Dear Caitlyn’s blog readers,

How you been? You’re looking well. Especially YOU. Love the hair.
It’s very… Janice from The Muppet Show. Mrrowwrr.

I’m Peter.

Because this is Caity’s blog, I am going to (sort of) write about the
type of thing that she would write about…

Relationships.

And NOT the type of thing that I would typically write about…

*cough* Anne Hathaway *cough*

Being from a small town, I have a unique view on relationships. If
you’ve never lived in a small town, then you don’t know. You just
don’t.

*Peter stares off into the distance.*

They say that “all’s fair in love and war.”

Well, the pursuit of love in a small town makes war look like a cake
walk with cloud slippers.

Or something.

If a woman even drives through my town, men start pouring out of doors
and windows everywhere. And, if one actually moves here…

Did you see MAD MAX BEYOND THUNDERDOME? With the futuristic anarchy
jumping off all over the place?

Yeah, it is nothing like that. But, that movies kicks ass, right?

Still, the dating scene in a small town isn’t, you know, good.

Shit is rough, is what I’m saying.

To make matters worse, I keep seeing the “Hot Local Women” ads on the
left side of the screen as I contemplate my next Scrabulous move on
Facebook.

There are times in life when you have taken all that you can take.
There are times in life when you suspect that you are just about at
your limit and anymore could tip the scale. And there are times in
life when you can probably take heaps more, but are kind of bored,
there is nothing on TV, and you just feel like bitching.

This is clearly one of these scenarios.

Now, I don’t want to say that the “Hot Local Women” ads on the left
side of the screen as I contemplate my next Scrabulous move on
Facebook are liars. I really don’t. But, I have lived here long
enough that I suspect that I would have noticed the veritable plethora
of scantily-clad and honey-limbed lovelies that they claim live
locally.

It’s true.

Granted, I am pretty self-absorbed, but still…

When I go to the post office, I almost never run into women in bikinis
who are putting their shoulders back and sticking out their chests.
Not even when stamps are on sale.

Stamps!

If they did live in my town, I’d likely follow them around as if they
were the Grateful Dead and start a moderately sketchy, yet somehow tax
exempt, church in their honor.

I have enough complaints about Scrabulous as it is, I didn’t need
anything else. This game already won’t let me play “zen,” which, as
you might guess, is not making me feel very Zen at all. And yet it
lets you play “za?” Come on!

Caitlyn recently beat me in a Scrabulous battle. It was a frustrating
game. I got nothing but 1 pt tiles, and never had less than 5 vowels
at any one time. And Caitlyn… had better luck. It’s like she
wills herself to receive good tiles. That chick is inscrutable. She
can’t be scruted.

Speaking of Caitlyn, I should mention that she is intelligent, sweet,
lovely, charming, a lover of animals, an athlete, a Democrat,
fragrant, effervescent, the inventor of TIVO, a huge sports fan, the
first female swimmer of the English channel, leggy, stylish, able to
cure rickets with her smile, well-read, driven and…

When she wins a bet on a game of Scrabulous, where the stakes are that
the loser has to write a blog post about how awesome the winner is,
well, she makes you pay up.

And now I am craving some “za.”

Mostly sincerely,

Peter DeWolf

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