Quick, what's eleven minus two?

C'mon who are we kidding? We both knew when she demanded an update she was going to get one. Tomorrow, you say?

*E cracks whip and I instinctively grab my buttocks*

Your wish is my command.

I'm beginning to question E's simple math skills -- she claims she has 12 days of freedom left but February 11th is definitely 9, not 12, days away. Is this fuzzy math her subconscious begging her to come to her senses or is it merely the result of her underfunded New York public school education?



E's 2nd grade classroom. It was either elementary arithmetic textbooks or patching up the gaping asbestos-laden ceiling tile hanging over little E's desk.

Do I believe the next nine days are a metaphorical doomsday clock? Is the long minute hand rotating at an abnormally frenetic tempo, hastily leaning on the stubborn hour hand till it finally clunks another agonizingly measured moment closer to the point of no return?

Not for me. I'm so close to having A-list celebrity caliber arm candy I can taste it! I'm celebrating every passing nanosecond as another stride forward in my gold medal victory lap.



If I must choose which uber-attractive hottie I closest resemble, I choose Kim Jong Il's cronie on the way left...

Ah, yes, hard-earned victories are the sweetest thing a man can taste (and this tastes like a combination of Rolo-flavored guacamole dip!)

Fear not, America. I bring rugged adonis trophy-husband worthy physical beauty to the table also:



Hollywood, here I come.

Why wasn't I content with "f-buddy" label? The universal dude rule book states that if a disease-free female that isn't your ex-girlfriend, best friend's girlfriend, or cousin offers the coveted no strings attached relationship, you shut up and take it.

The answer is simple: I wanted more. I've never considered myself prone to fall into a blind spell of infatuation. I never saw myself doting unspeakable adoration on a girl who discusses her bowel movements in excruciating detail. Yet here we are, and you know what? There's no place I'd rather be.

There's a certain vulnerability I've rediscovered recently. While this vulnerability often leads jilted lovers down a seemingly never ending path of perpetual uncertainty, I believe the blind pursuit of love (or like :)) is what truly separates us from the beasts.

So what happens when the clock strikes midnight? For me, the pursuit is far from over. It's only begun.