I apologize for the dry spell between posts. I’ve been preoccupied with this kind of “Spring Cleaning” mood. During the last week, in whatever after-work time that I actually feel productive, I’ve been going through the clutter in my room, getting rid of what I don’t want, rediscovering the joy of forgotten possessions, and often finding things that are, in one way or another, grossly overdue.

Also in the news this week, my parents went away to Niagara Falls for a few days.

When the parents are away, a child, of any age, is usually prone to taking certain liberties. Those liberties stereotypically involve beer and excessively loud music. Since I like neither of these things, I’d taken the liberty of walking around the house in my underwear, whenever the opportunity presented itself.

I found the experience somewhat freeing. It reminded me of my independent, though financially castrated days in my first apartment, when I could walk anywhere wearing whatever I wanted; towel, underwear, clown pants.

Well, the magic kind of being semi-nude at home died out on Tuesday after I walked down stairs, clad in my well-traveled briefs, and threw aside the curtains of the sliding glass door to have a quick look at the weather outside. I found myself nearly face to face with the ChemLawn man who was treating our yard that morning. It was from across the deck, but he saw me. He saw me so clearly, it would have been rude not to wave hello, which I did, before closing the blinds and scrambling back upstairs into the reassuring comfort of my pants.

Aside from the accidental yet intimate encounter with the ChemLawn guy, my week has been pretty routine. I only found further humor in the random things I think about when I’m driving to or from work. Random things like:

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Have you ever noticed that “accidentally released,” sex tapes are always from the celebrities you would expect them from? Think about it. Paris Hilton? Big shock, an attention whore “loses track” of a very “personal video.” “Right.” Chyna? Well, what can I say, Animal Planet does offer $100 and a free t-shirt for videos like that. Pamela Anderson? C’mon. Her whole life is a sex tape!

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I think there comes a point when you should stop going to the gym.

Do you find yourself bench pressing more weights than they have at any one station? Are you asking the guy at the leg press if you can borrow his “50?” Take a break.

Do you need more than one person to spot you? Get up and go home.

Are your waist size and neck size within three inches of each other? Sit down, eat some Ho Ho’s.

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I have discovered that I, as a normal man, can only eat so much quiche. I find that very few foods let you know you’ve eaten too much WHILE you’re eating them. Most of the time, you finish a meal and say, “Wow, I had waaay too much.” Quiche, on the other hand, let’s you know about halfway through your second small slice. There just comes a point, mid-forkful, that you say, “Ohhh, no more quiche for a month.”

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If you’re going to design a washing machine that doesn’t have a “Normal,” “Medium,” or “Just always use this,” setting, expect complaints.

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I am a member of an online personals site. So as not to incriminate myself, I won’t tell you the service’s name (let’s just say it’s a synonym for “Weeeee!”).

Anyway, I’m browsing the ads, as I occasionally do every once in an hour, and I notice something strange. Upon entering certain search criteria (“Female,” “Non-Smoker,” “Outgoing,” “Not Anna Nichole Smith,”) I came across three profiles that looked equally appealing. That’s when I realized they were all the same, to the letter, even the “About me,” paragraph; yet the girls pictured in each profile were all different.

During my time on this service, I’ve gotten many of responses to my personal ad. Unfortunately, they were all ads for porn. I know this because they were all the same, the response says something like, “I saw that you responded to my personal, you seem very sweet, I’d love to talk to you. Please don’t respond to this e-mail address, I’ve put my contact info on this page //LINK// .” Only to click on the link and: “PORN PORN, Undersexed Grannies Want Your Cock!”

It’s a travesty; porn sellers preying on innocent lonely men. It’s like a Lifetime movie of the week, only, they would have to show it on Spike TV.

So anyway, I decide to send a letter to the supervisor of the site saying, “Hey, I could be wrong, but these profiles are identical, but have different pictures. Something in my gut tells me, “Porn.”

I got a quaint, impersonal, automated reply, thanking me for submitting my concern.

A week later I got the usual, “Your matches this week!” e-mail from the service. All three of the previously identical profiles were at the top of my list. The personal information on all three was still completely identical. The photos of all three had not changed. The “About me” paragraph on all three were now different.

“Right.”