Black Out The Windows, It's Party Time

OK, so the new gig should be perfect for me--working Mondays through Wednesdays on at triple the hourly rate of Phuqued Firm, which leaves me the rest of the week to write. Hopefully it'll turn out that way. Now "What's the hubbub, bub?" you might be asking? I'll refer you to the "My love life of late has been like stapling my thumb--rather useless and quite painful" theme that's been running through this blog unfortunately. Marty meets chick he thinks is peachy keen. Marty and the chick actually talk for a long while. Mutual friend of Marty and the chick gives Marty the chick's e-mail. Marty e-mails the chick. Apparently, the e-mail has been as productive as Marty Stark's fantasy football running backs. Yeah, I know, I should've asked for the chick's contact info myself which was the plan but Marty's friend intervened (not in a bad way tho', and mad props to him for introducing me to the chick in the first place). Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.