I did not go into great detail on my coffee klatch with Bachelor Number Three. Things got very deep after he showed up with his Burmese Mountain Dog*. Suffice it to say our baggage most definitely did not match (his bags didn't even match each other—most of them were made by Glad, and he brought them in a shopping cart).

We walked his pooch home after our coffee, and he insisted on driving me home.

We got to my place and there was a little red Porsche parked out front.

"Whose Porsche is that?" he asked, panting.

I shrugged. "It’s mine," I said.

His eyes got big as saucers.

"You serious?"

He looked like he was about to pop one off right then and there. I thought: could I get some nookie out of this? Probably. Did I want some nookie out of this?

"No, of course not," I said.

But just for the record, I am never more serious than when I'm joking, and never joking more than when I'm serious.

The Number Two is everywhere. It's like that new Jim Carrey flick, but without the three after it. Bachelor Number Two, date number two. There were only two of us on the date. We both drank two glasses of the house Chianti (highly recommended with the liver and fava beans). We both have two middle names, two siblings, two testicles. And it just goes on and on. Freeeaakkky.

But that's not what I want to talk about now. I want to talk about teachable moments. Dates are chock full of 'em. You just have to know where to look. But I assure you there's always something to be learned. And this date was no different. So instead of boring you with the gory details, in the spirit of teachable moments we here at masspurgation.com are dedicated to, I would like to offer some second date dos and don'ts.

Do clean your room.  (If you don't want to go through the hassle of washing your sheets, at least make your bed.)

Don't use Fabreeze as cologne, or instead of laundering (like the dude's mom in the commercial).

Do bathe and put on clean undergarments.

Don't forget to mapquest the meeting place.

Do ask penetrating questions over the arugula salad.

But don't get into the whole Hillary versus Barack thing (wait until at least the third date to hate on Hillary and hope on Barack).

Do take down that zany facebook/myspace/friendster profile that jokingly lists Foghat as your favorite band (no, I did not list Foghat as my favorite band, but I was not joking about AC/DC or ZZ Top).

Oh, and here's an important one I almost forgot: Don't decide it would be fun to show him your diary from 1995, which he will promptly open up to a passage beginning "Next morning we dry-humped a bit, got up and had breakfast…"


A shout-out to eeka over at 1smootshort. She sent me the following email earlier today:

So, in my blog awhile back, I pimped your Metro article about recycling and trash. The other day, someone commented on my post, saying I'd spelled the mayor's name wrong throughout my post.

The only thing is, I didn't mention the mayor in my story — but I mentioned YOUR name a few times. Either some schmuck doesn't know who the mayor is, or just really wishes you were running our town:

http://1smootshort.blogspot.com/2006/05/boston-not-doing-nearly-enough-to.html

Hmm, I wonder how many votes you might be able to get next election just from people who were trying to vote for the current guy...

Hmm. That's very subversive. The funny thing is, in my time in Boston, I have actually had people ask me if I'm related to the Mayor. But I always thought it was our suave good looks, eloquence, and taste in neckwear people were referring to.

Eeka's email did get me to day-dreaming, though. If I were Mayor McCheese, I'd have this city whipped into shape in no time flat. First thing I'd do is name every street after me. Well, I mean, right after I got my ride pimped so as not to be upstaged by Governor DeVille.


I have had word from Switzerland. Stanley is threatening to sue me over my faithful reporting on his opinions on Iraq in my blog, which I posted only after he was out of the country, so that he would have to respond using a French keyboard.

Because we here at masspurgation.com are committed to being fair and balanced, and because we love Stanley (in an agapic way), we have offered to post a full rebuttal, with full-frontal photos and diagrams if necessary, so that the world will know the other side of the story. (But just remember, I told you he would deny clasping his head with both hands and shouting: "I DON’T KNO-O-O-OW!")

So stay tuned! this could be bigger than Anna Nicole's bloated corpse and the Mooninite sympathizers' trial combined!
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