It was Uptown Girl’s birthday recently, so I decided to surprise her by having flowers delivered to her doorstep. I wanted to show her I was sincerely interested in her, and I admit I was kinda hoping the flowers would tug at her heart strings a little more too.

I got several text messages from her when she got them, so that’s encouraging. Nothing about me of course is normal, and if I hadn’t told her I was hearing impaired and hated using the phone, I’m sure she would have called instead. Trying to generate something solely via email with someone who is not much of an Internet person to begin with is, to put it mildly, a bit frustrating. Especially when that someone is so busy at times she barely has time to herself, let alone the time to email someone. I was going to have to call her in order to sustain things

I knew I was going to have to go out into the real world if I wanted to get somewhere with her, and even though she was understanding and was willing to take things slow, I couldn’t string her along forever.

So I began the process of improving my hygiene and my health. My experience so far though tells me this was not going to be a walk in the park for me. First I went out and bought some anti-acne facial wash to clean up my face a little. The net result was no change in my acne, but my lips began to shrivel up like I had swallowed a pound of alum. Even a week after I stopped using the wash my lips were still parched and crusty. I also had dried skin on my nose that still wouldn’t go away after applying several cans of vitamin E and aloe vera cream on it, a body wash whose pleasant odor dissipated five seconds after I got out of the shower, deodorant that gave my armpits rashes even though they contained “all natural” ingredients, nose and ear hair that even a weed whacker would have problems gutting, and perpetually sweaty palms that drive me so crazy I’m considering using a blow torch to keep them dry.

Cripes this was hard. It was like my own body was furiously plotting against me, determined to ensure I’d live out the rest of my days as an unwed hermit. Compounding things even more was the fact that I haven’t had a decent wardrobe in years, partly due to wearing a uniform on my job (thus vacating the need for any dressy attire) and my Homer Simpson shaped figure.

No wonder I’m so afraid to step outside the door. And now I have this beautiful and accomplished woman that I’ve somehow managed to get the attention of, but because my stupid ass wasn’t willing to wait and get my body under control first before I started seeding dating profiles halfway around the galaxy, I now have to deal with the possibility that I will completely humiliate myself and ruin my chances with a rare and decent girl, the likes of whom may come only once in this lifetime.

For whatever reason, I seem to be continuously pitted against insurmountable odds in my quest for a life (and some smoochies…. ok lots of smoochies). I can either toss in the towel and decide this is a war I can never win, or take it head on, Rocky style.

And I think if I do go down for the count, then I should at least go down swinging.

I don’t believe it. Uptown Girl actually emailed me back.

She apologized for not getting back to me sooner and wrote that she was very moved by my email. Words fail me. Words utterly fail me. I thought for SURE I was never gonna hear from her again, and to see her write this, I have to wonder if I’m being punked here.

Since then we’ve chatted on AOL, and we both agreed it was ok to take things slow. I’m thrilled because it gives me time to get my act together before we meet in real life, maybe buy some nice new clothes, and perhaps try to remember once again what it was like to behave like a gentleman. I may even have to start brushing my teeth now.

Nothing’s been set in stone yet, but this was a HUGE hurdle that’s been leapt. I practically bared my soul to her, and it didn’t seem to faze her at all. Thank you Uptown Girl.

My ass.

I recently saw the movie Blood Diamond, which provided just a small glimpse into the violent world of diamond trade, and I tell ya, it’s enough to make me never want to buy a diamond for as long as I live.

Honestly, I never understood it’s appeal. It’s a rock. A bloody useless friggin’ rock. It does nothing except to prove just how utterly vain and shallow women (especially American women) are. A man’s love for such a girl is worth nothing to her unless he goes out and recklessly spends $5000 on a piece of sparkling rock (from which human blood may have been shedded for), something she’ll probably never wear anyway except on special occasions. That’s money that could pay bills, be used to buy nice clothes, or for taking a really sweet vacation to Prague.

I dunno, maybe it’s just me, but it just seems criminal to spend that kind of money on a piece of bling bling that won’t do anything except make some girl look good (sometimes). It’s certainly not for the guys, that’s for sure. I can’t even tell a diamond from a zirconia, so what do I give two flying leaps what kind of jewelry some two-bit ho bag from uptown is sporting?

If a girl truly thinks diamonds are her best friend, then she’ll never be any friend of mine. You feel me, dog?