Geez Man!

This is your very first post. Use this post to tell readers why you started this blog and what you plan to do with it.

Thank You WordPress! (Yet another attempt to “help” me form an opinion.)

You  might be wondering why I chose to keep the bowl of raspberries as my blog pic. In the words of “Muzzy? (Thoroughly Modern Millie) “Raspberries!”. Sitting at a desk in the back office of my front desk (yes hospitality industry), I am haunted by what may or may not be the eternal question.

Why do they keep calling, after we tell them no?!

Such questions are what I ponder so many times a day. It was a wonderful day. I started it with a walk in the brisk air of Longmont, Co. Down 3rd street I walked toward a delightful place called “La vita Bella.” Fast forwarding to where I pry my gloves from my frozen hands, and move them about. Ordinarily I would find solace in being patient in line. However I had to PEE!  Not un-like an eighty-five year old woman, my bladder was threatening me with mutiny, “JUMP SHIP”. Running from line I hurried to the dark hallway where the restroom door was. Reaching with my semi-cold-as-death hands I turned the knob. “Oh My God!” I found that I was not alone. In the bathroom was a beautiful Hispanic man. Watching him zip up, he avoided the sink and patted my shoulder, “All Yours Bro.” Resisting the urge to vomit because my wool pea-coat was now covered in sweaty zipper, I finished the morning with my cup of coffee.

The walk away was what you call a tid bit nippley. Now warmed internally with my caffeine, my fabulousness was on his way to work. I do have to admit that I am sometimes not the happiest person; but I am not the worst person either. People don’t watch where they are going and sure as hell not in the mid-west when gay men are crossing the street. I am worth  more than 10 points thank you lady with your extra thick bifocals. Waiting for the bus is what poor people do. My $3.75 waits for no man when it comes to me not having to drive. Ok I am on the bus, and who happened to be in the back. You guessed it! Mr. drizzle hand. Looking gorgeous and alone, fate pushed me. No! literally fate decided I wasn’t going to walk gracefully down the aisle. Jolting me I fell knees first in front of gorgeous commode dude. The rest of the three blocks I sat in silence. I felt like a thirteen year old girl waiting for him to sneeze, or drop his hat. Instead he pulled the “request” cable. Turning to me and smiling, he handed me a napkin.

Three days later we were doing what any self respecting city single does. It was amazing. I don’t go around labeling myself because its not healthy; but a former Baptist couldn’t scream louder than me.

So the entirety of this story has one moral:
“When visiting the zoo, don’t feed the animals.”

Words to the wise…if you can not resist feeding raspberries to jungle gorillas, than be prepared that they will leave 15 text messages one day because they are sad and miss you. To which one might respond, “I didn’t like what you called me when you were mad…but I miss the way you ****”.

THE END

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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