So I left the house this morning, the weather was beautiful and I was without a car. A perfect excuse to go on a lovely, leisurely walk down Doheny, along Santa Monica, down La Cienega to the Beverly Center and back. It was quite an amazing experience to have the entire sidewalk to myself, but this is LA after all and pedestrians are about as rare as unicorns.
Along the way I stopped in all manner of coffee shop and boutique, at ease and chatting with anyone and everyone. Being that this entire walk is within the confines of West Hollywood, it was all pretty gay. (WeHo, as it is known, has one of the highest concentrations of gay people in the world.) So it was a little surprising that I was asked two very ungay questions, one at the coffee shop and one on the street passing a parking lot. The first was “Are there any sports bars around here?” and the second was “Do you know what model Porche that is?”
I pondered the deeper significance of these as I made my way back to the apartment (ahem, townhouse, sorry Dallas). It was then that I felt that familiar call that leads me to the restroom once or twice a day. After finishing and getting up to flush I noticed to my horror that there was a great deal of what looked like blood in the bowl. I panicked for a moment or two about colon cancer until I remembered that I had ordered a beet salad the night before. Whew.
And you were worried about what I would be doing with all my free time…