Go. Look. Up there…
Next to your address bar. See that? That’s a bacon favicon. Mistress helped me put it together tonight (read: this means she did it for me AFTER she explained how to do it and I couldn’t figure it out. This is how our relationship works. She loves me, I have no idea why sometimes. Dude. I am an ever-flowing river of gratitude into her valley of… Er. Lemme just get back to the blog.)
Anyway, we got my favicon working. If you don’t see it, clear your cache. If you still don’t see it… Well, I don’t know. The Gods must hate you or something. Think back — was there a situation today in your life where you should have done something good and you chose to do something back? Maybe it’s karmic retribution, I don’t know man. It’s just a little bacon icon. Relax.
So today was blergh. I think I’m getting sick. I’m determined to knock this shit out with my Neti Pot though. Grrr. I hate it when the seasons change in the south. It’s like warm day-hot day-cold day-rainy day-dry day-hot day-cold day. Ugh. I always get a little sniffly around this time.
Whatevs. I need to be well by Friday because I have a date.
I’m not sure HOW I quite feel about this date. I mean, I’m excited, don’t get me wrong. He’s cute, articulate, educated, interesting, engaging, whatever. But he’s…
He’s TWENTY THREE.
Now, yes. I can do the math. If we go ahead and round my age up a month, there’s only five years between the two of us which is NOT that big of an age difference. ALL of the men that I’ve dated have been older than me, with the exception of Blondie. Anywhere from two to … shit, Ginger was eleven years older than me. So what’s the big deal?
I worry that I’m… encroaching on Cougarsville. Now, don’t get all up in my shit about it because, yes, I know 28 is not OLD, no I do not FEEL old, yes, I realize that you are (fill in the blank) years old and that when I’m (fill in the blank years old) (fill in the blank) will start happening to my (fill in the body part). I know, I know, I know. Okay, I know.
But he’s sooo cute. And he’s so sweet. And he’s already bought tickets to a comedy show north of town for Friday night and he wants to pick me up (which, I’m debating. I may try that. I’ve never actually tried that on a date) in his 1961 International Harvester truck.
Oh my god. My southern roots just tingled. He just bought it today, on a whim. La de dah.
And he’s not your standard early-twenties guy, from what I gather. I mean, he’s a homeowner and lives alone. Raised by a single mother, kind of in the country. Has not finished school yet, but is paying his own way through and working a full time corporate job while going part time. He play the drums, has tattoos and is just really kind of adorable.
Need to come up with a nickname for him.
Anyway, I’ve GOT to get up tomorrow morning and color my roots before I go to work tomorrow because I CANNOT have a first date see me in my glistening blonde rooted, ebony mane. Ew.
I also need to paint my toes… And figure out what I’m going to wear.
And I’m also realizing that I haven’t been on a date with a man that I thought was actually kind of hot and up my alley since… Since… The hot single dad. Woah.
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