Uncle Sam Does Not Feel Well

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Something came up so my friends had to bail on meeting up to roam the boulevard for Halloween. I’m sorta bummed. I hung out with the camera guy again today for the third time and he’s wicked sexy and very masculine (which is totally what I’m into) and got a great career and blah, blah, blah but part of me is just like “Do I really have to go through this whole dating bullshit again?!” It seems in some ways ridiculous after years of married life. I feel too old for it. (Don’t even say it.) But come on, admit it, the dating thing is usually associated with younger-than-forty-nine-year-olds. It’s kind of fucking exhausting. When Adam was on the other pillow, we’d already been through all the “getting to know you” bullshit (and I did know him— very, very well). Now I’m back at “So what’s your mom’s name.” Jesus Christ! (That’s not the camera guy’s mom’s name. I was swearing.) So there’s my costume on the hanger over there. There are two versions, one much more modest than the other.

The dating/slash hook-up apps (and yes, there are guys who are on there who are looking for more than sex) make it a different ballgame than it was before I met Adam. I get the feeling that all the anonymous hookups that used to happen at bars, sex clubs, and sometimes in public is now happening on Grinder, Scruff, Growler, and all the rest. (Those are the afore mentioned apps.)

Dating at this age seems somewhat like wearing clothes designed for younger people.

(three or four hour pause)

I’m home from the West Hollywood Halloween Revelry. I have body aches and chills and a fever. It’s pouring rain outside which is nice. I’m glad to be home and I’m going to to turn off the light and see if I can shake out or sweat out this whatever-it-is.

If I live, I’ll

See y’all tomorrow.


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