TGINWTGWCTTMFLA

Thank goodness I'm not with the guy who came to train me from LA right now.

I've been driving around with this guy all week under the auspice that he's going to teach me how to deliver medicinal inflatable mattresses. I've pretty much got it down, and had it down before he got here, and I'm glad he's gone home. It wasn't that he was a bad guy, but he got to be a little much by the end of the week. For some reason he decided it would be funny to insinuate that I'm gay several times a minute for the entire time we were together. For the most part I'm not offended by that kind of thing, with the caveat that it isn't constant and never ending. I mean, if someone called you a garbanzo every 15 seconds for a week, I think I would start to get offended by the end.

With that said, last weekend my roommate and I were trying to guess how many people thought we were gay. He took me to the Cheesecake Factory to celebrate my newly minted job, just the two of us. The wait was 55 to 75 minutes, so we went across the street to shop for shoes for him. He tried some on, and we discussed their pros and cons: heel size, shininess, pointiness. Then we went back to the restaurant, ate our dinners, and shared a piece of cheesecake. We live in San Francisco. We were building quite a case.

The case against: I was wearing cheap, non-stylish, baggy jeans. My hair was un-styled and fluffy. My roommate was dressed equally un-stylishly and had a little tiara of cowlick hair from having his sunglasses on his head all day. We both checked out the waitresses. (I think the Cheesecake Factory's hiring policy has an attractiveness minimum.)

Next week I can happily go back to questioning my sexuality insofar as it relates to my fear of dating and meeting people. I am perhaps an anti-people-I-don't-know-sexual. Speaking of which, what's consensus on online personals? Do they work? Are they worth $20?