This is all you get

Not much of an entry today guys. Brian's last day here before he goes back to California so we're busy little beavers today.

Enjoy your day, as you know I will mine.

I'm riding cloud 9 today.

I take one of those, and those and those....

I'm the worlds worst impulse buyer.

Most impulse buys consist of those last minute items found in line at the cash register.

Oh no, not me.

No, I take in my old car to have it worked on because my warranty just ran out and I swear to Jebus that there's a conspiracy where after your warranty runs out, your car goes to shit.

Five minutes after dropping it off, the guy says, "Hell, you should just trade it in." Brian responds with, "Honey, it doesn't hurt to test drive one, would it?"

I know what those words mean. It means that I'm going to be sitting there, popping pepcid and xanax and walk out driving one of these four hours later.

I called my mother while sitting there waiting for the car to be washed and detailed. She said, "Honey, do you think your Father would have approved of your new car? What did you get?"

"Mom, I bought a brand new Mustang. I'm sure he's smiling his ass off right now."

I cried the minute I sat down in the car.

I'm such a sap.

Things I hate to admit

I've noticed a few things about myself since I've basically been living alone, except for the two weekends a month that Brian is home. Realize, that I've always lived with a roommate since the day I started college. One year I lived on my own after my one friend moved back to Missouri. What tragic thing that happened to me one afternoon while alone can be told another day.

The first thing I realized is how often and how MUCH I walk around the house buck naked. This habit started once I started dating Brian. The minute we would ever walk into his apartment, clothes started coming off before he got on the computer, we watched TV and of course, before we had hot, wild, sweaty sex. I got comfortable being naked which I have to say I never was before. Now that I'm in the apartment alone, my clothes are the first thing to come off before I do anything around the house. Although I have to be careful. We're only on the 2nd floor. Last night I'm picking up around the house and didn't realize that all of the blinds were open. We have a multi-ethnical cultural building of some sorts, which teaches language classes right next door. They were holding class last night. I'm sure they got an eyefull of my pecker and butt before I realized.

The other thing I realized is how much I talk to myself. Before, I would have things run through my mind, I'd contemplate them, make decisions and act on them all in my HEAD. Now? Oh, I have a full out conversation, working out details and points of what I'm needing to do. I realize each and every time what I've been doing mid-stream and get really embarrassed and tell myself (out loud) to stop talking to myself. Yeah. I talk to myself, telling myself not to talk to myself. It doesn't stop me from doing it again a half an hour later. I think I'm fine until the day happens where I start answering myself or arguing with myself. At that point, I'm not sure who would win.

The last thing is how much I pick up around the house and reorganize things constantly. I've always been a neat freak. But living with two roommates who weren't as tidy (bless their hearts), caused me to not care as much anymore. Now that I'm in my own place, I'm constantly picking things up, wiping something down, dusting something off and of course, organizing my closets over and over and over.....

Now picture this carefully. You currently have the three images of what I do around the apartment in your head. Slowly put them together. Don't hurt yourself.

Yes, me running around the apartment, buck ass naked, cleaning and organizing everything in sight while carrying on long conversations out loud.

Pretty picture, huh?

On a side note, I was given the recent meme you've seen around recently, where we're to tell you how many songs are on our computer, the last song we listened to, five of our favorite songs and why, blah blah bullshit blah.

The names fucker, bitch and bastard were thrown around by me, Tunagirl, Patrick and others, more then attitude at a Dallas bar.

You'll get the juicy little post named "My Favorite Songs, how I wouldn't have been able to survive and get through life without them and why they still make me sob uncontrollably even until this day" sometime next week.

Until then, you'll just have to sit on the edge of your seats patiently waiting.

**p.s. Go check out todays entry at my other blog, Itchycoo Park**

Oh, what a night....

It was my old roomie's Birthday yesterday. He decided he wanted to have a nice dinner at one of his favorite restaurants, India Palace. Known for it's very authentic food. If you don't want your lips to swell up due to the extreme hotness of the food, I'd avoid this place at all cost.

We started hanging out at the bar. Making this cute little Indian man laugh and fall absolutely in love with us. I think he just saw big dollar signs for a tip when we walked in. After a few bitching about the price of a cocktail (hell people, we're at a restaurant, drinking premium martini's, what do you think?), getting into an argument with a friend because of his actions and finally watching my friends B & D wipe sweat off their faces, down glasses of water and complaining about something regarding volcano-like shits later on, we headed down to the gayborhood for a few drinks.

After one bit of drama during dinner, I was just ready to sit and enjoy a cocktail, wish my ol' roomie a Happy B-day and then head home. I wasn't there five minutes before I notice someone I went out with, hanging out at the bar. It had been a while since I last saw him. We only went out for a couple weeks. Hell, we only slept together one time and didn't even do much during that. But for some reason, I fell for the guy. I should have seen all the red flags and ran the other direction. I didn't.

After I felt that things were going along pretty well, I got a phone message (not call, but message) telling me it just wasn't working out for him. I was a tad bit pissed off and upset to say the least. Might as well left me a sticky note on my windshield. I didn't speak to him for a few days, nor ran into him at the bar we all hung out at.

Then the shit hit the fan. I heard from my close friends that he was saying some pretty horrible things. That I lied to him about my status. Had numerous unsafe sexual encounters with him. The list goes on and on. I was flabbergasted. Everyone knows my status upfront and I practice the safest sex possible with every person that graces the confines of my bedroom. No exceptions.

He finally walked out onto the bar patio one evening. Things got heated, we had an argument, friends threatened to kick his ass and have him barred. It's been over 4 years and my friends still start protecting me when they see him around.

He's finally apologized to me on numerous occasions and even apologized to some of my friends over the past 4 years. His life has been a mess. I tried to take the upper hand in those situations and just told him it was ok and thanked him. We eventually became very cordial and on rare occasion were able to hang out and chat over a beer or two. That took a few years.

He sees me last night and gave me a hug. Telling me I looked good and thought I had gained a lot of weight. Everyone knows I'm trying to gain as much weight as possible, so this was a very nice thing to hear. After the usual bullshit chit chat, I went back to my friends. He kept hanging close by. Sipping his beer. Finally, he called me over and asked to talk to me outside.

The first words out of his mouth were, "I'm positive myself now. I found out a few months ago. I wanted you to know. You've always been so helpful to me."

I got a big lump in my throat. I remember one horrible argument we had. I told him that due to his ignorance, his attitude and his unstableness, that if he wasn't careful, he'd wind up like me. I admit that I can be harsh with my words at times. Say horrible things when I've been hurt. My words came back to me in an instant when he told me.

I immediately started to say that I didn't mean what I said and he interrupted me and said, "No, no you were right."

I gave him a hug and asked him if he was ok. He said he was going to counseling to help himself deal with it and asked if he could ever call me if needed. Of course, I said. I grabbed his arms and when I I looked down, I noticed......

They were bandaged at the wrist.

He hung his head and said, "I've had a really hard time dealing with this."

I looked him square in the eye and said, "It's not the answer you know." Then proceeded to give him a quick pep talk about living with HIV. A talk that I seemed to have given a lot lately.

"I know", is all he answered. He walked away, chatted with a friend then walked out the bar.

Only later on did I realize he didn't have my number to call me if he did need to talk.

Dear Dan

There are often times when my words seem absolutely worthless. When I can't elloquently put down what I'm thinking or feeling regarding recent events that have been read about in the news.

I get an email sent to remind me when Dan Savage posts his most recent article to the Village Voice.

Powerful words.

After reading that today, anything I thought about writing, whether funny, silly or heartfelt, just didn't seem quite worth it.

****After Joe's comment, I should have mentioned that Dan's idea regarding charging people the cost of medication of anyone they infect IS ridiculous. But honestly, should someone be held accountable for intentionally infecting another human being? If so, how?****

Stupid drivers and shopping bags and kermit

Can I bitch about my commute into work this morning? Tough. I'm going to anyway.

I live on the edge of downtown Dallas now. The highway is only blocks from my house. The minute I got onto the highway, traffic was at a standstill. I assmed there must be a wreck up ahead for it to be this bad. The local radio stations confirmed that there was some car that flipped 3 or 4 times and by some act of God didn't hit anyone else around it. Either that or the other drivers fled the scene due to lack of insurance, lack of drivers license or lack of green card. I'm just sayin'.

Stop and go traffic for the next 4 miles. My normal 20 minute drive ended up being and hour and fifteen minutes, but I digress. The radio stations were telling everyone that the 4 far left lanes were completely closed. One would assume people would start making their way over to the right lane. A mile before the wreck is an electronic sign hanging over the highway, warning us of the impending doom ahead. Again, telling everyone to move to the right hand lane. Did anyone? Hell fucking no. When did they move over you might ask? When they were forced to by the police. Are people this fucking stupid?

And to make matters worse, the person in front of me slowed down to one mile an hour and was gawking and pointing at the crushed automobile and chatting away with her friend. With thousands of cars behind her, late for work and blood sugar dropping. I know mine was. I tapped my horn. She flips me off. If I could have gotten out of that car at that moment and ripped her weave out, I would have done it.

It was unbeweaveable.

***

Last night while sipping a couple cocktails with a few friends, my friend D told me about something that he's heard recently. We all know that men have been known to have sex in public places. Especially public restrooms. Just a rumor I've heard. No proof.

If you look under the stall, you'll see two sets of legs obviously. Making it very easy to get caught. It seems some have figured out a way to get around the four legs in a stall. Take two shopping bags, preferably Nieman Marcus and set them on either side of the stall. Have one person place one foot in each shopping bag.

Voila! One pair of legs visible.

The things some people will go through to have sex in a bathroom stall.

***

You all might have noticed the GB:NYC2 icon on the left hand side. It's not an official meeting, but just a time that Brian and I will be in NYC celebrating our year anniversary. I thought it would be a great time to hang out with many of my favorite bloggers Friday night and possible do dinner and drinks the following evening. Hell, maybe even hang out while sightseeing. Anyone wanting to come up that weekend is welcome. The more the merrier.

Please feel free to use the picture for your own blogs if so desired.

Muppets on Crack take Manhattan, refers to me being called a MOC after having 8 cocktails at last years event. We thought it would be a humorous logo. No crack will be distributed. Oh and the MOC will NOT be making an actual appearance at this years event if my boyfriend has anything to do with it. So he told me.

****My humble apologies to Aaron for not mentioning in this entry that the precious icon to your left was painstakingly put togther by the master himself****

Car Troubles

I hate cars. They fucking SUCK. There, I said it. Pretty to look at, fun to drive, pain in the fucking ASS to take care of. It's times like after this past weekend that I wish I lived in New York or Chicago, lived downtown and could take the subway or elevated train to work and anywhere ELSE in the damn city I want to go.

*Whew* I needed to get that off my chest. I know it's not that big of a deal, but my car started acting up Saturday. I was with a friend of mine and we decided to go grab a bite to eat. Car was acting fine. We eat. We get ready to leave and my car won't start. Funny how something like this happens so quickly. I finally get it started and whenever I press the gas, it kills the car. If I press on the gas very slowly, I can get power enough to actually drive. Press JUST a tad too much and I kill it. Piece of shit. I'm sure it's a feul pump, clogged feul line or something.

It's not like the good ol' days. When I was 15 years old, my dad presented me with a completely restored vintage 1967 Mustang (all but one picture is just an example). After that, my Dad and I worked on the cars together. He taught me all he knew about engines, which was pretty much everything. He would work on the outside and I would work on restoring the inside. Our only Father/Son moments that we experienced. Someone asked to buy that car off me one afternoon. We sold it. Two weeks later, our latest creation was almost finished and he gave me that one to drive. A 1965 Mustang Fastback. Sold that to someone who walked up to me on the street one afternoon also about a year later. We had another car waiting. I drove that one. Finally, I ended up driving a 1968 Mustang Convertible. This picture is an actual snapshot of my old girl. I can't begin to list the names all all the cars I've gone through since then.

Why am I telling you all this? I had a built in mechanic at home whenever anything went wrong. A built in person to tow my car whenever I got stranded. I swear to Jebus that every fucking time my warranty runs out, my cars go to shit. Something breaks down. My warranty went out 1000 miles ago. Time to fall apart. I swear it's some Ford conspiracy. Oh, don't start hating Ford.

Time to trade it in is what time it is. I hate being without a warranty on my car. I like having everything fixed, free towing and a free replacement car. I like having a sense of relief when I drive down the road. My sense of relief has gone down the crapper.

Thank goodness the boyfriend has two cars and I can use one of his. I'm just going to wait until he gets back next weekend to even start worrying about getting the damn thing worked on.

Then I'm driving straight to a dealership.

Hodge Podge Friday again

First off I want to take a moment and wish Aarons Mother a very Happy Birthday. Aaron tells us she's the best Mother in the world. I'm sure she is and I'm hoping I get the chance to meet het while in NYC. Although MY Mother might try to rip off her crown once she finds out about her being the Worlds Best Mom.

Happy Birthday EVillMom!

Secondly, I like posting this because now, I'm finding this quite humorous and I thought that you might get a kick out of it. Terry does not want to let this die. You should see his latest Bible Study Topics. They're quite riviting. I get a shout out in a round about way. He even talks about about all my readers in his latest letter to me. I'm thinking everyone that visits my site should go over there and give him a big Hello. I think he's lonely.

I am wondering why I even bother to write you.

Terry Finley

Thirdly, so many of you want me to talk about three ways. Y'all are a bunch of perverts. Seriously, go ask Terry. My first experience was when I was in Grad School. I was hanging out at The Dixie Bell. Our local leather/bear bar, on a Sunday afternoon Beer Bust. We all know what things can happen when it's 5 dollars, all you can drink for 4 hours.

I notice a handsome older man, shaved head, goatee, greying hair, checking me out at the bar. I'm pretty new to the whole gay scene. I had only been out a few months. Maybe I was wearing my Sugar Daddy Glasses. After a few "woofs!" and him trying to mark his territory, we finally start talking. Which after 10 beers leads to kissing, groping and fondling. Out of the blue, I feel someone behind me, kissing my neck. I turn around to see someone who oddly enough looks a LOT like the guy I'm currently making out with.

I get introduced to this mans lover.

All three of us gave quite a show for the next hour or so. I think that was the very first time I actually had my weiner out in the bar for the whole world to see. I'm also sure that was the first time I got a blowjob in a bar also. It became to be a night of many first.

Yes you are correct. I went home with the both of them. I was so nervous. What was I to do? How do you take on two guys at the same time? Do I do one and then the other? I was pretty clueless.

They brought me into their home and handed me some of their homemade brew. I was already drunk and willing. Really didn't need another beer. It wasn't two minutes before we were all naked on their livingroom floor. I remember looking at these two beautiful men and thinking.......Oh my, what cute......little....penises. Now I've never been a size queen. Really I'm not. But sometimes you just want things to at least come in adult sizes.

Despite this little *snicker* setback, we headed upstairs. After only a few minutes of going at it, the one I met first wants me to fuck him. Well, okie dokie! While I'm starting to pound his partner, all the sudden it feels as if someones taken one of those little smokie sausages and sticks it in my bootie. I found it more irritating then anything else. But it was the first time I was fucked while fucking someone else. With a wee wee that size, I honestly didn't pay that much attention to the experience. Or should I say, it wasn't that memorable.

It didn't stop me from continuing to see them. Frequently. Constantly. They were the sweetest men on the planet. They asked me to be their "3rd partner" and possibly move in with them if I wanted. I didn't know what to think at this point. Over the course of many months later, the lover I met first wanted to mess around with me alone. Without his lover. He started sending me mushy cards, telling me he loved me. It was getting out of hand.

That's where I had to put a stop to the whole thing. I wasn't about to break up a happy home.

Last I heard, they had moved to Colorado.

I refer to them as my Little Hairy Snausages.

It's that time of year again

A tad bit late posting today due to an early morning trip to my Doctor to have blood drawn. My quarterly checkup is March 1st. It sure isn't the same around there anymore.

Oh sure, you still spend your time in the waiting room with a host of other positive men, reading about the latest pills to get you hard, new HIV medications, checking out the hotties in the room, bat a few eyelashes, play the staring game with another. Some even exchange phone numbers and share their latest CD4 or Viral Load counts. It's the new way to meet men in case you haven't heard. I'm hearing through the grapevine that they're putting in a wetbar and a dancefloor here soon.

I guess it's because we all have this thing in common and you can be rest assured that your potential future ex-husband is going to be OK with your status. I just often find the whole scenario quite comical. Especially now that I'm practically a married man (no ring on this finger yet) now and I can view this scene from a different perspective.

The Doctors office is yet another avenue is all. Good for them.

The people at the front desk are extremely bitchy and crabby. Someone must be pissing in their Cheerios every morning. Everyone seems to cop an attitude. You never know who your Doctors nurse is anymore. Who in the fuck am I suppose to call to get a refill on Levitra? It seems to change from month to month. No more getting to know these people on a personal basis. No more having employees recognize you after 10 years of going there. You rarely get that hug from someone while walking down the hall to to your room. The woman who takes your blood might call you sweetie and darlin', but will stab you with a force like I've never seen. Causing me to yell, "DAMMIT girl! What the hell?!" I'm going to bruise.

The office used to consist of my doctor, his nurse and about 3 employees to help run the front office. Now it's 5 doctors, 4 physicians' assistants, 5 nurses, 10 office workers, nutritionist, office manager and of course, the vampires in the back room playing with blood samples. The intimacy is gone. The personalization is out the window. I'm sure most don't even know my name anymore.

Luckily, when I go to see my doctor in a few weeks, the time we spend in the room for my examination will be like old times. He'll check my vital signs, listen to my chest, pull down my pants, check out my lymphnodes, lube up his finger and stick it in my ass while I call him Daddy. Then we'll have a cigarette it was so good, and shoot the shit for a while. He'll ask me about my relationship, my job, my life. He'll give me a hug, pat me on the ass and send me on my way.

Good times.

One last word then I'm done for the day

It seems I've upset someone. Made them angry. Here's their email.

I apologize for not being very "manly"

Thanks for mentioning me on your blog.
It is not manly to retreat to your own
personal sanctum and throw dirty words
at someone when they cannot respond.

Terry Finley

Someone comes to MY site, knowing they're visiting and posting to do nothing but stir up shit. They don't want to sit and discuss with an open mind and an open heart. They want to pass judgment and damn you to hell. Like I owe it to him to face him and listen to his judgment.

So with all due respect to YOU Terry, Fuck off. And why are you still visiting my site? Do you want me to discuss sticking dicks up guys asses and sucking rock hard cocks? Or maybe you would like me to tell you my first experience fisting someone? How about the time I did my first three-way?

I'm sure you would NEVER leave then.

I'm crabby, irritable, tired and not really in the mood to deal with anyone or anything today. Least of all, self-righteous so-called Christians.

Tomorrow's another day, huh?

I know I'm going to regret posting this....

I'm going to touch on something I have tried to avoid since I started this blog. No, it doesn't involve touching my weiner. I do that every day. It's talking about Religion. A topic I do NOT discuss with pretty much anyone. It's just safer that way.

Recently there seems to be an onslaught of "Christians" trolling Gay blogs and leaving comments, sparking debates and making all around asses of themselves. I'm sure many are spewing hate with one hand and jacking off with the other as they read some of our sites. Someone invited me to visit their online Bible study blog on yesterdays comments. I politely declined. Eventually I removed his offer, my response and blocked him.

This Terry Finley over at Clear-Cut-something-or-other, and I exchanged a few private emails yesterday. Go over and say Hi. I'm sure he'd appreciate the chance to tell you your going to Hell.

He told me to stop by so I could learn something. I basically told him that after 25 years of going to Church Sunday morning, Sunday evening, Wednesday night Bible study and Thursday night Youth Group, reading the Bible from front to back more times then I can count, being the head Church pianist from the ages of 12 to 25, teaching Sunday School and leading song services, that I possible might be able to teach HIM a thing or two. Of course, he tells me Homosexuality is a sin.

They really need to find a new tag line.

He even went as far as to say that he even disagrees with my views on miracles and speaking in tongues. In my Pentecostal Church, we laid hands on people, prayed and expected miracles from God. People spoke in tongues. Both were common. I never felt uneasy. It felt real to me. I do not want this to turn into some sort of debate regarding issues like these. This is not why I'm telling you this story. I have my beliefs. I just question many things which is something my Mother taught me to do. But it amazed me that even on those two things that I've read over and over in the Bible, that he "disagreed" with me about them. Funny thing, is that I never brought speaking in tongues or miracles up in our emails. Can you see the inconsistency already?

They tell me that I'm going to hell because Homosexuality is a sin, yet you will not find the word Homosexuality, Homo, Faggot, Queer or any other derivative in the original transcripts of the Bible. Over the course of hundreds of years, MAN or the CHURCH has taken the transcripts, translated them, molded them and forced them to fit into their own ideology. Amazing that by the time the Living Bible version came into being, the actual word Homosexuality was used.

Yet the Bible talks about Miracles and Speaking in Tongues but he disagrees with it. They take one scripture and build a faith upon it. They take one word or sentence and base HATE upon it. They take on the roll of Christ and pass judgment upon me. It's not their place.

There's one thing you don't do and that's fuck with a good ol' Pentecostal Boy. I've put many people like this in their place. Over the past few years, I've grown tired of it and just let them make asses out of themselves on their own. They do a pretty good job.

Jesus, protect me from your followers.

My last altercation with these types of folk was down in the Gayborhood, standing in front of our local coffee shop. One man was carrying an enormous cross, which I found offensive and proceeded to tell him so. I read about ONE person hanging on a cross and dying for our sins, and it sure as hell wasn't him.

Our group was bombarded with scriptures and damnations to hell. Little did they know that three of us, myself included, were all raised Pentecostal. They didn't know what hit them. Did I mention you don't fuck with good ol' Pentecostal boys? We were spewing forth verse after verse right back at them. We kept calm and never raised our voices or pointed fingers. The other side couldn't restrain themselves that much.

One guy in particular cornered me. I told him that if he wanted to convert me, that he could go with me into one of the bars, I would order him a coke and we could sit down and talk about it. Of course, he told me that he could NEVER go into such a "den of iniquity". I mentioned that something like that wouldn't and DIDN'T prevent Jesus from trying to win souls and to show his love. Jesus hung out with all sorts of "questionable" people. He loved everyone and showed that love.

I was very sincere in my offer to sit and talk with him. I told him to put down his cross and follow me. Into a gay bar. Where we could talk......

He picked up his cross and his followers and they left the street corner. They were defeated. He couldn't do it. They seem bold and confident until it actually comes down to doing what Christ did 1000's of years ago.

Where's their faith NOW?

My Mother should run for President

Friday afternoon I was desperately trying to get a hold of my Mother. There a moments when you just need to talk to Mom. Friday afternoon was one of those times. I had to put my dog Palin to sleep. Starting around Wednesday, Palin started yelping throughout the night. He was becoming mean and trying to bite. He wasn't eating all week. I found it almost impossible for him to even drink water. He had drastically lost weight it seemed the past few weeks. When Brian came home Thursday, he told me he would take him to have him checked out for me.

The Vet told Brian that Palin seemed to be having some sort of intestinal or digestive problems. X-rays, Surgery and room and board could run thousands of dollars. Money I don't have. The Vet said it was best that he be put to sleep due to the amount of pain he was in. Palin was 10 years old.

Brian's a trooper. He called me in tears and told me what had to be done and he signed the papers for me. I broke down immediately. I felt guilty, horrible....sad. It had to be done. He'll be missed.

I wanted to talk to my Mother. She was no where to be found. I left a message and told her I would call her Saturday. Saturday I had to leave another message. Still no call. Sunday I finally got a hold of the social butterfly and we chatted for a while. Mama can always make me feel better. I have to say she's the wisest woman I know. Of course, I'm partial since she's my Mom. She always knows what to say, how to say it and when.

We were talking politics last night. Something you won't hear me discuss here, with friends or anyone for that matter. We were discussing Bush's budget cuts which will affect the Midwest farmers. Let me remind you that my mother is a devout Christian. Pentecostal Christian. Raise your hands, speak in tongues, kill a chicken on your first visit, type of Christian. Ok, we don't make you kill chickens or walk around with snakes. We consider them radical freaks.

Mother is a 76 year old Pentecostal Christian Democrat. Her husband is a staunch Republican. They're constantly going at it regarding Bush's running of the country. My upstanding Christian Mother thinks Bush is doing nothing but running this country down the crapper as she put it. Hurting medicare programs for the wealthy. Making things worse for the farmers which struggle day to day the way it is. She feels that he's shoving his personal values down everyone's throat. Saying he's using religion to get his agenda passed through Congress. "Whatever happened between the separation between church and state", she says.

She worries about me and my future because of this man.

She's afraid that he's going to start a battle between Christians and Non-Christians. A battle she says, that could open up a "heap of trouble". She feels he's making Christians look bad. Not that they don't make themselves look bad on their own. I don't think my Mother can relate to the "modern" religious nuts of today.

She can make me feel better about putting my dog to sleep. Kick me in the ass and tell me to take better care of myself when I'm sick.

.....and make me proud she's my Mother because she can't stand our President.

She's quite a woman.

(P.S. Happy Valentines Day. Although we don't need a manufactured Hallmark holiday to tell us when we have to show our love and affection towards a family member, lover, partner or friend. We can do that 365 days a year)

hodge podge

On my way to work I passed two motorcycle cops, sitting there anxiously waiting for some poor soul to drive in the HOV lane with only one person in the car. They don't even bother with speeders anymore during the morning commute. My heart started pounding with antici.........pation as I got closer. Aren't there some sort of weight and health requirements to be a cop anymore? Jesus, Mary of Cher, both of these men could rest their donuts and coffee on their bellies. Now I'm a huge proponent of bellies. I find them cute, sexy and adorable. But I have my limits. Ones that arrive ten minutes before you do? Not so much.

Thank God I got laid last night finally.

****

After a few email conversations going back and forth yesterday, I told Tunagirl to give the Tunakids a hug and kiss from Mr. Mark. Her response absolutely made my day....

Awww.

That reminds me!

Caitlin has a book and one of the lines is, "And I also have a crush on my teacher named Mark."

So we were reading it the other day and she says, "I have a crush on Mark too."

So I asked, "Mark who?"

And she replied, "Your friend Mr. Mark in Dallas. He was so nice."

"You're right, Sweetie," I said. "Mr. Mark is VERY nice."

To which Matthew replied, "I have a crush on Mr. Mark too!"

So you do recruit them young, hmm? Tee hee! :-)

****

Had my first phone conversation last night with a blogger in ages. For a while there were a handfull of us were calling on a regular basis it seems. It was Mr. Aaron. Nothing like chatting about the drug days of clubbing in the late 80's early 90's and have the conversation take a very wrong turn into scat, fisting and watersports. I felt so dirrrrty.

****

Be on the look out soon for information regarding GB:NYCdeux, which will be happening the first weekend in May. Many have expressed interest in being there. Our flights will be booked today. Check out last years event under the Photo Albums heading, link named GB:NYC on the left hand column. And NO, I wasn't drunk in all the pictures. Only 75% of them.

****

Did I mention that I finally had sex last night? Just makin' sure. Oh and I did remember who Brian was and what he looked like. It all came back to me at the airport. People want to know my secrets to training a man.

Honey, when they do something bad, just stick their nose in it and spank their bottom.

Brian who??

Huh. Who would have thought? It seems that I have a boyfriend that's been living in Sacramento the past few weeks. Rumor has it that he's had to stay the weekends in Sacrafuckingmento and not able to come home for any sort of conjugal visits. I've recently searched through my photo albums and found a mysterious bald headed, goateed, blue eyed, hairy man who seems to be hanging all over me in every single picture. We look like we're really happy. This must be him.

I received a phone call from this man recently, telling me I'm to pick him up at the airport tonight at 10pm. I might have to hold up one of those signs saying "Mr. Brian", although I'm thinking I might be able to recognize him from the many photos I've found. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Maybe he's the one that keeps calling me 4 times a day and sending me and endless amount of text messages, professing his undying love for me. I was just happy to have a stalker.

My old roommates recently told me that I've moved in with this so-called boyfriend of mine, yet I have no physical evidence of him ever being there, other then a slew of boxes full of shit that I don't recognize as being mine. Seems my "boyfriend" is somewhat of a packrat. Sounds like I have a lot of training to do.

Mama always told me, there's no sense in having a man if you can't train them properly.

Wish me luck.

Would I lie to you?

There's one way to completely ruin my morning. Not have any sugar or cream available for my coffee. I walked into the breakroom for my first cup and I see someone was already there to make the first pot of coffee and noticed we were out. Their frustration was thrown all over the counter. I went for a walk to every breakroom station in the building. There are 5 of them. The sugar and cream fairy came in the middle of the night and took them all away obviously.

You would think that a natural disaster has occurred in the building. People are all frantically running around trying to score a hit of sugar or cream. I'm wondering what the market value for a quarter would be? Jesus people, drive down to Starbucks. It's just around the corner. You can't walk twenty paces without bumping into one.

I opted for having a cup of hot chocolate instead. The Swiss Miss kind with little white marshmallows in them. While chatting with my mother this morning, I was telling her about our cream and sugar dilemma. She reminded me of all the times we drank hot chocolate together. Usually after I had gone out on a date and we would stay up late talking about it, sipping hot cocoa. Funny how the smell of that will bring back a flood of memories.

My mother proceeded to update me on the family and friends. She always has a story to tell. So and so's hairdressers, cousin's housekeeper told her sisters mechanic that blah blah blah. So it has to be the gospel truth by that point. I had to laugh and told her not to believe everything that she hears. My mama's sources are very reliable so it must be true she told me.

I said, "If I believed everything you told me Mother...." She was shocked. What could she have EVER told her baby that wasn't true?

It was one of our yearly family Fourth of July fireworks and watermelon fests. I was about 6 years old. My mother handed me a piece of watermelon and told me to not swallow the seeds. She said that if I wasn't careful, a large watermelon would start growing inside my tummy and vines would sprout out of my mouth and ears. Uh, ok. The inevitable happened. I swallowed one. I sat there for the longest time, tears welling up in my eyes with my hand on my tummy, feeling for any possible movement. I was sure I felt my watermelon baby kick. I ran screaming to my mother. I didn't believe her when she told me she was just teasing and laughing her ass off, trying to hold back the tears.

"That, my dear mother, was a bold face lie and you WILL go to hell for such things."

She had to laugh. "You don't forget anything, do you?", she said.

Not very often Mother, not very often.

Do you have any fur lined handcuffs? My wrist are a bit sensitive...

I have a thing for Cops. Police Officers. Flatfoots. Pigs. Whatever you like to call them. I'm sure this comes of no surprise. How much porn is out there featuring some poor soul who's pulled over by the big brute of a policeman, forcing his unsuspecting prey to give him a rim job to get out of a ticket? I know I've seen my share. I'm not saying that if I'm ever pulled over and the cops huge crotch is hanging there right in my face and he asks me if I want to "get out of the ticket", that it wouldn't cause me to perspire a little. Or that I would EVER say no.

Everyone says there's just something about a man in uniform. And honestly, they're right. Ask Tunagirl, she'll tell you. It doesn't matter what KIND of uniform. The guy could be dressed in a UPS uniform for all we care. Although I have an aversion to brown polyester, I still get a woody for a hot UPS driver, complete with black shoes and brown socks.

When I was in Kansas City, all the girls I worked for got me a stripper one year for my birthday. While we're at work. They knew of my "cop" fetish and proceeded to have a Cop show up at work and tell me that I've been a bad boy, as he handcuffed me to a chair and started rubbing me with his nightstick. Did I get excited? Eh, it was alright. I was more embarrassed then anything. Not only did I work with 40 women, there were large group of straight men with their mouths hanging open as this oiled up police officer wiggled his butt all over my lap. I think my eyes were closed most of the time.

Halloween always brings out a slew of guys in uniform. It does nothing for me. They're just playing dress up. It tends to lose some appeal for me at that point. It has to be real.

My father was a captain at the local police department back home while I was growing up. So were two of my Cousins and one Uncle. I grew up around them. I hung out where my dad worked. The men took me under their wing. Looked out for me. Never gave me a speeding ticket when I started to drive. I remember the smell of the place. The jail cells. The guns and nightsticks. The badges. The uniforms. I even went so far as to consider a career in some form of law enforcement. Then I realized I was far to much of a chickenshit.

Policemen have always been some sort of odd father figure for me. I looked up to them. Respected and worshipped them. They also instilled fear in me. I tend to become a bumbling idiot when I'm around one. Hell, the last time I was in NYC, my sole goal was to get a picture with a hot NYC cop. I can't tell you how many I asked if I could take a picture with them. I found out most of them aren't all that friendly up there. They're nothing like the cornfed cops back home in Nebraska. Yeehaw!

The love for a real man in uniform still gets me until this day. I was passing through an intersection a few days ago which was having the traffic diverted due to a wreck. When I got up close, there stood a late 20's, shaved headed, goateed, hairy, stocky officer wearing those damn motorcycle boots that make you want to lick 'em lick 'em lick 'em!!

I almost caused another wreck while checking him out. He smiled and waved me on as I passed.

I caught myself giggling with one hand over my mouth as I waved back.

Can I have a side of scolding to go with my bagel?

I stood there in line at Einsteins Bagels to get a couple dozen for my co-workers. I have fleeting moments of niceness towards them so when I feel like being this way, I need to take advantage of it. Everyone is usually shocked when I arrive with goodies.

While I was placing my order, this small, nerdy little boy stood a little bit in front of me. Immediatly, his mother started yelling at him and jerked him back behind me. I just smiled politely and told her it was nothing to worry about and that he was just fine. She continued to scold and berate him in public. I ached for that little kid. I paid my bill and stood close by, waiting for the boy behind the counter to cut my dozen bagels.

The mother obviously knew the girl behind the cash register. She started yelling at her, asking her where she was last night, that she was probably out whoring around, to call her next time, etc. I watched as the 16 year old girl just rolled her eyes, handed her mother her purchase and told her to leave her alone.

The mother grabbed her order and turned around to hand it to the little nerdy son of hers. He was by the door, staring out window. Probably trying to put himself in another place. No wonder the daughter didn't come home last night. Would YOU want to come home to that?

The woman started spitting out obscenities as she violently turned around, giving me a dirtly look in the process. Not sure what the fuck I did to this woman other then just gaze at her with utter disgust and contempt. I felt so bad for those kids. She got towards the door and kicked it with her foot and told her son to get the fuck out to the car. He was oblivious. You could tell he had no clue to what he had done to set off his mother.

I walked to my car with my purchase as this woman started yelling at me and shaking her bagel in my direction. I turned around, wondering if it was ME she was talking to. It was. I thought about that poor girl who would hardly make eye contact with you at the counter. She spoke in a whisper. I looked at the little nerdy boy and imagined him being made fun of at school by all the other kids.

Then I wonder if the so called woman, who claims to be ther mother, had just been nicer to her children and showed them some love, that the kids might be growing up differently. I'm sure this sudden "outburst" of hers was something that happens frequently.

Just because you gave birth to them or were the kids sperm donor, does NOT make you a mother and a father in my book. I was lucky to be raised with loving, caring yet stern parents and often can't fathom what some people have gone through.

I have to say, my bagel didn't taste very good this morning.

I can't seem to keep it up...

If anyone out there can figure out a way to insert an IV drip of Cialis or Levitra into my blog, I would greatly appreciate it and promise to be at your every beck and call.

Hell, send it to the place that provides my hosting.

Seems they have a mild case of Erectile Dysfunction.

It's having some trouble trying to stay UP the past few days.

Louie

Nothing like having a heart attack with your morning cup-o-joe. I get to work this morning, turn on my computer, go get a cup of coffee and sit down to write my morning entry. My normal routine. I click on my moveable type link and......

....nothing.

Normally, I wouldn't panic. I just send an instant message to my buddy who host my site and give him a heads up. Within minutes I'm back up and running. Usually just some glitch on his side of things. It rarely happens.

This morning was different, since my host buddy is supposed to be flying to Europe today to visit some other blogger friends.....FOR A MONTH! Luckily for me (not him), he had a problem last night and just got the issue fixed this morning. Hopefully, he's now on his way to Europe (the bastard) and his server issues haven't held him back.

I wasn't here ten minutes before I was getting a few instant messages and emails from people asking where the fuck I'm at. I didn't realize some people have a morning routine that I was unaware of.

Shit. Shower. Shave. Coffee. Zeitzeuge. Work.

Not necessarily in that order.

It's times like these that makes blogging worth it. Lately, I feel as if I have nothing to say other then to bitch to everyone about packing and unpacking, moving, feeling sick, the new apartment, blah blah blah. I felt as if I was regurgitating my daily routine which honestly hasn't been that exciting lately. I'm in a wonderful new place and my boyfriend isn't there with me due to his job. I'm away from my 3 best friends with whom I've lived with for the past two and a half years.

I'm in a period of adjustment. This is coming from a person who hates change. But change is good and exciting.

My day was made today by my friend Louie. I met Louie in Grad School. He's the cousin of one of my best friends I made while there. Once we met for the first time, a life long friendship was forged. Louie is my straight platonic boyfriend. Incredibly handsome, thick black wavy hair, beautiful eyes and smile and a BODY to die for. Needless to say, he's quite dreamy.

I remember the first time he came to KCMO to meet me for dinner. I was sitting in the living room with my friends waiting on him to show up. In walks Louie. We hug and kiss and I introduce him to my three friends. Their mouths were wide open as they shook his hand. He proceeds to stand there chatting and starts to change his clothes, showing them his ripped muscles. You could have heard a pin drop as their eyes were transfixed on him. I had to laugh.

I love my Louie.

He instant messages me early this morning to ask me where my site is. He has a morning ritual that I didn't realize, that included reading me every morning before he goes to work.

Well here you go Louie.

Bet you didn't know I'd be writing about YOU.

Sometimes all it takes is that one instant message, one email or that one phone call to make your day.

So how was your day yesterday Mark?

Yesterday's Schedule since my day yesterday doesn't give much in the way of blogging fodder:

02:00am: Woke up thinking it was time to go to work. Fuck! Drank some water.
02:01am: Realizing there's no way in hell I'm going to work. Went to the bathroom.
02:02am: Fell back asleep.
04:00am: Woke up thinking it's time to go to work. Cussed myself out for thinking that again. Drank some water.
04:02am: Fell back asleep.
05:25am: Woke up....and called my boss to tell him I'm not coming in. I realized it this time.
05:26am: Got up and went to the bathroom, took medication to knock myself out.
06:00am: Realized I took medication with pseudoephedrine in it. Not going to sleep for a while. Cussed myself out again for being an idiot. Drank some water.
10:00am: Went to the bathroom, took a painkiller to knock myself out.
12:00pm: Painkillers are worthless. Got up and decided to get some work done around the house.
12:15pm: Too tired to work. Went to eat instead.
12:45pm: Exhausted from eating.
01:15pm: Took a nap.
01:30pm: Realized that I shouldn't have slept for almost 18 hours straight the day before. Took double dose of Sudafed and started working around the house.
06:00pm: Amazed at how a double dose of Sudafed is better then any form of speed I've ever encountered. Got lots of work done.
09:00pm: Finished watching Finding Nemo and cried AGAIN.
09:10pm: Drank more water, went to the bathroom and crashed.

As you can see, my day yesterday consisted of nothing but peeing, drinking water and sleeping.

You can ask Brian who's the biggest baby on the planet when he's sick.

In sickness and in health, right?