Rabid Pussy

The Game Warden just came to investigate what may have been a rabid cat near my house. Sadly, this possibly-rabid cat sort of reminded me of myself. Check it...

I was talking with a friend earlier about tomorrow night's plans and we both almost simultaneously expressed our hopes for all the "new, single, hott males" who might be where we are going. It was one step away from foaming at the mouth in anticipation of all the meat we could potentially encounter at the parties and bars.

Lately I've been feeling like I'm on a constant manhunt where I view every situation as one with potential. Not that I don't think that's a good mindset to have, but when I find myself imagining, Ally McBeal style, jumping across counters to attack male prey, I know it's gone a bit far. I haven't progressed to this erratic behavior (yet), but with the severe lack of play I'm getting, coupled with the even more severe lack of potentials in my group of friends, I'm afraid of what my diseased* mind might do.

And let's talk about this extremely severe lack of potentials that has us chicas plagued. The group dynamic has once again shifted and left us with a total cooter fest. I miss the days of yore when I had oodles of guy friends who, in turn, had oodles of guy friends. It's six degrees of guy friends and I miss it dearly. I mean, desperately.

So, like that rabid cat, I need some meat and I'd prefer mine to be in the form of male. And soon, please, because really? the foaming at the mouth can't be attractive.



Too bad the game warden wasn't hot...


*Hey, lack of kissing is a disease in my book!