Have You Kissed a Mountain Man Today?

Two days ago I was sitting at my desk, reading blogs and making phone calls, trying to push through another day at the orfice. The giant lazy woman-folk who inhabit the lower region of the office (also called the lobby) were eating lunch no. 2 and ignoring the ringing phones when someone walked in. When this happens, instead of standing up, the ladies use the intercom to alert everyone to the presence of a customer. On this day, it was my name which was called, notifying me that I indeed did have a guest.

I closed windows (some pornographic, some not) and went to the stairs to meet my guest. Coming up the stairs was a tall skinny fellow with MAD facial shrubbery and shoulder length black hair. I wasn't scared, but I was certainly curious, and tilted my head "doggy style" to observe this man. After looking into his eyes, I realized that this mystery man was no mystery at all, but my very best friend, partner in crime, and comrade, Serge. Serge left houston several months ago to live on a mountain in SoCal. A nagging sense of unrest had been bothering Serge for a while, and when offered the position of Caretaker at a camp in a national forest, high atop a secluded protuberance, we all knew it was a beautiful opportunity and sent our little guy on his way.

I spoke with Serge last weekend, at which point he made no mention of a visit. We have been trying to plan a meet-up in Vegas followed by a trip to the mountain since his first week up there, because there are just some people in this world that one can't do without. The point is, I was delighted to see my old friend, right here in Houston, by surprise. We had planned to hang out yesterday afternoon, but the half day I had planned for turned into an hour of overtime and no lunch. But last night, just like old times, all of us guys went to a loud bar and got fucking twisted. Nostalgia does good business for the breweries, distilleries, and wineries of the world, and today I am living proof. A few filthy ass martinis, a few shots of the brown stuff, and we were set...stumbling through the streets of Houston with burger on our shirts and barfloor sticky on our shoes, lapping up the cool drink of friendship.

I'm not writing this at the office. I'm at the coffee shop down the street drinking green tea and recovering. Serge is at home packing (he could only stay for a few days). I know there is nothing funny about this story, it is unbecoming mush-mush that will no doubt be considered faggy, but I DON'T CARE. You only get a couple of real "boys" in your life, guys who will always back you, and guys that make you more comfortable wherever you are. It's beautiful in Houston today, I skipped work, and I got to see my very best friend. Cheers!