The worst part about taking a dream vacation is coming back. Spending 7 days with all your closest friends not to mention 3,982 other gays is nothing less then incredible. But as we left that boat the realization of returning home not to mention spending 12 hours on an airplane was a pin to my big gay happy balloon. The best part of the Miami airport was sleeping on the floor, somehow it worked out that Dalton my Ex and Fuzzy my current and myself ended up on the same patch of carpet in concourse C. There were several litters of men sleeping in piles around the airport. It looked like a tasteful, gay Jim Jones had passed out the grape Kool-Aid. If you’ve never had the joy of sleeping on the floor in an airport with the Ex and your new partner I highly recommend it.
Depressurizing has been a challenge; I don’t think I like life without a bass beat. In the last week I’ve reanalyzed that I really don’t understand straight people, like last night. I’m at the Kroger, Krogering and as I am checking out I start watching the bagger wiggle. Why is he wiggling I ask my self? He then blurts out to the cashier “ Look at me I’m dancing!” to which the cashier replies, “You’re dancing like a gay guy!” My ears perk up, what did she just say? He keeps dancing as happy as can be. The cashier then repeats herself. “You’re dancing like a gay guy!” Okay, we’re on! I’m pissed. I’m gonna go off stating that…….. Then I stop and think, she didn’t say anything real derogatory. And well yeah he was sort of dancing like a gay guy would. Just not as magnificent. What should I say? Hey, he’s not dancing like a gay guy, we dance much better! Isn’t this derogatory against straights? Well it would be the truth. So I simply say, If he were dancing like a gay guy he’d have poppers in his hand.