What’s crackalackin’?

I encourage everyone to use that word at least once today. So where did we leave off? Oh right, with me pining for my soul mate on POF, and me fielding calls from the engaged drummer’s band mate. Could I make this any more complicated? Actually yes, I could. There is currently something horribly awry with my laptop (though I have a sneaking suspicion that the problem can be alleviated by me dropping it onto the sidewalk outside my bedroom window) so I have been unable to check my email. It is with grim fascination that I have checked my inbox to see if either of my new found friends from the Head have decided to follow up (in whatever capacity), though there is no reason why they should. And also because I, being the lame wit I am, decided to email the POF guy that blew off our scheduled date on Sunday. Yeah. I dunno. If you want to stop being my friend now, I totally understand. It’s just that he’s really hot. And his vocabulary has both depth and breadth and size really does matter. At any rate, I was quite confident that I would’ve received an email from him Monday night, but because my laptop is impotent I could not check to verify this. So I made my mom do it. Yep, nothing creepier than getting your mom to check your online dating service for you. I asked her if it would make her uncomfortable and she said “I don’t know, will it make me uncomfortable?”. But no, all of our emails thus far have been very PG. If anything my mom would be made uncomfortable by the fact that I had admitted in an email to this guy that I had stayed in and watched a movie on Saturday night. He probably thinks I’m desperate and will sleep with him on the first date. I likely will. Anywho, she checks and no email! So not only a creepy experience to share with your mother, but also embarrassing in that my mom had to relay to me that no one is interested. Stellar! Do they have therapy for that?
Later in the evening (and positive now that he would’ve emailed) I ask JupiterGirl to check for me, hoping that she doesn’t take my password, log on as me and send a raunchy email to the guy whose profile indicates he was recently fired from Tim Hortons, prefers Lucky beer and advocates free liquor for pregnant single mothers in New West (as well as getting “narsty” on his bean bag chair). It would still be better than if she were to send an email (posing as me) to any of the shirtless wonders on this site. I mean give me a break. I haven’t seen so many hairless chests, six pack abs and nipples since the GAY PRIDE PARADE. Give it a rest, guys!
At this point I gave up. Obviously the size 2 supermodel had won him over. I contemplated going to buy some Lucky beer and asking the drummer if he was up for an extramarital fling. I instead had another illuminating hour long conversation with Michael. What the hell? Ex boyfriends are supposed to make you feel bad, and laugh at you when you fail at dating. But he did not. You’d think he was a nice guy or something.
And then this morning, and email from the POF guy wanting to meet for drinks tomorrow. I pondered it for a couple of hours and then said sure, let’s give ‘er. I don’t have any great expectations out of this I suppose. I’m looking forward to meeting him and I hope his vocabulary is as big as I think it is. He probably has a thesaurus beside him when he’s sending emails to potential dates in order to make himself look intelligent. I hope our conversation isn’t totally stilted. I hope that he doesn’t get the faux emergency phone call half way into our date enabling him to rush out and meet up with someone more supple and flexible than I. I hope he doesn’t drive a Hummer. I hope it’s not raining too hard, so my hair goes all curly. I hate that.
So we’ll see. That’s tomorrow. I will post again on Thursday to give you the blow by blow.