@#$%-ED AGAIN...

Not literally.

Well, not yet, anyway.

But here we are:

I have multiple job deadlines looming and what do I do? I plan to spend the next two, crucial weekends, when I should have my "little pink nose" to the grindstone, out having a good time.

OK, the first weekend is my first opportunity to see the first man I've slept with in over thirty years in over a month -- almost two months.

I'm ready. I'm going. Get over it.

The second weekend is a Bear Event taking place far from home. This offers two possible benefits: taking the Silver Fox's advice of going out and finding someone who's not already nailed down to someone else [now why didn't I think of that?], and the chance to celebrate turning 55 without drawing too much attention to my degree of desperation.

I mean, who am I trying to kid?

I am older than the "average bear," stupider than the "average bear," and less attractive than the "average bear." One of the reasons that I am more than happy to prostitute myself for the Silver Fox is that he knows what to say, and he knows how to say it. He's a bear chaser, and he tells me how much he loves smooth guys. He's a size queen, and he tells me... well, no need to go into that here.

He is the Ultimate Smooth Talker. If he weren't so hot, he would be a Major Pain in the Ass. As it is, he makes me roll over and play alive. Wouldn't you?

Here's my question: when someone has told you you're too fat to be gay, and that you are neither as fit nor as ****** as you should be to be gay, and you still fall for him, what does that say about the willing victim?

I think it says that he [I] is [am] a hopeless case.

I plead guilty.

The real question is: now that I have my own good reasons for screwing up my work schedule in the interest of keeping my heart beating, when in God's name am I going to get the @#$%-ing work done? I wish I knew, guys, I wish I knew. But it's not going to be over the next two weekends, I can tell you that.

I may even have to give up drinking at dinner, which at this point is what's getting me through the week. But if it's that or come up short on Deadline Day [D-Day???], maybe I will get Mormonized and lay off the sauce for a week or two. I have noticed that once that first glass calls out to the second, it's basically downhill from there.

So, if you can't pray for me, at least wish me well.
I have dug my grave and now I get to lie in it.
Lord 'elp me.
.