In the absence of my darling, much-beloved, and oft-used cell phone, I am approaching life from a different perspective – one that requires carrying quarters and being well aware of my surroundings. It is only in certain parts of town – my father’s area among them – that one even finds pay phones these days, and only occasionally does one find those that are actually working.
My cell phone is, amusingly, still working; however, where it is working in not entirely clear. It was a dark, clear night – a young man in a tuxedo, a very cold room, and absolutely no good can come from the rest of the story, save that I am now convinced it is a mad, MADD, mad, mad world …
the Czarina and the Great Prince came to my rescue; humiliation is so often its own best lesson.
Ova the Top and Daddy are adorable – precisely what I expected, if less horny (at least in public) than anticipated. We all rendezvoused at the winter palace, ostensibly for a haircut (Ova was having a big hair month) and a meet-and-greet. I met Daddy – appropriately – bent over; he was taking a picture of a rare flower in the garden, but the jokes were readily apparent. And the view was lovely.
Ellen was ready to provide aid and comfort last night, the extent of which was friendly advice, legal tips, and a browse through the weird, wide web. We lighted on seekingdesperately.blogspot.com – a blog devoted entirely to mocking / analyzing the pictures (naked and otherwise, sometimes taken with dogs, cats, pet lizards, lawn furniture in creative uses, and even dead pheasants) men post on Craig’s List in effort of, well, anything and everything – from true love to kick-stand operator. It is amazing, speaking of how far men go to score, how distracting the background of a photo can turn out to be – even with an engorged dick in the foreground. One such blog entry featured a happy, naked frat boy tapping a keg, and himself … but both Ellen and I focused not on the hot, naked drunk guy but on the toaster oven (top-of-the-line … 30 years ago) in the background. It was such a fire hazard that both of us found ourselves staring at it in mild awe. In another picture, the satin sheets and waterbed prompted not only a discussion of how the guy obviously hadn’t changed his routine since the ‘80s, but also a whole conversation about how some senior groups advocate satin sheets and satin pajamas for senior with difficulty getting into and out of bed.
Evidently, the smoothness of satin – which makes sex so amusing (not to mention, risky) – also acts as an aid for those with rheumatoid arthritis. Aside from making satin PJs very unsexy, it also seems wrong-headed – as anyone who ever wore satin boxers and hopped into bed, only to go flying off the other side, would know.
The thought of Grandma breaking a hip while wearing satin pajama pants does tend to be creepy, no?
In any event, the idle nature of the activity … and the blog site … relaxed at least a bit of the tremendous tension I’ve felt since this weekend.
Also on hand – and scene was my darling high school senior and would-be something, Kenny. Give or take his age – graduating from high school this weekend – and that he is actually queenier than me, he seems a rather good fit.
Oh well, everything’s up in the air at the moment, so let’s just play the wait and see, shall we?
Mark
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