Let it Snow

Snow day! I love unexpected days off. The thrill of not having to go to work, yet no scheduled plans of going to the bank, grocery shopping, or any thing else grown up. Just time to be a kid. 

My work took me up to mountains yesterday. The drive home was right at the beginnings of a massive snowstorm. The Jeep and I slowly creeped down the highway as the wind battered the line of semi-trucks attempting to make Denver before night fall. The trucks and I failed. 

This morning I awoke to voicemails hoping that I didn't head back to the mountain project. Snow day!!! I sat in bed thinking what fun things I could possibly do... First was to get the hell out of the house. It was truly meant to be a personal fun day as every friend I called that might be free, wasn't. I even went down the list of boys in my "little black book" to no avail. It truly is a Stevie quality snow day. 

First stop was the gym. I let my iPod choose its own music, meaning I did shoulders to The Vally of The Dolls soundtrack. Picture it: sweaty Steve cruising a 22 year old doing squats as Dionne Warwick sang about getting off.  Lunch was a vegan chicken club, followed by hours of reading at my Starbucks. An easy dinner with Mike (from the Mike 'n The Mechanics blog)  and I'll plop into the middle of the bed to stretch out with the dog. 

Good day. 

Petting the Wildlife

Flirting for awhile, I finally got the invite.  That invite. The one that says it is time to limber up, stretch the hamstrings before heading over. Don't want to pull a hammy, you know. Sexy underwear; check. Tight shirt; check. Teeth brushed; check. He opened the apartment door and the hottest guy I ever imagined stood before me. Smooth Jazz began to play softly in background. A soft glow about his face. He might as well of been holding a fuzzy bunny-wabbit in one hand, and new Jeep high output air intake system in the other. 

He grabbed my hand and yanked inside. "Come spank me!" He said. "Finally, I get my Birthday wish!" I said out loud. 

Shirts and jeans flew everywhere. And as the real excitement started a door slammed. "Shit! My roommates!" He jumped to his feet and listened like a Impala in the wild. Cranking his head to hear any movement from the living room. He slowly closed his bedroom door. "I thought it was okay with your roommates to have guys over" I calmly asked. "Yeah... but you're older... they'd ask who you were." As I grabbed for my shirt I watched the sexiest Impala I ever got to pet, squeeze into his skinny jeans. You think Ashton Kutcher had to sneak Demi Moore past his roommates? 

Dressing quickly I thought of what could of been, the heat. The passion. The cuddling after. One quick kiss at the door and I was handed my hat. I wandered 

out into the midday sun. Still dizzy from what just happened, the smell of his hard body and expensive cologne covering me. 

Everyone Into the Pool

I have not been in the dating pool since 2001. I know, I am surprised when I stopped to think about it as well. On a sunny afternoon in late 2001, I approached a tall bald man frantically scribbling away in his artist pad. I asked for a date. This continued until the week I started blogging. My first blog post was about his move to New York, to start his new life. What seemed a millisecond later, I stood in the Denver Eagle as a leather-clad Italian man shoved a crumpled piece of paper with his phone number on it into my hand. After all of that, I'm dating. Me. dating. It goes without saying that the last time I was casually dating there were no hook-up sites held in the palm of your hand. There was, if I remember back that far, websites to post fake information about yourself. I feel I was more of an "early adapter" to technology, rather than to say I was a slutty whore.

The major difference between 2001 and now isn't the technology. It is me.  Obvious to say there are massive  and obvious changes from the twenty-nine year old to the forty-three year old me. Muscle mass, credit rating, patience and courage, and Need verses Want. Back in the day, attempting to find someone was a need. A desperate pit of need. This stemmed from not being comfortable in my own skin. That state that is so common in one's twenties.  I noticed this last night as I sat across a table on what would be considered a "first date." The driven attempt to be liked and desperation to do and say the right thing wasn't there. The so common pit of desperation prevalent during my last round of dating was noticeably missing.

Things have changed a lot since my last round of the dating game. It is faster and more convenient to find the nearest frat guy of your liking. I; however, am thankful that I am diving into the crazy dating pool now, after I have aged to a point where become comfortable with me. Making dating a Want, not a Need. 

Tom's Diner

I am truly unsure why we deviated from our normal Sunday diner regimen. Yes, the group of homosexuals I run with, live by the motto of “let’s try something new.” So we are always open to checking out new restaurants in the fair city of Denver. Maybe, I am still in mourning over my beloved Denver Diner; attempting to replace the closed restaurant in my heart. It must of been this longing to eat in a truly colorful diner that made us decide to ditch our normal Sunday plan and check out a diner that all the kids have been talking about for some real diner realness. Old school style. 

The diner we chose was the famous, or should I say infamous, Tom’s Diner on Colfax Avenue. Now, in theory it should be an amazing place. An old seventies diner in the heart of Capitol Hill revamped to look like a hip… seventies diner. Where kitsch style, meets hipsters, meets the chic-homeless.  We didn’t mind that the parking lot resembled a broken up asphalt lot one would find in front of a topless bar. In Waco, Tx. We were a sleuth of urban bears, we wanted grit, damn it.  Being ignored by every member of staff as we stood next to the “please wait to be seated” sign was charm. Like asking a strange man sporting a raincoat for help on a New York subway ride.  Finally, a waitress told a guy to seat us. At this point I felt like Patricia Nixon being asked to make the tie-breaking vote as a judge of the national felching contest.  Mr. maître d escorted us  to our table, sandwiched between a fighting family and a un-chic homeless brood. As I turned to my friend Mike and declared we should give up our dream of being seen out with the hip breakfast set, the maître d scoffed and stated that if it’s the table they could give us their very best booth. The friendly chap then began to school me on how to find a table in restaurants. Stating “when you’re in a restaurant, and you don’t like your table, just tell ‘em.” 

We barely tripped on the broken chunks of asphalt as we ran across the parking lot. I have always been sure that one thing would happen in my life time. Besides Princess Diana rising from the grave to kill us all. It is that I would finally find a diner I could not enjoy. 

Free Time

So much for the fist annual blogging convention hosted in Denver this weekend. It has been cancelled as all the invited participants became ill. I feel like DisneyLand after the measles outbreak.  Alone on the plasticky and tacky Main Street USA without my best friend and Small World boating companion. I do hope that Patrick survives his cold, lives to vacation another day. It's only a matter of time before  Jenny McCarthy takes up a controversial and idiotic stance on common colds. How the common cold is linked to a plot of ruining fabulous vacations. That lunatic will talk about anything if it helps her dead career. 

On the other hand; I do have five days off to bum around on my own. And I do mean on my own. 

Ad hominem

I have turned into that old man that loudly talks about current events in the next booth at Denny's.  You know the one, he talks loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear his thoughts on Obama. On Taxes. On cars being made of plastic. On why they needed dancing sharks on the Super Bowl.  He speaks in a tone, so that everyone can hear what he thinks. He wants to express his option, but I believe if you challenged his thoughts; he would not listen.

This morning, awaiting for my Krups to brew some French Vanilla, I read an article on Republican Rep. Trey Radel who pushed to make food stamp and other government aid recipients take drug tests, got busted on a charge of cocaine possession. This sent a massive Schadenfreude moment down my spine. The pleasure derived from the misfortunes of others; hypocrites, makes me happy. Especially on a topic so near my heart. Making restrictive laws to push people away from government help is just fundamentally wrong. But, that's not my point here.

I don't normally thump my chest about what I feel is fundamentally wrong. Yet, the first thing I did is what every person does, that can't sit in a Denny's and yell their opinions at others. I posted the story on Facebook.

This comes one day after Joch, the hottest and best bartender at the Denver Eagle, had a long debate over debates on Facebook. The debate on debates could of been intelligent and courteous. Yet, the term "ad hominem" had to be thrown into a heated debate. Facebook has turned into the village square. You stand in the center and shout your beliefs. Until someone shouts you down or tosses tomatoes at your head. The only benefit to Facebook is then you can unfriend and block the produce pitcher. People, and by people I include me, post their wild opinions via links to web-posted "news" stories because of lack of any other outlet. Facebook has made it easy to disconnect with interaction making us like the lonely man sitting in Denny's desperately attempting to get his voice heard.

If you need me, I will be sitting at the Denver Eagle discussing and debating the latest topics with Joch. 

Beard today, Gone tomorrow

School has begun with fervor and abandon of all personal time and space. Week one; just as an ice breaker saw our hero write a paper on Shakespeare's tragedies focusing on Macbeth. Fun. And, over in history class I researched the debate of the native people living amongst the American continent before 1492. Although nothing should get in the way of blogging, my life quickly came to developing the new habits. That part of life, the establishing of new habits, always throw me for a loop. One professor wants all work turned in on Mondays, the other on Thursdays. I'm pretty sure I have it figured out, now.

I did find time to shave off the beard. Although I couldn't possible work up the courage to shave completely. A radicle trim had to suffice.  On my trip annual visit to a local museum I snapped the last known photo of my 2014 beard....

Then later that night, hanging out in the boyfriends bathroom I trimmed down my face like a sheep being trimmed in early spring....

A year of beard, gone. Meh. No big deal. Time for 2015 and more follicle frivolity