okay. it’s official. my hair is idiot length. what’s that you ask *no i will not fucking take a picture. if you’re in or around Cinti oh this coming weekend i’ll be going to the krogers in st. bernard on saturday. it’s my only planned outing for the rest of the month. i will not be photographing this.. idiot length is when your hair is too short to pull back properly (and by properly i mean slick it back and make i do something be it chignon, ponytail, plait or what have you) at the moment it looks dykey. as in i look like i should be wearing a flannel shirt and birkenstocks running a trucking company hitting on terrified college students at a lesbian bar.

no. i’m not being a phobe. just reliving a terrifying experience i had down in N’awlins back in 91. Bran and i were in full mime drag and were having a hell of a good day. Phillup was happy (our tip jar was an old wine cooler bucket painted like a pot of gold and we introduced it to people as ‘our financial adviser, Phillup. have you met? Phillup the bucket?’ (say it out loud and shut up. it was his idea not mine. i had a basket with ribbons and monopoly money hot glued to it for solo days. it didn’t have a name but could easily be dumped into the fanny pouch i had hidden under my skirt masquerading as a bustle to keep the thieving tap dancer kids out of my tips! Phillup was grab-able a self contained thing with an attached lid! and he didn’t like to empty it till we took a break. said it was bad luck. i countered not being able to pay rent because someone stole an entire morning’s tips was worse luck, but he never listened.) this person came up to me 1 afternoon and kept trying to hug me when i was in tableau (freeze frame thing) and i kept dodging them. someone finally told them if they wanted us to interact with them and move they’d have to tip us. they did and we did.. i didn’t let them hug me though because uhm…. 6’6″ husband standing RIGHT THERE? der. and we decided it was time for lunch so our stomachs wouldn’t growl and spoil our tableau. and they offered to buy us lunch. ‘that’s sweet, but only if it’s BOTH of us and you have to know we’re married. you have ZERO chance. ‘oh well, nevermind then. you ever wanna trade up, call me.’ they gave me a business card. i read it, showed Dericke and made a BIG production of tearing it up and giving them their tip back. ‘i said ZERO CHANCE. don’t come back’. HER name was Alice and she ran a trucking company and i swear to the Gods, i thought it was not only MALE, but out of shape and foul smelling and the worst nasty kind of redneck (shudder)

me? haven’t i mentioned? i’m Pan. i don’t fall for gender. i fall for minds and personalities. but if i’m dating a woman i prefer they be recognizable as such.

ah well. i need food.




oh yeah. captain ‘dumb’ was back again. seriously? fuck off asshat. MY blog. MY fucking rules. you don’t like it? don’t read it.

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