I went on a date tonight.

"Jumpseat" answered my personal ad. We met for coffee, then on for pizza and beer. Jumpseat is a former military guy and now a flight attendant. He was pleasant and probably very likeable, but I didn't give him the attention he deserved. I'm not of a very date-like mind right now.

Jumpseat has light blue eyes and a friendly, open face. He poofs up his thinning hair. He did most of the talking, which was fine. He didn't look at me directly until at least the middle of our date.

Jumpseat's only boyfriend was a Whore (!!!!) who Lied (!!!!!) about being Monogamous. They're stuck co-owning a house together. Luckily, however, Jumpseat tells me he is Over Him, and Has Moved On.

If I was in a feisty mood, you would hear me pulling out the soapbox: I've lost count of the number of times I've heard this story.

But I'm not feeling feisty, I'm feeling... tired.

My extracurricular activities lately have been less about joyful physical expression, than about ... hmmm... anger? Last weekend I was with a couple who are "committed, but play together". They held each others' hands while I took turns banging them. (And people say Romance is dead.) They wanted me to bareback, but I refused and they kicked me out because one developed an allergic reaction to the latex.

For better or worse, I'll tell Jumpseat I'd be wasting his time if we met again. "It's not you, it's me."

You bloggies know I'm telling the truth.