I honestly don’t know much about these types of things, but when you get back from a first date at 5AM, that’s a sign of either:

1. a really good time
2. someone being in the drunk tank, or
3. an attempted kidnapping

I leave it to you to decide which.

>On a somewhat related topic: my Dad visited me for the day on Saturday, and he asked me about my descent into moral decline, as detailed in my posts as of late. This is why, for you aspiring bloggers out there, you don’t tell anybody you know about your site, because then you afford your parents, friends, co-workers, and distant relatives the ability to read the type of stuff you only want to tell anonymous strangers. You also end up editing yourself, which I’ve done quite a bit over the years, and have only recently started breaking back out of.

I, of course, only bring this up to scare any parents, friends, co-workers, or distant relatives into not critiquing me about my site again, less they are comfortable with more of their lives being illustrated on the internets. Warfare by passive aggression.

Back to my moral decline:

In my years of dating, I’ve generally been what a friend of mine lovingly calls a Serial Monogamist. Which means, basically, that I have moved from one girlfriend to the next, without any periods of casually dating a number of people. In retrospect, this means I’ve been pretty lucky about finding compatible people. On the other hand, this means I’ve missed out on a lot.

I’m making up for it now.

Sometime around 4AM Friday night, on the aforementioned date, she asks me, “You’re not a player or anything, right?” Which Wikipedia defines as:

Player (dating): slang term for a (usually male) individual skilled at sexual seduction.

By the way, the fact that Wikipedia even has a definition for “player” has earned it my undying love and adoration.

>Anyway, 4AM Friday, asks the question, and as I am in the middle of explaining all the ways that I am decidedly not a player, the 21 year-old calls. Three times.