Something is Rott


As the 2016 holiday season approaches I cannot help but feel a pitiful feeling in the depths of my stomach. From the core of my soul I find a definable question arising. “Black Friday” is by far the scariest event I have ever witnessed in my immediate memory. I refuse to shop. I refuse to wait. I refuse to be bombarded by hateful people in a panicked frenzy. Yesterday was Thanksgiving and thousands of people passed up the opportunity to break breads with friends and family, instead waiting for such stores as “Best Buy” to open. They did not want to lose their place in line; they didn’t want to miss out on the savings. This, my friends is the question.

“What has the holiday become?”

I seem to remember a time of the year when people baked hundreds of sweet treats and delivered them to the neighbors in bright cellophane wrapping. The children making senseless gifts out of popcorn, macaroni, and glue. This notion has given into a push for marketing strategy. They pray on the individual’s selfish need to be the best gift giver. They depend on people who want to shop until the credit card gives out. People have become so selfish and it disgusts me to the core. Children now throw tantrums with the wrong gift when really they should be taught to be grateful. There was a time when you gave something to eat, something to wear, something they wanted, something to read. But the new generation has forgotten morality and now just craves too much. To which I say: “Something is Rot”.


Muscle Morality

muscleThis entry starts like a few others do, “Grinder”. In an age of Social Media, I have found that it is easier to have an ego and crudely insult some one, or a group of people for that matter. Social media acts as a buffer between the insulted and the insulter mainly because they can post back and forth. This blows up and other people jump into the conversation.

I bet the man above is super sexy when he has all his skin. His muscle patterns suggests he eats right, works out regularly, and I hope moisturizes. This man, who has no name, is a self centered egoist who has no problem insulting other people on social media.

I am not over muscular, but I am far, far from fat. He told me that I was not his type because I was too hairy, and needed to loose weight.

Back up that bus!

I responded, “I am 150 lbs. I eat right. I happen to be an odd mix of middle eastern and Prussian; so shaving is easier said than done. I am so glad that you live in a gym because quite frankly you have to have something considering you have just shown me the lack of brain you have to think with. Thank you for being a self centered egoist, and I hope your libido wanes very soon so everyone leaves you.”

This may have been over the top, but he promptly logged off “Grinder”. This got me thinking; if people can easily dismiss someone they don’t like, than why does no one talk to anyone outside on the streets. Are they possibly scanning silently, hoping to see someone they know from the app?

Moral of the story:

If they are pre-screening on the street, than I am in serious trouble.


Hello My name is……….

telephone This lovely lady, whose name is Johnna, is completely and totally irrelevant.

Hi! I have deformed adenoids. That is what I tell people when they ask, “Why do you sound like that?” On a weekly basis I am mistaken for someone who doe snot exist. If you haven’t guessed it I sound like the stereotype of “The Nanny”; even more so on the phone. My  inflections add a feminine touch to my already high pitched voice. I regularly make fun of my own voice; It is not a mans voice.

I have answered the phone and been addressed as: Sweetie, honey, darling, sexy, dear, sweet thing just to name a few. When they come in they always ask, “Where the girl go?” To which I say we did a shift change.

My favorite scenario is this:

“Hello, thank you for calling ________; How may I help you?”

“Yes hello I would like to make a reservation.”

Than I continue being “polite” adding inflections and sounding like I actually care about someone named Mable who forgot to make this reservation, and we end with:

“What did you say your name was?”


“Well, Johnna I look forward to seeing you when we arrive.”

Last week at my second job, a man ordering cakes actually thought he had misheard me and addressed me as Johnna. I turned to my manager and said,

“When a man calls asking for Johnna just say she’s doing dishes.” I mean heaven forbid I offend, or embarrass him by pointing out I am not a female. Maybe I should take up an after hours hotline and say I’m candy.

Moral of the story: Acceptance brings contentment.

The Mid-West dating scene

longmont   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.

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 ****”.