Beached Bees

Me: So how was your jog?

Myself: It's not a jog, it's a walk.

Me: A crawl.

Myself: Exactly.

Me: How was it?

Myself: Lovely. Yesterday I saw a dead bird and today I saw dead bees.

Me: How many?

Myself: Three.

Me: Three too many.

Myself: Exactly.

Me: What does it mean?

Myself: I don't know but it makes me very nervous.

Me: As it should.

Myself: The only good bee is a live bee.

Me: And what are they doing on the beach?

Myself: Resting.

Me: Dying. They're dying. I've never seen three dying bees on the beach before.

Myself: Don't think about it. Just focus on your iPod. Don't think about bad things. Pretend the world is fine and ignore the bees.

Me: Good advice.

Myself: So what are you gonna do today?

Me: Have sex. See a movie.

Myself: That's what you did yesterday.

Me: I didn't see a movie.

Myself: What did you do?

Me: I don't recall. But it was a nice day.

Myself: Who did you have sex with?

Me: Don't ask. It wasn't good. For the last year I've been seeing...

Myself: Blowing...

Me: Something like that. Anyway, I've been blowing this surfer. Big dick. He always comes over before he surfs. Very nice guy but I've never been to his place before so last night he calls me at 2 am and invites me over. So I go...total straight boy-surfer apt...surfboards in the living room and all that...I go upstairs, he's waiting in bed and he can't get hard...he seemed a little drunk...he said he went to a concert in San Diego earlier. Then after 30 minutes he says, "do you ever do coke?"

Myself: Ugh.

Me: Disgusting.

Myself: Tell me. So gross. Coke? What is it 1980? Grow up people.

Me: So now I just want to leave. I have no patience for drugs of any kind. Even poppers turn me off.

Myself: What are poppers.

Me: Google it.

Myself: So what happened next.

Me: More grossness involving a toy and lube and he was smoking cigarettes, a big piece of ash fell on his chest...his perfect chest...but it was a bad scene.

Me: So he wanted a toy in his ass?

Myself: The whole thing was just not good. And I've seen him for a year. Very cool guy. I thought I knew him. I'm not surprised actually. A surfer who does coke, big shocker, right? But the next time he calls me at 2 AM I won't be going over.

Me: I just really wanted to hear about your jog.

Myself: Walk.

Me: Walk. I'm glad you're walking.

Myself: I figure the least I can do is take a brisk, 30 minute, 2 mile walk once a day, don't you think. I'm stuck at 270. I haven't lost weight in two months.

Me: Have you tried?

Myself: No. People keep coming to visit me. It's hard to eat right and exercise with guests here. So no more guests.

Me: Not for a while!

Myself: So what do you have planned this weekend?

Me: Movies, sex, Wal-Mart. What about you?

Myself: Same.

Me: Cool, have fun.

Myself: You, too. Be safe.

Me: Always! Ciao.