Well good ol' snake-loving redheaded ice cream scooper never wrote back.
Neither did the hot cop (!?) who elicited dazed tingles from the top of my pigtailed head up and down my peace loving, hippie skirt clad body to the rings on my toes in the produce section of Trader Joe's. I know... a cop!? Who knew? But it's cool; she's exempt because:
A. She is the Capulet to my anti-authoritarian Montague, cop love would be so star-crossed for me I'd need the Enterprise to get me to a date.
B. Well, we just looked at each other. She never actually got any information with which to write me in the first place.
Nor did the gorgeous queer writer from LA, who though male-bodied could totally pull-off some sick bastardization of wifehood. Which would be great by me. I think we'd make a gorgeous Todd Haynes flick. (And now that gays can get married in CA, he and I could even make it legal!) But he's famous and lives in L.A. so he's also exempt. Plus he *did* give me a free copy of his book and a spontaneous hug upon first meeting, so I feel pretty special about all that already.
Anyhoo, the good news is, I'm actually kind of trying. I took a little winter slug break from ye olde wifey chase, but now; well I may not be back in the saddle exactly, but I'm at least in the stable and giving some of the horses the eye.