When it comes to my behavior in regard to past relationships, casual dating, and, convenient flings, I can honestly say that I’ve been a bad girl, who more often than not was in need of a spanking (and usually received it more ways than one.) For those loyal readers of my former column, you know about my checkered past — I’ve been the villain and the victim an equal amount of times in the context of society’s moral standards, and though some people applaud my openness about such things, a few prefer to just call me a whore. Which is fine by me, but I wish they would attempt to be a bit more constructive with their criticism.

As far as my frowned-upon choices, I never felt too bad about them. I mean, I carry around my mother’s former Catholic guilt like a sack of potatoes over my shoulder on a daily basis, but when it comes to my relationships, I’ve tended, at least publicly, to show empathy for a couple of reasons. First off, most of my relationships were not whole, but an empty shell of something that will shatter at any moment, so I never felt the need to tip toe around them, but rather let my self-sabotaging nature go to work and finish off whatever is left over. And second of all, I date and sleep with jerks. This is not supposed to put down any former boyfriends I’ve had, but the truth is that I’ve subconsciously and purposefully picked out guys who could never commit, treated me with frustrating indifference, put me down, took advantage of me, made me feel like I didn’t matter, or never supported my work, hobbies, or aspirations. But believe me when I say I don’t blame them at all. I’m the one who stuck around for their crap.

After all, it’s fun to be the victim. You’re never the bad guy in the relationship. You can cheat on the other guilt-free, because they drove you to infidelity with their subconscious abusive nature. You don’t have to feel bad about your actions, since they already make you feel bad enough about yourself. It’s okay to be an asshole — whatever you do, he’ll always be the bigger asshole, right?

Yes, it’s oh-so easy to justify dumb actions with your own analytical bullshit. It’s such a relief to pass the blame on to a less-than-mediocre boyfriend and stay miserable in the death throes. Your friends will excuse your relationship by claiming that you just like a challenge. And when that joke of a relationship ends, you can either hop from bed to bed so you never have to owe anyone anything, or move on to a new “exclusive” shitty relationship. Wheee!

So why would I do something like this to myself? Most likely for the same reason I never used to date the nice guy. Deep down, I know what I am — I’m a selfish, polluted, flesh bag with designer shoes, but I don’t like admitting it. And who would? It’s easier to find a bigger selfish, polluted, flesh bag, so you can look and feel like the angel in comparison. But when you date the nice guy, the truth smacks you in the face like a cold, dead fish – you ARE the asshole in this relationship. Now what are you gonna do?

Revelations like the one above have been donkey-punching my brain since I’ve moved to Philly and begun reevaluating my life and what I want out of it. I don’t want to be scared anymore. I don’t want to hate the woman I fear myself to be. I want to live proactively. I want to be confident in my choices. I want to be okay with the fact that I’m dating the nice guy who truly loves me for whatever it is that he sees in me. And I want to be able to love him back without skepticism - which is a pretty tall order coming from an existential cynic like myself.

The closer I get to 30, the more I feel myself moving towards becoming the person I want to be. But knowing my fucked-up ways, I’d urge you to stay tuned for the inevitable freak-out.