Testing, testing.

If my day yesterday was a test...I'd say I probably got a C...maybe a C+. Don't get me wrong, I strive for A days but I inherited my mother's peppery disposition which, at times, gets the best of me.

It started with a letter that came in the mail...a notice of filing unlawful detainer complaint...an eviction notice, if you will. Basically, I'm being evicted from a house that I moved out of on August 15th. I called the attorney's office representing the Federal National Mortgage Association FOUR TIMES to let them know that I had vacated the premises well within the 90 days I was given...no return phone call...and then all of a sudden, an eviction notice in the mail...which the post office had to FORWARD to my NEW ADDRESS because I don't live in the foreclosed property anymore.

I tried calling the attorney's office for a 5th time and finally got a receptionist on the phone who told me that she's "not allowed to take messages."

"What do you mean you're not allowed to take messages?" I asked.

She said that that's why they have a voice mail system.

"But I've left 4 messages and nobody will call me back...and your firm is trying to evict me from a house I don't live in...and I want the case dismissed immediately so I need to talk to someone. If I can't get anyone on the phone then I suggest you go get a piece of paper and write down what I'm about to say because I'm taking notes on my end, including names and dates, and I'd hate to have to involve you in this if it turns ugly...do you really want to have to come to court and explain to a judge why you refused to comply with a simple request? Seriously, take the message." (Thanks for the gusto, mom)

She wound up taking my message and within an hour, someone called me back.

The whole situation is almost completely taken care of. I swear to God, if I get another detainer in the mail I'm going to drive down to San Diego and go postal on a). the receptionist and b). everyone else who works there.

So that was test 1. Test 2 came from my "antagonistic coworker" and by now, you should know who I'm talking about...it's pretty obvious if you've read any of my previous posts. We were in the middle of commercials when he decided to start talking about the Bible's reference to the "end of days." His comments were sparked by the story in the news about the 16 year-old in Chicago who was beaten to death...I won't quote him directly because what he said was pretty offensive. I guess I just thought that after the WWWord e-mail incident (explained in an earlier post) that it was pretty clear we shouldn't be talking about religion at work. It has nothing to do with the jobs that we do and it's not necessary. Everyone knows, at this point, that I'm the odd man out...that I don't share the same beliefs...can't we just kinda agree to disagree? His comments weren't even about Judaism. They had to do with homosexuality...you can see where this is going, right?

Anyways, I bit my tongue. I sat there silently all the while wanting to blurt out, "What ever happened to live and let live? If you really feel so adamantly against the way other people live their lives then, according to the Bible, it's not your place to judge. Stop worrying so much about things that don't have anything to do with you." His comments frustrated me so much that I had one of my little daydream/fantasies about quitting my job on the spot. Literally. Sometimes I spend hours at a time, about how good it would feel to walk into my boss' office and quit the bitch. In my head, I imagine mass hysteria erupting in our office as the word spreads, "OMG she just walked into his office and closed the door and very calmly told him that today would be her last day...WHAT HAPPENED?" Oh, the rumors. Why did she do it? Where is she going? Who will replace her?

I know it's not normal fantisize about that day you get to tell your company to suck it...I just can't help it...I find myself, almost daily, asking:

Why am I wasting my time dealing with an idiot? And more importantly, how stupid can he be? Did he not learn the first time that he should keep his narrow-minded comments to himself? But like I said, I sat there silently...it wasn't worth arguing with him.

My test yesterday included two other minor incidents. Hopefully those will blow over, I don't think they were that serious, but I could be wrong.

Aside from the aforementioned tests, things have calmed down quite a bit. I went to my partner's wedding out in Folsom. He got married at The Lake Natoma Inn. I participated in a little charity event. I started planning our family vacation next year...my dad wants to go to Alaska which should be interesting...and I told him I'd take care of planning/arrangements so that he doesn't have to go through a travel agent. Turns out, it's a little trickier than I thought.

That's all I got for now.

The WORLD WIDE web.

I couldn't be 100% positive, but I'm pretty sure I wore the exact same outfit to work yesterday that I'm currently wearing. What do you want from me? I get up early and this morning my brain could not comprehend whether the clothes on the chair beside my bed were clean or dirty. So I put them on in my sleepy stupor...only to get to work and realize that I had made the wrong decision. Whatever.

This past week has been incredibly busy. First, I got my ass handed to me by a no-name comedian. I can't say his name because I suspect that he has one of those Google alert things where everytime his name is typed/written/published on the internet, he gets an e-mail with a link directly to the site...but I can tell you that his initials are M.M. and don't worry, even if I told you his name you probably wouldn't know who he was.

Here's what happened:

It was bound to happen. T.J. has been warning me for quite some time now that if I didn't start being more careful about naming names in my blogs that eventually someone would find out about it. She was right. It all started about a year ago. These were in my Myspace days, when I was even dumber than I am now and decided to write blogs on THE most public forum I could think of.

We had a guy come on the show...a comedian...and he was a dick. I get that sometimes offensive humor is part of their shtick. But I also know the difference between when you're joking and when you're not...and believe me, I can take a joke...as I have been the butt of many jokes. So when you come on the show and you're blatantly rude, I don't think it's funny.

Anyways, after he left I wrote a Myspace blog about him. I used his name. What I didn't know at the time is that he was going to find out about it...and read it...and wait an entire year before confronting me about it.

Yesterday he was booked on the show because he's in town doing stand-up this weekend (big hint) in a town not too far from Sacramento. I had long forgotten about the blog and decided that I'd be polite and cordial even though I remember, all too well, what happened the last time he came.

We do the interview, everythign seems fine. He's being very nice. As it's wrapping up I started thinking to myself, maybe I was wrong about him...he's being so cool. Then he did something a little strange.

He said, "You're not wearing glasses anymore. I like the look."

I said, "Yeah I got lasik about a year ago...wow, you have a good memory."

Then he goes, "Oh yeah, I remember...you're from North Carolina and you lived in Modesto for a while...see? I pay attention. I don't forget those things. I also read what you wrote about me on your blog."

Me: nervous laughter. "Ummmm, what?"

MM: "It was something like, how I'm an asshole that nobody's ever heard of...."

Picture a deer in headlights. My inner (panicked) dialogue: Shit, shit, shit. T.J. was right. It's all coming back to bite me in the ass. Right here, right now. He's going to lay the smack down and make me cry. My first instinct was to play dumb and deny, deny, deny. Clearly that wasn't going to work. He could all but recite my post back to me word for word.

Me: "I'm sorry about that. You have every right to be upset and it wasn't cool of me to do. I mean, I remember writing something I just don't remember exactly what I said so I apologize."

I guess he kind of accepted my apology. He didn't really have a choice. He could, in that moment, spit in my face or make amends. I mean, I feel like it was more of a "I'm going to confront you to let you know that I read your blog and think you're a bitch" move than a real "clear the air" effort because it's not like we're good friends or anything but I do appreciate that he was direct and called me on it, without being disrespectful. He made me add him as a friend on Facebook...it could be a trap...but hopefully it's water under the bridge.

Part of me was like, why does he even care enough about what I have to say enough to address it? I'm a nobody. But then I realized that he takes his career very seriously...and if someone...anyone...has something negative to say then he's not going to ignore it. I can appreciate that.

My morning show partner told me (after MM left) that having a comedian call me out for something I wrote about him on my Myspace blog upped my "bad ass" factor but I actually felt kinda bad about the whole thing. I guess this is a lesson learned...it's called the WORLD WIDE web for a reason.

PS - I tried to find the blog I wrote about him so I could immediately remove it from my Myspace page...and guess what, I can't find it!

Don't take it personal.

Yesterday was not a good day. First, I noticed that I lost one of my five blog subscribers. That means 20% of my reading audience jumped ship! Damnit.


And while that hurts, it's not as bad as what I'm about to tell you. For the past couple of weeks I've been struggling with the decision to try to self-publish The Reusables or to try to get representation. From what I gather, there are pro's and con's to both sides. Self-publishing is expensive and without any experience in this department, you leave the door wide open to making the wrong decisions about everything from picking a printing company to marketing your product...and that's only if you get the funding you need to the project off the ground. But, when you self-publish you have complete creative control. You pick your illustrator. You keep all of the profits. You also assume a much greater risk than if you have someone in your corner pitching to major publishing companies...those same companies who will not accept unsolicited material unless it is submitted by a reputable agency.

Working with an agent ensures that the right people see your work and while you don't get to make as many of the decisions, you know that they will pick only the highest-quality professionals who will help make your work as marketable as possible. The downside, of course, is that even if they convince a big publishing company to get on board there's no guarantee you'll be successful. When you go this route, you get something like 15% proceeds from the sale of your book...and 15% of your 15% goes to your agent...so unless you're selling millions of units, you're not making very much.

Still, most people say that working with an agent is the way to go. Unfortunately, convincing someone to represent you is an uphill battle in and of itself. Agencies require query letters (a sales pitch) before they'll extend an invitation for you to submit your manuscript. Some agencies will allow you to include a sample of your work...but really, it's all about the presentation.

To date, I've written 11 query letters. I took the time to research each agency and personalize each letter I sent because you only have one chance to make a first impression. I spent hours...and hours...and hours on them.

Yesterday I got my first two rejections.

Listen, I'm not naive about this. I know that I might have to go through an awful lot of no's before I finally get a yes. It might not ever happen. Rejection is part of the game. I KNOW this to be the reality of the situation at hand. That being said, I guess deep down I was hoping that my letter...the query I spent so much time on...would be so attention grabbing...and so compelling...that the first agent to read it would immediately jump at the opportunity to take on my project for fear of losing it to someone else.

That didn't happen.

Rejection #1 came yesterday morning from the Heacock Literary Agency. Whomp, whomp, whomp:

At present, we are regretfully going to pass by the opportunity to consider your work for representation. The query must strike a chord which leads us to believe that we will not only resonate deeply with the material but also will be successful in selling it in the current market conditions. Out of necessity, we are frequently forced to pass by material which shows potential. We recognize that in doing so we miss opportunities to represent fine and worthwhile material, but we also trust that if you persist you will eventually connect with the right agent at the right time for your success.

Of all the agencies I researched, this was the one I felt the most strongly about. I really thought that if I got a positive response from any of the agencies, it would be them. Wrong.

Rejection #2 wasn't far behind the first. It came yesterday afternoon. This one was a little more direct:

Thank you for your query. Unfortunately, I did not connect enough with the description of your book to want to see more. I wish you the best of luck in finding the right representation.

Here's the problem. I take rejection personal. I always have. I can't help it. And it's only compounded by the fact that my writing is the most personal thing in the world to me. Up until recently, I never let people read anything I wrote. It was embarrassing. Blogs are one thing...but the rest...forget it.

The other agencies I sent query letters to, say that it might take up to 12 weeks to receive a response. Some even say that if you don't get a response within three months then you should just assume they're not interested in representing you. Oh ok, thanks...that helps. So yesterday I lost one of my few blog subscribers, got rejected...twice...and realized that this might be what I'm in for over the next couple of months. Fantastic.

The moral of this story is that I know I have to stop taking everything to heart. I think I care too much sometimes...not just about The Reusables, but about everything. I care if I get a piece of hate mail at work, I care if someone is mad at me, I care if someone's feelings get hurt...you get the idea.

In the words of Monics: Just one of them thangs, Don't take it personal...

Case in point.

This hasn't been my month for blogging. It's either becuase I've been uninspired or nothing even remotely interesting has happened to me that would be worth writing about. As I sit here, I really don't have anything to say...but there's nothing on TV tonight besides America's Got Talent, which I don't find the least bit interesting, and The Way We Were which stands, to date, as one of the most devastating movies I've ever seen...move over Schindler's List.

I've spent the past couple of weeks hosting and judging the California State Karaoke Championships at the CA State Fair. I totally gave this one guy extra points for singing Amazed by Lonestar because he looked like Dennis Quaid...who I think is a total sweet potato and DILF...even though he wasn't the best singer. So what if I gave him a few extra points for being sexy? Whatever. The best person wound up winning the whole thing anyways. I had never seen people take karaoke so seriously. It was a $5,000 cash prize (cue the seriousness) and the winner advanced to the regionals in Seattle...ultimately hoping to get to the national level of competition.

I also threw my back out over Labor Day weekend. I tried picking up a big box full of books because it had been sitting on my living room floor since my move and I haven't tracked down a bookshelf that I can tolerate yet so I just wanted to put the box in one of my guest room closets to get it out of the way. I didn't realize how bad it was at first, I mean I definitely felt it when I tried to pick the box up...but I didn't fall to the ground in pain or anything. Once I determined that moving the box by myself was, indeed, a bad idea I decided to go take a nap. It wasn't until I woke up from the name Monday afternoon that I thought, "Oh shit...this is bad."

Ready for this to go from an uninteresting story to totally tasteless and wildly inappropriate? It's my forte, what can I say? So Monday night my back started to hurt pretty bad. I popped a couple of Tylenol and called it a night.

When I woke up Tuesday morning I didn't think I was going to be able to get out of bed because I couldn't move...literally. I almost started crying because I had to pee so bad I thought I was going to wet the bed. I couldn't even sit up. I wound up having to kinda roll out of bed to avoid trying to stand up...I crawled into the bathroom on all fours...very slowly...and somehow figured out how to pull myself up. Forget trying to wipe my own ass...it was torture. It took me 20 minutes to do what should have taken me 30 seconds to take care of. Getting dressed was a whole different story. Forget it. I thought I was going to have to call-in sick to work because I couldn't put my clothes on.

Lo and behold I made it through the day. Jay gave me some Vicodin to take which eased the pain but made me feel drunk. I almost fell asleep behind the board during my midday show and because I hadn't eaten anything all day, the pain medication also made me feel incredibly nauseas. Fun day.

Throwing your back out = all bad.

This past weekend was our station's 5th annual Tamales Festival. I was supposed to be in NY for the MTV VMA's...don't get me started on that story. I might get violent. Having to settle for working 9 hours on a Sunday, at a stupid festival, when you're supposed to be in NYC at an awards show is like being told that you won a head-to-toe makeover with a world renowned plastic surgeon but you show up and they tell you that all you're getting is a pap smear. Really? And I'm supposed to pretend like I'm having fun running up on stage every 5 minutes to announce that yet another child is wandering around looking for his/her parents.

At least tomorrow is Tuesdays with the Mayor. I always look forward to it because even though I rarely agree with his politics...we all just hang out and shoot the shit for an hour or so. I forget that he's an ex-NBA superstar and the Mayor of Sacramento because he really is a down-to-Earth, nice, respectful person. And he helped my Carver kids with their California Voices project a few months back...so he gets extra points for that too. When he comes in, he's always accompanied by his two "handlers." They're like his personal assistants, I would guess. They make me laugh because they are so invasive. Our mayor is such a pimp that he also has is own driver who waits for him outside in a black SUV (tinted windows, of course).

He (the mayor) always asks me about entertainment stories because I get the impression he has NO idea what goes on outside of Sacramento and I can't help but think...what if, someday, he goes to do more and be more than just the Mayor of Sacramento? Listen, I'm not saying he's going to be the next President of the United States...but I'd love to look back and have all of these stories to tell about the time I explained to Kevin (that's what he told me to call him after I repeatedly addressed him as Mayor Johnson) all about the Eric Dane, Rebecca Gayheart, Carrie Ann Prejean Gray's Anatomy sex tape scandal!!!!!

Anyways, I need go get in bed. It's only 9:10 but I like to read before I fall asleep. I'm an old lady, what can I say? And I'm a slow reader so I need at least an hour to make any significant headway. Otherwise it would take me years to finish a book. The current novela is "Official Book Club Selection" by Kathy Griffin and I highly recommend it...very entertaining, I've also become an obsessive hand-washer in my old age...but it isn't so bad that I carry hand sanitizer with me everywhere I go...yet...and I've also been getting really bad about going off on tangents...case in point.

The Falling Man

I was a sophomore at UNC on September 11, 2001. I was asleep in my dorm room (class didn't start until 11:00 on Tuesdays and Thursdays) when the phone started ringing.

I was so disoriented when I answered.

Sleepily, "Hello?"

My friend Rebecca was on the other end. She asked me if I was watching the news. At the time, I thought it was a ridiculous question. Why would I be watching the news at 9:00 in the morning?

I remember stammering (with a slightly annoyed tone...to let her know she had just woken me up) "Ummmmmm, no...why?"

"Holy shit. Just get up and turn the TV on" she said.

"What?" I asked, still very confused, but sensing that something big was going on.

She was adamant. "Get up and turn your TV on."

I remember watching the news for hours. My heart pounded and everything else in the world ceased to exist. I didn't go to class. I couldn't move. I felt so powerless as I sat on the concrete floor of my room repeating over and over again, "Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God"

I remember when my suite-mate (a Carolina lacrosse player from NYC) was escorted into her room by three people I had never seen before. She was hysterical...screaming and crying in a complete state of panic because her dad worked in the Twin Towers and she was unable to get anyone on the phone who could confirm his whereabouts. She thought her dad was dead. Later I would learn that the three people were psychologists who spent the whole day trying (unsuccessfully) to console her until she finally got the call that her dad had been out of town on business at the time of the attacks. He was fine.

I'll never forget the sound of her uncontrollable sobbing while the news reports came in with pieces of information about what had happened. And I still get chills when I think about being in NYC with my friend Graham on August 25th...about two and a half weeks before September 11th. We were on our way home from a summer camp we had worked at for 10 weeks in upstate NY. We had stopped to visit a friend who lived in Brooklyn (a Pratt student) who had also been one of the counselors. He had promised that if we stopped to visit him on our way back to NC that he'd take us to this huge block party like the ones I had seen on the TV show Brooklyn Bridge...a show my dad used to LOVE that came on in the early '90's. Sure enough, the block party was exactly like I had imagined. Parents and grandparents sat in lawn chairs along the street, kids rode their bikes, there was food and music and it definitely had the "old NY" feel to it.

Now that it's been 8 years, I realize that as much as I thought I knew about the events that took place on September 11th, there's still so much I've yet to learn.

Before today I had never heard of "The Falling Man." When one of my partners mentioned a documentary that has been made about him this morning I decided to do a little research. I Googled him. What I read about The Falling Man is, perhaps the most powerful thing I've learned about 9/11 since it happened. For those of you, like myself, who don't know (or didn't know) his story...check this out:

Do you remember this photograph? In the United States, people have taken pains to banish it from the record of September 11, 2001. The story behind it, though, and the search for the man pictured in it, are our most intimate connection to the horror of that day.

By: Tom Junod

In the picture, he departs from this earth like an arrow. Although he has not chosen his fate, he appears to have, in his last instants of life, embraced it. If he were not falling, he might very well be flying. He appears relaxed, hurtling through the air. He appears comfortable in the grip of unimaginable motion. He does not appear intimidated by gravity's divine suction or by what awaits him. His arms are by his side, only slightly outriggered. His left leg is bent at the knee, almost casually. His white shirt, or jacket, or frock, is billowing free of his black pants. His black high-tops are still on his feet. In all the other pictures, the people who did what he did -- who jumped -- appear to be struggling against horrific discrepancies of scale. They are made puny by the backdrop of the towers, which loom like colossi, and then by the event itself. Some of them are shirtless; their shoes fly off as they flail and fall; they look confused, as though trying to swim down the side of a mountain. The man in the picture, by contrast, is perfectly vertical, and so is in accord with the lines of the buildings behind him. He splits them, bisects them: Everything to the left of him in the picture is the North Tower; everything to the right, the South. Though oblivious to the geometric balance he has achieved, he is the essential element in the creation of a new flag, a banner composed entirely of steel bars shining in the sun. Some people who look at the picture see stoicism, willpower, a portrait of resignation; others see something else -- something discordant and therefore terrible: freedom. There is something almost rebellious in the man's posture, as though once faced with the inevitability of death, he decided to get on with it; as though he were a missile, a spear, bent on attaining his own end. He is, fifteen seconds past 9:41 a.m. EST, the moment the picture is taken, in the clutches of pure physics, accelerating at a rate of thirty-two feet per second squared. He will soon be traveling at upwards of 150 miles per hour, and he is upside down. In the picture, he is frozen; in his life outside the frame, he drops and keeps dropping until he disappears.

Read more: http://www.esquire.com/features/ESQ0903-SEP_FALLINGMAN#ixzz0QoRBP3RU

The Wonderful World of Dating.

Wanted to get one in before the end of the month...almost made it.

August kicked my ass.

That being said, I figured I'd start September strong.

I went on a date Sunday night. I know, I know...Sunday is an odd choice. Here's what happened: this past weekend I was hell-bent on getting the rest of my stuff from my old house. I got up Saturday morning and went over to Yaana's to see her new place and catch up a little before heading over to the house. While we were hanging out she told me about meetup.com - a website where you can find people with similar interests...then you join their group and go do things together. She knew that I had been looking for a writer's group and suggested that I check it out.

When I got home that afternoon, I logged on and decided to start my own group...I called it Transplants...for people who moved to Sacramento from other parts of the country. Almost instantly I got an e-mail saying that someone had joined my group. Perfect. His name was Elliot and he was 26 years old. I had set up a bounce-back message to anyone who joined the group saying, "Thanks for joining...looking forward to meeting you...if you can't make it to the first outing, let me know what days/times work best for you...blah, blah, blah."

He sent me an e-mail back within a couple of minutes. He said that he wasn't sure if he could make the first outing...had just started law school at McGeorge...didn't know anyone in the area yet...and at the end of his message he signed it, "Shalom." Now, I'm not a very diligent Jew but I do know what that means. So I e-mailled him back. Instead of beating around the bush, I went straight for the kill. The e-mail I sent him read, "Are you Jewish, by chance?" His reply, "Yes."

JACKPOT.

Keep in mind, I've never really had Jewish friends so I was taking this as a sign from up above. I responded with, "Awesome! Me too!"

From there, we wound up as Facebook friends...and all the while I was thinking to myself, maybe this is more than a coincidence. Sure enough, we chatted it up for a while and then he asked if I wanted to get together sometime. Now this is outside of the meetup.com rules because the point of the website is to engage in group acitivities. Whatever. I might have just found a future Jewish attorney and I sure as hell wasn't about to let that oppotunity pass me by. I agreed, but was unable to meet him Saturday night because I had to host the CBS suite at Arco Arena for the circus...yes, you read that correctly...I spent my Saturday night watching elephants take dumps inside Arco Arena. I told him that maybe we could meet up the next day and sure enough, after I finished running errands on Sunday we made plans to get together. Nothing exciting. Coffee. It's casual and safe...just the way I like it.

DISCLAIMER: I am not homphobic in any way. I love the gays. I love, love, love the fabulosity. That being said, I don't want to date a closet gay. The reason I'm telling you this will become important in a minute.

So we meet for coffee. He's cute...funny...and very nice....but the first thing I notice is that he's clearly gay. I'm not going to lie...I felt a little silly...I had shown up under the impression that maybe...just maybe...I was going to meet this young, educated, cute, Jewish, future attorney...we'd hit it off and live happily ever after (a bit of a stretch but you get the idea). When he got there, it seemed so obvious. It wasn't just the way he talked, but his mannerisms, body language, everything...and again, I hate to perpetuate stereotypes but c'mon...when it's obvious, it's obvious.

I thought to myself, Oh ok...he's gay, no big deal. In fact, I was more than excited to meet a new potential BFF who would enjoy watching old episodes of Sex and the City with me. Plus, thinking he was gay totally put me at ease. I was almost relieved that he wasn't someone I was going to have to work overly hard to impress.

He told me that he used to work for Wella (the shampoo/hair company) and that he loved romantic comedies and that one of his favorite pastimes was to sit around drinking coffee and "gossiping." Hello? What was I supposed to think? To me, that's not even metrosexual questionable...that's all the way gay. Nothing wrong with it...at all...like I said, I love the gays!

Then out of nowhere he starts telling me about his ex-girlfriend. At first I thought, maybe he's just not comfortable telling me yet. I nodded along and listened to the story. "She" is in law school in Washington DC. "She" broke his heart. "She" is the only person he's ever really loved. Sometimes he wasn't sure if he'd ever really get over it and move on with his life. I could relate. I had been there. As the night went on, he kept referring to this girl and I kept assuming that "this girl" was actually a guy.

We spent a good three hours talking at the coffee shop. When it was time to go we hugged and promised to hang out again soon. I had really enjoyed his company...and looked forward to our future as besties.

Then came the text messages.

Message One: I had a really good time with you tonight. I'd like to ask you out again and next time it will be a real date. We can go anywhere you want.

Wait, did I miss something?

I texted him back: Thanks...I had fun too. I'd love to hang out again sometime just let me know what works with your schedule bc I know you're going to be super busy with school.

Ready for the kicker?

Message two: I will sexy. Have a good week and get ready for the ride of your life. ;-)

WHAT? I died laughing when I read it and then immediately locked the message on my phone so it will never get deleted...who says that? It was so clearly not a date. It very clearly was a gay guy who is A). in complete denial or B). suppressing the homosexual urges like his life depends on it.

One of my coworkers told me that he probably wants me to be his "beard" (aka: the person he can introduce to his parents as his grilfriend while he gets blowies from other guys on the side). TMI? Sorry, I don't have much of a filter when it comes to discussing these types of topics. It's an interesting thought, but I'm in the market for a man's man. I can handle a little gel in the hair and some manscaping (if you know what I mean) but outside of that, we don't need to compare notes on Jennifer Garner's wardrobe or go get mani/pedi's together...that's what my female friends and gay BFF's are for.

And this, ladies and gentleman, was my reintroduction to the wonderful world of dating. It's good to be back...if for no other reason...than because my luck with men is nothing short of non-existent and that makes for great stories.