Oh yeah, bay-bee. Drunk on a Wednesday morning, in control of a keyboard.
Whatever. It sure sounded interesting for a second there, though.
A friend of mine with whom I have kept loose connections (he lives in Arkansas for gawd's sake) came out of the blue yesterday and asked for my address so he could send me his wedding invitation.
I mean, this guys is (was?) the ultimate bachelor. Crusty, hyper-intelligent, financially well-off, and he was even a snappy dresser. And he has a long history of being a bartender. How can you go wrong? And while the word "misogynist" doesn't really fit him he did have that aura about him that any woman he met had damned well better be able to be all woman as well as know how to build a mainframe from scratch and plot the orbits of seven major celestial bodies in her head. His feelings certainly made for some interesting drunk moments in the backyard, what with him having women bouncing off him like moths to a lightbulb and me wondering how a slightly dumpy woman-hater like him had found The Secret. And why wasn't he sharing?
And suddenly (at least for me) he's getting married. I'm rather afraid to see the lucky lady, actually. I'm worried that she'll be a 17 year old Swedish supermodel with a doctorate (magna cum laude) from Harvard, a sprinkling of Russian cosmonaut, a competitive triathelete and a side order of nymphomaniac. The best assumption here is that she's actually an android (dreaming of electric sheep no doubt) assembled piece by painstaking piece in his secret underground labora-tory and this is her, so to speak, maiden voyage.
So at some point in my future I'll be in Arkansas, probably drunk, wishing him and his new wife long lives and big fat babies. It's funny how your idols seem always to have feet of clay. *lol* Even the mighty fall beneath the invincible sword of romance.
Oh gawd, let her be an android.