TAB: Expert Bad Decision Maker.

Sometimes, My Friend With Great Hair comes into my office for little chats that will inevitably turn into long, depressing discussions about our parallel love lives. I usually end up bitching, whining and complaining about TOL and she ends up relating it to her last disaster relationship and by the end of a 5 minute, "Hey! How are you today?" conversation, it's like we're those two old guys at the bar crying in their beers about "the one that got away" - but much less awesome because 1. we are not guys, 2. we don't have beers in front of us, and 3. we are the ones the others were getting away from. (Suck it, grammar)

Yesterday, I mentioned to My Friend With Great Hair that I was considering the possibility of continuing to date eHarmony guy in an effort to get over TOL, and hedged the suggestion that maybe defriending TOL on Facebook (I'm not that connected, mostly...) was a bad life choice because now I just *wonder.* (I defriended TOL some time ago when I saw ambiguous, passive-aggressive status updates that may or may not be related to me and what we once were and it drove me closer to insane than I was before.)

"TAB," Friend With Great Hair said, "I don't think you're ready to Facebook him again. I think he still writes about you, and it won't help you get over him."

This, of course, sent me into girly panic mode like only patent leather heels and new nail polish and Guinness on sale can do. I wanted to know what he had said, and when, and if it was related to the last time I mistakenly texted him. Friend With Great Hair sighed, clearly convinced this would do me no good whatsoever, but she showed me the updates anyway.

From the day he texted me after I deleted his number and I responded with "who is this?" even though I already knew: something about how quickly one forgets or moves on or whatever passive aggressive nonsense he usually writes. Not only does this do me no good, but I can't tell if it *is* good.

"I think he's sad," Friend With Great Hair said because she's also a great friend. "I think he misses you."

This, in turn, made me sad. I caved and texted him. We ran our familiar emotional gamut going from happy to him being a dbag to me being pissed at him, and pissed at myself for caving and texting him. Now I'm irritated AND confused, which are scientifically proven to be excellent drinking conditions.

"You should come out with me," Friend With Great Hair said, implying that I should join her WeHo lesbifriends and have a "therapeutic" lesbian evening, instead of continuing to date eHarmony guy. I explained the situation to MEH at work this morning.

"Don't go crazy bi-chick on me," he bemoaned.

"I can't," I said. "I'm a testosterone junkie. Hey... :: lightbulb moment:: ...maybe that's why I date dbags."

"That's exactly it," MEH said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Isn't it disconcerting that I used to have an advice column?