NEXT!

It's been almost a week since my last entry. Did you miss me? I just got home from a quick jaunt to Boston. It's the second time I've lugged a suitcase with two-weeks worth of business attire only to have the story fall through at the eleventh hour.

Never satisfied with just part of my life sucking, I've opted to take the drama up a notch by adding a few blind dates to the mix of boredom and pointless travel. For weeks, months, what am I saying? YEARS. For years my parents have been trying to get me married off. They act as if the weight of my dowry is killing them. In truth, having an old maid as a daughter reflects poorly on their matchmaking skills. And last night was more evidence why.

This guy is an IT architect. "What's that?" you ask. I don't fucking know even though I asked him twice. But every time he would start to talk about his job, my mind would go to a happy place I like to call, the mall. As he droned on about authoring software for business solutions, I recalled a cashmere cardigan I saw when I had just ducked into Anthropologie to apply mascara before my blind date. We had decided to meet on Newbury Street in Boston as that's where he lives and I wanted an excuse to flee Danvers for the night. I don't know if the trade-off was worth it.

He was a nice guy. Well-dressed, TALL,straight teeth although he could probably use a dose of brite smile. But, God love him, he was so boring. I was charming as usual and grateful that he insisted on picking up the tab because paying for a bad date only makes you feel worse about it. Tonight I met up with Yale. Yale was a foreseeable mistake. Upon seeing his picture, my roommate declared that he was a serial killer. But I was pulled in by his British accent. He told me before he met that he looked just like Allan Cummings and I should do an image search if I wanted to see more pics of him. Cummings is gay. I suspect this guy is, too. It wasn't just the way he gesticulated but his long-winded explanation about the dietary restrictions imposed by his recently acquired acid reflux that really sealed the deal. As in NO DEAL. Then he insisted on walking me home. I relented and he asked if there was a gym in my building. I proudly answered in the affirmative and he informed me that this was good because he needed to pee. Shit. "It's closed," I said. He did something strange that resembled a bad dance move and told me he would hold it until he got home. I was nice and suggested he use my bathroom.

Thank God my roommate was home although I could see she was having difficulty maintaining her composure upon seeing Yale. He, like his predecessors, had lied about his height and I was taller than him in my 3" heels. He introduced himself and quickly disappeared into my bathroom. TEN MINUTES LATER, he emerges red-faced. "Umm, your toilet is backed up. I had a Seinfeld moment in there," he confessed.

Poor chap. I called building maintenance but an hour later they're still en route. As is my date, no doubt headed back to Queens still in search of his own Queen.