Well

A. I am a little bit tipsy. Three neat shots of Jack Daniels will do that to a girl.

B. I took second in my A league. I rule.

C. There was the following conversation, after Mr. WPY busted out early and yet lingered around me:

"Do you want to get together later this week?" (Me.)

"Oh. I can't. I've got my hotel opening this week. But next week." (Him.)

"Give me a holler." (Me.)

"I'll give you a holler." (Him.)

He better fucking give me a holler. The ball is now blatantly in his court. I have done my part.

D. I gave Mr. Forearms a brief backrub (which I say with all due modesty I am very good at). He is scared of me. HIS LOSS.

E. Previously mentioned buff boy hit on me again. I gave him reason to hope. He is a gifted toucher and hey, I could use a little touching.

F. That which is forbidden becomes that much more desirable. If I'm going to get a security clearance, I must strictly eschew all illegal drugs. I don't do illegal drugs. Ever. But the moment they became strictly and forever out of bounds, I wished I could dabble. I won't, of course. So I got a little tipsy and I smoked a couple of cigarettes instead. (Regular smokers forget the effect that nicotine can have on the unhabituated. Major body and head rush. Very pleasurable.)

G. One of these boys is gonna give it up to me in the next month. It will either be Mr. WPY, or it will be Mr. Forearms, or it will be Buff Boy, or it will be Mr. Actuary (about whom I haven't written much, if anything). I am sick of sitting around in solitary splendor. Attention must be paid. And one of these guys is going to provide the requisite wherewithal. I'm just saying. First come, first served.