As you expected

Yeah, that's pretty much all gone in the crapper.

I can't help it if I'm one hot ticket

I can tell that I look good at a given time not just by the way some guys look at me, but by the way teenage boys and guys who are with their ladies look away from me.

I derive great enjoyment from this.

I'm getting in way better shape, my hair can again be described as long, and I feel pretty good about myself, mostly, these days. I even joined Match.com a few months ago, pretty much out of spite against someone who wasn't really spiteable anyway. Regardless, it turned out to be a big fat turd. The guys around here who join are just not even remotely my style or type. And to a certain degree, you need that. I'm not dating someone with a flattop and shaded glasses who wears tank tops and fishes and rides his four-wheeler on weekends but reads the same books as I do. And NO MOUSTACHES. Goatees and soul patches, oh yes, bring them on. Moustaches are just icky. (With the singular exception of my beloved BFC. The only place it works.)

I also am turned off when they address everything I said I am/am looking for instead of just talking a little or asking a question. If you TELL me you're funny, you're NOT FUNNY. If you're a great guy, you won't tell me you're a great guy. GET IT, SKIPPY?

So, big fat turd -- until a few days ago. I'd decided to cancel my subscription and was browsing during my last few days when I discovered -- NEW YORK CITY. This was outside my search radius, which I promptly changed to "entire state." This has differented things quite a bit. One super super hot guy even contacted me, someone I had already dismissed as out of my league. Former punk, current mountain-biking-snowboarding-skinny-dipping kind of guy. I'm CLEARLY his true love, despite my initial misgivings.

Baby goldfinches look just like
grown-up goldfinches except dirty

Of course, he hasn't written me back since I responded to his longish e-mail, but that will pass.

*egh*

He actually reminds me of the guy I gave my flower to, whom we'll refer to solely as Why in Hell Did I Ever Believe You, combined with a good college friend of mine, Brian Rothkopf, who deserves to have his full name mentioned. I'd love to run into Brian Rothkopf again. I hope the spirit of Brian Rothkopf drives this guy to at least become my dear and hot friend.

(Don't hold your breath. You'll just hurt yourself.)

I'm also in conversations with 3 other interesting-enough guys. How did this happen all at once? AND I've started frequenting the co-op again to see what I can see of Bob. Who has cut his hair. And is still really cute. And probably 25.

[thunderstorm/yoga break]

I'm back! Everything's OK again! Let go of your spouse's shirt!

Also the photo I have up of myself seems to influence things. Well, duh, you're saying. But I started with a really good one, switched to one that I thought was still good but was also kinda goofy, then moved on to a good-smile B&W. I won't post the title of my profile, just in case anyone searches for it, but not one guy yet has known what it refers to, which just saddens me, for Newsradio is one of the best shows ever. Not many of these guys seem to have the kind of appreciation for monkeys that I admire.

"When it's right, it'll happen," Chris R and Blake and whoever else will say. Hard to believe that I haven't already messed it all up for myself when I've been on my own for six oh my God it's been six years.

I'll keep you updated, if I'm interested enough to retell the tales. I guess I'd better get to working on the vet school now. Peace out, amigos, and don't forget to leave your card in the jar by the door.

And other things.

Tonight my friend, who is in a same-sex relationship, asked me if I might like women as well as men.

I shook my head and smiled sadly (it was a smiling-sadly kind of day). "I like the genitals," I replied.

Small

This monkey, see, he lost his pants.

Then he found them again. Huzzah! The end.

Monkey.

Can't dance, too wet to plow.

Maybe I'll leave them a snack.

Some days it feels like life has total control of you; other times, you get to switch it up.

I've had a lot of the former lately. Like I've just been life's bitch for a week and a half. But today, for some reason, I've got life by the ankles, and I'm swinging it around like a toddler at a picnic. You should hear it squeal! Life is filled with glee right now!

(You're welcome!)

(We all should swing on swings more often, don't you think? Every office should have a swingset. Slides as alternatives to the stairs for transport to the mezzanine.)

It might be because of the half-moon cookie I've eaten (actually two half half moons, so two quarter moons, but you do the math). But I really hope not. I'm also making squeaking noises as I eat cherries.

Your assignment: work the word "mezzanine" into some kind of work-related talk or e-mail Friday or whatever day tomorrow is for you. Let me know.

In other news, the monks have started construction. Wouldn't it be cool if it were really them doing it, too? Riding landmovers in their pretty maroon skirts? Maybe I'll sneak over during the night and make a giant mandala on their land.

Who's your messiah now, huh, Flanders? Who's your messiah now?

Thanks, life, for the squealing glee. I bow to the divine in you.

He's better than me anyway

I have been vigorously uninspired lately, so here's something from my dear friend Kirt instead. He and his wife, Kate, have three boys: Nick, Will, and Ezra.

Hey, just thought you guys might like to know that Kate and I are going to crank out one more kid! I don’t have an exact due date yet, but it looks like January.

Top 10 reasons:

• Thought we’d try out Catholicism, without the religion part
• That extra seat in the minivan was disturbing
• Still had a bunch of good names left
• Building a liberal army one little soldier at a time
• Ezra sick of being the smallest one in the family
• Missed that sweet smell of diapers in the morning
• Just curious whether we can make a girl
• Better odds that one kid will be a billionaire and take care of us in old age
• Ultrasound machines are wicked cool
• Two words: tax credit

Kirt

Were You Aware

"A big scary syringe is much scarier when it is wielded by a floating black orb." C Hawkins, Esq.