Pitter patter does NOT go my heart....

I have amazing friends.

Awesome friends. A real extension of my family. People I can count on to:

Bail me out of jail
Help me dispose of a body (no questions asked!!)
Pick a hair cut
Tell me I shouldn't have picked that hair cut
Let me cry on (sadly this means copious amounts of snot--pretty crier I am most certainly not)
Tell me with out hesitation "Do NOT by that! It makes your ass look ginormous!"
Put up with me in general
Travel with (This is a true definition of friendship. If you come back from a trip that lasts more than three days and you are not only still speaking, but still want to hang out? Wow--it's impressive. Oh! And if one of you had the courtesy to bring matches? This will be a bond that cannot be broken.)

That said, I would trust none of these people to procure me a life partner. The only person I might trust less is my mother who forgets to mention things like crazy soon-to-be ex wives or ten kids. (It's not her fault...working in the hospital in her fancy pants position, she is exposed daily to the most prized of future son-in-law bait: Doctors. This makes her more than a bit nuts, actually.)

This past Tuesday was no exception. How did it start? The way so many of the comedies of my life have started: "He's a really nice guy!! I really think you'll like him!!"

If I had a dime for every time those words were uttered....

I wouldn't be killing myself working three jobs, that's for damn sure.

But back to Tuesday.

Let me start by saying Mr. X was, indeed a really nice guy. However, when you meet an adult man with a job, his own house, decent ride--your first impression should NOT be "Hey--who let the homeless guy in the bar?" (the only exception I can think of for this rule is maybe Zack Galifianakis). And no, I'm not being a snob here--this dude looked, well, homeless. His hair--oye--was all over the place crazy. There was no rhyme or reason. Fingernails? Filthy. He had on cordovans, track type pants, and a full zip hoodie. With NO shirt on underneath it. And as the night progressed? That zipper just kept creeping further and further down. I also thought he was higher than Everest until he announced he hadn't had any sleep in three, maybe four days.

Ahhh.....this explains it.

But unfortunately--you know what they say about first impressions? So true. I can handle assholes (prefer them, actually) and I certainly don't think a man needs to spend a ton to put well put together--but looking like you haven't bathed in a week or so? No so much.

And he was, actually, pretty cool. I would totally hang out with him again--but there was just NO spark on my end. Nada, zilch, zero. Sadly, I have a type--and he just wasn't it. If you know me, you know what said type is and I will not embarrass myself by putting it down to be shared with the world.

So, my friends, if you have a guy lined up for me--please, please, please refrain yourselves.

That said, they do say you need to suffer for your art..so maybe that's not such a good idea.

But for now--restraint is probably best.