If you like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain

I'm obsessed with:

• College football


• Yogurt that tastes like pudding


• Puppies


• Jewelry


• Junky, flea market decor

I'm not obsessed with my ex. I swear.

However.

I was trolling match.com last night - not because it was Valentine's Day Eve and I'm a sad and lonely spinster. No. I was trolling because it's what I've been doing since August because, yes, I've been thinking about joining for that long and just haven't gotten up the nerve. Actually, it's not so much getting the nerve as it is vacillation - I go back and forth between thinking that these are nice, normal people just waiting to meet me and thinking that they are all married scumbags just waiting to give me herpes.

It's a dilemma.

So, last night I was trolling. And I came across a very familiar photo. He Who Shall Not Be Named was smiling back at me in an old work photo - a photo for which I had selected his outfit.

Fuck.

Well, I guess this answers the question of whether or not he was still with his high school ex (or, as I like to call her, The Linebacker - somebody doesn't know how to dress for their body type). Based on his pictures, he's evidently gotten a new dog - and some hella-ugly new area rugs for the kitchen.

His profile was stupid. And he said tattoos and body piercings are turn-ons. What a poseur - he's so NORMAL and just wants desperately to be extraordinary, like writing that he's looking for a woman who is Taoist, Buddhist or Hindu makes him cool.

So, glad to be rid of him. Except ... he was wearing the tie that I picked out. That dog was sitting in my kitchen. This is the man that I believed in my heart and soul was my match. And now he's creating some craptastic persona on match.com.

Something is seriously wrong with this situation. After more than two years, it's almost like I hallucinated the entire relationship, that I didn't live in that house, that I didn't create a man in my head and stay in love with him long after my feelings for the real deal had soured. So maybe I shouldn't be judging someone else's suspension of reality.