Another failed attempt at finding love has left me both despondent and embittered. After spending a couple of months being courted by a Southern gentleman, I decided to spend my vacation week visiting him, since it seemed like the natural progression. It was a romantic time - I met and charmed all of his friends, we held hands and kissed as we walked around the city, proudly sickening passersby with our outward affection. Finally he told me six special words, two hours before my flight home departed..."I don't know what I want."

After replaying the week's events in my head, wondering how his sentiments went from "I can't wait to see you" to "I can't wait to see you leave", I came to the realization that I was living a real life version of the opening montage of a romantic-comedy film. The heroine is down on her luck when it comes to love, she keeps choosing the wrong man, and hilarity ensues. Unfortunately my story never progresses past the disastrous first phase, and Hugh Grant has yet to propose, nor do I get to get down with Clive Owen.

In hopes of breaking this pattern, and rebuilding myself bionic woman style, I have decided to forgo any and all attempts at dating, fucking, panhandling for cuddles, or any type of romantic relationship until I have completed the following tasks:

1) Learn a new language.
I've chosen French. According to the French Institute Alliance Francais, "Speaking French can help you to gain a competitive edge professionally." And since there's no job more cosmopolitan than working at a thrift store in Brooklyn, it will be useful for me to say things in French such as, "Please remove the porcelain cat figurine from your pants, sir," or "When your 'little princess' mashes her hands into the keys of the piano for sale, I wouldn't exactly use the word talent"

2) Learn the choreography to, and then perform the dance John Travolta does in Saturday Night Fever (the one to You Should Be Dancing by the Bee Gees), complete with pelvic thrusting and tight pants.
I should mention that I have no rhythm or coordination. Epileptic kids who have seizures after playing video games have better moves than me, and the act of moving my hips without looking like I'm about to take a massive shit is a feat I have yet to accomplish, so this will take some time.

3) Document past dating/relationship stories in a blog.
Everyone has baggage and their own experiences...blah blah blah, yes. I've noticed in the beginning of some of my relationships, there's an implicit competition of who has had the more negative relationship history since sympathy can usually win you more affection, your choice of sexual position, or an extra topping at pinkberry. However, the guys I've dated have a recollection of the past that seems to change as our relationship progresses. One day he runs into the villainous, psycho ex who broke his heart when she slept with an entire baseball team, and suddenly it wasn't really the entire baseball team, it was just the shortstop...and that actually happened when they were on a break and he was shtupping a barmaid anyway, so let's all grab a drink sometime!

Unfortunately, I'm not exaggerating my tales of woe, I've had some soap opera script-worthy experiences. So I figure, why not document them, if not just to entertain others, then to serve as cautionary tales and reminders to myself, to stay away from the opposite sex...or the same sex depending on how the mood should strike.

The point of all these tasks are to make being alone and single something that I cannot avoid. I am a serial relationship addict, and that has proven to be more damaging to my skin and hair than all the UV rays poking through the ozone.

There's only so many times I can call a friend at 3am, sobbing so hard into the phone I am barely understandable, even though the only thing I'm saying is, "How could I be so dumb/naive/stupid...".

And because my friends always know that the older/narcissistic/younger/insecure/bartender/painter/fill in the blank is wrong for me, they can only repeat the same sentiment, just as all the times before...exhaling with pity...Oh Meredith!