Get Off the Fence, Post

Well, my pretties, thank you so much to all of you who lent me your ears for yesterday's debacle, on and off the blogline. I did write her back with a message that said, "I wish you well, but I don't want you back in my life." She simply wrote back "No worries," so I'm not. I feel good about it, and Mist 1, I did tell her to eat more broccoli to prevent the cancer from coming back.

Alright. No I didn't, but Mist 1, my newest Interweb friend, brings me to an important point—the ever growing blogroll to the right of the screen.

There's an important lesson to be learned here, kids. If you stop by to visit, please leave a comment. First, I will get excited, jump up and down a little bit, and then I will zip over to your blog to find out how singularly talented you are. Chances are good that if you tickle me in any way—especially my tummy—you will end up on my Blogroll of Fame, where You're Gonna Live Forever. It's a beautiful thing. I think you're all hot stuff, and I want the world to give me credit for having amazing taste. We both win.

Alright. Housekeeping aside, I signed up for an online dating match thingy last night. Eek. Oh my Lord. Megan Jane made me do it. She told me my heart chakra is blocked, and it's next to impossible to unblock it myself—believe me, I've tried with some of the stuff Will sent me.

I generally have an "eh. no thanks" attitude toward these things, but I got to thinking. If I'm a quality, sweet piece of ass who's simply having a hard time meeting non-douche bags in this city, there are probably other quality sweet pieces who are having a hard time, as well. And it's very likely they've turned to the same online outlet for help.

I spent the better part of last night constructing my profile. How do I convince complete strangers in a couple of paragraphs that I'm as awesome as it gets? And also modest.

It's hard, especially because I don't like any of the digital photos I have of myself. I just wanted to slap a picture of my cleavage up there, but that's against the site's rules. Whatevs. They don't know what they're missing.

I got a couple of messages, but they were from people 70 miles away, and while I haven't been laid in some time, I'm not about to journey to the center of the earth for a roll in the hay. Yet.

I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, you keep posting. Deal?

In the Comments section, leave me a comment. It's novel. It's innovative. It just might work. Any delurkers get to see the picture of my cleavage OR the actual thing—your choice.