The long weekend ahead may be spent mostly solo, but I lustfully anticipate one day in it on the Pearl St. Mall in Boulder and the food shop that sells only
...wait for it...
french and faux fries (veggie sticks - it IS Boulder after all) with lip-tingling dipping sauces and maybe a cupcake at the tiny bakery that has a chocolate bacon variety and a tarot card reading and a Boulder Book Store coffee and a stop at any art gallery I find and something I don't need to collect dust or a gift for a lovely at a boutique found nowhere else and feeling the sun heat up my scalp and hoping for warm words from a good boy or dirty ones from the bad one and blisters running off hot sandals and vodka tipsy.
Until then, today I have a cat with a possible broken foot and laptops that won't cooperate and deadlines and weirdness in my woman bits and a workman in the house earlier whose B.O. lingered and too much work, too little desire for it and wanting to sip greyhounds and kiss the dirty boy some more.