I Meart You

Had a mini meart attack... typo, but it's staying! No, not really; my meart did not implode or stop beating. It's still beating apathetically because it is cold and alone and lonely and just wants a good round of healthy sex, perhaps a spanking.

So, 2010 came and went pretty quickly, eh? I felt like I lived three different lives at one point; oh wait, I really fucking did. I felt like I was living a real life segment of a series like Friends or Seinfeld or Two guys, a Girl and a Pizza Place. Different jobs after a couple of months, different guys all the time, new friends, old friends, odd situations, World issues, mid to late 20's problems, parental issues, etc. I learned some important shit and was able to actually remember it to actually recall it later, at a time like this auspicious moment on my very public blog (not).

I believe I did a lot of maturing in 2010, did a lot of growing up and putting on my big girl panties (they are large, beige, seamless, cover all of my rather large bum and are up to the navel). I made a lot of good decisions that have made me very happy and relieved. I do notice that I am not as sweet and naive as I used to be, that I have lost a certain softness I used to carry in my face; it has been replaced by a hardness of the features, a shrewd eyed stare with a calculated smile.

Time doesn't pass by without leaving some sign of his passing.

I finally, cut things off with the Creative Hustler (which is probably the worst nickname I have ever given anybody, ever). He's too fucking intense and intense and intense and passionate and irrational and imbalanced. The freak in me fucking loves that but the rational, pragmatic me (who is, to be honest, a total wet towel) knows that I've been in these sorts of relationships and they're always fucked and intense and Way Too Much Trouble. He almost brainwashed me into having goodbye sex. Sneaky conniver! I kinda really wanted to, but I just know that it would cost me at least another 2-3 months of uh, passion and I am just ready to be done with it.

I have to meet him next week because we have some transactions we need to get done. I just want to give him his shit and get my shit and EJECT right out of that scenario. But he's going to want to have a beer and talk. Maybe not. Maybe his manhood won't allow him to hang with the woman who just dumped his ass to the curb. Oh bla bla bla, the poor, little, easily hurt MALE EGO. What a pile of barely held together manhood, its a miracle they don't strut around naked, cocks erect, thumping at their chests.

I'm obviously dealing with some shit, can you tell? So, I'm reading the silliest, cheesiest but probably very true, book titled Single, and it is very true that I hide it when people come over because it is a bit embarrassing. Hi, I'm SINGLE but I'm coping, kinda. Stupid, of course because I have always been a strong person and I don't like having to read self help books because I feel I am perfect and don't need no stinking help. But this I am reading, -and gagging through. A couple of the suggestions were laughable, but I'd just skip through the parts I felt were too corny. It's like the bad medicine you have to take or some other terrible analogy (you can't have your cake and eat it too, what the fuck is that all about? Who buys a cake they can't it? Silly!).