Day 7 = Gym + Old Flames

After a cold night holed up in the second floor of my house in thick fleece pajamas, thick wool socks, cashmere gloves, a tobaggan on my head and 4 quilts, I was fairly happy to get my ass out of bed to go to the gym this morning where I could work out and not see my breath. The gas will be on later today, I'm told. You better, or I'm going to hunt you down like a crazy woman and make you lay down for some good old-fashioned waterboarding.

Speaking of torture, I had the opportunity to meet an old flame tonight. Jim. You all remember Jim? I can just imagine your eyes rolling back into your heads as you're shaking them "no, no, why would you even want to be in the room with ... with... Jim?" No not you, Mom, the one champion for Jim. Well, there was one other person - his business partner.

I could have put a number of photos up here. One of Jim and me together. One of a literal douche bag. One of a line of coke on a stripper's ass. Or maybe Hitler. But since we met for sushi, I thought this would be appropriate. Despite all that history, I am a sucker for the ol' "what if" inside me. What if he's changed? What if this time it's different?"

Ladies. Are you sitting down? Are you listening? Stop IM'ing your friend or watching that episode of "Ugly Betty" and listen the fuck up. NO ONE EVER GETS ANYWHERE ON "WHAT IF." I promise you that. If you could take anything to the bank and make a mint, that would be it.

At the end of the dinner, I was “invited to spend more time with this man" that evening, and I asked him if he had a girlfriend. He said yes but that they had not yet slept together. As if this was intended to rouse a response of, "oh, you mean you haven't put your penis in her vagina yet? Well that just changes EVERYTHING. Let's just duck into the bathroom for the next 15 minutes so I can let you rock my world."

Dude. Do you know what it's taken me to get over you? He has no idea. No heart. I'm so done with him, and tonight proved that yeah, I really WAS finally over this bastard.

I went home alone at 9 pm because as uncomfortable as it would be, I knew getting up the next day at 6 am to run 7 miles before the sun came up in 35-degree weather would be more enjoyable than the regret I would have endured in spending another minute with JimmyJam.

Oh, and another thing. Beware of guys who are still nicknaming themselves when they're in their 30s or 40s.