So, I am at heart a bit of a desperate romantic. I realize that it’s a stupid thing to be and I completely hate it, but that’s how it is these days. I seem to find myself…permanently between boyfriends, and it has begun to wear on me. I know am looking for a decent person to share time and space with, and in this particular area of the country these people are few and far between. I’ve had people ask to drink my blood, ask if I’m OK with dating another person at the same time, people with balloon fetishes, furries, and undocumented individuals.

Fucking no, just... no.

I’ve found someone who seems interested, and he’s pretty cute. He sets off some red flags, but since he reminds me strongly of my first and incredibly shitty Ex, I’m willing to admit it might not be anything wrong with him. So I thought I might start flirting back a bit. Just a little bit, but he seems to be receptive. My biggest problem is that the only place I see him is his place of employment, and I have a strong resistance to flirting with people where they work because nothing says “Date me!” like getting someone fucking fired.

So... your weekend just opened up then?

I’m not entirely certain how to go about this thing, but my inner bitch has a totally insane plan that can never work and is so incredibly stupid that I’m somewhat ashamed to have any part of inventing. It relies on subtlety, superhuman powers of observation, and a series of coincidences and an extreme lack of propriety. It’s the sort of saccharine drivel that chick flicks serve up on giant platters… and I want it.

In my dream, I am witty and clever. I drop hints to the gent in question and he understands that I would like to see him in a different venue. I tell him about a song that I love and find extremely romantic (he has a lovely voice), he sings it and we both maintain eye contact the entire time. The people in the bar realize that this is different… somehow, in some ineffable way. There is only quiet and for us there is only the other person in the crowded hall. He arrives at the final verse and begins to leave the low stage and walk towards me. I walk toward him, he finishes the song… and we fall into each other’s arms and kiss. Cue credits, cue music, cue happy ending.

And if you ever cheat, I'll fucking cut you!

Blah… I deserve to be whipped, tarred and feathered, then run out of town. This is the sort of drivel I find on “Twilight” fan-fic sites. Christ, it’s like my brains have been replaced with pink glittery mush.

This is your brain on Nicholas fucking Sparks.

UPDATE: The son of a bitch is married and completely failed to mention that... Thank Cthulhu for cock-blocking co-workers.