Monday, October 27, 2008


I'm a sucker for all forms of flattery, particularly that of the genuine variety. When an intangibly stunning woman (an intangible quality that both mystifies and impresses me more and more each passing day) asked me my name on October 6, 2006, I knew it was kismet. Strike that; I was pretty sure at the time, not certain, and was compelled to follow up on my hypothesis.

I wasn't wrong.

That sounds smug as hell, and I apologize; but it's how I feel. It's hard to be humble after pitching a perfect game or striking oil in the most unlikely of places*. Still, I'll try.

This is a tale of love. Dig?

* Say hi to your mom for me.

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