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January 20, 2009



Last night, the temperatures plummeted to an irritating 51 degrees. In Texas, this is damn cold. Yes, I'm a predictable whimp who craves hot chocolate during *wicked winter months. Noting I was out of cocoa, I sluggishly poured into my favorite tight jeans and artfully arranged my French beret on top of my blonde hair. The beret was red like my coat. This is not a coincidence.

I struggled inside my SUV. I struggled because it was an irritating 51 degrees and the vehicle was cold, kind of like my love life. I drove eight miles north, meandering on a narrow country road. A buck dodged in front of me. I slammed on the break, pushing my palm on the horn. "Effin' *mating season!" I arrived at Barnes and Noble Bookstore, home of flirty geriatrics and out-of-shape mommies armed with baby strollers. B&N makes the best hot chocolate. I ordered mine with an extra delicate cloud of whipped cream on top.

With cocoa in hand, I curiously strolled the relationship book isle. A baldheaded dude in an obnoxious orange 'Keep Austin Weird' T-shirt eyed me. He smelled of cologne and too much. He stunk. We exchanged glares, then he darted to the cookbook isle, leaving me alone in the love/romance isle. This isle is where losers go seeking out knowledge to either enhance or just land a friggin' love life.

There were relationship books on how to be a better bitch and how to be a better lover. I suppose I could be a bitch in bed, maybe that would land me a love life. I thought about it for a few moments before moving on to the next book entitled: 'When Duct Tape Just Isn't Enough.' My eyes lit up like a horny, geek boy watching porn for the first time. 
Wow, duct tape improves the romance? I asked myself, as I reached for the book with semiconsciousness excitement. I nervously looked around for that baldheaded dude. I did not want him catching me reading about duct tape. Gawd, how gross, I thought, thumbing through the unexpected love manual.

This so-called romance book written by Popular Mechanics for quick fixes for everyday disasters was misfiled in the love/relationship isle. Disappointed, I squeezed the book back on the shelf between sex and marriage, and trudged out the door. I sipped on my hot chocolate, it was cold.

* Freeze-your-ass-and-tits-off cold.
*Horny Texas bucks chasing after Bambi on narrow country roads.