You know I’m sick when I go to the store wearing sandals with striped socks, a purple hat, and a dark blue fleece jacket three sizes too large.

Especially because, on principal (and unlike the majority of fashion-impaired Seattleites), I do not wear fleece to parties, fancy restaurants, etc. I wear it for outdoor activities and outdoor activities ONLY.

Except of course, when I’m sick. As in-I-must-go-to-the-store-and-get-cold medicine-and-tissues-ASAP sick. As in I-feel-too-disgusting-to even-put on-my-nice-coat-and-brand new-pointy- $200-boots-that-I-just-bought-in-New-York-City sick, so I will go out looking like a complete slob DESPITE the possibility of running into at least one former lover (the sleazy F.) and one potential lover (Hotshot Lawyer Boy) at this earthy-crunchy store.

And, since aforementioned store would never carry something as unnatural as Actifed, I wait for 10 minutes while "Jane," the “Personal Care Manager," dispenses advice about vegan multivitamins to some long-haired dude, so I can get her opinion on which natural cold remedy to buy.

Well, lemme tell you, there’s a huge difference between homeopathic remedies and herbal remedies, which Jane gladly explains to met in great depth while I stand there sniffling and dripping, wanting nothing more than to get back home and watch "Wet Hot American Summer." Then she sells me a ten dollar bottle of freeze-dried nettles. Yes, nettles. She says it’s the closest thing to Actifed there is in the herbal (not homeopathic!) world, and because I'm too lazy to drive 10 more blocks to Safeway, I buy it.

And I feel too disgusting to even talk about sex and dating and boys, if you can believe that. Let’s just say I had a great time on the ex-boyfriend tour of NYC (though I only saw one ex-boyfriend; the other one didn’t deign to show up which really shouldn’t surprise me since he dumped me for that ho’ S.J. at the homecoming dance, who is still as bitchy as she ever was – I mean, grow UP! – and an Internet millionaire to boot, not that I’m bitter), and there was no sex or dating or boys, except for of the platonic sort. And hey, maybe that’s why I had a good time.

Now, for the freeze dried nettles. If they don't work and I can't sleep, I might have to call in sick to work tomorrow -- oh no!

• Memphis Boy (MB). Met him that fateful night at the Tractor, when M. was handing out my business cards. Finally went on our first date Monday, the day I felt dumpage coming my way, and the day one of my friends wrote me such a *mean* e-mail it made me cry.
  
  After all that crap, Memphis boy was like a l'il blonde angel sent from Heaven! Cute, smart, politically engaged, 27 (they're getting older!), with a southern charming accent and a kick-ass smile.



• Dr. S. (aka Dreamboat). As my friend J. so aptly put it, Dreamboat is like one of those CDs you buy, and don't like on first listening to it; but then it grows on you until you can't get enough. At least I'm hoping J. is right. Because, not only is Dreamboat a dreamboat, he is a dream mate! (This is my mother speaking, not me).



• Mountain Man (MM). A fixer-upper from aformentioned friend J (who is a fount of single male friends). Imagine! A boy who would drag me up mountains and rock faces! It is my dream, I tell you, my dream. We have yet to go on our first date, but will as soon as I return from the ex-boyfriend tour of New York City.



• Hotshot Lawyer Boy (HLB) Jewish. Cocky. Tackles the evil corporate forces of the world. Does Yoga (is that good quality in a guy?). Outdoorsy. *Extra added bonus: Loser was always intimidated by him, and therefore hated him. Yet to go on a date with him, but the groundwork has been laid.
  
  It may be a few days before I write again, since, as mentioned am leaving on the ex-boyfriend tour of the Big Apple tonight. Since I have a phobia of flying, my only consolation, since I know, of course, that my plane will crash, is that, if it does, Loser will probably feel *horrible.* In fact, it might be his undoing! And that's something we can all get behind.
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  Sunday, October 13, 2002
        ( 9:24 PM ) Rebecca  
  Now that things have gotten hot n’ heavy with the L’il Rocklimbing Spy (LRS) – who possesses an irresistible combination of nice muscles, soft lips, and macho swagger -- my chastity is being put to the test.
  
  And I’m forced to wonder. Am I being arbitrary when I say I don’t want to go all the way? (Excuse my quaint turns of phrase, but I'm a nice girl at heart.) Why does that one little act that have so much significance even though it is just slighty different (a little tug there, a little pull there, and ohhhh yeah) from all the other stuff you’re doing ?
  
  In this libertine age, there seems such an arbitrary line between going all the way and going part way. I have told myself many times in the past that I was not going to have sex with so-and-so, only to have sex with so-and-so because it seemed silly not to— after all weren’t we practically doing it anyway?
  
  But that’s a load of crap and I’ve always known it.
  
  So, in keeping with my new evolved personality, I’ve shown remarkable restraint with LRS. But it ain’t easy. Because after all, I’m only human. ™ I have my needs, you know. And it’s been more than three months since I’ve gotten it nice and reg'lar. That’s too *$@#$! long!
  
  Nonetheless, despite pressure from the youngster, I haven’t caved yet and I’m happy about it, dammit. Because once I do, I’m gonna be:
  
  
  
  1. More vulnerable
     
  2. More neurotic
     
  3. Even more poised to fall in love with him than I already am
     
  
  
  When really, despite his massive potential, he is bright, bold, brash wine that is just not ready to drink (unlike moi, who is in the flower of my ripeness and, uh, drinkability).
  
  And, never mind the fact that it would be totally inappropriate for me to do so at this time with this person, I am freakin’ scared to fall in love with someone again! I always thought people who claimed to be “scared” of relationships were full of shit. But that was before I had been cheated on, lied to, and cruelly mistreated by the person I most loved and trusted in the entire world (swelling violins PLEASE!).
  
  The question is, seeing that I he is, in fact, oh-so-foxy, and I am, in fact, only human, how long can I hold out?
  
  And if I were a guy, would this be easier?
  
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  Monday, October 07, 2002
        ( 2:25 PM ) Rebecca  
  
  
  Newsflash -- War on Iraq Imminent and I'm a Cradle Robber!
  
  

  I found out yesterday that L'il Rockclimber Boy (LRB) is — get this — 23 years old! Apparently he was "joking" when he told me he was 26. Ha ha.

  
  
  

  So I guess I'm, uh, seeing, someone eleven years my junior. Eleven years! I mean people, come on, I am not old enough to be dating anyone who is that much younger than me! But according to the girlfriends I've polled today (2), I must dump him right away before getting "sucked in."

  
  
  

  But..but..but..can I just say in his defense, he is much more smart and together than I was when I was 23 (granted, that's not saying much). But LRB (whose acronym is officially changing to LRS for L'il Rockclimbing Spy, because that's what he does for a living, really), has already had his own business, traveled all over the world, climbed myriad spires and Seattle landmarks, and plays a mean flamenco guitar.

  
  
  

  This is much more than I can say for Loser, whose biggest aspiration is making sure his toilet is clean and his car expensive enough to impress his coworkers. Then again, my therapist told me that dating someone just because they're different from Loser is a stupid idea.

  
  
  

  So, whatever, I'm lost on this issue. For the moment.

  
  
  

  In other news, Dr. S. — aka the Dreamboat — broke his two week vow of silence and asked me out again. I thought about saying, "Can we just skip dinner and go straight for marriage?" But I refrained.
  
  

  Anyway, I still haven't figured out if he's a nice guy or not. But I'll know more after tomorrow night, so stay tuned.

  
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  Sunday, October 06, 2002
        ( 11:49 AM ) Rebecca  
  

  Once upon a time, a roommate of mine placed a personals ad and received a charming response from a non-native English speaker, which ended in the following way:

  
  
  

  “P.S. I am a very happy person and do not have much emotional luggage.”

  
  
  

  Lucky him!

  
  
  

  There are benefits to staying single into your 30s, like financial independence and sex with lots of different boys. But there are disadvantages too, one of those being that I am now saddled with way too much emotional luggage (none of it matching, I might add).

  
  
  

  And now, post-Loser, I have a big new piece of ugly-ass luggage (plaid, if you can believe it!). And, if you were to look inside, here are just a few of the items you’d find:

  
  
  
  
  
  • Trust issues
  
  
  • Abandonment issues
  
  
  • Self-esteem issues
  
  
  • Fear of falling in love again
  
  
  • Fear of never falling in love again
  
  
  • Fear of getting married
  
  
  • Fear of never getting married
  
  
  • Fear that I am evil, controlling selfish bitch who drives men away
  
  
  
  
  

  To name just a few.

  
  
  

  And then there is the question of the rebound. Am I on the rebound? Sexy Boy (SB) claims I am (his “excuse” for not going out with me). But what does it mean to be on the rebound? Is the first relationship post-breakup always a rebound? Does that mean it is by default doomed, and that you just have to get it over with?

  
  
  

  Three years ago to the month, when I was mourning the breakup of a less serious relationship, over which I got much more depressed (having not yet discovered the wonder drug, *Celexa,* which I recently recommended to so-sad Sour Bob), I fell into a “relationship” with a rock-climbing (what else?) district attorney. And oh. My. Was the sex ever hot. Scorching!

  
  
  

  But we could not hold a conversation to save our sex-addled lives. This was a guy who was smart, literate, outdoorsy. Everything, on paper, that I look for. And when he walked in the door, my knees – quite literally – got weak.

  
  
  

  Doing my usual thing, I convinced myself that someday we’d have something to talk about.This had to be more than just scorching sex! Then, after three weeks, he dumped me. I felt bad for a couple days, certain I’d never have sex that scintillating again (I haven't). But then I got over it. And more than that, I got a little more over my ex.

  
  
  

  Now it’s October again, and my love life seems poised to improve. But the plaid luggage is weighing me down. As I (possibly) sidle into a l’il something with L’il Rockclimber Boy (LRB), who is, by the way SOOO cute, I don’t know where my head’s at.

  
  
  

  Do I really like him? Is this just a fling? Is this just a rebound? Do I even know that yet? Do I need to figure that out yet? Don’t I need to keep dating? How can I keep dating when I’m kissing someone and enjoying it so much? If I keep dating, do I tell him? Is he seeing anyone else? Is he even going to call today like he said he would?

  
  
  

  All of a sudden I’m just like the girl in the Offspring song,

  
  
  

  “I'm seeing this girl and she just might be out of her mind
  
  Well she's got baggage and it's all the emotional kind
  
  She talks about closure and that validation bit
  
  I don't mean to be insensitive, but I really hate that shit…”

  
  
  

  Sorry boys!

  
  
  
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  Saturday, October 05, 2002
        ( 4:06 PM ) Rebecca  
  
  
  TOP 5 REASONS I LIKE L’IL ROCKCLIMBER BOYS
  
  
  
  1. Strong hands
  
  
  2. Strong arms
  
  
  3. Swagger
  
  
  4. Passion for life as evidenced by devotion to death-defying sport
  
  
  5. Favorite word is “epic,” as in "That's epic, dude!"
  
  
  
  
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  Thursday, October 03, 2002
        ( 7:14 PM ) Rebecca  
  Note that you can now "subscribe" to Breakup Babe. I think. Every time I update the site, you'll get notified, if you sign up in that little box thingy in the upper-left-hand corner.
  Toodles, BB.
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        ( 9:07 AM ) Rebecca  
  

  A mere two weeks after placing my personals ad, I have burned out on dating.

  
  
  

  Yesterday, in fact, I was so burned out, I had to call in sick to work. But it was only my soul that was sick. I went to Yoga, tried to become “indifferent.” When that didn’t work, I bought a gigantic piece of piece of cake, ate it in bed, and then promptly fell asleep for several hours (only to dream of throwing a glass of beer at Loser and missing).

  
  
  

  The thing is, I have met only two personals boys in person. And the were nice. Sweet! Intelligent! Outdoorsy! I have a knack for meeting high-quality men through the personals. And then not being attracted to them.

  
  
  

  My problem is, I try to be a friend to the whole wide world. I’ve responded to a mere quarter of the boys who’ve e-mailed me, but still – the correspondence is voluminous.

  
  
  

  I want to give these boys the benefit of the doubt. But I know how it goes: I schedule them all in for coffee, and then they like me, and I like them, but only in a FRIENDS way, and then I have to tell them, and –

  
  
  

  It’s exhausting.

  
  
  

  I know, I know, a couple weeks ago, I was trying to make things happen, since CuteBoyCallBlock was activated on my phone and I didn’t know how to turn it off.

  
  
  But now it’s unblocked. And half the men in Seattle are asking me out! (OK, that's an exaggeration. But I was cruelly cheated on and dumped two months ago, so I gotta brag about something!) Suddenly, I’m juggling the names of a dozen boys in my head, and on top of trying to hold down a job, a clean kitchen, my sanity, and I just can't do it.
  
  
  

  On top of that, I have to keep their real names and their pseudonyms straight. There’s John (FreeandOpen), who loves Vegas and parties; Craig (Corio), who looks like Johnny Depp and doesn’t believe in “traditional” relationships; Henry (sfboy), who’s coming up for the weekend from S.F. and wants a fling; Brian (SnazzyShoes), who writes children’s plays but is kinda bald, Adam (Arrows andStars), a wine importer with a boyish grin...

  
  
  

  And that’s just the personals guys. Then there are the ones I’ve met the "natural" way: in smoky bars, through friends, etc. Brad, the blonde mountain climber (ooohh, climbers), David, the politico from Memphis, Jake (aka Li’l Rockclimbing Boy, aka LRB, the 26-year old rockclimbing spy), Dr. S., the glib but good-looking pediatrician (who’s about to drop off the list since he hasn’t called, but ANYWAY)…

  
  
  

  Even a Gemini like me can only handle this kind of volume for only so long. Once upon a time, in a different single life, I made a spreadsheet for my mom – to detail who was who among the men in my life. Now I need one for myself.

  
  
  

  But fuck the spreadsheet. I can’t date all these guys; I can’t even be friends with all of them. Much as I hate to hurt feelings, much as I hate to close any doors when the room inside looks the least bit intriguing; if I keep going this way I’m headed for a nervous breakdown. In the immortal words of Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Breakup Babe needs to RELAX!

  
  
  
  
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