Maybe it is pathetic. But I'm still not over him after almost 9 months. I get disgusted with the idea of him sometimes, so maybe that's progress. I am also, however, disgusted with the prospect of dating, touching, engaging or becoming physical with any man except for Jason on General Hospital. Which doesn't really sound like progress, but more like one of my crazy aunts who sleeps with a cheese knife under the mattress and is in love with Mario Lanza, who still croons to her from an LP. I am after all, at age 35, the propper age to be inducted into into the old maid trainee program. Which I guess is OK because I think once you're a member, you're allowed to blow up like a house and watch a lot of lifetime television, and that suits me just fine. It sounds almost as good as my Camp Cupcake fantasy, in which I can both get even with my ex and catch some rent-free R&R. But living in NYC you can't really progress by those traditional aging standards. Eligibility requirments to become an 'old maid' is up to like, 82. All the would-be members are taking strip aerobic classes, revealing their never distended belly buttons, still holding on to the hope that they'll meet a nice divorcee. Just like me. But I'm almost ready to retire. My ex constantly reminded us that "40 is the new 30." So why, still, am I uncomfortable with the fact that each day that passes since my 35th birthday brings me closer to the big 4-0? I mean Demi Moore is great and all, but honestly I just don't have the energy anymore, you know? I mean I'm a normally aging 35 year old. I have forehead wrinkles and a bursitis.

As a sidenote, if he said that 40 is the new 30, does that mean he couldn't date a 22 year old because she'd really only be 12?