The Low-Esteemed Comic

A former classmate from Second City invited me to a special show commemorating his second anniversary as a stand-up comedian. A low-key night at a comedy club sounded like the perfect segue back into dating after the Skinny Seth Rogen catastrophe.

I decided to invite The Comedian, who had recently been checking in on me. I called him up and our conversation reminded me of all the things I loved about him. He apologized for his behavior on our second date, claiming that nerves got the best of him (been there) and added that he felt like things weren’t over between us.

As soon as we hung up however, The Comedian reminded me once again of the reasons why we were no longer dating. He tried to meet up with me sooner, suggesting we have dinner on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday before the show. “I’m falling for you,” he texted the week leading up to our date. “I can’t wait to make you my girlfriend.” He even went as far as suggesting we get drinks after the show and I sleep over his place.

On Saturday, The Comedian sent me a text message inviting me to go barhopping with him and his friend who had just flown into town from Texas. I asked if our date was still on and The Comedian passively noted that he hadn’t seen his friend in forever and that he wanted to hang out with him before he flew back home...

TIME OUT!!!!
How are you going to spend the week prior to the show building me up, bragging about what a fun time we're going to have and then pull this kind of shit? Did you honestly expect me to believe that you had NO idea your best friend was flying into town... from Texas??? You waited until the last possible minute not only to cancel, but also to suggest I play third wheel on your guy’s night out?!?! I don't think so!

To any guys reading this entry thinking that I may be blowing things out of proportion, put yourself in my place. If you asked a girl out on a date and she spent the week leading up to it telling you she couldn't wait to see you, and then invited you to go watch Dear John with her best friend who just happened to fly into town the weekend of your date, you'd be pissed. You'd feel disrespected, like you were Plan B in case things with the bff didn't pan out.

Well I'm nobody's Plan B and there's no faster way to earn my wrath than to treat me like I'm dispensable. Later that night, when The Comedian tried to check in, I told him to lose my number.

::CONFIDENCE REGAINED::

The Return of the MegaDouche!

Our good friend Brad recently sent me another message via Facebook:

March 29, 2010 at 3:01pm -
“hey im sorry for the way i acted towards you i did like you an it sucked that you told me you didnt want to see me anymore is there anyway we can start over”

::rolls eyes::

::Delete::

Tales of Desperado

Not all dating scenarios turn out as we would have liked. In fact, however painful, cringe worthy, or shameful it may be to admit, sometimes dating disasters are purely our OWN fault...

The morning after drunk dialing Skinny Seth Rogen, the hangover guilt was so severe that my stomach convulsed at the mere thought of him. I was all too familiar with the rules of the dating game and knew that the slightest misstep could lead to instant disqualification. Drunk dialing was definitely more than a misstep;
It was a disaster. I was devastated.

I didn't expect to hear from Skinny Seth ever again so when he texted Sunday afternoon, I was absolutely floored. He invited me to Tavern on one condition - no suits, no baggage. ::MELTS:: Just like that, it was back OONNN!

While the 'no baggage' request was all too easy to oblige, the 'no suits' portion would be a challenge. I had sworn by Barney Stinson's mantra for so long that I had to dig in my closet for something casual. I settled on wearing the only pair of jeans in my closet, but dressed them up with some killer boots and a black shawl. "That's casual.... ish," I said to myself.

I knew Skinny Seth was a stickler for punctuality, so I showed up to Tavern right on time. He was nowhere in sight. I sulked over to our table and sat down, petrified at having arrived first. He walked in a few seconds later looking as delectable as ever. Instantly forgiven.

Skinny Seth was as relaxed and easygoing as the first time we met. I on the other hand... Well, I don't really know what the hell I was.
My mouth was dry, my palms were sweaty, and there were butterflies reenacting a scene out of WWII in my stomach. I was uncharacteristically quiet, unable to do anything other than sip my drink and smile. He threw me a couple softballs: "What are your hobbies? What kind of music do you like?" But it was no use. I had lost all composure. I got so abominably drunk that I was no longer able to function.

I could see the date going straight to the shitter but I couldn't salvage it. I resorted to sex as a last desperate attempt to reel him in. Cue the horror music! We migrated back to his place to work on his beloved 2000 piece puzzle and that's where I hammered the final nail into the coffin. Something about Latin women being the best lovers... ::TRAGIC::

Skinny Seth drove me home sometime afterwards. When he pulled up to my apartment building, I kneeled on the passenger's seat, arms spread wide open, and asked for a hug. Some part of my inebriated subconscious must have known that it would be the last time I'd hug him because I held onto Skinny Seth for a long, long time.

The Drunk Dial

Skinny Seth Rogen had volleyed the ball in my direction and now it was my turn to send it back his way. Would my response lead to a Hester-styled touch down punt return? Or to a pathetic Grossman nerve-induced fumble? "I'm glad I made it out too. You were funny and bubbly, and the suit only added to your charm. If you'd like to hang out again, give me a call: (xxx) xxx - xxxx." Breezy. Succinct. Succesfully volleyed back. Just as I was set to disappear from Facebook for the next week, forcing Skinny Seth to call me, he replied. "My number is in my facebook info. :o)"

::SPIKE::

TIME OUT!!!!
Cut me some fucking slack here! I threw the ball in your court! Your response was totally an illegal play! Where the fuck is a ref when you need one?!?!

I didn't reply. I wanted him to pursue me and any sort of answer to his message was simply not going to fall in line with that goal.

Fast forward to the middle of the week. It was St. Patrick's Day and I had done a terrible job of remaining off of Facebook. It's like crack, especially when you recently friended a hottie you really like. I hadn't heard from Skinny Seth yet but he regularly updated his profile so I got my fix that way instead of calling. And boy did I want to call! But I couldn't wouldn't. Years of being the aggressor hadn't gotten me anywhere. This was the first time in three years that I had met someone I could really see myself being with and I was hell-bent on not messing this one up.

(II) PAUSE
For the sake of the story, it's important to note that a couple months prior to St. Patty's Day I had drastically cut back on alcohol.
(>) UNPAUSE

Candice and I hit up Tavern after work. A few green beers and an unfortunate shot of Don Julio later, I was trashed. Left to my own devices, what do you think I did? Cue the horror music! I called Skinny Seth. I didn't remember our conversation the next morning aside from something about luggage... or was it baggage?

::TRAGIC::

Suit Up! The Story of Skinny Seth Rogen

In the three years we had worked together, my best friend Candice and I had hit up virtually every hotspot and eatery in the River North area. There simply wasn't a lunch special, discounted happy hour, or half-priced margarita pitcher we weren't aware of. So the reason for never venturing into the Weber Grill just a mere block away from the office is way beyond me. As we settled into our seats, still reveling in the excitement of a "new" place, Skinny Seth sauntered over and introduced himself. My jaw instantly hit the floor. My eyes popped out of their sockets, pupils pink and heart-shaped. My face instantly flushed a vibrant scarlet and I wondered if Skinny Seth could hear my heart pounding inside my chest as he took our order.

I played it cool in my little leopard print wrap dress and made it a point to engage Skinny Seth at every opportunity. He was very sweet and we bonded over our favorite TV show. I mentioned that he looked like he belonged in Wicker Park (Chicago's art district) and he told me he played in a band. ::I SO called it!:: He also casually dropped that he was a regular at Wicker Park Tavern, visiting every Sunday after his shift was over, and suggested Candice and I make an appearance that upcoming weekend. ::ACCESS GRANTED::

It was ON like Donkey Kong! Sunday night, I suited up. I wore a wine-colored blouse, pencil skirt, and mary jane heels - a 40's femme fatale. I hung out with my friend Fern at Tavern until about 11:30pm. No sign of Skinny Seth. When Fern retired for the night, I decided to cab it over to The Joynt, not wanting to spoil an outfit on a no-show. Well, The Joynt also turned out to be a huge bust! It was hosting some private event and I simply refused to pay a cover for a place that's typically free, even if it was my Cheers. Fuck that.

Relentlessly unwilling to let the night end there, I called my faithful and unwavering Mr. Ed. He had just gotten off of work and as always, picked up the phone almost instantly. Since River North was pretty much dead, he suggested we go back to Wicker Park and hit up - wait for it - Tavern. Cue the horror music! Tell that bitch to run for it!

As soon as I walked into Tavern, there he was. Skinny Seth sat a few tables away from the entrance, casually drinking a beer and wearing a suit. The mother fucker SUITED UP! I immediately excused myself and went to the bathroom to crawl into fetal position and die freshen up. When I came back, he was gone. ::Phew!:: I told Mr. Ed that we should probably get going. "We just got here," he said. "Plus, that guy told me to watch his stuff while he went to the bathroom." No. No, no, no, no, no!

When Skinny Seth returned, he thanked Mr. Ed, flashed a smile in my direction and politely asked if he could join our table. Cue the horror music again! Tell that crazy bitch not to take the bait! I nodded and my stomach did a back flip as he took a seat.

There we were, in the most awkward and potentially devastating situation EVER. Why didn't you tell the bitch to run for it?! Oh, right. Though I prepared for the worst, things actually didn't explode in my face like I thought they would. Mr. Ed and I were just exes friends after all, and Skinny Seth was just a random guy I had instantly fallen for met earlier in the week. I tried to distribute my attention equally between both gentlemen and above all, avoided any implicating pronouns.

Skinny Seth was phenomenal. He was dorky yet smooth (ah, the white man's charm), and very easygoing. In later conversations, even Mr. Ed had to admit that Skinny Seth was a likable guy. He was truly working the crowd, cracking us Mr. Ed and me up while also trying to figure us Mr. Ed and me out.

The more the scene unfolded, the more I hated myself for involving Mr. Ed in this mess. He had inadvertently become the odd man out. Skinny Seth and I engaged him in our conversation to make him feel included, but he was clearly not in step with us. Skinny Seth definitely took notice. He boldly asked Mr. Ed to take a picture of us. You should have seen Mr. Ed's face! The last thing I wanted to do was hurt Mr. Ed's feelings so I asked Skinny Seth to return the favor and take a photo of us two as well. That's when Liz walked in.

(II) PAUSE
When I first met Skinny Seth, he was a bit down. Upon further investigation (and a little prodding) he confessed that he had a thing for his co-worker Liz. Now, I'm a smart girl. I quickly realized what I was working with: Boy likes Girl. Girl doesn't like Boy. Girl stomps on Boy's heart. Girl strings Boy along until further notice. Sound familiar?
(>) UNPAUSE

Liz was everything Skinny Seth was not (and I'm not just saying that because I liked him). She was neither warm nor bubbly. She made no effort to become a part of the conversation. She simply sat in a corner and held onto her drink for dear life. Truthfully, I had no problem with Liz. Had the circumstances been different, we probably would have knocked back a few brews and I would have honored the Sisterhood. Her stank ass attitude however, instantly let me know that this would not be one of those times, and that it was indeed ON.

Skinny Seth and I continued to hit it off, while both hangers-on fell by the wayside. Liz eventually got up, grabbed her coat and stomped over to the bar. Skinny Seth chased after her and an argument ensued. Her little tantrum worked because they left shortly afterwards without saying good-bye. ::ADVANTAGE LIZ::

The next day, Skinny Seth posted the picture of us (taken by Mr. Ed) on Facebook along with the following message on my profile, "I'm so glad you made it out! We should hang out again! :oP"

::ADVANTAGE TECHNOHEART::

My Regards, Sir Douchington

Here’s a little message I received from our friend Brad via Facebook:

March 1, 2010 at 3:28pm -
“hey im sorry for the way things ended can we start over how have you been i been thinking about you”

I bet you have.

::Delete::

-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Another one followed a few days later:

March 6, 2010 at 12:51pm -
“you cant answe me back at least”

Not that I can’t. More like I won’t. But I send you my best regards, douche!

Frequent Text Messaging, Persistent Douchebaggery

Billie Holiday and a dimly lit apartment set the mood that evening. When Brad showed up, I greeted him in a leopard print mini-dress that sensually fell off of my shoulders every so often revealing red bra straps.

We pounced on each other straightaway. Brad pulled my hair and burried his face into my exposed neck, biting, nibbling, and licking a path down to my chest. His searing kisses penetrated my skin, reviving every neglected sensor in my body. Mmmmmmm... This was gearing up to be magical. epic. legendary.

SHORTLIVED?!?!

Brad orgasmed moments after initiating intercourse. In his defense, he did warn me that he was rusty ahead of time. But while I completely understood that, I also couldn't help but be disappointed. He could have fingered me, gone down on me, used a vibrator done other things to please me instead of taking a nap. Tisk, tisk selfish lover! Discovering a Trojan Climax Control condom wrapper in my waste basket after he left only made me feel worse.

Truth is, I really liked this guy and if my time with Mr. Ed taught me anything, it was to be more considerate of a male's penile sensitivities. So I vowed to work with what I had and when Brad asked if we could see each other again the next day, I accepted. Secretly, I was also happy that Brad wanted to see me because this would mean he wouldn't be attending some gathering this blond chick invited him to on Facebook.

Brad and I were both busy during the day so we didn't talk text much. Half an hour before our date however, Brad dropped a major bombshell (via text of course). "I don't think this is going to work out." "The date or at all?" "At all. Sorry." ::ADVANTAGE BLOND CHICK::

I immediately called my best friend Candice and we went out to The Joynt that night to blow off some steam. A collection of vodka cranberries later, Brad started blowing up my phone. "I made a mistake. Can we start over," he wrote. "I freaked out because I like you so much. Will you give me another chance?" Guess the blond didn't put out, huh douche?!

I was done with the firefighter, despite having one last romp sometime later. I am the prize, not the consolation. Brad's subsequent behavior confirmed that I had made the right decision. He texted me some weeks later with the same recycled sob story, "I'm really sorry I hurt you. Can we start over?" When I declined, he called me a "hairy fat slob." I've never laughed harder in my life! Folks, I'm a healthy size, a self-professed clean freak, and my grooming habits are equally as compulsive. Frankly, I am none of those things. While I should have taken the high road and left it alone, I couldn't. Sometimes you just have to put douchebags in their place:

"Well, don't forget that this 'hairy fat slob' made that tiny dick cum in less than 10 minutes... What a joke!"

Internet Dating: My Encounter with a Firefighter

Most women my age arrive at a point in their lives where they either venture into the perilous waters of internet dating or STRONGLY consider it. Like myself, these women are smart, successful, and unlucky in love. They immerse themselves into their careers and are often too busy with work and other responsibilities to go out to appropriate venues (i.e. not the club) and meet their prince.

One of my favorite bloggers recently wrote about online dating and the quacks we women encounter on such sites. Her entry reminded me of my own experiences with an online dating service and a guy I met...

Sometime after The Comedian, I decided to give online dating a try. At the time, I was overwhelmingly consumed by work. I thought it would be nice to meet someone who, like me, had a demanding schedule but also desired a long-term relationship. I chose a dating service that pre-selected my matches based on shared interests. This seemed more legitimate than allowing any random stranger to send me a message because I was fuckable pretty. I also believed that the extensive questionnaire you were required to fill out prior to registering would deter the lazies and crazies from joining.

One month into my subscription and I hadn't met anyone worth my while. It seemed as though the lazies got in anyway, profiles half-completed. Their shitty answers were apparently enough to deem us worthy matches. While I did manage to correspond with a few nice guys, nothing serious ever materialized. Just as I started to lose hope and reconsider my membership, I met a hunk named Brad. Brad was 24, a firefighter, and like me, very close to his family.

Brad and I corresponded several times and eventually met up for dinner. Despite a few lulls and extended silences, the date went pretty well. Brad was a bit shy but remained engaged throughout the entire date. He was kind, respectful, and to my surprise, not a socially inept internet creep. His pictures did him no justice. Brad was very handsome and his body begged me to fuck it was lean and muscular. At the end of the date he hugged me good-bye and texted me when he was safely tucked into bed.

Now folks, I'm a pretty aggressive person. When I want something, I go after it. I've played the role of the Debutante before, and it's just not fun me. Brad had pushed all the right buttons on our first date, and although I still wanted a long-term relationship, I also wanted him. Naked. All over my apartment.

An innocent text message I sent him about wanting a kiss soon led to the revelation of other wet dreams desires. Subsequent saucy text messages, racy pictures, and I.O.U's provided the itinerary for date number two.

The Comedian

A routine ::is-this-really-my-life?!:: freak out session led me to enroll in a comedic writing course at Chicago's historic Second City last fall. I wasn't expecting to turn into Stephen Colbert, but I thought that the class would be a lot of fun and that I'd meet some really cool people. Cue The Comedian. He was short, frumpy, and had a killer sense of humor (naturally). We didn't interact much during the semester, but remained in touch after the course ended. He asked me out sometime after that.

Initially, I was quite astonished by The Comedian's offer. I was clearly out of this guy's league. He was potentially setting himself up for one hell of an embarrassing (and painful) rejection. Lucky for him though, my initial shock soon led to devout admiration. The Comedian was able to do what other men are typically too intimidated to do - ask me out on a date. He did it with such confidence, such ease that I couldn't help but respect him for it... and be mildly curious. Surely he must be packin' if he's this confident, right?!

Our first date was spectacular! The Comedian was easygoing, chivalrous, and just as much of a political junkie as I am. Our conversation flowed naturally and steadily. I found myself sashaying to the restroom just so he could see me work it in my flouncy leopard print skirt and stiletto boots. Upon returning, I planted myself seductively on his lap and went in for the kiss. Fireworks all around! Was it the liquor flowing or was I actually falling for this guy? We barhopped around the area and ended up at a pizza place near his apartment. The Comedian suggested we watch a movie at his place (no harm in testing the waters) but did not fuss when I declined and tenderly put me into a cab at the end of the night. I was hooked! Needless to say I told anyone and EVERYONE that would listen about our amazing date the next day and played it cool until he called.

The Comedian waited the prerequisite number of days permissible and called to arrange a second rendez-vous. We agreed to meet at Second City and barhop once again. When I arrived (fashionably late to make a grand entrance), I noticed he was in a bit of a funky mood. Boy was that the understatement of the century! All of The Comedian's funny little self-deprecating jokes that were charming circa date one gave way to a laundry list of insecurities. The more he drank, the more our date became a therapy session. He talked about how much he hated Second City and how he left several opportunities in Texas to move to Chicago. He repeatedly mentioned his disbelief at being out with "someone like me," (a compliment the first time, an insult the eighteenth) and his amazement at there being a second date (i like you stupid fuck, don't ruin it). "I need to make you my girlfriend," he slurred. At this point, the whole situation wreaked of desperation and date gone disaster. To top off my night, he shamelessly tried to get me to go back to his place, becoming more forceful with each attempt. ::ACCESS DENIED:: I must have looked beyond pissed because he claimed to have a migraine shortly thereafter, walked me to the bus stop, and sulked home.

He didn't call again; Neither did I. We left it at that. It was better to learn about (and subsequently run away from) the crazy sooner than be blindsided by the wrath of a meltdown later when fully vested. And I thought that that was the last I'd hear from The Comedian. I was wrong. But more on that later...

Mr. Ed

I met Mr. Ed in the latter half of 2008. He worked as a security guard in my office building. Every evening after work, we would exchange a few words before I headed home. We became fast friends and after several weeks of the same routine, Mr. Ed asked me out on a date. I told Mr. Ed that 2007 had been a hard year for me and that after two consecutive heartbreaks, I wasn't ready for anything serious. Mr. Ed seemed to understand. He said he would give me all the space necessary but also vowed to win me over.

We dated casually for several weeks and spoke to each other over the phone almost daily. On Valentine's Day, Mr. Ed took me to the Grand Lux Café and we had a wonderful dinner. Back at his apartment, I decided to take our relationship to the next level. I pulled him close, kissed his lips, and unbuttoned his shirt. Things were going well until Mr. Ed suddenly lost his erection.

I knew that Mr. Ed had been out of practice for a while and that he was also tremendously nervous. I wasn't mean. I wasn't judgmental. I just wanted to try again. Subsequent attempts over the next few weeks however, revealed that Mr. Ed suffered not from nerves but from Erectile Dysfunction.

At first, I was unwilling to give Mr. Ed another chance. Not only did I not want to be in a serious relationship, but now I had to deal with a man suffering from Erectile Dysfunction and all his baggage. Mr. Ed was a nice guy though and while I had always made sex the deal breaker in the past, I took this as a sign that it was time to focus on other aspects of a relationship and tried to make things work. Our sexual incompatibility however, loomed ominously over our entire relationship, and it soon became the basis for more divisive arguments.

Come Fly With Me

The Magician showed up to my apartment right on time. He wore a suit, tie, and that cream colored fedora I adored. As we exited his car on our way to the restaurant, The Magician threw his cell phone into the glove compartment so as not to disturb our evening.

Think Café was intimate and sexy. Lovers sat in twos, candles concealing seductive stares and salacious whispers. The bar glowed a sultry pink and even the staff seemed to bask in the euphoric haze. The Magician and I took our seats at a cozy little table in a corner and soon became enveloped by our surroundings. Our eyes glittered as the wine coursed through our veins and we giggled over the duck risotto while caressing hands.

The Magician was attentive, having eyes and ears only for me. We talked about everything from shared interests to foreign diplomacy. Surprisingly, he treated me as an equal and not like a little kid as I'd expected. He listened to my thoughts and shared his views without the slightest hint of condescension or judgment.

We made our way back to the kitchen to greet his friend Omar, owner and head chef of the restaurant. Omar treated us to dessert and even sat with us for a while, making our date even more special. After the waiters cleared our table, The Magician looked at me wistfully and said, "I'm not ready for the night to be over. Would you like to go listen to some live music?" "Sure," I cooed.

We drove to a blues bar named Rosa's Lounge and it was there that I had my first encounter with live jazz. I sat there, engulfed by the blues, the happiest woman on earth. The Magician and I had a couple of drinks and eventually made our way back to my place. He told me he'd call to set up a second date and hugged me goodnight.

I have never felt more beautiful than I did that night. In one evening, The Magician had proven that it was possible to come back from devastating heartache. Though he did not know it, that was The Magician's greatest magical act - bringing someone back to life.

The Magician

I've always been an old soul. I often say that I should have been born in the 1920's in order to grow up on Billie Holiday and sweet talkers drenched in old gentleman style. The down side to being a woman with a vintage heart is that most men my age are Neanderthals with no manners or courting skills. I truly believe however, that once in every lifetime, the stars and the planets align, and you meet someone who is truly special. That person challenges your expectations and impacts your life so profoundly that though their stay may be brief, you are forever magically altered.

I met The Magician several years ago while working at a labor union for the entertainment industry. He often visited the office to use the resource center in between auditions and we struck up a friendship.

The Magician had olive-colored skin, kind eyes, and a dash of salt in luscious jet black hair. He had a cheerful and infectious disposition, making the most straight-laced woman crack a smile. He always wore perfectly tailored suits, accenting them with one-of-a-kind cuff links, crisply folded pocket squares, or - my favorite - a cream colored fedora with a black sash. The Magician was relentlessly charming. He offered compliments even when they were undeserved and he remembered every last detail from prior conversations: "How is your uncle Luis doing? Has he returned from Puerto Rico yet?"

Although I liked The Magician, I was hesitant to make a move for several reasons. Aside from ruining an already solid dynamic, I was dabbling in the company ink so to speak, and there was potential to lose my job. There was also quite a substantial age difference between us. The Magician was 36. I was 20. Still, with each visit becoming more frequent and every conversation lasting a little longer, my feelings for him became too significant to ignore and I finally relented.

I took the scaredy cat cautious approach and posted a Missed Connection entry on Craig's List. It wasn't long before I received the following response:

Wednesday, September 12, 2007 -
Subject: Mysterious Stranger.

Hello, Charming One.

Alright. You've got me fooled. Who could this be?

I'm not much of a Craigslist Enthusiast, but some acquaintances of mine happened to spot your "Missed Connections" entry ... Yes, it made my day.

Feel free to reveal yourself. Safe passage guaranteed. I'm friendly.

Indeed,
The Magician

Two days later I received this one:

Friday, September 14, 2007 -
Subject: Alright You!

Hello, Secrets.

Yet another Friend contacted me just this morning to tell me about your Craigslist Posting ... This is all fun and funny and obviously very flattering -- but now I really haven't a clue. (I'm not calling you bad, but I am suggesting this is slightly naughty of you!)

Do you live in my neighborhood in Logan Square? Are you someone from a coffee shop in Andersonville? Or Wicker Park? Possibly a new restaurant along Printer Row? Downtown at Miller's Pub (a frequent late night haunt)? Do you sell Mens Ties? Howard Orloff Volvo? Are you a Manager for Premiere Cruises? Stewart Talent Agency? I got nuth'n ...

Here are three ideas:

1. We meet at Lula's for Coffee or Lunch. (My treat, Silly.)

2. Come out to Motel Bar on Thursday to see our Groovy Show ... Bring a Friend. Or ten.

3. You present an alternative plan and I say "Hey, why not? I love the Zoo ... "

So there it is. So soon. We've hit a Wall of Truth.

Gratitude,
The Magician

The Magician was right. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place wall of truth. After a few more emails (and further prodding) I finally acquiesced and disclosed my identity. This is one of the messages that followed:

Tuesday, September 18, 2007 -
Subject: Thanks!

Thanks, Technoheart.

You're grand!

Preparing For My Entrance,
The Magician.

And with that, I prepared for an entrance of my own.