Lipstick Lesbians and Other RANDOM thoughts

I wrote the most entertaining post but a gremlin or poltergeist attacked my computer in midstream. Seriously, the screen started flashing and there was all this frenetic activity as the blogger page danced all over the screen while my laptop groaned in agony. Very scary. So I opted to stop writing about the incompetent jackasses who suggested I use a garbage bag after my Duane Reade shopping spree as they had run out of shopping bags. It was a VERY funny story...now. Then, it was incendiary. Now, amusing. Moving on...

Yesterday was one of the top 40 most boring days of my life. I choose 40 because I know there have been many and it was up there but not worthy of top ten. Top 10 would probably include visiting distant relatives in the homeland with no access to TV, AC or any other acronyms describing modern amenities. But I digress. The purpose of this post is to immortalize HPG yet again. In an email exchange, I lamented my bad luck with men and he had the surprising insight that I was in fact the rejector. It was refreshing for him to actually volunteer information that portrayed me in a more positive light as opposed to a more pathetic one. I was touched. But he also told me something that in a screenplay would be called "foreshadowing."

As I lay paralyzed by boredom on my bed where my laptop was tethered to the fucking modem because Time Warner's techs- all three of the geniuses who had held me hostage on three separate days as I waited for their "expertise"- had still failed to establish a wireless connection in my apartment which is on the 10th floor. Hello? We're not searching for a signal in a cave. Anyhoo, I was feeling very unproductive and complained to anyone who was online. HPG suggested I blog about it. I said that, too, was boring for both me and the reader. Then he said I should write not about my boredom but lesbians. I dismissed him.

Fast forward to my spin class later that evening. I finally found a spin studio (indoor cycling) in Manhattan. Surprisingly, there were NONE until this one opened in my neighborhood. The studio makes you wear these shoes designed specifically for the stationary bikes that lock you into the pedal. Then they light some candles, turn off the lights and start this whole visualization technique that results in an intense cardio workout. The only reason I participate is because you burn more calories in 45 minutes than any other form of exercise... that I know of. So I'm minding my own business, sort of, and the instructor has us do push-ups while we're in a downhill slope. And I'm looking at her thinking, "She's a lesbian. Definitely gay. Nice arms. I want arms like that." Harmless thoughts. Then out of nowhere it occurs to me that if I were to be with a woman, I would choose this spin instructor. Two reasons. One- she's not a lipstick lesbian and not a dyke either. She's self-assured and even keel. Then, I'm alarmed at even considering such random, disassociated thoughts and start cursing HPG for poisoning my mind. As I attempt to clear my head, she says, "Be careful what you think in here because you never know who's listening." Cue twilight zone music. Right now, I'm thinking, I've shared too much. Yeah, definitely TMI. But I'm not changing teams. I'll convert to Catholicism and get thee to a nunnery before that happens.