The other day, I got 250 business cards printed up. Not because I need them for business, mind you. Hell, my “business” consists of sitting in a windowless office editing things like:

"The wParam of this message contains a Boolean value that, if zero, disables the OK pushbutton. If the wParam is non-zero, the OK pushbutton is enabled. By default, the OK pushbutton is enabled."

No one needs to call me for any reason, unless it’s to make sure I haven’t gone into a coma.

But hey. Work paid for them. And they are a handy way to get my phone number and e-mail address out into the big, bad world of boys. It beats desperately searching for a scrap of paper on which to write so I can thrust it into the hands of that hottie as he leaves the party.

Now I know what you’re thinking. And it’s true. My sister and I used to say we inherited our "slut genes" from our mother. But now that l’il sis is married to Super Brother-in-Law (SBL), she no longer engages in such behavior (I hope!). AND, I might add, I am no longer the sluttiest one in the family because that distinction now goes to SBL’s sister! So there.

In my defense, I’d like to say it's not insecurity that prompts my profligate behavior, but a mere over-enthusiasm for boys. Caught up in the wave of this enthusiasm, I am, as my father used to say, “boy-crazy.” Or, as Gal Pal #2 put it last week, “indiscriminating.”

For example, I gave my card out twice on Thursday night. Although, officially, my friend M., taking on the role of agent, gave my card out once, when a nerdy (but slightly cute!) boy at the Tractor fumbled his attempt to ask for my e-mail. At which point, M., smooth as silk, and sympathetic towards nerdy (but slightly cute!) boy, whipped out his wallet and said, “Yeah, you should e-mail her. Here’s her card.”

Then there was L’il Rockclimbing Boy (LRB) (not to be confused with