Seth Baumgartner's Love Manifesto Read Online Free PDF

tuck it into the side pocket of my cargo shorts. “I’ve got a feeling I won’t be swinging all that well this afternoon.”

CHAPTER FIVE
    I ’ve been hanging out at my desk in the basement all night. My cell phone sits silent next to me. It’s not like I haven’t been doing anything. It’s not like I’m twiddling my thumbs like a total loser, hemming and hawing over whether to call Veronica. What I’m doing is setting up my podcasting studio.
    Again.
    Okay, and maybe I’ve been doing a little hemming. But hawing? I don’t even know what hawing is.
    With my final paycheck from Belgian Fries Express, I went out and bought a used large-diaphragm condenser microphone. It’s miles better than the old, hunk-o-crap microphone I was using. That one crackled, gave tons of p-pop s, and pretty much blew chunks. Not to mention that this place looks more like a real studio than ever.
    Now if only I could figure out a good hook for my podcast. It’s one thing to play a bunch of music, but it’s another to tie it all together, to keep people listening. That’s the job of a good radio personality. Otherwise, people would just listen to their own tunes. I tried podcasting about golf a few times, but it was boring and was tough to tie the topic into different songs. I tried talking about B movies, but I ran out of things to talk about. Anyhow, I’m more of a Sam Raimi fanatic than a B-movie lover.
    I hem a little more and glance at my cell phone.
    I flip it open and scroll through the photos.
    After I look at about a dozen old images of Veronica and one Dimitri took of his bare ass that I keep meaning to delete, I get to the mystery lady. The lines on her face tell me she has some miles on her. I figure she’s anywhere from a rough thirty-five to a great fifty. Her teeth are white like Tic Tacs, and her skin glows in the overhead lights. The tiny beads of a green-and-yellow single-strand necklace follow the curve of her chest and disappear into her cleavage. It’s not as painful to look at the woman as it was a few days ago, but it still stings.
    â€œSeth, honey,” my mother calls from the top of the basement stairs.
    I snap my phone shut. “Yeah?”
    â€œAre you still upset about me mentioning you on the show last night?”
    â€œNo.” I say it too soon to be believable. After fielding a half dozen phone calls and deleting twice as many unreademails titled baby boy , I had burrowed under my blanket and gone to sleep.
    â€œCome on, honey, you know as well as I do that the whole reason my show is so popular is because I stay honest with my audience. Anyhow, I left everything in general terms.”
    â€œHow many baby boys do you think people figure Gayle Baumgartner has?”
    â€œWill it help if I apologize again?”
    â€œCouldn’t hurt,” I say.
    She takes one step down the stairs. “Okay, sorry.”
    â€œI’ll get over it,” I say.
    â€œI’m going to bed now. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
    â€œSure thing.”
    â€œI need to be out early,” she says. “I’ve got a conference call with the Broadcasters’ Council at nine. After that, I have a meeting at the club about the upcoming benefit for the Global Association for Diabetes.”
    â€œShouldn’t it be the Global Association for the Prevention of Diabetes?” I say.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNever mind.”
    â€œYou’ll have to fend for yourself for breakfast.”
    â€œNo problem,” I say.
    I hear her come down a few more steps. “Psst!”
    I roll my desk chair to the base of the stairs so I can see her. “I’m taking a look at dogs tomorrow, too,” she whispers. “Do you have any suggestions?”
    I consider her poor taste in men. “How about a girl dog?”
    â€œA bitch?” She smiles.
    The word sounds funny coming from my mother’s mouth, and I get a