The answer is no.

Anyhow, behold the sweetness amid which I reside:

Lovely readers, I DARE you:

Dolce and Gabbana L'amoureux # 6:  They've been advertising this very feminine fragrance as a unisex cologne.  It's the only item in the tarot line that they've tried to sell to men.  However, it clearly goes beyond getting in touch with one's feminine side-I think it is blatantly androgynous.  I put a bit on and all I've felt like doing all day is shopping for shoes....

Man-shoes of course.

And just look at what it's made me do with my bed sheets.  I spent forty-five minutes looking at European shams and bed skirts..

The true test of metrosexuality:  are you man enough to wear a fragrance with a floral overtone?  In my opinion, this is more hardcore than man-eyeliner.

Wearing this is equivalent to wearing a big lipstick smudge on one's neck.  Everyone gives you that, "who the hell have YOU been sleeping with" look.  While it's fun to bask in that feeling, it does get a bit awkward during morning rounds, when my 70-year old bow-tie wearing atenolol prescribing old-school-medicine attending gives me that "what the fuck is wrong with kids these days" look. 

It's not something you'd ever consider wearing to work-trust me-unless, of course, you work in a hair salon.  But I'll wear it anyway.  Because I can.  Because I want to.  Because I know how much the very gall/strength in the expression of feminitiy is paradoxically a proclaimation of masculinity.  Everything you need to know about men:

One thing I've noticed everywhere I go is that people, in general, are boring.  Having to watch doctors dress in drab-ass oversized barf dress shirts, baggy untailored pants, payless shoes, and ugly lifeless men's wearhouse ties day after day after day is excruciating.  And it's not as if the women dress any better.  I mean, for fuck's sake, STOP WEARING UGGS.  STOP IT. 

Beyond being hideous, they are morally wrong.  I don't give a rat's ass how comfortable you think they are.  They cost just as much as a real pair of boots.  So why not purchase real boots?  Shit.

The clothes doth proclaim the man, you boorish yew-rags.

Also, why is it that only the plastic surgeons get their suits tailored?  Yes, it's bit expensive, but it's worth every red cent.  For some reason, this equals plastic surgery:

And this equals all other specialties:

I don't think it's fair, and I've made it my personal goal to outdress every plastic surgeon in the hospital.  I don't care how much money they make.  Money doesn't by taste.

As I inch ever nearer to the closing date on my house, my sentiment evolves from the jitters to cold feet to blatant panic.  The responsibilities of owning a house are staggering, and I'm not even sure I'd be able to handle a task as simple as mowing my lawn every week.  It's also a nidus of excitement, the lure of an independence and a self-reliance that wanted as long as I can remember; it also changes my behavior and brightens my mood.   As much as I doubt myself, I am salivating for the chance to challenge myself and to change again.  Change: that is the nature of things, is it not, my lovely readers?  Whether to vacillate between arbitrary self-eviscerating extremes or to metamorphose, larva to crystalis to adult to death, a man's capacity for change is the length and breadth of his existence.  And each man, on a few and far between shiny days of his life, turns to the sky vis-a-vis to proclaim himself.  It's my day.