After sleeping 14 hours or so on Saturday, I awoke a new woman. Unfortunately, the woman I became turns out to be addicted to old episodes of Sex in the City. I started renting them from the wonderful family-owned Einstein Video near my house and now I can’t stop. I think it’s all the sparkly clothes. And, okay, all the gorgeous girl flesh prancing around like overly made up My Little Poniestm. I don’t actually want to be the kind of status-conscious woman who only dates men who are rich, powerful and gorgeous, I just — wait, no, I do want to be this kind of woman. Dur. I also want to date this kind of woman. The more math-conscious among you have just concluded that I want to date myself and maybe you’re right, but only if myself looks like Kristin Davis who plays Charlotte.
I went on a date this weekend with my co-worker’s son. This is the first time I’ve been fixed up, and boy did she work at it. She had the whole office (a nest of women, who like to do this sort of thing) plugging him to me and me to him. I think he asked me out in the end just to get them to leave him alone. Being fixed up is kind of like being placed at the kid’s table at Thanksgiving. I was really expecting one of the fixers to show up midway through dinner and offer to cut my meat or pour me some more milk. Plus, every time he said something nice, I kept thinking “Oh, well sure you like me; I’m the only other one at the table. Now, if you got to sit with the grownups, that might be a different story.”
To those of you who don’t read cementhorizon as often as you should: partial solar eclipse tonight, y’all. Peak is at 6:15 p.m., but I think it will still be going on at sunset so you should check that out.