MUST. NOT. CALL. CUTE. BOY.



Has only been two days. He'll call sooner. Or later. BUT.



I fondled his phone number last night. It's tucked away in my nightstand, on a little sticky pad with his e-mail address. I haven't brought it to work with me though I have his e-mail address memorized from gazing affectionately at the sticky pad.



He still doesn't have a nickname. The guy is so odd(ly appealing) I'm not sure what to call him. Maybe alt.country boy because when I Googled him, I found all his Amazon wish lists and noted with approval all the alt.country and folk music he wanted. Guypal #1 suggested I could call him Friend of Cute Train Boy (FOCTB). A worthwhile suggestion, but I dunno. Or else The Cowboy 'cause of those sexy boots and turquoise jewelry.



Hmm. I am being oddly boring right now. Perhaps it's because I'm at work, where I don't usually blog, but instead pretend to work while compulsively checking personal e-mail. Oh I take that back. I work sometimes. I mean, B*ll G*tes needs to be a little richer, doesn't he, and who's going to help him, if not me?



Plus, I'm feeling a little self-conscious because a reader (my MOTHER) told me yesterday that the blog is "disturbing" her because I've been so obsessed with s*x lately. #@$#$! I told her, politely,



"Mother, you are not supposed to be reading the blog. The only reason you found it is because Li'l Sis accidentally said the name out loud which was bound to happen, but still. If it disturbs you, don't read it! And don't tell me how obsessed I am with s*x because damn it, I know it, and don't you think I have it hard enough feeling like a 34-year old desperately searching for a husband who is trying hard not to act like a 34-year old desperately searching for a husband, and doing a pretty good job of it by dating 24-year olds yet pretending they're suitable husband material?? And FURTHERMORE, I'm not actually HAVING s*x! We're talking second, maybe third base here! Because I'm not that kind of girl! Good grief, Mother."



Anyway, I am trying to think of other suitable things to write about. I mean, I have a lot of interests, you know. I guess I've gotten so caught up in writing about my (lack of) sex,I forget that, hey, maybe I could write about something else. Like...



Uh. I'm a little tired right now. I'll think of something else to write about later.



But hey mom, at least I'm not like my boy-obsessed-blogger-in-arms, Sweet Jezebel, who has a Sex Meter on her blog indicating exactly how many days it's been since she's had "relations." Of course, if I've thought of it first, I would have put it on my site (it's been longer for me, hahaha), but doesn't the fact that she thought of it first prove that she's more obsessed than me?