Fags, Their Hags and Other Joys of Nature

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Do you believe in time warps?  Rips in the fabric of the universe that allow one to see or even visit the past?  I think I blundered into one at lunch today.  Of course, considering I don’t get up until after 1:00 most afternoons, “lunch” is a slippery concept, usually occurring around 2:00 or 3:00, but since the menu today was pancakes and sausage, breakfast might seem accurate.   Nouns are just so darn confusing.

As I was snarfling down my short stack, BAM, time warp.  At first I thought it was only the vaguely generic disco bleating overhead, then possibly the gaggle of poofters loudly discussing The White Party (surely that doesn’t still exist, does it?)  But then I realized the table one over from me so forcibly reminded me of a post I put up three years ago  HERE .

Like this sort of, but, you know, with more clothes.

 Today, as then, I was witness to a tragedy in the making.  Let’s see, plump, loudly chipper young woman?  CHECK.  Her much more attractive male companion?  CHECK.  Her frequent pats and strokes as part of her bubbling conversation which he didn’t quite recoil from, not quite?  CHECK.

Of course, young people now are so flexible about their sexuality, not like my hidebound old contemporaries, and freer to make a spectrum of intimacy choices and blahablahablah, but at lunch today, just as on the subway then, I thought to myself “Honey, no guy who wants to give you advice about your shoes is ever going to be Your Man.”

In news closer to home I also took a walk up the canyon I live in.  It’s pretty.

And I took pictures of my garden for MJ over at  Infomaniac, who is demanding them from all her readers.

A focus this time of the year is the big ass echium, the pointy purple flowers that look they were designed by Dr. Seuss.

Even up close they look like they began as props for Star Trek.

Campanula are pretty and they’re the result of a bunch I just dug up in a friend’s yard and plopped down in a bare spot.

Wall o’ Jasmine, directly beneath my bedroom window.  Heavenly on a still evening after a warm day.

Watsonia, related to gladiola and which thrive here. I always mean to put in a bunch more, but always forget until way too late in the year, like now.

Then I took a nap cause really, how much do expect from an old man, regardless how sprightly and youthful looking he is.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

8 responses »

  1. All that garden needs to be perfect is a hammock! Oh, and a hanging pot of catnip for Saki. And some nekkid houseboys to help keep you feeling young!

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  2. Oh, noes… Falling in love with ones' Gay Boyfriends. Of course it happens, like white shoes after Labor Day. But those in the know just don't do it.

    How does your garden grow? Quite nicely, Mr. P.

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