket.

16. Pray and talk to God more.

17. Ask the question: "What part in this do I have?" And change.

18. Look at the ways I play the victim. And change.

19. See more movies. By myself. And while you're at it, do more things by yourself.

20. Don't be bitter, be better. And realize that some cliches are worth considering.

Anatomy of a Break Up: The First 7 days

DAY ONE - I'm staying in the guest room downstairs. Asked to sleep there last night. Then was asked to stay somewhere else. I'm stubborn and don't like to do what I'm told. He comes downstairs. We see each other and don't say I word. Because I'm still mad. And I don't want him to see how hurt I am. Actually, I don't want him to talk me into not being this mad. And I don't want to start out the morning yelling. I can't believe we're back here again.

Later, probably twenty minutes later, he texts me on my way to work. He doesn't want to live in a house where we don't speak. He tells me that I should stay somewhere else. I decide to think about it.

A few hours later, another text to ask me why I haven't responded. I say that I'm milling it over. (I told you I'm stubborn) He says he's not giving me a choice. This is the text where he kicks me out. This is a fact I keep forgetting. My friends remind me many times over the next two weeks that he kicked me out.

I decide that I don't want to live in a house where we've got tension either. I decide to stop being stubborn and I call my friends to ask them if I can stay there. They say yes.

I spend the night in their guest room.

DAYS TWO THROUGH FOUR:

All a blur. But I do remember a few details. Like having dinner every night with my friends who I'm staying with. Glasses of wine and conversations in the kitchen. In these early days, I just get a lot of support. The guys ask me a lot about what I'm going to do. I feel now like I was a zombie. I had moved into their guest room four months ago for a week. And I went back. I don't want to exhaust their patience. I spend a lot of that time feeling shitty about burdening them. I don't want them to think that I'm an idiot. Sensing this, they mention that they will support me no matter what I do. And that if I go back to him, they'll support me because they're my friends. But I can see it, in-between the jokes and the cocktails: they don't want me to go back. They think it's a bad idea.

More logicistic texts and emails. I'm not really responding to anything he's sending me. No phone calls. Just a text to ask me if I want to take care of the dogs while he's away that weekend. I remember that we were supposed to go down to San Diego to see a friend of his who was working down there. It settles in. I won't be going with him this weekend. I do think for a second about whether or not we'll be fixed by then. Not because I want to stay in a fancy resort in Del Mar. But because I want this to be over. I want him to snap to his senses and realize that I left for a reason. But I'm mute.

I feel like he can see me behind a mirrored wall. I can't see him. But I'm screaming and screaming, begging him to stop. But all that he can see is my terror, as the water rises and rises. Eventually the water rises above my head. And he watches me drown, but does nothing about it.

The other thing I remember is that the guys left me a plate of food after I got home late one night. They had cooked for me and wanted to make sure I had eaten. Someone asked Mario Batali once what his favorite meal was. He said it was one that someone made for him. I had a lot of favorite meals that week, but that was by far my most favorite.

THE WEEKEND: DAYS FIVE THROUGH SEVEN

I come home on Friday. The boys decide that we should go out and grab dinner and drinks. So we head out for Mexican. I'm Mexican and I could use some comfort food. And margaritas. So we head out to the east side of town. I felt relaxed. I look around and realize that it's been so long since I had really headed east. But then I realized that the real reason I was relaxed was that I was enjoying a nice, low-key dinner. And I wasn't being interrupted. I was being heard.

The tone was changing. The guys were no longer asking me what I was going to do. But they were expressing their concern at what would happen if I got back together with him. I started to seriously think about moving out.

The next day, I was ready to head over to my old place to watch the dogs. But I got a text that he wasn't leaving now until the afternoon. I thought that he might not go or that he might say he was leaving and be waiting for me. Not that I thought I was in any danger, I just wanted to spend some time in my old place alone with our dogs.

I had brunch with my best friend, who had stayed away when we were together. They didn't get along. This was a pattern with most of my friends. I was angry that she had assumed that he had control over me and that I couldn't see her. But she was perceptive and right. He did have control over me. I was starting to realize what other people had been seeing for a while.

I went over after brunch, even though it wasn't 3PM (the time he was leaving). I just didn't want it to be weird. So I went in, just said that I was coming into drop off my bag and poop (the truth) and that I would leave and come back after he left. I went upstairs and saw him in bed, drinking a scotch. I probably said something to him. But I did what I came to do and then I walked out the door.

That was the moment I decided to start pre-packing.

When he left, he texted me and told me how cute I looked. I didn't care. I wasn't surprised about that then, but I am not. I'm a whore for a complement because I wasn't complemented much as a child. I've been told this by my therapist and my ex. Many times.

I sat in the house alone with the dogs. I watched a lot of TV. I did not want to prepack.

I went out that night with my friends. Danced and carried on. Then walked home at 3 AM. Or "home." I woke up the next morning and started to get rid of clothes and DVDs and other things I didn't want anymore. I put everything away neatly so that it wasn't obvious that I had done some prepacking. I was still scared of what he would do if he found out I was leaving.

A friend described this as "battered wife syndrome", which I looked up. I wasn't physically beaten ever in my relationship. But the emotional scars were there. As I Googled, I did a mental check list and most, if not all, of the signs were true of my relationship.

At that point, I knew that I was leaving him. Well, I was 85% sure. I was still hoping that he'd hear me. But I was still drowning.

He texted me to let me know he was on his way back. I put everything back, but I knew what I was taking and where it was when I needed to grab it.

Then I left. I missed him by two minutes.

Post-Script: Gag Reflex aka The Things You Find Out After You Break Up with Someone

I've officially been out of my house (and essentially out of my relationship for two weeks).

This is not how I imagined my life.

Five years and nine days (and now two weeks) later here I am.

And it's fascinating the things you find out after someone leaves your life. Like your friends who knew something was wrong for the past year or so. Or that your friends didn't like how he spoke to me.

I have a friend's significant other (that doesn't make this person gay or unmarried, I am just protecting the innocent, so everyone will be referred to as a significant other) that told me that I never looked like I was bothered by him. Of course, someone else told me that I always rolled by eyes when he said something that bothered me. I remember the eye-rolling more than the not being bothered.

What I'm learning is that I was living in a vacuum. I thought that I was the only one who knew that he was saying insulting things to me. I didn't see that our relationship was contaminating the outside world. I didn't think people could hear us or see us or that they knew what I was experiencing. The same friend's S.O. said that I handled myself with Grace when he was around and didn't let him feel embarrassed for making a fool out of himself.

They say love is blind. It's also deaf. And mute. Love is like Helen Keller. I should start a t-shirt line.

I thought I was protecting him. From what? From himself? Was I trying to protect myself?

I decided that I wouldn't bash him in this blog. See? I'm still protecting him.

What I'm finding out as I'm going through this process of putting my life together again (two weeks in--staying strong) is that it was so obvious to everyone that something was wrong. And we would--

SORRY, need to interrupt. He just sent me a cancelled appointment over Microsoft Outlook for something we were supposed to do over Thanksgiving weekend. I just clicked "Remove From Calendar." This is how we communicate now. We haven't spoken this entire time. Just a lot of angry texts and emails. But more on that soon enough.

So we would do this thing where we fancied ourselves characters in a Noel Coward play where we would quip back and forth. So sophisticated and literate, hurling bon mots back and forth. One thing I said to him early on in our relationship was that we would not become George and Martha. Not Washington, but from the play "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf." Bon mots.

I didn't want the fighting to get ugly or the insults to start hurling. And eventually we went from Coward to Albee. I also knew that if my anger got deep enough, I'd tear him down. If you knew who he was and asked him, he would laugh. He didn't think I had it in me. But I wasn't interested in that. Even post-breakup I'm trying to be graceful. Or protective. Oh, who the hell knows the difference anymore?

What else am I noticing, now that I've got some distance? I'm noticing a lot of people are telling me that they're proud of me. I'm also noticing that a lot of people I know have been through the same thing. And I never knew it. I only thought that the members of the support group I used to visit had my problems. Now I know that other people I know share the same experience.

I'm coming out all over again.

The people who tell me they are proud of me are the ones who have been there. These words, "I'm proud of you", were first met by shock. As in, "What did I do to make you proud?" Or, "It's not that big a deal." I do that a lot. Diminish myself.

That reminds me, need to call my therapist and get back into therapy.

But that's what I do. I think or pretend that my accomplishments are no big deal. Like anyone could get a full ride to a graduate writing program at NYU. Or anyone could decide that they've had enough of an emotionally abusive relationship. Wait, my relationship was emotionally abusive? What? Again, deaf. It's only through the process of opening up and starting to talk and share stories that I'm having new kinds of shock.

Those shocking moments are getting filed under the heading: "Wait, you mean that I'm NOT crazy?" No, buddy, there's a whole history of people who you could actually learn from if you just opened your mouth and shared your pain and confusion. Instead of swallowing it whole. Time to stop ignoring that gag reflex. Choke on it a little bit. That gag reflex is trying to tell you something.

Stop deep throating your pain. Not a phrase you're going to hear from a therapist, trust me. Although, it would be awesome if that was a piece of advice.

Listen, you need to pay attention when you experience resistance. If your eyes are watering or you're choking, there's something wrong. If you feel discomfort, that's a sign.

Stop deep throating your pain.

Fiction: Looking for a Sign

As I was going through my things, I found a short story I wrote years ago after an embarrassing experience with a one-night stand. Just another example of me turning lemons into lemonade. And an example of what's probably out there for me. Eesh.

Also, this is before I had two dogs of my own. Correction: before WE had two dogs who are now living with him in our old place. Sigh.

Here's the story:

I have a problem reading signs. Stop. Yield. Slippery when wet. Danger: Co-Dependency Ahead. The signs that you pass on the road to relationships. I once dated this guy—head of his division at Xerox, beautiful home in a gated community—who suggested fun evening activities like watching The Empire Strikes Back with no pants on. For no good reason at all. Other than to have no pants on. He was fun. I liked him.

We were starting to develop a real rapport. But I couldn’t operate his coffee machine. Somehow coffee grounds would end up in the pot or the water would over flow or the machine would explode, sending chards of glass everywhere. The first time it happened, he laughed. The second time it happened, he sighed. And the last time it happened, he pressed pause on the VCR. He just stared at me, not making a sound. I don’t even think he was breathing. By that time in the relationship, we weren’t even having sex. So I don’t think it was that big a deal that I pulled up my pants and walked out the door without saying good-bye. I should have apologized or sent him a new coffee machine via UPS. But he hadn’t gotten it up in five weeks. I figured we were even.

My inability to operate his coffee machine, which translated into my inability to incorporate myself into his home routine—and eventually his life—was a sign. A big, glaring, flashing neon sign: YOU DON’T BELONG HERE…AND NOW I’M FLACCID.

**** “Maybe it just means he’s impotent.”

I was having lunch with my best friend, Coral, who thought I was making too much out of the whole situation. To try to figure out my problem with men, I decided I would enlist the help of my most trusted advisors, who sometimes know me better than I know myself. Coral was first because I knew she would have a lot to say on the subject. As I was about to launch into the list of signs I had written down and brought with me, Coral grabbed me by the wrist.

“If his dick doesn’t work, it’s just not meant to be. Maybe that’s the sign. It’s not you.”

Coral took a sip of her iced tea and went back to her salad.

**** Coral wasn’t the right person to talk to about this. My friend Janine, on the other hand, wrote an advice column for Salon.com and probably heard stories like this all of the time. She asked me for another example of how I failed to read these relationship signs. Then she started taking notes because she thought it would be a brilliant idea for her next column. Besides, her deadline was the next day and she had run out of ideas.

I told her about the MTV VJ I dated about six months ago. Smart, witty, went to Vassar undergrad and Columbia grad. He also wrote articles for Vanity Fair under a pseudonym. Probably the smartest/coolest guy I ever dated. We’d go to art galleries and movie premieres. He took me to various shwag trailers at Sundance where I got five pairs of True Religion jeans and Ray Ban aviators in every style. I had only graduated from Berkeley and NYU, undergrad and grad respectively, leaving me with knots of inadequacy whenever I went out with him. I didn’t think I was smart or cool enough.

One night, after we ran into his close personal friends 50 Cent and David Sedaris at dinner, I crawled into bed—tipsy off of saketinis—and fell asleep. I had this crazy dream where the VJ and I ran into my close personal friends, Grace Jones and Rip Taylor. Rip and I left the boys alone so we could go into the bathroom and smoke a joint. Once in there, I had to pee. Rip dropped to his knees and opened his mouth. Since the other urinals were taken, I reluctantly unzipped and let it rip—no pun intended.

When I woke up I realized I had wet the bed. Before the stank of urine became unbearable, I tapped the VJ on the shoulder. He looked over at me and smiled, probably thinking that I was ready for action. But I just put his hand on the wet spot.

He told me not to worry and got up, changed the sheets, brought me a new pair of pajama bottoms and told me to get some sleep. In the morning he made me a big breakfast and even cracked a joke about “the incident”, comparing it to that Season 3 episode of Sex and the City where the politician asked Carrie to pee on him. We did the dishes together and then I accompanied him to the subway station where he left for a meeting with his editor.

When I got back to my apartment in Brooklyn, I found a beautifully wrapped box waiting for me on the steps of my brownstone. Inside were my toiletries and a pair of aviators I had left at his apartment the night before. There was also a card with his assistant’s contact information—specifically asking me to contact her in case I had forgotten anything else.

Janine leaned back in her chair. The waiter brought the bill, which she quickly snapped up. Lunch was on her. She handed the waiter her Amex Platnium card and thanked me for supplying her with material for her next five columns. When I tried to prod her for any insight, she said that she had to rush home to start writing. And that it would all be in her column—which comes out on Tuesdays.

**** Finally, I went to the person who I should have talked to all along. Dan is a Jesuit priest with a degree in Psychology. And my ex-boyfriend—who freaked out when I started researching adoption agencies in China and then joined the priesthood. Maybe Dan was the source of my relationship trauma. After all, he was my last serious boyfriend and ran away from me to be with God. How could I compete? More inadequacy issues. But regardless, he knew me better than anyone else. As a priest, he had that whole spiritual insight thing working for him. And he’s been in me.
Dan listened intently, asked me some significant questions about what I felt I needed at this point in my life. Then he asked me to say two Our Fathers and three Hail Marys.

“I’m kidding!” He took a sip from his martini. “Why is it that people think priests have no sense of humor?”

After two more cocktails, I finally worked up the nerve to tell him the real reason all of these questions had popped into my head recently. I met someone. And we sparked. I think. But, like always, I was second guessing myself. He seemed really great on paper, but is someone who’s great on paper great in reality? Am I cute enough? Smart enough? Interesting enough? Was he? Is this too much to be thinking about after a few weeks? From that point on, I had an avalanche of questions. An avalanche that kept me up nights, eating store bought, overly-mayonaised potato salad.

And then there was the matter of his two dogs, an Italian greyhound and a Shitzu.

“You’re thinking the dogs are a sign. That he’s a big lady.”

“He’s not a big lady. He goes to the US Open every year. But it might be a sign of something else.”

“Like if he’s able to love his dogs, he’ll be able to nurture a child one day—one from China, for example.”

“Not funny. There’s something I need to tell you about the dogs.”

“They smell.”

“No.”

“They poop everywhere.”

“No.”

“He doesn’t like to leave them alone, so you’re always at his house and you feel like he’s hiding you from the world. You feel like he’s ashamed of your relationship and maybe has another boyfriend.”

“Jesus Christ, now you sound like me. But that’s not it.”

“Another girlfriend?”

“NO!” I took a deep breath. “Dan, you have to listen to me with an open mind and an open heart.”

“Honey, I’m a priest. That’s in the job description.”

“The Italian rimmed me.”

“I thought you said he was Jewish.”

“The Italian greyhound! The greyhound ate me out—by accident! I think.”

Dan flagged down the waiter. “You don’t happen to have any holy water on tap, do you?” He turned back to me. “I’m kidding!”


**** I had decided not to mention anything to the guy about the Italian. Because then I just want to die of embarrassment and wet myself…or destroy a Krups XP 1500.
The molestation, if you will, only lasted a second…or two. When I realized what had happened, I turned around and made the guy—let’s just call him Philip—spoon with me.

After the management at the restaurant kicked us out for having “inappropriate conversations” in their “distinguished establishment”, Dan came home with me for the post-game wrap up. I badly needed his advice, as both my priest and my ex-lover. But all Dan was looking for was details. He went into my bedroom and came back out with the teddy bear my niece had left behind during her last visit.

“Okay, show me where the bad dog licked you.”

I closed my eyes and pointed to the area right below the top of the crack and above the anus. Since teddy bears aren’t made with ass cracks and anuses, we had to use our imagination. Dan just stared at the teddy bear’s backside with a mixture of awe and envy.

Even though the story was highly traumatizing for me, I felt like it was my duty to supply Dan with exciting stories from the front lines of the dating world. He hasn’t had sex in six years and the effects of chronic blue balls had started to wear on him. I felt bad…until he wanted me to demonstrate with my tongue what the dog had done to me. Then I had to send him home.

I stared at Teddy’s face. I thought I noticed a smile that wasn’t there before. Like he liked the anal tickle. Maybe I liked it. Maybe subconsciously I wanted it and the dog could smell it on me, so he went for it. There’s the distinct possibility that I might have leaned into it a bit too long before I turned around and made Philip spoon with me.

Another part of me thought he had planned it. Like it was just something he was into—like golden showers or fisting. Maybe light bestiality is the new bisexuality. Philip could be incredibly open-minded. I could stand to have some of my horizons broadened—whether or not those horizons include my anus, remains to be seen.

The other possibility is that Philip thinks I’m a total pervert who’s accusing his precious doggie of raping me with his tongue. He could be one of those dog people who put presents under the tree and has sweaters knitted for the winter. If I mention something to him, he might think I’m crazy. But I can’t imagine having to sleep with one eye open, two hands over my crotch and one ass pressed against Philip for the next twenty years. It’d be defensive spooning, which somehow seems dishonest. Besides, what would happen during the summer when it was too hot to cuddle?

I invited Philip over for dinner. That way we’d have some privacy and the Italian wouldn’t hear us talk about him. Oh wait, I kind of forgot to describe Philip. Is that good or bad?

He’s 6’2”, blond hair, blue eyes and this face that’s so sweet and clean that you know there’s something dirty behind it. Aside from that, he loves his friends—he talks about them all of the time— and he throws these big Sunday dinners. He also has five friends in his life that he’s known for over twenty years. If that weren’t enough, he describes his brother, who lives in San Francisco, as someone he’d want to be best friends with, even if they weren’t related. That’s almost too sweet.
And I think he might be funny. He likes to make silly faces at me across the dinner table when we’re out with his friends. And when I brought out matzo ball soup at the start of dinner, he started talking like the Jewish grandmother he never had.
The best thing is that he makes me more clever whenever I’m with him and I can’t help but smile if we’re in the same room. I’m practically a 16-year old girl when I’m around him (Oh my God, I just realized that I could totally like him). We banter and exchange knowing looks and lots of puns. I feel so well written around him.

It’s those sharp verbal skills, plus a sip of wine and a little prayer (Dan’s suggestion) that will serve me well when the moment comes for me to say something. I set my glass down and open my mouth right as Philip gets up from the table. Great! Exactly at the moment I finally have liquid courage and God on my side, he has to get up to pee. But instead, he comes over and grabs my hand. As I’m about to speak, he gently puts his finger over my mouth.

“Shhh. Let your eyes do all of the talking.”

That’s sweet.

“Plus, I need you to save your voice for later.”

That’s hot.

“Thanks for having me over tonight. It wouldn’t have been the same with the kids here.”

The kids? Did he just refer to his dogs as—

I decide to shut myself up. Okay, calling his dogs his kids might be a sign. But the fact that I let him lead me into the bedroom without thinking about anything, except the warmth and strength of his hand, was a sign too. It was a sign that I was still willing to be romanced despite all of the screwed up relationships I’ve had. It’s a sign that I’m not cynical, that I still believe in possibility. Maybe Philip does too.

And the dog thing? For some reason, it doesn’t seem like that big a deal any more. I’ll just wear boxers to bed next time. And if worse comes to worse, we’ll keep spooning.

Back from Where?

The brink? Maybe.

I was on a road trip with a friend this weekend. And in between the Liza Minnelli song cycle that we were experiencing, we started talking about blogs. I had one a little bit ago that I stopped updating. And I remember how nice it was to just get my thoughts down and to release things into the universe.

Then we started about all the things I was doing to make myself feel better. You see, I just ended a relationship after five years and a week. And although some part of me could feel great about writing a blog called, "THE JERK WHO GOT AWAY," that's really not productive. And not entirely accurate. I don't want to write a bitter rant about my ex. I just want to document what I'm doing to transition into this new phase of my life. Maybe looking at it in print will give me some perspective.

Another thing people keep talking to me about is how I lost myself when I was with my ex. Unbeknownst to me. I thought I was doing so well! But I do have a high opinion of myself. Hence, the blog.

So this is going to be a home for all of us who are going through a hard time. Ending one part of our lives to end up somewhere else. And while some of it is going to be pretty standard fare: new haircut, new apartment, new phone, dating again; some will be strange. I spent part of the weekend going up the California Coast, from Target to Target, looking for a black Barbie with a blond afro. The whole story will be detailed in a future post.

I don't know what this next phase in my life will bring. But I do know that my goal is to never forget myself. The journey will run the gamut from the sublime to the ridiculous. And there will be lots of co-stars. Some making high profile cameos. And some only day players. But it will be silly. And loud. And probably painful.

But mostly honest. And all that that entails.

Hope you're entertained and moved by it all.