I’m walking down the street and a small man (maybe 5′3), doubtfully gay but kind of cute, asks me where the library is.
What I said: “Down the road four or five blocks and then take a right.”
What I wanted to say: “I know where it is. Can I carry you?”
Just so you know, you won’t get a holiday card from me.
I’m doing Valentines again this year — it’s going to be my thing. I feel better about doing that because:
a) the whole weird “have a happy holiday that I don’t celebrate you weird New Testament freaks” thing.
b) it’s nice to get something on Valentine’s day — especially when you are all alone (*raises hand*)
c) it’s unique — sorta
All cards will he homemade with a photo I took and might be written while drunk. Just letting you know ahead of time.
Today I went to Potbelly for a sandwich at lunchtime.
Despite the unappealing name, I find their value and portion sizes appealing (as compared to Subway’s skimpy 6 inch and too much 12 inch subs). It’s true.
As I walked in the front door a girl walked in behind me with a cup from Potbelly’s.
“Would you like an Oreo milkshake?” she said. “It’s undrinken.”
I hesitated for a minute, before declining citing the calorie count. I am already feeling a little fat today, but that’s probably just from watching the Biggest Loser finale last night.
But I didn’t mention that I also would have felt weird accepting smoothies that are probably laced with roofies or baby aspirin or something.
She then went to her table mates, young white twentysomethings, professionally dressed. She complained that “he wasn’t in the car” and that now she had a spare milkshake.
A minute later, she offered it to the guy in front of me. A tall gay with a military haircut and fleece jacket. He too declined, grabbing his stomach and saying something about the holidays.
Oh gays. Counting their calories.
Suck it, Lou Dobbs.
SOME posted their Thanksgiving 5K results. If you look at the PDF you can see that mayor Adrian Fenty beat me by nearly 3.5 minutes. He’s a beast, what can I say? And somewhat hot.
Last night while Keigh and I were watching Wedding Wars, starring John Stamos:
There’s a scene where John is talking about his recent coming-out to his dad and the dad says, heartwarmingly, “There’s no secret that’s so big that it could come between us.”
To which I say:
“Dad, I’m a muppet.”
And Keigh says:
“I shot a man in Vegas.”
I just like the fact that that’s where out minds went, when it came time to come up with a random confession.