Real stories about dating and relationships in New York City. Truth is more interesting than fiction.



First off, I think I might turn the comments off for this post. I just don’t think I can deal.

My life has taken some seriously strange twists and turns in the last couple of years.  If I were to sit down and have a “catch up” talk with an old friend who I hadn’t seen in a long while, I’d guess that friend would be completely shocked at the things coming out of my mouth. Not that that’s a bad thing.

can be good. is good.

This blog is part of the change.  And from the beginning I’ve been honest (as honest as I could be) about the fact that I was withholding details, trying to stay relatively anonymous for as long as I could.

In some ways, the blog has been a pleasure for me to write. Something I enjoy doing. And in other ways I’ve really grown to hate it.

This past week (well, for a while) I’ve been in hate it mode.  Because there are actually lots of things going on in my life (business life and life too, in a weird way) that  I feel like I can’t share here. And writing a “relationship” blog while leaving out the fact that I’ve cried myself to sleep for the last couple of nights just seems positively ridiculous. Plus, I have not one, but 2 blogs (I also have my tumblr site) and yet I’ve been not writing about all kinds of other stuff that’s going on (important stuff that affects me deeply and on multiple levels).

So, in conclusion, I’m feeling like a fraud right now.  A fraud with a date in a couple of hours. A fraud with a date in a couple of hours and a couple of blogs that she keeps writing because she doesn’t want to stop.

And I guess I’m writing this because sometime this weekend I’m going to take some time and start to figure my way out. If I can.

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