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The official website of the Sex, Life, & Hannah chick lit book series.

1 woman, 7 friends, 4 seasons, 36 chapters, and a lot of men...

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Bringing back the exes

Posted by on Aug 3, 2004 in Life and Style | 0 comments

What do you do when all you’ve met is freaks since you broke up with the last guy you were kind of dating…? You bring back the fucking exes.

It all started with a phone call to Christian, which went straight to voicemail, and his return call, which also went nowhere because at first I was in the car, driving to Vegas, with Ireland, and then I was in Vegas, so I didn’t pick up. He left me a voicemail saying he was about to jump on a plane; that he had to go out of town for a few weeks. Figures.

So what do I do when I get back from Vegas? I call The Ex. Maybe because when I got back from Vegas I went on cleaning rampage and stumbled across some old photos…and cards…yeah…you know how that goes.

We talked last night. It was cool. He’s doing well. I’m dong well. We shot the shit like we always do, and it quickly became after 11PM.

“It’s time for you to shower and sleep, isn’t it?”

“Actually I’m already in bed. Showered. And even masturbated.” I say this, with maybe just the right amount of hint in my voice, because this is how we used to talk, when we were fresh in love, before things got complicated.

There is a slight pause on the other end of the line, “Too bad you didn’t call earlier.”

“Why?” I ask, innocently, even though there is nothing innocent about me randomly calling The Ex.

“I could’ve helped you masturbate.” He says this in a lowered voice, as if he’s relaying some deep dark secret…

“Ooooohhh, hmmmm, wow, us having sex…that would be bad.”

“I didn’t say anything about sex, but that would be good.”

“That’s why it would be bad.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to fall in love with you again.”

I tell him I have to go.

I didn’t know if I wanted love from The Ex again, or even a random hook-up. It was good hearing his voice though.

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Mourning my new single life.

Posted by on Oct 6, 2003 in Life and Style | 0 comments

I’ve decided to call my new single life my mourning period. Oh yeah, that’s how excited I am about my new single life.

You know I totally get why things didn’t work out with Mr. Smyth, but it still sucks. Or maybe I was right last week when I concluded that perhaps I just suck at being single. Or maybe the real problem is that this time I don’t have someone like Ben to keep me distracted.

Why is it that for some reason if you have a hot piece of ass to distract you, all of a sudden the trauma of breaking up with someone miraculously disappears?

Where oh where is Dr. Bod when I need him, and why don’t I have a business trip to New York planned anytime soon?

Maybe I should call that beautiful 22 year-old boy I met in Tahoe a few months ago… Of course I deleted his phone number like a jack ass thinking that Mr. Smyth was going to surprise me for my birthday and we would live happily ever after.

I wonder if he’s missing me…I know he felt something. You can’t just tell me that he stuck around all these months because he didn’t have a warmer, wetter, tighter, pussy to stick his dick into. Getting laid is not hard, getting along with someone is, and me and Mr. Smyth got along.

I wonder if he ever let his mind wander enough to think about the potentional… I wonder what he’s doing right now while I’m sitting at home obsessing.

I can’t believe I’m obsessing.

Eligible bachelor distraction please knock on my door right now so I can fall back into all of my old habits and not learn anything from this whole experience.

Oh yeah, being single. Rock and roll. I need to call Jack.

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