Everyone around me is having funny blog-worthy experiences, except for the one person who actually has one of these things, me. Blame it on the dog days of summer. Blame it on my piss-poor attitude. Blame it on the administration, if you wanna. For now, I'll simply have to envy and thieve stories from others.
Like RPP, who went to a wedding at the Hilton last weekend, only to find that the hotel was hosting not just "Teenage Dance Competition" and "Cheerleading" (is there a difference?), but also a "Gay Cowboy Convention." Her mother could not stop commenting on their winsome backsides, callipygian lads that they often are. Let's face it, the gay men do tend to put some effort into keeping in shape. Would it be fair to say that all gay men are ass men? Breasts are out, clearly, and I don't hear too much excitement over a good set of legs.
What else? At the farmers mkt. Sunday, someone told me a funny story about a guy she knows who is so myopic that without his glasses, his range of vision ends at his belly button. So she, being an Enquiring Mind, asked him if he has to don specs to watch himself getting a blow job. The answer was a startled, "yes."
In other news, my dog terrified me the other day by chasing a coyote up the hill (actually, The Hill,), and disappearing for ten minutes. I administered a sound beating, I tell you. That was NOT funny. Little bastard.