Sex Sells. Mooches Galooches Babers
Mmm. Morning. Quad latte. Reasonably lucid this morning despite bad influence friends last night. Kristin called late last night...kept me up for an hour. She recently quit smoking and felt it was better to torture me than her kids. People who quit smoking get mean. Vicious. And Kristin felt comfortable being mean & vicious to me. That's friendship. That's love.
Woke up in the same rayon shirt I wore last night. Looking at the shirt would explain my wrinkled night mares.
Checked my bank statement online this morning. My match.com membership is good for another month. I don't even remember signing up. Hopefully, I'll remember to cancel. I think I read the other day, that its time to quit online dating when you recognize someone at Home Depot from their online profile. Good advice. Every woman in Trader Joes is beginning to look familar. "Is she the one that likes Sushi and Costa Rica", I wonder to myself. "She looks good". "Ooh, cute butt". "She's been working out". "Why did I not write her"? I continue wondering. Oh yeah, must have been the "No Television" in her profile. My casual interest suddenly replaced by a health vs. taste corn chip decision. Oh yeah, I need salsa too. Ms. "No Television" probably doesn't even like corn chips. {{figuratively rolling eyes}} Or salsa. Or cheese. Or grapes. Mine apparently more sour than hers. The prissy bitch. A trip to the grocery store suddenly transformed into a misogynistic rant. Wait, I love women....contradiction prevails. I'll get the fat filled tasty corn chips.
Sigh. I guess that's why I have to quit online dating. My disqualification filters have gotten overly refined. It's too easy to spot all the reasons indicating sure incompatability. Antique furniture, bad grammar, conservative politics, camping (huh, who goes camping) and the ever popular "walks on the beach". A sure sign of high emotional maintenance in 50ish guythink. Unless 'walk' has become a euphemism for 'fuck' count me out.
My friend Amy got it right. In reply to the question "Where's the best place to go on a date?" Amy said "On a date???, don't you mean with a date? Because the best place to go on date is uh, down". Instantly 26 million men fell in love with her attitude. Amy is now engaged to the man of her dreams. Dry and wet. The "one". She may even leave Indiana. And I'm happy for her. Mooches galooches, babers. Remember you still owe me two bottles of wine and the story of the North Korean state secrets.
To be continued....
Woke up in the same rayon shirt I wore last night. Looking at the shirt would explain my wrinkled night mares.
Checked my bank statement online this morning. My match.com membership is good for another month. I don't even remember signing up. Hopefully, I'll remember to cancel. I think I read the other day, that its time to quit online dating when you recognize someone at Home Depot from their online profile. Good advice. Every woman in Trader Joes is beginning to look familar. "Is she the one that likes Sushi and Costa Rica", I wonder to myself. "She looks good". "Ooh, cute butt". "She's been working out". "Why did I not write her"? I continue wondering. Oh yeah, must have been the "No Television" in her profile. My casual interest suddenly replaced by a health vs. taste corn chip decision. Oh yeah, I need salsa too. Ms. "No Television" probably doesn't even like corn chips. {{figuratively rolling eyes}} Or salsa. Or cheese. Or grapes. Mine apparently more sour than hers. The prissy bitch. A trip to the grocery store suddenly transformed into a misogynistic rant. Wait, I love women....contradiction prevails. I'll get the fat filled tasty corn chips.
Sigh. I guess that's why I have to quit online dating. My disqualification filters have gotten overly refined. It's too easy to spot all the reasons indicating sure incompatability. Antique furniture, bad grammar, conservative politics, camping (huh, who goes camping) and the ever popular "walks on the beach". A sure sign of high emotional maintenance in 50ish guythink. Unless 'walk' has become a euphemism for 'fuck' count me out.
My friend Amy got it right. In reply to the question "Where's the best place to go on a date?" Amy said "On a date???, don't you mean with a date? Because the best place to go on date is uh, down". Instantly 26 million men fell in love with her attitude. Amy is now engaged to the man of her dreams. Dry and wet. The "one". She may even leave Indiana. And I'm happy for her. Mooches galooches, babers. Remember you still owe me two bottles of wine and the story of the North Korean state secrets.
To be continued....
posted by Sonoma Blue at 6:38 AM
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