How To Stay Single From Someone Who Knows

Staying single in the peak of your success and physical attractiveness isn't easy. In fact, it takes a lot of work. Fortunately, after many years of being successful and attractive, I've gotten pretty good at warding off any potential mates who will undoubtedly just slow me down in my quest to live a fulfilling and meaningful life.

For example, when I get the sense that a gentleman is trying to pick me up, I try to find polite ways to discourage them from talking to me. The important thing is to make sure that their feelings aren't hurt in the process (after all, they can't help it if they're attracted to you.)

A great way to do this is to drone on and on about a subject they may be uncomfortable with. I've had great success with the subject of zoophilia, and more specifically, the intricacies of interspecies mating between humans and dolphins (there is a lot to discuss here and thanks to my tendency to wander aimlessly around the internet, I've picked up quite a bit of interesting information.) In 9 out of 10 cases, whoever approached you will not share your supposed zeal for doing the aquatic mammal mambo. In the rare event that they do, quickly ask the bartender if they serve mahi mahi and wait for the other person to run to the bathroom, crying.

If for some reason you're hesitant to scare off any suitors with fabricated (and frightening) personal information, there are other options. And, as some wise sage who obviously had a lot of unwanted romantic attention once said, actions speak louder than words.

The other night, I was in danger of impressing a guy with my staggering wit and enormous bosoms. Don't worry. I took care of it. Because when he explained to me that he was actually there with a date (he clearly just wanted to bring up the topic of dates so he could ask me out on a later one), I awkwardly laughed into my beer. Not a big deal, you say? Perhaps not. But the sheer aerophysical force of my laugh propelled half of my beer onto his face. Meanwhile, his quote-unquote date looked on, horrified. Without a word, he wiped the beer from his expressionless, beery face and walked away. Stephanie 1. Potential mate 0.

Yes, it's not easy. But with a lot of practice, you too can be this good at humiliating yourself out of a tight situation that could end with you losing your enviable single status. Also, dabbing a bit of cat urine on your wrists and neck really helps sell it.

Follow Me To Irrelevancy!

Well, it's official. I'm Twittering. Or Tweeting. Or Tooting? I'm still trying to get the terminology thing down. Seeing as Twitter has been around for two years now, you'd think I'd be up on this stuff. But as you know, I like to jump on things at the caboose of their social significance. This explains why I started blogging at 26, Social Networking at 27. And now Twittering, just shy of 28. I haven't bothered with Facebook yet because it is still so popular.

For those of you who are not familiar with Twitter, it's essentially a micro-blog. People "tweet" about links they stumble across, events that are happening in real time, or just funny ruminations that occur to them while they're supposed to be doing other things, like working (expect a lot of that). What attracted me to Twitter is that I can disseminate little quips and thoughts quickly and easily. Things have been so hectic at work that it's been very hard to construct a coherent sentence, let alone the poignant, eloquent, expertly-crafted entries you're used to (hah). But I still have so much to share! So please, let me share with you in a way that is less inconvenient for me.

IMPORTANT: I will still post blogs. About as often as I do now, which is...not...very...often. This Twitter business is just a bonus! So don't get wistful or start writing hate mail. If you're even remotely interested in this blog, this is great news.

To follow, you'll have to sign up for Twitter, but you can do so pretty anonymously. Just use some generic avatar like StephLover1 or WorshipSteph or WannaBSteph and you'll blend right into the masses on Twitter (NOTE: no one is following my account. You all are the first to know I'm a Twit. You're welcome.) And then you'll be able to see whenever I have a funny thought or find a funny website or smell something funny. How fun is that?

Just click here to see my Twitter (really, really perverted sounding.) And follow me. It's that easy!

It's all the snark in smaller, more digestible doses. Plus you can reply to my Tweets. This will be great for the two of you who currently comment on this blog. Yay interaction!

This move might come as a surprise to all of you. I admit that for awhile now, I've been rolling my eyes at the whole Twitter thing. I mean, how self-important are you to think that people want to know your random, worthless thoughts throughout the day?

THIS self-important.

Hope to see you all there.

Step Into Spring--And Dog Doo

It's thaw time in Cleveland. A time when human activity begins to spill back into city streets like blood returning to a waking limb. When we all toss our coats into the closet and go out in our long sleeved t-shirts, even when the forecast calls for nothing warmer than 47 degrees.

And when the smog-gray crust that was the snow finally melts away, you realize two things. One: spring is on mercifully on its way. Two: people are a-holes.

Because every three feet or so, you find a dog turd. A dog turd that's been hidden away for months between the snow, like a dirty little secret. Lying there. Biding its time. Waiting for you to break out your open-toed shoes, looking forward to being squished through the sides of your sandals like play-doh in a fun factory.

Literally, downtown Cleveland looks like it was hit by a dog turd tornado. Nuggets are strewn everywhere like small, brown, displaced mobile homes. Pedestrians appear to do the Jitter Bug as they carefully seek out feces-free areas of sidewalk to little avail. And the downtown residents are all out and about walking their dogs, demonstrably holding a plastic bag as if to say "don't look at me! Not my dog!"

But it was their dog. I know it. I know how cold and empty those streets get during the winter. No one will see if you don't duck down and scoop up your doodie. And in all of that snow! Your poor fingy-wingies could get frost-bitten! So they just leave their dogs' business, figuring that nature will conceal their crime. Fast-forward to March, and any visitor to Cleveland would think our number-one export was Labrador loaf. The whole "Cleveland Steamer" phenomena is starting to make a lot more sense. (Grandma, don't google that. Please.)

And it's not just downtown. Following the thaw, it's become apparent that my yard happens to be the preferred place of business for my neighbor's horrible hounds. I'd really like to say something, but the last time we had a conversation, she did most of the talking through a small stuffed rabbit named "Mr. Bear" (I'M NOT KIDDING.) and I'm afraid she may cast some sort of spell on me or kill me and use my skin as a sleeping bag. Perhaps I'll take the passive aggressive route and convert my small patch of grass into a broken glass and syringe garden. It will be shiny and arguably more attractive than the death and dirt I've got going on.

Fortunately, the driving rains of March and April will soon wash the turds out of sight and into our drinking water. Until then, I will be vigilantly watching the dog walkers and their decoy plastic bags. When I'm not watching my step, that is.