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July 6, 2004
Why am I wasting my time with a man who wears pleated shorts, tucked-in polo shirts, and the measliest of namby-pamby loafers, when the guys who truly attract me and cause the blood to race so fast through my veins that I can feel them tingling through my skin are the ones who knock around in cargo-type pants, untucked and unbuttoned long-sleeve shirts with the cuffs rolled up, some sort of groovy necklace, and, quite possibly, a bandana in his longish windblown hair? What's up with me with a suburban lawyer, when I need a writer, an artist, a drummer?