A few weeks ago I was complaining - as usual - about being lonely. It seems that Dave has moved on with his life, and despite some childishness on his part I'm mostly happy for him. Or rather, I would have said a week or two ago I was mostly happy for him. Now, I could care less as it doesn't really cross my mind that while I'm drowning my sorrows, he's shagging some blonde.

I'll start at the beginning - you see for about seven or eight years I've been into parties. Yup, that's right, I admit it. Through my hippy-to-good-deb. phases, the skater grrl phase, the little goth girl phase ... I am and always was just a raver. Sad but true - then again not so sad - it's not such a bad thing to be party people; in my experience 80% of party people are good people. Either, I finally ran into another group of raver boys who are good people. I first dated the puppy dog of the group. It was apparently encouraged with the knowledge that I'd be good for him - and break his heart - which he needed somewhat. For a brief moment I dated one of his good friends. I didn't put out ... once you feed me a pill and I look in the mirror and announce I'm glowing, it's all over boys! Now I'm dating the puppy's best friend. Life is good and actually I'm very very happy.

What is one to do when to existentialist, polyamours people meet up and fall in love and suddenly find themselves not really wanting anyone else? Maybe an authentic love? Somewhere along a weekend of what was supposed to just be hanging out - but ended up hooking up (I'm really sure the mistake was that after skinny dipping we did not put our clothes back on but rather cuddled up naked in the bed.) the sex even changed and became something REALLY good.

It's odd. Maybe we'll elope - which I know isn't the most cautious of plans but we're silly hedonists so what do you expect?