GRUMPY OLD TOAD SEEKS WOMAN WHO LIKES FLIES

Most men going through a mid-life crisis acquire a sports car and a trophy wife. Either that, or like Hollywood celebrities they do something particularly stupid and tacky. So by that definition, I am neither most men nor going through a mid-life crisis.
Boruch Hashem.

There are, however, a few things that I would seek to change. For one thing, my social life. There isn’t anything really wrong with my social life, other than that it basically doesn’t exist. It wasn’t that extensive to begin with, it’s gone now. My calendar is wide open, my evenings are free, and my weekends are entirely empty.

Every weekend for a number of years I would head into the Eastbay for conversation and coffee. After a few hours of that I would return to San Francisco and take Savage Kitten out to dinner at an Indian restaurant.

Then I found out that many people were there only for the free coffee, so I stopped going. I still gladly associate with the “rational fringe” (Rabbit Mom, Betelnuts, Snack, Bridge-playing Toireh Leyner, and a blogging woman whose last name sounds like a mythological beast).
But there is no reason to go to the East-Bay anymore.
At least not frequently. And I really dislike Oakland.

Savage Kitten broke off our relationship in mid-summer last year. Consequently I no longer go to an Indian Restaurant on Saturday night, and now almost never have dinner with another person at any other time either.


About the only thing that has stayed fairly constant is visiting a local bar for a cocktail in the evening. Which, if you think about it, is a piss-poor excuse for a social life. It’s neither conversationally fertile, nor conducive towards any intimacies or real friendships.
Sort of the generic Scotch-buy of human contact.

Obviously, my sex life has also changed - it no longer exists at all.
In any way, shape, or form.
And I live in San Francisco.

I used to really enjoy the weekend. Coffee, snacks, Indian Food, Savage Kitten. Tea, cuddling, dinner together, and snackies.
Now, the only good thing about the weekend is that I can catch up on sleep.
I spend several hours by myself at the office.
There isn’t anything else.
I’m glad when Monday rolls around.

HELLO, ANY OF YOU NICE YOUNG LADIES READING THIS LATE AT NIGHT WHILE YOU’RE TAKING A BREAK FROM WRITING THAT RESEARCH PAPER, WANT TO GO OUT SOMETIME TO A RESTAURANT FOR A QUIET STRESS-FREE DINNER, JUST THE TWO OF US, I’LL GET YOU HOME AT A DECENT HOUR? HELLO?
I’M CLEAN AND NEAT, I KNOW HOW TO ACT LIKE A GENTLEMAN, I CAN AFFORD A TAXI, AND I DON’T HAVE ANY DISTRACTING TATTOOS OR EMBARASSING NERVOUS TICS. I SHAVE EVERY DAY, TRIM THE BEARD REGULARLY, BRUSH MY HAIR, AND KNOW HOW TO USE A KNIFE AND FORK, HELLOOOOOO?!?

ANIMAL PROTEIN, SATURATED FATS, SALTY THINGS. SEAFOOD!

Why did I even put that up there?

Well....... It works in movies?

Perhaps on the off-chance that it might succeed. Maybe there actually is a nice young thing reading my blog, charmed or intrigued by my quirkiness or interesting character traits. Not particularly likely, quite doubtful even.
Nor really a statistical probability either.
Realistically speaking the thinnest of likelihoods, but, like the odds of winning the lottery, you don’t stand any chance if you don’t play. And by shouting out the invitation above, no matter how misguided and desperate the attempt, it feels like the possibilities have already increased exponentially.

In any case, the chances of finding someone with whom I can get along are probably slightly greater among the readers of this blog than among the general population. That they are here at all shows that we have some interests in common.

I just hope it isn’t some of the more disturbing things I’ve written about.



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