Some assembly required

I've had any number of theories about men and their sexual prowess. Bad driver? Bad lay. Good dancer? Too self-involved between the sheets. Actually, these are borrowed from my friend Jean. The point is, I've been looking for signs. Signs that training will not be necessary. My latest add on? Hold the drama.

It's not working.

Lately it seems that "no training" equates with much drama. The ones who show up all ready to go seem to be total cads. That's been making for drama.

But training involves taking some ownership. Some investment in wanting to see the fruits of your labor. Oi vey gevault.

I went back to the hairdresser Thursday. Enough time has passed and I needed a good cut for waltzing out of here. Again he followed me to my car. He wanted me to come live with him instead of leaving. Come again? And he keeps calling.

This is clearly a case no amount of training could make up for, in fact, I'm not sure why I mention it except the drama factor. What's with all the drama?

There's been an inkling of normalcy, a nice one on the horizon, but I don't think I can handle it. I just don't have it in me to handle one more thing. Mission aborted.