All these stupid posts have pictures of men in them. Men are ridiculous. I can spend maybe two solid hours thinking about a book I just read, but some jackass on the train, or a crush from 1994, or the new guy at work who I love like a cuddly puppy--roughly 3000+ hours of my life. It's not a complaint, really, it's an annoying biological fact. Annoying and time consuming and fun and increasingly not enough.

I debate my options. While making other plans, I have somehow become the wacky major character in a younger, poorer, slower, and more Midwestern Catholic 'Sex and the City.' Should I online date again? The terrible pain and ackwardness of my 10/05 month long trial has faded, and I'm back to imagining a date in which I am not bored, or sad, or assessing their obvious trauma background.

I'm supposed to put my desire out into the Universe, and so, Universe, blogosphere, Lord: I want a great date. I want two of them. I want more than that, but that's not very Midwestern--I don't want to be greedy. I want to wear sexy, uncomfortable shoes, enjoy one more coctail than strictly necessary, and laugh all friggin night.

Make it work, Universe. And thank you.