of single women who dont even know me for this blog. which is refreshing because i am not the stud in real life that my writing staff portrays me as in these pixels.

for the most part im a timid, unsure, skittish little man, barely able to put two words together without the aid of cue cards or smoke signals along the horizon. which has made the various blind dates that ive been on recently quite an adventure.

the benefit of dating women who read this journal is that they understand that i dont own a car, that i have a terrible memory, and that all of my faults should be ignored because im such a sensitive poet. faults like being nearly penniless despite the beach house in malibu and the hollywood hills villa.

and flying car.

and pirate’s booty.

the girls from friendster are picture-happy. they send me their pictures and i send them mine. i dont send any that marc brown has taken because he always catches my wrong side. all my sides are my wrong side which is why i will always love ashley even if i am avoiding her because she tells me that i am a handsome stud no matter what sorry ass picture she sees of me. and sometimes, especially in my case, flattery will get you everywhere.

to the left is a picture i took when i first moved away from frisco to LA back in 98 and broke up with my true love.

some neighbors had poisoned my salad with magic mushrooms on a hot summer day like today and i got back to jeanines apartment where i shared a futon with her and i looked at the mirror and i said damn im one hot tamale. and i took a picture. at the time i didnt know that my stomach would soon expand but at least i have this evidence that i once looked halfway decent.

now i look about one quarter decent and that quarter is from my knee down to my toes.

i have been told i have beautiful feet.

i have no idea where this post is going.

what was the point? oh yes, friendster girls.

hi friendster girls. thank you for being my friendster. thank you for adding me to your long lists of strangers. thank you for writing me. thank you for inviting me to your 21st birthdays.

i imagine that one day i will be too old to date 21 year old girls, but i see hef and tony randall doing it so maybe that day will be when i turn 125.

until then they will have to suffer with my tales of horseless carriages and they will make me live through Postal Service cds.

and one day my children will ask me why i married their mother and i will say

boredom and defeat.

and then i will ask him not to talk to me for the rest of the evening if its ok with them.