Mr. Carl wants to have coco.
And in all honesty, I don’t want to. Not that I have anything against coco, mind you! I’m a big coco enthusiast! Been drinkin’ it my whole life! Yay for coco! But I have zero interest in meeting Mr. Carl. I mean think about how awkward it is to try to write him a decent email… Now extrapolate that into 45 min. of time sitting across a table, trying to make the art of blowing on my coco seem meaningful and interesting. And secretly hoping that some hunk of vintage space garbage is whizzing through the atmosphere headed straight for the coffee shop to put me mercifully out of my misery.
BLEAH. I was really hoping we’d be able to string along these uncomfortable emails for several more weeks before I had to face this. (and that during that time Fernando would become disillusioned with the floozy who currently has his attentions and would go back to his foolishly closed matches and see my snazzy new photo and realize that I am EXACTLY what his fiery latin heart has been searching for all along. Or that I’ll win the lottery and find some pretty trophy boyfriend.)
(note to self: buy lottery ticket.)
I’m tempted to ask for opinions from you, my trusty readership, but since I fell off the blogging wagon for pretty much the entire month of December I think my actual readership right now consists of 3 web-crawling robots, a quadriplegic in British Columbia who’s computer is stuck here and won’t respond to his frantic eye jiggling trying to get back to google and The Queen. And I think if I don’t go meet Mr. Carl she’ll stop reading, and then it will just be me and jiggly eye guy.
So instead of asking if I should meet Mr. Carl, maybe I could ask “any suggestions for making this a less hellish experience?” Or maybe “anyone out there want to wear my handy-dandy Femtastic full-face mask and go in my place?” (Note: Handy-Dandy Femtastic full-face mask will be available for purchase in time for Christmas of 2009. If ever…)