Very good. One Anonymous down.

One to go, though. Get with it, number two! I might end up marrying you, I hope you're someone cool!

Anyway, have I mentioned to you people that Amber is coming up next month?

Note, this is a rhetorical device to introduce the topic. As a matter of fact, I know full well that I have not, on this website, and with the exception of Dudenonymous, I have mentioned it in person. Probably a lot. Indeed, I'm sure most of you are drearily bored with the topic, and hope I don't bring it up again, and I'm fairly sure (read: certain) that the person who has heard the least about how excited I am for this upcoming visitation is Amber herself. Sure to be the highlight of our respective summers, I have been working to engineer 'good times'. Not an easy task mind you; my spare time is generally spent watching explosions and eating many different meats... significant adaptation on my part will be required.

Stressful choices!

• Dinner?
  Yes, I suspect Amber will want to eat at some point, but I fear the culinary adventure that is Mr. Taco will leave her unenthralled.
• The City?
  To what end? And with travel restricted to the subway, we shall surely be killed (or my poor sense of direction exposed, which is anathema to my manly heart).
• A Discotheque?
  Those don't exist anymore! I looked!
• A movie?
  Bah! The only movie of note at the end of August will be the venerable Snakes on a Plane. I will have seen it already.
• Watch DVDs of Futurama and drink heavily?
  Do you really think we do that for four days straight?
• Yeah, I think you could.
  You're probably right, but I'll still need a backup plan.

And that's not even the half of it. I don't even know what I'm going to do with my facial hair... the moustache and muttonchops look might have driven the ladies mad in Victorian England, but that was over twenty years ago! I must invest in modern fashions! I must set my room up into an adorable mess (a manly disarray: the room is spotless, but there are ties over the doorknobs and a Wall Street Journal on the bed)! I must... I must... I must stock my bar and wax my closets and adopt a butler and replace my unattractive friends and steal a car and cut my hair and stop snoring and, in short, obtain some semblance of CLASS within the next twenty-eight days because, Gosh dammit, the lady deserves no less!

At the very least, I must break myself of the habit of sitting around bare-ass naked while watching Pokemon. No one wants those kinds of awkward moments.