I think I might need to start slowing down on working out at the gym. I honestly don't want to make any of the other guys who are struggling to feel timid in my presence. Try as I might, my buldging muscles just keep getting in the way and knocking people over as I walk from machine to machine. I was very uncomfortable at all the stares I was getting from gay and straight men alike, but I grew to just accept it as part of the process. All my work out shirts must be thrown away due to the fact I've outgrown all of them. I might have to start shopping at the Big and Tall stores I've heard so much about growing up.
The sacrifices we must make.
No really. How long does it take for a person to see some sort of results? I'm an instant gratification kind of guy. I want things now. I'm very impatient. Everything from working on my Art to remodeling a condo to our satisfaction. I hate waiting in lines at the grocery stores or fast food chains. Shouldn't I be able to do a couple sets for biceps and have them POP out like Popeye's? I gaze at all the Creatine powders, Power Bars, Massive Weight Gain stuff and the Muscle Mass crap and remember how much that stuff usually just makes my butt become a salad shooter within minutes. Plus, I'm not sure how well that miracle muscle grow stuff interacts with my kidneys.
It would be nice to have some development before we head out on our summer vacations. I would like to take my shirt off while at the pool and have my chest create shade at my feet. I've always wanted to be able to flex my man boobies back and forth like I've seen all the muscle heads do.
For once in the past 15 years, I would love to have people take one look at me and not question whether or not I'm positive. I hate it when people make assumptions, but it happens all the time.
Brian's working out like crazy himself. He's bound and determined to lose weight and gaine some muscle. He wants to be a buff cub for me, he said. I love him just the way he is, but if he must become a buff, muscle cub, then who am I do deny him that joy. Once he sets his mind to something, there's usually no turning back. That boy eats more sandwiches and lettuce this past few days.
Speaking of hot, muscle hairy men, Steve at Bent Collective has started a three part post on his views and thoughts about HIV Prevention. He can say things so much more eloquently then I can, even including some more technical terms. Parts one and two are linked below. Part three will be posted tomorrow at some point. If you have the time (and you will need some time, this boy can talk) please stop by and see what he has to say.
Update: HIV Prevention Part III
In other news, the Ex is going in for colostomy surgery today in hopes of relieving some of his pain. I think this move by the doctors has gotten his hopes up in that this is some sort of cure all to make him all better, but as long as if he's got some hope, it's better then none at all.
Regarding Condo news, things are still swimming along for a February 9th closing date. Contractors should be starting work immediately after closing and have things ready for us to move in on March 1st. I need to plan a sanding and painting party.
Beer and pizza provided.
You would think that by the age of 40 years old, I would have realized that going out and drinking on a sunny, warm Sunday afternoon when I have to be at work the next morning, is a bad thing. After years of experience with Beer Busts, you would think I would have grasped the idea that 50 cent cheap beer is just that. Cheap. By now I'm surprised that I haven't realized that drinking 50 cent beer is like eating Lays potato chips.
Having just one is utterly impossible.
Eating a combo of teriyaki, hawaiian, garlic parmesan and spicy hot cajun chicken strips from Wing Stop afterwards didn't help matters any. Passing out on the couch by 8pm doesn't make for a good, long, restful sleep.
For those wanting to comment, please do it ever so quietly while I go hug the toilet bowl.
One of my closest friends Mother is recovery from a 20 hour heart surgery. During the procedure her heart stopped a few times and was revived each time. Once by hand massage. After chatting with her online for a bit, the conversation turned towards what happens when the heart stops. What the person sees. Afterlife. Angels.
It reminded me of three stories I wrote of events I experienced a very long time ago. I just finished re-reading them, cringing at how I told the story, or kicking myself for little things I wanted to add. I could go back and re-write them, but I figured I would just leave them the way they are. With all thats going on with my Ex, my Mothers husband having a heart attack and chatting with my best friend about her Mother's surgery, I felt it was important to post them again.
I find it difficult to re-read my own blog. I hardly ever do it. I'm too much of a self-critic.
I know for the most part, everyone has been sitting on the edge of their chairs, waiting on news about the purchasing our condo.
Well, let me be the first person to let you all know that........we still don't know anything at this point.
Our loan is setting in Processing today and then it moves to Underwriting. He's estimating a February 9th closing date.
I guess that I haven't explained what exactly we decided on. After seeing a few places, realizing that none of them were 100% what we wanted or were way out of our price range, we decided to go for a Condo, built in 1954. Many new condo's are being put up in the surrounding area. The housing area across the street is slowly but surely, being renovated one by one. We're close to shopping, eating and the gayborhood. The price is an absolute steal at approximately 15K lower then appraised value.
The best thing about the whole deal, is we can go in and fix it up exactly like we want. Floors will be redone throughout every room. Moving the front door for a more accessable entrance. New Kitchen flooring, granite countertops, new appliances and refinishing of the cabinets. Throw a couple coats of fresh paint (color of our choice), new light fixtures and we'll have a home. The bathroom will have to wait about two months for 401K money to transfer.
We even know our neighbors and found out last night while having a couple drinks at the bar, that two other aquaintances live just a few doors down and one across the street. I smell a block party coming on!
One of the coolest things about the complex is it's history. Or at least I think so. Remember Braniff Airlines who were famous for combining Art, Style and Glamour into flying? The complex was originally built to house Brannif Airlines pilots and flight attendents during layovers. I'm sure some wild times were going on back in those days.
If walls could talk.
Although a lot of work, we can make it what we want before ever moving in.
Another added bonus (which I'm sure the hubby is thrilled about), is our contractor. Short, stocky, hunky, goateed Jose from El Salvador does amazing work and is extremely affordable. Plus, he's very fast and has a cute accent to boot. If only we can get him to do the work naked while we watched.
About all I got today folks. More boring talk about the condo. My mind is just a tad bit preoccupied lately with all the good and the bad thats going on. I actually woke up this morning at 4am to pee and once I laid back down, what we need to get done, what the place would look like once finished, colors of paint and light fixtures filled my head until 6am this morning when the alarm went off.
I need a nap.
Yesterday afternoon while I was still at work, I got a call from my Ex, asking if I would stop by and pick him up. He needed to cash a check, run to the store, pay a bill. I've tried to get ahold of him lately, ever since the doctor told him a couple weeks ago that he was given anywhere from three months to a year to live.
When I called, he's so doped up on a morphine patch and some other form of pain killer, I could hardly understand him. I try to let him allow me to come over, but he always says that he's too tired. I ask him if I can take him somewhere or get anything for him, but he refuses. When he does ask, he usually calls back telling me not to come.
I respect his wishes, but it's getting to the pint where I have to intervene.
I drove up outside his apartment complex and called him to come out. I wasn't ready for what walked towards my car. What once was a healthy, robust, stocky built guy has been reduced to skin and bones. I've been watching him get worse and worse over the past year, but something has happened within the last few weeks that I wasn't prepared to see.
My Ex has been positive a few years before I found out myself almost 14 years ago. Despite all our bad history, we somehow remained close over the years. Due to certain behaviors and actions on his part, I found myself becoming emotionally distant from him. I honestly had no choice. I found the stress of our friendship causing a massive strain on my health.
When I found out I was positive I immediately started taking medication and taking better care of myself. Other then a couple years of being reckless in my past, I seem to have done a pretty consistent job. My Ex on the other hand has never taken medication on a consistent basis. He was always starting then stopping his medications, which always caused a resistance. He dabbled in drugs for so many years, ending with a horrible year addicted to crystal meth. He often drank to excess. Never exercised or ate right.
More times then I can count this past couple years, he ended up in the hospital. Each and every time, we never expected him to recover, but somehow he always did. To a point.
He let things go too far this last time. One complication after another would set him back. Tcells almost didn't exist anymore by this point. Before you know it, he's been diagnosed with some form of cancer on top of everything else. It's been a long year for him.
By the time he sat down in my car, he was already having trouble breathing. He immediately laid the seat back so he could rest. The pain from cancer is causing him constant discomfort. His face and hands are covered with sores which were caked in blood. Things have gotten so bad that he's had to start wearing depends undergarments to prevent any sort of accident when he leases the house. He slurred his speach and could barely keep his head up or his eyes open. More then likely, this was due to being on enough dope to put a horse down. He's quite defiant. He doesn't want to go back to the hospital. He doesn't want Hospice care at this point. He keeps trying to do things for himself. He's quite stubborn and bullheaded
After cashing his check for him and running into the store for a few groceries, we spent the next hour or so talking, crying, holding him and listening to him talk about how he wishes he could die. The next words out of his mouth while he sobbed was that he wished he could live. He goes back and forth.
He told me about how a man at his church recently gave him some pills to take in case he wanted to end things quicker and that he would be there to help. The man has lost many friends in the past and this was something many of them did for each other if needed.
He was too scared to try that he told me
While driving him back home, I glanced over at him laying in the fetal position with his eyes closed. As I turned my eyes back to the road, my eyes caught a warning light telling me the airbag on the passenger side has been turned off.
The airbag had been deactivated due to not enough weight.
This is the face of AIDS for anyone who might have forgotten or has never experienced it.
There are many gay men out there who have not lost anyone to this disease. How often have you heard older gay men talk about what it was like back then? The number of friends they've lost. Watching a partner die. Seeing someone they love waste away to nothing. Covered in sores. Losing bodily functions. Having your internal organs shut down one by one. It's slow and it's painful. The disease that doesn't discriminate against anyone.
I've never been a member of that club of gay men. I've seen what the disease can do and I've had aquaintences pass away, yet have never had someone close to me die like this.
Sure, we have the Cocktail or HAART treatment to make us live longer. Try living with the side effects and damange these medications cause after years of use. My kidneys will testify. Many still play bareback, taking their chances with everyones life like it's a loaded gun. Does anyone think of the consequenses anymore? Do we realize that people still die from this disease? Have people forgotten? We need to be reminded.
The next generation of gay men scare the living shit out of me and if it's not us educating them, who's it going to be?
I don't have any answers. Just lots of questions.
And I'm angry, because soon I will become a member of that group of gay men I tried to avoid for so long.
The first house I can remember was a small three bedroom home, painted light green with white shutters. We lived on the south side of town. I wouldn't realize until grade school what it meant being a 'kid from the south side'. Rich kids were from the north side, near the lake or east side with all it's new development. West side kids seemed to be upper middle class. Despite the fact that my family made a very decent living and had a beautiful home, my father and mother wanted to live on the south side. Where all the German and Russian's lived, as my father put it.
Growing up, the south side was a place where kids could ride bikes in the street. We walked a block to a local penny candy store that was ran by a very old Russian woman with a thick accent. We just pointed at the candy we wanted since we couldn't understand her very well. The walk to school was only a few blocks away. It was a very old school, dated back to the late 1800's. All the other parts of town had brand new buildings. If we didn't have a lot of groceries to buy, we just walked a couple blocks to Dave's. Dave was a white haired German man who had a small grocery store which had only two small isles and a deli counter filled with meats and sausages. His wife who never bothered to learn good English usually rang you up and sacked your items.
I loved growing up in the south side. I grew to be proud of that.
Around the time I turned 15, my mother and father decided to build themselves a brand new home. Their first few homes were these small crackerbox styled row homes built during World War II to house soldiers and their families. Now they had the chance for the first time in their lives to have something new. We lived there during my highschool and college years until my father had his first massive heart attack. They had built a three stall garage in the back for my fathers car detailing business he did on the side when he wasn't playing Police Captain. I remember watching him stand on the back patio crying, as we had a garage sale to sell off all his tools and equipment to help pay for the building medical cost.
I'll never forget the day we had to sell their first home because the place was just to big for them to take care of. He had become terminal and his life would never be the same, so they sold their pride and joy.
My Father sat there in the car with tears running down his face as we drove away that day, but he didn't say a word. He didn't speak much at all during those times anyway, but we all knew the reasons that he was upset. All that he had built for his family was sold to some stranger. All his time working on the police force and detailing cars for extra cash was all for nothing. Dad was all about providing for his wife and family. Making sure the South Side German Pride was flowing through all our veins.
"We may be a simple folk, but we're a proud people and we've made something of ourselves. Look what we have to show for it!", I heard him say on more then one occasion. All his brothers and sisters lived on the south side. So did all my mother's sisters and their families.
But his south side living was over now.
He was moving to the north side and I think he cried over that more then anything else.
We all said after he died, that if we could have done one thing different, it would have been to move Dad to the south side of town.
That was home to him.
Gosh, what did I do this this weekend? Be prepared to be absolutely amazed and astounded. The things that happened this weekend are the stuff that Zeitzeuge is made for. There's mystery and intrigue. There's non-stop action and nudity. There's jawdropping, eyepopping....
Eh, we did a lot of shopping at Homo Depot, Design Expo and The Great Indoors.
Remember the days of weekend getaways, wild parties, swimming pools filled with hairy, naked men giving and receiving blow jobs? What happened to the pluthera of penis pictures and drunken decadence and debochery? They have now been replaced with picking out that perfect light fixture to go in our new bathroom and wondering if we should go with marble or stone countertops in the kitchen.
Don't get me started on what color to stain the wooden floors or whether or not we should paint the living room a rich burgundy or go with a more subtle, yet tasteful olive green.
*sigh*
Did you know that you can spend hours looking at nothing but handles for kitchen drawers? I never knew there were so many kinds of bathroom tile. We found out the pro's and con's of granite versus stone. Slate is a whole other thing.
It's times like this that I wish I was wealthy or was Barbara Eden from I Dream of Jeanie. I could just fold my arms, blink my eyes, nod my head, flip my pony tail and *poof!* everything is done to perfection. Sucks that I have no hair though. I was looking forward to the pony tail flippin. Maybe I could improvise things a bit by utilizing my chest, butt or back hair. The thoughts of those sheer, lavender balloon pants alone gets me excited.
Winter seems to slow the social life down. People are cuddled on their couches, eating kettle corn and watching Golden Girls reruns on Lifetime. The bars seem to be half empty or half full, depending on how you look at life. No one is in the mood to get out and do much of anything despite the fact that our weather has been averaging a sunny and 75 degrees through December and January.
But soon enough, will be days of telling stories about our trip to New York City in May. Trips to San Francisco and Portland/Seattle later in the summer. Coming soon will be stories of camping trips, parties and ZeitCasts.
Until then, be prepared for daily updates about the condo and our attempt to be Christopher Lowell. Minus the hot glue gun. Think of us as more as a Gay Ty Pennington.
Our contract was approved by the Seller. Inspection and Appraisal happens hopefully this week. Now we just have to get the underwriter to approve the loan.
In the meantime, please come back on a daily basis to see what exciting and riviting events occur in.....
"Gays of Our Lives. The Mark and Brian Home Building Story" a Reality Series on Bravo.
Huh. Wonder if I should call them and pitch the idea?
Zenchick keeps telling me I just need to breathe. Often I find myself in the corner of the room in the fetal position turning blue. That's how I feel anyway. I just stress over things. It's in my nature and I can't seem to completely change that.
We met with our loan officer last night. Things seem to be progressing fine and the deal should be workable. It all comes down to our paperwork. We'll even have money left over for repairs so we can bring the 50's condo into the 21st century. Now we make the offer and hope they accept. Hope the underwriter is fair with us and would love a good blow job. Then comes the inspector, appraiser and contractors. Seems I have lots of blow jobs to hand out.
So, I try to breathe.
After our visit, Brian headed to the gym without me. I needed one nights break because my manboobies are so sore, I swear they were lactating. Thats not the only part of me that hurts. Shoulders, back, arms, legs. So instead, I headed down to Mickey's to have a Birthday drink with a long time friend. He and I go all the way back to my days in Grad School around fifteen years ago.
While sitting there sipping on our drinks, we talked about old times, current times and what the future holds. We both reminded each other of how wonderful things have been. How much shit we've gone through. And how no matter what's happend this past 10+ years, right now both of our lives are in such a perfect place.
"Life seem to have this funny way of always working itself out.", he said at one point.
Earlier in the evening while waiting for our appointment, I decided to call another old friend of 15 plus years. I always called her my Little Mafia Girlfriend. Kansas City is flooded with them and of course her family had major ties and owned half the cities bars and clubs. We both lived lives hard and fast. Drugs, drinking and dancing. Throw boys into the mixture and you had our lives. We talked about how back then even though we didn't realize it at the time, we were a fucking mess. It took things like HIV, death of family members and moving to other cities and her having a son to cause both of us to re-evaluate our lives. We talked about all the times we complained about what our lives were lacking back then. We both have all that stuff in our lives now. Stability, someone who loves us, family and tons of friends. Happiness.
It wasn't long ago before both of these conversations, I was chatting with another 15 plus year friend who lives outside of Seattle. Again, we amazed at where we had come from and where are lives were at now and where they were headed. She gets a little bit more philosophical and what I call "new agey" then I do but the feelings are the same.
While driving back home, I was thinking about the conversations I have had lately. I was shocked to realize how many really close friends that I had and still have. I can count at least 15 people that I've known anywhere from 5 to 15 years that I'm extremely close with and keep in contact with on a consistent basis. Friends you can count on and friends you would do anything for. Hell, 15 might even be a low number. Each one of them seem to be making changes for the better.
Funny how when during a really stressful time, friends seem to come out of nowhere and have heartfelt conversations and revelations that hit you upside the head like a brick.
Not only do we have to sit back and breathe in times like this, but often we have to just wake the hell up.
Now that I've gotten the chance to sit down and read other blogs on a more consistent basis, especially my bluddies (blog buddies) I've seen people putting together a list of all their bad habits. It's humorous to me, that when I read them I find more of what they list are things I call "quirks" or "oddities" or "that special something someone has that drives everyone fucking crazy".
I find bad habits to be more along the lines of picking your nose and eating your boogers, constantly scratching your butt or balls and not even know it, chewing your fingernails down to bloody little stumps or uncontrollable flatulance. The top things we would try to avoid on a first date lets say.
Quirks make us unique and often quite strange to someone who doesn't know us. Perhaps to a doctor these quirks could be more of a psychological issue. Not that I nor anyone of my friends have ever had any sort of psychological issues. *cough*
I have many quirks. Many that I'm sure my partner and friends have grown to love over the years. Well, at least Brian had better grow to love. He has to spend the rest of his life with me. How do vows go? "Through sickness and in health. Through belching and farting, til death do us part?" Something like that.
One of the biggest things in a relationship to deal with is each others quirks. Most of our problems since the day we started dating have been related to these little bastards. They can make or break a relationship. They cause most fights.
Like for instance, me having to always be right in an argument and have the last word. Which I usually am by the way. No further discussion. I can never make a final decision on where to eat or what to do for entertainment. "Where do you want to eat? I don't know. Where do YOU want to eat. I don't KNOW, where do YOU want....." You get the picture. Although, it's best if he picks what I where I want to eat and do what I want to do. Just easier that way. I often want things organized and cleaned MY way. I will take suggestions and sit and contemplate their meaning and purpose. Normally I end up doing it my way and he should probably agree with me and just let me do my thing. More then likely, it's the best way to do it anyway. This prevents any sort of argument and we all know how those are supposed to be handled.
All kidding aside, I know I'm a control freak. I like to have things done, cleaned and organized a certain way. All our clothes washed in a very specific manner. Folded a precise way. Hung up in an orderly fashion. I hate clutter and have a quirk of throwing things away that are no longer useful or serve their purpose. One quirk he has actually grown to love. The day we went through and shredded 6 garbage bags filled with years of old mail and past receipts and check stubs was like having a really good bowel movement. Refreshing.
I want things done in such a certain way for so many things, yet I never care where we eat, what we do or who we do it with. I'm such a Virgo, born on the cusp of Libra it's not even funny.
You could just imagine what I can be like when we're trying to buy this Condo, get it appraised, hire contractors, pick out bathroom tile, penny pinch and save money.
Makes a guy not care anymore.
I just want to sit around and scratch my balls.
This fragile little planet that we live on is a very small place.
I think at some point in our lives, all of us been in situations where we make friends and come to find out they know our friends, they dated one of our ex's, etc. We've been in another, far away city and bumped into an old friend that we haven't seen in years. Or we've find out that the guy we've been seeing is actually a first cousin. *cue Deliverance music*
Ok, that last one didn't happen to me, but did happen to a friend of mine a very long time ago.
My point is that this world we live in can be pretty damn small. Too small in fact.
This past weekend while house hunting, our Realtor took us to a complex to view our last condo of the day. It was in a questionable, aka spotty neighborhood. It was on the corner, across from construction and had tons of street noise due to all the traffic. Not trying to discourage myself, we went on in anyway.
Before I tell you what happened, earlier that day, the Realtor and I were checking out the online photos of the condo. We both immediately made fun of the seafoam green walls and faux marble painted accent walls. The living space looked as if an old grandma lived there. Complete with antique furniture, quirky old paintings and doilies. Once we got to pictures of the bedroom, we both laughed once we noticed the stepstool to help you into bed. Poor thing we thought. They're so old and feeble, they need help getting into bed. Yes, we were being mean. I'm sure I'll burn in hell.
We both realized at that moment that this was going a great working relationship between buyer and realtor.
Once we walked into this condo, I immediately stopped at the door and took a good look around. Something around there felt oddly familiar, yet I have never stepped foot in this place before. As I started looking around at the antique furniture, piano and artwork, I immediately was in shock. I had to run to the nearest ledge that housed hoards of picture frames.
Yes, sitting there plain as day was one of my Ex's. Javier was from Puerto Rico. He came from an extremely rich and snobbish family. We dated for a year. The first guy I had really fallen for in quite some time. We both loved the arts and spent many weekends antique shopping. Hell, I was with him when he bought most of the stuff in the condo I was standing in. There were tons of pictures of he and his mother. She hated me. She never could understand why Javier wanted to date a boy who was white and non-catholic. I found out she spoke english, but pretended that she didn't know one lick of it in front of me. I found out she spoke good english when I called her a bitch one time. Don't get me wrong, I love my mother to death. But I don't worship her like he does his. It's a tad bit creepy.
Towards the end of our relationship I told Javier that I loved him. Stupid mistake. He responded, "I never really have loved you. You have been nothing more then a convienence to me. Someone to do things with and frequent sex." He was blatantly honest. I didn't know what to do at that point. A few weeks later, while on a weekend getaway with another Ex and my best friend, my Ex confesses that a few weeks prior, he was online. Drunk as hell. Javier strikes up a conversation with him and before you know it, Javier is coming over for a night of fucking. In my house. With my Ex. While we were still "together". He said it wasn't planned, but when you stop off at the liquor store to buy bottles of wine, it sounded pretty planned to me.
Needless to say, once I realized I was standing in his apartment, I was freaking out a tiny bit. Although I did feel better once I realized that I had just spent an hour with my Realtor making fun of his choice of colors, furniture, artwork and his little stepstool to get his short, stubby ass into his bed.
Fuck, it's a small world after all just like the DIsney Ride tells us. Over and over and over again.
Somebody stop me. I must be on some sort of roll that I can't quit. I've gone to the gym twice. Good Lord willin', creek don't rise, you might be seeing me there tonight. My gymbag is packed, in my car and ready to go. But who am I kidding? I know that the only reason that's getting me into the gym right now is Brian's pushing, all the hotties we get to check out and all the people who we know something about so we can sit there and gossip.
We always start off our evening by fast walking on the treadmill. There's no way in hell you're going to get this boy to run. Unless it's a sale at Nieman Marcus or dollar shooters at a bar, I'm not running anywhere. I do know that with my families history of high blood pressure (which the last time I was in the doctor it was 145/110) and heart disease, it's probably a good idea to get some cardiovascular exercise in there before I die at the ripe old age of 45. What makes the time go by is nonchallantly commenting on all the cute muscleheads and guessing whether or not they are gay or straight. Often we would be totally off base and watch their girlfriend walk up to them and give them a big ol' smooch. Gaydar doesn't always work. Maybe someone needs to check my batteries.
We often see people we know, have seen at the clubs or have slept with, since I swear that the majority of the gayborhood works out at 24 Hour Fitness in Uptown. I personally, have yet to see someone I've tricked with or dated, which has to be some sort of fucking record. It's been an on-running joke with my friends that I've usually slept with or dated someone in the room or vacinity. Seems like you can't swing a dead cat without hitting one. If Brian has seen his past lurking around the club, he hasn't said anything yet. Which is odd since Brian is never quiet about anything.
I just want to make sure that I don't become one of those guys I constantly watch at the gym and make fun of. The ones who are all decked out in their workout clothes, ipod attached at the upper arm, weight lifting gloves, bottle of water and a hand towel. They sit there on a machine, do two reps, act tired and exhausted, wipe their forehead, swig some water, mouth some words to a song, look around at people, do two more reps, wash rinse and repeat. They usually find someone to talk to or walk from the front to the back of the gym to waste time. They'll find another machine to sit on and repeat the entire process. One guy last night I swear didn't even do the reps. He just sat there, moving from machine to machine, jammin' to his ipod.
I on the other hand, actually got in a very decent work out. My manboobies are a tad bit sore today.
But my workout wouldn't be complete without lots of gossiping, boywatching and making lots of kissy kissy faces at the boyfriend.
I love going to the Hidden Door for the afternoon Bear Beer Bust. It seems like we've almost made it a regular Sunday afternoon activity. This can be both good and bad. While having coffee with a co-worker and his partner, we started getting the phone calls asking us where the hell we were. We could be on the verge of just saying screw it, we'll stay home today and one of our friends will call begging us to come have a couple of drinks.
What is this 'couple of drinks' you speak of? When a bar has 50cent draws, beer becomes like crack. Can't seem to get enough of it. Soon we're buying in bulk so we have fewer trips to the bar. Eventually, friends become your worst enemy, feuling your beer addiction by buying rounds for everyone.
After making it very clear to the husbear not to buy any jello shots, two hours into the afternoon, he comes back, opens his jacket and inside the pockets are hoards of jello shots in rainbow colors. So many in fact, that I was forced to do three at once so they wouldn't go bad.
The evening was full of crazyness. Our friend Mama Starlett was caught holding up the lines to get beer on more then one occasion due to mugging down with one of the patrons in line with him. I was threatened by an ancient lesbian wearing cokebottle glasses (only female in the entire bar) who said I had to hurry up and pee because if not, she was going to sit on the urinal right next to me. My dick never shriveled up and stopped the pee flow so fast in all my life. It took at least an hour for it to come back from hiding.
Speaking of dicks in hiding, I somehow have this knack of coaxing mens penises out of their pants when I'm drunk. I'm honestly not sure how it works, but at one point there were seven men at the same time all whipping out their willies. It became a game to me. Whenever someone new walked up to the group, they had to show the schlong before being admitted to the inner circle. If they did not comply, they were harrassed until they caved. Some men are just girls.
Mama of course, was nowhere to be found during the festivities. He must have been standing in line for beer, kissing boys.
Yes, I love The Door, the hairy men and of course more dick then I've gazed upon in ages. I love hanging out with friends, drinking and laughing until our sides hurt. I just hate the next morning. Tasted like a cat took a poopoo in my mouth and my hands smelled like penis.
It's all just good old fashioned fun until hands start smelling like dick.
Yesterday was Friday the 13th, I was driving down the road after taking my Ex to the VA Hospital to get his pain medication. I haven't said much, but his cancer is back and has been given between 3 months and one year to live they guesstimate. He seems to be taking things well. Wanting to live life, enjoy friends, speak to people he's wronged in the past. While driving home with hundreds of thoughts going through my head, a black cat ran right in front of me. It's stupid what goes through someones mind. I immediately thought bad things.
Are people superstitious anymore? My mother weirds out if you throw a hat on the bed, walk under a ladder, open an umbrella in the house, break a mirror or allow a black cat to cross your path. Funny she's that way, being as religious as she is.
Today we sat down with our Realtor and ended by checking out some homes. Found a condo for 92K. Probably can get down to 85-88K since it's been on the market for quite a while. Same place friends of ours bought theirs. It's a fixerupper. Should be able to borrow based upon appraised value which should be 20K more so we can use the repair escrow money to totally redo the floors, kitchen and bathrooms.
We're not done yet though. We're continuing to check out others for another week before making a decision.
Although everything about the one place, seemed to be the right location, close to friends, shopping, gayborhood and is in an up and coming part of town where property values are going up every year.
This process is going to eat my stomach away.
As the weekend approaches, I get a bit more excited. Yesterday, I was emailed some home/condo listings for Brian and I to hopefully check out at some point tomorrow. The realtor, who is a friend of a friend that helped get them in their first home, will work with us to find a good starter home.
We know this won't be the first and last place we'll buy. We're hoping to find a reasonalbly priced 2 bedroom home or condo in an up and coming area, put a little bit of money and work into the place, then hopefully sell it after five or so years down the road. Then fnd something that's a bit more spacious, backyard, garage and pool being able to put a nice down payment with the money made from our Starter. That's our plan anyway. Everything sounds good in my head, reality is another story sometimes.
The bad thing it that the average new condo in the Dallas area, seems to average around 175-250K and those are small 1 or 2 bedrooms averaging only 800-1100 square feet. If I wanted to continue living in a fucking apartment, I would continue to rent. These places even still LOOK like an apartment. Once you get to nicer condominiums, you're talking 300K easily. If you want something in Midtown or Uptown, prices can soar to the half a million mark and upwards to 1 million on the top floors. All for a view of downtown. Fuck downtown. I've seen it many times.
Although every time Brian and I pass a certain loft styled condos in Uptown that faces the skyline, we tend to make little moaning noises and it's not from me grabbing his crotch while he drives. The ceilings look like their 20 feet tall. All glass walls on one side, spacious balcony's, modern styling. Maybe there's a rich relative out there that I don't know about who dies and leaves me all their money. One of us could win the lottery, but it would help if I even played the lottery to begin with.
I could continue to dream and think that there's a reader out there who just loves Brian and I so much, they're willing to give away some of their millions so that we may live in the lap of luxury. Hey, that deserves free blowjobs for life I tell you. From the both of us even. I'll whore my boyfriend out. It's the least I can do. I have a feeling millionaires don't sit around and read blogs unfortunately.
I think that I have the "I want it all now" syndrome. I don't want to wait. I want to find the perfect place. I don't want to have to put tons of work into it. I want a pool and a backyard. I want a cute hispanic cabana/pool boy who's running around naked all the time, holding cute, little fruity drinks with umbrellas in them, giving me massages while he fans me with feathered fans. Get out. This is my fantasy.
I just need to be patient. I know the first place we get isn't going to be perfect and it will need some work. We have a long road of frustrations, arguments, decisions and sore backs ahead of us.
Should I back off from holding pool boy auditions?
Tonight is the night that Brian and I start back to the gym. Just the thoughts of walking around a room full of big, muscled, sweaty men honestly doesn't sound appealing to me like it should. Gyms make me nervous. I'm not a musclehead and being around them makes me feel inadequate. I find myself hanging out with the women upstairs on the eliptical machines or downstairs doing Yoga.
Gradeschool PE class was a nightmare as a kid. Our instructor was one of those manly men who liked to make fun of anyone that wasn't athletic. Namely, me. When I moved to middle school, our instructor was a tall, skinny older man who had a habit of keeping one hand down his pants. He made me nervous. It didn't help that I reached puberty at such a young age. By the time I was in 7th grade, I was sporting pubic, underarm and even a little bit of chest hair. I was shaving by the 8th grade. Only plus side to the whole "showering with other boys" was the fact that my penis seemed bigger then most of the other kids. Honestly, I swear I wasn't held back a year or two. Hell, I was one year younger then most since I started school when I was 4 years old.
During both grade and middle school years, I was always the kid who was picked last for every sport. No one wanted me on their team. PE class was humiliating on so many levels.
I thought things might get better once I went to highschool. I found out on the first day that my old gradeschool instructor got a promotion and was now teaching at the highschool level. Just my luck. He hated me from day one. My brothers were his age and were big rivals in school. Basically, they hated each other. Our last name is quite unique. If you have our last name, there's a 99% chance you're related to us. I was doomed from the beginning. He made life a living hell three days a week for me. Left a bad taste in my mouth for anything related to sports or going to a gym. After trying to force me to run laps after breaking my ankle, I never had to take PE class throughout my entire time in highschool.
There have been a few good things coming from gyms. First off, it was my only outlet for checking out hot guys and seeing naked men in the showers back in my closeted days. Hey don't judge me, we take what we can get right? I met one of my best friends while working out in the gym. We were inseperable from day one. I got to see HIS penis one time at the gym when he laid it on my forehead while I was doing a benchpress. He thought he was being funny. If he only knew about what I was thinking at the time. Another bonus. I met one other guy during those early years working out. Basically because I fell in love with his horse pee pee. Lordy, it was huge. We became instant friends of course for the next few years.
Ten years later, I was back home visiting family and I run into him at a coffee shopt. We start chatting about things and start talking about art. He then invites me back to his farm to see his "artwork". Needless to say, we didn't look at much artwork, because to my surprise he was gay.
So I got to play with his artwork for an afternoon.
See some good things can come from working out in a gym.
Back in the day when we all pretty much lived our lives in the bar, my little group of friends were always making suggestions to do something outside the bar. Dinners, movies, game night or possibly bowling. It took us a while, but Brandon and Dusty called us up for a night out eating at The Londoner followed up by bowling at Fun Fest. A good friend of ours Doug was in visiting from Oklahoma, so it was great to get a chance to see him for the first time in what seems like ages.
The Londoner is a qaint English styled Pub that serves things like Shepherds Pie and Fish and Chips. We had a great time. Especially the ladies behind us. Brian does not have a distinction between outside voice, inside voice or bar voice. It's all the same pretty much. I'm sure the ladies behind him loved the conversation regarding someones penis when erect being the size of his middle finger. Complete with hand gestures and visual effects. It wasn't the first time these two ladies nonchalantly glanced our way with a look of horror.
Inside voice baby, inside voice.
I haven't been bowing in a while. Back in the day, I was a pretty good bowler. Back when you had to write and keep track of your scores on an overhead projector with a white grease pencil. Now the computer screens do wild animation when you get a strike or spare and totally make fun of you when you miss. Gee, now I have a computer telling me how shitty of a bowler I am. I'm just kicking myself in the ass for not bringing my camera. After watching how odd some of us bowl and the weird kicks, jumps and twirls we all do when we hit or miss would have been hilarious. Trust me it won't be forgotten the next time we go.
Bowling is so awkward though. You have to sit right next to a group of people you don't know. Our group had the cutest little three year old with more energy then he knew what to do with. He also liked to spend most of his time on our side with his parents constantly yelling at him to move back over. He just wanted to hang out with the Homo's. I'm sure the father was thrilled. Get five gay men together and it doesn't take long for lots of girl this and girl that and lots of butt slappin' and kisses (one person gives me a lecture on gay men calling each other girl and I will scratch your eyes out and pull your hair) Hell at one point Brandon was twostepping with Doug, then fell in a heap on the couch, laughing like school girls.
We were the epitome of butchness I tell you.
We hadn't had that much fun in quite some time. Best part of the evening though, was a story told by one person in the group who shall remain nameless. You know I've never been one to disclose someones name or openly make fun of one of my friends on Zeitzeuge. I will say that the person was the only one visiting from out of town. It seems that one night recently out at the bars, he developed a hemorrhoid. That must have been some pretty fancy twosteppin' if you ask me. Was his butt being dragged around a cement floor? He freaked out, not knowing exacly why he had this 'hard as a marble' protrusion hanging off his poopshoot. After confirming that he had a Roid, he proceeded to buy some Preparation H and put it into his bag. During the next night out, all that butt movement caused his issue to inflame and burn like hell. He rushed back to his room, grabbed his the tube and slathered his hole with cream.
Not realizing that he had just applied Listerine Toothpaste. Mint flavored I'm sure.
I'll let you imagine what the next few days were like for him. but I'm pretty sure it didn't involve any twosteppin'.
Every three months I go in for a checkup like clockwork. Every three months I find out how my body is doing and how the medications are working. It's nice to have this medium to keep track of every visit. Being as forgetful as I am, I can look back upon results a few months or a year ago. Yesterday of course, was that day.
I don't really get too worked up anymore like I did way back when. I know my body well enough to know when something isn't right. I take better care of myself, never miss any of my doses and try to eat better. Working out on a consistant basis is my next step which at times seems almost impossible to achieve, but I'm trying.
My tcells were over 1100. I've consistantly had those marks for as along as I can remember. Minus a few drops along the way due to me being stupid. Once I learned my lesson, I got my tcells back to a high level. My viral load has been undetectable for a number of years. Meaning counts under 400. I've even had it as low as 40. Yesterday, there's a blip that caused it to go up to 1000, but the doctor isn't worried and neither am I. This happens for whatever reason from time to time. More then likely, the numbers will drop back below undetectable levels. I was constantly sick with a cold and cough the month of December. Even a few days that caused me to stay in bed or miss work one day. I'm sure this was the cause of the blip in numbers.
All in all I consider my counts to be good. My cholesterol is down from 500 to 250. Tryglicerides from 1500 to 545. Good cholesterol was the highest it's been, which he was quite pleased with. Overall, not fantastic but he considered it nothing to worry about.
Blood pressure was 145/105. My bottom number has been creeping up the past year. I have a history of high bloodpressure and heart disease in my family, so it's something he wants to watch.
Only problem? Kidney functions are at 2.3. From what I remember, normal is around 1.10 to 1.20. When I had my bought of kidney stones during the summer, it rose to around 2.5, dropped to 1.7 and then stayed. We assumed it would be back to normal or possibly close. Not back up to 2.3. This also might be a reason for the elevated blood pressure.
Cause of all of this? Medication more then likely. Might be I just inherited my family trait of Stone Disease. Well, I can't stop taking the medication and I sure as hell can't do anything about my genes. It's something the doc is concerned about, but told me to continue to drink lots of water, keeping my system flushed and we'd check it out again in three months. If I have any problems or pain, to come in immediately.
Only other issue was acid reflux. I have it bad. Acid Refulx medications can interfere with some HIV Medications. I take the meds 12 hours apart so he's pretty sure that my blip in viral load wasn't caused by this. He thinks. We don't know. To top things off he wants me to see a specialist. If acid reflux isn't controlled, it can lead to some form of cancer of the esophagus. Being one of the few gay men on the planet that still has his gag reflex, I'm sure looking forward to having a scope put down my throat.
Seems like one thing affects the other. Can't do without the med that can cause kidney problems. Kidney problems might be causing high blood pressure. High blood pressure and acid reflux medications can cause issues with the kidneys. Can't do without acid reflux medication in fear of getting cancer.
To top everything else off, me sitting around and stressing out about everything isn't good for me either. My mind was in a hundred places last night while we laid down to take a quick nap. Couldn't concentrate on anything during dinner because my mind was going a mile a minute.
Eh, I'm just rambling at this point. Nothing I haven't gone through before in some form or fashion.
Brian's Birthday falls on the day after the Baby Jesus. We joke saying that when Brian found out he was going to be born on the 25th and would have to share his birthday with someone famous, he decided to wait one more day come shooting forth, streamers and confetti, on the 26th. Why I picture this happening with him wearing some tiny little Carmen Miranda Fruit hat singing "I love a parade" is beyond me.
Since the holidays were busy as hell for everyone and many were out traveling, we waited until afterwards to have a dinner party for him. Friday nigiht, about 14 of his closest friends took time out of their busy schedules to help us celebrate. Brian said he's never really had much of a birthday growing up. Having it the day after Christmas has always put a damper on things. We had dinner at Mi Cocina in West Village. This place had more fake boobs and fur coats. This location seems to attract the young, hip, ultra (think they are) cool crowd. It was good to see that the homo's were in full force that evening as well. It was a great dinner, lots of loudness and laughter, presents, cake and even a song sung to him by the entire staff. The minute they were done Mama yells, "And now.....The ENGLISH version!!!" and we proceed to sing Happy Birthday in 4 part harmony no less.
He was feeling no pain as you can tell, after two margarita's. He said it was the best Birthday ever. I want to thank all of those who came. It meant a lot to the both of us. (sorry, don't have good pics of everyone that was there)
Mama found out how big our waiters dick is
Afterwards we headed out for a few drinks. We spent most of the time wanting to lick the buttcracks of these two hotties.
Saturday was a day of beauty by accident. We decided on a whim to get mani's and pedi's. Brian decided to throw in facials too. He's the only person on the planet who can get a foot and leg massage from a not-so-attractive pedicurist and pop a woody. While we sat their sipping our bottled water, having our nails done and our feet scrubbed, I look over and Brian's popping a tent. I had to tell him to hide that thing! Anyone touches or rubs on him, even in a mildly sexual manner and his penis has a mind of it's own.
We ended the weekend with an afternoon at The Bear Beer Bust at The Door. Got to hang out with a bunch of friends and have a good time, minus the jello shots. Home early enough to even catch this weeks episode of Desperate Housewives.
All in all, a perfect weekend.
One of the wonderful things Brian got me for Christmas was a new Palm T/X. For anyone that knows me, these things are like a little slice of heaven topped off with a touch of homemade gravy and a side of jalapeno cornbread. I can't remember shit. I can't keep track of all the little pieces of paper with peoples phones numbers and email addresses. You should have seen me back in the days with trick cards that I collected at the bars. They could be found anywhere.
God forbid I'm required to remember someones birthday other then my own. Brian's the day after Christmas, so that's hard to forget. Luncheons and dinner parties? I'm lucky to remember to get dressed in the morning before walking out the door. Not that it's happened yet. This past holiday season was a testement to whatever little ability I had left to remember dates, times and places. It nearly drove me to drink. Wait a minute, I DID drink!
I remember introducing my best friend Brad to someone one time (can't remember when, but it happened) and completely forgot his name. I would often forget where and what I had for lunch that day. I've forgotten my very own cell number and had to look it up on my phone. The worst offense? Please don't think bad of me for this.
On occasion, I've left the house without..........a belt on. I know! I know! I've driven all the way back home before. I even kept an old bottle of cologne in the car for those days I forget to squirt a little pretty juice on me.
Back in the early days of early HIV diagnosis, I honestly feared I had dimentia. I even blamed it on the medication for a while before I became more knowledgeable of the disease. I tried blaming it on family genes. I tried blaming it on the dog, but realized the only thing you can blame on the dog is a fart.
It all boils down to the fact that despite how loveable and cuddly I am *cough.snort.giggle*, I have a fault.
CRS Syndrome: Can't Remember Shit
I started talking about all this for a reason.
Oh yeah I forgot, while updating my new Palm, I realized I hadn't talked to some people in a very long time. Palochi and Homer to name a few. Luckily at least Homer was home and answered his phone. *stern look towards Palochi* While on the phone the conversation took a turn regarding GB:NYCtrinity. Two years ago, I planned a trip to NYC to meet some fellow bloggers. What started off being a weekend with a handful of people, turned into a yearly event, last year topping almost 60 bloggers in one place from various parts of the U.S. This year will be the third year and will be held in May. We were thinking about meeting on Memorial Day Weekend. Meet for drinks and drunkeness on Friday night. Late brunch the next day to cure those hangover blues. Do a little bit of barhopping Saturday evening. Ending with maybe a picnic in Central Park or something on Sunday. Who knows at this point, we're just throwing ideas out there.
Any suggestions on when to meet and what to do, give us your ideas.
PS: Any bloggers out there who I at one point had your phone number and address, please send it to me again so I can update my palm. I forgot to upload all my information on my old palm to my computer and lost everything.
See? Can't remember shit.
Still love me?
I haven't had a chance to physically talk to my Mother yet, but she did call yesterday and leave me a detailed message while I was away from my desk. Bless her heart. They finally bought a cell phone last year. Initially they purchased one of those "Emergency use only" plans. *rolls eyes* Then they decided they might like to use this new fangled technology that they stumbled upon a tad bit more so they upped their minutes to a whopping, heartstopping 200 minutes a month. Nights and weekends free of course, which they were absolutely thrilled about.
Unfortunately, the phone doesn't work at all when you drive one mile outside of any major city. Mind you, there's like 8 major cities in the entire state so it doesn't work when she's on the highway or at the farm. She ran out of minutes and doesn't know how to get more. I tried to exlain to her how, but she thought that since they were going through a difficult time right now what with her hubbys surgery and all, that the cell phone company would just give them more minutes.
For free.
All that to say that I have no number to to get ahold of her at the moment. She didn't leave any sort of hotel number or hospital room number. The message said that he had a quadruple bypass surgery and it only took two hours to complete. They were surprised at how fast and smooth everything went. She said he was feeling really good and alert. She herself seemed to sound fine as if nothings wrong. As I mentioned yesterday regarding my family, what we show on the outside isn't always what's going on in the inside, but she seems to be holding up fine and so does the hubby.
Thanks for all thoughts, kind words and prayers.
Now if y'all would just say a prayer so she can undertand things like cell phones, microwaves, cameras and how to pump your own gas. Believe it or not she has her husband do it now because the place in town that pumped your gas for you finally closed down after 60 years. Up until the last day, some cute farm boy came out and filled your tank (that sounds really dirty now that I write that), washed your windows, checked your oil (so does that) and told you to have a good day.
Mother tipped him a dollar every time.
I hope she doesn't get run out of gas while away from home.
It's funny how life can repeat itself. How past memories and events can come full circle and start all over again.
Back in the late 80's my father started having heart problems. Small Angina attacks happened about once a year. It wasn't until I walked out to our back yard where my father had his shop, did I find him slumped down on the ground, grabbing his chest and left arm. He had finally had a full scale heart attack.
The next few years was filled with numerous trips to the hospital. A change in diet and a daily exercise routine. Dad's life forever changed. He went from a robust, healthy, ball of fire man to someone who was forced to sit in an easy chair and watch the world go by. He watched silently as we sifted through 50 years worth of tools, cars and parts. He sat there and didn't complain as we sold off most of his things to pay for hospital bills. Dad would no longer be able to work out in his safe haven, his garage.
During this time, Dad had a quadruple bypass heart surgery. I remember sitting with him the day after surgery, complaining about how much it hurt. Back then, they cut you from neck to navel, opening up the chest cavity and taking the heart completely out to perform the bypass. In came the nurse the next morning and forced him to sit up on the side of the bed. He next day he was forced not only to sit up, but to walk to the door. By the third day he was walking up and down the hallway. After hearing what they do to perform the surgery, just getting out of bed within a week seemed like an amazing feat to me. Unfortunately, having a second bypass surgery later on in life was usually impossible. Only on rare occasions was this even attempted.
Things have changed.
Saturday, my Mother called to tell me that her husband was rushed to the hospital with chest pains. He had a mild heart attack. Having a heart attack on a holiday weekend in a small town isn't a good thing. Test were finally ran today and they found 75% blockage on the left main artery. Causing two lesser arteries to be partially blocked also. They took him by ambulance on Tuesday to Lincoln for surgery this morning.
This all seems way too familiar. My Mother is holding up well despite the fact. She's like our entire family. We prefer to cry in private, away from friends and family. We must put on a stern, confident face and not let anyone see we're hurting. Crying in front of others, causes them to worry and cry with you. We must all be strong for one another. Crying in private is best.
Sometimes I wonder how our family ever got through my Dad's ordeal. For years we hid our crying from one another. It wasn't until his funeral did we ever see each other show any sort of emotion.
We're a stubborn lot.
He is actually in good spirits. Stubborn as hell, but listening to family and the doctors. He tends to put all his energy in his faith in God and push away doctors. Luckily now that he's a part of our family, we make him put his faith in his God AND his doctors. He's a very unselfish man, not wanting to put any of his family and new family through any trauma.
He's forced to think about himself which is so unlike him.
Times have changed and open heart surgery isn't want it was 15 years ago. I'm not worried though. For some reason, I totally am not afraid and have a calmness about it.
I just hope Mom does too. She's been through this before, and isn't ready to do it again.
The New Year was rang in with an intimate group of people at a friends house. I got all decked out in my new KC Jacket and Muppet on Crack Green Sweater. I'm glad that I wore that color, because after drinking for 4 hours, The Muppet reared it's ugly head. One minute I'm drinking Vodka Tonics, Amaretto and Champagne, the next minute I'm driving home with Brian around 1am, begging him to hurry. I think I asked him every miniute or so, how close we were to home. I couldn't even look out the windshield. I had to keep my eyes on my knees to keep myself from throwing up all over the fine corinthian leather. Ever seen a corinthian running around in the wild? Neither have I. Anyhoo, I knew things had gone down the shitter that night when I a straight buddy of mine fell in love with my belt and I was telling him ways he could earn it. Most of them involving getting naked, showing me his penis. Eventually I told him I had to be able to touch it. Before the night was over, I was adding that he had to get it hard and I had to give him a blow job. I'm glad my straight budies love me the way they do.
Sunday, after wishing that someone would just take a fucking knife and cut off my head, throw it on the ground and stomp on it to put me out of my misery, we get the infamous phone call to meet friends at The Door for the Bear Beer Bust. It was a beautiful sunny and 85 degrees. By the time we arrived, my hangover was gone surprisingly. I sat there sipping on beer and making ugly faces though. My body just wasn't ready for any sort of alcohol. Like the trooper that I am, I suffered through it and kept on a goin'. It was a festive, hairy crowd. At one point some big hairy guy with nipples so long he needed a bra, grabbed me, hugged me and kept showering me with kisses. Over and over he kept saying how wonderful it was to see me and that it had been ages since we last talked. He kept asking how I was doing and if life was treating me well. The entire time he would hug and kiss me inbetween breaths. Not wanting to make myself look like an idiot, I played along telling him I was doing great and asking him how he's been since we last saw each other. I told him how great he looked. He then looks over to his buddy standing there and says, "I have no fucking clue to who this man is." I had no clue to who he was either.
Welcome to The Door on a Sunday.
Bastard. Later on that night he comes up to Brian and showers him with the same affection. They honestly seem to know each other. He asked Brian where his boyfriend was and wanted to be inroduced. I then lean forward and say, "I think we've already met."
As it happened to me the night before, all of the sudden around 8pm, our entire group turned tragic. One was yelling at someone in the corner. Another got pissed at a friend. The one who was kissing every boy in the bar I had to threaten to take out of the bar and call him a taxi if he didn't shut the fuck up yelling and screaming. So there I am, sober as a Judge while Brian's having trouble keeping his head up. They call me the Muppet on Crack when I get drunk. Brian's more of a Muppet on Vallium. Poor BooBoo can't handle his jello shots.
Can someone explain to me the connection between Bears and Jello shots? Damn. They can't drink their shots, they have to EAT them? Bless their hearts.
I guess it's fair play for me to have to babysit my other half after he had to put up with me begging him to drive home faster so I wouldn't puke in technicolor. We stopped by Taco Bell for some late night nourishment. I think I caught him falling asleep with a Double Decker Taco in his mouth.
Needless to say, we didn't get any New Years nookie on New Years Eve or New Years Day.
Thank God for the day after New Years Day.
