Enough small talk. I can't think of a stronger way to start an entry than: 

So I'm with some buddies at a titty bar the other day.

Sparkle walks up to me and asks, "Who's ready for a lapdance?"

I respond by pointing at my friend, because she wasn't that hot.  She proceeds to tell me how rude it is to point at someone else when asked for a lapdance.  Stopping nothing short of scolding me. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.

"Thanks for clueing me in.  I didn't realize there was so much etiquette involved in an establishment called 'The Purple Nurple.'  Also it's tough to catch a lecture on manners from a chick wearing smiley-face pasties and a glitter thong. But seriously, thanks."

 I was invited to leave.  Apparently, Sparkle was a little more sensitive to sarcasm than I had given her credit for. 

About two weeks ago, I decided to adopt a dog from the Humane Society.  I've always loved dogs, and I was finally ready to have one of my own.  Plus, this dog had a rough start to life, and needed someone to give her the life she deserved.  And I thought being able to tell girls I rescued a dog from a shelter would help me get laid. So far, the tally reads:

Chicks Scored With Due to Dog: 0    Dumps Taken on Carpet: 7

 So not a well thought out plan on my part.     

I actually did meet a pretty cool chick this past weekend.  I decided to ask her out, so I called her last night.  Here is a brief synopsis of our conversation:

Me: "Look, I'm sure you've been on a million boring-ass 'dinner and a movie' first dates. So I thought maybe we could do something fun like go to Atlanta for the day and go to a Braves game or Six Flags."

Her:"Um, that's really creative. But I hate baseball and theme parks, and I already have a date for Saturday. But definitely give me a call next week."

Me (mumbling): "That's cool. I mean, I'm gonna be busy this weekend, too. Probably for the best. (She's hung up by now) But yeah, I mean, I'll totally call you next week. Cool."

It's good to know after three years of being off the market, I still haven't lost my touch with the ladies.

Fantasy Baseball is ruining my life.  There's no joke here.  Law Firm is a hair away from firing me due to lack of productivity.  This is because rather than write research briefs or negotiate settlements, I am on Yahoo! trying to orchestrate a monster trade to improve my heinous middle relief.  Why? I don't know. I can't explain it.  There's no financial incentive in my fantasy league.  Pride isn't an issue, as that died with ex-fiancee's "never given me an orgasm" bomb months earlier.  So it isn't money, it isn't pride, and yet I spend hours a day trying to find a way to improve my team's "Walks plus Hits divided by Innings Pitched," or WHIP to those of you with real lives.  My ace, Ben Sheets, went on the DL for the second time this season, and it ruined my day.  I'm storming around the office, kicking over trash cans, glaring at my paralegal and muttering under my breath. 

 "Lose a case?"    

 "Um, No."

"Surly insurance adjuster?"  


"Ben Sheets on the DL again?"   


After I finished my obsenity laced tirade toward the paralegal, Law Firm gave me something called "involuntary sick leave." I didn't see anything in the employee handbook about it, but I'm sure it's totally legitimate.

These are the things that keep me awake at night.