Okay, maybe I could become a Franciscan monk, a brother to mankind and to the planets in their orbits. But here’s the thing: I dig chicks. I do. I must confess. And I’m not even talking about sex. (Okay, maybe I am. Whatever.) Can I get a witness? They’re just… different than me. A woman has so many qualities I don’t find in even the most sensitive and balanced of men. “Fearfully and wonderfully made”, I am –or so say the Scriptures… and I was made to love a woman. So I guess my monastic ambitions have to be shelved, or re-directed.
(Did I just say all that? Out loud? In front of God and everybody? Mark, ya gotta do something about your over-sharing problem. You’re gonna freak people out. Or at least solve your sleep deprivation problem, so you can keep that all-important social filter in place better.)
P.S. Facebookistan: this is NOT your cue to send me porn spam. Or to set me up with your sister.
(Okay, maybe I’ll go out with her. But the thing is, I’m broke, so we gotta go Dutch. That Franciscan vow of poverty thing: No, I have not chosen that. I just have this really weird, “working poor”, downright bad job that kept me out till 3am last night [thus the sleep deprivation and poor blogging-impulse control] and yet doesn’t pay well enough to justify the aggravation. Who will rescue me from the barbarians of this generation? But not in a co-dependent “rescuer”, be-my-new-Mom sort of way, y’know?)