I like people-watching. I really do. Especially with this fabulous weather rolling back in town! I can just grab me a vanilla bean Frappuccino and a table down in the Ferg plaza and just watch some folks prance on by. Especially the boys, boys, boys. I don't know how it happens, but it seems every time we get back from a break, the hotties come out of the woodwork and invade campus. Me and my dormouse, H.M. Thompson, have theorized they get home and they momma's say, "What the hell? You need to shower, shave, and put on clean clothes everyday you ungrateful skank." Then they deliver them back to us all poised and polished. Whatever the reason may be, we aren't complaining. Misster Mackey and your Queer, on our way to grab lunch, had to serpentine through campus to make sure we got maximum eye candy coverage. It's a walk by the ROTC crew, cut back to the front of Gorgas library, and then across the Quad. It should create a "Z" formation when it's all said and done.

Well, it came to my attention tonight that apparently while I was boy-watching on the Quad, I was getting watched myself. Sounds a little creepy, but I guarantee it was a fine surprise. Moral of the story here is you never know who could be watching. So don't look like a slob. I don't know if I can ever reiterate that enough. It's one thing to wake up from a crazy night and head straight to O'Charley's looking a damn hotmess. It's another to just look like shit for no reason. So I like people-watching like I said. But on the other side of the coin, who is people-watching me? And what impression am I making? You never know when Mr. Right or Mr. Right Now is just a glance away.

Over and Out,
CampusQueer