Last Homo Standing

Good morning, homosexuals!

It is a good morning, indeed. 

I'm 27 today, and I'm in one of my favorite cafes in the whole wide world - Dolores Park Cafe, in San Francisco.

This is the best coffeeshop ever because you're not allowed to work here, apparently, if you're not a fucking hot boi with dark hair.

So far I've counted three just working the front counter.
Delicious.

Momma's makin' it raaaaain at the tip jar.

This coffeeshop is surrounded by windows and overlooks Dolores Park, which is a very gay park in San Francisco.

It's filled with fags walking tiny dogs and lesbians under blankets, trying to fuck in the open air without anybody noticing.
(P.S. all you "great-outdoors"-fuckers: everyone knows what's going on.  If your right hand isn't visible, there's only a very few possibilities for where it could be.)

Dykes walk past the big picture windows here all day long, looking cool and slightly high and more than a little dirty. 

I love San Francisco lesbians.  With my crotch. 
And this is the best place in the city to watch them.

I am never happier than when typing away in this coffeeshop, completely juiced on a horrifying combination of:

1) a gigantic soy latte with a tiny (goddammitIsaidtiny) squirt of vanilla

2) Diet Coke

and

3) some kind of bubbly-water-thing.

I like a lot of beverages.

Right now I'm wearing glasses and my best Seriously-Working-Hard-On-My-Incredibly-Important-Work face, but really I'm watching all the queers out of the corner of my eye.

Peripherals.  You gotta use your peripherals.

I'm in San Francisco because San Francisco fucking rules.  It's my favorite city in the USA.  And I can always come here for a cheap vacation, because of The Curse of Krista. 

What's The Curse of Krista, you ask?


Ha!  As if you didn't know, you filthy slut. 
The Curse of Krista is simply this:

(read this in Mufasa-from-The-Lion-King's-voice)


*If you and I sleep together more than 3 times consecutively, you WILL move to San Francisco within the year.*

My curse be upon you!


It never fucking fails. 


I just got an email this week from an ex-fuck-buddy of mine, inviting me to yet another "Goodbye Minneapolis, Hello San Francisco!!" party.

Another one. 

They're dropping like flies.

It is The Curse of Krista. 
I'm going to be the last lesbian left in the Midwest.


But I don't understand something: 
No matter how much I fuck myself, I do not seem to be affected by my own curse.   

The spider does not stick to her own web.

ANYWAY!  it's cheap for me to come here because I can stay with smug women who all have better jobs and cooler apartments than me, now. 
And - weird! - they seem to be doing better without me. 
I know, right?

Crap. 
I wanna move here. 
I wanna be a dyke in San Francisco.
I wanna sit here and stalk the Dolores Cafe baristas forever. 


My friend Ana Luisa always says that  your location doesn't matter - what makes you happy is you, not where you live.

Shut up, Ana.
She's got to be wrong.
I would be so happy here.
The gayness would make me happy.

It's a proven fact that serotonin levels increase according to the amount of dykes surrounding your immediate area.
For serious.