ADMISSION ON 'NATIONAL COMING OUT DAY'

A FB friend mentioned today that he was gay and non-gender conforming. Thus confirming what we all kind of suspected but weren't particularly concerned about, seeing as none of us were interested in dating him, althought he is a dashed handsome devil. See, it's the pipe tobacco he prefers. Some of Cornell & Diehl's more outrageous blends.

But that gayness? I'm middle-aged, straight male, and used to hang out in gay bars because the conversations were better. So, um, I'm okay with all that.

The one time the group of which I was a member had a booth at the Folsom Street Fair was great; the other volunteer in the booth was Orthodox Jewish... and mobility impaired, needing to sit down all the time, which put him right on eye level with everything he didn't want to see. I had great conversations with whole bunches of naked gay men while wondering where they were going to put all the pamphlets I gave them, and consequently still had loads of piss and vinegar left when he was starting to flag, and sounded like red stapler guy. Couldn't talk the group into Folsom Street the next year.

Possibly because the attendees, largely, had no pockets.

Pockets were undoubtedly important in their lives.

Even the women. Women love pockets.



The next time I go on a date, I too shall probably insist on pockets. For myself pockets are key, because that's where I keep pipes and tobacco (jacket, right side), extra pipe cleaners (in a tube) plus extra matches and tamper (jacket, left side), little note book, pen, tamper, five pipe cleaners (shirt, chest), as well as keys matches lighter (left side pants), coins (rsp), plus things like a wallet, and bandaids for my ears to alleviate irritation from mask strap friction and folded kleenexes as well as little yellow sticky notes with crucial data on them.
In other words, all the things for which a woman uses her handbag.

[Naked gay men smoke cigars. Because they have no pockets.]

No, I don't carry my cell phone around with me. It's sitting on the table at home, because there is nothing I want to talk about with an Indian call center while I'm in transit or smoking my pipe after snacking in Chinatown.
And actually, there is nothing I need to talk to them about when I'm not doing that either. The cellular device seems to exist only so that people in India can ask me questions about "American Senior Benefits" or "Medicare part A and Part B".

There is NO need for other people on the bus to hear me accuse folks of having fatty inner thighs and wearing clothes that constrict them. In lieu of my own personal details.
Because I do not answer personal questions when strangers call.
I prefer to sidetrack them instead.

Naturally, if I go on a date again, the woman who said "okay" will not want to hear any of that either. There has, so far, not been any phone conversation involving fried noodles and milk tea (which are likely subjects for discussions during a date), and I haven't had a girlfriend or gone on a date in more than a decade, because women who like fried noodles or milk tea are rare, and hard to find, given that they don't normally wear a sign stuck to their foreheads shouting it out to the world, and my guess would be that they despair of finding the right pipe smoking middle aged Dutchman to enjoy that with, because I also do not wear a sign.


I do not have fatty inner thighs, just so you know.
This displeases my stuffed turkey vulture.
I'm somewhat scrawny.




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