My couple dumped me. But first, they cheated on me.

I know it’s partly my fault because I moved out of the building, but I only moved 2 miles away. I was still attentive to them. I still called all the time, and I really made an effort to visit as much as possible. But I felt them slipping away. Suddenly they were “busy” or “tired.” I saw the signs.

And then, there was the new girl.

In the beginning, my whole “work from home” thing was what attracted them. The husband didn’t work, and the wife worked odd hours, so we had lots of play time when I didn’t have deadlines. The new girl doesn’t have a job – at all. Total free spirit. Score one for the new girl. She’s available any time. And she’s cool – really cool. Even I want to be her friend. I thought I was fun, but she makes me look completely and totally boring. No wonder they cheated on me.

It happened slowly at first. They mentioned her name a few times in passing, and invited her over for dinner once when I was there. I watched as they couldn’t remove their gaze from her. They used to look at me that way. They were falling in love. And I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I just sat there while they laughed at every one of her jokes. The way they used to laugh at mine.

Then there were stories of drunken bike rides, and surf lessons, boat rides and hot tubs. There’s no way I can compete with that. I guess what I had going for me that whole time was proximity. And then I moved out. Out of sight, out of mind. But I really thought I could make it work. Until… the new girl took them away for the weekend. They went on a fun road trip, and stayed at a swanky house on the beach that she got through a friend. It was done. I knew I was being traded down. And there was nothing I could do about it.

I got my hopes up when we planned lunch to catch up. I carefully planned the reconciliation. We would go for bloody marys at the beach – something we used to love to do on a lazy day in the early afternoon. I picked out a cute outfit, and a hat they always loved. I was ready to win them back over.

About an hour before lunch they cancelled. The other woman was taking them surfing and they promised to make it up to me and that we would “get together soon.”

In hindsight, I know the breakup is the best thing. You always said it was bad news to hang out with the husband, that my “couple” was an unhealthy relationship.

Is this the part where I tell you that I think I have a crush on a new couple?

So what does the new girl look like? I’m not trying to push your buttons, but isn’t that the first thing a woman asks herself when her man tells her he’s seeing someone else? And don’t think for a minute that men don’t ask themselves the very same thing. Certainly it’s different with a couple. They didn’t trade you in for a newer model because she was younger or sexier or better in any way – they traded you in for one reason, and only one – circumstance.

When it comes to relationships, be it romantic, just friends or family, circumstance never gets the recognition it deserves. Almost every relationship on the planet is heavily influenced, by circumstance. Once the passion recedes, the circumstances take over almost completely. The one-hour car ride in heavy traffic to his house that was originally “a good thing because I get to return a bunch of phone calls,” becomes just another miserable hour on the freeway. The fact that “we like different things and that keeps it fresh,” morphs into “If she talks about her cousin one more time I’ll blow one of our brains out.” Relationships don’t survive without circumstantial assistance. Being in a relationship is tough enough. Without favorable circumstances it’s almost impossible. You may have moved “only” a few blocks away, but you might as well have moved to China. It’s not you, it’s circumstance.

Besides, there comes a time in life when we simply don’t need to make new friends. I know, I know, that’s a very cynical and anti-social stance to take. Maybe so, but it’s also true. The last new friend I made was about five or six years ago. It was another dude and he was (and still is) a good guy, but I fought it every step of the way. A new friend? What is this, my first day at junior high school? Finally, I caved in and gave myself the speech… The “I don’t need a new friend, but I’ll do it one last time,” speech. You already have more friends than you know what to do with. Do you really have room for a “two-for-the-price-of-one” friendship anyway? And don’t you feel like a third wheel half the time? Besides, I don’t care what you say. The husband wanted to have sex with you – and probably still does.

New boyfriends? Of course you can. New girlfriends? On an extremely limited basis (and only if they’re hot). Now couples? Just say no.

What is it about sex that is so intoxicating? For me, it’s like drinking 3 Mojitos without the calories and the headache after. The first one is like the first kiss on a really good date – it’s a nice surprise, tastes refreshing, and leaves you wanting more. The second one is like making out – you drink it faster than the first, without paying attention to what’s going on around you. And the third one is often the one you probably shouldn’t have had. The third one is when you’ve gone too far, but you’re so caught up with how good the first two were that you don’t think about it before you order it. Or maybe you think you shouldn’t have that third one, but you order it anyway. And it still tastes really good, but you regret it the next day.

It’s been for lack of a better word, a drought. There has been no sex in my life (no, I didn’t sleep with the Handyman), and there doesn’t seem to be any on the horizon. And I think in the process I’m becoming a romantic retard. I consider myself a sexual person. I think I’m pretty good in bed. (Let’s just say I haven’t gotten a whole lot of complaints.) But lately I can’t decide if it’s me or the prospects, but I’m not feeling it – ANY of it. And I miss that feeling.

I’ve never really bought into the whole messed-up girl brain you’re supposed to get with sex. Being single for the majority of my adult life, I’ve really just taken it for what it is – a good time with someone you’re into. I guess I’m more like a guy in that respect. But lately, I’m missing the girl part. I miss the part that I was watching in the bar… Where you can’t get close enough to someone and want to be touching every part of them. Where your lips and hands can’t move fast enough to get it all in and you know the minute you’re in private clothes will be flying off. Okay, now I’m getting turned on.

But then there’s that part of me that right now isn’t just about sex – otherwise I would be having it. It’s not that I haven’t been around any guys – I have. I just haven’t wanted to get naked with any of them. And the less naked I want to get, the more naked they want to get. It’s like I flipped a switch and now I can’t find it.

I keep thinking that maybe I just need to have sex and then I’ll be back on the wagon.

And I’m really craving a Mojito.

It’s funny that after all this time you still consider having sex early in a relationship (or in the evening), “going too far.” Did I look away and you became a prude? What happened to my fun-loving friend who doesn’t look into the hidden meaning of everything? Oh wait, you’re a woman. I keep forgetting. Sex is not the third Mojito. Sex is the first Mojito. You should just slam it, and then decide if you want another one. Or another ten.

I think you just need to get back on the horse. I applaud you for running away from the Handyman as fast as you did, but maybe the clothes should have come off before the track shoes went on. You need an appetizer. You’re ready for the meal, but you haven’t eaten in so long you need to start slow – like with a few bites, then go for the gusto. I think you’ve gotten this whole year wrong. It shouldn’t be “If you build it, He will come.” It should have been, “He needs to build it so you can come.” Let the guys do the work. Walk out the door, shove your tits out, put a smile on your face and you’ll be drinking Mojito #1 (or is it 3) in no time.

I think women forget that men think with their dick first, and their head later. You all are so concerned with “will he like me?” that you miss the signs that yes, we like you and no, we don’t want to have a two hour conversation about it. We like you, we want to have sex with you, and if we still like you, we will call you. Which by the way, will happen if you let it. But women never let it work that way. It doesn’t have to be this big mystery. It doesn’t have to be a calculation of how many times you go out with us before you give it up. We want sex immediately. THEN we decide if we want to date you. That’s just the way it works. Sorry to break it to ya, pal.

So get out there, put on your best flirt, grab a dude and just lay one on him. It will break the ice and get you back on the horse. I know you can do it. You’re just out of practice. Just make sure he’s not wearing a tool belt this time.

And then you can have as many Mojitos as you want.

I held a baby the other day – A three-week-old, perfectly tiny, perfectly-perfect baby boy.

I thought I was fine. I thought, “Hey, I’m almost forty. I have a great life. I have lots of kids in my life, and I have the best of both worlds because I get to love them and give them back to their parents at the end of the day.”

But then I held this perfect, three-week-old baby boy and watched him wrap his hand around my finger, snuggle into my chest and fall asleep – for an hour. I stared at this amazing child with his little nose and upturned lip, looked at his mom (who is 45 by the way) and thought, “Shit. Maybe I do want one.”

I’m 39 years old. I have no boyfriend (yes, the Handyman is history – you called it – PSYCHO), I have no money, and I have no room for a crib unless I put the baby in the dining room. I really have no place in my life for a baby, and I’m still not positive I want one. But now I kind of want one more than I don’t want one. Does that make any sense?

It’s been a year since I even thought about a baby (remember my pregnancy scare from Extra Large Jerk?)… And it was two years before that. It’s not something I think about every day. Until now. Now I think about it every day. Now I dream about being pregnant. Wait, maybe that’s just my feeling fat from my month of take-out during my moving chaos. No, it’s true… I really do dream about being pregnant and giving birth to a little boy with my chubby cheeks and bad hand-eye coordination. (Of course it’s a boy – you can’t see me with a prissy, frilly girl can you?)

A friend of mine, younger by a few years, is freezing her eggs. She’s freezing her eggs and she’s actively looking for Mr. Right. And she’s younger than I am. Why have I not been proactive about this? While I’ve been looking for Mr. Right Now, my eggs have been growing weary of waiting for a seed. I’ve been kissing Tom, Dick and Harry (or is that Tom, Dick and Hairy) and haven’t given a second thought to the fact that my unborn babies are slipping out of my grasp. I can almost hear their echo as their egg sacs shrivel up and die. “We could have lived, but you wasted your time on superficial assholes and sober alcoholics. Nice going, Mom.”

So what do I do now that I’ve had this baby epiphany? Do I look into freezing my eggs? I think I missed the cut-off, plus it’s like $15,000 and I need a dining room table.

I guess for the time being, I’ll just have to babysit more. Thank God I have 10 nieces and nephews.

Personally, I can’t imagine my life without children, but maybe that’s the point. We can’t imagine our lives with children until we have them, and then we can’t imagine our lives without them once we do. You’ve been imagining your life with children since you were about six years old, but to your credit, you’ve never been consumed by the notion. There’s nothing more annoying than a woman whose sole purpose for being on this planet is to have a baby. Short of a muffin top and too much makeup, nothing could be less sexy. Maybe that’s because I’m a guy, and when we meet a woman like that we can feel our sperm start to swim upstream. When we meet a woman who’s never had a child, we start to feel like the toll booth on the Whitestone Bridge. Our financial statements become our personality and a nagging feeling that we are destined for a second place finish in our own home begins to form in our soul. I’m so glad you are not, nor have ever been that woman… It would have annoyed the hell out of me to be your friend.

On the other hand, you don’t pretend it doesn’t matter, either. It matters. Damn right it matters. You didn’t need to hold that perfect baby for it to matter… All he did was to bring that feeling to the surface. So be it. If you didn’t want a kid anymore, then I’d be worried. You know, without having lived it a single moment (yet), what I know from living it three times over – it’s the greatest feeling in the world. It’s the greatest joy known to mankind. It’s one of the few legitimate purposes we can have to live this life. As UN-sexy as it is for a woman to only want a baby or to never want a baby, that’s how warm and sexy it is for a woman to let her feelings be known in between. I’m not sure most men would agree with me on this, but I don’t need most men to agree with me on this – just the good ones.

As for freezing your eggs, or some other equally as technologically advanced form of improving your odds, who am I to say? If I were a woman, I wouldn’t do it… Plus, you need to get a dining room table because I have nowhere to set down my beer.

We don’t get everything we want in life, but I hope you get to have a child. All it takes is one.

One would think this would leave me overjoyed, but I’m petrified. I know that I talk about it endlessly, that I should be thrilled my “If you build it, he will come” year is finally seeing success, but I can’t help it. I’m totally freaked out.

I need to slow the train down. He’s all in already, and I’m still dipping my toe in the handyman pool. Why does it always have to be all or nothing with me? This guy is definitely into me. He calls every day, brings me coffee, cooked me dinner (and started a fire in my new kitchen) and wait for it, made me a mix CD! I didn’t know people still did that! Gotta admit – that move I loved.

But why can’t it be a normal slow progression, where you have a make-out session and then you don’t see him for a week and you wonder if he still likes you and you get crazy neurotic waiting by the phone? I like that part!

Instead, I have an insta-boyfriend. So let’s weigh the pros and cons.

I must say, The Handyman is pretty hot. He’s tall enough; he’s got really pretty blue eyes, and great dimples. When he’s got two days of salt and pepper scruff he’s downright sexy. But he’s older – a lot older than I thought – and he’s got old man nose hair and a pot belly. The belly doesn’t really bother me, because who am I to judge, but the nose hair – I just can’t take it. I want to sleep with the guy just so I can cut it when he’s passed out. So pro, dreamy blue eyes, dimples and salt-and-pepper scruff. Con, old man nose hair.

Which brings up the pros and cons of… old man. He’s 16 years older than me. Pro, he’s not some dumb asshole who’s going to dump me when he finds something better. This guy is thanking his lucky stars that I like him, and he’s not afraid to show me how thankful he is. Con, he’s 16 years older than me. And so is his nose hair. And so might something else.

He’s never been married and doesn’t have kids. That’s a pro, because he has no baggage, but a con because why the hell hasn’t a guy that old been married?

And perhaps the biggest con of all, which shouldn’t matter in the least, but it does – he doesn’t drink. As in, sober. As in, he goes to three meetings (minimum) a week. Here’s the thing. I don’t have a problem with non-drinkers, or friends of Bill W, I just have a problem when they don’t want me to drink. And as much as they say it doesn’t matter, somewhere down the road it will. And last night I learned what Rule 62 is. I’m not in AA. I don’t need to know the rules. I just need you to pass me the wine so I can refill my glass.

So, where does this leave me? I have a really sweet, wonderful guy who is totally into me. nose hair and soberness aside, he’s smart, funny and thinks I’m the coolest woman he’s ever met. He brings me flowers, cooks me dinner and makes me mix CDs. And in addition to his tool belt, he’s got a black belt, which gives me a built-in bodyguard. And, he likes me.

Do I jump in? Or run away?

I’m torn… The romantic side of me wants to hear you humming that Herman’s Hermits song to yourself. The “real me,” has already begun to make funeral arrangements for this “handy” new relationship of yours. Contrary to my cynical nature, I’ve never been a big fan of “taking it slow,” or holding back. Hell, I hold back about as consistently as I eat and breathe, so I realize that’s not the smartest attitude to have, but I figure if you’re not going to be crazy about a woman from the moment you meet her, when exactly are you going to be crazy about a woman? So I admire this guy’s rapid, yet still honorable courting of you. The guy digs you. Trust me… A guy doesn’t bring a woman coffee or mix a CD (and I made more than my share of mix tapes, back in the day) if he only wants to get laid. This guy doesn’t only want to have sex with you… This guy really likes you. Unfortunately…

Forget the age difference. That’s the least of your worries. Not to contradict myself, but the guy brings you coffee and makes you mix tapes? Please! What is this, Mayberry? As I said, I appreciate the sentiment… But those gestures should be saved for, oh I don’t know, sometime after the first three weeks? Personally, I’d save that shit for marriage if I were him.

What, you don’t like a nice, bushy set of nose hairs on a man? Shame on you. Actually no, shame on him. You know how I spent five minutes of my getting-ready time this morning? I trimmed and buzzed my nose hair until it couldn’t be seen without a search party. I’m no chick, but the extraneous hair that men grow needs to be kept out of sight. There’s no two ways about it.

As for the sobriety issue, all I can say is where I come from real men drink beer – at least sometimes. Hard liquor and wine are fine, but a real man takes his girl to a ballgame every now and then, and when he does, he drinks a beer with her and root, root, roots for the home team. That’s never going to happen with this guy. And you need it to.

The final nail in this coffin is that the guy is well over 40 and he’s never been married. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. When a guy older than 40 has never been married, there’s usually a reason for it. I don’t know how true that is about women, but it’s almost a certainty in a man.

Forget what I said earlier about “not sprinting in the other direction…” It’s time to reach for the track shoes. This is what happens when you set the bar high. Be grateful.