My horoscope for day 7 (Monday) said luck was turning my way. Little did I know it would come in the form of a Syrian offering me discount asparagus and pimping me out to his cousin...
After a long day of ruthlesly billing clients I stopped off at the fishmonger's for some salmon. It sucks to tell the fish guy I only need one steak and getting that "oh, so you're dining alone now" look. To receive a look of pity from a guy who spends his days cleaning fish is not a happy thing.
Across the street from the fish guy is the local grocery store. Not a chain, but one of those middle eastern mafia owned places. Surprisingly, nearly every market in Oak View is owned by people of Arab descent. Anyhow, the checker with personality, Eddie, was working at the grocer. Eddie is the nephew of the owner and we always chat when I go in. His cousin, who always looks at me and then runs away if I look back was there as well. Of course, Eddie, who has never in the four years I've known him asked about my boyfriend, asked me yesterday. He was very excited to learn I was single and even gave me a discount on my asparagus. I left happy and with an extra 49 cents. There was my good luck. But just as I was getting in my truck Eddie came running out, calling my name. He wanted my phone number for his cousin. Yeah, the one who is scared of me and hides behind the Frito Lay display whenever I come in. Apparantly the mute cousin wanted a date with me. At first, I refused but Eddie persisted. My guard was down, ego slightly boosted by some interest, and I consented. No sooner had I said yes than I wanted to suck the words back into my mouth and snatch my phone number from the clutches of sweet Eddie's hands. Too late, he saw the look in my eye and ran back in to tell his cousin the good news. I felt like I had just been sold at the Tehran farmer's market.
When my phone rang later that night I knew I shouldn't answer. Not surprisingly, it was the cousin - also named Eddie - calling to arrange our pre-arranged date. I gave my best efforts to illicit conversation and soon learned he lives at Pelican Point, an apartment complex of dysfunctional bachelors in Ventura (ironically, the highest security prison in California is called Pelican Bay...), his favorite restaurant is "The Sizzler" (add Arabic accent for effect), and he has no hobbies and works seven days a week and really just wants to meet a nice lady and I seem sweet (not usually a term reserved for me). The last time he went out it was to go to an Indian gaming casino with his brothers. I didn't have the heart to say no and so we're set to go to dinner Wednesday night - no doubt at the Sizzler.
So why am I going out with this poor guy? Other than my "I'll go out with just about anyone once" rule, I honestly have nothing better to do, he's harmless and could end up being interesting (having immigrated from Syria), and if nothing else, it should be blogworthy. Besides, other than a toothless carnival worker with a 12 pack of Milwaulkee's Best five years ago, this is the only time I've been hit on at the proverbial grocery store. I'm still on the fence about cancelling but those all-you-can-eat shrimp are calling my name.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Monday, June 06, 2005
The Sulking Rebound Binge Weekend (aka Days 3-6)
DAY 3:
Wednesday night I was home sulking with some Ben and Jerry's when my cousin A called and said she was in town for a couple of days and wanted to do something Thursday night. I immediately thought of reggae night at The Drink - fun, upbeat, good crowd, free pool, and two-for-one drinks.
Naturally, I called up S, who lives a few blocks away from the club and is always great company (despite occassional groping), and invited him to join us. I then called D, who is from Santa Barbara but tired of the scene up there and had been wanting to slum it in Ventura for a while. With these two additions we had a great little quartet - the cute, young, former posterchild for Hard Rock Cafe A; good-natured, good-looking, and good-time S (our token male); edgy, no-nonsense, Grey Goose drinking D; and recent dumpee me. We were later joined by C, a guy I hadn't seen in years but who had once joined A and I on a lovely day hike up Mt. Whitney. He bonked at about 11,000 feet due to altitude sickness and I hadn't seen him since. Thankfully, he seemed to have recovered by Thursday night.
The night was actually pretty typical. First A beat all challengers at the billiard table (including S, several times, who continually exclaimed that he couldn't believe he'd been beaten by a girl), then we all danced for hours, and finally headed outside to cool down a bit. By this point drinks were on two-for-one status and S was in fine form - nto even bothering to leave the bar between guzzling two-fors. He finally returned outside, sat down, and began talking about something or other. But as he was talking he kept brushing his hand on C's knee. C is a heterosexual man and looked from S' hand to each of we ladies' faces and back to the hand on the knee. S was oblivious to the whole thing and just kept pawing C's leg. We were all in hysterics laughing about S but S thought we were laughing at his story - a humor5ous tale of him attempting to get someone at a Burger King drive-thru to let him in their car to buy food at 2 am in a bad part of town. S finally got frustrated because we were all laughing so much that he went back to the bar. I guess it was one of those had-to-be-there moments but it was pretty darned funny at the time. With that excitement we all headed home. Thanks to S for providing some entertainment. Don't worry, gay is okay...
Day 4
I had Friday off from work because I was supposed to be going to our running club's annual campout - that started Friday afternoon. I knew when I woke up that morning that the last thing I wanted to do that day was go up and start drinking at a campground so I called S to see how he was faring after taking advantage of so many 2-for-1 specials the previous night. He was conscious and up for seeing a matinee so we headed out to see Cinderella Man. Great movie. Go see it. I know you think I ay that about all the boxing movies, but this one will probably win an Oscar for something. My intention was to go to the movie and be home before dark because I had to lead the morning run at the campout on Saturday - six miles while carrying beer and flour through the hills. But, after the movie S and I decided to head downt he street to Dargan's for a pint. Just one pint, mind you. Then T called and said she was on her way to party in Ventura with S for the night. So I called my cousin A and she said she'd be by in an hour or so. I kept repeating that I had to be home by eight but I didn't listen. Several pints and a trip to the seedily trendy Sans Souci later, I finally found myself in bed at about 12:30. The highlight of this night for me was watching my little cousin A jump from her chair to defend me from a man in a tophat, sunglasses and trenchcoat. I never knew she had so much spunk in her.
Day 5
Ah...Campout with the hashers. My run was supposed to start at 10:00 am but I was in line for a breakfast burrito several miles away at that time. No worries, though, as none of the runners were recovered from the previous night's festivities yet. I was in no shape to run around in the mountains being chased but somehow managed to muster the strength and took off around 11:30. Noticably absent was JP, who I haven't heard from since a short phone call on Monday. I was relieved but hope he didn't not show up on my account. Anyhow, the run was a success - much complaining, a few folks lost, and I didn't get caught. After the run we all headed back to the campground and I decided I ought to set up my new Truck Tent. A few months ago I pulled in to my garage to see a large mass moving around the floor. I realized it was my tent and something was in it. I got out of my car and realized it was my pig. She had somehow gotten the tent off the shelf, out of its bag, and tore her way in all in search of some morsel of a Cheez-It I had left after a previous camping trip. The tent was ripped up so I donated it to the pig. But it left me tentless so I went on eBay and found my truck tent for $16 plus $8 shipping. Turns out it is quite a contraption and makes my truck looks like I'm heading for the Gold Rush. Still, it allows me to throw an air mattress in the back and have quite a comfortable little space.
After everyone ogled the covered wagon it was time for the campout games. There were about 70 of us at the campout. There is nothing quite like watching a bunch of drunken 30-40 somethings place musical chairs with such vigor you'd have thought they were at the Olympics. Next was naked Twister. This is never a pretty sight and Saturday was no exception. Again, it is usually the folks whose ballsack you don't want to see that end up with one hand on red, a foot on blue, and their arse pointed right at you. Still, fun to watch in that disaster-can't-look-away kind of way. Games went on, then dinner, more imbibing, and then a great live band showed up to play for us. After the band and dancing it was time for the shooting star run - where we stumble from campsite to campsite being given various shots of toxic mixtures. I skipped four of the six shots and mostly watched as everyone became more and more drunk. After the shooting star run I headed to my truck and called it a night. Soon after I zipped up the tent I heard the clamor of the naked midnight run heading up the path. This is an event where about 15 of the most intoxicated folks around the campfire get naked and run around the campground blowing whistles. Again, think of 15 bodies that never need to be exposed to the human eye. Now add the running and jostling effect. Yeah, that's why I went ot bed early.
Day 6
Let's see... I woke up in my tent after three straight nights of partying feeling the effects. Stumbled to the communal camping area and assessed the damage. Festivities had apparantly lasted until about 4 am and included a naked couch and some rather sketchy activities that I am glad I didn't witness. After a bite to eat we headed out on the Hangover Hash - a morning after run to purge the body of the evil spirits. Then we reconvened for an awards ceremony - I won Nicest Legs (usually an honor in a running club but this is not your usual club...). I grabbed my prize, broke camp, and escaped home where I promptly fell asleep on the sofa. I woke up and wanted to call JP to tell him about campout but resisted the urge. I figure if I can make it two or three weeks without calling it means I win.
Yeah, that was a long one but so was my weekend...
Wednesday night I was home sulking with some Ben and Jerry's when my cousin A called and said she was in town for a couple of days and wanted to do something Thursday night. I immediately thought of reggae night at The Drink - fun, upbeat, good crowd, free pool, and two-for-one drinks.
Naturally, I called up S, who lives a few blocks away from the club and is always great company (despite occassional groping), and invited him to join us. I then called D, who is from Santa Barbara but tired of the scene up there and had been wanting to slum it in Ventura for a while. With these two additions we had a great little quartet - the cute, young, former posterchild for Hard Rock Cafe A; good-natured, good-looking, and good-time S (our token male); edgy, no-nonsense, Grey Goose drinking D; and recent dumpee me. We were later joined by C, a guy I hadn't seen in years but who had once joined A and I on a lovely day hike up Mt. Whitney. He bonked at about 11,000 feet due to altitude sickness and I hadn't seen him since. Thankfully, he seemed to have recovered by Thursday night.
The night was actually pretty typical. First A beat all challengers at the billiard table (including S, several times, who continually exclaimed that he couldn't believe he'd been beaten by a girl), then we all danced for hours, and finally headed outside to cool down a bit. By this point drinks were on two-for-one status and S was in fine form - nto even bothering to leave the bar between guzzling two-fors. He finally returned outside, sat down, and began talking about something or other. But as he was talking he kept brushing his hand on C's knee. C is a heterosexual man and looked from S' hand to each of we ladies' faces and back to the hand on the knee. S was oblivious to the whole thing and just kept pawing C's leg. We were all in hysterics laughing about S but S thought we were laughing at his story - a humor5ous tale of him attempting to get someone at a Burger King drive-thru to let him in their car to buy food at 2 am in a bad part of town. S finally got frustrated because we were all laughing so much that he went back to the bar. I guess it was one of those had-to-be-there moments but it was pretty darned funny at the time. With that excitement we all headed home. Thanks to S for providing some entertainment. Don't worry, gay is okay...
Day 4
I had Friday off from work because I was supposed to be going to our running club's annual campout - that started Friday afternoon. I knew when I woke up that morning that the last thing I wanted to do that day was go up and start drinking at a campground so I called S to see how he was faring after taking advantage of so many 2-for-1 specials the previous night. He was conscious and up for seeing a matinee so we headed out to see Cinderella Man. Great movie. Go see it. I know you think I ay that about all the boxing movies, but this one will probably win an Oscar for something. My intention was to go to the movie and be home before dark because I had to lead the morning run at the campout on Saturday - six miles while carrying beer and flour through the hills. But, after the movie S and I decided to head downt he street to Dargan's for a pint. Just one pint, mind you. Then T called and said she was on her way to party in Ventura with S for the night. So I called my cousin A and she said she'd be by in an hour or so. I kept repeating that I had to be home by eight but I didn't listen. Several pints and a trip to the seedily trendy Sans Souci later, I finally found myself in bed at about 12:30. The highlight of this night for me was watching my little cousin A jump from her chair to defend me from a man in a tophat, sunglasses and trenchcoat. I never knew she had so much spunk in her.
Day 5
Ah...Campout with the hashers. My run was supposed to start at 10:00 am but I was in line for a breakfast burrito several miles away at that time. No worries, though, as none of the runners were recovered from the previous night's festivities yet. I was in no shape to run around in the mountains being chased but somehow managed to muster the strength and took off around 11:30. Noticably absent was JP, who I haven't heard from since a short phone call on Monday. I was relieved but hope he didn't not show up on my account. Anyhow, the run was a success - much complaining, a few folks lost, and I didn't get caught. After the run we all headed back to the campground and I decided I ought to set up my new Truck Tent. A few months ago I pulled in to my garage to see a large mass moving around the floor. I realized it was my tent and something was in it. I got out of my car and realized it was my pig. She had somehow gotten the tent off the shelf, out of its bag, and tore her way in all in search of some morsel of a Cheez-It I had left after a previous camping trip. The tent was ripped up so I donated it to the pig. But it left me tentless so I went on eBay and found my truck tent for $16 plus $8 shipping. Turns out it is quite a contraption and makes my truck looks like I'm heading for the Gold Rush. Still, it allows me to throw an air mattress in the back and have quite a comfortable little space.
After everyone ogled the covered wagon it was time for the campout games. There were about 70 of us at the campout. There is nothing quite like watching a bunch of drunken 30-40 somethings place musical chairs with such vigor you'd have thought they were at the Olympics. Next was naked Twister. This is never a pretty sight and Saturday was no exception. Again, it is usually the folks whose ballsack you don't want to see that end up with one hand on red, a foot on blue, and their arse pointed right at you. Still, fun to watch in that disaster-can't-look-away kind of way. Games went on, then dinner, more imbibing, and then a great live band showed up to play for us. After the band and dancing it was time for the shooting star run - where we stumble from campsite to campsite being given various shots of toxic mixtures. I skipped four of the six shots and mostly watched as everyone became more and more drunk. After the shooting star run I headed to my truck and called it a night. Soon after I zipped up the tent I heard the clamor of the naked midnight run heading up the path. This is an event where about 15 of the most intoxicated folks around the campfire get naked and run around the campground blowing whistles. Again, think of 15 bodies that never need to be exposed to the human eye. Now add the running and jostling effect. Yeah, that's why I went ot bed early.
Day 6
Let's see... I woke up in my tent after three straight nights of partying feeling the effects. Stumbled to the communal camping area and assessed the damage. Festivities had apparantly lasted until about 4 am and included a naked couch and some rather sketchy activities that I am glad I didn't witness. After a bite to eat we headed out on the Hangover Hash - a morning after run to purge the body of the evil spirits. Then we reconvened for an awards ceremony - I won Nicest Legs (usually an honor in a running club but this is not your usual club...). I grabbed my prize, broke camp, and escaped home where I promptly fell asleep on the sofa. I woke up and wanted to call JP to tell him about campout but resisted the urge. I figure if I can make it two or three weeks without calling it means I win.
Yeah, that was a long one but so was my weekend...
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Day 2
Day two was uneventful and what I fear my life will soon become: home early, a light jog, leftovers, and summer network reality programming interspersed with a sympathy phone call or two.
The network program was 'Beauty and the Geek', produced by Ashton Kutcher. The premise, from what I could gather, was to find a gaggle of the most dimwitted yet sort of attractive female media whores in Los Angeles and pair them up with mild-mannered nerdy men who lack social skills and actually think they can get girls like that (my dating pool). The women and men are paired up and must complete challenges as a team - women being quizzed on spelling, geography, history and the like, men being tasked with dancing in public or identifying the Simpson sisters. A sample exchange:
Host: "Who was president during the Civil War?"
Ditzy girl: "Um...Hoover?"
Host: "No, Abraham Lincoln."
Ditzy girl: "Oh yeah, right, D-day...I knew that one."
In the end one couple is sent home for being the most stupid or socially inept. Of course, one of the bimbos has already latched on to the best looking of the geeks - even though it's not her geek. This is why I love reality television - just when you think your life is messed up you get to see the dysfunction that is really out there and allowing cameras in.
I still think Kutcher is being Punked by the WB. At least I have better plans for tonight...
The network program was 'Beauty and the Geek', produced by Ashton Kutcher. The premise, from what I could gather, was to find a gaggle of the most dimwitted yet sort of attractive female media whores in Los Angeles and pair them up with mild-mannered nerdy men who lack social skills and actually think they can get girls like that (my dating pool). The women and men are paired up and must complete challenges as a team - women being quizzed on spelling, geography, history and the like, men being tasked with dancing in public or identifying the Simpson sisters. A sample exchange:
Host: "Who was president during the Civil War?"
Ditzy girl: "Um...Hoover?"
Host: "No, Abraham Lincoln."
Ditzy girl: "Oh yeah, right, D-day...I knew that one."
In the end one couple is sent home for being the most stupid or socially inept. Of course, one of the bimbos has already latched on to the best looking of the geeks - even though it's not her geek. This is why I love reality television - just when you think your life is messed up you get to see the dysfunction that is really out there and allowing cameras in.
I still think Kutcher is being Punked by the WB. At least I have better plans for tonight...
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Day 1
The natural reaction to a break-up is to accept a dinner offer from someone you know is interested in you but that is unavailable. This usually results in an ego boost and no regret. So last night I accepted S' offer to make me a nice home-cooked meal and hang out.
Dinner was great - prime rib, mashed potatoes, asparagus, and glazed carrots complimented by a nice pinot noir from the Santa Barbara winery. Kudos and thanks to S for a great meal.
After stuffing ourselves we decided to walk downtown for a pint and hang out a bit longer. We ended up at the Anacapa Brewery where we ended up having a disappointing encounter with the ever-unpleasant barmaid N and lifeless owner P. The encounter was that S, who is a regular at the brew pub and a member of the "mug club", a club wherein a patron pays $50 for a personalized mug that the pub fills at a discounted rate, ordered a brown ale. I had ordered a red. He was raving about how good it was so I took a sip from the mug. This sent N, the barkeep, into a tizzy in which she recited the various mug club contract provisions barring the sharing of beer from a mug with a non-mug club member. I thought she was kidding that a bar would actually contract with a drunkard regarding the rules of using a mug at a brewery. Apparantly a mug club member can drink from my pint, but I cannot sip from the mug, even though he owns the mug and presumably the beer therein. She did, however, offer to pour me a sample if I asked nicely. Yes, it seemed a bit illogical to me too but it was the sip that launched a thousand quips and after ranting to the pub owner to no avail we left. I am still disappointed that S left her a tip. Shame on him for cowtowing to poor service out of fear of offending a consistently rude woman that he has no chance of ever bedding. If it were my mug I would have taken it to another pub and led a revolt of fellow mug clubbers against the brewery for not allowing other folks to sip from the precious mugs. I'm surprised they don't charge rent for the mugs at the brewery. And they wonder why they don't do very well. I will not be back to that brewery. Although it would be fun to go get a mug and take it to the other pub and ask them to keep it there for me...
With my Irish up we headed to a seedy establishment, the Star Lounge, where no one would mind sharing mugs or needles or partners. You know the kind of place where there is a key behind the bar to the restroom. High class. S shocked me and ordered Budweiser and a shot of Jack Daniels. Yech. I stuck with a pint of draft. The barkeep there was quite pleasant and bantered with us a bit. She was a palm reader of sorts, something she picked up as a hobby while serving a prison term for what sounded like murder. I love it when someone asks me if I've ever been to prison in the same non-chalant manner they would ask if I'd ever been to Disneyland. It definitely takes the edge off. She then shared a shot with S and read his palm. He's going to have health problems if he keeps drinking and he has issues with his mother. Very insightful. She then read mine and told me I am destined to live a long, healthy life full of many break-ups. Just what I was hoping for, especially on day one of the 28 day adventure.
After another shot or two by S we headed back to his place where I strategically avoided the JD-induced groping and advances and made my way home for the night.
It's going to be a long month.
Dinner was great - prime rib, mashed potatoes, asparagus, and glazed carrots complimented by a nice pinot noir from the Santa Barbara winery. Kudos and thanks to S for a great meal.
After stuffing ourselves we decided to walk downtown for a pint and hang out a bit longer. We ended up at the Anacapa Brewery where we ended up having a disappointing encounter with the ever-unpleasant barmaid N and lifeless owner P. The encounter was that S, who is a regular at the brew pub and a member of the "mug club", a club wherein a patron pays $50 for a personalized mug that the pub fills at a discounted rate, ordered a brown ale. I had ordered a red. He was raving about how good it was so I took a sip from the mug. This sent N, the barkeep, into a tizzy in which she recited the various mug club contract provisions barring the sharing of beer from a mug with a non-mug club member. I thought she was kidding that a bar would actually contract with a drunkard regarding the rules of using a mug at a brewery. Apparantly a mug club member can drink from my pint, but I cannot sip from the mug, even though he owns the mug and presumably the beer therein. She did, however, offer to pour me a sample if I asked nicely. Yes, it seemed a bit illogical to me too but it was the sip that launched a thousand quips and after ranting to the pub owner to no avail we left. I am still disappointed that S left her a tip. Shame on him for cowtowing to poor service out of fear of offending a consistently rude woman that he has no chance of ever bedding. If it were my mug I would have taken it to another pub and led a revolt of fellow mug clubbers against the brewery for not allowing other folks to sip from the precious mugs. I'm surprised they don't charge rent for the mugs at the brewery. And they wonder why they don't do very well. I will not be back to that brewery. Although it would be fun to go get a mug and take it to the other pub and ask them to keep it there for me...
With my Irish up we headed to a seedy establishment, the Star Lounge, where no one would mind sharing mugs or needles or partners. You know the kind of place where there is a key behind the bar to the restroom. High class. S shocked me and ordered Budweiser and a shot of Jack Daniels. Yech. I stuck with a pint of draft. The barkeep there was quite pleasant and bantered with us a bit. She was a palm reader of sorts, something she picked up as a hobby while serving a prison term for what sounded like murder. I love it when someone asks me if I've ever been to prison in the same non-chalant manner they would ask if I'd ever been to Disneyland. It definitely takes the edge off. She then shared a shot with S and read his palm. He's going to have health problems if he keeps drinking and he has issues with his mother. Very insightful. She then read mine and told me I am destined to live a long, healthy life full of many break-ups. Just what I was hoping for, especially on day one of the 28 day adventure.
After another shot or two by S we headed back to his place where I strategically avoided the JD-induced groping and advances and made my way home for the night.
It's going to be a long month.
The 28-Day Rule
For those of you who think something is wrong with the site, never fear, there is only something wrong with the author. I did write a post earlier about some events from this weekend but opted to remove it in the interest of privacy. The gist of it, however, was that JP and I are kaput as a result of a pineapple rind, some pig poo and one too many Jello shots. Go figure.
And so life goes on. The good news for you is that I am back on the market which means I will likely resort to internet dating if, for nothing else, entertainment and free meals. After all, there must be a few engineers and recluses out there I haven't met...
I know, I know...I should take some time to myself to regroup, etc., etc. But it's not as bad as some folks think and people get strange when they spend too much time being single and most folks know I am already strange enough. Besides, I rather like having a sidekick.
That said, the 28 day rule is officially in effect and the celibacy the clock started Monday.
What is the 28 day rule, you say? It's a rule I came up with at the tender age of 15 after seeing one too many of my friends get knocked up and not know who the father was. After your third trip to Planned Parenthood in a Yugo with a sobbing friend you start to wonder how to avoid getting in that situation yourself. At that time I couldn't fathom how you could not know who the father of your baby was since you should be able to pinpoint your sex partners in any given month. Then I realized some people cannot control themselves and actually have relations with more than one person per month, week, day, and sometimes hour! This led me to create the 28 day rule, which is simply that I don't sleep with more than one person per month/menstrual cycle. Keeps me off Jerry Springer with the rest of the C family and usually makes me think twice about taking advantage of some situations that may arise, including the one from last night, S, but we won't go there. I've never regretted having the rule and anyone who doesn't see the logic and absurdity in it is probably unfit for a logically absurd gal such as myself anyhow.
So there you have it. Celibacy for the month of June (probably longer in this county - the last drought was eight months!). It is a rather daunting and unpleasant thought. A memorial fund for the demise of my sex life has been established. Please send C batteries in lieu of flowers...
And so life goes on. The good news for you is that I am back on the market which means I will likely resort to internet dating if, for nothing else, entertainment and free meals. After all, there must be a few engineers and recluses out there I haven't met...
I know, I know...I should take some time to myself to regroup, etc., etc. But it's not as bad as some folks think and people get strange when they spend too much time being single and most folks know I am already strange enough. Besides, I rather like having a sidekick.
That said, the 28 day rule is officially in effect and the celibacy the clock started Monday.
What is the 28 day rule, you say? It's a rule I came up with at the tender age of 15 after seeing one too many of my friends get knocked up and not know who the father was. After your third trip to Planned Parenthood in a Yugo with a sobbing friend you start to wonder how to avoid getting in that situation yourself. At that time I couldn't fathom how you could not know who the father of your baby was since you should be able to pinpoint your sex partners in any given month. Then I realized some people cannot control themselves and actually have relations with more than one person per month, week, day, and sometimes hour! This led me to create the 28 day rule, which is simply that I don't sleep with more than one person per month/menstrual cycle. Keeps me off Jerry Springer with the rest of the C family and usually makes me think twice about taking advantage of some situations that may arise, including the one from last night, S, but we won't go there. I've never regretted having the rule and anyone who doesn't see the logic and absurdity in it is probably unfit for a logically absurd gal such as myself anyhow.
So there you have it. Celibacy for the month of June (probably longer in this county - the last drought was eight months!). It is a rather daunting and unpleasant thought. A memorial fund for the demise of my sex life has been established. Please send C batteries in lieu of flowers...
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