There are times where I feel like I'm the lightest sleeper on planet earth. I wake up at a pin drop. I've always been this way from what I can remember. My entire family is the same way, so it makes me wonder if we learn these traits from them. I'm not sure. All Iknow is that it sucks.
My roommate B can sleep through anything. He's been known to wake up, walk across the room, turn off the alarm and go right back to bed and not even have a clue to what he's done. Luckily I always check his door to see if it's open in the morning and that he's gone to work. Many a morning, I've had to wake him up.
My mother can fall asleep with the TV going full blast while sitting up in a rocking chair, mouth wide open. Yet, make one little noise and she's wide awake looking around like she doesn't know where she's at. I don't get it.
Every single guy I've ever dated could sleep through anything. Yet I sure as fuck can't sleep through their God awful snoring. Mall Guy is excluded. He only makes a little snorting sound once in a while. Hell, I'll wake up when they turn over, when they get up to go pee or scratch their butt.
It seems my other roommate L is the same way roommate B. After falling asleep with Mall Guy during Law and Order last night, I woke up to a pounding rhythm vibrating the floor from below. I go downstairs and he's out like a light with music blasting the dance channel from our dish network. It's as if Wyle E. Coyote came in with his big Acme Rubber Mallet and konked him over the head. He was down for the count.
I finally started getting drowsy. Then the one of the next door duplexmates comes home from a night out at around 12:30am. Flood lights come on, light shinning everywhere. THAT woke me up. Duplexmate number two I think came home around 2:30am, repeating the previous scenario.
I start to get drowsy again, when my faithful dog Palin, the Rabid Feral Chihuahua, hears a twig snap or a leaf move and leaps through the doggydoor with much fervor and barks furiously at the approaching leaf. He does this 4 more times until I yell at him that it's just a twig or a leaf and to go back to bed. He gives me one more defiant little bark and heads back in the house.
It's 3:45am by this time. I'm just pissed off now that I can't sleep and every single solitary thing is keeping me awake. I look over at Mall Guy and see that he's been hit over the head with the Acme Rubber Mallet too.
At this point I think I would wake up if someone farted across the street.
You know I had to be bored as HELL for me to do this last night. While watching a little TV, doing some laundry and cleaning up the house, I was looking at a scrapbook my mother had kept ever since I was young. She gave it to me a couple years ago. Damn I was laughing my ass off and thought what the hell, everyone else might as well get a good laugh too. Now, I tried to find one of me with a great mullet shot, but that was only ONE year in Highschool and honestly, the best one I have is Prom. You'll see soon enough down below.
1. ME at 6 months old. Do I have the biggest head or am I just imagining things? Damn, I started out bald and will end bald. It was nice to see my mother started dressing me in velvet at such an early age.
2. ME at 3 years old. Why, oh God, WHY couldn't I have kept the blonde hair and blue eyes?!!! I was pretty stylin' in my burgundy plaid jacket.
3. ME at around 6-7 years old. Is that not a prissy look or what? No wonder I got beat up a lot in gradeschool.
4. ME at 14 years old. As you can see, the shaggy beginnings of my mullet. I was growing it out until I could chop off the top and sides. The following summer was, The Year of the Mullet. Business up front, party in the back!
5. ME at 16 years old for my first prom. No, not showing you the girl that went with me. That would just be mean. As you can well see the camaro mullet poking around the sides. That was an hour of blowdrying and curling iron work people!
6. ME at Highschool Graduation 1983. I'm still searching for my graduation pic where I'm sporting a mini-mullet, aka baby-mullet. Not to be confused with the Camaro mullet.
7. ME at College Graduation, 1987. You could mop up the kitchen floor with my friggen mustache. How did I EVER get a date?
So there you go. Just a few blurry pics. I hope you had a good laugh, because I know I sure did. If I come across something else, you know you'll be the first to see. This is what you get when I have nothing to say. Say it with pictures instead.
Writing about those three events was a challenge for me. I really didn't know if I wanted to tell those stories or not. Wasn't sure how people would react. I wasn't sure how I would react. I didn't want to come across as preachy. Anyone who knows me understands that was not my intention. I just wanting to share some events in my life and let you make up your own mind. Just like television, if you don't like the subject matter, you can always click that little 'X' in the upper right hand corner.
I'm not sure if my 'visitations' were physically real or not. It's possible that my own subconscious made up the images and conversations to somehow get me through a difficult situation. Maybe I became completely delusional. I sure as hell can't blame it on an acid flashback. Anything is possible I guess.
OR, maybe it's possible that each one of us has experienced something similar, but we just didn't take the time to realize that maybe someone was there to help us get through a rough time or protect us. I don't know. Despite how I was raised, I still question things like this in my life and really try hard not to overanalyze the situation too much.
Just take it for what it's worth.
Only a completely lighter note, the Texas Bear Round-up was this weekend in Dallas. I've never seen so many cigar smoking, hairy as hell, flannel wearing bears, cubs, polar bears, american bears, and whatever other type of bears there are, in my entire life. You couldn't walk down the strip without hearing someone yelling "WOOF!" at someone. I know that Spyke and Jimbo would have been in complete heaven this weekend. They would have gone bear hunting and never would have been heard from again. Spent Saturday night at Mickey's. Hung out with this straight girl who's friends ditched her to go dancing. I had to pretend to be her boyfriend to keep some stalker from hitting on her. Go figure. Spent Sunday recovering from Saturdays festivities. Getting too old for this shit.
My father died approximately 10 years ago due to heart problems and cancer. During one of my many visits to the hospital the last year he was alive, I kept catching him looking up to the upper left hand corner of the room. He would do this right in the middle of a conversation then resume talking. Finally after a while, I asked Dad what he was doing. He pulled me to the side and said, "Only you would understand this." He told me that he was seeing three Angels and that they were telling him it was time for him to go home, but he kept telling them that he wasn't ready. That he had things to do, people to talk to and things to complete. He told me that once he would explain this, they would leave him alone for a while.
This came from the man who was not a spiritual person at all.
He told me not to tell the rest of the family. I think he felt that the rest of the family would think bad of him or think that he wasn't in his right mind. My dad was coherent and clear headed up until the day he died. So, I kept my promise and didn't tell the rest of the family until after the funeral. We would have long conversations about what they looked like, what they were wearing and what they said to him. It's funny he never mentioned a smell.
I felt like I was the most special person in the world to him at those moments. I was the only person he decided to share this intimate part of his last days with.
The last month that he was alive, he leaned over to me one afternoon and said, "You know that you know one of them." I asked him what he meant. He said, "You've seen him before, twice remember? You know one of them." I had actually kind of pushed the memories about my "visitations" back until he said this to me.
I knew one of them.
I wasn't there when my father passed away. I wasn't worried though. My father had told me the weekend before that he was going to pass away the following Friday. And he did. So we had our chance to say goodbye to each other the week before.
All I was told about that day was that he went peacefully immediately after he muttered the words, "I'm ready now."
It was probably close to a year before I think I drove again. After that accident which put someone in the hospital for 6 months and caused him never to walk again without limping, the excitement of being 16 years old with a brand new driver's license just left for me.
One Friday night during the summer a few years later, our church youth group had a night of bowling and putt putt golf that lasted until probably midnight. My ex-girlfriend had asked me if I wouldn't mind taking her and her little brother home since they only lived blocks from me. I remember my current girlfriend becoming extremely jealous and us having a huge argument. I took my ex home anyway despite her disapproval.
I was drivng my Dad's 1966 Dodge Dart Convertible. She was cold, and asked if I could put the top up. I hesitated, but did what she asked. It was a beautiful breezy 75 degrees and you could see stars everywhere. One of the beautiful things of living where we did, was the sky. Especially at night. Something I miss now that I live in the city. I never see stars. I was driving them back home down our main street through town. On a typical Friday night, if you weren't old enough to drink, you could be found cruising up and down Main Street all night long. Honking at friends, flirting with the people in the car next to you and stopping at Sonic for something to drink.
Speed limit was 45 miles per hour. Only a few blocks from turning off Main to go home, as the car in the lane next to me was turning into the "turn around" spot, another car was pulling out into traffic and did so in front of us. I hit him going 45 mph, without even being able to brake. I did what my mother always does and still does to me today, which was to naturally reach over to hold her back with my right arm, we both flew out of our seats and throuh the windshield. Both her and I flew forward and hit the windshield, shattering it completely. The steering wheel slowed me down considerably, but that was not the case for her. The steering wheel had broken many ribs and my head was pounding and bleeding profusely. She was slumped against the dashboard. Her brother was in the back seat unharmed. I remember trying to get up when I felt someone trying to help me get up. I wanted to get to her to see how she was. He told me she was ok, just unconsious and she was being taken care of. As I was helped out of the car, I looked up and it was him again.
He was wearing the same white t-shirt and jean jacket as before. I was kind of startled and didn't know how to react. Remember, we had talked about believing that he was an Angel. As I stood there, getting slight scents of that sweet smell because of the breeze, he said "Remember me? We have to stop meeting like this." He smiled. I was at a loss for words.
After a few moments of talking about the wreck, seeing how she was doing and checking on her brother (who wasn't hurt at all), I saw him take off after my father. Yes, my mother and father had heard on their police scanner about my wreck and came immediately. I looked up and saw my angry father with the driver of the car that pulled out in front of me, pinning him down on the hood of the car screaming, "You're drunk! You don't have insurance!! You don't even have a license??!!" He had his fist raised ready to beat the man. That's when I saw him run to my father and hold his hand back and told my father to calm down and that the man wasn't worth it.
He came back, gave me a hug and asked if there was anything he could do before he had to take off. He had already done plenty. I just cried and told him he could go. No rides with me in the ambulance. No counseling me at the hospital. I didn't need it this time.
My father doesn't remember anyone trying to prevent him from sending the other driver to an early grave. My father also never would discuss this "so called Angel". He wasn't a religious or spiritual man. Things like that didn't exist in his mind I think at the time.
All that changed the next time I encountered him probably 10 years later. Or I should say my Father did, but he told me all about him for an entire year.
I know I might make some eyes roll with this entry or possibly even make a few people snicker. Guess if I'm going ahead and telling you a story, and how I feel it's pertinent to my life today, I must not care.
I was having one of the more theological discussions with my buddy the ex-priest Spyke, and I told him a quick story when during a rough moment in my teens, i felt an angel was there the entire time by my side.
It was the middle of the summer back in Nebraska. My mother had asked me to run to the local store to pick up some pictures she had gotten developed. I had just turned 16 and was always eager to be able to take the car somewhere, anywhere on my own. I left the driveway, turned the corner and came up to the first of a series of stopsigns. I remember stopping and checking for traffic. After not seeing anyone, I ventured forward. Someone on a motorcycle, who later admitted to be traveling around 95mph, struck the front of my Mustang. It bent the front of the hood enough to block my vision. I remember getting out and seeing him flying through the air partially still attached to his motorcycle and finally crashing an entire city block away. I remember running as fast as I could to get to him. As I came up to him lying there on the grass, I could see that his leg was broken in about 4 places and his ankle was resting by his head. I hate to be so graphic, but I felt like seeing that was the reason for how I reacted after that moment.
Only thing I remember was jumping over the fence of my back yard and scrambling to the back door. I remember telling my mother that I think I hit someone with the car. I was told later on that my father was right behind me in his car when the accident happened and that I ran past him completely on my way home. My mother brought me back to the scene and I was put in a squad car. The moments following seeing the person lying there on the grass are completely fuzzy. Just bits and pieces of fragmented images, voices and conversations.
Then a man wearing a white t-shirt and a jean jacket came up to the window of the car and asked me how I was doing. I was in hysterics by this point and could barely form a sentence. For some reason, I remember how he smelled. It was sweet. His voice was soothing. I found myself calming down and talking with this complete stranger. He told me that things were going to be ok, my family was not mad, and that the guy I hit was in the ambulance and was waiting to be taken to the hospital. His leg was broken in 4 places and he had a few bumps and bruises. He asked if I wanted him to stay with me, and I said yes. He showed up at the hospital and he was by my side the entire time. I remember talking to him off and on, crying on his shoulder, smelling that wonderful sweet fragrance that he had on him. Once he thought I was ok, he hugged me and told me he had to leave.
Once I was taken home, my mother gave me a valium. I remember laying there on the couch asleep, yet could hear all conversations going on around me. I heard them talking about how I was talking to myself the last four hours at the wreck and the hospital. I woke up and asked them what they were talking about. I proceeded to tell them about the stranger that was kind enough to take a moment out of his day and spend it with me. They all looked at each other and said, "Mark, no one was with you the entire afternoon. You were under the watch of the local police department and couldn't have any visitors nor talk to anyone." I argued with them over and over about how they were completely wrong. I was outraged. Why wouldn't they believe me?
After long moments of arguing, my mother gasped and said, "How did he smell?". I thought this was completely odd, but told her that he smelled sweet. Like cottoncandy. For whatever reason still unbeknownst to me, the only thing she said was, "Honey, your Angel was by your side the entire day", and she broke down and cried. I felt nothing but contentment from that moment on.
The story of him doesn't end there. Whether you're a believer or not, spiritual or not, I don't care. It's something I truely felt and believed in. The next couple days, I'll tell the next two times he came to visit.
DISCLAIMER: The views and opinions expressed in the following post does not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of the Texas man who was forced practically at gunpoint to put up this entry by his fellow True Texans. Nor was the entry thought up or conceived by him. He should be viewed as an innocent Midwestern raised man who basically just does not know any better. He does not in any form or fashion claim or desire to be labeled as "southern" and should not be judged as one. All people reading who consider themselves a "yankee" are considered to be incredible friends of said "Texan" and no offense should be taken. Any complaints regarding the following post should be kept to yourself or be in fear of having your ass kicked by Pseudo Texan's southern acquaintances, friends, cohorts or lesbian friends despite his disapproval.
(After reading the following list someone sent me, it reminded me of the many Texans I've met who actually have this type of mentality. Hell, look at our President as an example. If these Rabid Texans could build a fence around their state to keep everyone else out, they would. God love 'em, but some of them worry me)
When You're in the South:
1. Do not order filet mignon or pasta primavera at a Waffle House. It's just a diner. They serve breakfast 24 hours a day. Let them cook something they know. If you confuse them, they'll kick your ass.
2. Do not laugh at our Southern names (Merleen, Bodie, Ovine, Luther Ray, Tammy Lynn, Darla Beth, Inez, Billy Joe, Sissy, Clovis, etc.), Or we will have to kick your ass.
3. Do not order a bottle of pop or a can of soda down here. Down here it's called Coke. Nobody gives a damn whether it's Pepsi, RC, Dr. Pepper, 7-Up or whatever -it's still a Coke. Accept it. Doing otherwise can lead to an ass kicking.
4. We know our heritage. Most of us are more literate than you (e.g., Welty, Williams, Faulkner). We are also better educated and generally a lot nicer. Don't refer to us as a bunch of hillbillies, or we'll kick your ass.
5. We have plenty of business sense (e.g., Fred Smith of Fed Ex, Turner Broadcasting, MCI WorldCom, MTV, Netscape). Naturally, we do sometimes have small lapses in judgment (e.g., Carter, Duke, Clinton). We don't care if you think we are dumb. We are not dumb enough to let someone move to our state in order to run (Hillary) for the Senate. If someone tried to do that, we would kick their ass.
6. Do not laugh at our Civil War monuments. If Lee had listened to Longstreet and flanked Meade at Gettysburg instead of sending Pickett up the middle, you'd be paying taxes to Richmond instead of Washington. If you visit Stone Mountain and complain about the carving, we'll kick your ass.
7. We are fully aware of how high the humidity is, so shut the hell up. Just spend your money and get the hell out of here, or we'll kick your ass.
8. Don't order wheat toast at Cracker Barrel. Everyone will instantly know that you're a Yankee. Eat your biscuits like God intended - with gravy. And don't put sugar on your grits, or we'll kick your ass.
9. Do not talk about how much better things are at home because we know better. Many of us have visited Northern hell-holes like Detroit, Chicago, and DC, and we have the scars to prove it. If you don't like it here, Delta is ready when you are. Move your ass on home before it gets kicked.
10. Yes, we know how to speak proper English. We talk this way because we do not want to sound like you. We do not care if you don't understand what we are saying. All other Southerners understand what we are saying, and that's all that matters. Now, go away and leave us alone, or we'll kick your ass.
11. Do not complain that the South is dirty and polluted. None of OUR lakes or rivers have caught fire recently. If you whine about OUR scenic beauty, we'll kick your ass all the way back to Boston Harbor.
12. Do not ridicule our Southern manners. We say sir and ma'am. We hold doors open for others. We offer our seats to old folks because such things are expected of civilized people. Behave yourselves around our sweet little gray-haired grandmothers or they'll kick some manners into your ass just like they did ours.
13. So you think we're quaint or losers because most of us live in the countryside? That's because we have enough sense to not live in filthy, smelly, crime-infested cesspools like New York or Baltimore. Make fun of our fresh air and we'll kick your sorry ass.
Last, but not least,
14. DO NOT DARE come down here and tell us how to barbecue. This will get your ass shot (right after it is kicked). You're lucky we let you come down here at all. Criticize our barbecue, and you will go home in a pine box. Minus your ass.
I'm going to brag on myself for a moment regarding the dinner I cooked last night. After Mall Guy told me how he wants to shed a few pounds, I proceed to make the following dinner: Chicken Fried Chicken, hashbrowns, cream gravy, corn and sweet cornbread. I even made some good ol' southern sweet iced tea to wash it all down with. I need to be careful. I'll cause him to gain 20 pounds cooking like that all the time. I cook for how MY skinny ass needs to eat, not others.
I obviously cook like my mother though. If you want a southern styled meal, I'm your boy. If you want something a little more on the foo-foo side, then we grab my roommate B. If you want something on the traditional Mexican side, then we grab my other roommate L. Even Redact, who lives next door, can make some absolute killer dishes. Our other duplex mate T on the other hand......we don't ask him to cook anything. Just show up and eat.
As I was preparing dinner, I was going to make mashed potatoes. I still laugh everytime I get ready to make this side dish. You see, a few years back I had to make mashed potatoes for a group of 20 people. I called up my mother and asked her how many I should make. She told me 1 pound per person. So I prepared 20 pounds worth. I would swear on her grave, but she's still alive and kicking, that she told me that but she'll deny it 'til this day. I can confirm that 20 pounds of potatoes fits in two large, what I call, chili pots. I also can confirm that you will burn up a mixer trying to mix them. In fact, I think we burned up two of them. Needless to say, we ate mashed potatoes for a week. But they were some kick ass potatoes if I say so myself.
So as I stood there staring at a bag of potatoes, wondering how many to prepare for a couple servings, I just said fuck it. I'll make something else. I did manage to make a huge saucepan of gravy though. Probably enough for 15 people. I'm still working on portion control. It's a good thing that in the south, we smother everything with gravy. I'm set for the next week.
I'm entering geek goober dork mode for a bit so bear with me. I've mentioned before that I'm a huge George Michael fan. I have been ever since the days of Wham!. Back around 1983, I became a member of his fanclub. We would get little updates, songs released early for our listening pleasure, private "letters" from George. I would occasionally visit his website and would comment on some of the threads in the forums. After a number of years you get to know people all over the world who also have a freakish obsession love for all things George.
I just got an instant message from someone in the forums whom I've known for a while who started going off about Patience, his new album that is out. Talking in depth about each song, which one was her favorite, the one that makes her cry each time, etc. She was telling me how she also ordered both the Japanese and Korean versions of the same album. She also wants me to help her get the United States version once it's released in June, including all singles. *blank stare*
Bless her heart, I love her to death. She's not even close to a fanatic though. But there are some people I've seen in the forums and that I've chatted with over the years, that if George pooped a big ol' purple brick, these people would bow down at the feet of GM and think he was a god for doing so. They analyize his songs to the point of exhaustion. Finding clues in the lyrics to tell secrets about his personal life. When he talks of a woman in a song, the girls automatically start questioning his sexuality and think he just might possibly be straight and all the years of living with his boyfriend Kenny (who is from Dallas) was just a front. *cricket noises*
Don't get me wrong, I'm a huge fan too. I buy every album and single he puts out here in the U.S. I leave it at that. I listen to his music quite often. Patience has been in my car stereo for 2 weeks straight practically. I guess I just don't have obsessions that are that strong for a musical artist, actor or whomever.
I know my good friend Rusty has an obsession with Kylie Minogue and Madonna. Hell, check today's entry out and you tell me. Love ya buddy. I even think he's taking two road trips to see the Whore of Babylon Material One in concert.
*start revoking my gaycard* I don't have an obsession with Babs, Judy, Cher, Madonna, Janet or even Britney for that matter. It's not that I don't like their music, buy some of their albums and even see a few of them in concert if the price was right. Well, minus Judy since she's dead. But, I do.
It's time to fess up people. Any obsessions out there you need to share with the group?
I wanted to share with you three beautiful pics showing details of the Tulips my friend from Omaha gave me during his visit here for his little floral thingy. Full view shown below.
I had a snuggalicious weekend with Mall Guy Toy on Friday and part of Saturday. An evening of movies, cuddling and...well none of your business. He was in town for some floral thingy, so he and a fellow florist met us out at Mickey's Saturday night for cocktails. It was great to see him from what I can remember. Unfortunately, we had started drinking about 6pm at the house with friends before heading out. I was told that I was "really funny" that night. God only knows what that could mean. I would post pictures of the night, but my eyes are half shut in almost every picture.
I'm never drinking again.
I was listening to a local morning show today as I drove to work and they were talking about getting caught while parking. You know what I mean. Parking. Making out with your boyfriend in your way to little of a car and finding out that wasn't his cars stickshift poking you in the behind. People were calling in and telling their own little horror stories about getting caught with their pants down.
Before I was 25 years old, referred to as my "straight" days, my various girlfriends and I had been caught a few times while parking. Luckily my dad was a Captain on the Police Department, so they would tap on the window, call me by name and tell me to get the hell home. Of course my father had to find out the next morning when they told on me. He never was angry. He was proud of his horny son. It wasn't long after though, when I got the lecture from him one of the only few times I ever saw him drunk. He proceeded to tell me that I needed to be careful. My mother jumped up immediately and I remember her saying, "Oh dear God no......." as she walked out of the room.
He looks me right in the eye and says, "Son, you know we love you to death, but the only reason you're even here today is because the gaaaaawdaammn rubber broke. You can't trust those little buggers. They can break! You're our precious little rubber baby. We weren't thrilled with the idea of your mother having a baby at almost 40 years of age, but once you were born we thought you were cute and decided to keep ya. Hell, your brothers and sisters were horrified and embarrassed to tell anyone that their mother was pregnant. But after a while, they grew to love you too. We wouldn't trade you in for anything."
He went on and on, while my mother would peer out ever so often to see the stunned look on my face. He continued to tell me about sex and the proper things to do and not to do. I thought this was a little late since I had been having sex probably since the age of 15. I was 22 years old at the time. He did impress on me about practicing safe sex. I sure as hell didn't want a child at that time. I was a little taken back by not realizing I wasn't planned. But how stupid was I? There was ten years age difference between my youngest brother and me. My mother had two miscarriages after he was born. They had obviously stopped trying until OOPS!, I came along.
I look back now and I laugh my ass off about that night. I had a conversation with my mother about that night a few years ago. As we laughed, my mother interjects with, "At least we didn't tell you we all thought you were a tumor". I just looked at her. "Oh my.....", she said.
She told me she started having some stomach pains at one point and went in to see the doctor. She had thought that she might have been pregnant. Since she had a couple of miscarriages before, she thought she might be going down that same road again. That same doctor had removed a small tumor from my mother a year or so before and told her that maybe her tumor had come back and that it was probably causing her pain and discomfort. My mother kept telling him that she was pretty sure she was pregnant and he needed to give her a test. He said no, at your age blah blah tumor blah blah. My mother left his office and went straight to another doctor for his opinion. Yes, she was pregnant with me. She never went back to her previous doctor. Nine months later as she lay in the hospital after popping me out of her vagina, her previous doctor walked by her room and asked her what was wrong.
"Oh nothing much really, other then the fact that my tumor just started kicking one day".
I was affectionately known as their "little tumor".
Last night Mall Guy Toy (affectionately named by Ed) came over and I sweated over a hot grill making hamburgers and fries for him and my roommates. We cuddled on the floor watching the Thursday night NBC lineup and later retreated upstairs to retire for the evening.
When you haven't had someone in your bed for very long period of time (contrary to popular belief, I'm not a slut), it does take a while to adjust. We all have our nightly and morning rituals that we've been doing years and can practically do them blind. I can get up at 7:30 in the morning, shower, shave, dress and be to work by 8:00am. It only takes me 8 minutes to get to work.
Ah, the joys of having a shaved head and having perfect skin. When I had a mullet back in the 80's, after applying 4 kinds of hair product, blow drying and using a curling iron, I would have to get up at 6am to be at school in time for the 8 o'clock bell. This routine also included applying facial products, body and face shaving, picking out the proper pair of parachute pants and Ocean pacific T-shirt and ending with brushing and flossing my teeth. Now, I don't have to worry or just don't give a shit as much about looking all purdy. Guess I've mellowed in my old age.
Many questions start going through my mind the more you spend the night with the same person.
1) Figuring out the right cuddling position that works well for both parties involved.
2) Does he like to be held as well as hold other said party?
3) How long does the other person like to cuddle?
4) Can both parties cuddle and fall asleep or do you need part ways at some point and sleep individually?
5) Will telling cuddling partner that you can't cuddle all night offend them and cause a divorce?
6) Do I fart in my sleep?
7) When is it appropriate to fart in front of your cuddle partner? (obviously when you're NOT cuddling)
8) Is kissing each other with morning breath allowed?
9) Will waking up in the middle of the night to piddle (overactive bladder) cause him to have a restless nights sleep?
10) Will waking up screaming because of nightmares and freaky dreams or restlessness (Sustiva sucks)cause him to doubt my sanity and also cause divorce proceedings?
11) Do we shower the next morning together or separately?
12) Is sex in the shower allowed?
13) Does he even LIKE morning sex?
14) Do I even like morning sex?
15) Is he a morning person PERIOD?
16) Will me NOT being a morning person at all until my first cup of coffee again cause him to see the demon within?
17) At what point during the morning ritual can I do "number two" and where? (thank God we have 3 bathrooms in the house)
18) Should I make breakfast for him?
19) At what point do we go shopping for his own toiletries to keep at my place?
20) Why do I think about shit like this?
Probably one of the biggest reasons I haven't been in a relationship in a while. I think and worry about the dumbest stuff. There's a little hamster wheel in my head with a rabid hamster on crack going a hundred miles an hour. Luckily, this doesn't last very long. Eventually I settle down into my new routine and just enjoy it.
Soon I'll be able to just fart in peace.
My home town in Nebraska is only about 25,000 people. It had that wonderful small town feel to it that I grew to love. A place where people didn't lock the doors of their home or cars. The big event of the year was the County Fair. It wasn't unusual to have the birth of twin cows being announced on the news. You knew when someone was a stranger in town. Nothing bad ever happened. A perfect place to grow up.
I received the following list from a cousin of mine which really hit home about life growing up in a small town. Although I consider myself a big city slicker now, I do miss it sometimes. I'm just amazed that I can relate to almost every single one below. How did I end up the sophisticated cityboy that I am now?
You know you grew up in a small town if:
1) You can name everyone you graduated with.
2) You know what 4-H is
3) You went to parties at a pasture, barn, gravel pit, or in the middle of a dirt road. On Monday you could always tell who was at the party because of the scratches on their legs from running through the woods when the party was busted, see #6.
4) You used to "drag" main.
5) You said the "F" word and your parents knew within the hour.
6) You scheduled parties around the schedule of different police officers, since you know which ones would bust you and which ones wouldn't.
7) You could never buy cigarettes because all the store clerks knew how old you were (and if you were old enough they'd tell your parents anyhow).
8) When you did find somebody old enough and brave enough to buy cigarettes or beer, you still had to go out into the country and drive on back roads to smoke or drink them.
9) You knew which section of the ditch to find the beer your buyer dropped off.
10) It was cool to date somebody from the neighboring town.
11) The whole school went to the same party after graduation.
12) You don't give directions by street names or directions by references. Turn by Nelson's house, go 2 blocks east to Anderson's, and it's four houses left of the track field.
13) The golf course had only 9 holes.
14) You can't help but date a friend's ex-boyfriend/girlfriend.
1 5) Your car stays filthy because of the dirt roads and you will never own a dark
vehicle for this reason.
16) The town next to you is considered "trashy" or "snooty", but is actually just like your town.
17) You refer anyone with a house newer then 1960 as the "rich people"
18) The people in the "big city" dress funny then you pick up the trend 2 years later.
19) Anyone you want can be found at the local gas station or the town pub.
20) You see at least one friend a week driving a tractor through town or one of your friends drives a grain truck to school occasionally.
21) The gym teacher suggest you haul hay for the summer to get stronger.
22) Directions are given using THE stop light as a reference
23) You decide to walk somewhere for exercise and 5 people pull over and ask you if you want a ride somewhere.
24) Your teachers call you by your older sibling's names.
25) Your teachers remember when they taught your parents.
26) You can charge at all the local stores or write checks without any ID.
27) The closest McDonalds is 45 miles away (or more).
28) The closest mall is over an hour away.
29) It is normal to see an old man riding through town on a riding lawn mower.
30) You've peed in a cornfield.
31) Most people go by a nickname.
I'm sure this list will grow too.
I was speaking with my buddy Spyke the last few days and he told me of his need to quit smoking. He's tried a host of different ways to quit smoking and all have failed. When you've been smoking since you were 17, I imagine it has to be a very difficult thing to do. He's added a link on his page so you can stop by and check on his progress. There's also a place to give words of encouragement and maybe even give him some advice. I'm sure there are others out there that have gone through the same thing and might even have some secret to success. I think it's great what he's trying to do and I think people checking in on his progress and giving him a big ol' swat on the ass for encouragement would be helpful. From what I've learned about The Spykester, he loves a good swat or poke in the ass.
I know we've all had some form of vice that we've tried to shake from time to time. Those damn New Years resolutions that we attempt every stinkin' year. Addictions can come in many forms
How many times have we tried to loose weight? Ok, well not me. I'm doing everything in my power to consume as much protein carbs fat crap as possible to be able to achieve a body like Him. You have to lift weights to get that? Well hell, forget that shit. I have a hard enough time going to Yoga class. The boy who wore baggy shorts and underwear doesn't show up anymore, so my motivation went out the window.
How many people have tried to stop drinking caffeine? For me, it's been something I haven't been able to do without since my mother, bless her soul, gave me my first cup of coffee at the tender age of 12. I'm 100% addicted to coffee, tea and pop (you bastards bring up the soda/pop/coke debate and I'll go postal on your ass) and will even start shaking if I don't have some form of caffeine by 9am. Just as long as my friends don't start calling me Tweek.
How about giving up alcohol? Well hell, I might as well give up sex while I'm at it. Everyone knows that I enjoy going out and throwing back a cocktail or ten with friends. I just try limit myself to how often. People that have had a problem and beat their addiction to alcohol or drugs, I commend you. I understand it being a struggle each and every day of your life.
Sexaholic? I've never been the type to want sex constantly. Am I the only one? Is the image you have of me ruined? I like it on a frequent basis so don't get me wrong. Shit people, I'm not dead, I'm just not 16 years old anymore. Is there such thing as too much sex? Do you know of anyone who has a problem with this?
Blogging Junkie? Fine, where's my 12 step program? I find myself reading my blog list everyday, thinking what I need to blog about for tomorrow or having something happen to me and think what a great entry that would make. Can't remember what life was like before you had your blog? I'm not that bad yet. "Hi my name is Mark and I'm a blogaholic." Just wish I could get paid for blogging. Oh wait, I do. It's called my 8-5 corporate job.
I'm making light of all the different types of addictions we all face on a daily basis, but it is a serious thing. I have mine, as I'm sure you do too. Whatever your addiction might be whether it's smoking, drinking, drugs or biting your nails and picking your boogers, each one is serious if it's serious to you. Everyone needs help.
Go give Spyke a big non-smoking hug for me. Ok?
Growing up, my family took vacations together every year. It might have only been a trip down to Odessa Texas to visit our Grandmother some years, but others were trips to the Oregon coast to go salmon fishing then driving the entire coast of the western United States. We'd stop in San Francisco, Hollywood, Los Angeles and San Diego. We took our time seeing everything that we could possibly see. We were the typical tourist, minus the flowered shirt, wide brimmed hat and a camera around our necks. We took trips to the Rocky Mountains, Carlsbad Caverns and The Grand Canyon. We visited Disneyland, Universal Studios, The Wax Museum and Knottsberry Farm. We tore up Las Vegas, Reno and New Orleans. I remember sunning on the beaches down in Florida. Even got the chance to visit Graceland.
When I was a Corporate Auditor for my company, I was able to visit at least 2 major cities in the U.S. each week. They would even pay for me to spend the weekend if I wanted in the cities of my choice, since flights were always drastically cheaper flying back on Sunday. After two years of being gone every week, I pretty much visited the entire United States except for about 8 states. One of them being New York. That's about to change.
First off, I can't believe it has taken me this long to finally visit New York City. I was putting more money away this weekend for my trip for the third week in May and my excitement started up all over again. I'll be buying my flight from my roommate who works for Delta at the end of the month. I know it's going to be a city I'm going to fall in love with and not want to come home. I'm looking forward to meeting so many bloggers that I've had the pleasure of getting to know recently.
So, anyone not doing anything May 21-24 and wants to hang out with a goofy Texan and some wonderful yet crazy bloggers, then y'all come join us ya hear?
Interesting weekend to say the least. I normally don't talk about dates I've had or the lack thereof, but after this weekend I think I'll make an exception. There were too many bizarre twist to not talk about it.
The weekend started off with a date on Friday night. He was a beautiful man, rugged and handsome. I was extremely nervous. I was to meet him at his place for a glass of wine before heading out to dinner. He gives me his address and that's when I panic. He lives right next door to an Ex of mine. Sometimes Dallas can be way too small of a community it seems. After a short time of sitting there watching the Texas/OU Basketball game (Have I mentioned I hate sports?) it was clear to me pretty quickly that there was no chemistry whatsoever. Although he was a very nice guy, he was painfully shy. We struggled the entire night to carry on a conversation. There was just......nothing there.
The next day, after sleeping in late, I decided to head down to Northpark Mall to eat lunch and do a little bit of shopping. I'll admit, I was kind of disappointed because of Friday night. I haven't dated in a while, and Friday night reaffirmed why I haven't.
So what's a good gay boy to do after this situation, but spend money at the mall. I can't pass up a 75% off sale.
As I walked past Banana Republic, I saw a very handsome guy through the window. We played the stare and smile game for a little bit. I make it all the way down to Foley's and low and behold there he is. We continue our game of cat and mouse for a while when we finally talk to each other. We shopped, got something to drink, then shopped some more. He blames me for spending too much money on clothes. Trust me, I wasn't twisting his arm. Later that night, he and I went out for dinner. Without telling too much on myself, we went to church the next morning and had lunch afterwards. My mother will freak when she hears I went to church.
He's handsome, sweet and we had a great time together. I'm looking forward to getting to know him better. Time will tell.
The only creepy thing? You remember Friday nights date and where he lived? Right next door to my Ex. It seems that this guy works for the same company as this same Ex and is friends with one of my Ex's employees.
I learned a few things this weekend:
--When it rains it pours.
--Dallas is way too small.
--My Ex needs to get the hell out of town.
(Update: My Ex who's mentioned above, happens to be a big sweetheart and the best Ex a person could have, has also been a BIG sport about all of this. He has been laughing his ass off ever since Friday. I seem to be just making his day here lately. Glad you can laugh baby!)
It's going to be a day of being pulled in every direction. Deadline for a project has to be completed today before release on Monday. Auditors are here looking over files before being sold to FNMA, so they're coming to me with questions and ways to "fix" the loans before sale. Vice President of Compliance has handed me two system edits that were put in by our IT Department that don't seem to be working correctly and need to be re-tested today. An auditor for the State of Virginia is here and constantly bugging me with document and system questions.
In the midst of all this, I need to find a time to eat, chat with friends, pee and blog. Not necessarily in that order.
They just don't understand what my priorities are around here.
I received an email this morning from an ex boyfriend of mine from about 8 years ago. He apologized for not keeping in touch lately, saying that he's been reeling from another failed relationship and was carrying a lot of excess baggage. Something I'm sure all of us have and continue to carry on from relationship to relationship.
He was someone I met my first few months after moving to Dallas. He had lost his closest friend of 15 years a month or so before we met, due to AIDS. Although he did not have a problem with me being positive, he was struggling so much from the loss of his friend and the thoughts of losing someone else close to him at that time seemed unbearable. Needless to say, our relationship was strained from the start. He always worried about my health, how I was feeling or what my counts were. Ever met someone at the wrong time in his or her life? This was that time for him.
We stayed good friends over the past 8 years and occasionally met up for drinks or to sit and chat over a cup of coffee. After our last time together approximately 4-5 months ago, old feelings for both of us were stirred up tremendously. As fate would have it, he had just gotten out of a bad relationship a few months before and the timing wasn't right for an old flame to be rekindled and even hanging out as friends had proved difficult for him.
I know in my life, that having excess baggage from past relationships or friendships can cause severe damage in meeting new friends or dating someone. It's hard not to put up that wall we've all built from being hurt in the past and not let that new person get to know us on a more intimate level. It's difficult to love someone and BE loved when you have this 50 foot brick wall in your way. Bless those people that no matter how high that wall is, they grab their chisel and hammer and start chipping away. Persistence can pay off. I guess it's up to each individual on how long they want to keep trying.
I believe it's almost impossible to get rid of all the excess baggage that we carry. I'm just hoping that my baggage is nothing more then a small carry-on.
Well it finally happened. I met my first blogger. Not someone I've had to hold at gunpoint and force to blog, but someone who found my site during the past few months. Yesterday I had lunch with Sushil who writes BitchDuet. Not only is he quite the cutie but a very sweet person as well. We had a great time talking and getting to know each other. I'm no longer a blogger virgin. My cherry has been popped.
Not in that way!
Last night I went out with my buddy Rusty. I'm sad to report that there's no stories of pee pee's being whipped out at the bar, dancing on the bar nekkid or stories of crotch and ass grabbing. Not to say that Rusty didn't try. We were actually pretty tame last night, although we did have a blast together. After throwing back a few at Mickey's, we headed down to Woody's for Show Tune night. Which has now been renamed Bear Tune Night since the bar has changed ownership. Bear Tunes. It seems that Bears have an affinity for Show Tunes and no one told me. Who would have thought? We decided against seeing some chunky, hairy men (yes most of the bears in Dallas are chunky) in flannel singing songs from The Sound of Music and headed back to Mickey's for a few more drinks before calling it a night.
Only person that got lucky last night was one of my best friends who's been searching for a Top in a world of Bottoms it seems. He struck out again last night and took home another bottom. Poor thing.
I had to giggle.
Last night I spent the evening doing laundry. In between cooking a little dinner and folding clothes, I decided to put on some new music that I've bought the past month and listen more closely to some of the songs. I'm not sure I've mentioned this before, but I'm a huge fan of music. Recently, Myke listed a couple people who are on my list to check out.
I have a very limited memory of dancing with my family around 1968, in the middle of the living room with Dick Clark's American Bandstand on the boob tube. My Aunt even has a homemade movie of this moment which cracks me up still this day. After mentioning the memory I had of this about 10 years ago, 15 minutes later she was putting up the projector and showed me the film. My sister with her huge hair and big full skirt and my brothers with their stovepipe pants, white socks with penny loafers. It was the midwest people, the fashions were a little behind the times. I was probably 3-4 years old at the time. Funny the things that you can remember from such an early age. For some unknown reason, I was doing the twist.
My mother use to sing in USO shows during the war along with her sisters. Her father was a Traveling Tent Evangelist who even recorded a few gospel songs during his career. I can still see him up at the pulpit with a tamborine in one hand and a Bible in the other singing 'His Eye is on the Sparrow'. My mother and her sisters also sang at church quite often. I even had at least four cousins that sang solo's, duets and trio's. A love for music seems to run in the family.
I use to sit with my sister and listen to groups like Mama's and the Papas, The Supremes, Peter, Paul and Mary or The Fifth Dimension. I remember my first concert with my brother. We went to see the Eagles. The first album he bought me was their album The Long Run. He turned me on to BTO, ELO and groups like REO Speedwagon and YES. We both had a love for Elton John.
I remember never missing an episode of Friday Night Videos and sat patiently the day that MTV aired for the very first time.
My days of going to concerts are still going strong.
What do I like today? I listen to Gospel, Country (just a little), Rock, R&B, Classical, Jazz, Opera and New Age. The only thing I have never been able to stomach is hard core rap or heavy metal. It's just not my thing and probably never will be. I listen to people like Sarah Maclachlan, Jann Arden, Johhny Lang, Jason Mraz and Seven and the Sun. I love groups like Moodswings, The Opera Band-Amici and Delerium. I buy everything that comes out from people like Madonna, George Michael (who has a new album 'Patience' coming out the 16th), Erasure and Depeche Mode. Some days I can't get enough of older groups from the 80's and 90's and even listen to 50's and 60's for a change of pace.
I'm constantly looking for new groups or vocalist. Music is something I can't get enough of. It touches the heart, soul and spirit. So many songs remind us of a certain time in our life, a specific moment, a person, a place or even a first kiss.
You can't take memories like that away.
Be sure you lock your doors and windows at home! A New Jersey man was found dead in his home over the weekend.
Detectives at the scene found the man face down in his bathtub. The tub had been filled with milk, sugar, and cornflakes.
A banana was sticking out of his ass.
Police suspect a cereal killer.
During my busy weekend of hanging with friends on Friday, shopping, coffee and boywatching on Saturday and planting pretty flowers on Sunday (by the way, my po' lil' bald head is burnt), I was able to get caught up on some rental movies inbetween things.
First off, I'm probably the only person that's capable of crying at the end of Freak Friday. Not because it was a bad movie, but because it turned all sappy and emotional at the end. I didn't feel so bad after mentioning this to my other roommate who said he cried too. Then again, he cries at the drop of a hat like I do.
I followed up that little cryfest with Soldiers Girl. The story about Barry Winchell falling in love with a transgendered performer while he was in the army. I totally wasn't prepared to be sobbing my eyes out at the conclusion. They should put a warning label on movies like this. Amazing.
School of Rock? School of Crap is more like it. I couldn't even finish the film.
Then came Party Monster. My God, if you do drugs or ever thought taking up the habit, this movie would scare anyone straight. I was exhausted just watching them. Many people didn't like this film, but I thought it was great.
Finished watching The Missing last night before bed. I fell asleep. Nothing more to add.
Damn, it's a Monday morning and I have nothing. I should be writing about my exciting weekend involving all the men I met or the wild monkey sex I had. Instead you get movie reviews and pictures of plants.
Rusty plans on showing me a good time Tuesday night. He and I tend to get into trouble when we hang out.
I'm counting on you Rusty.
My roommate and I spent the afternoon at Homodepot buying new plants, flowers and herbs. It was nice enough outside to shed my shirt, throw on some shorts and get my nails dirty. We don't have much space to work with, so we just bombard the patio with pots everywhere.
Spring has sprung!
I took a step outside around noon to an 80 degree, sunny, blue sky day. I went down to the gayborhood with the windows down and old 80's music blasting as loud as i could take it, to do a little window shopping, sit in the sun having a Chai Latte and read the weekly fag rags. I swear every 'Mo in town was out today. Every restaurant patio was full, the coffee shop was packed inside and out, the balcony at JR's, Sue Ellens and Woodys were filled with people enjoying an afternoon of a cocktail or ten. People were out in their convertibles, bikes and motorcycles. I think everyone that owns a dog was out today too.
All I needed was to hear birds chirping and see flowers blooming to make it almost a perfect afternoon.
Days like this that make me love living here.
Pardon me while I go change my shorts. Seems I might have polluted them. After having things disappear on my site for a little while, I was in a panic. I'll be back this afternoon with.......something. I just need to take a break and go have lunch.
*wipes sweat off brow*
UPDATE:
Now that I'm recovering from my massive coronary and had a wonderful Cajun seafood lunch, I can now relax. This website will be the death of me, you watch. When someone finds me face down in my keyboard with the letters ASDFJKL stamped on my forehead, you'll know why. I tend to panic in situations dealing with the unknown. I can be calm, cool and collected in any other situation, but when it comes to computers I become a complete basketcase. I'm always afraid of hitting this or that button and causing smoke to emit from my screen or keyboard. Seeing my weblog melt like the Wicked Witch of the West. Having a huge message appear on my screen out of nowhere saying nothing but, "You stupid fuck".
Computers have been known to make me go fetal.
See what I have to go through on a daily basis just to have a blog? I suffer so much for my art.
While spending the last few days lounging around the house doing absolutely nothing, I've had the opportunity to watch a lot of television. Having an 8 to 5 job for the last oh 15 years of my life has kept me from watching some of the crap that's on daytime TV.
I remember in college, setting up my class schedule around Donahue, Oprah or my favorite daytime soap The Guiding Light. When I was even younger, I ran home after school as quickly as I could so I wouldn't miss a single episode of The Edge of Night. I've had the chance to flip through many soaps and daytime talk shows that I've never had a chance to see or get caught up on. Until now.
First off, it's like I never stopped watching the Guiding Light. Same character's, same plots. Oh sure, a few faces have changed, people have gotten older, someone's had a baby, someone has an evil twin, someone came back from the dead, but its the same damn show. I'm sure the rest of the soaps are the same. Only reason I forced myself to watch a few was only for some of the hunky men. That alone is reason enough. Hey, I'm just sayin'.
I finally got to see Sharon Osbourne and Ellen's talk shows. God love her, but Sharon needs to put a sock in it and go back home and take care of Ozzy. The show makes me want to drop kick puppies. Ellen on the other hand is one of the highlights during the past couple days. Oprah? She's just tired. I found her and the show to be quite irritating.
I'm not even going to touch Jerry Springer, Ricki Lake, Montel Williams and Maury. Ok, fine I will. I'm one of those people that when it comes to these types of shows, I get very uncomfortable watching them. When people come on national television and make complete asses of themselves, I get really uptight. Then again, I've been known to have a few too many cocktails, go out in public and well....do the same thing, but thats different.
I'm on so much shit, I didn't know whether to take a nap or clean the entire house during the past couple days.
Why is it when you have 250 channels you can't find anything to watch? I was King of the Channel Flippers. Bow down to me.
I've never been so excited to get back to work. Unfortunately I get here this morning and all I want to do is go back home to bed. Never pleasing me, huh?
I need to start cutting back on cough syrup and sudafed. I have a floofy head and I tend to ramble.
After spending the day watching old Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movies, I dragged my ass downstairs (or did I dance my way), open my site and it has changed. I want to give an enormous thanks, hugs, kisses and slurps to Dennis for doing this for me. Anyone who knows me, knows I can't work with HTML or CSS to save my life. Oh trust me, I had ideas that I'm sure He was ready to cut off my balls for after a while, but he worked with me like a pro.
Can't thank him enough.
Not much to say today. I've done nothing but cough up every conceivable internal organ the past few days and even a few I didn't recognize. Having bronchitis twice in two months is just a big bite in my ass. We seem to just be bouncing this stuff back and forth between each other at work and the duplex.
*hugs and kisses, coughs and hacks*
I was just sitting here working and chatting away with a few people, when a co-worker came up to me and asked for some advice. She likes this guy whom everyone is telling her that he's gay. She doesn't believe it of course, but now she has some doubts. Funny how a little seed planted in the mind will cause something to grow. She said that he is an impeccable dresser. He's not feminine by any means and shows her a lot of affection. He's a huge romantic she said. He's always doing special things for her, opening doors, buying her flowers and candlelit dinners.
This isn't the first time women have asked me this question. "How do I tell if my boyfriend is gay or not?" What do you tell someone? In the past, we would just have our girlfriends bring their "prospective boyfriend" out to the gay bar with her. After a night of drinking and flirting, one of us would hit on him slightly and see his reaction. Unfortunately, a few times it didn't end how our girlfriends wanted. Some were found to be straight as an arrow, and some were....... well, not.
I asked Spyke his opinion on what to tell her. His well thought out advice? "Tell her to ask him if he listens to Cher and likes to suck dick." I guess that would be a pretty straight forward way of finding out, dontcha think?
Do you suck dick? Check Yes or No. If you answered yes, you're gay. How simple was that? Ah, the wisdome of The Spykester. When will I learn to just take this man's advice from the beginning.
*bows to you All Mighty Spykeman*
