I have decided I’m going to become a character on the Simpsons.  I don’t know who yet, but I would rather be a Simpsons character than a human.  I could have blue hair and no one would bat an eye.  I’d only have three fingers, but that wouldn’t be so bad.  And everyone stays the same age forever.  Good times!

I remembered this morning something that was said to me by the man I liked who has now disappeared.  He said his biggest flaw is that he often changes his mind.  Maybe I should have paid bigger attention to that?  Sometimes we ignore what is most obvious.  I know I shouldn’t care, because enlightened, perfectly mentally-healthy people aren’t supposed to care, but I’m thoroughly embarrassed at the prospect of telling my counselor how this has gone.  And it’s not like I can’t say something.  I gushed last week.  Actually gushed.  Eewww.  I don’t gush often so it stood out.  I know she’s going to ask and I’m going to have to fess up and it is going to suck, pure and simple.  Humiliation, my favorite emotion.

I actually have a policy of not telling people about the men I’ve been seeing because they never turn into anything.  That became another humiliation, all the times I’d say something about someone I was seeing and then it would crash and burn and then I’d have to explain it.  The worst was last summer when I had a party.  One of the primary purposes of that party was to introduce my fab new boyfriend to all my friends.

He didn’t show up.  Yeah.  That was good.  The party sunk to new lows when another friend kissed me.  Small problem.  That friend is married.  Um, can you stop?  He did, but it was weird.  We had gone into my bathroom together to look at the bookshelf I’d built.  I’d had a couple shots of vodka.  Considering I drink maybe once or twice a year, two shots of vodka was like bathing in alcohol for me.  Come on shoot one, it will be fun!  Those party friends don’t understand how it is for us non-drinkers.  Aaaanyway, new boyfriend wasn’t at my party.  I was in the throes of shame.  Then bam, friend lays one on me.  He’d had a few too many beers himself.  We were in there, kissing, when I remembered his wife.  Um, wife?  Oh yeah.  So we stopped.  Then knock, knock, knock.  Who’s in there?  I need to go potty!  Out come two very sheepish and shamefaced humans.  Unfortunately, the only folks left at the party were those same friends who had encouraged my alcohol consumption.  You know, the types who stay late at parties, drink a lot, and enjoy such shenanagins, live for them in fact.  The ones who drink the most, start smoking when they never do in real life, leave last, and ceaselessly discuss what happened there for weeks.  They kept trying to take each of us out for lunch and get us to fess up.  Fortunately, neither of us caved.  But it was weird.  Weird. Weird. Weird.

What is this, blog confessional?  I read an interesting article yesterday.  It was about success and failure.  The author theorizes that to find true success, embrace your failures.  Fuck up royally?  Say so.  It’s liberating.  I think I’m already on that side of the fence.  I’ll just discuss my pathetic love life on a blog that has been read by persons in Pakistan.  Pakistan!  In societal terms, I think I’m quite a fuck up.  Well, maybe not.  On the surface, I think lots of my acquaintances think I’ve got it quite together actually.  What the hell do they know?  Of course, since I’ve ceased informing them when I find a new man, they don’t get to hear how the new man disappears, so that is one area where I don’t seem quite as much a fuck up, just a bit of a non-trier.  But that’s okay.  I don’t mind being a non-trier.  None of them ever try to fix me up with any of their friends though.  I don’t know if it’s that they don’t have any friends to fix me up with or if they wouldn’t want to connect me to their friends in that way….wouldn’t sic her on a friend, no way!  I don’t know.

Perhaps rather than blog confessional, I should enlighten my small readership with my ideas on politics and society.  Nah.  I’m too tired at the moment. I’m trying to go off Starbucks chais.  They cost too much.  They cost less than they could because I don’t get milk, but even if I drank just one a day per month, the total monthly charge would come to $45.  Since I often drink several a day, I can only imagine how well I’m lining Starbucks’s pockets.  I’m considering getting a job there.  Maybe they’ll be willing to hire a no longer wants to be lawyer.  Last year, no one who wasn’t in the law field would touch me with a ten foot pole because I’d been a lawyer.  I was finally able to finagle an interview at a temp service.  The man there said it was only because I was Libbie’s friend that he was interviewing me.  He said if my resume had come in on its own, he would have tossed it.  Overqualified and something must be wrong.  I said what is wrong is that I can’t find a job.  Plus it was a temp service.  What were they afraid of, that I’d quit?

So I suppose I shall stop this random nonsense and find something to do that allows me to fizzle on in anonymity.  Anonymity is good.  I like it here.