Last night on my way to do whatever it is I do, I received a telephone call. Thinking that this might be Lito, who is in town and previously delivered the booty from my Winston-Salem visit, calling from his calling card, I went against my policy of not answering unknown numbers.
It was not Lito. In fact, it was someone I met over a year ago during my last trip to Orlando, Florida. He was a security guard at the "resort" (using that term loosely) and I gave him my number. Well as it turns out he now lives in New York and wants to get together sometime, innocent enough indeed. It was nice to hear from him actually.
However, this of course happens when I am at my lowest point emotionally, overworked physically and mentally, getting fat as a fucking house, and suffering from heinous dermatological issues that I won't fully go into here as some of them, although now resolved, are complicated and embarrassing. The long stories have caused many a belly laugh, but honey they ain't that funny when you're living them. Also, I'm starting to think my dermatologist is running a racket, since everything involves coming back which costs me another forty bucks and God knows how much the insurance is being charged. He also has a needle fetish, because he wants to strait-up inject every little blemish I show him. Oh, and I have a single stitch in my face for a week. Yes, a stitch. In my face. For all this they could have at least used the laser machine to burn out some of these fine lines, damn.
Suffice it to say I'm not feeling very...pretty lately. Add to all this the fact that my expansive manse is caving in around me into its own filth and we can suffice it to say I'm in no condition to start mingling with a new man, especially not at my place.
Tonight I'm going to a birthday party and then God knows what.