Nope

That's the answer to the question you've been dying to know. I did not make the dance team. Of course, I guess there's bound to be at least one dance try out that I have where I don't make the team right?

The sad thing is, I totally thought I nailed it. And, moves-wise, I may have. But, just before they made the announcement, the director came in and said that for the people who didn't make it, it may have been any number of reasons why -- personality, etc. She even said "maybe you look exactly like another girl." That was the official moment that I got worried. There was an uber-awesome girl who, from far away, looked exactly like me. Crap! No, she wasn't talking to me, but for goodness' sake, how could I think anything other than that meant both of us weren't going to make it? This was sad, because that chick is awesome. I'd practiced with her on Thursday, and I really wanted us both to make it so we could hang out. Had she gone to Cornell, she def. woulda been an m-te. I was already planning to invite her to the next m-te vacation.

Anyway, I was standing there, with my parents and 2 friends, when my name was definitely not announced. (Hers was, for your FYI). So, here I am, not on a(nother) pro dance team.

So my mother, ever the optimist, spends the next 45 minutes or so deciding that I'm going to go ahead and try out for the team I'd originally planned on trying out for in October. Meanwhile, I'm bummed AND feeling less than confident about my skillz. Well, my mother is stubborn. (A trait that's hereditary, incidentally. I'll never admit to being stubborn (ha!), but everyone agrees that my g-ma was.) And so, despite the many many valid reasons I had for not trying out, my mother has gone so far as to offer to pay for the entrance fee and the prep classes. Oy.

But she can't make me go, right? On the other hand, am I really that much of a baby? (Yes.)

Funny, every time I went to practice for this last dance team, I passed the stadium for the other one. I definitely found myself thinking how nice it would be not to have drive so far. One time, I even said to myself "If I was on that team, I'd be home by now." I also remember wondering to myself whether I'd not be picked on Saturday as a sign from God that I should be on the other. Hmmm. All things to think about.

Some good news, though, my neck doesn't hurt anymore! Squee!!! And my body didn't feel completely torn up this morning. Squee!!!! Guess I was just rusty before, which means, I AM NOT OLD!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Take that martamack.)

Tragedy on Belmont

So, as I said yesterday, I went to a play with friends, and the guy they're making a minor attempt to set me up with. (Remember, the one who may be a bit dim?) Anyway, I arrived at the theatre after they did, because I was busy purchasing new split sole dance sneakers. So when I got there, I arrived alone. As I'm walking into the auditorium, an extremely handsome man said "Excuse me....what's your name?" So I say, "pheebee." He says "I'm Darryl. Let's sit together." All of this was executed with extreme Billy Dee Williams suaveness. I was very impressed with his boldness, and the simplicity of the line.

Anyhoo, I'm all set to agree, but I tell him that I can't because my friends have brought someone I'm supposed to be set up with. But, I tell him, let's meet up during intermission. (Did I mention he was handsome AND bold AND suave?!)

Now, here's the tragic part of the story. Once I sat down, and looked at the program, I was devastated to find out that there was no intermission. BLAST! My friend said that's what I get for being greedy. But I wasn't being greedy! I was just leaving my options open ;). Sad times. Maybe I'll see him around...it's possible right?

Shake what your momma gave ya! or Man! I am old!

Ok, so we know I decided to try out for a local sports dance team. And we knew I had a few months to get my arse in gear, as well as buy dance shoes, stretch, etc. Well, what we didn't know was the power of google. I'm tooling about the internet, looking for various dance tryout websites, trying to get the upper hand. Well, one of my searches turns up a dance team try out for Saturday. As in, yesterday. So what do I do? I decide to try out, on a whim. It was Thursday, so somebody hit the panic button!

Ok, Thursday night, I'm emailing the Director to find out if it's too late to sign up. Friday morning, I wake up at the crack of dawn, so I check my email. The director emails me the night before, and says it's cool. Alright, it's Friday, and I have no shoes. Sweet. I spend the day trying to find a store that sells used dance shoes, to no avail. Ok, it's 6:36 p.m. I'm supposed to be meeting up with some friends to see a play (more on that on a later date). I've found a local dance store that sells new dance shoes....and they close at 7pm. Well, I drive a Mustang right? (just ask Rubix, HA!). Let's let her out. I'm praying-while-driving, passing on the right, speeding, cruising, and illegally parked, but I made it just after the store closed. But, having called before, I think they were feeling generous and held the doors open 5 minutes later than they would have. So, I've got brand new ($60 - yikes!) dance shoes.

So, it's Saturday, a.m. I'm required to bring a picture of myself to the audition. On Friday night, I go online and have one sent to Walgreens. It was supposed to be ready by 11:30 p.m. Friday night. Naturally, it wasn't ready when I went to Walgreens at 7:05 a.m. the next morning. *Sigh* Oh well, she's able to print it (with plenty of attitude) right then and there. So I'm on the road by 715.

Now, the fun begins. For those that don't know, when the tryout information page tells you to bring a lunch, they mean it. When they say plan to be there all day, they mean it. The teaching started at 9:15. We broke for lunch at 12:15. What sucks about that is they don't say it out loud, but the judging starts at 915. (I can prove it too, a bunch of people were cut at lunch). Anyway, around 1030, I hurt so much I thought I was going to die. But, I figured, I just bought $60 shoes, so I'd better go all the way. Between the hurting various body parts, and the fact that more than half the people there were younger than me (including one chick who had braces and was dropped off by her dad), I felt old for the first time in my life. Ouch.

After a series of cuts, I've made it to the final round, which will be held next Saturday. It's open to the public, so come on out!!!! The more people that are cheering for me, the hotter the judges will think I am. ;) (I'm all about using every advantage I've got baby!)

Set Up

Ok, because I know you're all dying to know how the set-up went. I thought I'd post a little bit of an update. So here goes...

As you may or may not be aware, this wasn't a date. It was just a bunch of people getting together at a barbecue; my friend just happened to have invited the two of us. Er...three of us. The cute guy brought a cute friend. They were both single, and I was both single. So, here's the report.

Original cute guy: Hmm. Didn't really prove or disprove his reputation of being somewhat, ahem, dim. I'm not saying the boy is dumb. I'm just saying he didn't say anything all that profound either. But, on the other hand, neither did anyone else. It was a day full of inane chatter...but in a good way. He did talk a lot of smack about bagg-o. I think we all know that I enjoy a wisearse. So, all in all, he was pleasant. Although I'm not entirely convinced we have anything in common.

Cute guy's friend: Hmmm. Well, I've already established that he was attractive. Although I definitely think he was on the older side. He's an Academic Advisor, and freakishly reminded me of the former Director of Intercultural Life at my alma mater (and an usher at my church). Aside from that weird feeling, he was pretty cool. However, he was really quiet.

So, that's the update. I can't say that I'm overly enthused about either guy. I mean, they were both attractive, and great on paper. But, really? I didn't get much of a vibe that either was all that into me. (And truthfully, vice versa). Let's not be hasty though...if asked, I'd totally go out with one of them. Or both. HA!

Operation Shape Up!

Alright, we all know I'm not the largest woman ever. But, that doesn't necessarily mean I'm in shape. And I'll go ahead and go on record and say that I'm not in shape. However, I have a new goal that requires some serious shaping, toning, and strengthening. I've made the executive decision to try out for the indoor football league cheerleaders.

For the first time ever, I am worried about my chances in a dance competition. I mean, honestly, it's been 5 years. Five!!! For not the first (or last) time ever, I'm not that confident about the shape I'm in. In this case, I'm going up against teeny tiny 18 year olds. Gah!!! I'm not entirely certain what made this particular brand of mental torture sounded like a good idea. But, then again, I really do miss performing and dancing.

Doing this is going to be quite an investment, both financially and emotionally. I have to buy new dance shoes, and I'm going to go ahead and pay the $99 for the prep classes right before the audition. And I'm considering hiring a trainer at Bally's (depending on how much he'll charge per session). The way I see it, even if I don't make it, I'll end up with a kickin' body. And really? There's nothing wrong with that. Emotionally, well, if I don't make it, I'll officially have to hang up my dance shoes (and bragging rights). Bummer.

Alright, let the chronicles begin! (Gulp).

Anticipation

Honestly, I cannot wait a minute longer to quit my job. But for my propensity for paying rent, I'd already be collecting unemployment. But since even I am tired of whining about my job, and I'm too ashamed to admit to actually having a slight breakdown while slumped in the first bathroom stall at my office, I've decided not to blog about how much I hate my job. At this point, not only is it old hat and obvious, but in addition to the stress of the job taking a physical toll, the negativity is starting to affect other areas of my life. As such, suffice it to say that if I'm not out of there soon, I may have to take an extended mental health leave.

I am also, however, anxiously anticipating my setup/blind date/whatever. I'm hoping he'll be entertaining enough to provide a welcome distraction that I need. What worries me is a.) I haven't gotten the most detailed description of what he looks like -- just that all the women want him; b.) I haven't gotten much detail on his personality, other than he's publicly humble and privately full of himself; c.) I'm not sure just how dumb the poor boy is.

As much as I'd like a distraction, I do have my standards. Get this, I actually blew off Rubix by conveniently not calling him back. And I more gently blew off the Christian Rapper by sending him a text telling him I was too stressed to go out with anyone. AND, I'm slowly weaning off the young'n. I'm just tired of repeats and those that aren't meeting the standard. Hence, my worries about the setup. Although, he will be all new and shiny, and really, we all know I'm like a crow. Pretty! Shiny! Weee! (Yes, I am willing to be just that shallow, at least for a little while.)

What to post, what to post?

I find myself antsy with anticipation. I am having my very first set-up this weekend. I'm pretty excited at the prospect of meeting a new prospective boyf. I know I'm putting way too many eggs in one basket. But, alas it's better than the lame eggs I had before.

So, here's the dish on the set-up. My friend Liz (girlfriend of my happy-go-lucky friend Joyce's brother) has decided I should date her boyfriend's co-worker. This was decided the very first day we met, and I think she's been subconsciously plotting it ever since. Anyway, she's throwing a White Party this Labor Day, and has covertly invited us both to the event. Apparently he is physically just my style. Unfortunately, his reputation of being dumb as a brick precedes him. Evidently, the poor boy is pretty and dumb. Well, that's alright, nothing wrong with sitting and looking pretty. Hopefully he's perfected this art. We'll find out. Here's hoping!

Darkened Lights of Broadway

The blog has been silent due to the passing of my grandma. Pheebee's mom's mom. She went peacefully, and had homegoing to end all homegoings. Silence having been properly observed, musing and ranting will resume shortly.

It's Raining Boys

Today, I heard from 2 ghosts of dates past. First, Rubix called me at work. Then, Christian Rapper called. What? Again I am forced to ask, did I miss a memo?

Ok, honestly, Rubix and I not only had a not good date, but I'm pretty sure I was entirely noncommital after we saw each other again a week after the date. And yet he's calling asking for a round 2? I'm confused. And no, I don't know if I'll be giving him a second chance. On the one hand, he hasn't earned it. But on the other hand, when is free dinner ever a bad idea? (Don't answer that martamack).

As for Christian Rapper, I just have no friggin' clue what that's about. I think I managed a slick power-play when I had literally, no idea who he was when he called. It was completely accidental, but it made me chuckle (internally, of course -- well, for the most part). Anyway, I get that he really wanted a 2nd chance to redeem himself. You may remember that he lost his wallet the day of our date, and therefore our date was limited to coffee beverages at Borders, which I purchased. On the other hand, he drove me up the friggin' wall. All the daggone touching. Why are you touching me?!?! Gah! But, on the other hand, when is free dinner ever a bad idea?

One more random phone call from a guy that has either never received a formal invitation onto the island or been kicked off the island and I'm taking a poll of all islanders. Who's out giving the ok to these guys to call me? I bet it was 2DP. He'd totally do that.

Another weekend, another date

So, last night, there was a new applicant on the island. His name, originally, was hot body guy (HBG). After the date, it should really be lost cause guy, or frat guy. But more on that later. He lives down the hall from me. He, like cute neighbor, is in sales, and travels a lot for work. And, obviously, he has an incredibly hot body. Although his face was not so impressive. In fact, it was decidedly unimpressive.

Anyway, earlier this week, he asked me out...kind of. Actually, the whole story is, I had txt'd cute neighbor to see if he wanted to get ice cream. He wanted to go, but he wanted smoothies instead. Anyway, as we got ready to go, he went down the hall to ask another neighbor. (Grr; turning it into a complete non-date. Although probably my fault, because I gave his brother a by-the-way invite...Well he was sitting right there!) So, the other neighbor decided to go. (Bummer). On the way out the door, we ran into HBG. Since so many people were going anyway, we invited him.

After the smoothies, we were all standing in the hall and HBG says "hey, I'm in town this weekend, if you want to get together knock on my door and we'll grab a drink." I invited him to volleyball on Friday in response. So, after some discussion with IM Boyf, he told me that HBG was asking me out on a date. I thought it was just a casual, acquaintance type asking. But apparently, it wasn't. So, as it turns out, I had a tentative date for the weekend.

The date itself was nice. HBG and I doubled with yet another neighbor and her new possible beau. We went for Mexican and had good times. What made the date so unimpressive are the things I learned about HBG. He's a hardline right-wing conservative (that's his own definition, not mine. I was surprised). And he listens to horrible HORRIBLE punk rock music. (loudly). And, he still thinks he's a frat guy. That is the largest problem. He still has a beer bong on his porch for cry-eyed. Yikes. After all of that, I'm not sure what I could possibly have in common with that guy. Oh, and he has bad taste in bars.

But, the up side is, he's still a really nice guy. So there's no sparks? That doesn't mean that I can't stop by his place and watch a movie once in a while. Hopefully he'll answer the door with his shirt off once in a while. What?!?! He didn't get the nickname hot body guy for nothing!

I haven't put up a quiz in a while...

SiQ and Young'n

So, the SiQ recently had a problem with a girlfriend. A problem which begged the question, why are women freakin' crazy?

The short version of the back story, is that she totally made out with guy, whom she thought was single. I guess, technically, he was single at the time. But then his literally crazy girlfriend caught wind of this, (cause she tricked him into telling her), and started hitting her head against the wall until he promised to take her back. Then, this moron (the guy, not the girlfriend) tells the SiQ about it, and asks her to speak tot he gf and tell her that nothing all that serious happened. I know! I thought the same thing -- clearly he has a severe lack of common sense. Anyway, the gf eventually gets the SiQ's phone number and tells the SiQ not to talk to the guy anymore. (Is this sounding vaguely familiar? So, apparently the engineer's girlfriend isn't the only psychob---ahem--idiot out there.)

Now, I beg you, why on earth would you go through all that for some dude? Honestly?! Somebody get that girl some Prozac. Anyway, does anyone know a good investigator? We need to find a picture of the gf to make sure she isn't stalking the SiQ.

In other news, the young'n is coming down for a visit. He isn't necessarily specifically coming to visit me, because he's coming with other people. But there is definitely a plan to see me. He's asked if he could stay with me though (on my couch, perverts). I'm pretty apprehensive on that point. But here's the weird thing. There are other people I'd let stay here without a second thought. There's 2DP, of course. But that's so not the same situation, he being my future backup husband and all. And, there was the engineer. I mean, think about it, I went and stayed in the ATL with the engineer, and then again in Seattle, and I hadn't been talking to him nearly as long as the young'n. And no one blinked an eye -- not even my mother for cryin' out loud. So what's the deal with the young'n? Why is it so hard to let him stay on my couch?

Hmmm...given the fact that this city is far more dangerous than Madtown, maybe I should let him stay. He could scare away all the scary people. AND he offered to cook and clean. That would totally be worth sharing, wouldn't it?

Courthouse guy, updated

Me: "Hey." (Internal monologue: "don't roll your eyes, don't roll your eyes, don't roll your eyes."

Rubix: "Hey."

Me: (Internal monologue: "oh good, he's walking away. That wasn't awkward. Phew. Oh crap, he's coming back. Don't sit down, don't sit down, don't sit....crap.")

Rubix: "So how's it going?"

Me: "Good. You?"

Rubix: "Not bad. What are you here for?"

Me: "Got an emergency motion. What about you, what are you doing on the 15th floor??"

Rubix: "Oh, I work all over. And I have a trial that might go, next door."

Me: "Ah."

Rubix: "You never called me."

Me: "You didn't call me either." (Internal monologue: "Is he kidding?")

Rubix: "Was I supposed to?"

Me: "No. I was just saying, the phone works both ways." (Internal monologue: "Wait, did he think we had a good date?")

Rubix: "Well, I made the last two calls."

Me: "Well I wasn't keeping track."

Rubix: "Me neither, I was just making my argument."

Me: "Ah." (Internal monologue: "oh yeah, that's why we'll never go out; you can't tell the difference between a trial and life. Gah! You are so ridiculous....please call my motion, please call my motion, please call....oh good; he has to run away."

Crimes against Fashion

Yesterday, I saw the most atrocious outfit ever. Picture a swimsuit from the 1960s. You know, the kind they always show in the pictures from Miss America of yesteryear. They are essentially short shorts and a tube top all in one piece. Ok, now loosen that up. Now, picture the loose, swimsuit-like shape in white cotton with black polka-dots. And then, add a drawstring at the thigh, to adjust the outside of the shorts to be shorter than the inner-thigh side. And THAT, is the exact outfit I saw yesterday at the eL stop. And, in case you're wondering, there was no beach or gym anywhere near there. Not that this is where that chick was headed. Perhaps she was headed to the proverbial red-light district.

In other news, I've become a fashion hypocrite. I am loathed to admit it...but I had a moment of weakness. I've always thought that the short shorts (what my mom would call hotpants) worn out to the club was an odd choice. But then, I was having an excellent leg day, and so I decided to wear a pair of recently purchased hot pants, mimicking an outfit some unknown celeb had on in the RedEye. Anyway, I had the black hotpants, the black buttondown (worn unbuttoned down to there), and the fabulous gold and bronze shoes. And then I further accessorized with big gold earrings, gold and bronze bracelet, and a gold and black necklace. Then I wore the hair up.

In front of my trick mirror, I looked fabulous. Then, I walked outside, and thought "oh good heavens what have I done?!!? I sooooo do NOT have the legs for this!" My nervousness was further cemented by the catcalls I got from the hoodrats in the passing vehicles. But then, I remembered the book "Beautylicious" which said when you're wearing an outfit, do it with confidence. So I squared up my shoulders, and walked proud (while secretly hoping I didn't look like I was cheap and/or easy). When I finally got to the party, I got compliments from other chicks. Which is a clear indication that maybe I need to eat crow about the short shorts worn out for a night on the town.

Courthouse Guy

So here's the story with courthouse guy. We met up at a pub/pizza joint not that far away from where I live. I finally got the chance to try out an outfit I'd been itching to try for quite some time. (army green tshirt dress from Old Navy, gold necklace, hair up, brown sandal wedges.) I looked rather fabulous. He was still wearing a lovely pinstriped suit, presumably he came straight from work. This was a pleasant surprise, because I expected him to be in tshirt and shorts.

Anyway, I went with an open mind. But sadly, this date was not meant to go well. It started out alright. We were talking about work and such. He asked me how many motions I'd had, and he'd had tons and tons more than myself. And he was giving me a hard time about that, but in a joking way. But then he brought it up again later, asking how many trials I'd had (0), and then telling me how many he'd had (oodles). So, I said "why are you counting?" You know, good-naturedly. Then, he brought it up, AGAIN! And I said, well, it's good for our company if our insureds aren't running about crashing into things...it keeps premiums down. And he said, yeah, we're high-volume, so we get tons of stuff. Then, he brought it up AGAIN!!!! At this point, I'd had it. So, I said "well, my firm isn't full of ambulance chasers, so I couldn't possibly have as many trials and motions as you." So he finally shut up.

The other problem he had, was waxing poetic about his vehicles. That's right, I said vehicles. Apparently he has 2 motorcycles and 2 cars. So, he was waxing poetic about his 1997 Mustang (which is not a classic, incidentally); and he mentioned how he wanted to put Cobra wheels on his car. And I said, "oooh, I love the Cobra Mustang." Which I do. So he went on for a few more minutes, and said "you don't even know what I'm talking about do you?" Excuse me? Did I not just say that I love the Cobra? My response was, "yes, in fact, I do. I remember the first time I saw the Cobra, I was in high school and..." Notice how I didn't finish my sentence there. Yeah, that's because he cut me off to say: "well, they were only out between 1995 - 1999." (I may have the years wrong). So I say, "that's good, because I was in high school between 1995-1999, which is when I saw a Cobra for the first time." But, the coup de gras, so to speak, was when he asked what kind of car I drove, and I triumphantly, and smugly, said "an '02 Mustang." Thankyouverymuch. Gah!

At any rate, he paid for dinner (with a $50); thinks the internet is a fad, doesn't own a computer, but owns a big flat screen t.v. That's right ladies....he's still single! (Excuse me while I swoon). So, he hasn't called, and I'm surely not calling him. I'm almost willing to be he calls me, just because he expects that I'm going to trip all over myself to go out with him. It could be fun just to screw with his head. But we'll see. :P

I missed Dateline for this?

So my date with Rubix was tonight. Ugh. He's such a lawyer. I'm still scratching my head. He was oh so arrogant. I think I may need to cut lawyers off the list of potentials. But more on this guy later.

Gross

There are a million ways to get grossed out. My particular rant of the day is smoking. Smoking is a truly repugnant habit. This is not a post to preach about the dangers of smoking. This is a post about how smelly and disgusting it is. When I was walking home today, I was stuck behind a guy who was sucking on his carcinogen stick. The smoke kept wafting backwards, the ash were floating on the breeze. Ack! It was disgusting.

And don't even get me started on smoking in bars. I know that smoking and drinking go hand in hand. Tons of people say that smoking enhances the buzz. I've even been known to partake in a drag or two -- but I didn't inhale. No really! I was just fascinated with the Smokin' Up tour at the time, and so I'd take a drag and blow it outwards and upwards without actually getting any smoke in my lungs. It did look cool, but my smoker-friends would yell at me: "You're wasting a perfectly good cigarette!" Anyway, none of this condones allowing smoking in bars. It's bad enough that you come home all sweaty from shakin' that groove thang. Do we really need to compound the situation by adding the revolting smell of stale cigarette smoke. The smoke is far worse anyway, it actually gets in your hair. Gah!

That's it. Smokers are soooooo very evicted from my island. How'd they get on my island anyway?

Rubix Cube Called

And he called a week late. Hmmm. I guess he had a pseudo-valid reason, and frankly, I'm ready to go out with someone who has the desire to buy me dinner. So we're going out on Wednesday. Today's conversation went far better than the last one -- so maybe he just needs to relax a bit. Okay, I'm officially having an open mind. Let go and let flow, right?

In other news, the young'n is getting close to far surpassing the engineer's surprising longevity. He'll randomly call me quite often, in fact. Unlike last summer, I don't have all day to talk to him, but we still manage to get in quality conversations. I get the slight feeling that he's becoming a bit attached. It's cute.

Also, I've given up on making out with Afro guy. Which is sad, since he was my most recent prospect. And no, I am so NOT going to kiss Rubix cube. Shudder. Oooh, that feeling does not bode well for the date does it? Meh. It happens.

It's a good day

Today, on perezhilton.com, there are pictures of Sexy Sexy Shemar Moore...Naked. Shemar. Don't-look-directly-at-him-because-he's-so-effen-hot Moore. Is. Naked. On. perezhilton.com. It's a good good day.

Yesterday, however, was a terrible day. Now, I know I said I was totally into the cutie @Goodbar two Saturdays ago. And I know I said I really wanted to make-out with afro-guy from two Sundays ago. And I know I've declared my love many-a times for other men. However, yesterday, I saw the Man of My Dreams. He was definitely THE ONE. I was walking back to my office from court when I saw him. And time stopped. Seriously. I was stepping off the curb when I looked up, and saw a caramel-toffee colored brother in a pink buttondown with coordinating tie. And a dark jacket, over square shoulders. He had the tightest fade in life. And, to top it off, he was driving a sage/mint green Land Rover. Good heavens I'm going to faint just thinking about the man. For reference, he looked like the guy from the Cadillac commercial where they're singing "Movin' on Up."

I definitely took a second look. And, quite frankly, so did he. But alas, he was driving the opposite direction of where I was going. So what did I do? Are you kidding me? I freakin' changed my course of direction is what I did. He even ended up pulling over and disappearing into a building across the street from where I was standing. Standing and dialing, mind you, attempting to look like I had a legitimate reason for being there. Do you know that NO ONE answered their phone? Not one person. All of you! Useless! *Sigh.* So off I went, back to the office, with a broken heart and blistered feet (I realized I was wearing shoes that were due for retirement). Anyway, I'm never going to be able to find a man now. No one is going to be able to measure up to my man in the mint green truck. *Sniff. Better to have love and lost my arse.

Kicking it into high gear

Ok, you win. I've officially cleaned up my resume and sent it off to MMM. Turns out he may be useful after all.

In unrelated news, I figured that I would do some pre-celebratory shopping, and finally purchased the fabulous art work for my hallway. Hooray!

In more unrelated news, I have a date this week. I met the guy at the courthouse. His name was originally courthouse guy, but martamack re-named him last week. The short version of the story is that last week, I couldn't remember the guy's whole last name, just the beginning, which is Rube-something. So, as I struggled to come up with the rest of the syllables, martamack just started calling him Rubix cube. Right before he predicted that Rubix cube had no shot. Bummer for Rubix cube. But, at least he got a good nickname out of it.

On that same note, I've been attempting to plot a way to find Afro-guy so I can make out with him. He works at a bar up the road, but I have no valid reason to go up there. And he hasn't called me. I'm thinking I've officially gotten the blow off, but, since I don't actually want to date this guy, I see no harm in continuing my quest for a makeout. :)