Check the manacles in your underground lab, prepare the thalamatatron, make a nice selection of snacks, invite her over for "a drink", be sure the surge protectors are set up, and then . . .

t blows raspberry

The situation, it seems, has resolved itself. Said female person of the alternative gender is no longer a member of the dating site, and thus is not contactable. It's rather neat, really.

Meanwhile, I have found the following comment on a profile:

I am a spoon in a drawer full of knives...no one understands me because they are using Knife logic.

I AM the narcissistic Jesus.

Though I'm outside her criteria, I'm tempted to get in touch to find out what she actually means by that.

Ok, wait. She's also written:

Favorite Music: I like something you hate. That I can promise you.
Favorite Book(s): I have more books than brain cells.
Favorite Sport(s): Is reading a sport? No?
Hobbies: Somehow I'd like to turn this statement into a discussion about dinosaurs.

She is in no wise a suitable match for me (being amongst other things 15 years younger than me), but I really like the way she thinks. This is the first time I've actually been impressed by a profile.

Ok, another profile:

Occupation: SuDeNt

Words fail me. And I'm not the only one, apparently. She also confides that her favourite cuisine is Albanian food.

Maybe she just has an absurd sense of humor, BT. Or... no, I have no other explanation.

(I think the idea is to contact these women for dates. I don't think being pleased they're no longer contactable is quite in the right spirit.)

Timelies. I am strangely awake and it's far too early. I shouldn't be awake on fewer than 8 hours of sleep. Up, yes, I do that all the time, but not awake.

<blows raspberry>

As long as there's toungue involved.

So last night I met up with my family, including my sister, nephew, and niece who had driven down from MI to see our parents. Over dinner talk turned to scars (as it does) and I lamented that one of my forehead scars had come from something as silly as jumping on the bed and, well, missing. So my niece put together, on the fly, this whole RPS fanfic about me coaching Johnny Depp in swordfighting for the next PotC movie, and Orlando Bloom bandaging and soothing my bescarred brow afterward.

I'm touched. And strangely proud.

Timelies.

I feel hung over, but without the alcohol. Not so fun.

I am up, though. And, I've walked the dog, done a sinkful of dishes, had coffee and am about to get in the shower (no really...watch me go...). I've only got to get through four hours of work today. Then I can crash again. I can do that, right?

Timelies.

You can totally do that, vw.

Maybe she just has an absurd sense of humor, BT. Or... no, I have no other explanation.

Nope, the whole profile is like that. And, poor spelling I can understand, but there's this whole thing of random capitals appearing occasionally in the middle of words.

(I think the idea is to contact these women for dates. I don't think being pleased they're no longer contactable is quite in the right spirit.)

Hey, I didn't say I was pleased, only that the situation had resolved itself. Neatly.

Anyway, for tonight at least the idea is to mock profiles mercilessly. I'll start caring about my love life again after I've nurtured my laugh life.

I like that plan. Post some more so we can mock with you. (Tonight? It should not be tonight yet. Not anywhere.)

I am full of the parenthetical observation, today.

It's the tired.

Go vw! You'll feel better after the shower.

Ok, another person has described herself as a 'polish peasant'. What's the etiquette here? Should I partition her between three great powers?

Should I partition her between three great powers?

Surely not before you buy her dinner.