A Young 48!

July 4th and this town is dead. The way I like it. I've done all the important things one should do on a national holiday. Took advantage of free parking on the west side. Ate an amazing ginger molasses cookie at Lovejoy Bakers, dipped in Rostretto Roasters coffee (of course). Shopped, perused, and generally wandered Powell's. I exercised while watching Analyze This and reading 50more pages of that aforementioned hedgehog book.

Let's face it: I'm a little blue and I'm a lot tired. Last night A. got scared at the sound of fireworks and hopped into bed with me. Truth be told, it was cozy having her and it felt nice to be needed. It's been a little quiet since my parents left. Dare I say it? I miss them. Those crazy, freakish people I call "my parents." Also, it is not sunny here. Overcast, gray sky, June gloom but it's July! July! We ordered at least 2 months of sunshine. And where is it?

I'm tired of lousy dates. I'm tired of this streak. I'm ready to move my ass to NYC.

FYI: I had a phone conversation with the guy my dad pimped me out to last week. Turns out he is 48 years old. Remember, I'm 35. "A young 48," he said. And I give him props: he was honest and exuberant. My rule has always been about 10 years in either direction with exceptions given to any man exceptionally attractive and/or good looking. I have depth!

But cause for perhaps more concern, I don't know yet - he also told me healed a person of cancer. My immediate reaction was, "How did you do that?" But just then a potential customer walked into his store, I assumed and he said, "I'd love to tell you that story some time."

Hmmm. I'd love to hear it.