So, the last time I went on a date was two days ago.

But before that, the last time I went on a date, the year began with a 1. So I'm not overly familiar with this weird combination of happy, sad, nauseous and slightly angry. Is this just being happy and sad and angry and possibly eating too many French fries at one sitting, or does it mean something else?

And what does it mean when you take out a business card and moon over it several times a day? (Sunday night, I was literally taking it everywhere, so I've gotten better.) Actually, I'm going to answer that: getting all googly eyed over someone's business card makes me an idiot. Which would be par for the course with me and romance.

And, no, I don't know how the other party feels. He stayed for three hours, paid for lunch, laughed at my jokes, went "awwww" when I showed him a picture of the cat, and complimented my backside. I think this is good, but since the last time I went out to a restaurant with a date, the dude stiffed the waitress and I had to pretend I had to pee in order to go back in and leave her a tip, maybe I don't know what a good date is. Even if all of the above means nothing to this other party, and it all goes nowhere fast, I have to say it was nice to feel beautiful for three hours.

Hey! I'm back! Consider yourselves warned.

I wish I could post that Cthulhu picture again since I don't have much more to say, although it is still my belief that the Great Old Ones still have a, er, tentacle or two in the running of this state, and I don't understand why I kept mentioning Orlando Bloom so much four years ago. Man, I wish I knew where my mind was at then... I do have some theories though. I will test them and let you know.
I just watched the movie Peeping Tom and episodes of The Muppet Show before and after. That made the movie even more disturbing and is actually something I would recommend doing if you, my one faithful reader, watch Peeping Tom yourself. Man, I don't know who had a weirder childhood, Columba Powell or me, since he spent part of his playing the younger version of a serial killer at his father's request and I spent my childhood occasionally being accused of being the childhood version of a serial killer by my classmates. At least my dad didn't ask me to do it, so maybe Mr. Powell wins that one.
What is this tag "monetize"? You mean someone would actually pay real money to read this? If so, I think it's safe to say that that person is a fool of the first order, especially since a great writer like Roger Ebert only charges $5.00 a year. What would I do, charge batteries? Wocka wocka! That Muppet Show, it rubs off on a person.
More later... again, you have been warned.