Anniversary-o-rama

Just hit me that I let two close girlfriends' Wedding Anniversaries pass by
with nary a word from their freaky single friend.

EKS and KS; SSZ and AZ... I love all you guys!! You're one year closer to
your Diamond Anniversaries!!

Well, I did it...

I just signed up for the Duncan for Governor campaign.

I know, I know, you're probably thinking..."Wait a second, why isn't she
supporting Mayor O'Hottie?"

Well, kids, just because the man is hotter than sin and can play a
guitar while showing off his amazing arms isn't enough for me to entrust
him with the management of the state. The Baltimore City schools are in
such disrepair that Oprah Winfrey opted not to donate funds (and this is
the woman who gives away cars and allows Tom Cruise to jump on her couch
-- to not support schools is pretty bad), and the City Police Department
is fast-getting a reputation for being the people to not seek out when
you're in trouble. If you call them, you'll probably end up getting
arrested yourself, and, if you make it to Central Booking, you may not
walk out of there in one piece (or even alive).

On the other hand, Montgomery County has the exact opposite reputation.
The schools are excellent and we all saw in 2002 that their police
department can handle urban terrorism with grace and dignity (Charles
Moose is from there!).

So, I've signed up for the Duncan for Governor campaign, and I've asked
them for a t-shirt. I mean, if a girl can't create a little controversy
at the gym, what's the point of going? :)

The weird guy...

The weird guy from my office just walked by my desk 3 times in quick
succession, then stopped in and inquired if I knew where Doric is. Now,
I'm not Doric's keeper and when Doric comes in, he usually goes around
my desk the other way. Our cubes are high enough that I can't see over
them, and I've got the iPod running so I can't hear anything until I
turn it down. So, no I don't know where Doric is.

I also can't figure out why weird guy needs Doric since D is a DBA and
weird guy is networking. I think he was just looking for an excuse to
stop in and bug me. I feel so incredibly lucky!

So, he stops in, and asks me, and I tell him that I've neither heard him
nor seen him. Then, I slam the headphones back on and resume typing.
You know, a total hint to get the hell out of my cube.

But he doesn't get that. He stops on his way out of my tiny tiny cube,
to read the Dilbert that I've had up since the beginning of April. The
SAME Dilbert that he's commented on in the past, so I can't figure out
why he's reading it again for the first time.

It's stuff like this that makes me want to work from home 3 days a
week...though I can't. :(

Why can't government be more like this??

In the late 60s, there was a bill in Congress to develop the Corporation for Public Broadcasting (you know, the people who bring you Sesame Street and Mr. Rogers, and show you hours upon hours of the best of the Tony Awards and beg for money every six months). The proposed endowment was $20 million, but because of the war, President Nixon wansted to cut that in half. Obviously, showing children hours upon hours of embedded reporters is so much better for their psyche than Grover and Cookie Monster.

This clip is the exchange between a young Fred Rogers and Senator Pastore. I have no idea what party affiliation Senator Pastore is, but it doesn't matter. Mr. Rogers talked, and Senator Pastore listened, and over the course of the exchange you could see and hear the fact that the Senator's mind was being changed.

This clip is a little long (seven minutes or so), but it's a good reminder of the fact that once upon a time, our politicians didn't look out for big business and their richest consitituents, they looked out for the people who would benefit the most by their actions. It was also possible for decisions to be made without a lot of political bantering and partisan power-plays. It's another reason that I'd miss the 60s if I had actually lived through them in the first place.

I'd embed, but YouTube won't let me. Click here.

A bad day...

When I was three, either Julia or I (I can't remember which now) wrote a story entitled A Bad Day. This little tale regaled such childish tragedies as "I couldn't figure out which shirt (spelled shit) to wear" and "I spilled my milk." So, maybe it wasn't War and Peace, but my mother was impressed enough to send the entire little narrative to my Dad (deployed with the USS Manley) who framed it and hung it in his home office.

I wonder now how that little three year old girl would describe the last 48 hours.

It all started Wednesday night when I returned from the gym to find that my computer had gone on strike. I've been working around the clock lately on two projects, and because I seem to get so much more done at the house, the fact that the Operating System had completely removed itself from the machine was quite a tragedy. After an hour of trying to fix it myself, I took it down to CompUSA for a little flirting and attempting to get it back within a reasonable amount of time. I was promised that it'd be back by COB Thursday. I was happy.

Thursday morning, I woke up late and rushed to the office, where I found that one of my processes had blown up overnight and my boss expected me to come up with a new process because we had 433 orphan records in the system (for those not familiar with databases, this is a BAD thing, go with it). Rhea emailed me to see if I could pick up a focus group ($100, yay!) and since nothing was going well, I went for it.

On the way back from the focus group, I almost got into a bar fight in CompUSA...

I walked in, and the only person I saw was another customer. This short, squat man with glasses, a bad shirt, and a terrible haircut was standing in front of me.

"Hello," I said (I always talk to strangers, it's part of my charm).

"How ya doing, Red; even though I know that's not your real hair color," the other customer (TOC hereafter) said.

Now, you all know that in the winter months, I will occasionally dye my hair to get it closer to my summer red color. It's a personal choice, and it looks natural, and I like it! Even so, I'm not sure what this jerk was doing pointing it out.

"Well, actually, sir," I replied, "red is a natural color for me. Though, I'll admit, that this is dyed. Even so, I thank you for your incredible rudeness."

You'd think that this would inspire the man to shut the hell up. At least it would for any normal person. Unfortunately, he wasn't normal. He kept going...

"Yeah, my family's been in the barber business for 30 years. I can see your roots. It's a bad dye job."

Ok, firstly it isn't. But, yes, he really said this, and, yes, I really replied, "Thirty years, huh? Which one of them hates you enough to do that to your head?"

That's when he went off. Nothing was safe. Not only did I posses a bad dye job, but I was overweight (he said fat), could wear make up, and possessed several other unattractive qualities.

The guy from CompUSA FINALLY made his first appearance and first he helped TOC. Then, he went into the back, and another guy came out immediately to assist me. I swear, there must have been some sort of conference, because I've never seen an IT guy move so fast (and I'm in the biz). He asked for my phone number, but understood when I smiled and replied, "I'm sorry, but I really don't feel comfortable giving you my phone number in front of this gentleman here."

That's when I was called a "Psychotic, frigid, fucking bitch." I'm not sure how one can be frigid and fucking, and I also took offense to the psychotic part. Because, really, I'm not. I'm quite adorable and anyone who knows me can feel free to leave comments attesting to the fact that I'm quite fabulous.

But I digress...I slammed my hand down on the counter, turned to the guy and said, "Excuse me, sir, but could you *be* any more of an ASSHOLE? I mean, I know you're compensating for something, but I can't possibly believe it could be THAT small." Accompanied by a little pinky wave.

TOC said, "Yep, you want me to try??" And kept going.

That's when Customer Service guy took me to the back and IMMEDIATELY started apologizing. He said that TOC had been in five times that morning and had picked fights with five different customers. I, however, had been the only one to come back with anything good. Another Customer Service rep, then went, "Is that the asshole with the hard drive? I should have corrupted that thing when I had it back here!"

So, you'd think that the story would be over there, right? I'd have collected my computer and gone home and continued my work, but no. The computer wasn't ready then, and despite all the promises made, it wasn't ready until 11:30 AM this morning. In that time, I had come home to find that Winter had once again peed on my bed and the pipe to my washing machine had broken again. I couldn't work, so I called a friend and the evening ended well (thank God), but I'm still afraid of possible fallout from that as it were.

Here's hoping there's none. :)

Telling Secrets

Just got back from a PostSecret/Found Magazine event at Golden West Café. I thought the event was going to be a viewing of some of the secrets that the founder of Postsecret.com had received over the years, but it wasn't. In fact, it far exceeded my expectations.

For those not familiar, the PostSecret project was founded a few years ago as an art show. Then, it grew into a blog, and grew and grew from there. The founder said that he started with 3,000 blank self-addressed post-cards which he hid all over the DC metro area inviting people to tell him a secret that they had never told anyone. Now he receives between 100 and 200 cards a day from all over the world. A day...people have a lot of secrets to tell.

I have my own secrets, and I've considered sending them in to the project. However, I live in fear that the people who aren't supposed to know about them will figure out that it's me. Until I can reconcile that, I'll be keeping those to myself, thank you very much.

The other part of the evening...the part I didn't know was coming was a presentation by Found Magazine. This project, the "grandfather" of PostSecret, collects found notes, photos, homework, lists, etc. that people find on the street. The founder's brother, Peter, has even written songs about the items (one entitled, "If I get a beer, I won't make the bus") and they're actually pretty good. It lightened up the mood of the evening.

All in all, great talk, fabulous food, it was nice to see PT again (after a year and a half!) and a new appreciation/paranoia for what I leave floating out in the world of trash. :)

Preakness 2006

It was supposed to be a better story than this. I was supposed to come back from the 131st Preakness Stakes with a new appreciation for tailgating with 150,000 of Baltimore's best party animals (the humans, not the horses), the knowledge that no one's hat was as cute as mine (seriously, it wasn't), and fantastic tales of what happens when you combine copious amounts of booze with boys who you like and boys who like you (but aren't necessarily the same boys).

By all counts, the day started off fantastically. I had downed my first beer by 8 AM (there's only a few times a year that you can say that and not come off like an alcoholic), we had seen at least one horse by 9 AM (most times you can go to Preakness all day and not see a single one), and despite losing them at the beginning, we had actually found our entire group again by 10. By noon, Reid was making passes at me (and demanding to know what was up with the boy I was with -- I wasn't sure at that point; there was still hope), at 1 I took a 45 minute nap (interrupted by the drunk people coming to "check on me"). Ok, maybe I passed out. But I was among friends, and they were going to make sure that I didn't get molested and that I was up for the big race at 6 PM!

All in all, it was a glorious day. Best of all, my phone was still enjoying multiple showings of The DaVinci Code, so I wasn't disturbed by anyone wanting to call and get the drunken first-hand account of the race. Which, I couldn't really provide anyway because by 12:30 I was having a problem identifying what a horse -- any horse -- even looked like.

Then, this happened...



I actually didn't understand the full extent of it until we got home late that night. I had seen Barbaro in the warm-up, but by the time the horses reached us at the 3/8ths mark, he was already out of it. As we sat on the bus debating whether it was a better idea to kill Reid for yelling at the bus driver or to make out -- we chose making out, and I recommend it highly for anyone who is faced with that decision in the future -- and Kadrunk had a fight with his girlfriend, we started to think about just what we had seen.

We were sad for the horse.

Then our bus got into a beer throwing fight with the bus next to us. All hands were needed to help in the effort. It was fun, but then, we ran out of beer.

We were sad for ourselves.

Then, the boy I was making out with BIT ME. And no, it wasn't "like a nibble on your ear, can't wait to get you home and see what I'm going to do next" type of biting. It was a "I haven't had anything substantial to eat in three hours and your shoulder's looking damn tasty" type of biting. Not a pretty scene.

Three hours later, I was off the bus. I was stone-cold sober, which was always a good thing when you need to drive home. Lestat offered to go with me, but I had had enough of his antics. We said goodnight, and while I'm pretty sure I'll never go out with him again, I was glad for the fact that he was there to run interference for me!

So, who wants to go next year?

When in trouble...

DO NOT call the Baltimore City Police.

Repeat DO NOT call the Baltimore City Police.

Call your mother, your brother, your great aunt Fanny, or the crack
dealer down the street. They may not be able to help you, but at least
you won't get arrested.

Twice in two days, the police have arrested people for the crime of
seeking their assistance. One couple was lost, one man had his house
broken into. Both were treated to a night in jail.

It's crap like this that makes a girl reconsider her support of Mayor
O'Malley for Governor.

Am I the only one...

Sick enough to make this pun? Because really, so far I haven't seen it.

Sir Paul's marriage going to cost him and arm and a LEG.

Because, you know, Heather's only got one.

Sick yes, but I can't resist.

Better than the usual work survey...

This little trick involves shuffling all the songs on your iPod and answering the questions based on the order that the songs appear. Here's mine (I swear that it's all true).

How does the world see you?
"All I Wanna Do", Sheryl Crow

Will I have a happy life?
"Out Tonight", Rent OBC

What do my friends really think of me?
"I Want You to Want Me", Letters to Cleo

Do people secretly lust after me?
"When You Say Nothing at All", Allison Krauss

Shutting up now...

How can I make myself happy?
"Shy Guy", Diana King

Shy? Sounds boring to me.

What should I do with my life?
"Life Support", Rent OBC

Will I ever have children?
"Thank Goodness", Wicked OBC

So is that a yes, a no, or what my parents will finally say when I pop a few kids out?

What is some good advice for me?
"Be Agressive", Jock Jams

I did say I was going to work on being a bitch, though that was really to get the weirdos to leave me alone.

How will I be remembered?
"Rock the Cradle of Love", Billy Idol

I ♥ Billy Idol, but I'm not so sure about the slutty babysitter image this song evokes...

What is my signature dancing song?
"Somebody's Hero", Jamie O'Neal

Karaoke, yes. Dancing, no.

What do I think my current theme song is?
"Light of a Clear Blue Morning", Dolly Parton

What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
"Defying Gravity", Wicked OBC

Actually...that was the 2005 theme.

What song will play at my funeral?
"Old Blue Chair", Kenny Chesney

What type of men do you like?
"My White Knight", Kristen Chenowith

HA HA HA HA HA HA!

What is my day going to be like?
"Some Kind of Miracle", Kelly Clarkson

The wrong "Guy"

Picture this:

You arrive to your job interview at the BBC and announce yourself as Guy. The receptionist welcomes you and leads you to your interviewer. However, instead of heading off to some office, you're put on the air.

Live.

Suddenly, you're asked to give answers -- lots of them -- about downloading music. To his credit, Guy the Job Applicant (not Guy the IT expert), went along with most of it. Once he realized it wasn't a joke, Guy seemed to relax a little more. Guy, the IT expert, was relaxing as well; he was in the green room waiting for his call.

Speaking of calls, Guy the Job Applicant apparently never got a call back from the BBC, something about his interview skills....

One of my favorite clips

Just another reason why I love the Muppets...

Send me a (Hells) Angel

Kelly told me this would happen...

Well, maybe not the hells angel part, but certainly the part about getting free dinners and drinks when you sit alone at the bar in Vegas. No, we don't have to call Bill W. on me or check me in to some sort of program for people who frequent bars on their own. I was out in Vegas by myself -- for all intents and purposes because Julia was working -- and the bartenders were all pretty damn cute. So, there.

The first night in town, dinner was purchased by Lynn. Yes, that's a guy. Lynn was an inventor from Philadelphia who was in town for the National Hardware Show (exciting) and had left his five kids and his wife at home. The reason I got to hear all about the 5 kids and the wife because Lynn asked me where I was staying and then got an immediate guilty conscience. See, I didn't read anything into it, but he kept declaring that he was only a friendly guy making conversation. He probably was, but the fact that he kept getting louder and louder in his declarations of this fact made me a little uncomfortable. Then, his $2 faux coronas kicked in and I got to hear all about his kids and wife 3 or 4 times. Ugh.

So, when my food arrived, boxed thanks to a not-so-secret signal I sent to the bartender, I did what any self-respecting girl would do when faced with a very sloppy, drunk father of 5 who was too far gone to notice the fact that he was repeating himself over and over again, but who had very clearly said (a few times) to the bartender to put everything on his tab....

Not my proudest moment, but I feel I redeemed myself the next night.

See, the second day in Vegas, I found this racket where CBS pays you $50 to watch new shows that they're trying out for the CW network and talk about them in a focus group. The shows are complete dreck, but when you're sunburned and sick of making charitable donations to the State of Nevada, you go for it -- twice. They also give you free drink coupons at The Rainforest Café. Since their maggies aren't half bad in Towson and I needed to stick close to the hotel because Julia and I were going on the ghost tour, I took advantage of it.

I was minding my own business when a man in what can best be described as one of the scariest individuals I have ever seen sat down beside me. He had rings and tats and spiked accessories and a skull on his t-shirt, and I realize I'm in no way giving the imagery justice. Seriously, just go with me on this one. As it turns out, I wasn't being stereotypical, either. This man, "Dax," is an actual member of the world's largest "1% Motorcycle Club," (aka the Hells Angels) but don't worry, he picked The Rainforest Café because he thought it was one of the "prettiest bars he had ever seen." Yeah, I didn't think that that was what I had heard either, but then he repeated himself (this seemed to be a theme in Vegas) and it turned out that it was. Then, he asked if he could buy me a drink, and because Rule #1 that you don't really turn down a member of the Hells Angels, and Rule #2 is always look for good stories, and Rule #3 is that if you're sitting there, you may as well take advantage of a free drink, I allowed Dax to purchase a fruity beverage on my behalf. Because, really, what part of watching a man in a Hells Angel jacket ordering something with an umbrella isn't a lot of fun? In case you're wondering, he ordered a beer for himself -- disappointing, but it did help to partially maintain his street cred.

Despite the scary outward appearance and the fact that he was pushing 50, Dax was one of the most fascinating people I have ever met. We had a great conversation, and I learned quite a bit about the Hells Angel Motorcycle Club. They even have a website now (www.hells-angels.com)! He kept saying that there was a guy in his club (read: motorcycle gang) that was "perfect" for me. While I'm sure Dax's "brother" is a very nice individual, and I know I give off that biker-chick-meets-Laura-Ingalls-Wilder vibe, I'm really not ready for another long-distance relationship. Especially not one that involves me sitting on a hog for more than 20k miles a year!

Nice of him to offer though... :)

Things that go bump...

You guys know how I love to take Ghost Tours of historic (and not so historic) cities. Really, it's not so much the ghosts that are the attraction, but the behind-the-scenes history that the tour brings. Honestly, aside from that one time that I had to drive back from Gettysburg by myself and the route took me through the cemetery, I've never really been scared.
Well, until last night.

Last night, Lisa and I took the Ghosts of Annapolis tour. I, of course, was taking photos throughout the whole tour but nothing was showing up. The front of the Maryland Inn, nothing. The fountain at the Governor's Mansion, nothing. The cemetery at State Circle, nothing.
Then, we reached the Annapolis Heritage offices. The guide and the intern were talking about "Audrey," the 10 year old little girl who "loves to have her picture taken." I started snapping, and Audrey showed up in the form of an orb.

Photo #2 is the GreenAlienHead. I don't know what's going on there (the guide didn't say and I only snapped the photo because the I liked the name of the joint), but clearly something is. That's evident by the orbs that are all over this photo (look at the two next to the door).

Moving on, we walked on over to the Big Brice House. This is where things got spectacularly weird. The guide was talking, I was snapping. I took a photo of the top left hand window. As you can see, there's something there. I looked, but nothing was in the window and there wasn't anything in the architecture that implied that there should be something in the photo. I snapped and looked again three more times. The thing in the window kept showing up in the photos, but it wasn't anywhere on the architecture.

The photos, were taken from different angles so that I could eliminate a problem with the flash. Despite this, it kept showing up. I asked the rest of the group if they were seeing anything in the window, and they weren't. Looking at the photo, you can see now that whatever it is, it is definitely inside the house (look at the glass in the window in front of the object).

The Brice House was the home of a little girl who was born with disabilities and whose death was never recorded. In the 1940s, a construction crew found the body of a teenage girl/20-something woman was found entombed in the walls of the house. It's quite possible that this young lady was raised in the room and hidden away from society. Is she looking out now?
Just after this, the camera batteries started malfunctioning. Then, the batteries died. We switched them with another set, but camera was completely dead for the rest of the tour. I kept trying to switch batteries, but set after set of new batteries weren't working both last night and again this morning.

I felt a little stupid, but this morning I got a little frustrated. I mean, I'm going to Vegas tomorrow. I need this camera to work!! I finally went, "Look girls, don't you want me to see your photos? Let this camera work now!" Then, I flipped the switch.

I love it when cameras listen.

Now it's gone too far

The security filter on the work Internet just blocked a photo on The Superficial.com because it prohibits access to this category (which this photo apparently is in).

Glamour & Intimate Apparel

Now, I can understand the streaming media (though I really, really miss Bert) and access to MySpace. But to deny the children access to PRETTY!!??!!

That's just rude.

Fun at the Gym...

What do you do when the city's completely hot Democratic Mayor/Gubernatorial candidate is on the Elliptical Machine (hereby the EM) next to you with arms pumping and sweat flying and legs doing those things that legs do when they run and....

Right, I'm quitting now. So, what do you do when you have the opportunity to ask him about his take on the BGE crisis and the fact that the state gas prices, on average, are the 10th highest in the nation?

Here's a hint...you do NOT treat the man to five televisions of Trent Lott.

Of course, that's exactly what I did on Tuesday. See, General Hospital is getting really good these days, and I figured that I could do some serious multitasking by working out while watching. Unfortunately, the TVs in front of the EMs seem to be permanently set on NBC, CBS, and the news channels. Since I'm usually the only person doing cardio when I'm in there, I should be able to watch what I want to watch, right? Therefore ,the toothless wonder (yes, I'm serious) on Dr. Phil was going to go, and I was going to get my daily dose of Scorpio (Robin...though Robert is back too) and Dr. Drake (Patrick...though Noah/Jessie's Girl) is back too.

That was the plan. The execution, however, went something like this:

I approached the desk and the receptionist (who was swamped) told me that I could take "the remote from the desk in the other room" and change whatever TV I wanted. As long as it wasn't like porn, they were cool.

Problem #1: There were three unmarked remotes in the drawer.

I grabbed all three and headed for the TVs. That's when I saw Mayor O'Hottie on the EM. I asked if he was watching anything in particular. He said no. I declared my undying love (ok, maybe not). I then pointed Remote #1 at my TV of choice and fired.

Nothing happened. The same thing happened with Remote #2. I thought I saw some flickering from the TVs at the front of the room, but I couldn't be sure. Plus, I really didn't care because those weren't the objective.

I grabbed the third remote, pointed it again, and FIRED. Suddenly all five televisions (including the "nothing in particular" one that the Mayor was watching) switched...to C-Span and Trent Lott's rant of the day.

Problem #2: The remotes then FAILED.

As hard as I tried, I couldn't get rid of Trent Lott. The mayor was getting pissed, and I could completely understand. I mean, you're in politics; the last thing you want to deal with when you're trying to relax at the gym is the leadership of your opposing party spewing hatred for all things that your party stands for. I think the only thing worse would have been a press conference with Bob Ehrlich.

I ran down to the desk in a panic. "Um," I whispered, "the Mayor is being inundated with Republican rhetoric, and it's all my fault. Think you can bail me out here, please!?!"

The trainer, who was nowhere in sight when I was flipping channels, finally materalized. After laughing his ass off, he agreed to lend a hand. He changed the batteries, set me up with GH, the toothless guy, and Guiding Light (I like variety, but I really wasn't interested in what was on TV anymore), and returned the other two TVs to happy news channels (in other words, not FoxNews). They mayor kept working out and both he and I were very, very happy.

Another one bites the dust...

When it comes to guys, I try not to be too picky. I know, it's probably a shock to those of you who really know me because I'll admit that I've broken up or completely with guys for some really interesting reasons.

Now, in my own defense, the guy who was cut for wearing clip-on ties had some other things wrong with him. The clip-on ties were ultimately what his roommates (who were convinced we were perfect together) chose to focus on when they called the apartment to call me out on breaking up with their boy. The fact that the same boy would show up at all hours of the day and night and try to take me out of parties that my roommates and I were throwing meant nothing to them...they were convinced that I was so shallow that I would break up with a twenty-year-old guy for wearing clip-on ties.

Which, of course, I was.

The latest guy was dropped for reasons a little more substantial, at least as far as I'm concerned. Two weeks ago, I started talking to this guy on Match. Let's call him Walt. Walt seemed fresh and funny, and mighty cute on paper. His emails were interesting, and he kept me entertained with text messages while my date for Lisa & Dave's wedding stood me up for three hours (totally other story, and when he finally showed, all worked out). Needless to say, I was intrigued. We made plans to meet up on Monday, and I was supposed to call on Sunday to figure out where and when.

I should have called the whole thing off on Sunday. It would have been much easier since I could tell from the phone call that it wouldn't have worked between us. What, just being picky, you say? The man wanted to meet for happy hour at 3 PM...on a Monday...and not like a holiday Monday, just a plain old every day Monday. Why 3 PM? He claimed he was always "thirsty" at 3 PM! Most people joke about this, he wasn't.

I started to realize that sobriety wasn't one of his primary life skills, but there was no graceful way to get out of the date. So, I went with the knowledge that he would totally surprise me or give me a good story to tell.

Three guesses as to which one this is...

I arrived just a tad early because I wanted to scope out a few stores in Fells' Point. Since they were closed (ha!), I moseyed on over to Max's. I was fully expecting to have a few minutes to myself to check the hair, chat up the bartenders, and make sure that I didn't have lipstick on my teeth. Sadly, that was not to be. As I walked in the door, he was already bellied up to the bar.

Wait a second, I thought, this isn't fair. I should be the one at the bar. I should be checking my hair, chatting up the bartender, and...oh crap, do I have lipstick on my teeth?

I couldn't worry about that because he saw me and waved. The conversation was congenial enough. He told me the same drunken stories from the night before, and I listened...again.

Really, the date wasn't entirely bad. To his credit, after he stopped being a nervous giggler and started telling some original stories, he was starting to turn me.

That was until we got on the subject of high school. Really, I don't know how it happened, but somehow the subject of SATs came up. You know, the SATs that really didn't matter 10 minutes after graduation, so they shouldn't really have mattered 10 years after? He was bragging about his scores. BRAGGING. I was starting to feel self conscious about my own, so I offered the excuse that I took them when I had the chicken pox. Yes, that's true, I took the SATs on Saturday and was sent home from school on Monday with the spots from hell. I finally got curious, so I asked him how high he scored.

And this is where the evening entered what I like to call the "Annie Get Your Gun" phase...Anything You can do I can do Better. For starters, I outscored the boy (with the chicken pox) by over 300 points! Then, he started looking for other ways to demonstrate how smart he was. I kept shutting him down. It wasn't pretty.

I don't think I was being picky at the time, and I even agreed to go out with him again. It was just with every new email and follow-up phone call, he wasn't making his case. Therefore, when I fell off the elliptical machine at the gym and ended up in x-ray on Friday afternoon, it was completely an accident. A very happy accident, but an accident nonetheless.

Ironically, he told me it wasn't a very smart move on my part....

Things I did NOT need to see at 5:30 this morning

Yes, this was in my MySpace inbox when I checked it at 5:30 this morning. This man has several photos of him in clothes, so I can't figure out why the hell he isn't wearing any in the photo he sent me.

Was it laundry day? Did he think it was a good idea? Was he convinced that he actually looked good like this? Ok, maybe the arms are a little yummy, but when the strategically-placed farmers tan appears, it's time to stop. For God's sake, STOP!