Let's get this party started.

My New Year's Eve consisted of my comfy men's pajama bottoms, my favorite grey t-shirt with the tiny tear on the hem, a cup of hot chocolate, and my cat.  Let's not forget channel surfing and the occasional break to sob into my t-shirt and blow my nose into a paper towel.  It's not sexy, but it's me. This is as real as it gets.

I opted out of party invites. Who feels like partying when they are in the midst of a devastating break-up.

I am too weak right now to ward off the advances of an even slightly cute guy who offers a shoulder to cry on.  And my good friend Richard actually did.  God bless him.  Richard, if you ever somehow stumble upon this blog, know this, I could easily have come over to your place last night and taken you up on your offer for champagne and that wonderful, comforting shoulder of yours.  However, I knew that I would be in your bed and breaking my resolution before I even had a chance to get it started. You are hot in that rugged, cowboy-fire-man kind of way and you are a good man.  I am not ready for you or anyone like you. Not yet.  Hence, the Project. 

I am in post-break up mode.  The upside, I have zero appetite and can actually feel my body morphing into a size zero.  Not a bad upside.  The downside, I still miss the Manchild (not his real name, but fitting all the same).  I go back-and-forth between missing his smile, his kiss, his touch, his shirts hanging in my closet and then the absolute repulsion when I think of him with his ex.  Spending the holiday with her, having dinners with her, kissing her at midnight.  That was supposed to be my kiss, my holiday, my dinner.  There is something fundamentally wrong with missing a man, albeit Manchild, that was so careless with my heart, he didn't give a second thought about shattering it into tiny pieces.

Yuck. Gross. Disgusting. Shake it off.

I'm proud of myself for my first success.  I spent the night alone and not just any night.  The night of couples and kissing and late night drunken sex.  For the record, it is important to note and remind myself, I chose to be alone.  Not with some guy that pretends to be my friend and then tries to make out with me or wants some arm candy for the night.  It felt good.  Damn good.

Fuck Manchild and the tiny horse that he rode in on.  If this isn't empowerment, then I don't know what is.  Hello, 2011.