Friday, August 31, 2007

This is new and different

Change is… well, it's just change.

So I started this excellent new job (yes, yay!) and I’m doing training. God, do I hate training. The only thing I hate more then being trained is training others – it’s EXHAUSTING and takes FOREVER and can never really be ORGANIZED and makes me put things into ALL CAPITAL LETTERS… But hey, at least when you’re the doof being trained (me=doof) you’ve got a couple of weeks where you can keep falling back on the classic excuse: “I’m new. I don’t know nuthin.”

The old job was in the finance area. This new one is in a hospital.

CAVEAT: I’m not a doctor, nor am I playing one on TV. Or here at this job. Nor am I a nurse, or a therapist or ANYTHING ELSE THAT REALLY MATTERS. So please, don’t bother asking any questions about “what does it mean when…” or “is it bad if…” or even the classic “it hurts when I do this.” (seriously, why do these people keep doing that?) I don’t have any answers for you. My position is administrative, and not the impressive “I’m in charge of this area – I’m the administrator!” (which is heard in a big, awesome, booming voice) kind of way. I’m administrative in the “Jean, take a memo.” kind of way. If you want help with formatting your letter or creating an Excel spreadsheet or ordering office supplies, I’m your girl. Otherwise ask Dr. Spock. He knows everything. (ok, so just there? My geek was totally showing.)

This new job is in a hospital. And here are some interesting differences between any other office job I’ve ever had and one in a hospital:

1. Everyone pays attention to how often you wash your hands. To an almost obsessive degree. Now if I were working with patients or other sick people I’d understand that. Or even if I were serving food! But I’m mostly typing and making copies, so who cares if I scrubbed my digits for a full 30 seconds or not? It’s strange.

2. You really need to know when you’re addressing a doctor and when you aren’t. Because if you call someone “Mr. Amazo” and he’s really “DOCTOR Amazo”? Yeah, he will remove your spleen. Right there. With his eyes of death. On the one hand I want to reply with a well-phrased “paging Doctor Massive, Earth-Dwarfing Ego!!” but I guess I’d want the kudos too if I went to school forever, ever, ever. Or if I held the power of life and death in my bare hands. Whatever.

3. Every writing implement in the joint has the name of a pharmacy on it. And pharmacy pens are fascinating: they’re always ball-of-point, always, and they’re brightly colored, and always a combination of these bright colors. Like the pen on my keyboard is orange and pink and sports a word that is at once both hip and trendy sounding while also sounding vaguely latinesque. Also? They run out of ink in about 4 seconds. In the time it would take me to write the full name of the drug they’re promoting I’d be out of ink. So every meeting I've been to so far has a constant stream of "do you have a pen I could borrow?" running through it.

4. Your friends' medical lives are no longer private, because you keep running into them in the halls. "Hey, I didn't know you were pregnant! Or have mono! Or filling out that perscription for penicilin!" Awkward...

5. The other things you see in the halls are sometimes bleeding and sometimes crying and sometimes about to share their tummy-insideness... These and many more things are things that you just don't see at the bank/realtor/library/marketing firm, etc. I'm perfecting my "I'm looking you generally in the face so as to not be rude but not looking you actually in the eye because if I do that I'll have to look at where you used to have 2 eyes but now have a number less then 2. In the eye department. And then not stare. but not look away. Wow, how are we still not to your floor???" mojo. because I don't want to be cold or mean, but I also don't want to be rude. and I think they still consider it rude to stare-stare-STARE with your mouth open and a horified-yet-fascinated expression on your face. Right? Miss Manners? Anyone?

Many things are the same for this office job as most others. However, the different things are pretty different. and be so proud of me: I haven't once told any of the doctors with whom I work that "it hurts when I do that." Not once! I'm so VERY strong!

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Will the real Mr. Wonderful please stand up!

So here I sit, with one fellow who seems very intent on meeting me (about which a sane person would say “how flattering!” but I say “clear signs of his lack of good judgment and/or questionable sanity”) and another fellow who is so off-limits as to be made of cyanide-laced-plutonium-snake-bullets! And of course I’m most giggly about Dr. Cyanide.

Don’t worry – I’m not crazy myself (although I play one on tv). Never shall I poop where I also eat. (ew.) But it’s the difference between the known commodity (i.e. I know this forbidden fruit is smart and handsome and successful and cool, and did I mention he winks? He’s a champion winker? Sigh about the winking.) vs. the unknown commodity (i.e. online dude who could look like Lurch or be as talkative as Lurch or as successful as Lurch or be in any manner Lurchfull.) I go towards what I already know, even when I also already know that what I know is a no-go.

But correct me if I’m wrong: the winking was dirty pool on Dr. Cyanide’s part, yes? I mean, he also knows that he’s fruit of the No-No-No-No-No variety, so why must he tease?

The Queen suggested (because how smart is she? Oh so smart!) that I peek at his left hand. And I will. Even though I a little bit don’t want to know, because of COURSE he’s married and probably a Dad and therefore even more cyanidey and plutoniumish. That’s too much evidence and I wouldn’t even be able to fantasize anymore. Right now I can get a total Pretty Woman/Working Girl/Name Your Completely Unrealistic Chick Flick Where The Girl Does What Nobody Should Do and Wins Anyway Here-type fantasy going when I need a little pick-me-up.

But once I know he’s married? I will fantasize no more.

I tried to fantasize about Potential Dude, but I can’t shed the certain feeling that anybody found through this channel couldn’t possibly be a winner. My fantasies about Potential Dude normally end up with him borrowing money, or possibly my car. To pick up the drums. For his band. Which someday will totally be the next Megadeath or Starland Vocal Band. (shudder)

ANYWAY, by this weekend I’m guessing that one man will be officially married and the other officially crazy/creepy/crappy, and so I guess I should really enjoy this, the week of wacky, faboo potential! The week where my fantasy life could be of a mysterious stranger who pursues me (and may or may not be a millionaire or prince of a foreign land!) or a handsome professional type who’s a total sweetie, and the exciting prospect of fruit all “hands-offy!”

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Good, solid advice

OK, so some of you out there may be starting new jobs, like I am, and you want to start things out RIGHT. And I applaud that! Starting things out right is highly underrated! There are all sorts of good lessons that people just don't think to learn, and that will help you with the starting of things out-rightly!

For instance, be sure to learn people's names as soon as you can.

Oh, and try to take notes, lots of notes.


Oh no, you would never do that. Only a complete idiot would let themselves develop any kind of flitty, heart-poundy headrush just because a boss-type-person comes up and grabs their hand. Only a COMPLETE idiot. Because how dumb really? Dumb like "ooh, look, a fan! What happens when I stick my tongue into the blades? Surprise and horror -- it hurt? Wow, so not expected!" dumb. Like "hello Mr. Fork, please meet the insides of Mrs. Toaster!" dumb.

You, my smart and sensible friends, would never catch yourself looking way too deeply into some handsome boss-type's eyes just because he's looking right back at you (a little too intensely) and then realize that the last part of what he was saying was something you should have been writing down and weren't and now you have to come up with an excuse for why he needs to repeat that part since you were, after all, STARING RIGHT AT HIM, SEEMING FOR ALL THE WORLD TO BE LISTENING TO EVERYTHING THAT HE SAID! No, no, no you would NOT.

What else could I suggest for you and your out right starting of things? Well, it’s good to ask questions, lots of questions. Be sure to start off as organized as possible. Be optimistic – everyone likes the cheerful Charlie.

I saw that! Not EVERYONE! Bosses on whom you should not be crushing don’t like cheerful Charlie, or maybe they do, but even so you should be crush-free there! No crushes, none! No crushing in the workplace at all! That way you won’t meet someone and think they’re crushy and get intrigued and then find out “oh yeah, that guy? That’s someone who is kind of a boss of yours. Yeah, he is nice, isn’t he?” and then have to boil your own head.

You already know that smart, handsome, friendly boss-types are going to be married anyway, and probably with kids or something, and so even if they weren't a boss-type (and therefore totally off limits anyway) they'd STILL be a foolish choice for crushing upon. Because you are smart and wise and don't sit around thinking up new and marvelous ways to make your life even more absurd and (I may have mentioned this, but because it bears repeating) DUMB, DUMB, D-U-U-U-U-U-U-M-B-B-B-B!!!!

Oh, and be sure to wash your hands. Because at least you have your health. Good luck with the new job!

Sunday, August 26, 2007

Putting the blame squarely where it belongs.

First, this is totally the fault of The Queen. Except that it's the fault of me because I'm foolish enough to listen to her. And also I was foolish enough to start this damned online thing in the first place. But in the end? We’re blaming The Queen.

For what? For the fact that I just sent an email to Potential Dude agreeing to the first meeting.

Of course now I’m crafting just the right E-pology for when I come to my senses and don’t actually meet him. KIDDING! (probably)

The meeting won’t happen all that soon – this weekend was already booked to the gills and I never have available time on Mondays, Tuesdays or Wednesdays – so I have several days to think about this. And thinking about this is the worst thing for Mr. Potential. Because given enough time it’s entirely possible that I’ll come to senses of some sort. My gut says “poop idea” and if I go with my gut I don’t go to meet Potential Dude.

But I do go, and why do I go? I go for you guys. For you, my trusty readers in Seattle and Minneapolis and Silverton and Chicago… For you, my noble, lovely, witty and clever readers I will go and meet this silly, silly man.

But you can’t make me like it.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

Where I get a question with no good answers...

OK, so this guy really likes to ask questions. Questions, questions, questions. "Who was the first host of SNL?" (George Carlin) "Who was the only President to have ever been divorced?" (Ronald Reagan) "Hey, why don't we meet face to face?"

Ummm, what?

4 days? 6 messages? And we're meeting? Woah! That seems awfully fast to me, especially from a guy who doesn't even show up on film! Meet already? Yeah, I'm not crazy about that idea. Because 5 days ago I didn't even know this guy existed! And all I know now is that he also seems to be an enthusiast of trivia (or is skilled at finding interesting trivia questions on Google, which is a different kind of quality but a quality too I guess) and likes to move fast!

Also did I mention that I'm a little bit nervous by the sheer level of contact so far? Do the math -- 4 days, but 6 messages. That means that at least once there was more then one message in a given day. And in fact there were actually 3 messages on this one day! Three messages? I was gearing up to send a reply along the lines of "dude, you really need to pace yourself" when the third one dropped "hey, let's meet" on my head.

Now I have to admit that I don't even have any time at all to meet him even if I was yippy-skippy about the idea. Like no time at all for the next 3-4 days, so at least I have an easy and honest excuse to give him. Which gives me some time to figure out what else to tell him, but really? I'm not excited about going to "let's meet" already.

Right now I'm still totally, totally safe. This guy could be completely sanity-free (now with less impulse control, but still all the same great taste!) and it wouldn't really be any kind of problem for me. But it's like watching a scary movie -- once I shatter that fourth wall my illusion of safety is bye, bye!

Sigh. I wish this were more fun. Felt less like work, or obligation. It seems like a bad sign when replying to suitor's emails reminds me of homework. And right now this is one of those terrible word problems -- "Steve meets a girl online and sends her 6 messages in 4 days. He then asks to travel 7 miles to meet her at 8pm. How many episodes of Primetime Crime have started this way?" -- and I don't have any answer just yet.

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Danger, Will Me-binson

For a minute last night (yes, the same night!) I thought Potential Dude had ruined it. He started out pretty strong, with a clever and even pseudo-charming message and references to pop culture and such, and even with the smoking (cannot tell you what a turn-off that is, because yuck-yuck-YUUUUUUUCK!!!) and the age question I was officially intrigued. I even replied, which I’d been pretty sure would NEVER happen.

Then, about half an hour later, this weird thing happens. My browser pops up this little window without me saying “hey browser, pop up a little window won’t you?” and when it develops all the way it turns out to be some kind of magic talking box. And the talker is Potential Dude and the message is instant and says something like “send me your email address so you can tell me !” and I went “Gah!” followed immediately by “DIE INSTANT MESSAGEY BOX!!!!” and clicked it dead!

Now, were Beautiful Dreamer in my place she’d have been very excited about this additional, this spontaneous and this super-speedy contact. But for me? Too much! I just sent you an reply not more then 30 minutes ago and you’re clamoring for more? And you want my email address? Way, way too much, Mr. Potential Dude!

Here’s the thing: I LOVE me some internet, don’t get me wrong! I think it’s just about the most amazing invention of my whole life, right after Fudgicles and that powdery chemical candy that you eat with the candy stick, right? But I’m also CONSTANTLY aware of the massive population of whackadoodle nut-chiladas out there! If they did a poll of the internet to find out the ratio of doodle-bugs to non-doodle-bugs I’m sure it would be 50/50 IF THE RATIONAL PEOPLE ARE LUCKY! And OF the population of scary-freaky-odd-sad-broken-crazy-gahgahgahgah-types out on the net, I’m sure close to 200% of them are searching the online dating universe for a partner.

And at this point someone out there is all “hey, YOU’RE out there searching for a partner on the web. Are you saying there’s something wrong with you?” And I’m all “are you NEW? HELLO!!! Of course I know there’s stuff wrong with me! I’m Lady High Empress of the Whackadoodles, keeper of the scepter of RBBRRBBBRRBBRRBBRR!!!” and you’re all “what, you really think there’s something so weird about you?” and I’m all “didn’t you read this post? And this one? And pick any post you want, they all scream “Run from the crazy single lady before she snares you with her box of nasty sarcasm and pudding!” and you’re all “wha- um, I don’t… I mean I just, uh, er, I um-“ and I’m all “Woopity, whoopity, whoopidy! Lookit me, I’m all invisible! Somebody catch that giant flying turnip because it took my cheese-shoes!”…

But enough about me.

This morning there were another two messages. Twice the number of messages I was going for. 200% more messages then I’d been looking to get. And at this point I’m expecting “You’re so excellent, what should we name the first baby?, I don’t want you to spend so much time with your girlfriends anymore, does this dress make me look fat?” and I don’t even want to OPEN the messages.

Don’t worry, I finally opened them and they were fine. Lots more questions – I think this guy thinks he can take me in a pop culture challenge! – but mostly normal. So I sent another reply today. This is bordering on conversational at this point, folks.

Monday, August 20, 2007

Houston, we have contact.

Get this: the only thing freakier then going for months and months and not getting an interesting messages? Turns out it's getting an interesting message.

My cheery little email tells me I have a message (more then a nod, better then a wink, less creepy then "eye contact" -- an actual message) from someone on, and in my usual jaded form I approach it with grains and nuggets and boulders of salt. And first thing I notice is this guy also likes to reference being a father in his username, which I still find kind of creepy. So I'm now even more shoulder-chippy.

And this shoulder-chippiness? It’s comfortable. I am relieved this guy is also flawed. Just like everyone else so far. I proceed to find the rest of the flaws so I can craft yet another mocky-mockiting blog post.

But then I read the actual message, and weeelllll crap. He says many of the right things, the bastard! Like he knew some of the authors that I’d referenced and challenged my assertion that I will kick pop culture expert butt on Vh1 (rather then thinking, as any rational person would, “what a sad, sad little woman to have this be a goal.”) and included “going to car races” and “swearing” as things he enjoys to do. Which means there would be things that we could do together! (“we totally cussed this guy out, and it was so romantic we ran home and had racecar sex!”)

But guess what? Not being able to reject the guy was MUCH more freaky then the freaky guys with horns and hooks and dog lovers. Did I mention big old crap? Because CRAP!

I found some things that are definite drawbacks (like dude, if they say they want someone who doesn’t smoke at all I’m not sure it works well to state that “you’re quitting. Again.”) and also he’s older then the oldest guy I said I wanted to meet and might be a vampire (no picture. I know, I know! I totally know!) and he MIGHT be a janitor (and I know it would be wrong of me to reject someone for being a janitor, but I’d probably do it as I am a very bad person) so I’m not web-surfing for china patterns or anything.

But I did reply.

And then thought seriously about puking.

So just when I thought it was time to change the focus of this blog to something more productive (cooking with your feet, snipe-breeding, my feelings about the socio-economic developments in lower-upper-WhosisWhatsis-a-Topia…) something might finally be happening. On the free site, no less!

Needless to say, my peoples, I’ll keep you posted. (except for the puking. I’ll keep that to myself. Which you know is a lie. I keep nothing but the names of the innocent to myself. And sometimes the puking.)

Sunday, August 19, 2007

Horns. The man is sporting danged horns.

So not kidding. I checked out who's lookin' at me on and hey, lookit that: a dude wearing H-O-R-N-S. Also, not little pudgy horns like the devil wears when they dress him in an Italian suit and silk tie, no no! Picture Bullwinkle. Then double-it. Now imagine him looking at me on his computer. Also did I mention the kilt? It would be wrong of me not to mention it, as nothing goes with horns like a kilt.

So I had to know who hornyman was! Yeah I clicked on him -- wouldn't you? Well the horns are certainly the gateway to his wacky-osity, but there's plenty of fun to sift through. He's a pagan, he doesn't drink but he DOES take certain "herbs", he named his kid after a color, and not a common color... I won't give any names, of course, so let's just call his kid Peuce. Or possibly Ochre. (and please don't lose sight of the horns! "OK little Persimmon, tell the rest of the class something about your daddy?" "My daddy is horny!")

Final straw: the question posed by the website (by which one is supposed to get a better idea of your eternal you) was "what is on your coffee table?" answer: "D&D figures and many differently-shaped dice." Check please!

And so the hunt continues.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

Sisters are doin' it by themselves!

Where the hell have I been, right? I mean dang, it’s been something like a week, right? Yeah, even I’m disgusted with myself. I am a bad, bad blogger.

But see, here’s the deal: last weekend I did all of the least “searching for a guy” things that I could. I drove hours and hours away from my typical hunting grounds; I gathered around me only other women, and most of them married and often mommied; I barricaded myself (we/ourselves) into a fancy house with scented soaps and fancy towels and shelves and shelves of chick flicks and ABBA cds for three days; and we CRAFTED.

Some chums, some gal-pals if you will, and I spent the weekend at this Crafter’s B&B right on a big body of water, and we just did our respective crafty things from Friday afternoon straight through until Sunday afternoon. So NOT a guy time. The estrogen levels in that place would have given boobs to a rock. Also I’m pleased to report that everyone played nice! You know how it is with a group of women – we should be so danged civilized and reasonable, and yet 9 times out of 10 the whole thing ends up with hair pulling and eye gouging. So disappointing.

However this weekend was drama-free! Not that we were all inseparable – I’ll admit that it was kind of funny to watch everyone quietly judge our officially damaged party member while she crafted on and on, oblivious and yet also still so darned da-a-a-a-ama-a-a-a-aged – but we all got along super-good and shared in-jokes… On the fun-o-meter this was a 6-snort weekend!

Plus bonus: I didn’t think about men at all the whole time. Not once did I think about “how can I find a new way to make a connection with someone packing a roll of quarters?” I didn’t stress about checking the dating websites or “should I wink back? Should I nudge? Would coyly waving my fingers from beneath a huge brimmed hat be the way to go?” All this online flirting is exhausting and, frankly, NOT ALWAYS FUN! I’d even go so far as to describe it, of late, as workity-work-work! Sigh.

Anyway, I appreciate you guys giving me a little time off from the daily grind (say it with me now: dirty!) and now that my girly-weekend is finished I’ll get back to the job at hand. I do have a few new ideas, and apparently there’s a whole new pack of round, goofy, hunter-golfers waiting to hear from me, so…

Sunday, August 05, 2007

They matched me up with science. Science!

OK, so apparently is done. I'm kind of amazed that they didn't automatically renew me or send me an email to let me know I was about to be 'let go' or anything. I am also surprised to find that my reaction to being no longer subscribed was kind of a little internal "whew!" I guess I wasn't enjoying that whole thing.

BUT I still have that whole "finding wove" goal to fulfill and so I decided to click the button inviting me to check out's more involved version, where you answer complex questions and they find you complex matches. Because here's the deal: "come and find your matches for FREE, FREE, FREE! and you only have to give us money if we find someone you want to connect with!" It's very tempting, although it does sound like eventually I'll be sitting there paying ransom for them to let my lovah free. But I'll burn that bridge once we get there. For now I had yet ANOTHER series of questions to answer.

This one had some very odd additions, beyond the standard stuff ("does your match smoke? Drink? eat babies? How many babies? raw or bar-b-qued babies?...") which kind of fascinated me. Like there were these little designs where you were supposed to click buttons to make one part of the picture match the size of another, and it was timed. Also there was one where you had to pick the diagram that most closely matched your finger sizes. (is your ring finger longer then your index finger? Shorter? Missing?) And one where you had these four photographs of people smiling, and you were supposed to indicate which of the smiles you trusted and which you didn't. (I didn't trust the one with the pointy canine teeth, because hello? Vampire? Duh!)

So by the time I was all finished I realized that these questions made the whole thing seem downright scientific! Like you'd have to believe that any match they bring you would be Mr. Wight because they reached the conclusion via science. Science! Of course this must be the dude for me -- his finger question probably matched mine! We're probably finger-compatible! Or maybe they put us together because we can resize random shapes very quickly, both of us. Which would be important as we raise our kids, as you can't bring up children with someone who is slow to resize a hexagon, for god's sake. That would be madness! At the very least I can rest assured that any mate I settle down with will distrust vampires just like I do.

So I'll give this new, science-based channel a little time and see what they come up with. I'm either all excited OR I'm sitting on an electroscope.

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

You lookin' at me?

So my attempt to find exactly the right guy for me kind of,... what's the word? Oh yeah, hit the old crapparoo! Mostly because I'm just not looking for Mr. Right+family. Also, I'm pretty much a bottom and I cannot support that many people on me. Bad for the back.

Tonight I noticed there's a "reverse search" button. Apparently I could come at this from the other direction, and rather then ask to see the guys who are "perfect" for me I could look at the guys for whom I would be perfect. Now this, says I, sounds like the way to go!

Because here's what I'm thinking. I'm thinking "why should I be in charge of picking the right guy? Clearly I SUCK at that! The one time I've done that in the past I wound up with a peach of a guy who's best attributes were "he hasn't hit me just yet. Also he's a really heavy sleeper, so he'll never hear me strike the match!" And since then my selection process has resulted in an extremely impressive collection of whole lotta nothin' So I should let the guys pick me! And then it will be voila - instant fish!"

I push the button.

Once again the result is... slim. In that there is only one guy. I'll go ahead and kill your suspense: we won't be picking out any china patterns. Why? What could be wrong? is it possible that I'm being just too darned picky? OR could there be bonafide reasons for me to rubber stamp this guy? What could these reasons be? (why the hell do I keep asking you guys questions like this? Don't I understand that this is not a conversation? Am I just completely addicted to question marks? Sorry, where were we...) Oh yeah, what reasons could there be for me to reject this guy? Could it be:

- that his online moniker is "daddy(something)"? I'm glad if you're excited about being a father, but when you make that your dating moniker it's saying something very different. And creepy. Creepy different.
- that he lives something like 90 min. away? Dude, I gotta think of the planet. If I started commuting 3 hours a day for a booty call I'd be removed from Al Gore's Five!
- that he doesn't have a picture? Ummm, yeah!

But those are just additional reasons.

You see, when I first clicked on to this profile the first thing I noticed (right after the creepy Daddy handle totally creeped me out right away, all creepy, but anyway) was this sentence:
"Not just any lady will do!"
Tell me, if you saw this within someone's carefully crafted profile you'd think they'd really painted a specific picture of what they're looking for, right? This is someone who does not want to waste any time on someone obviously not matching his criteria. And apparently, based on how I found him on the site, I AM his criteria! I should be that magic lady he's looking for! Maybe this could work after all!

I scrolled down and here's what his criteria says:

Age range: 18 to 65
Height: 4" to 7'11"
Build: Petite, Slender, Average, Athletic, Few Extra Pounds, Full Figured, Proportional, Body Builder, Tall and Lanky
Physical Appearance: Any
(I'm not kidding -- this info is copied and pasted directly from his profile!)
Marital status: Any
Race: Caucasian; African American; Asian; Multi-racial; Hispanic; East Indian; American Indian; Other
Religion: Any
Smoking preference: Doesn't smoke; Occasionally/Socially; Regularly; Trying to quit; Any
Drinking preference: Any
Children preference: Any
Race: Caucasian; African American; Asian; Multi-racial; Hispanic; East Indian; American Indian; Other
(you're seeing it already, right?)
Education Level: Any
Eye Color: Any
Hair Preference: Blonde; Dirty-Blonde; Light Brown; Auburn; Brunette / Brown; Strawberry Blonde; Red; Black; Salt & Pepper; White; Bald/Shaven; Subject to change without notice
Pets Owned: A dog owner; A cat owner; A reptile owner; A fish owner; A rodent owner; A bird owner; Call me Old McDonald; Petless
Political Party: Any
Sense of Humor: Any
Bests Physical Feature: Any.

Oh yes, not just any lady will do! It must be any lady except a 66 year old, 8 foot tall eskimo athiest who chain smokes, has a green mohawk and owns a pet giraffe.

and I will give up my giraffe for no man!