Wrong boyz

I know I haven't been writing as often as I should.... I'm trying to figure out if it is laziness, burn-out, day-job work load, or my increasing crankiness over the presidential campaign and my unwillingness to blog about it - for fear of seeming like a crochety ole shouty lady. I'm not performing stand-up, which makes me crabby as well, and I am feeling somewhat - how do I put this politely - uh, in need of someone in close proximity to my body on a regular basis. It would be nice to have a dude hangin' around. Lately, I've been having dreams of past loves - the most recent dream was sprinkled with an old flame's contagious laughter. Just hearing from him recently got my damn memory-machine all overheated and, of course, he's married. Like Peggy says on Mad Men, "Why do I pick the wrong boys?"

Yes, yes, I know why. No need to psychoanalyze, I've paid someone very well to do just that. But with my newfound awareness, my shedding of a teeny bit of extra flesh, my shrink-lightened baggage compartment, I guess I thought my radar would be newly callibrated and I'd find the feller for me. No such luck. I can't seem to escape my past - and I must say, I've been lucky to meet one or two wonderful gentlemen in my younger years. These gentlemen stay inside my brain, my heart, my fascia, and as the days and months of solitude go by, it becomes more and more difficult shake the feeling that I may never again meet a guy that rocks my world in the same way.

Listen, I do revel in my independence. I celebrate my singlehood every day, I assure you. But, damn, it'd be nice to have someone's hand to hold.