I have a boyfriend…not.

After five years of bitching, suffering through horrible dates, and using those awful internet dating sites, I had a boyfriend.  It was nice to date someone, get to know someone, actually go out to dinner and a have a conversation with someone.  And then he asked me to be his girlfriend. I was elated.  My friends freaked out, I couldn’t believe it, and we continued getting comfortable with each other.  I would see a couple and be thankful for being in a relationship. Morning sex turned into afternoon sex.  In fact, I replaced food with sex. Who does that? I did! We sent text messages or spoke to each other every day.  My apartment was a mess and my cats didn’t remember me.  And then I did something very bad: I cared about him too much. It took one conversation and we were done.  Now I’ve replaced sex with alcohol. My apartment is spotless. My cats are taking me for granted.  It’s been a few days and sometimes I regret what I said, maybe it was too soon, but I realize that the same outcome would happen whether it was 3 months, 6 months or a year in the future.  I just want to move to Spinsterland, start adopting cats and make my own mumus. I’m done. Over it. Seacrest out.