Diary of a Sex-Starved Pseudo-Mennonite, Part 50

About a month ago, Drummer Boy told me he was dating someone. We never made it to dating, apparently. He defined those terms because I don't know anything about dating or the shit show that passes for it these days. He said we were seeing each other. Which was a step before dating. What the fuck ever.

I thanked him for telling me and said I hoped she would be good to him. Then I asked if he did not love me anymore, and that it was OK if he didn't, it would just help me to know the truth. You people are smarter than me. So I think you know that he didn't respond.

My oldest, dearest Aquarius was pissed for me and wanted details of how Drummer Boy came to this new/old relationship (the datee is an old friend). Of course I have no details. You cannot glean details from people who don't communicate with you. My Aquarius is happily married to a kind man who worships her. So she doesn't understand or tolerate the waters I am forced to swim in, should I ever love again.

So I finally stopped reaching out to Drummer. I did weaken and like 1 of his stories over the weekend. Still beating myself up over that 1, but whaddya gonna do? Learning to respect yourself is a process, I guess.

Meanwhile, in front of people at a party, the Taurus asked me to be his Valentine. I was caught off guard and said sure. Apparently it was a trick that had something to do with him saving face when someone told him tomorrow was Valentine's Day and hurting my feelings and humiliating me was just a bonus. Happy Valentine's Day.

I keep asking Daisy to marry me and just like a man, she doesn't answer. But I'm not a spitter or a quitter. So she's considering a civil union.

I got locked in a bathroom at a Super Bowl party, so I climbed out the window. I must have been drunk and I tend not to notice bodily pain unless it cuts me off at the knees, but the next day I was blue as a Smurf from the waist down. So at this weekend's party, I drank water and Coke. Which felt awkward until the band started. Then music became my drug and everything was good. I left by 10:30 Mormon sober, yet still managed to crash my car into my tiny apartment garage. I hoped the car wash would reveal that it was better than it looked. It's worse. Well, this is just another reason I'm glad I kept the Kia and let my ex-husband have the Lexus. Which he just traded-in to get a new car. I know this because his salesman called me for no reason because I did all the paperwork releasing interest so Satan could sell it or trade it in no problem. Which means Satan probably pretended the paperwork was sloppy so the salesman could insert Satan back into my life, since Satan can't do it himself because I blocked him in August and then moved 1800 miles away from his sorry-not-sorry ass.

When we hit the dance floor near the stage on Saturday, then the band broke for a minute between songs, I saw some thirsty mid-life dudes x-raying me. Gotta go. I was sweet on the bouncer but too shy to talk to him. Still posted at the door, he ignored me on my way out. You know. My type.

So now I am focusing on achieving contentment solo so if that's how it ends for me, I'll be OK. I mean Dolly Parton couldn't have kids and her husband is largely a hologram and she's super happy and I think she would be even if she wasn't rich and famous. If Dolly can do it, why can't I? I'm sure she believes in me as much as I believe in her. Daisy and I can do this. For Dolly and for ourselves.

Until Next Time, Sweeties!

Ness Sweet Ness