When the Postman Rings Once, Run!

I will have more to share tomorrow, but "I'm goin' to the candy store," as they say. Yes, I've succumbed to speed-dating. Having done this before, it is truly an experience not to be missed. Where else can you meet your mailman? Well, I was the lucky one indeed during the last round of Date Around the World (in 4 minutes no less!). Just knowing he had insider knowledge to the private stuff I get in the mail made me run when I realized his identity. He is a cute gentleman but there is just no way in Hell this dude is getting beyond the front porch (where my mailbox is conveniently located.) I'm sorry, but I've had a healthy delivery of stuff from crazy websites that would send my father into cardiac arrest. I've binge-ordered up a load of VS lingerie to dress the entire church choir and then some. Somehow I never cared the anonymous "mailman" would know what was in the box from LA Fantasy. Its not like I would ever know the person. . . until that dreadful night in July I met him. And he met the recipient of "whore toys". No, this train isn't leaving the station I decided and off I slithered, tail between legs, hoping I'd never run into Mr. Postman ever again. Coincidently, he must have felt a similar bad vibe as he changed routes about a week after our fateful meeting.

would the man please step forward?

Have you ever wondered how a 40-year old man just forgot to grow up? I mean, what was this fool doing when we were in our 20's and 30's? I know I was schooling, then starting a business, working seven days a week, owning up to my responsibility as a viable citizen of Planet Earth. What road did he veer off? Here we are in our 40's and I feel I'm dating a version of my teenage son, or what might be my son if I ever had children. Why does this feel like a long-distance relationship when we live in the same town? Why can't he express himself beyond a text message or an email? Do men feel they are truly expressing their feelings inside of 140 characters, at 1 a.m. no less? What the Hell is with that? What we have here is a failure to communicate. I recall letter writing used to be a form of viable human expression (not to mention a validation the creature could compose a sentence). Now, we're bombarded by the nanosecond from tweets, facebook notes, instant messaging, texting, email and all the other techno-shit that confirms men are getting worse at communicating, not better. Sorry! but a tweet ain't an expression of love in my book, gals!