Falling in Love Again

You have no idea how truly fortunate you are currently. You are in a situation that very few find themselves honored enough to be in. You are on a date with me. That’s right, you! At this very moment! Try not to pee your pants from the excitement—there are few ways to ruin a date more expediently. Don’t count your chickens before they hatch though. If you expect me to, huh, well, get giggy with it later tonight, you need to pick up the tab. I may be easy, but I ain’t free!
Right now, I am at the Cheesecake factory. I decided to take myself on a date (along with my computer). Hell, if no one else is gonna ask, I will take myself out on the town. At least I know I won’t break up with myself later! There is nothing quite like being in a fairly romantic setting—lights low, candles flickering, couples dinning, music wafting gently over the senses—with only your bitter, sarcastic wit to keep you company. Wow, I am turning myself on, I should be careful, people may start to stare.
Speaking of being desperately in love with myself, I got an email from a friend the other day, praising my blog. Now, he, admittedly, doesn’t give out blog complements easily. He feels that most people’s blogs are just tools to stroke their own narcissistic adoration. He heaped his accolades upon me for doing something more and maybe a little deeper with mine. I was greatly flattered, and, in truth, felt a little guilty. Surely if there has ever been a blog centered around obsessive contemplation and self-superiority, it is Ramblings. However, I have learned to take a compliment wherever I can get one. And, yes, I did look in the mirror to tonight and comment on how hot I look for this tender date with myself. I really do look unusually attractive this evening. It only happens about once every seven and a quarter months. It is a pity it is wasted on my straight waiter. Hell, he is bringing me mashed potatoes, cheesy chicken, and maybe cheesecake later. I think I am in love.
Pause for a little bit, please, my glorious dinner has arrived.
Dear Lord, that was sinfully good, and I am perfectly full right now—a little too full, I should stop before I order the Carrot Cake Cheesecake or the Cookie Dough Cheesecake (it is still too early for the Pumpkin Cheesecake [Heaven]). Remember just a few short moments ago, when I was pledging my unending devotion to myself and all my stunning beauty? Well, the honeymoon is over, and I am breaking up with myself. God, I hate me! I was in the middle of my scrumptiously delectable dinner when piece of chicken fell off my fork and splattered mushroom sauce everywhere. I quickly looked down to observe the damage—there was none, somehow my shirt was spared. I could not believe my good fortune. I never have such luck! Blessed be! Shortly thereafter, some of my euphorically creamy mashed potatoes felt athletic and jumped off my fork and dove into the mushroom sauce, again, splattering everywhere—including my shirt. It is one thing to be an attractive, single man of mystery out on a date with himself. It is quite another to be a short, pathetically lonely excuse for a man with food dribbling pitiably down his shirt.
Oh, I have to leave you now, I hope you have enjoyed the rest of our date. My Carrot Cake Cheesecake is here!!!!!