the birthdayest day of the year
Nick and I got back yesterday from an extended weekend in Provincetown, and today's my birfday. I got sweet headphones! 
And rain! And I might go to the JFK Birth House, OR I might read all day by the light of our new ghost candelabra:
The trip was fun, but having not been to Provincetown since I was a minor, and having generally no relation to gay society, culture, or customs at large, I came off the whole thing with a mild assumption of homophobia. Don't get me wrong, I love the gays (I have a gay friend), but only so many nearing-to-middle aged dudes in tank tops (or no tops), can come up to you and your boyfriend, in your polka dot lace frill button down and seersucker short combo and boyscout short with suspenders, respectively, to tell you you're the "future" of gaydom before you start hating it, or the past, or all of them together. Either that or a 44 year old real estate broker tried to pick us up and after the whole sordid thing left a haunting note upon our B&B bedroom door. Not to mention, the house itself was owned by two leather daddies named Stan and Lenny who would casually touch our shoulders and legs or stare blankly in silence over the patio breakfast. Who cares though, it was like total immersion and we came out of it alive. Rebirthed. Plus: the food was always great, we saw a sweet band and a nice show, got endless compliments, had perfect weather, went to the beach, and got the aforeshown candelabra. Oh! And I got original edition beefcake magazines! All in all, excellence.
Now I'm back in Boston and I have no idea what to do for my birthday. All my friends live everywhere else. Nick's at work til late, those damn dirty Deutsche may drag me into doing their dusty, droll door-buzzing. Who knows, maybe I'll knit the cat a sweater and practice my Swedish noun forms. It's MY DAY. Let's be honest, I'm probably going to swathe myself in lavender, eat pizza for breakfast, and watch more MST3K.
Is it Sampo yet?
And rain! And I might go to the JFK Birth House, OR I might read all day by the light of our new ghost candelabra:
The trip was fun, but having not been to Provincetown since I was a minor, and having generally no relation to gay society, culture, or customs at large, I came off the whole thing with a mild assumption of homophobia. Don't get me wrong, I love the gays (I have a gay friend), but only so many nearing-to-middle aged dudes in tank tops (or no tops), can come up to you and your boyfriend, in your polka dot lace frill button down and seersucker short combo and boyscout short with suspenders, respectively, to tell you you're the "future" of gaydom before you start hating it, or the past, or all of them together. Either that or a 44 year old real estate broker tried to pick us up and after the whole sordid thing left a haunting note upon our B&B bedroom door. Not to mention, the house itself was owned by two leather daddies named Stan and Lenny who would casually touch our shoulders and legs or stare blankly in silence over the patio breakfast. Who cares though, it was like total immersion and we came out of it alive. Rebirthed. Plus: the food was always great, we saw a sweet band and a nice show, got endless compliments, had perfect weather, went to the beach, and got the aforeshown candelabra. Oh! And I got original edition beefcake magazines! All in all, excellence.
Now I'm back in Boston and I have no idea what to do for my birthday. All my friends live everywhere else. Nick's at work til late, those damn dirty Deutsche may drag me into doing their dusty, droll door-buzzing. Who knows, maybe I'll knit the cat a sweater and practice my Swedish noun forms. It's MY DAY. Let's be honest, I'm probably going to swathe myself in lavender, eat pizza for breakfast, and watch more MST3K.
Click to viewIs it Sampo yet?