Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

That’s what The Man was: Living by his instincts; awakened to the sense of his baser nature. I’m psychoANALyzing again. I keep thinking about the really good times we had together and failing to remember every time he FLIPPED. (Oh yeah. Duuuh. He did do that.) My step-father was like that, but I blame that on alcoholism. There were very high highs and very low lows: laughter and happy times followed by shouting and misery. Maybe The Man was bi-polar. You know – there ARE drugs and rehab centers for these afflictions. (Live with it: He just wasn’t that into you, Desert Girl. Get on with your life.)

Well…. Ok….. Do 27 year-old men built like brick houses count? (“He’s a brick da da da da…hoooouse. He’s mighteh mighteh…Just lettin’ it all hang out…”) I mean, in the big picture would a 27 year old help? Ask me. I’ll tell you. (Sigh of temporary contentment.) It is, after all, how Stella Got Her Groove Back (and yet in real life, that guy turned out to be gay). Regardless, the 27-year-old in this case won’t be around that long for me to find out. Of course, it was all completely innocent. Yes. That’s it. I feel like some old guy who is in mid-life (I’m 29 people!) crisis and dating a much-younger chick. Honestly, I do desperately want a Corvette too. (Well Barbie has one, doesn’t she???)

I can’t count how many men I have met this Glorious Month of Ramadan. When people should be praying, they are doing the taboo and exchanging numbers. I know I’m going to Hell (but it is most likely for the multitude of OTHER bad deeds I have done). I love this month.

Alas, God or the Universe is – once again – playing tricks with my sorry self. I started playing on Mchat (sms “go” to 858 from an MTC line) and low and behold – what started happening? The Universe is phucking with me. The guys I have met have been in the same exact work (and job title) as The Man, have had the same login name as The Man, and I have even been meeting men with the same name as The Man. I am one of those superstitious weirdos that believes in signs and omens and all that crap and it is FREAKIN ME OUT. It is freaking out my girlfriends. What does it all mean? Are The Man and I destined to be together? Are we tied together by some cosmic bond? Ok, if so – why hasn’t he come begging yet? Why?

And Mchat – well, play at your own risk. The 40-something man who said he was “the color of coffee” was a 60-something espresso and brought his nephew with him (security or voyeurism?). Probably seeing-eye-nephew because the glasses were as thick as Coke bottles. Slapperella and The Romanian (who were with me) stopped short of laughing their asses off (neither of them HAS an ass) as they showed genuine pity on me (I could see pity or perhaps fear in their eyes and it was even worse than being laughed at). They looked at me like, “oh my God, we hope you don’t burst into tears at any moment.” Perhaps they knew that at this juncture, I might have just gone postal and killed every-living-thing in a 20-mile-parameter. It could happen. If you are home some evening and your windows start shaking, that is just me -- gone nuclear.