knock, knock

australian shiraz cabernet circa 2008, fresh batch of blackberries, chocolate chips...another romantic night with myself. it's written on the wall,

i need a boy.

and the only way that is going to happen for me is if i drop the excuses:

i have work in the morning.

i have to train tomorrow.

i don't have the money to spend on drinks.

there's only going to be douchebags out.

i don't want to lose my inhibitions and order french fries from the bar at 1 a.m. (like last time).

there's probably something good on t.v.

i don't want to feel "bleh" the next day.

or--my personal favorite--i really could use some alone time.

b-a-c-k the mother-fuckin truck up. "alone time?" this is the best excuse because i spend more than enough time starring in my own me, myself and i sitcom. it's sad when people can't enjoy their own company, but i take it a little too far.

so, in conclusion, i need to drop all the excuses and put myself out there because no one's going to be knockin' on my door. that would just be creepy.