Easy Like Sunday Mornings...Not

After a night of carousing with some funny people, I had an appointment this morning with a representative from the "boutique" matchmaking firm (I've been referring to as Prude Dude) which has been stalking me of late. We met at a Starbucks near my house at 10:30 this morning. Why so early? I was asking myself that very question when I was still in bed at 9:30. Most likely the incentive was to get it out of the way. Ever have the vivid dream that you're going about your morning routine like showering, putting on a pot of coffee, laying out your clothes...but you're not, you're still lying in bed? Did that! Hate that! Groan.

Anyway, I did my nails last night so I'd look polished. Get it?And did I ever! Long story short: the meeting was pleasant and not annoying. The woman was nice, and I actually don't have a bad thing to say about her. Rare, rare, rare indeed. Clearly I must have looked smokin' hot--even for that early in the morning-- because a guy came in with his paper and checked the shit out of me every time he took a sip of his coffee. I see you, guy. Take it ease'. Keep staring like that and I'm gonna have to charge you. Prude Dude apparently has a fellow in mind for me, some guy who is (on paper, anyway) very successful and wealthy enough to afford the thousands of dollars that this place charges. I'm picturing a balding midget in his late thirties with a private plane. That's fine, I guess. The midget part, anyway. I'm not getting in any planes. No thanks, John Denver, JFK Jr., Cory Lidle, et al. I'm good. You go fly your paper airplanes by yourself. Just make sure to put me in your will before you take off from Teterborough. Thanks. Bye. At any rate, the date should make for good copy. Stay tuned.

The least awesome part of the day has been the Tard Parade upstairs. The kid has been bouncing off of the walls and floors and ceiling since 2:30. It's now 6:45, and I not only hear him but also his bitch ass Yeti mother--someone easily 6' 7" in flats-- who uses every inch of the size 15 surf boards that are her feet when she clod hops around up there. I feel as if I've been babysitting them all day for free and I can't go home because they live with me. It's the stuff of friggin' nightmares. I already rang their doorbell once. The old Ring and Run Technique which is passive aggressive for : Shut the f*ck up already a-holes or take it outside. If that isn't passive aggressive enough, I may have to resort to boogers on the door knob or something.