“‘Crazy Shit My Therapist Says’ for $100, please.”

Last month, my therapist freaked me out by telling me she thought Mark was gay. She even mentioned that last week. Today, however, she completely changed her tune. After I told her about the “Thank you. For Everything.” e-mail he sent me Saturday, she asked me if I wondered what the real reason he broke up with me was. She made the point that he and I were on similar levels — he wasn’t sure of his feelings for me and I wasn’t sure of my feelings for him. I hadn’t told him I loved him, wanted to marry him, etc., She also thought it seemed out-of-character for him to break up with me suddenly, as he had been willing to talk about issues before, and it was strange that he kept making plans with me and calling me if he wanted to end things.

So her suggestion is that I, at some point, contact him to talk about what happened. Honestly, the thought of calling him or seeing him is enough to make my stomach turn. And if I write a letter, there’s no guarantee he will respond. She was even suggesting that perhaps the conversation, were it to take place, could lead to a deepening of our relationship, whether it led to a reconciliation or not.

What. The. Fuck?

I guess I can see her looking at this from a point of view of helping me, as she said there’s a lesson in here somewhere. Not to speak for Mark, of course, but he didn’t seem able to identify his feelings let alone synthesize them with mine.

I don’t know. It hasn’t even been two weeks. I’m not ready to do anything.

To what you got, when all you got is hurt.” — U2

So I’m sititing here on my exceedingly comfy couch watching the Grammys and U2 busts out that old favorite. Wow, what a companion to my pissy-ass, sinus-infection-adled mood. But the lyrics strike me just as much as they did back in the day … oh hell, I was in HIGH SCHOOL when that song came out. I remember that video, with Bono smoking in the bar, looking so forlorn and so f-ing hot. And here’s the question that comes to mind:

I am drawn to men who are hurting. Always have been. Intellectually I know that angst went out of vogue years ago, yet I still find it. Intellectually I know that a man who is present, who wants to be with me, who is his own person is a better partner than someone who is distant and makes me work for his attention, yet I see emotionally distant men as a challenge, like winning them over will prove my worth.

I was in my relationship with my ex-husband for so long — nine years — that my mindset is still that “it” is worth fighting for. But fighting for a marriage and fighting for a short-term relationship are completely different. It dawned on me today that that is what I was trying to do with Mark, to fight for what we had … but what we had wasn’t worth fighting for.

My brother has been e-mailing me about his relationship with his girlfriend; he’s also checking in on me about how I’m doing. I can’t tell you how happy his e-mails make me. He’s seven years younger than I am, and we’ve always been in different places in our lives. It’s been difficult to be close. This is just another example of how letting go of my self-imposed “perfect” facade has made my life better.

Chelle-Belle is my guest for the week … She has a 2 year old and is currently on bed rest expecting twins! Wow. Pay the girl a visit and entertain her!!!

I decree Toby Keith to be this week’s crush.

I’m listening to “Double Wide Paradise” and it dawned on me that he’s kinda hot, in a big, beefy kind of way. I like his arms.

My sweet tooth is missing!!!

I am the biggest sugar whore ever, yet for the past week I have been unable to eat anything sweet. I just realized this when I took a bite of a freshly-baked cookie and I couldn’t taste anything. Last night I tossed a few chocolate chips in my mouth and ended up spitting them out. I ate Dairy Queen last Monday, as my friend forced it on me, but it didn’t even taste that good.

I’m not really complaining, as I lost 6 lbs. last week between heartbreak and sinus problems.

But it’s still weird.

Shame on me. Fool me twice … or in my case, about 15 times … well, you know the rest.

So in all my inifinite wisdom — past history be damned! — I got my hopes up about things progressing with Ryan. Ryan started out as a one-night stand but he’s still in the picture, over a year later. I’ve ended it with him at least three times, but after a period of time ranging from 2 weeks to a month, he comes back. After another month or so, we always ended up hooking up again.

I thought things would be different this time, for a few reasons:

• He made a new year’s resolution to be less “pervy” with me.
• We have hooked up only twice in about three months and spent a lot more time talking.
• We’ve hung out on three or four occasions with no physical intimacy.
• He took me out to lunch last weekend.
• I’ve told him I can’t sleep with him, and he’s still hanging around.

So today we were chatting and I asked him what he was doing today. He said laundry. I told him since he was half-assed trying to get me to come over last night, he could take me to a movie or out to lunch today. He asked what one had to do with the other and I pointed out that he wanted to see me last night. Then he apologized for being a “smartass” and then said he was just going to stay in today, that he had stuff to do around the house. Uh-huh. A few minutes went by with nothing further, so I just signed off Messenger.

He’s getting a roomate in a few weeks, a girl he kinda knows and also kinda likes. He told me about her when I was dating Mark. He hasn’t asked her out and doesn’t know if he wants to. The other night I asked him if he was interested in pursuing things with her. He said — say it with me — that he didn’t know. I told him if he had said yes, I would have backed off. At any rate, I think this roomate thing is a recipe for disaster, and not just because of my interest in the situation. But I’m not going to be “involved” with him in any way, shape or form if he’s living with a girl who is my competition. Besides, she’s 23! (He’s 26.) I’m 31. Either he wants someone like me, or he wants someone like her. There can’t be much in common between us.

Hopefully I can ignore him for a few days — well, rather, ignore the easiness of communicating via Messenger — and let him get it into his head that I am not going to have sex with him. And if he wants me in his life, it will have to be in other ways. I’m guessing I know what the result of that unspoken ultimatum is but who knows, maybe he’ll surprise me.

My friend called me last night and invited me out to a few bars. It had been too long — since August, when I was in NYC — that I had gone out like that. So I got all fabulous and shit, and headed out onto the town. I SO needed a nighting of drinking and (kind of) dancing … plus I was even propositioned by a girl who asked me to go home with her and her boyfriend. My friends were shocked. I hadn’t been hit on by a girl since college lol.

Oh, here is something I don’t get … we were at one bar, went to a club, then back to the bar because some gay-porn star was supposed to be there. This man was frickin’ gorgeous. Gorgeous! Miss Monique has watched an adult movie or two before in the company of a gentleman friend, and I don’t think I would be going out on a limb to say that the men in such films are usually trolls. Ugly, icky, pimply trolls who happen to have an over-sized wee-wee. But this guy, damn! And get this — the bartender told us he was straight! What the hell is that about???

At any rate, I got home between 3:30 and 4 a.m. and crawled into bed.

And I’m doing it all again next Saturday for a friend’s birthday.

I need a nap.

Mark e-mailed me this morning.

“Monique — Thank you. For everything. — Mark”

I promptly burst into tears.

I also laughed, because the man, despite holding two degress, can’t spell/write worth a damn, so he actually wrote “thanks you.” But still.

That is SO not what I wanted. I wanted (a) to have the last word, a la my semi-snotty note. Or (b) I wanted a semi-snotty note saying something like he broke up with me because of my insane interest in celebrity gossip or because I make up words like tragalicious and grotastic.

I did not want “Thank you. For everything.” I hate these complex situations that turn out differently than I want. I hate the balance of decency and assholishness that resides in all of us. And I hate that I cried because of him.

I know the pain from this will fade, just like it has from past failed relationships. But it still really really really sucks.

My little brother e-mailed me today. He’s 24 and lives in Michigan.

SUBJECT: What a jackass

BODY: I can’t believe he actually made you drive so he could dump you. Don’t even worry about it, he obviously had no class. I’ll beat the crap out of Mark when I come down there if you want.

I should mention my brother holds a 3rd degree black belt in tae kwon do, so it really wouldn’t be a fair fight. I know Mark has the mad fencing skills from acting class, but, realistically, my brother could probably take him out with one roundhouse kick. Or even a bitch slap.

Hee hee hee.

So I woke up this morning and was delighted to realize that it was “that time” again. Why was I delighted? Because (a) well, I’m not pregnant (bonus!) and (b) the insanity of PMS explains why I was so emotional this week. I’m not saying that I wouldn’t otherwise have been upset over being dumped, but PMS probably intensified things tenfold.

I left the box of Mark’s stuff at the receptionist’s desk this morning and told her my ex-bf would be picking it up and to feel free to hiss, boo or give him the evil eye. Thankfully I didn’t run into him on my way out the door this afternoon nor did I see his car in visitor parking. I felt 10 lbs. lighter. For my concerned readers who suggested I put his valentine’s gifts up on eBay and spend the $$ on myself: Seriously, the items are way tragic. I’d be lucky to get my posting fees out of the sale!

I saw my therapist on Thursday, the first time in a month. Of course she asked me if I thought Mark was gay. I said that I really didn’t. I told her I thought it was more likely that he was depressed and suffering the aftereffects of sexual abuse. I don’t think she believed me but I don’t give a shit. After I thought about it, I thought it was funny, like a man MUST be gay if he’s not interested in me! Sadly, I don’t think that’s the case … !!!

I realized yesterday, while reading my weekly issue of “The Star,” that I have a new celebrity crush: Nick Lachey. He’s hot. And I’m not ashamed to say that I have his album, oh-so-cleverly called “Soul-o.”