Stream of Conscious Saturday Sunday

I just found out a guy I've known for over 8 years is, in fact, not mentally retarded.

So who's more retarded in this situation? Him for being so slow people think he's mentally handicapped? Or me for thinking it?

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I pulled out my copy of David Sedaris' Naked to loan a friend. While handing the book over, I noticed an ice cream stain in a very unfortunate place on the boxers.

I think Sedaris would find this hysterical.

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I was invited to Boy's Night Out on Friday-- how very asexual of me. It was just me and three married men. They admitted they were a little nervous about me tagging along.

Until they realized my strip club knowledge put theirs to shame.

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Only my mother would assume that speed dating involved drugs.

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I have a date with the guy from the Douchebag Incident^TM. If I like him, I'm going to be needing a new nickname for him. Or maybe not. They all get called that at one point or another. I could just start early.

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I think it's time to retire Slutty Bunny. Every year I wear it, I end up getting into a serious relationship and, once again, the costume went over well. I actually heard "May the best man win" over me tonight. Me. Stuff like that never ceases to surprise me.

Thank god I didn't do Super Slutty Bunny like I was planning.

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Speaking of, I have four dates this week. My plan to find a Christmas party date is working a little too well. I hate being Spreadsheet Girl; it just feels so unnatural and unromantic. This has become a cause of stress.

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I own a pair of Hooters shorts.

I'm just saying.

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