Do you hear that ticking sound? That’s the sound of my biological clock like a metronome tick, tock, ticking in my ear. Tick, tock.
So I was thinking about various past relationships this morning, and it’s funny, really. Not in a “that’s a good joke I’ll repeat to my coworkers at the water cooler later” funny, but a “look at that peculiar animal beating its head futilely against the plexiglass wall of its cage at the zoo” funny. I think there’s two ways to classify my past “relationships”: those I expected to be long-lasting and those I never intended to last beyond a week, tops.
The former classification is rare and has a truly bizarre effect on me. My domestic gene kicks in and I start nesting: cleaning his house, folding his laundry, baking, nagging. I’m really good at the nagging part. My future spouse can rest assured I’ve got that part down. In fact, I even nag my friends and my mom and my little brother who isn’t really my little brother.
The latter classification–those relationships that aren’t really relationships–have an equally bizarre effect on me. My defiant gene kicks in and I start rebelling: if he doesn’t like me smoking (But you can have a dip in your mouth while kissing me? I don’t even think so, buddy.), I’ll be sure to chainsmoke two on the way to his house; if he doesn’t want me to drink, I’ll bring the vodka; if he doesn’t want me playing with my new slinky, I’ll play with it all night long until the accordion sound of it being pulled apart and falling back together makes him want to strangle me.
In unrelated news, Valentine’s Day is coming up, and Bosco is the only Valentine I want.

I started this post while driving down the road today, by the way. I actually got an internet connection at the stoplight at Broadway and Avenue K. Fascinating.

The Pancake Festival is coming up.

Coach Knight has retired.

Super Tuesday without John Edwards is just a plain ol’ Tuesday, in my opinion.

Peace, love, and wi-fi at stoplights.