Oh my. Where should I begin? First off, we're moved all moved in. Well, 97% is complete. Luckily we got through the entire experience and didn't file for divorce. We must really love each other to have put up with all the bullshit we did the past 3 days.
The weather here has been great lately. Friday night after I picked up our keys? Forty degrees and windy. Saturday? Colder, rainy and windy. Sunday? More of the same, just throw in a funeral in the afternoon and there you have our weekend.
To top things off, I started feeling achy Friday night. Saturday comes around and I'm basically feeling like shit. Runny, stuffy nose, sore throat, conjestion, cough and an overall feeling of just crapiness. But it didn't stop us. Brian, being the trooper that he is, took up some of my slack. I heart him.
We went to L's funeral Sunday afternoon. It was rough seeing D hurt and cry so much. That bothered me more then anything. It was a beautiful service. We opted out of going to the graveside service which was about 45 minutes away. I didn't think standing out in the cold, wind and rain would help matters any.
Only have one other thing to bitch about, making this the worst move EVER, were the movers. They were to be at Brian's apartment between noon and 2pm. We called them every hour on the hour. They made up excuses and lied to us until they showed up around 7:30pm that night. No manager would give us a discount. Customer service rep's lied as much as the movers did. None of them spoke a lick of english and you basically had to point to show them anything. Did I mention that all three of them collectively weighed in at a whopping 330 pounds?
I finally made it to work today after my fever broke twice during the night. I honestly should have stayed at home, but I felt guilty. I'll work four hours then I'm out of here.
So there you have it.
I got a call from my ex D last night around 11pm. His ex, a friend of ours I'll call L, was taken off life support yesterday around 2pm. I wasn't as close to him as others were, but I was able to chat with him on numerous occasions, shoot back a few drinks, laugh and experience first hand, his generosity towards the HIV/AIDS community. His last event was the Kristina Kross Komeback show he put on to raise money for the AIDS Resource Center to buy food for Thanksgiving. The man had a big heart and did all he could to raise money. Even when he was extremely sick himself.
I think my heart aches more for D and L's mother. The people he's leaving behind. D has been taking care of him since he got sick. They were together a number of years way back. They stayed very close. I believe everyone has a time to go. L's time has come. After battling AIDS for almost 20 years his body has just finally gave up. As the three of us stood there in my living room last night calling everyone we could think of, we all felt a sense of relief about his passing.
It's hard not to think of our own mortality and to think about the people we would leave behind if anything ever happened. My Partner, my mother, my family, my friends. Those are reasons enough to make sure myself and other people I know are around for many years to come if I can have anything to do about it.
If I've said it 1000 times, I'll say it over and over again.....please take care of yourself.
Don't take the importance of your health lightly.
A very special hug to D and to everyone who was close to L. He'll be missed.
*begin whining*
I've been putting the finishing touches on 3 weeks worth of organinzing and packing which will soon be turning into 3 weeks of unpacking and organizing. Just when you think you're almost done, you remember what work you have ahead. The weather is suppose to be rainy and cooler Friday night. Yippeee! Moving in the rain. What more could I ask for? Saturday should be better with highs in the 70's and partly cloudy thank goodness. Sunday? Back to rain again. I give up. Mother Nature can go fuck herself.
Brian's company decided to be dickwads. Rather then flying him home on American or Delta so he could be home by 7pm, they book him on America West. He arrives after 10pm. I pick up our keys at 5pm that day. I'm growing more and more to hate that company. Need to take a contract out on his boss. Wonder if I still have the mafia contacts from back in KC?
I have three protruding disks in my neck and one completly gone in my lower back. I have to be careful how I lift and how heavy I lift. My back and neck have been giving me fits all week. My old physical therapist needs to be bitchslapped for not being able to do a damn thing for me.
I might not make it through this experience and come out alive. This might be the end of me as far as we know it. Just in case I don't make it through the next 4 days, I put together my Blogger Last Will and Testament to prevent a scene at the funeral:
I Zeitzeuge, do here by leave the following to my blogger bretheren:
To Aaron, I leave all nekkid pictures of myself. I leave these for you to distribute, market and make money from at your leisure.
To my beloved Zenchick, I leave my dog. I'm not sure if doing this is some form of cruel and unusual punishment, but he's a small little dog. You won't have to take him out to poop or exercise him. Just chase him around your small apartment for a little while. When he has to poop? Just hold him out the window and squeeze him really hard.
To Patrick, I leave my collection of Porn. From what I hear, you can never have enough. Sorry my collection consist of only one VSH tape dating back to 1975. I hope you like lots of hairy men with mustaches, barebacking the hell out of each other. Your right hand thanks you.
To Palochi, I leave my blog. It seems can't find yours anymore. Please re-read all my archives to be able to continue in the style known as the Zeitzeuge style. It will be talked about, studied and copied for years to come.
To Homer, I leave my most precious Kenneth Cole Collection. No more plaid shirts Mr. Homer. Now you'll be swathing yourself in shiny, silky, form fitting shirts and tight flat front pants. I hope you don't mind the pair of pube jeans. You know, the hip-hugger, bell-bottom jeans. Just remember not to wear underwear then you wear those and trim your pubic patch back just a tad.
I leave my blogroll to all the blogger newbies out there. They're all a great bunch of bloggers so use and abuse them as I would if I were still around.
The rest of my belongings will be thrown in a room and left for everyone else to love and cherish for years to come. Be nice and play well with each other or I will come back and haunt you. Trust.
I would leave someone my boyfriend, but I'm taking him down with me.
*end whining*
Tummy is cramping.
Headache.
Grumpy.
Stayed home.
Back tomorrow.
hugs and kisses.
Finally I'm finished. I finished my tax returns this morning. Nothing like getting the job done early so I can just sit now and check the "Where's my refund??!!" website 10 times a day for the next 10 days until it pops into my account. I'm getting a nice chunk of change back. Which is going to be put away for our NYC trip in May.
Of course, doing your taxes now is so easy. Back in MY day, nothing was done electronically. You read the paperwork over and over and tried to make sense of that jumbled mess. Hoping and praying you did it right. Back when we had our own glass studio, taxes were difficult. I love being able to punch in a few numbers now, hit enter and Voila! Your 2005 return is finished. Me heart technology.
Have I ever mentioned that I almost became a Certified Public Accountant? The thoughts of it today almost make me blow chunks. Nothing against any number crunchers out there. I use to think that the thoughts of sitting behind a desk every day, pushing numbers would absolutely drive me crazy. What do I do now? I sit at a desk every day, designing documents, writing basical calculations, test systems, grid and map documents, yell at people. Go figure.....
My sister-in-law is a CPA. She started off at the bottom of the totem pole at her firm back home. Few years later, she became partner. Now she's in charge of corporate law and accounting. She was my inspiration back in 1983. I wanted to become an accountant. She helped me with my homework in college. We'd stay up to the wee hours of the morning, talking about various tax laws, sipping coffee. I actually ENJOYED this. I had a double major of course. I wasn't going to give up my Art major.
I was considered kind of strange in college. Many of my professors walked through the art department and saw my work or watched me paint, draw or print. Often I would see them hanging out by the Glass Blowing Studio, watching me over their lunch break, create various vases, goblets and paperweights.
I was struggling to get a B in my Accounting 1&2, 3&4, Corporate Acctg, and Accounting Law classes. I had graduated with straight A's in highschool and the thoughts of getting a B in college was almost unbearable to me. My accounting professor and I use to sit and have coffee, always talking about my art work. She loved for me to sit there and draw people around me while we chatted. We never once talked about accounting.
My Sophomore year, she pulled me into her office and sat me down. She told me that she felt I wasn't cut out to be an accountant and that I should concentrate 100% of my time on my art. I agreed of course. I just needed someone to tell me that. I remember walking back to the art department feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted. My art professors were so happy that one of them even gave me a hug.
Then it hit me. I had to tell my parents. I immediately drove home to tell them. They were sitting there in the living room getting ready for dinner. I sat down and told them. Both let out a big sigh of relief and told me that they were hoping I would give up this desire to be an accountant. They preferred me to persue being an artist instead. Hmmm, I didn't see that coming.
I continued my schooling and received my degree in Art specializing in Drawing, Printing and Glassblowing. I eventually went to Graduate School, continuing my degree in Art and Design.
I sit here at my desk and wonder if I ever disappointed them. I still draw, although not as much as I should. I'm desperately trying to change that right now. It's been a slow process. It's my love and my passion. But my parents had supported me so much and here I sit at a desk. Typing away at a keyboard. My sister-in-law still tells me I should have continued with my degree in accounting. If I had, I would probably still living in Nebraska, working with her and her son-in-law in the same CPA firm.
I can't even imagine that. I'll stick to doing what I'm doing, drawing as much as I can and being happy.
Funny how life turns out.
Even at my old age, I still can become insecure. I had one of those extreme insecure moments recently. It wasn't a nice way to finish up the weekend.
*begin sarcasm* I had an AMAZING Friday night, cleaning and boxing up Brian's apartment. I can't even begin to tell you how much that night warmed the cockles of my heart. *end sarcasm*
Saturday was the highlight of my weekend, getting to spend part of the day with Tunagirl and her little chillin's. As you can see on Saturdays post, they are the CUTEST kids and I honestly can't wait to hang out with the family again. Maybe my next time with the fam will include Tunaman.
Throughout the weekend, I was packing a bit here and there. Taking moments to sift through drawers and boxes of stuff. Don't worry, I was told to do so. Neither one of us have anything to hide from the other. Our lives are open books. I would come across items from or regarding ex-boyfriends, mainly cards and pictures. I saw how happy he was, smiling, enjoying their time together, taking little snapshots of each other. Just like we do. Looking as happy as we have been.
My heart sank for a moment and I started doing the "what if's...." What if that's us months from now. What if I fuck things up? What if I say or do the wrong thing to push him away? What if.......
I laid there in bed and my mind was racing a mile a minute. I was missing my baby so much as I was packing up his things, touching his stuff, looking at pictures of him. I know it's only been almost 9 months, but I for the first time in my life, can't picture my life without someone. Without this specific person. Without Brian.
We're moving in together. Starting a whole new phase of our life together. It will be like living alone for a while, as long as his job keeps him in California during the week. He only gets to come home 2 weekends a month now. They made some cutbacks recently.
The combination of missing him terribly, the stress of moving, leaving the comfort of living with and around 4 of my best friends, the thoughts of living basically alone except for two weekends a month and finally seeing pics of the happy times with the ex's, finally made me snap. I had a little moment. I laid there in bed and bawled my eyes out like a little baby. I gained my composure and called him just to hear his voice. I was fine until about half way through the conversation. Pity Party of one? I know he's not enjoying being in California. Hell, it's Sacrafuckingmento, can you blame him? He's wanting to be home. He's wanting a job HERE.
After and hour of stroking my ego, reassuring me, telling each other how much we're googlyoogly in love and talking about the future, I finally calmed down, threw the pictures in the box and said to myself, "That's not OUR relationship. I can't compare ours to anything that's happened in the past with either of us."
You would think that I would be a little bit more self assured. Have more confidence. Be less of a big ol' wimp. Stop having moments of doubt.
I'm still learning.
Just bear with me.....
I'm off to pick up Tunagirl and the Tunakids for lunch and an afternoon at the Dallas Aquarium. I'm so nervous! I hope the lil' Cheerwin's like me. Maybe I should have bought presents......
Pics and stories later.
UPDATE: Today was a testament to how good of a mother Tunagirl is. Her children have to be the most polite, well behaved, sweet children I've met in years. I was totally amazed. I was greeted by Tunason with a hug around my knees and a hug from Tunadaughter. They called me Mr. Mark.
We ate at Spaghetti Warehouse, then headed over to the Dallas World Aquarium. They were pretty excited and kept asking me when we were going to go see the sharks. It was also wonderful finally meeting Tunagirl for the first time. She's only two hours away from me, so we'll definately have to do this again. After a couple hours of seeing everything we possibly could, buying a few toys for the tots, we headed down to Hunkys for some ice cream. They were plum tuckered by the time we got them back to the hotel.
I forgot to mention that they brought me an Air Force t-shirt. Now I can pretend I'm a military boy. Here's a few shots from the afternoon.
I'm often amazed at my body. No, I don't have rock hard abs, thunder thighs, buldging biceps, lucious...lats and uh....creamy calves? Ok, that was difficult. I'm talking about how my body reacts to alcohol.
I remember my first time ever tasting alcohol. Believe it or not, I was 24 years old. With my strict Pentecostal upbringing, the stuff was a definate no no. I had gone to visit my best friend G while he was going to graduate school himself in Kansas. His wife kissed us both goodbye and told us to have a good time. He looked over at me while we drove away and asked if I wanted to go have a drink. Sure. Why not. It was something he had been trying to persuade me to do for a few years. Why I picked that time or place is beyond me.
We pulled up to some skanky hole in the wall. He asked me what I wanted. Of course, I had never drank so I was open to suggestions. We had a Cape Cod, then a Margarita. I tried a glass of Beer and then a Vodka 7. We did a jello shot and a shot of Tequilla. I fell in love with a Screwdriver and a Tom Collins. We finished up the evening with a couple shots of Schapps and some drinks I don't remember before heading home. I was drunker then Cooter Brown, but I held my liquor.
I remember us driving home. Ok, I know it wasn't smart, but it was only a couple blocks away and we were young, pretty and stupid. I vaguely remember G being his goofy self, trying to scare me with his driving. I put my hand on his leg to tell him to stop. Funny, my hand never left his leg and proceeded to creep up near his crotch. G had no idea I was gay at the time. I look back now, and think....why didn't he stop me? I'm so stupid.
We drive up in front of his house. I open the door and try to plant one foot on an ever spinning world. I fell flat on my face. G was laughing and giggling so hard he fell over, pointing and snickering at me. I couldn't get up so I decided the easiest thing to do would be to crawl to the front porch. G was having trouble walking also, so we both crawled together, laughing our asses off, rolling around in the grass. We were greeted by his wife, who wasn't happy by the way.
G stumbles into bed, I fall on the couch. It wasn't five minutes and his wife comes out and said he's asking for me, his new drinking buddy. She wasn't about to deal with him so she slept on the couch and I slept in the bed with G. We cuddled all night long. Talking and laughing. I'm so stupid. Then again, trying to get a piece of my hot bodybuilder best friend with his wife in the other room would have been kind of weird. And hot.....
My drinking days were on. I found out that I have a very high tolerance for alcohol. Ask anyone from last years GB:NYC meeting. Shut UP Y'all!! In most situations, I can usually keep up with the big boys. Drink for long periods of time. Drink more shots. On one trip to New Orleans we started drinking Mimosas at 11am, followed by Bloody Mary's. We barhopped the entire afternoon rather then do any sort of sightseeing or shopping. We stopped at 5am the next morning. I never once got sick.
My body confuses me now. I can go out on a full stomach, drink three beers and I'm toast. I can go out on an empty stomach and drink 6 Martini's and a couple shots and feel nothing. I can go to happy hour and have just ONE Rasberry Stoli and Ginger Ale (thanks for introducing me to those Crash) and start slurring my speach. Last night? I went out right after dinner to meet a few friends for cocktails. I drank 6 glasses of wine and 6 shots. You would have thought I had drank milk all night long. Didn't feel a damn thing.
I'm just getting old I guess.
Although, I do have to say that writing about all this alochol is making me a little sick to my stomach.
I need some coffee.
You want to know what my relationship is like with my other half? Sad thing, is it could be either one of us gassing the other one out.
Patrick has been telling stories about the worst sex experiences ever in his life. One in particular involving his family curse. Awww, I feel for you baby. I come from a gassy family myself.
My brothers would purposely leave gasbombs before walking out the door of our house, only to hear my father start cussing up a blue streak, calling them every name he could possibly think of. I can't tell you how many times I've seen the image of my father pulling his t-shirt collar up around his nose, yelling, "God Dammit you summuvabitch!!!", while waving his other arm around, shoo-ing them out the door. He would immediately run and get the lysol and spray the entire house. He was the prude in the family. Seems it skips a generation. Knowing that my father hated them doing that so much, it caused them to fart as much as possible around him. I also found out my father just couldn't handle any bad smells.
He was a police officer for 25 years of his life. In that line of work, you come across dead bodies, drunks, filthy homes. If he ever smelled anything questionable, he'd lose it right then and there. Cussing in German the entire time.
It became a contest between my brothers from early on. Seeing which one could gross out Dad the most. I remember as a youngin' wondering why this was such a fun and popular game. The bigger our family grew, the bigger the competition became between brothers, brother-in-laws, nephews and the occasional butch niece. Family gatherings were always a treat, let me tell you. Someone would start and then the Methane Olympics began. Usually forcing all the women (and me) running from the room and to a safer part of the house. Christmas always holds special fond memories.
My mother has had issues herself the past few years. Bless her heart, she's getting older. Any slight strain on her body causes fits of popcorn farts to come ripping from her body like a machine gun. Once her giggling starts, it just makes matters worse until she almost passes out from laughing so hard. I just sit there and shake my head.
I thought our very own curse had eluded the rest of the females in the family until I heard a very recent story about my oldest brother's wife. As they were traveling from Nebraska to Denver Colorado, my brother had to fart in the car with it being 5 degrees outside, therefore preventing the rolling down of windows. While beating her husband with her purse, my sister-in-law lets out a huge stinky fart by accident. Hilarity ensues, so she had to call their daughter to tell her the story. She proceeds to tell her, while still giggling uncontrollably, what had happened and that she farted and probably for the first time OUT FARTED her husband. She was so proud and had to tell her gassy daughter.
On the other end of the line my sister-in-law hears, "I'm sorry, who did you say this was again?" Seems she dialed the wrong number and told a complete stranger that she farted in the car.
My own personal story? The second night I spent with Brian. We didn't waste any time going at it that night. We had just finished having sex on the couch. He was laying on top of me, talking, kissing, whispering, giggling.....when I let out a big ol' fart to just KILL the beautiful moment. If I could have crawled inside the couch I would have. He starts laughing, telling me not to get embarrassed. Please, this was the first few days of being together. I usually have a 6 month farting rule! I was sure he would dump me right there on the spot. How does he react?
"Hold on." he says. "Pffffffft!!!!" "There, now were even."
It's been downhill ever since.
Back in 1987, I got a job working at The Brass Buckle back in Nebraska. The store later became The Buckle and now it's called Buckle. They're worse then the band Jefferson Airplane, then Jefferson Starship and finally becoming just Starship.
I worked with mainly women and a few men. One girl in particular, became pregnant the last year I was there. Her and her husband lived 45 minutes away from work. He worked even further away. She was worried that she would go into labor and he wouldn't be able to make it in time just in case the baby tried to pop it's way out like a poptart out of a toaster.
She asked me if I would help her with Lamas since the husband couldn't always be there. Sure, why not I thought. Munch on some ice, hee hee hoooo, push push push. That's about all there is to the birthing process, right? There's nothing to it, right? RIGHT???!!
All I do is stand there while she squeezes my hand until it snaps and calling me the fucking bastard who knocked her up. She'll be on morphine, so she won't remember a thing and didn't mean it anyway. I won't have to go around to the danger zone and physically SEE anything. I'll be like the fathers of the 50's and pass out cigars in the waiting room, waiting for her to do her job. I had it all worked out in my mind.
I enjoyed the next few months working with her. I felt the baby kick for the first time and would often put my ear to her stomach and talk to the baby. I bought the little tyke cute and adorable outfits. I was having the time of my life.
One afternoon towards the end, we were hanging in the backroom of the Buckle talking when out of the blue, this reddish colored watery liquid came shooting out of her vagina with the force of a volcano and tried to attack me. I jumped back and screamed like the big ol' girl I was destined to be, as she grabbed her crotch and moaned, "Oh, shit!". I said 'oh shit' myself as I ran to the bathroom, got sick a little. I broke out into a cold sweat and thought I was going to faint. All I had seen was her water break!
She was rushed to the hospital moaning, groaning and cussing like a sailor. She became more and more angry as they took forever to admit her. Finally she was admitted. We had a little while before she would be going into full labor.
We waited. Waited some more. Minutes seemed like hours. I was getting light headed and dizzy. All I cared about was getting that SOB that knocked her up to show. Those bitches are crazy when they give birth because from what I understand it hurts a little.
Finally, he showed. He was my hero, but he made this mess, now he can clean it up.
I know they talk about how beautiful it is and how amazing it is to experience. I can't hold a newborn without getting a tear in my eye. Raising a child can have so many rewards along with the heartaches. I also know that if given the chance, I would have been an incredible father. I love kids.
I got as close as I'm ever going to get. I'll just live vicariously through others and leave the job up to the professionals.
We have a girl here at work who is pregnant. She came to us about 6 months ago and told us the good news. She's such a sweet girl from Iowa who has an accent I love to make fun of. Sounds like she's straight out of the movie Fargo, which I can mimmick so well. So cute.
I looked at her and said, "Yeah congratulations are in order since you will probably have twins." She gave me a horrified look and told me to keep my mouth shut. She laughed and joked about how that would be the biggest nightmare. She came back a few weeks later and threw down a little black and white picture of two tiny peanut shaped blobs. She's having twins.
I looked at her and said, "Well, with your luck I can guarantee they'll both be boys." "Now that's not funny!", she said. She came back a few weeks later and threw down another picture showing little peanut shaped blobs with little pee pees. Twin boys.
"If you're going to sit her and tell me they're both going to turn out to be gay I'm going to kill you."
We all had a great laugh about all of this. It's been exciting watching her get fucking HUGE. Teasing her about how she gets up and down. We all buy her healthy stuff for breakfast and pamper her like they were going to be our own kids. I went shopping last week and bought two matching yellow and blue fleece jackets and sweatpants with little footballs on them. All the women around me in the department store started congratulating me on twin boys.
Her due date is two months from now. I told her a week ago that normally people with twins are taking full bed rest a couple months before the birth and most twins are often born a month early. This would probably be the case for her. She's been having some pain, discomfort and just not feeling well. "Naw, I'm feeling totally fine. I'll be able to work for the next 2-3 weeks I suppose."
She called us late yesterday afternoon and told us that the Doctor has put her on total bed rest and has decided to extract expell exorcise remove the babies by c-section a month early due to the fact she's already dilating. Ummm, doesn't it mean that something unmentionable down there is, uh....getting bigger? *shudder*
Hmmm. I wonder if I should tell her that her boys are going to grow up to be gay and she'll have the most beautifully decorated home, live-in fashion consultants and in-house hairdressers for years to come. It's not like I've been 100% right, huh? Funny how I've pretty much predicted everything up until now. I keep telling people they should listen to me, but NOOOOO......
Wonder if I should call Dionne Warwick?
Maybe tomorrow I'll tell you the story of when I was minutes away from helping deliver a friends baby at work.
My typical Monday recap of weekend events. It seems that packing and moving is taking it's toll on us already. With Brian's job forcing him to be away the entire month except for 2 weekends, him trying to take care of details from Sacramento, me taking care of things here on the home front, is causing us to stress. Lots of talks later, we work things out, calmed each other down and motivated each other to just "get the job done". I'll be glad when it's all said and done. Remember people, free blowjobs for helping us move. Girls? We'll have to work something out.
We went out to another birthday party Saturday night followed by a trip down to S4, formerly The Village Station which was an enormous dance club full of twinks. My worst nightmare. The thoughts of stepping foot in that bar the past 5 years would make my skin crawl. This is the fourth time this establishment has "revamped" it's image, hence the name S4. Clever. Curiosity killed the cat, so we had to take a trip over to see this new multi-million dollar place. Hell, they spent 65K alone on one mens bathroom. Typical Dallas. Do it to the extreem.
We met up with Rusty from Sex and the Country, along with his brother and his partner. Rusty and his older brother look just alike. I should have taken pictures. It's funny, Rusty has a twin brother, who looks nothing like him.
The new bar is incredible. The Rose Room, a place to see local drag queens shake their, uh...titties, is a state of the art theater/performance area, a quiet Greek styled non-smoking bar with couches, chairs and plasma TV's, huge dance floor, outdoor back patio, balcony in the front, and a slew of other small bars spread throughout. We all had the best time together. It's been years since I've gone out and enjoyed going to an actual club.
The highlight of my night was seeing my favorite drag queen perform. I've never been one to follow the whole drag circuit. It's just not my thing. But when I find one that I think is absolutely amazing, I become entranced. Maya Douglas is one of those people.
Sorry to bore you with little details and recap of the weekends events.
My mind is elsewhere.
I walked around the racks finding so many shirts that I fell in love with. All of them were Kenneth Cole. Beautiful shirts. Some were sporty, some would make my whole head sparkle, some shortsleeve and some were long. I was in heaven. I grabbed my bundle and headed towards the cashier to make my purchase. Everything was 75% off!!
As I got closer, snags and stains started appearing on the clothing. The labels changed from Kenneth Cole to Bugle Boy. The colors started to fade and the styles of the clothing started reverting back to the 80's. Then the unthinkable happened. The prices went from 75% off back to full price!
I started to scream and wail like a baby!
That had to be the single most terrifying dream I've had in years. Now I know what going through detox from heroine is like.
Many have asked what happened to the bitch from yesterdays post. Guess I should have continued, but the story was getting long enough as it was and didn't want to drag it out any further.
She sat the entire day handcuffed to the chair. Only to have the bailiff escort her to lunch and to the bathroom and back. She sat the entire day with ONE finger in her ear. She honestly thought maybe she would still not be able to hear even if she only plugged one. She would sometimes sit there flipping through magazines as loudly as possible, ruffling papers until I had to take her magazines away. I became a royal bitch myself.
The next 3 days, we didn't handcuff her to her chair. So she sat with both fingers in her ear, sometimes flipped through a magazine and finally realized she could bring a walkman, listen to music and be able to do both. When we went back into the courtroom and I started to read to the judge the decisions we had made, she actually sat there........
...with her fingers in her ears.
I ran into her window shopping a couple weeks later. She was with her husband. She saw me, sneered, pointed at me and I overheard her say to her husband, "There's that motherfucker who had me handcuffed."
I just smiled real big and continued on my way.
***
In other not-so-good news, my most recent ex has been taking care of his ex for the past year. They had a long relationship a while back and made a promise to take care of each other if something happened. He's his official heathcare provider. L has been positive since the late 80's. He's spent the past 15-20 years of his life raising money for various HIV/AIDS organizations, yet never took care of himself. Our bodies can only take so much, for so long before they start shutting down. Only out prayers and good thoughts can be of help at this time. They want to remove him from the respirator this morning.
I still get angry. People are still dying from this disease. There's still a stigma attached to it. People are still discriminated against because of it. It's not going away any time soon.
Until then? Stop the drug use. Stop barebacking and practice safe sex. Take care of yourself by eating right, meditating and exercising. Raise awareness. Funds are needed for HIV/AIDS research. Volunteer. Become a buddy.
People out there still need your help.
Palochi has been talking about Jury Duty the last couple days. I'm totally stealing ripping him off borrowing from him and going to tell my own personal story about my one and only Jury Duty experience. It is all about me for Jebus sake. It's either that or I was going to tell you about a bad case of hemorrhoids I once had back in college. Trust me when I tell you that continuing on a theme another blogger has started is a better idea. That was one bad case of hemorrhoids. I couldn't sit for weeks.
If I've told this story before, I couldn't find it when I searched my blog. I'm getting paranoid like that lately.
After receiving my card in the mail, I yelled obscenities jumped for the joy at the thought of my first Jury Duty in Dallas. I wasn't going to get picked. I just knew it. I was always dismissed when I was up for duty back home. My father was a police officer and so were my Uncle and two cousins. They considered that to be a problem. I spent my time drawing in the courtroom rather then turning out verdicts.
I arrive, plant my ass down and wait. I was in the first group to get picked to go upstairs and was quickly ushered into a courtroom. The onslaught of questions started immediately after telling us about the case. Our job was to determine the amount the city should award 3 individuals who had been unlawfully fired. Question after question. People getting dismissed left and right. I sat there with arms folded, pissed off look on my face, hoping they would never call on me. They never did. I wouldn't even make eye contact with one of the lawyers. People were constantly raising their hands, asking questions, whining and complaining. There are a lot of stupid people out there in the world I found out that day.
After an hour of deliberations, the lawyers came back and started reading the names of the 10 Jurors. I was the first one called. Fuck! I actually said it out loud. The lawyers laughed. Great, I'm a comedian. I took my spot in the jury box thingy. Once finished, they told us the details about the case, let us know what our duty was, told us to be fair, blah blah blah. All I could think was, "I'm getting paid 7 dollars a day for this? Parking is 5 dollars a day, so I'm making a whopping profit of 2 dollars." I secretly thanked the city of Dallas for my daily coke and snickers bar.
We sat for one afternoon. Listening to the both sides state their cases. The city had already been found guilty of unlawfully firing these three people. One man 6 months from retirement. Another man who was on short term disability and a single woman with two children. Our job was to award money. If any. If any?
Once finished, we walked into a small room to deliberate and come to a decision. First words out of this woman wearing a 1000 dollar suit, Jimmy Choo shoes and diamonds on every hand was, "I'm not paying them a goddamn dime of MY hard earned tax money." I told her to keep quiet since we're not to talk until every person was back in the room together and officially started the proceedings. She told me to fuck off. Nice. We have our rich bitch of the group. The others heard me reprimand her for talking out of line and immediately voted me to be the head juror. Great, now I have a title. I was just happy that my title had the word "head" in it.
We went round and round about what we should do. We realized that they should be awarded some sort of compensation. But we had to figure out how much. How much they lost if they would have worked until retirement. Loss of back wages. Loss of possible raises. Loss of insurance. You get the picture. We couldn't just throw out a random dollar amount. It had to be exact. I became an accountant as my second title. Seemed no one in the group had the ability to add and subtract. This entire time, the rich bitch continued to blurt out that she wasn't paying a dime to these lowlifes.
Three days later, I snapped.
"Excuse me", I said. "I'm sure from the looks of your Jimmy Choo shoes, Prada purse, Calvin Klein suit and buttloads of diamonds on every finger, that you've never probably had to pay for a fucking thing in your entire life. You go home and blow your husband for a new pair of shoes, drop the kids off at soccer practice, go spend an afternoon at Elizabeth Arden Day Spa and constantly bitch about how horrible your life is. I'm sick of this shit from you. You've told us your opinion over and over. You've made your point very clear. You interrupt people, talk out of turn and pout when we don't immediately stop and listen to you. You proceed to put your fingers in your ears and say la la la! Now sit down, shut the fuck up and let us continue. We only need 8 people to agree with this proposal and as far as I can tell, you're vote is a NO!" I'm paraphrasing of course, but that's as close as I can remember of what I told her.
She sat there horrified. She grabbed her purse and said since she was no longer needed, that she was leaving. I told her that she would be held in contempt. She didn't care. I ran to get the bailiff and told him to tell the judge. He came back and told me the judge said for me to do whatever I felt necessary to keep the woman from leaving.
*blank stare"
I told the bayliff to handcuff her to her chair.
You thought it was bad before. She couldn't put her fingers in her ears while we deliberated.
We finally came to a decision. I took me telling them we were coming back for another day unless we voted ONE more time and came to an agreement. That's all it took. We awarded millions of dollars to these three individuals. She was the only one who voted against it. This took 8 days from work to complete. As I read the amounts we decided to award the three people to the court, people were starting to cry. A cry of exhaustion and happiness. They had been waiting 18 months for this. Was it worth it?
When I was leaving the courtroom, I was stopped by a 5 year old girl. The daughter of the woman who was fired from her job. She threw her arms around my knees and said, "Thank you Mister for giving my mommy all that money!". Then the mother hugged me. Followed by the man who was about to retire and the man who was on disability.
You don't know what kind of responsibility Jury Duty is, until you realize that the fate of the people involved is totally in your hands.
Hell yes it was worth it.
I wrote a lengthy post yesterday afternoon. I opened it up numerous times, re-read it, made changes. I'd type a couple paragraphs, only to delete them. Finally, I just said to hell with it. I scraped it and started over. Again.
To make a long story even longer, I felt that blogging had lost some of its charm and excitement. I had a lot of things to talk about back then. Lately it seems that I've been struggling to put something down. I felt like I had to entertain and not just write naturally. I know we write for others and not just ourselves. We wouldn't have a blog for the whole world to read if we didn't want someone to read it. We wouldn't have comments if we didn't want the opinion of others. If we didn't want those things, we would write privately.
Dr. Phil Dr. Zenchick mentioned that possibly my issues with blogging were stemming from issues not having to do with blogging at all. Dammit, hate it when she's right. Many things going on in my life, my friends life and my family's. Some good and some bad. Some wonderful and some tragic. I seem to be projecting.
I decided to go down to the gayborhood and meet friends for drinks. On a whim, I called my buddy Rusty from Sex and the Country to see if we could meet and get caught up. I've known Rusty for a year or so and even got him started in blogging. The only person I got started that's stuck to it. We had a fantastic time talking, checking out the boys (hey I can still look) and singing along to showtunes at Woody's Tune Night. It felt good.
I get home, check my emails and see I received a comment from a long time friend named Jim.
"I hope you'll remember the 90s with alot of fond memories. Living in kansas, I certainly know that my memories of that time most certainly will include you. it was the best 7 years of my life, all in all, despite the sad times, but you were a big part of that mark. whether it's pumpkin carving, psycho room-mates, the edge, glass blowing, the power plant on wednesdays, or teller's on tuesdays, you were there and you did touch people's lives. mine for one. thanks for that in case i've never told you before. thanks."
Jim and I met back in the early 90's when I was in Grad School at the University of Kansas in Lawrence. We were friends instantly. Friends for close to 15 years. We never hang out together, never call each other, but occasionally run into each other out and about now that he's here in Dallas. It's like there's been no time between us. We need to rekindle our friendship that we had back then. He and I went through a lot during those years. Much of it together. We made memories that will last a lifetime.
I didn't realize that he had been reading my blog for quite a while until he commented one afternoon on an entry. It wasn't long before I found out that he started his own blog, Orange.Paper.Bike. Don't ask me about the title, he's always been an odd one. Stop by and say hello. He has a sharp wit that will keep you in stitches.
Love you Jim.
I will look back on the 90's with much fondness as my parents did the 40's. Part of that is due to you.
My mother called me yesterday and was telling me of a very special photograph she was sent by her Aunt Joyce. She is a beautiful East Texas woman who from what I understand, I loved dearly. Mother says I talked about Joyce often. Wondering how she was, where she was and when I was going to see her. Funny. I don't remember. It caused Mother to again start reminiscing about another time. I've told stories of her past before, but many might not have heard.
She sent my mother a photograph of my mom along with her father, when she was 14 years old. It was during the start of World War II and the picture was taken in California. Mother and her father had left Oklahoma and fled with 4 other families to California during the depression, hoping for a better life out West. Mother was lactose intolerant and they had to have a goat along for the ride for milk that she could tolerate. When they arrived many weeks later, the first thing she remembers was the smell of orange and lemon groves and seeing a see of perfectly lined trees doted with the colors of orange and yellow.
They lived with other families in what was called Hoovervilles for a short time while her father looked for work. He was a craftsman of all kinds. Carpentry, painting, signmaking. He did anything to avoid going to war. He was also an Evangelist. My mother would tell me stories of tent revivals, women with their fans, the smell of sawdust on the floor, tambourines and songs.
She gets a gleam in her eye, talking about the days during the war. Working as a soda jerk when she was only 15. She lied about her age so she could work to help support her father who didn't make much money as a preacher and doing odd jobs. Stories of going to the local USO and dancing with soldiers for a nickel a dance. She missed her sisters who were back home with their mother, picking cotton. She dreamt of days when they would all be back together.
Mother was sent home eventually by her father to spend time with her sisters. It was a small town in Oklahoma that housed an army base and an ammunition plant. The town was small, but vibrant and full of life. In my mind, I picture the way people dressed, women in form fitting dresses, men in suits with skinny ties, the old cars, the music, servicemen walking around in uniform, weekly USO dances.
She met a man during this time and two weeks later he asked her to marry him before he went off to war.
He never even gave her a ring. No way he could afford that back then. He found a one carat diamond ring for 50 bucks when he was stationed in the Philippines. She worked in the ammunition plant and volunteered weekly at the local Army base. She was even crowned Miss Ammunition. Her one and only beauty pageant. It wasn't long and the war ended. She then starts talking about her life making a family in the 1950's.
She again puts away her pain, her problems, the thoughts of growing old and tells me more stories. Their first Christmas together. Living on $150 a week and raising a family. Friday nights with the family, playing cards, drinking, smoking, dancing. My mothers middle sister married my fathers brother. Her baby sister got married at the tender age of fourteen to a local boy everyone knew. Everyone living in the same town. Living, learning, loving.
I've listened to the stories over and over. I never get tired of listening to them. She never gets tired of telling them. I never get tired of telling her story. She knows how much I love that time period. I often feel like I was born at the wrong time. That's why she makes copies of these old photographs for me to frame and display prominently in my home. She told me yesterday that my brother retrieved all the old 8mm films from those days and had them converted to VHS and working on having them moved to DVD. Movies from the time period I love. A time before me. A movie of the day I was brought home from the hospital. A movie of me dancing in the living room with my siblings at the tender age of 3, with American Bandstand on the telly.
Will I look back on the 80's, 90's and today with as much passion and longing that my parents do for the 40's, 50's and 60's? I hope I would, but only time will tell. I'm not optimistic.
Until then, I'll fantasize about a time of USO Shows, Servicemen, Five and Dime stores, Big Bands and Swing Dancing and listening to more stories of a time I can only imagine.
You know it's going to be a strange day, when you almost hit a hooker on the way into work.
It's completely dark when I'm driving at 6:30 in the morning. As I'm listening to another riveting morning on NPR, I see something flash up ahead like someone flashing a light in my face. I keep trying to focus to see what is blinding me off on the side of the road.
As I slow down and get closer, I see a very tall woman (using the term loosely) in what I can only refer to as "pole dancing" shoes made out of 9 inch high clear plastic. She's wearing a 5 inch long skirt, short enough to see bush, fish net stockings, a halter top and hair so dry it made me thirsty. She's so high and out of her mind and trying to cross the road with her partner in crime in the middle of a busy street. They must have gone shopping at the same shoe store. Why they're only one block from a school zone is beyond me. Maybe business has been tough lately.
As I swerve to miss hitting her, since God forbid she should back up to avoid getting turned into prostitute road kill, she gets pissed off at me, starts yelling obscenities and flips me off. Maybe she has been having a hard time recently. She looked as if she was either pregnant or needs to cut back on the cheetos. People pay for this? And at 6:30 in the morning?
It's going to be a good day.
I seem to have run-ins with hookers for some reason. Maybe it's the part of town I always live in or near. When I was living in Kansas City, it was a daily occurance. I would walk a couple blocks to the local grocery store for a few items and always get propositioned. They would be all, "Hey sugar, how you durrin'?" I would respond with a big smile and a "Hey sexy!" and go about my business. After months of running into them, they either figured out I was gay, not interested or broke and would stop and just chat. I would buy them a pack of cigarrettes or food while in the store. Some were really sweet girls. Only time it became embarrassing is when friends and I would all go to a local diner a block away after clubbing and they would come in for something to eat and see me. Lots of kisses and hey sugar's later, I had a lot of explaining to do to everyone around me.
Living in Dallas is another story. The gayborhood use to be overflowing with tranny and male hookers. They weren't so nice. You would be walking home late one night after getting trashed and have one of them ask you if "you had the time". That was code I found out. I would always say that I didn't have the time. The problem got so bad in one area, that the city made it illegal to make left hand turns to prevent people from circling the block. Crime was up, murders and muggings were on the rise. Glad I moved out of there.
One more hooker story. Last year I was driving home from an exhausting lunch hour shopping. I had these two women next to me roll down their window and asked me to roll down mine. They asked me if I wanted to have a good time over lunch. Since when do hookers use cars? When it's 10 degrees outside. I told them no thanks and tried to go on my way. They kept persisting, so I finally told them that I was gay and wasn't interested, but that I thank them for their offer and told them to have a good day. They said me being gay wasn't a problem for them.
Well no shit Shirley, it's a problem with ME!
Hooker stories anyone?
A question my partner might ask while sitting there signing a 13 month lease with the leasing agent:
If I fart in the bedroom, while facing east when the temperature outside is a balmy 98 degrees and while standing on one foot, hopping up and down, barking like a small dog, will I have to pay a $20 fine to the Texas Apartment Association?
I love him to death, but Christ on a bike.....
I dread the day we have to sign approximately 100+ documents if we actually ever buy a house. I'd rather have a root canal then to sign another 10 apartment lease documents.
I love you sweat pea, but stick a sock in it.
Want to see pics of the apartment complex?
After dinner with the Roomie last night, we walked past some sort of Tea Store. Basically it's like a Starbucks but strictly selling different types of Tea. Green, black, chai and whatever other kinds there are. I was only interested in one thing. Bubble Tea. I know I might be jumping on the Bubble Tea Bandwagon a tad late. Hell, I just started drinking Chai a year ago so cut me some slack.
My mother gave me my first cup of coffee at the ripe old age of 12. I asked, she said I wouldn't like it and I wanted to prove her wrong. I hated it, but to spite her I asked for a cup every morning when she had hers. I know she could tell I was making funny faces, but I would drink every drop. No wonder I have an addiction to caffeine. By the time I was in highschool, I was drinking it before school and had my Art Teacher bring in a coffee machine for us to have coffee while working in the morning. Coffee is how I kept alive through college. I would have had an IV drip of coffee in Grad school if I could.
I'm really trying not to drink as much coffee. If I don't have my morning cup, I'm a tad bit testy and get the shakes. Fine, I'm very bitchy and look like I have parkinsons. That's the reason for the switch to Chai. Not sure if it's any better for me, but it sure as hell taste good. Don't get me started on decaffeinated. What's the point in that stuff?
NOW, I have Bubble Tea to become infatuated with. Sucking black, slimey, chewy balls through a large tube is well....it actually sounds kind of dirty, but I found myself savoring every single black pearl ball I could get. I wanted more black balls. The green tea, milk and flavoring was great, but those black balls.....
Must.have.more.black.balls.
I'm sure this phase will pass after a while, just like everything else does. I went through my Pumpkin Spice Latte phase, Ginger Latte Phase and White Chocolate Mocha Latte whatever phase. I even went through a Ginger Altoid phase. I jump on different bandwagons and fall off months later. Only to jump back on for whatever reason.
I still have my Mountain Dew phase which has lasted since I was a wee child. You know, the stuff we call POP! I had to throw that in there. You coke/soda namethrowers.....
Anything drink you cannot live without?
Yesterday I was on Top of the world lookin', down on creation and reading a friends blog. I saw that he was making fun of the goddess herself that which is Karen Carpenter. I know, I know.
*moment of silence*
We've only just begun *sigh*
I can pop in their greatest hits and know every single word to each and every song. I can guarantee you that everyone knows the words to Sing....sing a song, make it simple...to last your whole life loooong. Some of the best songs ever written and sung by someone with one of the most pure voices.
Why do birds, suddenly appear....everyTIME....you are NEAR!!! belting out of my lungs as I cruise through the hood getting odd stares from everyone. I don't care. I'm channeling Karen. I've often stopped and wondered what if she had lived and continue to make music with her brother.
Don't get me started on Captain and Tennille. Who else could get away with writing and singing a song about Muskrat Love? Have you SEEN a muskrat? Do you WANT to see them bump uglies? They taught us that Love....love will keep us together!. They even sang songs of horny women.. Do that to me one more time...once is never enough...with a man like yoooou. They even gave us advice when love wasn't going right and told us to Shop Around.
How could we have gotten through the 70's and early 80's without all their profound advice? I know my adolescent times would have been confusing as hell if it weren't for them. Who needed to have "the talk" with your parents when listening to such words of wisdom?
We were given Clay Aitken Barry Manilow who sings of an obscure girl named Mandy. His songs weren't always as uplifting. He often showed us the trials and tribulations of love. He made us want to go clubbing at The Copacabana and taught us to dance with the Bandstand Boogie. He told us that he Can't smile without You and that he's Ready to take a chance again because he's Made it through the Rain.
Oh, Barry.....
And who hasn't made love to the one of the songs of Lionel Richie? Remember the video to Hello...where he's an art professor and takes advantage of the blind pretty art student who makes a bust of Lionel that makes him look like Cromagnon man? Classic. He sang songs like Truly, and Running with the Night and another song about a slut, Three Times a Lady. There wasn't a moment that went by where he wasn't Stuck on You or Dancing on the Ceiling.
And tell me you didn't almost cry the first time you heard his classic......
Endless Love
*clutches heart*
All I have to say, is that if you've gotten this far without having one of the songs mentioned above running through your head right this very moment, then you're a better man then I am.
Now if I can just figure out how to work my phonograph. Hell, or even remember where I stored it. Luckily I have The Carpenters Greatest Hits on CD.
I'm sitting here at work, shivering my ass off. It's so cold in here that my testicles have gone bye bye. My nipples could cut glass. Swear to Jebus you can see my breath. Well maybe not that cold, but you get the picture.
They can't seem to get the temperature control to fluctuate and adjust for changes in the outside temp. It's getting cool outside, so of course they feel the need to run the air conditioner at 67 degrees. I just checked it. I'm wearing my winter coat as I sit here typing, wishing I had a stocking cap, scarf and gloves. Fuck being able to type. How do they expect a person to work in these conditions?
I know I'm not like the average person. I'm always cold. When it's 85 degrees outside, I can be comfortable sitting in my apartment with the windows open and a fan to circulate the air. I wait until the last possible minute to turn on the air conditioner during the summer. It can be in the 70's and I feel like I still need a long sleeve shirt. I take a huge thick sweatshirt to wear over my clothing when I go see a movie. When I was home for Christmas, the temperature was 4 degrees and I still don't think I'm back to normal. And the best thing about sleeping with someone, is that they're body temperature is way hotter then mine and I can use them as my own personal, hairy, thermal blanket.
I had a psychic tell me one time that I subconsciously sought out "natural healers". People with an extremely high body temperature or people who radiate more heat then normal. I didn't understand fully what she meant until she explained further. Sleeping with and being cuddled by someone with a very high body temperature causes our own temperature to rise, helping the body to ward off infection and to protect itself. I'm sure it's a bunch of hoo hoo, but when I think back, every single person I've dated was like sleeping with an electric blanket. Brian being no exception.
Wonder if they would allow me to bring my very own "natural healer" to work?
Be prepared. The next month will bring a slew of entries regarding the new apartment, new furniture, organizing, packing, moving, unpacking, back aches and free blow jobs for help moving any of the ungodly heavy furniture my boyfriend owns. What was he thinking? I love him, but a 500 pound Armoir requires sexual favors to move. I'm just sayin'.
I'll have to focus and try not to become obsessed writing each and every day about the trials and tribulations of Brian and Marks exodus to downtown. I'm sure y'all will need a break as much as we will.
After the talk of finding a place (we should be approved this week actually) and buying new furniture, I immediately get into packing and organizing mode. The Virgo in me comes out in full force. I'm sure my palm pilot will be overheating here in a few days. My Cusp of Libra side of me tries to take over and take a more relaxed approach, but the damn bitchy Virgo wins every time.
I heart my Virgo side.
I've moved numerous times in my life. Many times due to necessity, others due to sheer boredom. Sometimes it was due to a boyfriend situation. Either in fear or due to the fact he had trouble keeping his dick in his pants. Not with me mind you, but with everyone else.
I have organizing and packing down to a science. I'll be completely packed within the next week. Everything will be centrally located in one room with each and every box clearly marked with the contents and which room it should be placed. I've helped many people move in the past due to the fact I owned a pickup for years. It got so bad at one point, that when asked if I could help them move, I threw them the keys and said, "Thanks anyway, but no. Here's my truck. Bring it back with a full tank of gas and knock yourself out!" With three protruding disks in my neck, I can't lift extremely heavy things so luckily, I have a good excuse. Of course, close friends are an exception to the rule.
Why all the rush? I have until February 1st. Brian's gone during the week and will only be here on two weekends before the move. Guess who gets to organize and pack his apartment? Yours truly. His Mama usually helps him, so it seems Mama has been replaced this time around. He's SO lucky to have a boyfriend (*ahem*) who gets a hard on just thinking about going through things, throwing stuff out and boxing shit up.
Give me a sharpie and some packing tape and I'm like Whitney with a new crackpipe. I started packing yesterday and you wouldn't believe how much I got accomplished.
The sad thing is, I can't wait to get home and see how much more I can get done.
Well, Happy fricken' 2005 everyone!
At one point I'm blowing one of those noise makers in a dogs face, driving him crazy. He had those little metallic stringy things hanging out of his mouth. I'm sure the owner wasn't happy.
My elbow was bumped into at another party and I spilled my drink. Ten minutes later, I was bumped into again and not only did I spill part of my drink, but I dropped an entire Mai Tai on an off white area rug. The drink was bright orange. I couldn't get out of that party fast enough.
I have photographic proof of me running down a hallway with a "Happy New Year" crown on my head, noisemakers in my mouth.........yes, I was a muppet on crack.
Ah, the joys of New Years partying. I hope everyone had a wonderful time. I know we did.
Today I'm off work. That's the reason for the late entry today.
Brian and I found a beautiful apartment Saturday. I'll have photos at some point this week. Normally, the place goes for $1400. We got it for $976. Quite the deal. We also did a little bit of furniture shopping.
Seems like this is all really happening. February 1st will be here before we know it. We both had our moments of freaking out. I think we're fine now.
There comes a point when we all need to breathe.....
