It's So Obvious!

Look, Jillian, I totally know why you've chosen Ed. It's so obvious. After all, he rejected you not once but twice! And how often do you get to choose the guy who doesn't even like you.

First, you give Ed a rose, which he accepts before leaving the show for his job (i.e. "You'll always be #2, Jillian"), and second, on your overnight date, he can't even get it up (i.e. "I don't think I want you, Jillian"). If you think that's a one-night problem, you're fooling yourself, girlie.

Your chemistry with several of those dudes, even some of the total jackasses, was way hotter than it ever was with Ed.

I think the missus is really hoping that Jillian turns up at "After the Rose Ceremony" with Reid later. She's got a lot to say about Jillian's body language with Reid in comparison to her body language with Ed. I'll let the missus be the expert on that one.

But Ed repeatedly rejects Jillian, so Jillian "loves" Ed. I keep saying that Ed's gay, mostly because it really ruffles the missus' feathers. No, I don't know that Ed is gay, but I sure think he is. But really, Ed just doesn't seem terribly hot for Jillian.

I'm telling you, lady. You only want Ed because you will never actually have Ed.

So get over your idiocy, stop being such a stereotype, and run off with Reid already.

I Got My Eyes Checked Today

Spring is in the air, B&E readers. It is May, after all.

A few weeks ago I got that note on the Brooklyn Bridge (you better believe that I revisit that experience any time my ego needs a boost and tell every single person I've ever met), and I think my eye doctor was flirting with me this morning.

Doctor of Optometry Young Lady laughed a little too hard at the things I said (easy there, doc, this isn't even my A-Game) and complimented my consistent test-taking, which she called "remarkable" for a test that's supposed to be subjective.

She also seems very impressed by the hole in my retina, particularly the scar tissue that formed all around the hole, thereby keeping it from growing, detaching completely, and causing me to go blind. That shit is hot.

But it all went a little too far when everyone at the office was putting a lot of pressure on me to get my eyes dilated.

Well, I'm sorry, ladies, I can't let you do that unless my wife is around.

I Still Got It, Baby!

I've been at my current job for about two-and-a-half years now. I figured out early on that commuting via the Brooklyn Bridge was a Very Good Thing To Do, even if it took an extra fifteen minutes each way. It's a walk that keeps on giving, B&E readers.

I'm a people-watcher. New York is a great place for the activity. Walking down the streets, I tend to look people in the eye. Very few look back. It's a guarded city that way.

So after two-and-a-half years of walking the Brooklyn Bridge most weekdays, there are dozens of faces I recognize. Most of those people who belong to these faces wouldn't recognize me in a lineup because they walk in their own worlds and block out the world around them. I do it sometimes too, so I get it.

After all this time, then, there are exactly three people I now greet in the mornings. Two I see almost every day. The third I think might be a seasonal walker. Or perhaps she's among the throngs of the laid off, because I haven't seen her in months.

Greetings vary. One gets a smile and a wave. The other gets a simple mouthed "good morning," because why should we bother to actually speak when we're both wearing headphones on a very loud bridge?

A little bit of human and humane interaction adds a warm touch to a cold commute.

Yesterday, Smile & Wave Girl handed me a note. Dude. A note. It's the fifth grade all over again!

It was simple just-wanted-to-introduce-myself fare, but it also said something about hoping she hadn't embarrassed herself. And she included contact information. So it was pretty clear she was fishing - fishing for the bald specimen that is this hunk of effectiveness.

I wrote her from my work email, figuring she'd troll our site and find my bio, which mentions the missus. Even though it was probably safe to be presumptuous, I didn't feel right just saying, "Thanks for the note: I'm married."

She wrote back with an "Oops! Didn't know you were married. Sorry!" She said she'd tried to see if I had a ring during the note hand-off, but I think I was holding my hat in my left hand (the hat is the single most important element in body temperature regulation, B&E readers).

And that's pretty much it. I don't mind telling you, faithful B&E readers, getting a note from a random lady boosts the ego tremendously.

The people with whom I've shared this story admire the cojones on this woman, and I share their admiration. Seriously. Good for her. If I were single, I'd go on at least one date with her because of my deepest respect for her initiative.

The missus, by the way, is being very good about letting me bask in the glory of another woman's fondness. And I'm being appropriately insufferable about it.

Dude! A chick totally hit on me while I was walking by her on the Brooklyn Bridge!

But I'm sorry, ladies. I'm afraid I must inform you that as much as you might like to ride the elevator to the top of B&E Tower, the observatory is the sole property of the missus. You'll just have to enjoy the shiny architectural mastery from a safe distance.

Rowr, B&E readers. Seriously. Rowr...

Fuck the Mothers

I should really not watch presidential debates. They make my blood pressure spike. Bob Schieffer did his job well in getting them to engage with each other, which only made me more tense.

John McCain seethed with rage, well, pretty much the entire time. But there was one astounding moment: when McCain mocked the health-of-the-mother exception for abortion. That moment revealed a deep and genuine misogyny.

Whatever Hillary voters were still supporting McCain last night (not many) should be chilled by that moment. It was seriously fucked up.