It's my first day back in office after the ol' extendo-weekend, and the Christmas tunes have been blaring all day. Don't take this the wrong way: I get down with this genre, generally speaking. Hell-- given the right mood, circumstances, lighting, etc., certain tunes will reduce me to a blubbering mess (I'm looking at you, Judy Garland).

But how many insipid remakes of stone-cold classics can one soul endure?

I swear. I'm not going on a rant here. There is no yelling at clouds. But! I guess, if you truly want to devote the mental energy and go down this path... it's a microcosm of the world we live in, isn't it? Everything is just made to be shittier. Intentionally. And we just kinda... go along with it. Because what other options do we have? We mustn't allow ourselves to be inconvenienced!

Well, Dear Reader-- I'm mad as hell. And I'm not gonna... do anything... about this particular... issue... because it's cold outside and... I'm kinda hungry and....

Okay.

Maybe we got off on the wrong foot. I'm not here to vent. Scout's honor. By signing up for my figurative newsletter, you have my guarantee that I won't complain about my partner. Or my kid. Or my fantasy football team. Or traffic. Because who came here for that?

No. This venture is driven by pure selfishness and id. And that's okay. We can admit that here. We want more. Need more. The best parts of ourselves-- the passionate, charming, creative, silly, flirty, bouncy, filthy ones-- are walled off at home. Dying on the vine due to the indifference or disinterest of our life partners. Maybe we give of ourselves 24/7: To work, to our spouse, to our child, to the needs and demands of modern life. What's left for us at the end of each day? What scraps do we allow ourselves to enjoy? Or, we're chameleons. Ever-changing to become The Answer to whatever Questions get thrown our way.

The batteries need to be recharged. The soul needs to be nourished, dammit!

Me: Nearly 40 (what the fuck... when did I get old). Music junkie (as long as music stopped being recorded in the 80s, for the most part). Proud parent. Baseball fanatic. Mixtape master and playlist prince. Tall-ish. Great head of hair. Perpetually responsible. Been old for all of my life. Firm believer that wit and charm and a good set of listening ears will take you further with people than damn near anything. Abs so chiseled you could do laundry on them. Prone to bouts of grandiose embellishment. I posses the time and energy and desire to commit to something like this. For right woman, of course.

You: Willing and able to banter. Truly-- this is big. If you think that having a nice rack means you don't need to be able to go back-and-forth in a conversation, I'm not the man for you. You've been described as "charming." You have a true, earnest passion for something. You have a reason for getting out of bed each morning with some level of zest. You understand that deep bonds here are forged on open communication, consistency/ritual, and vulnerability. You consider yourself a good person. Maybe even prone to the occasional act of boldness and bravery. Assertive in what you want. Understanding that we are all only human, after all.

This offer of OA-ness is good until... I get sick of uninspiring conversations? No no, I can't write that. That's a line they use at the Jerk Store. But if you've made it this far, I suspect you might have a good idea of what it is I bring to the table. And it just might be what you're looking for. "Vibing with," as the kids might say?

You should write me. Do it! Not to add any extra pressure, but first impressions matter. I've put some thought and effort into this post (unless it sucks. In which case I'm blaming AI). Bring more than just a "Hi. How r u?" Say something. Deep dives desired. Alliteration appreciated. Let's get through the bullshit.

Isn't it time?