So, here I am, cautiously ready to post again. Google seems to have lost the scent; that doesn't mean that I still haven't been made (I'm thinking of incorporating TV criminalese into my daily conversation to make myself more interesting. Or more dorky... whichever comes first), but what the hell, now is the time to live dangerously.
Speaking of living dangerously, it's something I've been thinking about lately. There's this post that my dearest Jowie wrote a while back, and the ridiculous things I did in Europe... and something quite foolish that I'm contemplating doing. You only live once, right? And all that dance like no one's watching crap... well, apparently it plays on my cynical soul more than I thought.
Sometimes I really wish I were the kind of helpless mook who falls desperately in love easily, does idiotic things, and has to pick up the pieces of herself after every time she broke. But I think that I have a different brand of self-respect--maybe I take myself too seriously. And it seems like a great deal of effort to care for someone that much.
One of my coworkers asked me a "what would you do if you were me?" question about her love life. My answer, unfortunately, was that I sincerely doubted that any relationship I was in would ever make it to a year, so I'd have been long gone before anything like her situation cropped up. I just can't picture the guy who could sustain my interest for longer than two months. I start to feel trapped pretty much the minute I realize it's heading in the general direction of coupledom. I'm sure there's an interesting psychological reason behind all that, but let's steer clear of delving TOO deeply into my twisted psyche right now, shall we?
Good gravy. Enough of this useless introspection. To lighten the mood, some hilarity from a man whose children I would seriously consider bearing:
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