It’s true that I haven’t found someone, but it’s also true that I haven’t been looking. I have been singularly and solely obsessed with bringing Sex With Emily to the world. Now my therapist (or maybe anyone who took Psych 101) might say that I use work to avoid commitment. Oops. Look at the time. We’ll have to circle back to that in another post.
Julia, how did those giant stuffed animals get to LA? Did they hijack your suitcase? Please explain. More importantly, where did you get a picture of Craigslist Justin’s abs? I just need to know. On to their date, I could actually see Julia formulating her thoughts – “Hmm. I don’t want to make-out with him, but he must be good for something with those abs... Let’s see, I know! I’ll have him move my boxes.” You go, girl. Way to delegate.
Amy, this date with AB is painful. I want to send him back to Saudi Arabia, but not until I unslick his hair. That’s what I think about that. You dodged a bullet, girlfriend.
But help me here, because I can’t decide if it was more painful watching Julia break up with Craigslist-abs-of-steel-box-mover or Amy telling AB at dinner that he had hurt her.