In the span of three days, my gentleman caller has called — twice — and has sent three emails. Three of these correspondences came after I sent an email saying that I was trying to get through the end of the semester, and that I would call as soon as the madness was over. He sent an email acknowledging this.

Ten minutes later, he sent another email, followed by a phone call the next day.

Needless to say, I am no longer interested.

In my younger years, I would have seen this eagerness as sweet, cute, or some other innocuous gesture. Now I see it as a nuisance. This is a very stressful time for me, and I need to dedicate all of my energy to completing this task — a task that has already dragged on far too long.

I don't know if he was just overly excited, or if he just doesn't care about what I am trying to do — I really hate to think this is the case. Fact of the matter is, I see his behavior as a bit on the insecure side, and I am not attracted to that.

I am not quite sure how I am going to handle this. Exams will be over in a few days, so maybe I will check it out then. Problem is, after graduation, I will have a whole new set of priorities — job search and the like. If he doesn't understand that I need time right now, what will happen later?

I dumped another boy today. We'd been seeing each other for about a month. A month seems to be the cut-off point for me now.

The reasons are different every time but ultimately boils down to the same thing over and over again: I have a son. I have a son that demands much of my time; being a parent requires much responsibility, being a single parent requires even more. I have a son that I will love more than any boyfriend, ever, period.

I always lay this out, in different words/ways, right from the start. The men always seem to get it, but for some reason that inevitable "wow" moment always happens upon us. For Art (the latest dumpee), that day was today.

Things have been going great. We've been having tons of fun, no issues, no drama, just straight-up fun. Last night was no exception. We went out, we had a blast. We made plans to do something today, as we both had the day off.

It turned out to be a beautiful day. One of those first spring days where you can't not go outside. He called in the morning as planned and we decided to take a hike. I suggested he meet me at my house, and said that I'd drive (I have the car seat in my car).

That's when he started to freak out. He started stammering and actually said at one point, "Oh God." To which I replied, "What?" "Nothing," he said, and stammered some more. Clearly this was not nothing, and I wasn't about to let it go.

Finally, after much prying, he said, "Well, it feels a little too familial, maybe you should just enjoy your day with Adrian and we'll meet up later." Ummmm, okay. He caught me totally off guard. I honestly had no idea where this was coming from and I started to get pissed off. I told him fine, said, "I'll do that" and muttered something like, "I'll call you later."

Okay, this isn't going to apply to those of you whose husbands were caught waltzing off to Fiji with their secretaries. But the rest of you might get it.

You know that time around the end of your marriage, the time when you realize that if you have to share one more conversation with him you'll actually vomit into your Cobb salad? Have you noticed that's always the time when he wants to "spice things up"?

What is it about a failing marriage and the desire for ever-more kinky sex? What is that? He doesn't want to talk to you, he doesn't want to help raise the kidlets, he seems to have forgotten how to fill the gas tank, but now he wants you to dress up like a cheerleader, with the pompoms but without the panties?

Part of me thinks that this is because the men in question aren't attracted to us anymore. The other part of me — usually the bigger and louder part — still has faith in men and thinks they're doing it because they want the relationship to be better. They just don't have a damn clue how.

Can somebody please write a book? Like, How To Get Your Wife To Love You Again... (Hint: It has nothing to do with sex).

Wouldn't that be a good book? It could talk about going on dates that do not involve sporting events and give tips on how to sort your own laundry and how to find the vacuum cleaner in your own home. That would be a good book.

As Chastity prepares herself for another go at the mercy of Mother Nature, Kyle tells her that he has decided to go with her to see the play. Mind you, at this point the woman, clad in a sweater and jeans, had one foot out the door. Before anyone could bat an eye, she was back in the bathroom, changing into a skin-tight denim dress. Really? This is the behavior real women engage in? I thought that this act — one that I'd only seen before in television and movies — was very predictable and rather sad. Did she really think this was necessary? Apparently, she did, or he wouldn't have bothered changing.

More than anything, it makes me sad — and a little bit embarrassed — to see a woman put herself so shamelessly and desperately out there. I have to wonder what Kyle was thinking.

I know that we all commit the equivalent of this action from time to time — wearing that perfect outfit when we know we might see someone that has caught our attention, but subtlety is the key here. You don't make an obvious change in front of their face, and you don't go to such the extreme that it looks posed. I know this was a one-shot deal for Chastity, as we were in a hostel in Ireland, and this gent was currently residing in Spain. But that begs the question: Why bother at all?

I will never be so careless in choosing a partner again — for whatever the reason. I don't care if it's a square-dance partner, I want some proof that I'm not going to want to smack someone by the end of the night. This fiasco has reminded why I travel alone — or with people I have known for years.

Chastity and I manage to get to the airport with time to spare. She finally made lodging arrangements for our arrival, and we are on our way. About nine hours and one Heathrow layover later, we are in Dublin and in our room — a four person mixed dorm room.

This is fine with me, as there are times — like now, with the dollar so weak against the Euro — that I don't mind economy lodging. Even better was the fact that the room was empty when we arrived. Before the night was over, another wayward traveler entered the mix — the very friendly and handsome "Kyle."

As much as I like to think of having random vacation sex, history has shown that this is just not something that is bound to happen with me. Some days, I wish I had a bit more bravado in that department. But I soon realize that to change that aspect of myself would mean being a different person altogether, I quickly let go of those thoughts. Chastity, however, had another idea.

For some reason, I blocked this memory from my mind. In my heavily medicated (I have a serious case of the flu going on) — and apparently incredibly pensive state, I was reminded of an incident from this year's formal.

During the course of the evening, I was approached by an associate of mine who decided to make a kind and predictable gesture, and pay me a compliment. As everyone was dressed in dress that night, it was an appropriate thing to do. Only, this was a compliment gone wrong.

This individual, who shall remain nameless (more for the sake of his wife than for him), proceeded to tell me how my appearance that evening was enough to make him question his 12 years of marriage, and that if he in fact weren't married, that I would have had to beat him off with a stick.

Now, I don't know what kind of a compliment he thought that was, but for me this was completely inappropriate and unacceptable. What made this guy think that this kind of talk was appropriate? Does he think that 12 years of matrimony gives him latitude to say whatever he wants?

Is it because I'm single? Is it because I went to this function without a date? Is it because he's an asshole who doesn't know how to behave in public? Would he dared to have said this if I had been accompanied by an "other" — significant or not?

The whole ordeal boggles the mind while simultaneously chaffing the soul.

It's interesting to go solo to an event. On the one hand, there are the people who wish they had followed suit and look at your freedom with a sort of envy. On the other hand, there are the people who look at you as if you are on the prowl — for their date.

This was also something I had to put up with.

As I floated around the room to chat with my friends, I noticed a few things. Some of these things were small — a glance, getting the once-over by the dates of my male friends, etc. Other acts were on a grander scale: women would make physical contact with their guy, grabbing the hand or an arm. If there was already contact, the grasp became tighter.

This kind of behavior went on for a majority of the evening. The worst of it was an instance where the wife thrust her body in the middle of a conversation as if she were shielding her husband from the treacherous tendencies of the preying single female.

It's not until times like this that I realize how much coupled women fear/loathe single women, though I have absolutely no idea why. It's not as if we are out to take their dates or break up their marriages. I just can't for the life of me figure out when we got such a bad rep.

Ironically, after getting to know me, most of the women told me how much they enjoyed meeting and talking with me. Go figure.

I went out for dinner with my cousin Ariel and my new step-sister, Terry. The three of us have never gotten together before, but we're all roughly the same age, and we had an absolute blast. We must do it again.

We had dinner at a restaurant that Ariel works at, which was great because she knew exactly what to order, and more important, what not to order. We each had a drink and it wasn't long before we were dishing about everything from boots to boys and laughing up a storm.

My cousin is in her first "real" relationship with a what sounds like a really great guy. They just moved in together and she seems really happy. I asked her how things were going, and she gave me what I call, "the look." You know, the look that says, not bad, not good, but rather, "eh." That look. So, I asked her, "What's up?"

She told us that she's completely in love with him, that she still misses him when they're apart, that they make each other laugh like crazy.

At this point, Terry and I exchanged looks that said "What the $%$ is her problem, then?"

She went on to say that being that it's her first real relationship, she scared that maybe she is settling and can do better. Oh, I remember feeling that way with my first boyfriend, too. Don't you?

Terry and I assured her that if she's in love with him, and they laugh and she still misses him when they're apart, that she should stay put.

The boyfriend-in-question then walked in and said, "Hey, this looks like an episode of Sex In The City," and we shut up.

A few others joined us, we went to another place for more drinks and more conversation. We stayed out much later than we should — or I stayed out much later than I should have.

Ah, the spring formal — otherwise known to the best of cynics as "the Prom" — has come and gone. After a last-minute dash to find a new dress (I had the great misfortune of finding out that Sweeney Todd works at my friendly neighborhood dry cleaners and my dress was butchered), I am happy to report that I have survived the blessed event.

While this year's formal was less than noteworthy, I still managed to have a good time. Note to the readers: Bring the fun with you, and you will never have to worry about how lame an event is. It will merely serve as background chatter.

My decision to fly solo was indeed a good one, as I was able to come and go as I pleased, talk to whomever without feeling as if I was neglecting someone else, and just really kick back and enjoy myself.

A few friends were not as fortunate, for they succumbed to the pressures of bringing a date. During the course of the evening, when they were able to steal away, a couple of them mentioned feeling a bit burdened with their newfound responsibilities.

When you're the only person in the room your date knows, it tends to add an unnecessary amount of strain to an evening that is supposed to be enjoyable.

As I see it, going stag is really the only way to go.

In a recent blog, I addressed about how guys in Manhattan seem to look but not talk and, compared with guys in some other parts of the country, are hard to start a conversation with.

A reader commented that perhaps I make the move and approach the man. There's no doubt this is a good piece of advice and one I had already taken into consideration.

But here's my problem: If a guy doesn't have enough balls to make a move or isn't interested enough to try and start a conversation, then why should I?

This may sound snobbish, but I am not here to make a guy feel good and boost his ego. I have dealt with enough crap and am tired of bending over backward to make good with guys. It is their turn.

I want to feel as though I am desired and attractive and I want to be pursued — not be the pursuer.

As you can tell by my thick Little Black Book (not!), my strategy is working quite well. Ha!