Crisis (and it's more important than your crisis, because this crisis directly affects me)

The horror, the horror. While sipping my Glenmorangie and thinking of ways to screw with the universe, I realized, to my shock and horror, that my fifth of Glenmorangie is less than a tenth: it's half empty. Words cannot describe the desperation of this situation. I wouldn't have noticed that sometime in the next two months I'll need to spring another $30 for a bottle of single malt if I hadn't been asking Mr. Underhill about his favorite single malts. He seems vice-filled enough to have some good ones, and I do have some new ones to try. There are so many charming young men on the web (yeah, yeah, I know, there all convicts named Bruiser scribbling away in the penitentiary); it's a pity they are young and shallow. Anyway, if I wanted a puppy, I'd go to the pound. Not to imply that Mr. Underhill is shallow. Oh no. There is a profundity to his shallowness that simply boggles the mind (as well as being an oxymoron -- the idea, not Mr. Underhill).

Now, on to my favorite topic de whinge du jour: Sex. Why aren't male and female sexuality more in tune with one another? Also, why can't I be more like other women or just gay? It really would be easier. I know how to seduce a gal (find out what she likes to read, colors, flowers, food; start inviting her to things involving things she likes -- that's why the first date at the monster truck rally is rarely a good idea; tell her she's pretty; come up with specific examples; admire her thought processes about something; be VERY gentlemanly which gives you lots of excuses to touch her hand, her hair as you help her into her coat, her arm as you help her into a car etc; pretty soon she's melting in your mouth and hands). Really, if MVBFITWWW were gay, I'd find someway to be gay, just to have her closer. First, she's cute. Second, she's openly sensual. Third, she can actually discuss what she's feeling. Fourth, if I were gay, and were into breasts, she's got really nice breasts. Howard Stern wouldn't like her too much (she's smart, non-pneumatic, and has personal dignity) but then who would want to be liked by Howard Stern? I saw Fran Drescher on his show the other night (obviously a remote control mix-up that we will talk about no further). I guess her career is in the crapper. Why can't she just talk anonymously about her sex-life in a blog, like me? So ladylike. So discreet. It's a pity that on the gay/straight continuum I trend so heavily toward straight. Although being allowed to forget anniversaries, ignore Valentine's day, and pretend I don't see dust bunnies until after they've evolved, become extinct, and are under my couch as dust dinosaur fossils is really worth being straight. I mean, no straight man, even if he is a neatnik can really do much of anything about getting me to clean the house.

So the crises du jour are: a rapidly diminishing supply of single malt Scotch (I expect to run out sometime in June or July, which really does create a lonely sad feeling in my heart); my lamentable non-gayness; the existence of Howard Stern; Tom Delay's continued remainder in a position of power that he in no way deserves; the fact that the Bush twin trampolinas continue to lead useless, futile, lives and have not volunteered to go to Iraq; a continued lack of good sex; and the fact that MVBFFHS still lives abroad and I can't afford to visit her. MVBFITWWW and I are going to the opera together on Saturday. Samson et Dalila. OK. Crisis averted. But I still want Jenna and Barbara on a transport to Iraq. Maybe somebody at NBC News could invite them on a junket along with Paul Wolfowitz? They are dumb enough, they'd think they could get to Baghdad and party.