My City is fabulous. It is about fifteen miles away from Denver. I can walk anywhere I want to go and in any weather pattern. Above is the corner of 3rd & Main st. The musty old brick buildings give it a certain vintage chic. This nostalgia carries on down for three and 1/2 blocks until you hit the dairy queen. Thus ending Boulder’s influence on “upping the market value”. You think I am joking, huh. Nope.
Night life in this sleepy town includes but is not limited to:
-Soccer mom’s & margaritas-Beers boys & sports-pot fun & hippies- stab me& I’ll stab you- Pizza & wine. The list goes on.
Above is a few of the sub-cultures that have merged into what I call “The sad truth.”
If you have not guessed I am a woman trapped inside this sad little man’s body, otherwise known as a “homo-sexual”. I have met the other boys in town. If you come tome and say, “You should meet my friend.” chances are I know them. Their are the younger generation who clown pack into their friends beater and drive the fifteen miles to Denver. I refuse to ruin another pair of shoes sitting waiting for my “friends” to come back from their meeting of the “bathroom hook-up committee”. Instead I get coffee, walk around, and hope I’ll run into Mr. Right.
The down side to my day off is, I always end up on Grinder. Hundreds of profiles consisting of, “The I go to the gym crowd.” This sub-species of men revolve around the weight system. They eat right, get a tan, and respond with , “bro you should hit the gym.” My favorite trait they look for is, “No uggos, fatties. Please have good teeth.” If this wasn’t heart breaking enough you get the ones that say, “only respond if you are 18-24.” As if my life just drops out of existence at 26. I am almost 30 and have had two major relationships. I guess by grinder standards I should throw in the towel because I have hit the curb and I’m going to very soon bust my face into the mortal grave. I have decided I do not need them. I instead have found an un-healthy way of fantasizing in my head. It only takes one person to tango there. (When I say un-healthy, I mean they don’t know I’m slowly dancing with them in a ballroom while he clenches a rose in his teeth. Very dramatic, very sensous and a tea-pot might be singing in the background.)
I like thousands of people around me choose to wallow in my vice. “Ice cream.” Perhaps my perfect love is waiting at home hoping I will scratch his belly.