There’s no place like home.
Eight months.
We’ve come across people who ask why our cell numbers start with 917. I tell them why and theres this moment. “YOU’RE FROM NEW YORK CITY?!” I think they would be less surprised if I told them I was a big ‘mo. (Go figure I move out of a state when they pass a marriage equality bill…thats not the point.)
Things I have:
An Apartment.
A Dog.
A Gym Membership.
A Steady Job.
Food in My Fridge.
Friends.
Nope. Nope. NOPE! Triple nope. No friends. Nothing that looks like friends. We didn’t even talk to anyone at pridefest. A WHOLE MARKET SQUARE FULL OF OPEN MINDED YOUNG PEOPLE AND WE DIDNT MAKE ONE FRIEND (besides this really lovely woman who was selling cupcakes…and well, she was selling something I wanted to give her money for). My lovely girlfriend is convinced if we go out to clubs/bars we won’t meet anyone cause we’re not single or looking. I’m not looking for just gay friends. I’m looking for people who are our peers. This place is full of olds. There’s hope, though…Right?
I’m pretty sure this is going to be me in ten years.
(via goldenretrieverworld)
(via goodniteowl)
Exactly.
Accounting.
The daily accounts of my life according to Maryville Tennessee. This will include, but not be restricted to, workouts, activities and the overall feeling of the day. Along with sarcastic remarks and things that make me happy. Coming soon…
Welp…I guess so.
We have an apartment (and freedom). Now all we need are some friends. Any takers?
