Single swingers

I watch a lot of movies/Netflix especially when I draw.

There’s a documentary called ‘God Knows Where I Am’ about a woman, Linda Bishop, who struggled with mental illness (schizophrenia) which resulted in her death. A few months before she died she started writing a journal. And then one day the pages suddenly go blank. Her rotting corpse was eventually found on the floor of the abandoned house she was squatting in.

Sigh.

I’ll probably die in this little Vegas apartment. It’s not my intention to stay in Vegas until the day I die, but then again it was never my intention to be in Los Angeles for more than a few weeks back in 1992. Twenty-six years later...

I often wonder what would have happened had I returned straight home to MN from San Francisco in 1992 as I had planned rather than fatefully detouring to Los Angeles to visit friends first.

Dawn, a childhood friend, says I would have gotten bored had I moved back to MN, and would have fled the boredom once more to some place else after a month or two. She’s right. Maybe I should have gone to New York. It was probably affordable back in 1992 like LA used to be. In 1993 or was it ‘94 I had a giant one bedroom apartment in West Hollywood, across the street from The Whisky, for $750 a month. Life was good then. For a little while. That same one bedroom apartments is about $3,000 a month now FYI. 

Still, with all my early impressions about life, New York would have been a more suitable choice, west coast oceanic weather be damned. 

Whenever I’m asked for an emergency contact these days I use Aramis. Both of my parents are dead, I’m divorced, and I have no children. But truthfully, my friends know if a month goes by without any writing (anywhere) they know I’m dead. This is the golden rule for anyone these days I suppose. Twitter, FB, Snapchat, texting - don’t post anything for a month, chances are you’re dead. Especially at my age. 

If I make it to 55 years of age I’ll move into a senior community just to be around people my own age. It’s kind of a big deal to me now, being around people my own age. Baby boomers thought my generation was loud, lazy, and disrespectful? They must think the following generations have gone completely nuclear. 

Anyway

Halloween 

Don’t trust the fruity shots! 

I can drink wine until I pass out. Then wake up. Then drink until I pass out again. Wine has no effect on me except for when I drink too much I just pass out. But those damn fruity shots always give me a hang over. Always. 

After swapping a few nice messages with this guy (Daniel) who emailed me last week, I wanted to meet up with him today.

Alas 

I’m hungover so today won’t work. 

Damn fruity shots.

Someone started to spray paint FUCK YOU on one of the building dumpsters but either ran out of paint, or time, or didn’t know how to spell YOU, either way it’s hilarious. 

Daniel and I have now swapped two or three emails and have decided to meet some place on the 9th for a drink. Already our profiles are unraveling. He’s listed in Henderson but says in email that he lives in Summerlin. The plot thickens. 

Daniel says he’s French from Montreal but since he has no one to speak French to he’s losing the ability. How is that possible? Is that possible? Do bilingual people lose their native language if they speak another for most of their adult life? The plot thickens. 

He says he’s French but he has blonde hair and blue eyes. I guess that’s possible. I know a few very light skin Mexicans with blonde hair and blue eyes. But you have to consider mix breeding somewhere down the line. 

He also says he lived all over the Midwest and west coast, like me. So there’s that. And like me, he refuses to live in a winter state ever again. Good. My rocking chair will never know temperatures under 50 degrees. It’s November and I currently have my air conditioner on. 

He seems nice (online). I refuse to give him my phone number. If we start texting each other a week before we meet I’ll lose interest. I know me, I just will. And being as how we met on a swinger website - I’m guessing he’s on every online avenue trying to meet people in Vegas. He said he’s only lived here a month and a half. I’ve only lived here a year and four months. Maybe he’ll want to check out a few places with me. After all, the holidays are fast approaching. Last year I had roommates. This year I live alone. Who wants to be in Vegas, alone, during the holidays?

He’s been around it seems, plus he’s on at least one swinger website as a solo male, which means he’s quite possibly more banged up than a Japanese test drive dummy. 

Good.

Me too.

But just in case he’s not, I’m bringing along the booger hoodie. A girl must always have a plan B. 

What’s a booger hoodie you ask?

Well, it’s a...