Some friends and I were talking about favorite cereals from childhood. The ultra-crunchy varieties – Count Chocula and Fruity Pebbles in particular - topped our collective list. One friend’s assessment: “If your gums weren’t bleeding by the time you finished, the cereal wasn’t very good.”

As of yesterday, I've completed the three-month probationary period of my job. Apparently they plan on keeping me.

Since I have over 180,000 miles on my car and repairs are becoming more and more frequent, I've started shopping for a replacement. Though I'm not very far in the process, I've already encountered a few frustrations:

• After having my eye on a dark-green VW Jetta for the past three years, I've learned that it's overpriced and underrated. I'll have to be content with simply continuing to admire my one-time dream car on the freeway.
  
  
• Hybrid vehicles come in a limited array of colors - usually varying shades of gray, not in my favorite "Look at me!" red.
  
  
• I keep having conversations with people who immediately plunge into, "You know what you should get ..." without knowing anything about my personal tastes.

Great. I'm already annoyed, and I haven't even set foot on a car lot.

When you’ve been single forever, people often suggest that you’re too picky. Maybe so. Consider my recent missed opportunity:

A man approached me at the gym the other night, using the junior-high approach to flirting. “Nice tan,” he said, making a mocking reference to the complete lack of pigmentation in my skin. Then he pointed out that Cleopatra had fair skin, and proceeded to smile at me periodically during the rest of my workout. I made a good-humored comment in response, but didn’t talk to him long enough to show interest. (The fact that he had the most out-of-control sideburns I’d ever seen in my life had something to do with my hurried escape.)

To my surprise, his face appeared briefly in the opening segment of the news last night, and I stayed with the program long enough to see his story. It seems his trailer caught fire earlier that day, and he used Dr. Pepper to try to douse the flames. (Judging from the footage showing the trailer engulfed in flames, I’m guessing his attempt was not very effective.)

Yes, I’m obviously way too picky.

I've been exploring the possibility of buying a new home, but my own little house has begun to look more and more appealing after looking at the drab options available in my price range. The appeal was reinforced when a friend who's in real estate told me, "You have the perfect house..."

I felt a bit deflated, though, when he finished his sentence: "...for remodeling."

I'm part of a group that's planning a weekend retreat for my church singles' group, and we've been brainstorming ideas for recreation. Dancing is out, since the retreat center we're using adheres to a somewhat archaic notion that dancing is a less-than-wholesome activity. But the center does offer paintball, for a small additional fee.

So let me get this straight: Dancing is wrong, but it's okay for us to simulate killing each other?

After seeing his cartoons for Monday, Tuesday and today, I may decide that I like Steve Benson after all.