Pre-travel notes

Well, we've had the "In like a Lion" portion of this month's weather program, as yet another snowstorm hit NYC, and I've got my fingers crossed that we'll get the whole "out like a lamb" part too. I could use a little springtime. (No, not for Hitler.) In the meantime, I guess I'll just have to settle for...

Vegas, baby, Vegas!!

Me and the girls leave tomorrow morning for Sin City, for four days, three nights of fun, fun, fun! If we've played our cards right, part of that fun will include the one and only Tom Jones. Yup, Mr. "What's New, Pussycat?" himself. It's cheesy, but really -- it's Vegas. What else can you expect?

As to the rest of our weekend's activities -- why, who knows what we'll get up to? And who knows if I'll spill the beans when I get back. After all, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. As a tagline for travel, it's not quite as catchy as "Sex in a foreign country doesn't count" but it's close. And it covers much of the same territory, so there's that.

And how does Glow Boy feel about my upcoming debauchery in Vegas, baby, Vegas? Well, as might be expected, he was excited to hear about the Sirens show at Treasure Island, but then, so am I. I promised him a picture from it. But, you know, it's a little weird. If he were a real boyfriend, and not just a f.i.b., I could call him from there, but as it is, with our email-based correspondence... I have to stick to text messages. I mean, I could go cold turkey, but considering how well that went over this past weekend (and Schmoopie and M. can attest that it did not go all that well indeed), I think I want some kind of contact. I know I do.

Actually, though it's a bit off, we have made arrangements for a real, honest-to-goodness, face-to-face date on Friday, March 25th in Boston, or thereabouts. By which point we will have been chatting for almost three months. Which is a good long while. If it were a real relationship, it'd been one of my longest.

Which is a pitiful thought for this 32-year-old.

Dear Powers That Be -- Please help me turn this faux thing into something real. And ask him to send me an email, please, as I'm dying here! I'm addicted to hearing from him. What's wrong with me?