Kiss My Grits

As I was driving home tonight, a song came on the radio (which was some easy listening channel for those of us who are close to 100 in age) that reminded of going to the skating rink when I was little. I'm not exactly sure which song it was, but it brought to mind the first time I asked a boy to couples skate with me in the fourth grade. When I asked if he'd like to skate and his response was, "With who?" OUCH! My point in bringing up that lovely story is from a young age I've had bad luck with men. I should've just learned to run far, far away.

Is there a full moon going on or something? This weekend seems to have brought out all the crazies. Before I left for the play last night, Stalker stopped by to hang out, but I was walking out the door. Then, after the show, I hung out with a new guy (I haven't thought of a name yet - perhaps Psycho?) who took me to a type of place I didn't even know existed in SLC (or anywhere in the world, for that matter). I don't want to shock anyone, so for the sake of common decency, let's just say that the type of place we went to rhymes with "finger's pub" and I've never felt like such a prude in my entire life. Luckily, we only stayed for like ten minutes, but a guy who was there actually told me to remember his name because I'd be screaming it later. Who says that? Ever? ICK!Today I got a call from Dead Man (otherwise known as the Neverending Ex) letting me know he's moved in with his girlfriend. Now, why do I want to hear about those type of things? I spent twenty years trying to domesticate the man, and it took her all of five seconds. I know, I know, we're not meant to be, there's other fish in the sea, blah blah blah, but it's annoying all the same.

One other nickname made a reappearance, but he made me so mad I'm never going to mention him again. I give up. Is there some sort of nunnery I can possibly join?