I know many of you are saying to yourself, “Wow — Dirk sure was on the rag last week. I wonder if his Friday off helped his mood any.”

Well wonder no more. Thanks to the magic of blogging recaps, your questions are now about to be answered.

Friday began with an early morning showing of FANTASTIC FOUR: RISE OF THE SURFER. Don’t ask me what the fuck the title means — it’s like the rest of this piece of shit: pointless. The script (and I am using that word very generously here) meanders and sputters along, never developing anything resembling a coherent plot or making any sort of internal sense. Example: Sue Storm (the insufferable Jessica “Lips” Alba) spends a whole scene talking to the Surfer who reveals his origin in a long expository monologue. 5 minutes later, she tells him “we must stop Galactus — do you understand?”, treating him like some big shiny short bus riding alien. He just had a full conversation with you, bitch — do you understand? As if that weren’t bad enough, director Tim Story goes ape-shit with the close-ups and is incapable of handling any scene with more than 2 people (they all just end up standing around). The one bright spot was seeing uber-hottie Ioan Gruffudd as Mr. Fantastic. Look at this sizzling piece of man-candy:

After the movie it was home again home again jiggety jig. Following a light lunch, I decided to cleanse my cinematic palette with something else and shagged my ass to the video store. Imagine my horror when I stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk where I nearly planted one of my dainty size 12’s smack dab in the middle of a dead squirrel.

It bears noting here that I have a morbid fear of a) dead things, b) rabies, and c) getting shots — which go in your stomach if they think you have rabies. Now imagine all of that mulitiplied times the shock of nearly squishing the poor little bastard with my foot. Ick to infinity, right? So I did what any card carrying nancy boy would do: I let out an ear piercing shriek, jumping back on one foot (my other leg raised, bent and slightly twisted to shield my naughty bits) as I did the “ew! ew! ew!” jazz hands routine.

As luck would have it, at precisely that moment some Mushmouth looking fuck was also entering. “Dude, you buscream like uh-ba little bubitch.”

Seriously, you’re wearing a knit stocking cap in 90+ degree weather and you’re calling me on my shit? Step off, fella.

Finally calming down enough to go inside, I made a huge detour around the the nut gathering corpse. But as you should know by know, my patented Dirk Mancuso curiosity kicked into hyper drive and I had to sneak just one more peek in an attempt to C.S.I. the scene. And as I Gus Grissom-ed the evidence, that’s when I realized something…it wasn’t a dead squirrel at all. It was a stupid fucking plastic dinosaur.

Now totally humiliated, I dashed inside, grabbed BREACH (Laura Linney so rocks in anything) and dashed out before Mushmouth could tell any more customers about the flamer doing the dance of the 6 veils and a pot holder over a child’s prehistoric plaything outside.

During the film, I had 4 — or was it 5? — Captain Morgan’s with just ever the most raspy whisper of Coke, which led to me getting a wee bit buzzed. Which always leads to drunk dialing. Except this time when I went to get my cell, I saw that the computer was on. At that moment I realized if drunk dialing was fun, drunk blogging and drunk IM-ing would totally kick drunk dialing’s ass to the curb. It was on!

Needing to do my Saturday post, I copied off the TMI Tuesday questions and answered them. No big deal. (Except when it came to the bonus question I answered a little more forthrightly than I normally might have, and that has led to some supposition as the to the gentleman’s identity both in comments and via mail. Suffice it to say that no one has guessed correctly and that most of you are assuming that the blogger in question is on my blogroll and/or that I comment on his blog. I am not confirming or denying but there is also the school of thought which says he’s just my secret blog find and I intend to keep him that way…)

Not content with shooting my mouth off via this forum, I decided to check the old personal ads mailbox.

Nothing.

You know how they say liquor gives you courage? It’s true. Seeing no message from Personal Ad Guy, I decided at that moment to send an IM. Only I was a little too buzzed to think of what to say…so I called Dr. Sparky who had done a post-date analysis and declared there to be potential. Except he was at a party — living his own life or some other bullshit excuse — and not answering my very important calls, thus leaving me to my own devices. Oh, how I fretted over what to say. Then I poured another drink and as the alcohol flowed, it seemed as though equal parts inspiration and courage did as well. I typed my message in the box and sat staring at it:

“Had a good time at coffee and enjoyed meeting you. Maybe we could have dinner or take in a movie sometime if you’d be interested.”

Realizing the only thing I had to lose was any last shred of dignity I might have, I clicked send. Then I called Dr. Sparky and left a message telling him what I’d just done. Of course, then he calls back, approving my actions. I felt better.

I’d feel even better if PAG would at least say yay or nay, but in all likelihood, he’ll never respond at all. Oh well, for better or worse I exposed myself to humiliation and rejection tried.

Ugh. I can’t believe you made me dredge all that up.

Bastards.