just said to Kelly! And my quip about a man being worth his weight in beans? I must have gotten that from this guy Ken’s post! Good grief! I just plagiarized Alex on my show!
* * *
My house has never looked more beautiful. Mom really has exquisite taste , and with her prodding I’ve been tending to the pretty , little design details that make a house a home. She has made it clear that the purpose of all this better homes and gardens work is to attract and land a man. Oy. If she really knew my current take on romance she would give up the ghost – and undoubtedly come back to haunt me mercilessly.
These days , I am pretty darn content with things just the way they are. Geronimo has taken on a position of responsibility with the homeless shelter where he volunteers, and when he makes the occasional call to me , it is always to regale me with stories about work and volunteering, or to ask me to collect bottles, cans and now , shoes for his favorite philanthropies. Bret has managed to get his wife pregnant again , and yet was still pursuing me until the little woman caught onto his antics and put a stop to them. It all came down when she found his second cell phone and called every number in it. Evidently, there were many, including mine.
London-boy Stuart has found a sweet little shop girl who works a couple of doors down from his bookstore , and has changed his status to ‘in a relationship.’ And Ed, well, Ed has started dying his remaining hair in strange and wondrous ways to look younger. He’s also purchased a TransAm T-top muscle car and switched from line dancing to salsa.
Basically, it’s all quiet on the flirt front, and whatever titillation I desire I get from the bawdy comments left on Alex’s wall by his harem. Like bees to honey, moths to flame, intelligent, strong and interesting women flock to Alex, and stay there. In addition to his inspiring ‘brothers and sisters’ posts, poetry , and witty banter, I get an enormous kick out of his bawdier missives. He is a master of the salacious tease , writing about something innocuous in the most deliciously dangerous ways possible. He literally has women eating out of his hand.
His current post and its attendant thread are a doozy, and though I try to hang back playing the voyeur, even I sometimes became ensnared in his web.
* * *
Ever since Alex’s Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie post, I find myself distracted more often. The friendly cashier at Starbucks has to ask, “Can I get a drink started for you?” three times before I clue into th e fact that he is talking to me, even though I am at the counter and looking right at him. Same goes for the barista who calls my name repeatedly to let me know my Mocha is ready.
At home, I’ve been equally befuddled, leaving my keys in the freezer, putting the milk in the cupboard, donning shirts inside out, feeding dog kibble to the birds, and engaging in all manner of other silly backwardness. Despite my current spate of airheadedness, or perhaps because of it, I find I am managing my days with elan and good-natured nonchalance. There is a quiet confidence beginning to grow in me, as well as a recklessness. And I notice myself thinking of pie more frequently than ice cream.
I’ve also effortlessly and inadvertently adopted the habit of having all of my show preparations completed by teatime Monday, as opposed to the manic blitz I used to begin the night before broadcast. I’ve started wearing my hair down more often. I’ve even caught myself reading the labels on mascara tubes. My mom says it’s my biological clock’s alarm going off and that I better pay heed before it runs out of batteries.
I consid ered that I may have a case of s pring fever , but we are now into sultry s ummer. Ahhhh, that must be it – the warmth, sweatiness and clothing-light lust of the year’s hot and humid dog days.
I’ve even found
* * *
My house has never looked more beautiful. Mom really has exquisite taste , and with her prodding I’ve been tending to the pretty , little design details that make a house a home. She has made it clear that the purpose of all this better homes and gardens work is to attract and land a man. Oy. If she really knew my current take on romance she would give up the ghost – and undoubtedly come back to haunt me mercilessly.
These days , I am pretty darn content with things just the way they are. Geronimo has taken on a position of responsibility with the homeless shelter where he volunteers, and when he makes the occasional call to me , it is always to regale me with stories about work and volunteering, or to ask me to collect bottles, cans and now , shoes for his favorite philanthropies. Bret has managed to get his wife pregnant again , and yet was still pursuing me until the little woman caught onto his antics and put a stop to them. It all came down when she found his second cell phone and called every number in it. Evidently, there were many, including mine.
London-boy Stuart has found a sweet little shop girl who works a couple of doors down from his bookstore , and has changed his status to ‘in a relationship.’ And Ed, well, Ed has started dying his remaining hair in strange and wondrous ways to look younger. He’s also purchased a TransAm T-top muscle car and switched from line dancing to salsa.
Basically, it’s all quiet on the flirt front, and whatever titillation I desire I get from the bawdy comments left on Alex’s wall by his harem. Like bees to honey, moths to flame, intelligent, strong and interesting women flock to Alex, and stay there. In addition to his inspiring ‘brothers and sisters’ posts, poetry , and witty banter, I get an enormous kick out of his bawdier missives. He is a master of the salacious tease , writing about something innocuous in the most deliciously dangerous ways possible. He literally has women eating out of his hand.
His current post and its attendant thread are a doozy, and though I try to hang back playing the voyeur, even I sometimes became ensnared in his web.
* * *
Ever since Alex’s Strawberry-Rhubarb Pie post, I find myself distracted more often. The friendly cashier at Starbucks has to ask, “Can I get a drink started for you?” three times before I clue into th e fact that he is talking to me, even though I am at the counter and looking right at him. Same goes for the barista who calls my name repeatedly to let me know my Mocha is ready.
At home, I’ve been equally befuddled, leaving my keys in the freezer, putting the milk in the cupboard, donning shirts inside out, feeding dog kibble to the birds, and engaging in all manner of other silly backwardness. Despite my current spate of airheadedness, or perhaps because of it, I find I am managing my days with elan and good-natured nonchalance. There is a quiet confidence beginning to grow in me, as well as a recklessness. And I notice myself thinking of pie more frequently than ice cream.
I’ve also effortlessly and inadvertently adopted the habit of having all of my show preparations completed by teatime Monday, as opposed to the manic blitz I used to begin the night before broadcast. I’ve started wearing my hair down more often. I’ve even caught myself reading the labels on mascara tubes. My mom says it’s my biological clock’s alarm going off and that I better pay heed before it runs out of batteries.
I consid ered that I may have a case of s pring fever , but we are now into sultry s ummer. Ahhhh, that must be it – the warmth, sweatiness and clothing-light lust of the year’s hot and humid dog days.
I’ve even found
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