The weather was absolutely prefect this morning—cool enough to notice, but not cool enough to get goosebumps. That girl came out her back door at 8:21 and the city bus arrived at 8:24.
Someone in the very back of the bus spoke loudly and by the timbre of her voice (that is to say, grating) and the inane things she was saying made me about 95% sure it was Logorrhea. The only disconnect was that she was already on the bus when Logorrhea usually boards five stops after mine. Five stops later Logorrhea boarded at her usual stop and busted me.
Hot Mess Driver was at the helm and although she had absolutely nothing going, or open, to circulate the air on the bus, it was actually comfortable. She had on sunglasses with oversized lenses and big white plastic frames encasing them. A virtual black Jackie-O sans scarf.
I met Anna and Sarah at Mission Joe's for klatsch, where we once again revisited (an no, I'm not being redundant there; we'd already revisited it once before) the goings-on of the defenses on Tuesday night.
The brightest spot of the meeting was having my flask returned from Sarah, which was beautifully wrapped in a page from the Sunday newspaper Technicolor® comics section.
I had a quick, 15-minute meeting with an easy-on-the-eyes colleague in late afternoon.
I caught the 5:30 city bus home, and it arrived at the Beryl road stop at about 5:43, which is its inbound origination sync stop, so at this time meant it was supposed to sit there until 5:45 before starting its next inbound round.
There were two ladies on the bus who were in some kind of uniforms (the same kind, so they obviously worked together), and when the bus hadn't started moving by 5:47, one of them said to the driver, "Mr. Driver?"
"Yes?" he responded looking up from a puzzle he was working in his lap.
"What time you leaving here?"
"5:45," he answered, and then looking up at the clock added, "Oh. I guess you ready for me to go."
Both the ladies laughed and said, "Yes, Lord. We ready to get home. We been working all day. We tired."
And they all laughed as he pulled away.
Walking up the entrance to my townhouses, there were two boys standing on the porch of the end unit whose recycle bin often looks like this:
but today there was only the remnant packaging of one 12-pack of Yuengling, and I said to them as I walked by, "You've switched to Yuengling, have you? It's usually Rolling Rock."
They both laughed, but it was one of those—"Ha. Ha. That's funny, but a little creepy, too."—laughs.
At my house, there was a vehicle in the guest spot that was running with a man sitting behind the wheel. It was backed into the spot, so the driver was on the side near my two spots, and as I approached I had the oddest feeling that he was waiting to serve me papers.
He didn't, of course, and I'm not quite sure where that came from, but it may have been from a scene I saw at the gym last night, I think, perhaps, it was on Grey's Anatomy, which was playing above the elliptical machine I was working out on.
After grazing a little, I stopped by K-Mart, where I shopped for a birthday card for my dad, a Mother's Day card for my mom, two boxes of chocolates, one for each of them, picked up my Nexium prescription, and bought vitamins and baby aspirin, as my supply of each are reaching their end.
They didn't have an 80th birthday card, so I looked at getting two Happy 40th cards, and would have except that they only had two and one of them was obviously for a woman. I ended up just getting the Mother's Day card there.
I ran to the Target at Crossroads Plaza, where I did indeed find an 80th birthday card, although since it wasn't absolutely perfect, I did check out the 40th+40th and 50th+30th options, but I didn't like any combination of those better than the 80th one.
I got to the gym at 8:00, where I did 15 sets of 15 ab crunches, followed by 30 minutes of cardio on the elliptical machine, finishing with 15 minutes to spare before they closed at 9:00.
I arrived at The Borough at about 10:30, and after waiting a bit, I got a seat at the bar. Haywood (a.k.a. Gene) sat at the other end of the bar with Andy—the guy who plays pool at Flex, says hello to Joe, but never gives me the time of the day—and at one point, Gene called me on my phone, because he knew I didn't receive text messages. It was a ridiculous conversation, mostly because while we could see each other we could hardly hear each other it was so loud in there, but I took it as an affirmation—as I'm wont to do with these sort of things.
After a bit, a guy named Jim took the seat to my right, we ended up talking, and at one point I made a bet that I was older than him. I almost always win that bet when I make it. However, as soon as I heard, "1956" for his birth year come out of his mouth, I thought, "Uh-oh." Turned out he was about 8 months older than me.
The bet was for a cocktail, and fortunately, he drank house liquor like I do.
I took advantage of a recent "advertisement" I saw on Facebook that the "new" 313 bar accepts any other bar's VIP membership, which means Legends' membership in the gay world, since the only other gay club is Flex, and god knows they don't have anything gold in that place—which is one of the things I love about it, by the way.
It worked as advertised, and I was let in free. There's just something about that club that doesn't work for me, as much as I love the new owner, Rodney. With that said, now that I can get in free, I'll probably go back on occasion, most likely whenever I know friends of mine will be there.
I didn't even have a drink there, but did say hello to Curtis, who I knew was there, as I'd seen a Facebook status update from him that basically said, "Remind me why I'm here again?"
My sentiments about myself exactly, which is why I left.