love

Mary the alcoholic was wondering if she could come over. She used to wait for a proper invitation just like her mother taught her like she knows to be appropriate but she is tired of waiting and wondering so she has jumped the gun, so to speak, and was hoping you would have her over for dinner. This week. How about tonight?

Happy Birthday to my Grandma Betty. To Grandma Elizabeth Bird Lake Stablein. Grandma Buttsy. The woman who will always remain in my mind as slightly chubby and jovial and blessed with a head of thick and lovely hair. Seeing her now, light as a child and just as helpless, it is hard to envision her as a bustling busybody shooing the kids out of the kitchen while she adds more butter to the giant bowl of mashed potatoes. Grape soda. Grandma Buttsy always had grape soda on hand for us, even if it was sometimes flat. She loved to watch the news. She taught us how to gamble.

So it turns out that as we get older, and by “we” I mean “I”, the men that we attract get older, as well. Logic tells me that as I venture into an older dating pool, I will inevitably encounter men with extensive, sometimes more colorful, pasts. A rainbow of divorces and kids and ex-girlfriends that made off with all of the furniture. Joint custodies. Kids. Children. Babies? Probably less likely, but a toddler is basically a baby that can walk so maybe not that uncommon. And then maybe you say, “Nah, I can't date a guy with kids.

When a girl texts you, “Hey, buddy, take it easy on the texting. You've sent me like a dozen texts and we haven't even met yet”, do not respond with “Wow, do you have some hangups or what?” followed by three more text messages.
Speaking of hangups, I am declaring right here and now that I am unamused by your “jokey” comments about my eyes being closed in every picture.
I am especially unamused when you say you find my “chinky eyes” to be cute and funny.

Hi. You are probably not even reading this, but I will write a few words anyways. Let's get serious, you saw my five profile photos and you think my smile is cute, and you will probably make a comment about my squinty eyes (no, I am not part Asian, thanks for asking) or maybe reference to the cupcake I am biting into in photo number three. You don't care that I go to church twice a week, that I am a recycling vegetarian, or that I like Joss Whedon. Maybe you even wrote down American Beauty in your top favorite films, or Magnolia, or Moulin Rouge, like me. Did you read my stats?

Today I will start my latest screenplay. I should update my blog. What about that script writing challenge I read about? Could be fun. Maybe Shaan and Jess will want to do it. I should try out a different dog park tomorrow, Ma'amie will like that. What about the Gramercy salon-is that really where I want to work? Should I keep doing hair? I should call Fabio and set something up. I need to look into nursing school. No, not yet. Remember you decided to get settled into the city first before you started investigating schools? But when will I ever get settled into the city?

Dear White Knight,
You sent me an email and lambasted me with words, so very many words, that it took me a day to respond. Also, I wasn't sure what to say to your postscript. Do you even remember your ridiculous question? “If you were a hot dog, would you eat yourself?” I confess that I read it aloud to my flatmate and she was tickled so very rosy pink, and then she could not stop giggling, and we were both left wondering what you meant.

Thank you, United States. Thank you for welcoming me back with open arms holding up a tray of cheap cocktails in one hand and a hotel key shaped like an American Express card in the other. You move me with your all-you-can-eat seafood buffet and your plastic enhanced enhancements. Take my gratuity, what would be considered gratuitous in Argentina, and smile with straight, white teeth and pretend like my generosity is appreciated, though it is slim. I read your judgment on my scantness, and I want to tell you that I have been unemployed for two months, but I don't.

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