Mr. Nice Guy

It's time for an announcement, people. I met a really nice guy tonight. No, really. Nice. As in handsome, fit and athletic, driven (and cycled), intelligent and articulate, creative and talented, firm buns and thighs, and already retired. Whoa! Stop the train and back up, people. Firm buns and thighs? I got one word for ya (with a lotta syllables): Ni-i-i-i-i-i-ice!

I know! How did THAT happen? Cuz I don't mind telling you, I am a bad-boy electromagnet. That's like millions of times more powerful than a fridge magnet. 'kay? So how this really nice guy with the firm buns and thighs made such an impact is a damn miracle. Of course, I did personally pick him out of a lineup without even previewing his buns and thighs, so I'm due a little credit here. No, not THAT lineup. Online dating. Although I am quite certain many of those guys online have been in that other kind of lineup. I swear one of 'em is a Featured Fugitive on the FBI's Most Wanted List, right next to Bin Laden. He wasn't wearing a turban, but he had a moustache. A big one, like you could hide box cutters in there.

So I met Mr. Nice Guy with the firm buns and thighs at Little Woodrow's for drinks after I got off work. Two hours went by like thirty! Minutes, that is. He's not short on conversation. I fooled him by being totally quiet and demure. I'm pretty sure he bought it. Ladies, I even got a GIFT! Swe-e-e-e-eet! He gave me a CD of some of his recordings. Did I mention he has a recording studio? And he's a musician?

Honestly, I was afraid of another musician. They're terminally poverty-stricken titty babies. But how can you not love a classically trained violinist – with an AMP!?! I'll bet he can turn that volume all the way up to eleven. And there's no worrying about this musician with the firm buns and thighs crying over his money woes cuz he doesn't need a J.O.B. Whew! That's just one less thing for me to bitch about, you know? And finally, somebody cool in my age range with a hot body. People, after chugging a quart of Cougar Be-Gone, I'm born again. And probably well lubed.

Did I mention he has firm buns and thighs? He only cycles 20+ miles a day. What Mr. Nice Guy doesn't have? A beer belly. Se-e-e-exy!

But, I don't know. We have yet to discuss the deal breaker. I mean, if the guy can't dance, he's totally yesterday's news. Plus, Mr. Nice Guy with the firm buns and thighs is going to have to show me some deal makers, so I can give him a sexier name. Like Mr. Breakfast in Bed, or Mr. Double Two-Step Me into a Sexual Frenzy, or the ultimate Mr. I Heart SYTYCD* too! Hhhhawtt!

So what do you think? Shall I tell him my real name? I mean, just in case he's a keeper.
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* So You Think You Can Dance? = My favorite guilty pleasure on the tube. Don't judge, people.
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