Friday, January 13, 2006

Time travelling dating service

I scored a bootlegged copy of Pride & Prejudice and watched it on my computer in my underwear with a glass of strawberry-flavoured milk on my nightstand at three in the morning because a) I'm a schmuck for British hunks and b) it's practically the number one rule in the International Spinster Handbook.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" I chanted at my laptop. "Boooooo!" when they didn't.

Alone in the dark, sirens screaming in intervals, one could say I was the poster child for what not to strive for in the aftermath of an especially messy divorce that might include kids, a dog or two, and an unhealthy obsession with legless strippers.

If I had to pick one moment in P&P that could represent my life, it would be the money shot of the hog's testicles as he waddles from sight. You see, I sometimes feel like I am one of a pair of beings, two entities that live as one, and I'm also dangerously close to assholes, those bearers of poppycock and uninvited business.

So P&P was, indeed, a life-affirming experience. I now know where I can find meself a decent homo sapien to cuddle with: in the 18th-century, y'all. Whoop, whoop!


True story: the drunk girls are drunk again. And this time, they brought their tears with them.

Ring, ring. Your mom called. She wants her menopause back.


"I'm telling you, HaiPhia. Generally-speaking, if a woman isn't attracted to a man, nothing will make her change her mind. It's like getting Michael Jackson to like little girls instead of little boys: he called it Neverland, not Maybeland, 'cause that bed is reserved, partner."

"The guy sitting behind you just gave me the look of a very confused man."

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