find me a man. PRONTO!

apparently, the following is written with a THICK sharpie on my forehead:

i am soooooooo incredibly desperate, SO desperate that i will make out with a fucking rock. for the love of god, please, please, please won't someone help me out?! (yeah, yeah, yeah -- i KNOW that all can't fit on my forehead. fuck off.)

this, i have learned by boris, mindi's doorman, who so eloquently put it:

boris: oh! hi! come here. [i walk over] i found someone for you.

me: what? you found someone for me?

boris: yes, he lives on the 5th floor. give me your cell number. he's very good looking.

me: what?! are you trying to set me up?

boris: he's very good looking!

me: well, he doesn't know what i look like!

boris: i tell him. i tell him that you're very good looking. give me your cell number.

me: uh......and what -- he's just gonna...call me? i don't think so. i don't think he'd appreciate you setting him up.

boris: no, come on, then you can come here all the time. i'll give him your number.

and out walks mindi. thank GOD! do i look desperate? apparently, i must... ????