Celibacy

I've been celibate for eight weeks now. Let me say that again. I've gone without sex for eight weeks.

My long-time lover is my last partner, and this is the longest stretch since the day my divorce was final last June - a 14.5 week stretch. It's been intentional, and I like the way it feels. I'm single, not dating anyone in particular and am in great health according to my doctor. That means I passed all of those tests single girls (and guys too) should take. I want to keep it that way.

Don't get me wrong, I adore sex and I enjoy going out with guys. Recently, it's been most rewarding  to work on platonic friendships with guys. Maybe these relationships will last longer. Besides, saying no to sex is empowering. It's great practice for any age or dating experience level. For anyone.

Again, I'm single, and I'm not dating anyone in particular.

But I have friends who are dating exclusively. One in particular comes to mind. She asked me what's been going on lately - with the last guy I was seeing and with my lover she met a couple of months ago. Then I told her about my celibacy. That's when she pulled her phone out and showed me her app where she keeps track of her periods. Every pink dot represents sex. There were none in April , none in March and only three in February - one of those on Valentine's Day. They will have their one year anniversary as a couple in May.

Something isn't right. They should still be all over each other - daily may be enough. She says she doesn't know how to initiate sex, but why would she need to after more than two months? She says it's a prescription drug he had been taking, but he's been off of it for a year. She says she's too fat, but if he loves her like he says he does, it shouldn't matter. I know what I would do - work on getting into shape and then dump his ass. Fast. What would you do?

Then I snap back to reality when I look across the table while I sit here typing this blog. My friend is bouncing up and down in her chair.

"What are you doing," I ask.

She laughs and keeps bouncing. "Practicing for sex,"  she says. "Try it 50 times - weight on your heels."

I did, and it's pretty aerobic. I guess during my celibacy, bouncing in my chair might keep me in shape. I never know when I might be ready.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

I graduated from that

Last night I met my sister and some of my first cousins for dinner. We saw one another often as kids but not so much now that we're grown up. One of the cousins reminded me of one of many big reasons we don't get together more often.

He's married with three kids in the 'burbs and was chatting with another cousin who's single and lives in the city and my asshole brother-in-law. They were talking about an area of the city popular for night life.

"There's always a party there." my single cousin said.

"I've graduated from that," the married one responded.

"I don't think you ever graduate from that," My brother-in-law said.

My sister's husband surprised me with something I agreed with. First time in years. The married cousin from the 'burbs and his wife were sipping on margaritas during dinner. And what's different about that or having a beer in the driveway while watching kids play in the street like they do so much around here?

It's all partying just in a different location. And the day someone graduates from having fun is a sad day.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Work hard. Play hard.

I have to admit the last month has been difficult. My clients have been challenging. There have never been so many tantrums among professionals as I've seen over the last few weeks. And my volunteer work exploded when the guy in charge dumped everything and left the state about a month ago. Then throw in the three weekends I spent with my family to top off the chaos.

I've gone out less often and slept a little more. I'm exhausted. All I need now is a pillow, a nice bottle of wine and about three days of doing absolutely nothing.

The hardest part is what's going on in my own head though. Now that I passed that one year threshold of living on my own, I feel like I should have my emotional shit together now. All of that should be in the past now.

No more excuses.

Part of getting my shit together is being more choosy. I'm not going out just to go out nor am I hanging out with people just because they're there. Some people bring me down and others just aren't very nice at all. Some are simply assholes and bitches, so I don't hang out with them. And I'm not apologizing for that.

Time can never be replaced.

I've had some fun times over the last month with people I enjoy very much. Stayed out way too late and had one too many. But every minute and every sip has been worth it. Even after all of these months, I still have my moments. Nights like tonight when I just don't want to go out or see anyone. evening when I'd rather watch the black clouds blow across the bright full moon. Times I just need to breath and just be. I guess everyone does.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Part of the family

I love living in a neighborhood that's like a big family. Where the bartenders know your drink when you walk in the door, and there's always a friendly face. But they're not.

But while I walked my friend's pup this afternoon, I saw what real family means. There was a baby blue jay that looked like it had fallen out of its next. Mom or dad was squawking above when we talked by urging us to move on. This is real family.

A few days ago, the morning was hectic so I didn't have time for my run. But the day was too beautiful to let pass without enjoying the spring air. I took a long early evening walk and ran into at least half a dozen people I knew.

A few were people I haven't seen in a while. We chatted for a couple of minutes to catch up and went on our separate ways. Then I stretched across a park bench in the sun to proofread a couple of things I had written that day. Not one paragraph in, another friend popped over from across the street.

"Three dollar margaritas!" he said. "Come on."

I adore a good margarita. "I didn't bring any money."

"I'll buy."

So much for my work.

While we sipped margaritas and enjoyed the beautiful evening air (that made him sneeze and sniffle), the conversation eventually lead to the woman I've had issues with lately.

"She's part of the family," he said. "Just the stepchild."

I couldn't disagree more. The only family members I can't choose are the ones I share blood with. That's it. I have complete control over the people I hang out with and my friends. My good friends are. They're all fun, have integrity and don't fall over wasted every time they walk into a bar.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Go ahead, virus me!

Yep, you can throw just about any computer problem or virus at me and I can handle it. And I'm not technical - one of those "creative types" as some people say.

Today some strange computer virus snuck onto my work computer either when I went to a magazine website (yes, a boring work one) or Pandora (gotta have my tunes). It showed up as virus protection software, but I knew it wasn't. It caused annoying pop ups every few seconds that told me all of my apps were infected.

Like all bad things in my life, it had to go. Fast.

Yawn. Computer problems may seem boring and mundane to you, but this one's significant for me. My ex thought he was god's gift to the computer. The ultimate expert. When I occasionally had a computer issue, he made sure to jump in and fix it. He made sure I knew I was stupid when it came to computers, incapable and that I had fucked up some way, some how to make the problem happen.

So, it happened. I Googled the virus name, found a reputable site with a solution and a couple of hours later, my computer was virus free. All my myself.

Looking back, I'm sure it was just his way to make himself feel important. He probably knew I didn't need him to fix my little computer problems but wanted me to think I did.

Now, just over a year later, I've proven I'm better off without him in fixing my computer and many other ways.

Love to the single girls,
Addison   

My new love

The delete button is my new love.

I typically do such Facebook drive bys that I never take the time to take a look at my "friends." I did today and found some people who weren't friend-worthy. Delete.

The first round was guys who don't know what the word friend means. Actually, their Facebook page should just be for their penis, not them. And these guys have probably named it. If they haven't, I will. Tiny, Douche Dick and Speedy Gonzalez are a few fitting names that come to mind.

I dare any of them to notice and re-friend me. Then I can hit the delete button again.

The biggest delete was my wedding anniversary that's coming up next week. Yeah, like I need an Outlook reminder of it. It's carved in my memory forever. But it still felt good to hit that button...then yes, delete them all because it's never happening again.

What an amazing feeling of freedom. No one else will know, but I do. It was liberating. Cheers to the delete button!

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Bad boys are just for fun

I constantly remind myself that bad boys are just for fun.

When a friend and I were at a club watching a band the other night, we were both looking at the guitar player. He had shoulder-length curly black hair that fell over his eyes while he played. His lip snarl was very Billy Idol-esque. His songs were our favorites - he did some killer Prince.

We thought he was hot and looked like a bad boy. She said she'd get after him with a pair of scissors to get rid of the hair in his face. I liked him just the way he was.

She and I are both bad-boy magnets. Sometimes we like it, but we know it's bad. We've both had more than our fair share.

The next night, she and I, along with some other good friends ended up at a local diner for a late-night breakfast. A guy who had been at the pub came along. He was a friend of one of the guys with us and pretty nice looking. But he was a bad boy. I could tell he liked me because his hand kept finding its way onto my leg. He told me about the fight he just had with his girlfriend and said he doesn't love her anymore. He wants her move out of his condo.

"So, tell her," I said.

"I'm trying," he answered.

He may be the nicest guy on the planet, but as long as his hand's on my leg and he reaches his fork over to eat off my plate while his girlfriend lives with him, he's a bad boy. Without question.

I've had enough fun with bad boys for a while, so these two are staying at a safe distance while I wait for the bad boy who's really good.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Lovers, friends and fucking up

This weekend, a former neighbor who moved halfway across the country is in town for a visit. So last night, he called the old gang together at the pub for the evening. The party was to go until closing time at 2 o'clock in the morning.

He is a guy's guy. A party boy. The one who gets the girls and the other guys envy. He left broken hearts all over the place when he left, and a few old lovers came back last night to see what might happen. He and my good friend were never lovers but were close the entire time he lived here and have kept in touch ever since. She really has been looking forward to this visit.

He and his old singing buddy entertained us. He was in his element. Until another one of his lovers showed up - the one we hear is a coke head. Then he slipped out with her and a few others to go to a strip club while the rest of us stayed at his party. Without him.

We had fun without him, and our small group of friends capped off the night with breakfast at the town's most famous diner. It's an iconic place with streetwise servers who have been there for years, and it took me over a year of living here for my first visit.

He fucked up. My friend was so mad at him for leaving after he made such a point to make sure she would be there. They traded a few texts during the night. He took something and woke up unsure of where he was.

I may not know were he is, but I do know this. He's there without friends. And his real friends may not be around next time he comes for a visit.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

So why did you move to such a fun place?

Divorce.

That was it. One word.

I stopped by to visit a friend at her book signing this afternoon. I thought she might appreciate a friendly face.

She did. Especially when her old boss - my former client showed up. He sat down while my friend and I stood talking. Every time he he looked up at me he stared at my tits before his eyes found my face.

That's when he asked. "Why did you leave that booming suburb for such a fun area?"

"Divorce."

His eyes got big and he looked at my friend. "I think I just put my foot in my mouth."

He should be used to his feet being in his mouth. He was asked to leave his last job for HR violations. He never had any filter when anything female was the topic.

"It's okay. Really," I said. "It was a good thing." Some things never change.

I was glad to be there for her. He bought her book, and it really doesn't matter what he thinks.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

A girl's got to have more than one dance

Last night I met a former neighbor at a restaurant/club where my good friend is a bartender. A band I had heard once and liked was playing. We got there a little early so we could grab a good spot at our friend's bar in front of the stage.

We spotted a woman signing her tab, so I asked her if we could have her bar stool when she left.

"I'm not leaving," she said. "I was just paying for the drinks I bought for the people next to me since they scooted over to make room for our chairs."

I was disappointed, but that was nice of her.

"What are your names?" she asked.

So we chatted. She told us her husband, who's eight years younger, was home with the kids.

"Why don't you get a babysitter and bring him with you?" I asked.

She shook her head. "They're teenagers, so he really doesn't need to stay home," she answered.

"Well there you go. Maybe you can drag him out tonight."

She smiled. "He doesn't really like to go out. And I needed a girls' night," she said. "He's kind of an old soul."

Wow. That's exactly what I'm not looking for. In the five minutes we talked, I already knew this fifty-something-year-old women wasn't happy in her marriage even though she never said those words.

"Do you girls like to dance?" she asked."They've been playing lots of Red Hot Chile Peppers."

My friend and I looked at each other. "Yes, but we're saving up for the band," I said. "Go. Have fun."

She did. While the other patrons ate the last bits of dinner and others found their spots to wait for the band to start, she went out into the middle of the dance floor. Solo.

Her arms were at about eye height, and she swayed her hips and head slowly to the beat. She looked totally into it.

As the night progressed and the band played on, we noticed she danced to most every song. Carly Ray Jepson, Bon Jovi, Prince. She danced to them all. And with every dance, her arms were in the air and she swayed her hips and head slowly to the beat. She was totally into it. Into the same dance, to the same slow beat no matter the song or decade or artist.

It made me wonder if she does the same dance with everything. Maybe that's why her husband wanted to stay home with the kids who were too old for a babysitter?

Life's full of so many different songs. Each day presents unique situations and people. She seemed happy with her one dance. Most of us need different dances for each.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

There's nothing in your drink but alcohol

And there's nothing in your head but mush.

Over the last few days I've thought a lot about how people react to situations - and life in general. Some get wasted and others are just so fragile you never know which of your next words will break them.

I just had an odd email exchange with an employee who works for one of my clients. His boss is asking me to get something from this guy. I emailed him to start it moving and he forward it to another guy.

"What is your take here?" he ask his colleague in the email.

I responded back how I understood from the company's owner there was no discussion. I just needed to know who to contact to proceed. I've been trying to get this done sense November, so I only assumed he was stalling. Again.

His response? "I'm taking offense to your email...I have been nothing but cooperative with you and would appreciate the courtesy to take our relationship with the client in to consideration." (I kept the misspelled word in on purpose.)

What? Offense? I feel like I'm working with a bunch of 14-year-olds.

Speaking of 14-year-olds, I'm back to the drunken mess in my neighborhood pub. She got booted from the bar down the street so now she's invaded the place I enjoy hanging out. I see her in two physical states: drunk and wasted, and one emotional state: a mess. Over the weekend, she attended a memorial service for the father of a neighborhood friend. What fascinated me was the emotion she showed at the service. As I'm told, she cried; practically fell apart there. But she didn't shed a tear. This reaction was insincere, but her everyday behavior is downright offensive.

She hugs me, sits down at my table uninvited, talks - I mean scream - in slurred semi-sentences in my face. She's a constant interruption. The other night I bought her a couple of shots to try tipping her over the edge - getting her booted to the next bar. Now the chatter is that someone put something in her drink. Yeah, alcohol baby. Hear what I'm saying?

I know it's a sad situation, but she's an adult with a problem that only she can fix. It's her choice. I don't hang out with drunken messes. That's my choice. Besides, it's illegal for the bar to continue serving her when she can no longer stand.

Yesterday I heard a university professor talk about emotional intelligence and how to apply it to our professional lives. It's basically the ability to recognize, understand and control your emotions.

This is an invaluable skill for a single girl. To be able to control our emotions in our personal lives could lead to so many amazing outcomes. I'm going to work on this.

I don't know what's going on in the town drunk's and my fragile work colleage's lives. I hope they work out their issues. In the mean time, I suggest they practice a little emotional intelligence and grow up.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

A drunken mess

Last night I reached my limit with a fellow single girl. She appeared one day in my local pub and never left. She may actually be a nice woman when she's sober, but I'm not sure I've ever seen her sober. She's always a drunken mess.

I have no desire to control her life. If she wants to be a drunken mess, it's her business. What made me hit my limit was how she constantly would sit down, uninvited, at the table with my friends and me. She talks - I mean screams - in slurred, incomplete sentences. She makes no sense.

And she won't leave.

Last night I was set to to make sure she was banned from my local pub. She'd already been banned from the bar down the street. But all they did was pass the problem along. Just like the fifth grade teacher who wouldn't address the problem child and passed them instead. So I bought her a could of shots. She downed 'rm without hesitation. She was already beyond go e. but they wouldn't kick her out.

She - and the neighborhood - seem to be happy with her as a drunken mess. I'm not, and never will be.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Teetering between truth and fiction

While I was jogging in the park this morning, I saw a guy practicing walking on a tightrope. He tied a narrow nylon strap to two trees and walked on it between them.

It reminded me how much recognizing truth versus fiction is like walking a tightrope. So many girls, me included, want to believe a guy really feels something for us. They go through the act of it, but do they really? When do we accept the truth?

It broke my heart seeing a really nice woman last night. She moved to another city a few months ago and left a guy she cares very much about behind. A friend of his told me recently that he never really cared for her. He respects her, but there's just nothing there. She's staying with him this weekend, which likely makes it even harder to accept the truth. She told me last night how difficult it was for her to break away from here - her friends, the place she had called home, from him.

I always wondered how people learn how to walk on a tightrope. They practice.

When my friend and lover visited last, we talked about my next visit in May. We didn't pick a firm date. He's not a planner. I kind of have to be.

This is where the truth comes in. I've faced this truth. Us as a couple is fiction. We never will be. The truth is, we have a blast when were together.

It's a tightrope, and I'm okay with that. I've practiced.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Tornado

Last week, one of my best friends told me she had just heard two songs that reminded her so much of me. One is a song by Little Big Town called Tornado.

It's a song about a women who's collected all of the pain and rage caused by a guy who's hurt her. He thought he could change the weather by controlling her. Later, she goes after him like a tornado. If you've ever seen the wrath of that force of nature, you know how destructive and unexpected a tornado can be. They just pick things up, toss them around then drop them. Just like the song says.

I've felt like picking things up and spinning them around and hurling them as far as I can a couple of times in my life. I may talk about it, but I haven't. I know I could though. And I would.

Perception always fascinates me. I wish more women could keep that sweet nature. But their guy needs to know if he ever crosses that line - by controlling them or being emotionally or physically abusive - they spawn that tornado. And they won't forget it.

The song's had almost 3.5 million hits on YouTube, so it must resonate with someone out there. It did with me.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

 

Exes can be monsters

Exes. We all have them. Some are better than others, but some are just monsters. There's a reason they're our exes, and we should never forget it.

This week, two of my best friends each had an ex crisis. One friend made the mistake of meeting her ex boyfriend at a bar. His brother was with him. It was intended to be a simple, innocent visit. By end of the evening, the two guys had way too much to drink to drive home. She's a nice person. She was concerned and said they could crash at her place.

They did. She regretted it.

He made up all kinds of stuff about how she "made out" with him and with his brother. It wouldn't happen. It didn't happen. It'll never happen. That's all I've got to say about that.

My other friend got a call from her son's school that he was sick and needed to be picked up. They tried contacting her ex husband but couldn't. She finally reached him and he flew off on her about how he was going to take her to court because she's negligent with their kids.

What? If her kids hadn't been with her ex, in his part of the week, I might listen to his accusation.  But I know better. Her son threw up all night and morning before his dad dropped him off at school.
She takes them to the doctor, dentist, orthodontist and gives them the structure and the love they need.

She's a great mom. He lied. That's all I have to say about that.

I've been lucky for about the last five months. My ex husband hasn't contacted me. But before that, he was a monster. I started ignoring his calls; his emails. I hope he got the message that I'm done. No more monsters.

Honestly, most exes just make it a big pissing contest. They still can't accept that we left them. That we're happier without them. They act like monsters because we don't let them control us. They're not monsters to us if we don't let them.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

A great book . . . for other single girls

Last summer a smart single woman recommended a book called "Why You're Not Married ... Yet" by Tracy McMillan. The book was new at the time, and I finally ordered it when Random House published the paperback a couple of weeks ago.

Now, two chapters in. I admit the book's great, but not for me.

I sat on my flight home last night and realized how polar opposite my relationship situations are from Tracy's tips. There's a huge group of single girls with these traits. Many others, like me, are totally different.

Chapter one helps some women recognize that they're bitches. Because they can be. They find it hard to be nice to a man. They're defensive and difficult to get close to.

The solution? "You're going to have to be nice." And it starts by understanding what nice means. Tracy uses words like nurturing and forgiveness. Yes, all good things if you're a bitch.

If you've read any of this blog, you'll know I'm not this girl. I'm too nice. I could teach the class on being nice in a relationship. Men take advantage of that. I'm not alone. Lots of single girls are too nice.

I have to practice being a bitch, and it's not easy. Finding my inner bitch takes me way away from my comfort zone, and my inner bitch has indeed failed. Many times. Some of you have read about it in this blog.

The second chapter tells women they're shallow. They look for certain careers and bank accounts rather than how the guy makes them feel when they're alone together. She says these women want to know their guy meets the resume criteria they've set and can buy them a nice car.

I always buy my own cars, thank you.

My problem is how many guys know how to make you feel good when you're alone together. It's the other stuff they suck at like sticking in for the long haul and having ambition to succeed in life and treating you with the love and respect you deserve all the time - not just when you're alone.

I've written about these too. Many of them. There's monkey do, dump monkey, the wet paper towel test and the guy I wanted to divorce after only being pretend married for three weeks. And one of the most popular posts, if he doesn't remember, did it happen. These and others show how I can't seem to be picky enough. I'm more forgiving than I should be and too often overlook the deal breakers.

There are way too many bitches and shallow women out there, so kudos to Tracy for writing this book. The need for it is ginormous. I can't begin to describe the lust for plastic I've seen - platinum cards, sports cars, big numbers behind their names and fancy titles. So buy Tracy's book.

You other single girls - the ones like me - it's okay to not fit into Tracy's book. Don't lose the ability to be a bitch you've worked toward. Be picky. You deserve the guy you want. Someone who has at least the drive and ambition you have - if not more - so you can succeed together.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

P.S. I'll write more as I have have time to read, and let me know what you think of Tracy's book.

Single guys make big mistakes too

But I'm not sure it's my job to point them out.

The other night, a group of us had dinner at a friend's house. One of the guys brought his new girl, and she happens to be someone I find extremely annoying. She's constantly trying to prove her coolness - geekier, more tomboyish, had the harder day at work. And, of course, she's the girl most capable of hanging out with the guys rather than the girls.

It's all about her.

As soon as I arrived, I knew it would take a few glasses of wine to be able to deal with her for the evening.

The worst is the obnoxious laugh. And she laughs at everything - whether it's intended to be funny or not. She must feel the need to prove how she "gets" everything anyone says or does.

As I helped my friend prepare the last bits of dinner, I opted not to break the linguine in half like I sometimes do. I wanted to make eating for the new couple as awkward as possible. I was happy I did it when she wouldn't walk around the corner to set the plates the hostess had loaded with food on the table. I delivered a few but she handed the rest to one of the other girls. Is she too geeky, too tomboy and too cool to serve a plate?

I avoided her as much as possible, and then I sent my friend a vague text when I had reached my limit with his new girl.

"Really?" it said.

But when I got home, I regretted being so bitchy. It isn't my place to share my opinion about who he does or doesn't go out with. I certainly wouldn't go out with him, so maybe they're a perfect match. I apologized next time I saw him. He pulled me aside and asked what the text meant. I told him it meant nothing. My guess is that he knew.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

New single girl generation

It just hit me. There's a new generation of single girls, and my older niece is one of them.

I'm spending the weekend with her and with my family at her university where she'll graduate next month. While I knew she had many of my brother-in-law's unfortunate traits, I just realized how that affects her life as a single girl.

She loves being in control. So much that she's the director for her dorm. That means she's in charge of college student and their living quarters. Mom, manager and big sister. She was complaining about having to discipline a girl for leaving her cigarette butts on the sidewalk outside of the dorm.

Tonight she has a sorority formal, so she and her date will join the family for dinner then go to the formal. Our first stop after she picked me up from the airport this morning was the liquor store to buy her date a bottle of booze.

"It's the polite thing to do," she said. "But I'm sure you know that."

Actually I didn't. She's in the deep south and in my version of southern upbringing, that wasn't in any manners rules that I've ever seen. It's nice she's following tradition, I suppose.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, she's driving her date to dinner and to the formal. And when she talked about him she seemed so matter of fact. "Of course I'll drive us." Perhaps he's going to break into that bottle of honey she bought for him? Perhaps he'll need it.

I know she's only one of millions of new single girls. I'm not sure I understand some of the new dating and relationship rules. But then again, I think most people just make it up as they go.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Spring fever

Last night I some people gathered at the pub to celebrate a birthday for a nice neighborhood guy who's had some tough breaks. Some of the fun people showed up, so I enjoyed it.

But something was off. Guys were unusually frisky. They were outgoing like they were when I first moved here. When I was the new girl. If anything, I'm more cynical and less friendly than I was then.

There must be some spring fever going on.

One guy I'd never met before introduced himself as I was trying to go inside from the patio. He stuck out his hand to shake mine and we exchanged names. I couldn't go inside because he was standing in front of the door.

"You're beautiful," he said. "Are you single?"

I just laughed. "I'm trouble."

"But are you single?" I didn't see his expression, but I heard him ask again as I pulled the door open and slipped inside to safety. My response didn't work but the door did.

And another guy I've known since last summer asked me for my phone number.

And to balance out the frisky guys, some of the girls were extra bitchy. The few who clearly don't like me weren't shy about their superficial politeness. I should've told the one I lent money to that I was ready for my drink. Last week she asked another guy and me for five bucks so she could pay the valet. She made such a big deal about promising me a drink later that night (that wasn't going to happen since it was already after one o'clock) or next time I saw her. I knew it just pissed her off that I gave her the cash instead of the guy she likes who was standing with me. Knowing her, I'll bet she had the cash all along. 

I don't think it was what I was wearing last night that made people behave so strangely. And I don't look any different than I did a few weeks ago. It had to be spring fever.

"U awake at buddy's in your neighborhood"

I had totally forgotten about this text I got at 2:48 this morning from the guy I thought was one of the good ones. He's the one who told me how our friendship was more important than anything. But I've ignored several similar texts over the last month since I've seen him. I'm not his friend - nor am I his just-for-fun girl, even if spring is upon us.

Think I'll work on a remedy for this fever so spring is just fun like it's supposed to be.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Dream or nightmare

Last night I had a really strange dream. I know people dream all the time, and I probably do too. Usually it's no big deal, but I typically don't remember a thing. I can sleep through a tornado and remember nothing. Ever.

But this morning I remembered.

I tossed all night and never really slept like I'm used to. I remember going to my ex's house - where I used to live. He had moved his bedroom into the study and built this strange pyramid-shaped bookshelf that framed the bed and came to a point at the ceiling. The walls were dark blue and the most awful light blue shag carpeting covered the floor.

What I remember most though was before we went into this new bedroom. We were in the living room and he grabbed me. "Come here. I want to show you something," he said.

I fought free. "Let go of me," I said.

Then I woke up. I was breathing hard and disturbed. It took what I think was a while to go back to sleep. The blue wall and shag carpeting part must have continued after I went back asleep.

This happened a week or so ago too. I remember dreaming that he had moved his bed into the living room. It was pushed into the bay windows, and of course, unmade as always. This really makes no sense because he hates light - especially natural light.

Is this just a reminder of his bad taste in decorating or does it mean something else? Is it some perverted sex dream? Why am I dreaming about that king-sized bed I hated being in? Am I just rehashing how bad of a lover he was?

I want my sound sleep back. I demand it. And if I'm going to dream - and remember - they'd better be really hot ones with my ex nowhere to be found.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

My latest test

I had a test today. Well, actually tests. And these were tests for my body and not my brain.

As a responsible single girl, I had the whole battery for STDs done:  hepatitis, chlamydia, gonorrhea, syphilis, HIV and HPV. I think that's it. I don't even know how to spell them all, but I do know it's a shame we have to be tested. And some of these diseases are as old as humankind.

It was part of my annual checkup. After my doctor finished all of the poking around, she sent me back to have blood drawn. This is definitely not one of my favorite activities.

The tech looked over the check marks on the form and said, "That's a lot."

My eyes got bigger as I watched her grab a handful of vials. I think there were six. "You're going to fill all of those with my blood?"

"Yes." she said. "It's not that much."

"I'm not watching."

And I didn't. It wasn't bad, and it's a relief it's all over. Now I wait for a week for the hopefully clean results. Then I'll really be relieved.

Love to the single girls,
Addison

Loving living alone

Okay, I am. I love living alone. I have for just over a year now and I can't even begin to express the feeling of freedom.

I lived in such a controlling house for so long with a man who told me when to go to bed, wouldn't let me open the blinds to let the light in and made me turn music off so he could watch endless news commentary TV blasting so loud the neighbors across the street could probably hear. He even made me turn lights off even if I was doing something that needed light. And if I didn't, he would bitch at me like I was a kid. I was stubborn, selfish and wasteful according to him.

Now things are different. The first thing I do when I wake up is open the blinds. I love sunlight and sky and the outside. I listen to music almost constantly and get my news anywhere but from TV. I've turned on cable news no more than a dozen times in the last year. And I come and go as I please and go to sleep and wake up - or not - whenever I'm ready.

Taking things a step further, it's absolutely liberating to eat what, when and where I want. Sometimes I'll take a nap straight through dinner or go shopping or hang out at the pub or work if I'm on a deadline. And no one's bitching because there's no dinner. Dinner's in when I'm in the mood to cook or out when I'm not and there's nobody complaining that they don't want to spend the money to eat out.

My Sunday afternoons are mine again. I don't have to have the obligatory sex date with him those days. It made me dread the weekends and drink wine all afternoon to get through it. Don't get me wrong, I adore sex, just not with him.

I can take my clothes off and leave them in a pile in the living room. Or drop a load of laundry in a chair to fold whenever I get to it. And as long as I don't mind Lucy taking a nap on top of them, I can leave them there for as long as I want. And it's all good.

I can do whatever I want, when and where I please, and it's all good.

Love to the single girls,
Addison