And I did the unthinkable. In my four-glasses-deep stupor, not only did I pound another airplane bottle of fruity liquid mixed with Diet Sprite ("It's a school night, young lady!" screamed Bug), but I fell victim to a CourtTV advert, one clearly intended for lonely knitters/John Karrs/cheap drinkers, and I - gulp - signed up for Eharmony.
Now those of you who follow my babble pretty regularly know that I'm a researcher. And you might as well know that despite my bar-setting level of
I haven't had that much fun since the 1990 SATs.
Heavy petting is to cotton candy as Andrew McCarthy is to ____________.
If I could make out with any of the assassinated U.S. presidents, I would choose ____________.
Of the following, ________ is of the utmost social importance to me:
1) ending the faux pas that is Fall Out Boy;
2) ending the plague that is sloth circumcision;
3) ending the carnage that is Carnie Wilson.
Wait, wait, wait! Can I add that I don't want kids, can't comprehend that Seinfeld was a hit, and am frightened by those Cabbage Patch-like kids sans faces that people put in their gardens?
And I waited. Yeaaahhhhhhh, white haired doctor matchmaker man. Bring me a honey.
Shit. I mean, who does? My sexual soulmate could live in West Virginia for all I know. Let's up it a few more miles.
Did you not hear us? We said NO MATCHES, ASSHAT.
Oooooohkay. Maybe I should reconsider the "homeless that live in appliance boxes" or "postmen without testicles."