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He makes the time go zoom

I was thinking that I may need a new category name here, soon. I mean, now that I am actually spending more time with Otto than with the television. People, I have shows on the DVR that I haven’t even bothered to glance at. Either I am in love or I am dying. Personally, I’m hoping for the former.

Oh, there are things to tell about the weekend, but I am too tired to tell it all tonight. Tonight you’ll get little more from me than “Weekend good. Like Otto. Have fun. Need more sleep.”

Of course that won’t stop me from saying exactly that in the most verbose way possible, anyway. I am nothing if not predictable. (more…)

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Dare me? Bet him!

Or, no good can possibly come of this….

I am beginning to realize that I have a thing for men who view everything as a challenge to be conquered. Now, a certain amount of pioneer spirit, I admire. I do. But I also think there’s nothing wrong (or unmanly) about admitting limitations.

Clearly I feel this way because I do not have a Y chromosome.

Tonight Otto drew a line in the figurative sand and the game could’ve been on, if only I could’ve stopped laughing. (more…)

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I can’t decide if he’s longsuffering or just not very bright.

(I’m kidding!)

And for the record, he’s not available. He wanted me to tell you that.

That’s true even if you didn’t scare him, which you did.


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Love in a vase

Guess what? It’s time once again for Love Thursday.

Several of you have asked for this picture already, and I have to confess as to why I haven’t posted it earlier: My camera sucks. My baby, my SLR, has been broken and gone for repair for a loooong time, and my point-and-shoot is more of a point-and-blur. And I hate to post a photo that doesn’t do the subject justice, but this is the best I can do right now.

Anyway. Here’s my contribution for this week: The now-famous blue birthday orchids from Otto.

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Dating? Mostly I’m just packing.

In the comments on the previous post, someone asked if I am, indeed, dating. Of course, I’m not certain if that person was asking if I was dating or if I was airquotes, nudgenudge winkwink DAAAAATING, so I’m not quite sure how to answer. As for the former—it depends on how you define dating; and as for the latter; oh look! Something SHINY!

But I CAN tell you that today my membership to geeFlarmony expired. Isn’t that sad? It is sad. 6 months, no results. Unless you want to count TED. Ted and I were matched just this weekend! While I was away! And in the time it took for me to 1) access the mail and 2) go into my geeFlarmony account, Ted had already requested Fast Track communication—a.k.a. give me your email address right this second so that I can hack you into little bits as soon as possible—and then, THEN, closed the match because “my match never responded after repeated attempts at contact.” It had been less than a week. (more…)

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Men are from Home Depot

I’m just sitting here thinking that I may need a new name for my pseudo-dating category. But that would require more thought than I’m willing to expend right now. Time! Time is at a premium! There are a million things to be done and never enough time in which to do them. Why waste precious minutes renaming a blog category when I could be… trying to pry open my windows.

(Once upon a time, someone painted all of my windows shut. I would like to hunt that person down and use his tibia to bang against the window frame every time I have to try to unstick things just to get a little bit of fresh air in here.)

ANYWAY. Hi! How are you? I am well! But my house is ailing and I had forgotten that Having A Man Around means Fixing The House. Whether I want to or not. (more…)

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The incredible (and true) story of Whitey McBrother

As I mentioned in passing in this post, in the midst of the UNBRIDLED JOY of having a private pond right here in the house for my convenience, geeFlarmony got off its collective ass and sent me a match.

A match with a man who didn’t know if he was black or white, in fact. And so he was dubbed Whitey McBrother, based upon his picture (white) and his statistics (black).

And I knew, pretty much right from that fateful start with his conflicted self, that this wasn’t going to go anywhere. I probably should’ve just closed the match and moved on. But I was in need of some distraction. And some blog fodder. So… I proceeded with the match.

Buckle up, my darlings.

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Misery loves company which is more miserable

Is it a bad sign when watching the horrifying season finale of ER cheers me up a little bit…?

In other news: The long-delayed testosterone sleepover birthday party is happening here tomorrow, even if I have to put all of the boys in boats and give out oars as party favors.

And the forecast is calling for heavy rain.

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This post will self-destruct in 5 seconds

(But not really.)

Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to continue the theme of yesterday’s post, except in a less cynical vein. I’ve told you what men are doing wrong. (And I cannot BELIEVE I forgot to mention appropriate handle usage. Nothing containing “knight” or referring to your car or your salary or how hot you believe yourself to be. Okay, I feel better now.)

Today I turn the floor over to you. Write my personal ad. There are… *checking* 975 (!!) posts here to use as fodder. What would be an accurate representation of me that does NOT bring The Crazy sniffing around?

I do believe there shall be prizes involved. Oh, yes. On your mark… get set… TYPE!

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Handy dating tips for the IQ impaired

Or, I’ve just about had it.

Or, Google will not keep your secrets.

Or, Men are from Mars, if by “Mars” you mean “Idiotworld.”

Or, And you thought these stories were weird.

Wow. I could really just write titles for this baby all night long, and never even get to the post. You do realize that it’s a very fine line that separates the absurd from the depressing, right? Picture me up high in the air, on the tightrope. I might even be wearing a tutu.

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