Sippin’, reminiscing on days when I had a Mustang…and now I’m in…first class
Oh sorry. Just got back from a run and haven’t taken off my iPod yet because I was so dang excited.
Okay. Did someone call the warden at the Washington DC Hot Man Jail and tell him to throw open the gates? Because sweet baby jesus, they everywhere! I ran out into the park a mere 1.5 miles and saw at least 8.3 viable men walking, biking, running. Wentworth Miller did not make a showing (he’s gay anyway) but there was Long Dreaded Man with the Cocoa Skin. He smiled at me. All sly like. At least I think he was smiling at me. He had on sunglasses but was definitely looking in my direction. I’ll pretend.
I actually managed to catch a few eyes and smiles. Which never happens. I wonder if it’s my Lindsey Lo goth hair. Or maybe it’s just the weather. I mean, birds are trilling and I even ran into a couple swarms of mating gnats. And if the gnats are mating, that can only mean hot men want to date. (And mate.)
I wish I didn’t smoke all those menthols last weekend. I might have been able to catch up to Long Dreaded Man with the Cocoa Skin. Sigh.
And that my friends is a good reason not to smoke. (I wonder if I should be revising my must-have list for men. It says no smokers, but maybe I just meant no pack-a-day-type smokers who smell like chimneys. Social is acceptable. Controlled smoking?)
I finally emailed Midwestern Stock. Nothing back yet. His responses seem to be few and far between. I mean, does he actually work or something? That could be a problem. (Kidding.) Angry Nun sent a message on top of his last one from yesterday that I didn’t bother with. He made an age joke and wanted to apologize. I didn’t really care about that. The joke was funny. Something about Rip Van Winkle and waxing walkers.
Thing is, I just don’t feel like getting all chummy until he sends a pic. I asked him once … do I really have to ask again? Cause then I’ll feel all shallow and he’ll think all I care about is looks. Which after reading this post, many might say is true. But then, of the men I’m down with, most of my friends are like, “uh, okay.” And then whisper to each other, “that’s just her.”
I dunno. He is pretty funny. But he’s also like 28. And let’s see…according to my math…that’s about…uh…six years younger. Yeah. Maybe seven depending on birthdays. I’m not trying to be ageist, but I dunno. I seem to run into the same old thing dating young guys: it don’t work. And they’re so into texting. It’s okay for a while, but god damn…pick up the phone. Though I’ve had this problemo with guys my age, too. And of course, I do the same thing. It’s a non-committal crutch. Whenever I’m not really interested, I stay in email and text land. (I’m so pot calling the kettle black. Smoking, texting. It’s terrible. Unless I do it.)
Of course if Angry Nun is ridiculously hot, there would be no question about whether I’d go out with him or not. None whatsoever.