Okay, okay, OKAAAAAy

"You realize how long it's been since you updated your blog, right?"

"Dudes, I've been busy."

"Yeah, but...."

"No seriously. Work has been insane, I've had plans all up the wahoo, my kitchen flooded, and my cats may or may not be trying to kill me in my sleep, so I've also been pretty tired lately."

"Yeah but...."

"All RIGHT already."

So here I am.

In my last post, I bitched mightily about my lack of romantic game. I'm altering my opinion slightly, because while my personality could probably use an overhaul in some respects and I definitely (no, definitely) need to get back into at least halfway decent shape (a major hindrance, no matter what all my favorite "body positivity" blogs say--it is just plain harder for the rotund of us, no matter how high our Awesomeness Quotient may be. If I had a hot ass to combine with my insanely high AQ, I'd be beating men off with a stick.), I've decided the problem really is that men are completely insane.

(Heh, "beating men off.")

I don't get you mofos, even a little, so my new strategy is complete surrender.

The guy I met that hadn't called as of last Sunday (4 days after meeting) still hadn't called as of this weekend, so I'd obviously officially written him off. Then he calls my ass up at 1015 on Saturday night, a full nine days (Obligatory Bueller principal Rooney joke here: nine times!) after our initial meeting.

I was out, of course, why he called me at 1015 on a weekend night is beyond me, he was either

a) afraid of my wrath and counting on voicemail, or
b) drunk.

Anyhow, voicemail went something like "Soooo sorry, do you remember me? Soooo sorry, my phone broke! Soooo sorry. Had fun with you, call me back. (Soooo sorry.)"

So, because a sucker is born every minute and I haven't been on a date in four months, I decided to just call him back tonight. Which I did. I got voicemail naturally, so now I'm stuck waiting around for him to call again after I'd already written him off and gotten over it the first time. It's like he called me back just to sentence me to another few days of being "Hmm, wonder if that's him" every time my phone rings. So, since it's been almost an hour and a half since I called, that's my new limit. 90 minutes. If he doesn't call in the next ten, I'm officially done again.

(Oh and never even mind that about 3 minutes after I called him, I got a call, from another "Unknown number" number, which ended being Unemployed Guy--calling me to ask me out for tonight, after no conact for the last few weeks. W. T. F.)

***12 Minutes Later***

So, score one for New Guy, because he got it in under the deadline with six minutes to spare. We chatted, but he asked if he could call me back when he got an incoming from his mom. Losing a call-waiting standoff to a mom is okay, but I wish I had a better update--since I know my romantic trials and tribulations are like, so totally fascinating to you all.

In other news, I spent yesterday in the sun at the beach (if you expand that definition to include "at the bar...at the beach"), and today laying by my pool with my mom, foolishly believing her when she pointed out how good my tan was that it would protect me from burnage.

My cleavage only needs some nice drawn butter and a little lemon, and it'd be a tasty dish! My shoulders can be for dessert, like Baked Alaska or some other en flambe craziness.

Me = Retard.

More later, I think.