Butterface

I just bought a couple things at Bowery Restaurant Supplies: a glass butterdish and a decanter of sorts that looks like a milk bottle from the 40s. Thought I'd put butter in the dish and flowers in the bottle. Cool thing about restaurant supply shops is that they're cheap and everything is basic, like you stole it from your favorite diner

A combination of Carol and Gabe consoled and advised me last night when I finally, for the last time, dismissed the Italian from my life. I know this loss is not much compared to others but to have someone practically propose marriage and then flake out on you is enough to make your head spin. Love, like loss, has no logic. And my heart hurts nonetheless.

My friend Barry the orthoJew and I often discuss God's plan for us. Clearly we haven't met the right ones yet because God knows we're not ready. I'd be happy just to date someone who had time for me, who didn't have an excess of back hair or a massive beergut coupled with manboobs. Who makes me laugh. Who will eat my attempts at raspberry tiramisu and other delights. Who will watch my Netflix flicks with me, eating too much popcorn and drinking too much wine/Corona/margaritas (depending upon season and weather). And who isn't married to countless other things: career, GTA, roommates ... someone who has all those interests and passions but knows how to balance it out and knows how to say no to people. Who not only already has room for a mate but will make more.

Somewhere he's out there. Looking (or not looking) . . . . for me.

In the meantime, Mr. Brown and his humppuppet will have to do.