Guest Who?

I'm still without internet in my new apartment, but you can find me guesting for the lovely Princess Pointful over at Umm... Now what? while she's off in Cuba getting a tan and smoking cigars.

Okay, probably not smoking cigars, but that's what I'd be doing if I were in Cuba.

Go check it out! I'll give you three guesses what it's about...

Waking Up

Today, New York is coming out of its shell.

People and squirrels alike have emerged from their dens, and chase one another--or perhaps a frisbee--across what passes for grass in the wake of a frigid March. Washington Square Park, where a few short months ago my date and I were alone in the snow, is now filled with people enjoying the opportunity to sit outside for longer than a few minutes without turning into a human popsicle. NYU students attempt to play catch while musicians trill away in every corner. Drums, violins, saxophones, cacophonous as their clashing melodies weave between the trunks of still-barren trees, but joyful in the message their presence portends.

Spring is coming. New York is waking up.

In another month, when the jackets come off, it will be nigh impossible to find a seat, but today, as the first hint of Spring whispers on the still chilly air, one can find a space to sit and watch, enjoying the sweet sense of beginning, the anticipation of what's to come.

For the past month I've done little more than complain, relentlessly, about all of the difficulties embroiled in my recent move. But on days like today, I remember why I bother. Why, in the end, it's all worth it.

It's worth it to be here, for this. To feel the muted excitement that sizzles through the air, bouncing from sidewalk to sky like a supersonic superball as New York cautiously slides open her windows and smiles.

Spring is almost here.

Take 2

Here I am, hoping and praying that the movers actually SHOW UP today.

I may be MIA for awhile as my internet access will be spotty at best. Because getting my possessions across the city isn't the only difficult part of this process, getting cable set up is also proving to be a bit of a clusterfuck.

I'll be dragging my laptop down to campus while I work tech on a show, to take advantage of the WiFi while I can, but I will most likely be absent from the blogosphere until a.) I get this crap straightened out, or b.) I find a net cafe.

Wish me luck!

@#(*&$_(*&@(*&$!!!

There are no words for the complete and utter clusterfuck that is this day.

Last night, I was packing until around 12:30 when I and my aching body finally threw in the towel, watched a few minutes of CSI, and went to bed.

This morning, I woke up at 7:00, finished the last little bits of packing up, went down the street to get coffee and a bagel, and then sat around waiting for the movers--and my parents, who were driving up from PA to help hang shelves and take back a few things that won't fit in the new place--to show up.

10:00 rolls around... 10:15... around 10:20 my parents call to tell me they're stuck in traffic on the BQE. I tell them the movers haven't arrived yet so not to sweat it.

10:30. I call the moving company to get an ETA, only to learn that they're not. fucking. coming.

Let me repeat that.

THE MOVERS WERE NOT COMING.

When I switched my reservation from Saturday to Monday, the guy on the phone accidentally put it in the computer for Tuesday. In other words: I. Am. Fucked. And my parents had already taken the day off work and driven 3 fucking hours to be here to help me.

I'll give you a minute to imagine my mental state on this one.

It took every amount of willpower I could muster not to start bawling on the phone--I did not, however, rein in my use of the word "Fuck," since I figured he had long ago lost any and all right to politeness as he did not, in all honesty, sound all that sorry about the fact that his error had completely and utterly fucked me over.

With a motherfucking chainsaw.

So I hung up the phone. I screamed. I smoked a cigarette.

My parents came and we ran a few things up to the new place--my plants, my food (since they were supplying the cooler), and the shelving unit that I needed my dad's help to hang. Now I'm sitting here in my apartment, on my legless, half-naked sofa, with cables running across the livingroom so I can connect to the internet since the router is packed and I'm out of tape so I can't close the box if I open it... oh, and my computer? Is being a royal dick today.

Really, aside from being pissed off, inconvenienced, and totally frustrated, I am completely and utterly amazed by the sheer number of things that have gone wrong with this move.

1. Couldn't get movers for Friday, so scheduled Saturday.
2. Find out the building doesn't allow weekend moves. Reschedule to Monday.
3. Learn that the post office, electric company, and cable company have no idea my apartment exists. It may take me up to three weeks to get cable/internet at new place.
4. Try to set appointment to get current cable box picked up, since new apartment has different provider. They say all they have is Wednesday, but I'll be gone. Finally get one for Tuesday, when I'll be here to paint.
5. MOVERS DON'T FUCKING SHOW UP
6. Call cable company to get that Wednesday appointment, no longer available, all they have is Thurs. Say fuck it, I'll figure out how to get the box back to them myself, even though all of their offices are WAY THE FUCK AWAY from where I'll be living.

And just to top it off, due to massive schedule conflicts, I probably won't have time to actually unpack anything until, oh, Friday.

I'm thinking that right about now is the time to buy a lottery ticket because something has got to go my freaking way!!

Walking FAIL

Yesterday afternoon, my rolly cart got into a fight with the sidewalk...

...and I lost.

FAIL.

The Final Countdown

(I'm totally going to have that song stuck in my head now.)

Two days till the big move and SO much to do!

I've been trying to be good, I really have. Setting little daily goals for myself... and thoroughly failing to meet them. But now I've only got two days left and my apartment still sort of looks like someone lives here, so the situation must be rectified, pronto.

Today's goals: Drop off donation clothes at Salvation Army, Do Laundry, Pack up all clothes except those needed in next few days, Pack up all bric-a-brac (aka trinkets, souvenirs, artwork, and other miscellany--I have a lot of miscellany), Pack linens, Finish cleaning out and packing bedroom closet, Take end tables, corner shelf, old TV, old VHS tapes, and sundry other items down to the curb to be appropriated by the locals.

Yikes.

Tomorrow's goals: Clean and pack kitchen, Take down the wall that must be removed in order to get the couch out of the house, Complete all of today's goals that I don't get finished.

Eep.

I can't wait for this nightmare to be over. I may be incommunicado for awhile after Monday, unless I can scam free wifi from someone in my new building, since this whole My-Apartment-Doesn't-Officially-Exist thing might keep me from having internet for, oh, THREE WEEKS OR SO...

I am still livid over this one. Seriously, seriously livid.

Anyhow, that's all I've got. Some ole' crap, I know.

I woke up early today (after getting home late, having elected beers with friends over packing) to give an ancient laptop to a guy from Freecycle--it's going to an NGO in Kenya--and now I kinda want to go back to bed for an hour or so, since it's not like I'll be productive before noon anyway.

Also, right before I woke up I was having a weird dream about a clogged toilet and a spider covered in chewing gum weaving a web above my pillow. Somehow that hardly seems like the right note on which to start the day.

Lock Your Doors, I'm Going on a Rampage...

A few days ago my Facebook status message noted that if one more wrench was thrown into the works of this move, I was going to go postal.

Well, it turns out that, according to, oh, the Electric Company, the Cable Company, and the motherfucking U.S. Postal Service... MY APARTMENT DOES NOT EXIST.

I can't open an electric account. It's going to take me three fucking weeks to get cable--don't ask me how the hell I'm going to find a job without the internet--and changing the address on my bills has been nothing short of a nightmare.

Of course, I discovered the brunt of this around 6:00pm on a Friday, which means that nobody was home at the management company when I called, and I therefore can't do dick about it until Monday--which is when I'm moving!

The apartment has electricity, so I won't be stumbling around by candlelight or anything, and there are no less than four cable jacks protruding from the walls, which means that it's capable of receiving a cable signal. Now, the building itself is Pre-War, but my lease listed the apartment as New Construction, so they must have split an older, larger apartment into two.

But don't you think they maybe should have told somebody??? Work like that requires a permit, so shouldn't somebody, somewhere, have maybe made a note of it?

Un-mother-fucking-believable. Seriously.

So, to keep me from jumping out a window, I need to remember the reasons I'm excited for the move, and thus I bring you...

Things I Will NOT Miss About My Apartment

1. Shittiest. Stairs. Ever.

The second flight of stairs has looked like this since I moved in--at which time the landlord claimed they were going to re-finish them within the next few months. Lies. All lies.

Which segues nicely into...


2. My Landlord's Laughable Attempts At Home Repair

 

Remember The Bathroom Saga? Well this is the resulting linoleum application after, you know, I finally got my floor back.

The best part? Is that beneath that shoddily applied linoleum is... even more shoddily poured concrete. Yes. Motherfucking CONCRETE. Sure as hell hope they never have to get at those pipes again...

  

Also post bathroom-repair. I'm willing to bet that that exposed drywall is just seething with mold spores. Seriously dude... why??

 

Livingroom ceiling has also looked like this since I moved in. What? You thought that hastily applied, greyish spackle would just blend right in with that horrible faux finish?

Which reminds me...


3. The Wretched Popcorn Finish That's Been Applied Everywhere.

The photo is from the kitchen. It has been applied to ceilings throughout the house, over the edges of the crown molding, over the original light fixtures, and all over the kitchen and my bedroom walls. It is ugly and it is sharp. WTF were you thinking??


4. The Song-and-Dance, Special Charms, and Sacrificial Goat required to Get a Reasonable Water Temperature in the Shower, Which Only Last for a Few Minutes Anyway.

Did I mention that the hot and cold taps are reversed, and the water pressure sucks?


5. The Not-Even-Remotely Level Stovetop.

I originally set the level on the floor, but it came out even, so the problem is clearly with the stove itself. Sauteing becomes a real pain in the ass when all the oil pools at one side of the pan.


6. The Fact That This, and a Shoddy Chain Bolt I Installed Myself, is the Only Thing Keeping Murders and Rapists Out of My Apartment.

A single, crappy lock in a hollow door. I've never been particularly comfortable with that.

Fortunately, for the next few days, I'll have enough boxes piled in front of those doors to keep out the 300 Spartans.

If I ever finish packing.

Things I Will Miss About My Apartment

Moving is always a bittersweet venture.

On one hand, it can be exciting. A new place, a new adventure, a pleasant change of scenery.

On the other, it can be exhausting, and a little sad. Packing, planning, and of course, missing all the little things that made a place feel like home.

There are lots of things I will miss about this place, so before I tear it apart and start putting it all into boxes and trashbags, I thought I'd create a little photo essay of the things that I'm really going to miss when I'm gone.

1. The Space

This place is huge. HUGE. I have a freaking hallway for goodness sake! Not only is this going to make downsizing a headache, as I'm going to have to give up some furniture, but I don't know what Psycho Kitty is going to do when she can't go tearing down the hall like a maniac several times a night.


2. Windows

Particularly this big one in the kitchen, which faces south and keeps the room bright and sunny all day--and aids in ventilation when I cook steaks on the stovetop and fill the house with smoke.

My current place has 6 windows. The new place has 2. I'm going to miss the sun.

And while we're on the kitchen...


3. The Gas Stove

The new place has an electric stove, which totally sucks for cooking. Also, I will no longer have a proper broiler, which means no more London Broil. No more roasted red peppers. I'm making both tonight as a sort of farewell gesture to proper cooking.


4a. This Awesome Built in Cabinet...

4b. ...and the Fact That It Made An AWESOME Liquor Cabinet

First of all, it just looks cool as hell. Second of all... look at all that room! I have no idea where I'm going to keep my booze--or all of those glasses--in the new place.


5. The Paintjob

It may have taken two weeks and an obscene amount of masking tape, but I am still insanely proud of the paintjob I gave this place, particularly the livingroom. A year and a half later and I still smile whenever I look at it, largely due to...


6. Crown Moldings

Any way you slice it, crown moldings are awesome. When I was checking out the new apartment I caught a glimpse into another one as the tenant was heading in, and it still had the old moldings (covered in the requisite 80 layers of paint that every pre-war building in NYC seems to have). Mine has been remodeled which on one hand is great, but I'm sad that the moldings are gone. They just add a lovely touch of Old World elegance.


7. The Funky, Slope-y Ceiling in the Front of the House

When I first took the apartment, I was worried about the low ceilings--rather needlessly, considering I'm all of 5'3"--but once I got settled in I realized that they give the place a nice, cozy feeling.


8. How Great My Great-Grandmother's Painting Looks On This Wall

This painting is one of my most prized possessions, and hanging here on this wall, it just looks like this is the place it was meant to be. I get a warm, fuzzy feeling every time I look at it, and I will genuinely miss that.


Coming up Next (before I wind up sobbing in a ball on the floor)... Things I Won't Miss About My Apartment!

Randomosity

Russell Brand's teeth are far too nice for an Englishman. Also, I would do lots and lots of exceptionally dirty things to him if given the chance.

You hear that Russell? Call me.

So I found an apartment. I'm signing the lease on Tuesday and (hopefully) moving on Friday. I filled out the "online quote" form for my moving company Friday night so I'm hoping they call me first thing Monday morning and hopinghopinghoping they are available to do the move on Friday, at a time other than the crack of dawn's ass. My dad is driving up to give me a hand with some things like re-hanging my shelves in the new place, and transporting a yowling cat who hates being in her carrier, and since it's a three hour drive to NYC from Hometown, he won't be able to get here until around 10am.

I wonder how much extra the movers are going to charge, considering the new place is a 5th floor walk-up.

It's also in a completely different neighborhood than where I've lived in NYC so far (Ashley will be excited to learn that it is in Manhattan, but just about as far north as you can possibly go without falling into the Harlem River), so it will be interesting to see how I feel about it once I'm settled in.

Tomorrow will begin the Great Pack-Fest of 2009. I reallyreallyreallyreallyREALLY fucking HATE packing. With a passion. Particularly because the new place is much smaller than my current place, and thus I need to do some *major* downsizing. I should probably get drunk first. That always makes getting rid of things easier.

I'm sorry that I have nothing particularly exciting to say. New neighbors are moving in downstairs today and I think they smoke, as I smelled it in my livingroom this afternoon. That makes it a good time for me to move, as I don't like the smell of smoke in my house.

I mailed in my egg donor application last week. I need to call them tomorrow and ask how long it will be until I hear from them as to whether or not I've been accepted to go to Round 2 of screening. I hope so. I need the money.

We've got one potential contender in the land of Chemistry.com. I'm still skeptical, but we'll give it a shot. If I survive the move.

Still need a job. Trying not to think about it.

That about sums it up really. I'm baking bread right now, trying out a new recipe for a simple white loaf. I made 1 loaf and 6 hot dog buns which look totally tasty. I broke my no-factory-made-bread rule last week to buy some buns and couldn't believe how god-awful they were. Ick! So this is the first attempt at homemade. They look a little wonky, but I doubt the hot dog will mind.

Right. I'll stop now. I promise I'll try to be a better blogger once this whole moving thing blows over.

Kisses!

New Email Address

In preparation for my impending move, I've moved my blog email address to Gmail, since Optimum doesn't serve my new neighborhood.

New address is: dasfroggy at gmail dot com

What's up with Gmail not allowing dashes in email addresses? And who the hell is already using dasfrog and das.frog?? Bastards.

Anyhoo, if you've got me in an address book, you can go ahead and update the address. And if you don't, well, you should. I like email. Email is nice.

(Also, I totally just got excited over the fact that you can sync Gmail accounts with Outlook! WOO! I don't think I'll do it with my "real" account, since I haven't deleted an email since I opened the thing and the sheer volume of messages would probably make my harddrive explode... but I like having my blog comments all nice and neat where I can see them, without having to go type in a password somewhere. It makes me happy. And not much does these days, so I'm taking what I can get!)

Warning: It's another one of *those* posts...

I do not deal well with the overwhelming sensation of being completely and utterly fucked.

Mostly it means that I spend the majority of my time feeling as though I could burst into tears at any moment, and am one broken pencil away from being committed to the looney bin.

This afternoon, I sucked it up and went to a restaurant open call for servers. This, of course, means that the place was packed with dozens of other hopefuls who, like myself, have been scanning Craigslist for any and all possibilities for income.

I arrived 15 minutes after the time listed in the ad, waited 15 minutes while someone went and made more copies of the application, then waited for an hour and a half for an on-the-spot interview, only to be talked down to because I'd forgotten the difference between a scotch and a single malt.

First of all, I'd forgotten how fucking condescending restaurant managers can be.

Second, I waited tables in this city for three fucking years, and no customer has ever asked me that question.

"I HAVE A FUCKING MASTERS DEGREE!!" I wanted to scream. "I AM NOT A MORON!!" Moreover I wanted to look him straight in the eye and say "Look asshole, I may have been out of the game for a few years, but it's not like serving skills are something you can forget. I could wait tables in my sleep, and still do, on occasion, when plagued by a particularly wretched nightmare, and if you want me to memorize a bunch of facts about liquor give me a list and I'll come back in 45 minutes with the whole damned thing memorized, so why don't you just give me a fucking job!!"

I have a feeling that all of the above would have been counter-productive, but it's all true.

One would think that three years of NYC waitressing experience, plus three years of professional experience (which involves just as much smiling, multitasking, and ass-kissing as waiting tables), plus a goddamned Masters Degree to prove I'm not stupid, plus the maturity of 29 years of life, seven of them spent surviving in one of the most expensive cities in North America, and oh yeah did I mention the MASTERS DEGREE?? would be enough.

And one would be wrong.

He said they'd call if they "found a place for me," and I wanted to punch him in his smug little mouth.

Instead I smiled, shook his hand, and made my way to the door--being sure to straighten the chair I'd be waiting in on my way out.

How the hell is the service industry managing to stress me out when I'm not even working in it?

More of the Same

Today I trudged all over Upper Manhattan with a broker (the lovely Miss Ashley's broker, in fact) looking for the impossible: an apartment that I could pretend to afford that was bigger than a shoebox.

We finally found one. And managed to talk the management company down to a monthly rent that is $50 higher than the absolute (and already slightly unattainable) maximum I had set for myself.

I took it.

With my parents as guarantors, because apparently I am 22 again instead of nearly 30.

I should know by the end of the day tomorrow whether or not the application has been accepted. From what I gathered from my last phone call with the broker, it's pretty much a go (it had better be, for the $300 in application/background-check fees I'm paying for them to check out me AND both of my parents)...

So why am I more stressed out than I was before?

Maybe it's because I have to move on the 20th, which is, ummm... a little over a week away.

Maybe it's because this new apartment is half the size of the one I have now, which means some serious downsizing of personal possessions.

Maybe it's because I'm still not entirely sure how I'm going to pay for it, and with my parents as guarantors I can't just run my credit into the ground and squat there if everything goes south, because they'll be responsible.

The universe really needs to throw me a financial bone here, or I'm going to wind up with one hell of an ulcer.

f*ck

There was another topic I was going to blog about today. I was all prepared to write an insightful post about how people's perspective seems to skew when they have kids.

Then I found out that I didn't get approved for the apartment in Harlem because I'm unemployed--even though it's cheap enough that I could *easily* pay the rent living on unemployment alone, and even though I created a detailed description of likely scenarios for my freelance income.

In other words--I am totally, 100%, utterly, fucked.

I need to find a cheaper apartment, because I'm unemployed.

Nobody wants to give me an apartment, because I'm unemployed.

If I can't even get approved for a fucking low-income apartment, how the hell will I get approved for a normal apartment???

And even though my mother insisted on bringing up the subject right before bed every night that I was home this weekend, I am NOT moving back in with my parents. That would be tantamount to giving up my entire life and everything I've worked (and gone into debt) for, and I just can't do it.

And to top it all off, as I sit here in a spiraling state of panic and despair even worse than the one that sent me scampering off to buy cigarettes last week... I have an audition in 5 hours, and I'm so consumed with being a basket-case over my looming homelessness that I can't even think about it.

f*ck

f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck f*ck

F*CK

That is how I feel today.

I wasted my apartment-karma living in rent control for four years while the economy was healthy, pissing away my money on all those things we piss our money away on in our early 20s. Now that I really need that karma, it's nowhere to be found.

Sorry that the blog has turned into a circus of self-pity lately, but being that that's pretty much all that's going on in my life these days, it's all I've got.

motherfucker.

Avon Walk for Breast Cancer

This year, on October 10th & 11th, I will be walking 39 miles in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer.

For the past two years I've cheered on a friend of mine as she completed the walk. Last year I walked the last two miles with her after meeting her at the cheering station, and when I got to the end I decided that this year I would do it too.

So I am.

And while I promise not to shamelessly solicit via my blog too often, I do need to raise $1,800 in order to participate, sooooo....

If you feel so inclined, please visit http://www.avonwalk.org/goto/Feet_First to make a donation. Even one dollar will help move me toward my goal, and help provide education and treatment for those who need it most. I'll be putting a link in the side-bar as well, if you need to think about it first.

And, of course, I'm sure I'll be blogging my progress as I train to walk a marathon--especially when I try to work that around the schedule of being a full-time camp counselor for all of August!

Please feel free to pass this along to anyone who you think might want to help this worthy cause. It's not for me, it's for everyone.

* * *

We now return to your regularly scheduled programming...

Small Prayers

These are the wishes I am sending out into the Universe tonight...

This evening on the train I listened for four stops as some girl complained, practically without breathing, about her restaurant job. Please, please, please, don't make me go back to that...

My application has been submitted and I am sitting on razor's edge, waiting to hear about this apartment. Please let the response be soon, and let it be positive. I don't deal well with this sort of uncertainty, and I fear that my stress level is verging on becoming damaging to my health...

I would really like a job. One that utilizes my talents and intellect, perhaps even my insanely expensive graduate degree, and does not leave me feeling as though my soul has been sucked into a vacuum to be stored for potential (and unlikely) future use...

I hope my audition next Tuesday for [Rep Company] goes well. It may not pay, but it is good people, good cred, good work, and something I would very much like to be a part of. If this aspect of my life were going well, I could totally be more flexible on the whole soul-sucking-employment thing...

It would be stellar if the $50 that I don't really have, but have invested in this whole Chemistry.com experiment, would yield either a good dinner, or a good lay. I won't taunt the benevolence of the Universe by asking for pseudo-science to deliver me a relationship, but I could really, really use a good fuck...

Snippet

Okay boys, I gotta ask...

Would you make this the entire body of your online dating profile?

"I would love to be with a girl who is comfortable in jeans, cute and down-to-earth, likes hanging out with me and my friends, and would enjoy going to events that I end up going to. Just please don't be full of yourself or a snob about others and we will get along great!"

Nothing about yourself, just a directive to any woman who might have self-esteem low enough to find this appealing?

Chemistry needs to add a "He seems like a douche-bag," or a "He's totally full of himself" option when they ask why you're not interested in one of the matches they provide. "Not a good fit" just doesn't seem to cover it.

His-Royal-Douchiness aside, I'm playing the Keep an Open Mind game and I've got, like, 6 guys saved to my Active Matches (a few that I might have added while half asleep at 1am and may need to re-evaluate soon). I'm not particularly excited about any of them, but I want to see how this process plays out.

Also, I have a lot of free time.

We are now progressing through sending "Relationship Essentials" (Position the slider to show how important the following qualities are to you!) and "Short Answer Questions" (What made you smile today? Desert Island top five! What are you most grateful for?!)

Eventually, I think we actually get to email each other.

I am immensely skeptical and have a sneaking suspicion that if/when I actually get around to meeting any of these guys, I will probably enjoy myself and have good conversations, but don't anticipate immediately wanting to jump any of their bones.

Time, as they say, will tell.

Apartments, Dating, and Other Annoyances

Oh glorious denizens of the internet, I am once again calling on you to harness the powers of goodness and light and send positive real estate vibes my way tomorrow (Tuesday) when my lease application is submitted to the landlord.

I think I've managed to cobble together enough proof that I am a viably employable person and able to pay the rent--and I really, really, REALLY hope it works. Having a place to move--that is significantly less expensive than where I live now--would be a huge weight off my shoulders.

In other, thoroughly unrelated news, some inner demon (and a 3-months-for-the-price-of-1 promotion) coerced me to join Chemistry.com.

So far, I am not impressed.

Part of the reason I bothered joining at all was that after you make a profile, it won't even let you see the faces of the guys who say they're interested in you until you've paid for a membership--and personality test aside, looks are freakin' important. They are. Case closed.

So that's one unimpressive (though skillful re: marketing) aspect of the site.

Another is that the smallest distance radius you can give is 50 miles. FIFTY! That may be all fine and dandy for people who live in the mid-west, drive that far for work every morning, and, you know, have cars... but for those of us living in the big city who rely on mass transit, dating someone who lives halfway across New Jersey is simply not an option, no matter how good he looks with his shirt off. Give me someone in the five boroughs, please.

Now, I opened my account two days ago, and just paid for the subscription today, so all I've seen is the 15 matches they've given me over the last 3 days (you get 5 a day, it's all based on the test, no browsing a la Match), and the 9 guys who expressed interest in me after being sent my profile.

And of all of them? So far? Nada.

Feeling like I need to at least give the system a shot, being that I've paid for it and all, I expressed interest in one of them, who seemed kinda alright... then again he's also Catholic, so chances are my Agnostic/Atheist/Undefined-Religious-Status-But-Definitely-Doesn't-Believe-In-Any-Type-of-Sentient-All-Powerful-God self will most likely never jive with a guy who buys in to Transubstantiation (which, if you think about it, totally equates with cannibalism... just sayin'...)

So, has anybody else attempted this newest online dating fad? Or am I the lone explorer, set out to conquer this foreign and oddly-governed land?

I'm just wondering if I can find a way to make money off of this experience. Then I could totally write it off on my taxes.