I was working to get the second book all pretty, by which I mean spelling error free, and sent out to some folks out east. And when I was finished I started to think I was finished with the blog. I mean really, how long can one person write about her sad pathetic excuse for a dating life.
Answer: As long as the weird shit keeps happening.
So I am driving along today, minding my own business when out of the blue I get a random text message from someone who apparently found my blog through INK and wanted to let me know that HE found it to be amusing - spelling errors and all. He even offered to do some proof reading for me.
Now this random stranger was lucky because he caught me on a good day when I found his shameless lack of digital personal space to be amusing and ballsy instead of creepy and stalkerrific, which I was sure to let him know.
I momentarily considered google stalking him. I have a friend who can find out your shoe size and the last time you had sex just from the last four digits of your phone number. But really I didn't want to know. I'd rather live in denial about my random callers. I pretend they are all nice boys raised by nuns in Sweden instead of a bunch of hairy backed psychopaths with infant skull-sized growths protruding from their necks. Or worse, they might not be men at all.
Random stranger and I shared some interesting cyber repartee safely cloaked in the anonymity of text messages. Non-committal ballsyness. Just like I like it.
And I told him I would be taking him up on his proofing offer. Poor mom had to proof the whole book in two days. He said he retracted the offer.
Puttin' it out there and takin' it away, now if that doesn't sound like a man I don't know what does.