Lovelies:

I lost my cell phone yesterday! Grrrrrr! (Hmm, that's strange: The experience turned me into a lion, apparently.) I left it at the illustrious laundromat down the street, and I'm pretty sure whomever found it pocketed the thing, because it's gone, daddy, gone. Sigh. I was weirdly upset about it last night, feelin cut off from the world, from the hope-inducing possibility of suprise communications ...! But I think part of the problem, too, was related to the Baby Fireman.

Feeling playful, thanks to the time I've been spending with my dating guru John Keegan, I decided to text the little Baby on Sunday evening. Here's how our exchange went:

me: "There's something I have to give you."

him: "Go on ... "

me: "It's clear to me that you are in need of a spanking."

him: "Ha! Is that so?"

me: "Yes. You are a very naughty boy and corporeal punishment is in order."

him: "I see. But it is going to have to wait for now. Good night."

me: "Yes, it WILL have to wait because my hand is tired. I hope the bed bugs bite you."

[please note: the communication above notwithstanding, i am not into bondage, dominance, submission, sadism or masochism. i didn't even REALLY want to smack him, so much as i wanted to talk smack.]

Pathetically, since the textual exchange, I've been praying that Baby-Man will text me--in part so I can blow him off, in the hopes that doing so will make him pursue me a little more. (A little more than NOT AT ALL, that is.) Sigh. And now that the cell phone is lost, I will not know if the Baby Fireman is desperately trying to get in touch with me or what. And I don't feel like I should contact him again, since I'm the one who initiated things on Sunday.

# # #

After losing my phone, I cruised over to see my friend Don Hooks.* Don has a bona fide fireman's outfit, which he was gonna loan me for Halloween. So I tried the thing on ...

That's me all suited up, above. I'm purposefully including the blurriest of the pics because ... well, I didn't look very good. I don't know what my ability to put OUT fires would be, in that get-up, but I can say with certainty I would not be STARTING any fires, looking like that, no sirreee Bob.

I should've purchased one of the 5 sexy outfits I was talking about a few weeks ago.

# # #

Don told me I should avail of this lost-cell-phone opportunity to FORGET ABOUT THE BABY FIREMAN all together. "Why waste any more emotional energy on this dude?" he said. "You can't see yourself with him long-term, and beyond that, he's kind of a douche. What's the point?"
There was a long pause while I thought: The point is that he's hot? That I just want to see if I can trick him into falling madly in love with me?
Don continued: "Did you know that firemen in New York City get more action than, like, any other professional group? Which, I'm sure, means that they have a startlingly high rate of genital herpes and other STDs."
Don's right, of course--not about the STDs (I'm sure that's not true) but rather about me getting my act together. So maybe I'll try to put this nonsense behind me--and maybe actually contact Mr. Tweed Jeans. And remind myself how much I adore Barnaby. Whose presence in my life has raised a big question about whether or not I'm commitment-phobic ... but let's talk about that on Monday or so, shall we?
Meantime, if you would like to berate me for my complete idiocy when it comes to barely-legal members of the New York City fire safety corps, please feel free.

xxx!

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-dear Paris: ladybird, check back in either tomorrow or next week for a little surprise ... and i'm looking forward to hearing about your field research.

-and C.C. Garus: hello there! thank you for writing in and giving us a little male perspective. i'm really glad John's tips were helpful; let me know if you have any more success with them. and i'll keep you posted on all things Jepperboom.

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*That is his nom de plume, claro.

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