Not long after I posted that little rant about DinnerDate4Eight, I got an e-mail from them. It was short and to the point: “Dinner, Wednesday, 7:00. Please confirm,” (give or take a pronoun).

A nearly leaped for joy, but I just sat down, and I was comfortable. Plus, after all this time, I was a little overwhelmed it was finally happening. So, I sent a reply saying I was in, so make with the details. No information was forthcoming.

I was getting worried. The day was coming up, but still no contact from the company. Then I started to get nervous, thinking they were withholding the information from me; like in the Godfather, they were going to drive me around town and then whack me at a pizza joint.

Then on Tuesday (TUESDAY!), I got an e-mail from them saying, essentially, “Oops, never mind. Not everyone can make it. We’ll try again later. Don’t worry it happens to lots of guys the first time.” …I made that last part up.

Frankly, I’m beginning to wonder if I could do a better job rounding up seven single strangers on my own. It almost seems like a better deal for me because if I were in control, they could all be women. It would be like “The Bachelor,” except we wouldn’t eliminate anybody. Everyone’s a winner.

What did I join this company for? Am I just paying for an ineffective middleman? Did I give these people 30 bucks to act like that friend we all have who says “Dude, I should totally hook you up with this chick I know,” but then he forgets, and next thing you know, he’s dating that chick?

I’m beginning to wonder if I’m going to see seven other people at a dinner table anytime before Thanksgiving.

Until then, I sit around, fantasizing about who my other dinner guests may be; like I’m a little girl having a tea party with her teddy bears.

“What’s that Ms. Ruxpin? You want my phone number? Why I’d be delighted to give you my digits.”

A friend of mine invited me to go to Water Country in August. Of course I said yes, because Water Country friggin’ rocks, and I haven’t been there in ages.

But there’s a fundamental question that’s troubling me. What do I do with my glasses while I’m there? I obviously can’t wear them on the waterslides, because I’ll loose them about two feet down the first slide, and then someone will step on them, and they’ll break, and they’ll have to close the whole ride because there’s glass in the splashdown pool, and everyone will have to get tested for blood-borne illnesses because the shards of glass cut someone’s foot and the water was contaminated, but then someone will overhear “…water was contaminated…” and think we’re being attacked by terrorists, and there will be a panic and all the people in the wave pool will run to shore, like in Jaws, but they’re going to forget about the little Kidner boy who gets eaten by the broken glass and there’s this whole media shit-storm because Chief Brody knew about the glasses but the Mayor of Water Country told him to keep his mouth shut so they don’t have a panic on their hands.

Or I could leave them in my locker and not see where I’m going and not be able to identify my friends, at which point I’ll get swept into the deep end of Adventure River where I’ll be rescued by a mermaid who leaves me in the care of a kind family who adopts me because I can’t see where my ride home is, and it will be nice for a while until the dad starts a beer brewing company and he chains me and my foster brother Timmy to the vats until we’ve blended up all the hops and barley so he can fill the shipment of Bob’s Ale that the mob ordered before they come to the house and whack the family dog.

So I’m in kind of a bind because I don’t want the Kidner boy to die, but I don’t want anyone to kill Mr. Fluffy either.