True to my latest promise to myself to accept any opportunity that I can to get out of the house, I went to a party at my friend's house on Friday night. This particular friend is a teacher who throws FUNTASTIC end-of-the-school-year parties, and this particular party was no exception. I had a great time, but it has almost ruined me for dating, since my affection for dating is already teetering on the precipice and narrowly missing falling off the cliffs and shattering on the rocks of the ocean floor and being eaten by hungry sharks.

That being said, here is as much as is needed to know to sympathize rather than say, "Awww, it's not that bad, you just have to get yourself out there." Oh, no. I was out there:

1.) A 60-ish year old man (retired football coach from my high school) sat next to me on the couch and asked me after an entirely non-sexual exchange, "So - are you trimmed, shaved or au natural?"

2.) A 40-ish year old man who was so full of bullshit he squeaked (but very nice, really) kept asking me all kinds of questions about what I wanted from life, and when I answered quite honestly, would tell me, "No, tell me the truth, tell me how you REALLY feel." (Which royally pisses me off, it's a passive-aggressive control technique that DOES NOT work on me and makes me want to punch people in the testes.) THEN he asked me if I wanted him to write me a poem (he just loved hearing himself talk) so I politely said, "Sure..." And was consequently subjected to sophomoric imagery and a rhyme scheme that the little voice in my head would have turned on its head.

The thing is, if you're gonna write a poem for a poet who has also studied classic poetry from before the Renaissance to the contemporaries, it better be good. And if it isn't good, it better be sincere. I'm not trying to be snarky, that's just truth. It's like trying to impress a whore in her own bed. Not only that, he looked too much like a gay hairstylist to excite my female attentions.

So, for the rest of the evening I hung out with all the HOT ASS married men - half of which were NOT wearing their rings, but my host was kind enough to walk by and signify for me so they couldn't take advantage.

I don't know if this is necessary to say, but men have been demoted from dogs to hyenas. Dogs have too many manners to be grouped with this kind of behavior. They were throwing down more bad lines than a cheap cokehead. I felt like the SSLP and I were living in a Rod Stewart song circa 1977-1979.

Which leads me to David Carradine - if only we could all go out like ROCK STARS. He went out getting off, and that is AWESOME. (Yes, the schoolmarm inside me also cringes at his family being subjected to a public show of his perversions, but still - he's KUNG FU. He's KILL BILL - you know he ain't gonna go out like a suckah.)

David Carradine, you 72-year-old prevo, here's my tribute!
Auto-erotic asphyxiation now, auto-erotic asphyxiation FOREVER.