call it a push, maybe
fun. I've been worse, so …
The best ONLY three-way action I'll get this year:
flirting with two cute Jewish lumberjacks (actually Randy & Jason Sklar) at the comedy club merch table!
The nice Asian lady behind me in line was kind enough to keep most of my gut out of the frame.
I was a little brazen (read: more brazen than I've been since my early thirties). Randy asked me how I would explain blowing the twins to their wives; my reply was pretty simple: I'm just taking the gents off of their hands for a while, and I'll be returning them in better condition than I found them.
I don't think they were prepared for me to have an answer, but they were quite amused by it.
Friday was kind of shitty, so Saturday - especially the last two hours - was more than adequate as bipolar rebounds go. Friday was not at all cute.
Somebody lost his bipolar mind in the H-E-B parking lot Friday night. LOST IT COMPLETELY. As in turning into a blubbering idiot. OVER BEING UNABLE TO FIND THE CAR.
Cried like an idiot for fifteen minutes.
I was rescued by Tony's physical therapist, to who I had not been formally introduced, but who's been around long enough to recognize my car while I was pacing back and forth in the lot. TWO ROWS OVER.
He was Boy Scout enough to unload my groceries into the back of the car, as well as not bringing it up back at Dory's house this afternoon. I am ashamed of being so unbalanced in public around strangers.
With all that done, now I'm trying to get my blood pressure down enough that I can read things without invoking High Contrast settings and turning on the Magnifier on my computer. Getting old is not going well for me. At all.
But cute and extremely liberal Jewish faux-lumberjacks who can roll with fat, rapidly aging homosexuals win everything worth winning.