Ok, is there someone, anyone out there who wants to make out with me?



Wait a minute. Scratch that. I know there are. In fact, I’m going out with one of them tonight. Mr. Millionaire Boy (MMB). ‘Cept I feel sort of ho hum about the whole thing which is actually kind of refreshing because I, for once, get to be the passive one and let myself be pursued.



And, I think to myself, I don’t really want to make out with him, but maybe I will just because I’m so freaking revved up right now. And people, you know if I’m thinking "maybe," it probably WILL happen, especially when I’m worried about matching underwear when I stumble out of bed at 6 a.m.



Actually I came so close last night to making out with someone who makes me honestly, not just possibly, hot. No, not Cute Train Boy (CTB) alas, but more on how I’ve played it so uncool with him later. Because, to my great joy, (and to the chagrin of my friends, who hate to see me sucked back into meaningless flingdom), my favorite youngster has returned to town after months at sea: that international playbaby known as the L’il Rockclimbing Spy (LRS).



The LRS is no longer a spy, he's now, in fact, a videographer for some adventure travel company and gets to travel the world on their dime. But it doesn’t have quite the same ring to call him the L’il Rockclimbing Videographer, so he'll retain his trusty acronym. Anyway, he’s in town for a week before shipping out again to El Salvador (now why can’t I have a job like that?), and I was so desperate -- I mean eager -- when I heard from him last night, I almost had him come over at midnight before thinking better of it.



And this was after I’d accidentally deleted the phone number of a cute 26-year old off my cell phone with whom I was supposed to have a late-night rendezvous last night. He jumped out at me from the unwashed masses who’ve replied to my personals ad because he’s 1)young (I’m weak, I know!) 2)cute 3)a writer, and 4)witty, and yesterday, in my desperation – I mean eagerness – I wrote him back and said what are you doing tonight, cute l’il youngster?



Then I go and delete his message from my cell phone as soon as I hear it because I'm so discombobulated from thinking about how uncool I’ve played it with CTB (more on that later), so no late night rendezvous pour moi. Damn!



But enough of my sex-deprived babbling. You’re probably all hanging on the edge of your seats waiting to hear what happened with last week’s dates.



Well. How about this? Nothing!



OK, OK, that’s not strictly true. Sigh. Some *stuff* happened, just not the kind of stuff I need to happen right now, if you get my drift. Anyway, here's the scoop:



Kickass Lawyer Jew (KLJ)and I went for a pleasant little sea kayaking jaunt in Lake Washington, where we saw all sorts of wildlife, and were soothed by the roar of the 520 freeway overhead. Five minutes into it, he pulled out his stash and said “I can’t remember the last time I went sea kayaking without smoking d*pe!” Uh-huh.



Not that KLJ’s drug addiction would so much if we had any chemistry whatsoever. Because, make no mistake, this boy is pretty. And not in an egocentric, I’m-so-hot-kind-of-way. His hair is a little too long and he wore an unhip shirt out to dinner post-kayaking, but, can you say Baberaham Lincoln? And he’s Jewish, has a nice house, and is a world traveler/adventurer of the first class.



Anyway, it’s too bad there are no sparks because otherwise we could get married and have beautiful, big-eyed children and travel the world in folding kayaks while he fights for truth and justice and I write my bestselling novels. Sigh.



As for CTB, well, we had fun on our date. Unlike KLJ, who looks at me like I’m from Mars (or is it Venus?) every time I make a hi-larious joke (as I am wont to do on a frequent basis), CTB laughs in all the right places and seems to find me quite charming and delightful. SO. WHY. WON’T. HE. MAKE. OUT. WITH. ME?



I tried. I really did. I flung myself upon him in the car as we were saying goodbye and put him in lip lock. Most red-blooded males would jump (literally) on this opportunity. But it only worked sort of. He kissed me a little more than he has in the past; we shared a few intimate moments in the car; and that was it. No steamy makeout fest occurred.



Throwing myself at him, however, was not the worst of the whole thing. It wasn’t until yesterday that I played it totally uncool; however, I’m just not up to discussing it right now so let’s wait until next time, shall we? And we can all rest better knowing I might get some action from other sources this weekend. OR ELSE.