Moving On. And on, and on...

On Wednesday, Fenella and I had our monthly skype date, a conversation that never fails to approach the two-hour mark. She expected to have to spend those entire two hours consoling me over the loss of the Dark Horse. She was surprised to find that I was and am pretty much over it.

This should not come as too shocking. With one glaring exception (I'm looking at you, McNerdy) I've gotten over people with alarming quickness. So much so that I wonder if something is indeed wrong with me. I'm a true ice queen. When my Ex and I broke up after four and a half years, I think I cried once. Once! And that wasn't so much to mourn him as it was the life that I expected that was no longer. I have just always known that I deserve nothing less than 100% adoration and devotion. If someone is not willing or simply can't give me that, then I am simply no longer interested in them. End of story.

There had been no communication between the Dark Horse and me since Saturday morning, and I knew he was waiting for me to break that ice, so I called him on Wednesday. I told him that I wasn't angry and that there were no hard feelings, and I thought I should probably tell him that. He was happy and relieved to hear that. I'll see him sometime next month, but there's no rush. Don't want to push it.

While I'm doing just fine, I've been worried about my friend, The Umpire. The Umpire is a good friend of mine who also got dumped this week. He has also confirmed my theory that with men, it's all about timing. I know for a fact that he's been actively seeking a relationship. He had been dating the girl for barely a month. After three weeks, he had told me he was practically off the market. They already had holiday plans together, which I believed included him spending Christmas with her family. Then out of nowhere, she told him it wasn't going to work out. He's been a wreck all week.

Apparently, men and women are not all that different. He told me it's taking all his willpower not to call her. He can't stop asking the question why? What happened? I told him it's Friday night. We're going out.

And how. It was an interesting night to say the least. First I learned that the men I play softball with think more highly of me than I thought. Apparently mad softball skills will get you more than an 'atta girl! and the pats on the ass after a good hit serve a double purpose. (I know The Umpire thinks this way, but I can never be certain how much he's joking or not.) I was pretty buzzed by 10. Before 11, I was hit up to be part of a threesome with a wasted couple at the bar. Around midnight, we ran into another softball friend of ours who had just ended a really bad blind date. He joined us and at one point told me I looked "delicious." I don't know what that means. We went to another bar. It was at least 70% men. Excellent news for me, bad news for them. Besides, having two dudes with me was seriously hindering my game, so we went elsewhere until Last Call. At three, we were at a greasy diner with all the other drunkards. At four, we put The Other Guy into a cab (he doesn't live too far away) and stumbled back to my place, where The Umpire crashed on my couch (he lives very far away).

For the second straight Saturday, I woke up with my head spinning and cotton mouth. (And I didn't pay for a single drink! w0000t!) Only this time, no one broke up with me and I didn't have a tequila-drenched apartment to clean. Success!

I've realized something this year. I like being a singleton. I'm happy with my current lifestyle. Sure, having someone to spoon with is nice, and I most definitely need some action every now and then, but it is downright fun to go out and flirt for drinks. I actually don't know if I'm ready to give that up just yet.