I suppose it's about time for actual news, instead of animal noise posts.

Oink. :)

Well, the charitable arm of Jean Luc Corp has embarked upon a truly ill-conceived project with the afterschool club for inner city kids. We're producing THE BEST CHRISTMAS PAGEANT EVER. Well, not "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever." Just a Christmas pageant that, if not the best, will be very, very good, even though I'm not the most Christian-y of Christians and the woman who runs the program has visions of a post-apocalyptic urban set with vacancy signs in windows and Mary giving birth to the Prince of Peace in a cardboard box.

All I'm saying is I hope someone bought a refridgerator for the holidays because I don't see how we'll fit Mary, Joseph, Jesus, sheep, and three wise men in a Panasonic flat screen box.

In Arts & Entertainment, the female Petards watched our youngest member play the violin at Barnes & Noble today. And then we lunched.

Last night, the IwMNs, Fries, Birds, and SwM went for a night on the town at the TAXLO dance party. The Swan brought friends, including...must think of nom de guerre..."Robin." A guy. A funny guy. Who was like, "So, what do you usually do on Friday nights?"

And I was like, "Well, I sometimes have dinner with the Indians, or go dancing, or blah blah blah. And what do you do on Friday nights?"

And so on until I forced him to say, "I am asking you whether YOU'D like to do something with ME on a Friday night."

And I was like, "Ooooooooohhhhhhhh. Yeah, okay."

At least I think that's what was said. It was kind of hard to hear over the melodic strains of "Whoomp, there it is."

Gobble gobble.

You know, Dr. Y, you think we look nothing alike but just now I smiled at myself in the mirror, and I saw you smiling back.

Cool.

Ah, sweet Sunday morning. I love the feeling you get after too much wine and delicious conversation. :) It hardly feels like work anymore.

Last night, SwD and A hosted a divine "Out of our Gourds" party, attended by the Swan & Kestrel, Fries, Reds & Chicken Jimmy, Cptn. American & New Girlfriend (NG), the Fox, and an old friend who will perhaps become a new friend. We'll call him...Atlas. Us ladies got beau coup tipsy and ended up intertwined in a comfortable pile of body parts and pillows on the floor.

Yesterday began with a...SPLAT...as SwD, A, and I went on a SEWER WALK with the Maryland Outdoor Club. We toured the decaying infrastructure of Baltimore City AND made friends with delightful single women. Yes, single women. Now as you know, I've taken myself off the market, but A still has the heart to look, and the pickins are SLIM.

I don't know how many times this farce has played itself out: a girlfriend comes up with a cool thing to do where MEN CAN BE MET, and apparently every other single girl in the metropolitan area has the same idea. Swing dancing, Sewer Walks, wine tastings, Hunting Club crab feasts, you name it. I meet cool single gals.

Here I am going to revert to the original mission of the blog, advice for the lone (lady) wolf. My advice: the men are all at sports bars or watching T.V. at home. Ask yourself, "do you WANT to hang out at sports bars or watch T.V. at home? No?" Then I suggest going my route and submerging your frustrated romantic desires in the FINE ARTS. Or consider batting for the other team.

Know when to hold 'em, and know when to fold 'em, girls.

I just finished Maugham's Of Human Bondage. False advertising, let me tell you. It was, however, a MOST INTERESTING novel, and I want more than anything to have a good talk about it. But I've asked nearly everyone I know, and no one's read Maugham. Until I asked my superior International Playgirl, who has a writer for a husband, I couldn't even pronounce his name correctly. (It's pronounced "Mawm" apparently.) In desperation, I actually read Gore Vidal's foreward wherein he revealed a.) Maugham was gay and b.) Vidal himself is an ass.

No one can say to me anymore, "But Jean Luc, you think everyone is gay," until everyone stops turning up gay.

Love that dare not speak its name (LTDNSIN) aside, it was a wonderful book, and I have no clue why! Why have a foreward if not to explain what I should think? I'm going to Wikipedia.

It's recently come to my attention that my amorous feelings are virtually indistinguishable from avarice. I'm a greedy little child. I want the object of my affection like a robber baron wants a filthy lucre. But moreover, I want the god of my idolaltry to worship me. Of course, they never do, so I become jealous and mean-spirited. And this is love? My love is a thin, sorry thing. My friendship is a sorry thing if it can turn instantly to acquisitiveness.

Well, enough philosophizin'.

In Social News (really the only news fit to print), I had a lovely dinner with the Fries and IwMN on Friday night. Saturday night SwD and I hung out at the bars and had a wonderfully edifying chat. Then on Sunday, the IwMN made a delicious Indian dinner, and Reds and I went to church and R.C.I.A., whereupon we illustrated the slaying of a goat's kid and the splattering of said kid's blood on Joseph's coat of many colors. Ripping good time! (Actually, really it was.)

Well, commentators absconditus, I've been laid low with a bout of nuisance flu. But no flu could keep me from low key Halloween high jinks! SwD and I dressed as Caliban (me) and the foul witch Sycorax (SwD). We wore adorable matching costumes, resplendent with stuffed tails and head pieces, liberated from the Drama Club closet. We then gathered at Cptn America's for pork BBQ.

Recalling that WI lives only a few blocks from Cptn America, A, SwD, and I went a-trick-or-treatin'. Got me a Nutrageous - snack sized. Walking home, with A holding my tail to keep it from dragging in the crisp, autumn leaves - I said "Damn. I'm twenty-nine and I'm trick-or- treating..."

And A said, "I'm thirty and I'm trick or treating."

And then we high-fived.