Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Bear Deli

My infatuation with Scruff seems to go through phases. Like the Moon and my weight. I can easily go six months without launching it. Other times I'm glued to my pocket woof-o-meter. I believe this has to reflect some sort of previously unrecognized hormone cycle. (Hey, I read somewhere men have them too.)

About a month ago I saw my neighbor, Jeff, on Scruff. Jeff is the guy who lives in my building although we only met last February on the big gay cruise. When we're both at home, Scruff says Jeff lives 700 feet away, although my FitBit says it's not even half that. Seriously, I could throw a rock from my balcony and break his window. Probably not the first try though, I throw like a girl.

What I find odd is that Scruff consistently shows at least 30 guys between myself and Jeff. If that were true, that would account for every unit in my building. And I know that can't be right. Not that we don't have our fair share of bears at Colony Square. But of all the residents I know, Jeff is the only one I've seen on Scruff.

There's a hot bear upstairs that I always see around the building. Monday though Friday he gets in his Mercedes wearing a suit and tie. This always makes me think of StevieB's office porn fetish. (Is that still a thing?) On the weekend Hot CEO Bear is tanning at the pool, his furry pecs glistening with a sheen of oil and sweat. This isn't really relevant to my story, but humor me.

The other day my Hot CEO Bear stepped on the elevator with me and, despite the butterflies in my throat, I worked up the nerve to strike up a conversation. I kind of regret that now. In the time it took the lift to go from "P" to "L", my image of Hot CEO Bear went from "Grrrrr" to "Grrrrrl".

Le sigh.

Anyway, Scruff... I don't think it's bear positioning algorithms are entirely accurate. My working theory is that this has to do with the several high-rise condo towers surrounding our squat, three-story community. I suspect the stacks of "looking" horndogs to my immediate North, South, East and West are somehow confusing Scruff into assuming there's a constant man sandwich happening at my house.

Bear orgy at my place! BYOLP.
I can assure you this isn't the case. Not that I'm opposed to a big ol' bear Dagwood, per se. It's just that I have enough trouble keeping the bathtub drain flowing with only one bear in the house. And he's barely cub-sized.

Sunday I got woofed by a guy that Scruff told me was 350 feet away. We started chatting and I, being the curious Pac I am, asked him which building he was in. My suspicions were confirmed when he said he was in a penthouse at Park View. So the woofs weren't coming from inside the building. First relief, then surprise. Glancing up then back to my phone I typed, "Wave your right arm." Hmm, that could be a coincidence. "Now your left." Really? "Now both arms." Yup. I could actually see the guy I was scruffing.

It may be time for another Scruff break.

I could see him but, thanks to my trees, he won't see me until November.
Then my bedroom pretty much becomes a Macy's window.
In an attempt to help him see me in my bright shirt,  I typed,
"I'm the guy with the yellow thirst."

That was a most unfortunate auto-corrrect.


  1. Love that! You should walk around wearing a yellow hanky.