Hooo-oh-oooly shit, Ali has taken the lead. And then she left for a work trip to Paris and Dubai.

Tonight (Wednesday, 3/22), Ricky and I went to the Blue Room at Third Man Records to see Okey Dokey and Zella Day.

Michelle was there. Ricky and I both searched for her. She’s 5’2″, 40-yo, and pretty af.

I did not find Michelle. There are so many beautiful women under 5’5″ and above 5′, of all ages. This was harder than any Where’s Waldo.

Great show, though. Michelle can keep searching for an eagle-eyed Romeo, for all I care. Though I do hope she keeps an eye out for eagles, because I believe they’ve taken down goats bigger than she is.

Ali – technically, Alison, like the undeniably and legendarily perfect song by Elvis Costello – is something else, someone special, someone binge-worthy.

Waiting for my Lyft …

Tommer: “I feel …”

Ali: “What?”

Tommer: “I don’t know. Sorry. I feel …”

Ali: “What?”

Tommer: “I don’t know. It’s good, though.”

Ali starts telling me something important about her life …

Tommer: “Butterflies! That’s the word I was looking for. Haven’t felt that in at least a decade.”

I’m simultaneously great and terrible at this.

Speaking of terrible, Ricky told me Amber had an idea that I should just buy and wear scrubs to a bar to pick up ladies. Ricky suggested an Iraq war vet hat.

I would never pretend to be a war vet.

But scrubs, well, a woman could ask me what I did for a living and I could say, “I will talk about anything other than work, please.”