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The Dreaded Tip-Toe of Shame

the tip toe of shame the morning after

Shame on you.   You talked a little too much or a little too loud or in front of the wrong person.   You laughed a little too hard or a little too long or about the wrong person.   You drank a little too much or ate a lot too much because of the wrong person.   But other than a stain on your sleeve, the day ended with no damage.   Whatever you over-did is over-blown in your mind.   You went out by yourself.   Which, my friend, is not a crime. Or a sin. Or even noteworthy to anyone but you.   Everybody woke up where they were supposed to, in the appropriate attire, in the correct order.   You didn’t slink down the street after dawn or become a feast for gossip-hungry nosy-bodies.   You said...

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USA, I Salute You

fireworks USA flag

USA, I salute you.

 

My fellow single Americans, join me.

 

Salute Royal Pains.

 

Because they let Hank be Hank. And Hank is single.

All I Want for Christmas is Boo

Bad Santa

 

All I want for Christmas is Boo. My Boo Boo – Dempsey.

 

I don’t want a lot for Christmas
There is just one thing I need
I don’t care about the presents
Underneath the Christmas tree

I just want you for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
All I want for Christmas is you, yeah.

              Mariah Carey, et al

 

 

Last Christmas, Dempsey started aging faster. His muzzle completely white, his coat was getting streaks that rivaled a suburban housewife’s highlights. He was nearly 11; for an abnormally huge Boxer, he was old. According to a chart at the animal hospital, my Boo Boo’s human age was 85-90.

 

 

He began urinating in the house a few times a week. Though puppy pee pads addressed some of the problem, as my socks soon discovered, male dogs have worse aim than male people.

 

 

The bigger problem with big dogs, other than the sucky life expectancy, is degeneration in their hindquarters and backs. Their hips don’t move like they used to, which is scary and uncomfortable for both of you.

 

 

It’s also why I didn’t take Boo Boo to see Santa last year. Not the good Santa, I mean: the mall Santa, with a real beard and belly like a bowl full of jelly. The kind that graduated from Santa University, Phi Beta Stocking-Kappa.

Why I am so Mean (Or, Why I don’t Blog about Dating)

blog about dating

 

 

You won’t find much dating advice on this website. This is not an “in search of” blog. I don’t even tell you to be happy “first.”

 

I’m stating the obvious but an acquaintance asked me about the site recently and was completely confused by my description. When the wifi cooperated and we could see it, the reaction was:

 

“You’re so mean.”`

 

Huh?

60 Ways to Play With Yourself (Hint: Not the Kama Sutra for Singles)

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar

 

Play With Yourself.

 

Did you just blush? Good. You’re paying attention. Let’s talk.

 

Don’t worry, or don’t be disappointed as the case may be.

 

This is not the Kama Sutra for Singles.

 

Playing with yourself isn’t naughty.

 

Playing with yourself means going solo instead of not going at all.

 

Which makes playing with yourself one of the nicest things you can do for other people.

Happy Birthday to Single and the Sweet Side of 40: A birth, a death and the whole half story

October 24, 2013

Happy Birthday, Single and the Sweet Side of 40. Welcome to the blogosphere.

Launching a new website on a mid-autumn Thursday is not an obvious move. An optimist (not me) or PR Pro (formerly me) might focus on the slow-news-day aspect; it should be easier to get the story out.

A logical person, a data analyst or a business strategist might try to rule the day with facts and pie charts. Clearly, not, not, not me.

Me? Why did I decide this blog should be born October 24, 2013?

It’s my half-birthday, of course. Who could resist starting a website for single people on a day that is special for being half of something? Not me, because in a world where “whole” is only possible by joining two halves, single women have a bigger PR problem than a blog born under Scorpio.

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