It's not a rugby club, it's a meat market.

2004-09-08 - 8:30 a.m.

Kind of buzzing on that post-workout high thing...the kind of feeling where you just want to shout... "Can I get a 'hell yeah'?!" (Farscape quote...see how I manage to seamlessly blend macho gym talk with sci-fi geek lingo? Oh yeah, I am King of the Genre Benders.)

Anyway, last entry aside, I don't want people to get the impression that I have everything together. After writing about how I get things done and whatnot, I remembered that everything that I accomplish tends to be the sort of activity that doesn't involve people. Any task where I'll have to go and interact with strangers (getting the cats neutered, dentist and eye appointments, job hunting, etc) is currently not being done. The goal is to try to tackle each of these one at a time until they're all done. At least once the cats' balls are chopped off, I'll never have to worry about that job ever again.

In other news, I've found a gay rugby club in my area, and I'm sorely tempted to try out. I've started watching rugby on TV, and while it's a rough sport, I'm fascinated by it. For one thing, if you want to know my ideal body type (what I find very, very hot) look at rugby players and you're about as close as you're going to get. But beyond the libidinous reasons, watching the sport is fun...I love watching the teams follow the ball...those guys are pretty damn elegant on the pitch (<- "rugby-ese" for field. See? I'm part rugby player already).

I'm tired of people looking at me funny when I mention this, though. They always seem to need to inform me that rugby is a painful sport. If you, dear reader, want to tell me it's a painful sport, let me assure you that I'm aware of this and am prepared to take my chances.

The local group has practices Monday and Thursday nights, so I'm toying with the idea of checking them out tomorrow after work.

Anyway, I was going to write about having been single for just about a year, haven't had sex in that long, and am wondering if I'm supposed to be dating by now or if I really can afford the conceit of mourning my future as a spinster...but I'm happier with this contact-sport-themed entry instead.

Is a year really that long? Also, it's been 6 years since I've had sex (or even, really, a dalliance of any sort) with someone who isn't Pookie. Argh.

Cheers,

The Magus

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