Drug Dealers and Drag Queens

Oh, guys, do I have some fabulous stories for you. My life has gotten a little off track lately, what with pretending like it wasn’t going to pull all kinds of pranks on me and such, and then tanking on me with my health and moving and stress level. But you know what? It’s over that now. It’s gone straight back to teetering, and then eventually evening out at being completely ridiculous again. I absolutely have to blog about that.

As some of you know, I went through a recent breakup from a very sweet guy and I wasn’t really looking to date. I was at my friends house getting ready to go to a drag show (Yes, the story does get more ridiculous AFTER saying I was getting ready to go to a drag show. Just wait for it.) when the finest looking black man in the history of the world came casually waltzing in the door. He was well dressed, well spoken, and asked me if I had ever dated a brother. He was also the friend of my friend’s cousin, who was also at his house, and I thought, well dang. We talked a little bit and decided we were later going to exchange numbers. Now, I’m not looking to get seriously involved with anyone. Dating a little bit, very casually, wouldn’t be so bad though, right? It might be fun. I was down for this.

You guys, I found out later he was a high class drug dealer. Only me, you guys. Only me. He is still fine, but I’m kind of Little Miss Squeaky Clean Hall Monitor Lady, so I think I’ve got to pass on this one.

No one believes me when I say I attract guys I shouldn’t attract. If the stalker story and this story, both of which happened in the course of a week, weren’t enough for you, let this be a lesson that I do not lie. I mean, I got lucky once with the last guy, who was not strange, mean, stalker like or a drug dealer, so it could happen again, right? Right. It just usually doesn’t. I swear he was a fluke and I’m not meant to end up with a really great guy, and I am destined to end up with crazy.

So after this little foray into why I don’t date, we went to the drag show. Yes, I’m serious. Shush now. It was so fantastic that I don’t even have words. Those queens were way prettier than I am, and I was so insulted and so jealous at the same time that I didn’t even know where to go with that. I have not had that much fun since the last time I had that much fun. Which, let’s be honest, I have a lot of fun a lot of the time, but this was a whole new kind of fun. I am going to every drag show that I can possibly go to, because you can’t have that kind of fun anywhere else. You just can’t. I met the best people there.

At the end of the show, one of the queens was making a joke toward one of our friends about how he was going to pull raffle tickets out of her cleavage. I caught up with him after the show, explained I was friends with his friends, and told him that he could pull the raffle tickets out of my cleavage at the next show. I just thought it was a super funny thing to say. I like funny, obscure, off kilter things. The queen then stuck their hand down my shirt and grabbed my boobies. That was easily the funniest thing that ever happened to me. If a drag queen tries that again, I might actually die of laughter. It made my whole week. It was just so unexpected.

I am in some good company, folks.

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