I'm having dinner tonight with a guy who moved here around the same time as me, also knew no one here, and is masculine. Unlike the lath mithter un-mathculine I met othline, I have confirmed this one's masculinity by lengthy phone chat.

When not bringing my eight-pounds of lunch, I dine at the nearby subway. This is the only Subway with consistent brown-tinted lettuce. Because of such, I decline lettuce each day (there aren't that many nutrients in it, anyway). There's a big hairnet-less lesbian who runs this particular franchise... generally she's chillin' at the register -- eager to deny my save-em-up-for-a-free-sandwhich stamps -- but today she kept dabbling on the food line. I stared at her dangling, wirey grey hairs as she leaned over the lettuce... then olives... then peppers. I got a good look, certain I'd be removing one from my mouth in a matter of moments.

The Crazy Co-worker (although no longer employed here, the name is staying) invited me to his house tomorrow to watch TV and hang out. Any time with a new friend is good time, I say. He also invited me to a party this weekend. Yay for breaking the curse of the lonely Saturday night.

I feel all Press-your-luck with this sandwich... "C'mon, big turkey, big turkey... no Lesbian Hairs, no Lesbian Hairs..."