List Of Lasts

Last . . .

car ride: From work the night before last.
good cry: While watching the movie Meet Joe Black last week.
library book: A Density of Souls, by Christopher Rice. A good book. I highly reccomend it.
movie seen: (in a theater) Star Wars - Episode 2: Attack of the Clones. (on video) Strangeland.
book read: Alias, by Mary Elizabeth Ryan
cuss word said: Does "damn" count? If not it was probably the "f" word. (I havea dirty little mouth.)
beverage drank: Iced Americano Mocha, just the thing to start my day!
food consumed: An Italtan cold cut sub from the carry-out next door. That was my dinner last night.
phone call: This morning I called my landlord because the darn garbage disposal in the kitchen sink isn't working again.
TV show:Big Brother 4, last night.
showered: This morning for at least a half-hour. Squeaky clean!
song played:"Stress is Best" by Menthol.
Item bought: Toilet paper, razor blade cartidges and hairspray at the corner store.
annoyance: My image server is down again. Also, I can't get into my f***ing email! GRRRR!
soda drank: Cherry 7-Up.
thing written: My Five Minute Story "Holiday at Jolly's".
words spoken: "I Love you" to the husband.
cigarette: Ten minutes ago.
sleep: I got about 8 hours last night. Woo-hoo!
ice-cream eaten: Rainbow vanilla.
hugged: This morning. A great big one from the husband. Mmmmmmmm!
shirt worn: My "Hey, Bozo!" t-shirt.
website visited: Candy Genius.

Thought Of The Day

"Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the over-compensations for misery.
And, of course, stability isn't nearly so spectacular as instability.
And being contented has none of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune, none of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation, or a fatal overthrow by passion or doubt.
Happiness is never grand."

From Brave New World, by Aldous Huxley

Down In It

Now everybody's got advice they just keep on giving.
Doesn't mean too much to me.
Lot's of people out to make believe they're living.
Can't decide who they should be.

I understand about indecision,
But I don't care if I get behind.
People living in competition,
All I want is to have my peace of mind.
--Boston
"Peace of Mind"

I've been kind of burnt out lately.
Too much work, not enough R & R is what it is.
It doesn't help that the husband and I have been working totally different schedules with completely different days off.
I'm saying hello as he's saying goodbye or vice versa.
It's frustrating, because spending time with him is one of my favorite things.
I gotta find some way to fix this.
Other than quitting my job. That would put us in a finacial pickle it would be tough to get out of.

Off tomorrow. YAY!
I have a hair appontment tomorrow morning and I'm going to get it all cut off. I'm sick of worrying about it.
Call me space monkey!

A Five Minute Story

Holiday At Jolly's

It was way past time for a vacation, so I took a half-day off and went to Jolly Jo's Garden of Dreams off Central Avenue.
All Direct Interface emporiums are pretty much the same anyway, and Jolly Jo's is located in the same mall I lived in. How convienient is that?
I walked through the front entrance and I was greeted by Jolly Jo herself.
She was a short asian woman of undeterminable age wearing an Old Earth style costume of a silk kimono and sash and her black hair was pulled up in a bun.
"Welcome to Jolly Jo's." she said and with short hobbling steps led me to a DI booth. I sat down in the padded chair and let the cushions conform to my body as I sank in.
Heavenly.
"What kind of program would you like?" Jolly asked as she strapped down my ankles and wrists with the soft simulated-leather restraints.
"We have some new erotics that you might enjoy."
"Uh, no thanks." I replied.
I wasn't in the mood for that, not that it would matter once I was plugged in.
"Nothing erotic." I told her. "A sensual. Something from Old Earth. Twentieth Century, I think. Surprise me."
She smiled at me, reclined the chair back and then pulled a wire from the back of the chair and inserted the plug at it's end into the socket at the base of my skull.
"I have just the thing." she said, "I think you'll enjoy this. One moment, please." and she exited.
Not a minute later the red light on the arm of the chair winked on indicating the program was ready.
"Program start." I said.
The booth and Jolly Jo's faded and . . .
I noticed how hot it was.
I looked around and I was on a beach. Sunbathers lounged here and there, bodies all oiled up. Others sat under huge umbrellas and drank from tall glasses, also with umbrellas.
The "sun" shown brighly down on me, but I knew better than to look up at it. I did that the first time I tried an Old Earth program and saw purple spots for hours afterward.
If the simulation was accurate you had to wonder how the Old Earther's prevented permanent retinal damage with that bright thing hanging over them.
A tall slender young man appeared at my side holding a tray with a drink on it. I had no idea what it was but it was pink and had some kind of fruit in it.
I took a sip and was overwhelmed by the the exotic flavors. I had never tasted anything so wonderful and refreshing.
I dug my toes into the soft warm sand. The sun beat down and a soft breeze was blowing.
I sighed with satisfaction. This was just what I needed.

We Are Everywhere

OK, I was having this conversation with a guy (who was straight) and when I said the phrase "my husband" he asked
"So that makes you 'the wife'?"
I don't get angry at questions like that. They're asking because they don't know.
I always admire the persuit of knowledge.
Anyway, I explained that my definition of the word "husband" is the same as Merriam-Webster's: a male partner in a marriage.
Therefore, we're both husbands!

I've been the "human gaydar unit" at work lately, co-workers coming up to me and asking "Is he gay?" like I have nothing better to do than size someone up to see what their preference is.
Sheesh!
I do it anyway. Just for the practice, of course.
It's just that the people they ask about are so obvious!
Yes, the guy with the mascara and nail polish who is prancing around the restaraunt is gay, OK? Ask me a tough question.
It was printed on a t-shirt, "We are everywhere", and it's so true!
PJ was waiting on these two guys and I pulled him aside and said "Hey, if you flirt with them you might get a bigger tip."
"Huh?"
"They're gay."
"No way, dude! How can you tell?"
"I can tell, trust me."
"I never woulda known! They look just like regular people!"
"We are regular people!"

Can You Feel The Love?

Bloggers who I've never met, but feel a strange connection with:

Joey

Cindy

Christopher

Bloggers who it'd be cool to meet someday:

Tyler

Morrie

Ron

Bloggers who do it so well:

Shan

Kenny

Jim

Bloggers who are too sexy: (Woof!)

Chad

Steve

Kurt

It's A Bad, Bad Thing

It's really really not a good idea to piss off your server when eating in a restaraunt.
And while I'm dispensing advice, don't make an enemy of the bartender at a bar or club, either. (You could get a weak drink. And wouldn't that be just terrible?)
I'm not saying to just take what you get and don't complain.
If it seems like your orders taking too long, or something doesn't taste right, or wasn't what you thought it was, speak your mind about it. No problem!
But just because something isn't right doesn't give anyone the right to berate their server and treat them like garbage.
I had a woman totally go off on me last night because we were out of a menu item we usually carry.
Hello? Is that my fault?
I totally didn't deserve to be treated like that!

Some servers, if disrespected, might "accidentally" drop your filet mignon on the grungy kitchen floor and then plop it right back on the plate as though nothing happened, make your drink in a dirty glass, or possibly something worse.
(What could be worse than that? Trust me, you don't wanna know.)

I would never, ever do something like that, of course.

Work It, Girl!

Work last night was kind of hectic. I had the section right by the front door all to myself.
It's the busiest section, which was good because I knew I was gonna make money regardless, but bad because I couldn't devote as much time to each of my tables as I like to.
I was this blur streaking through the restaraunt. Nobody else at work last night was even half as busy as me.
It really pisses me off when I see everyone in the wait station standing around chatting like they have nothing to do and I don't even have enough time to zip in the bathroom or take a sip of soda.
Out of all the servers there last night the only one who offered to assist me was this girl Jenn.
The lack of teamwork in that restaraunt is appalling.

So after that I just needed to have a cocktail!
There was around one-third of a bottle of Sangria left over in the 'fridge from the other night, but that wasn't going to be enough.
I drank the Sangria while I changed clothes and then bopped over to Leon's, one of my favorite "watering holes".
My girl Shawnna Alexander was there and she was telling me about the Miss Leon's contest on Septmber 6th which she was running for. I told her I wouldn't miss it and promised her I'd be there.
[Note to self: Remember to request that day off!]
She also mentioned they need more performers so I'm going to call my friend Ralph (Summer Skyy) and see if he's interested.

I didn't stay out too late last night. Bert, the bartender, had a trick waiting at home(!) and was so anxious to get there he closed the bar down early.
No big loss. They were slow anyway, everyone was at the Hippo for Men's Night.

Must See

Girls Will Be Girls has been described as:
"John Waters meets All About Eve"

"Mommie Dearest in drag."

and
"A weird, sick mix between The Golden Girls and The Valley of the Dolls."

I simply have to see this movie!

It's Like That

Yesterday was a good day.
Any day I eat Chinese Food is usually a good one.
My fortune cookie said:
No one is happy that does not think himself so.
Duh! You could just as easily reverse it: No one is unhappy that does not think himself so!

When I was downtown yesterday running errands, I popped into the Enoch Pratt Free Library to check the email real quick and then I checked the blog.
Yeek!
I usually see it on the comp at home, and I have IE. The library uses Netscape and the blog looks just ghastly.
Oh, it's terrible!
Even the font style is different. I'm hoping it's just that crappy library computer I was on and it doesn't look like that for everybody.
There must be something I can do to make it look better with Netscape.
I'm looking into this.

Tune Up

I heard the new Beyonce song "Crazy in Love" for the first time yesterday. It was pretty good actually, but I'm going to have to hear more of the album before I run right out and buy it.
The same is true for Justin Timberlake's "Justified" CD. "Like I Love You" is a great song, but I'm not plunking down $15 for the CD until I hear more of it.
Alot of people download music from the internet, but I prefer to actually go in a music store and buy it.
Call me old fashioned if you must.

There are some artists, though, where I'll buy the CD without having to hear anything on it:
Cher, Madonna, Blondie/Deborah Harry, and a few others. There's very few songs they do that I don't like or can't listen to.
Also any Now That's What I Call Music compilation because I know I'll like around 90% of it, and they also make great CDs to play when you're throwing a party.

What If . . .?

The "Alternate Universe Theory" is that for any choice that anyone makes (or doesn't make) or any event that happened (or didn't happen) "creates" an aternate universe.
Therefore, there are an infinite number of universes where anything that feasibly could have happened actually did happen (or vice versa).
The concept boggles the mind.
If that theory is correct there are universes where . . .

Adolph Hitler was never born and WWII never happened.

America lost and did not win it's independence in 1776.

Martin Luther King, Jr. and/or JFK were never assasinated.

The Jackson Five were not given a record contract and never became famous.
(Michael Jackson was a "nobody" in that universe.)

Or even closer to home:

You were never born. When she was pregnant with you your mother miscarried in her fourth month.

Crossing the street at age six you failed to see that big truck coming toward you and were run over. You died on the way to the hospital.

Playing the lottery on a whim last week you won the big prize--180 million dollars!

To actually travel to an alternate universe, simply click here.

You Are Your Own Dog

I'm off today and I'd better take advantage of it because I'm working the next six days in a row.
I was supposed to be off Friday, but I volunteered to work.
I talk about how I hate that place and then I offer to go in on my day off. I must be a glutton for punishment after all.
(Nasty thought, that.)

I was at work last night and they had no Crew Leader scheduled so manager Michelle asked me if I want to be "Acting Crew Leader" for the shift.
I said "Screw you!"
Actually, I didn't say that, although I was sorely tempted to-- believe me.
I did tell her I wouldn't do it though.
What nerve!! They take my badge and my position from me and then they ask me to pull their fat out of the fire?
Nope. Not gonna do it this time.

I'm going to a Chinese restaraunt for lunch today.
YAY!
I used to go to the Chinese Restaraunt at least twice a week and it's been over two months since I've been there so I have a really big taste for it.
I can hardly wait.
I'm getting so hungry just thinking about it, I'm actually starting to drool all over the keyboard!
Pavlov really knew what he was talking about, didn't he?

I'm probably not going to go out tonight, even though it's my day off.
A better idea is watching a little TV and spending "quality time" with my man.
So that's just what I'll do!

Masturbating Is Not A Crime!

Cool t-shirt.
I couldn't see myself wearing one, though.
I mean, would you?

Imagine what people would say.

Big Wheels Keep On Turnin'

I believe in Fate. (Captital "F")
At this point there is no doubt in my mind about it.
There is something inside me that says that some things are meant to be a certain way. This or that event or circumstance is supposed to happen or exist.
You can't fight it, you can't deny it.
Oh, sure, you can try, but it's not going to get you anywhere.
Case in point: The Husband and I.
Me and the husband together has Fate's handprints all over it. I believe it was meant to be. We were meant to be.
Whatever problems we have we always seem to work it out somehow. We always seem to get stronger for it, too.
Relationships are like a garden, I think.
What happens when you don't weed a garden? That's what happened with us.
(It might not be the best analogy, but it's all I could come up with.)
So that's getting better, which makes me really really happy.
When love goes wrong, nothing goes right.

A Five Minute Story

Monday Night Spades

Stubby was my partner, which was perfect because we had our special signals.
It's not really cheating. Well, technically it is, but is it our fault we can read each other so well?
It was my turn to shuffle. I've never been really good at this, my big paws awkward and clumsy with the cards, but I got the job done.
We were playing against Howie and Mook who made an absolouely lousy team. You'd think they'd realize that by now.
Howie would throw his best cards away and Mook always underbid terribly.
The game was Spades and we played every Monday.
"You gonna deal them cards, Eyeball?" Mook said and took a long pull on his beer.
"Yeah, I'm dealin' 'em. I'm dealin' 'em. Keep yer pants on, Mookie." I said.
I offered the deck to Howie to cut, but he waved it away as I knew he would. He had this strange superstition that cutting the deck was bad luck or something.
So I dealt.
Mook would pick up each his cards as soon as they were put in front of him, pissing me off to no end.
"Mook, you don't pick up yer cards 'till their all dealt," I said, "You'd get shot for that in the Old West."
"Yeah, well in case ya hadn't guessed, this ain't the Old West." Mook said, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.
I decided to let that one go.
Stubby had already picked up his pile of cards and was sorting them, so I did too. It was a pretty good hand.
Howie was looking at his cards and squinting, sorting them and resorting them. In about ten minutes he would be done and ready to place his bid. He wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer.
That was OK, though. It gave Stubby and me time to strategize.
I looked over at Stubby. He was rubbing his nose with his index finger and his thumb and second finger were extended. He looked at me and raised his left eyebrow.
I tapped my cigarette in the ashtray four times and looked over at him to see if he caught it. He winked back at me.
We knew exactly what to do.
We were going to mop up the floor with them.

Up And Down And All Around

My mood has been all over the place lately. Stop this roller coaster-- I want to get off!

First, I'm deleriously happy (for no reason I can fathom), then later I'm so depressed I don't know what to do with myself.
Right now I'm kind of numb, like I don't feel anything.
As if I've used up all my emotions the past few days and the bucket needs time to fill up or something.

I hate, despise, and detest my job.
I work hard when I'm there, though--not for any love of the place but for the money it brings me.
It's just every day it gets harder and harder to walk through those doors, to put that apron on and greet the new guests that walk through the door.
My "work smile" is as phoney as a brass transistor.
The new restaraunt won't be opening until September 1st (or so) so I'm just going to stick it out, just grit my teelth, bite my tongue, and take it like a man.
Finding a new job only to work there a month when my dream job will be starting soon doesn't make much sense to me.

Also, things at the old homestead haven't been going very well lately either.
I've avoided blogging about it because it's depressing and I think part of me whas trying to not see things that were/are happening.
It's called denial.
The relationship and the relating with the husband lately has been strained, distant and weird--and that's putting it nicely.
We hardly even talk that much anymore. When we're both at home I'm in one room and he's in another. I don't know what's going to happen with us.
That story I wrote wasn't "fiction". It was true.
So I'm upset and anxious about that as well.

So, basically on all levels things are getting tough.
So I'll do what I always do, work as hard as I can to make things better and try to put on a brave face and not let things get me down.
"You're like a cat, Jimmy," I tell myself optimistically, "you always land on your feet."
And I will this time, too, no matter what happens.

I have no idea what the future's gonna bring.
You'll know when I do.

The Friday Five: The Evils That Men Do

1. When was the last time you cheated?
I'm gonna have to strain my brain for this one. Let's see, I don't take tests, so I can't cheat on them. I don't play games (poker, Parcheesi) much.
The last time I cheated? It was probably the last time I played Solitaire which was two or three months ago.
Yes, I cheat on Solitaire, which is only cheating myself I know-- but I can't help myself!
As for cheating on people I've dated or had a relationship with, I don't do that.

2. When was the last time you stole?
Last week at the salon.
I take magazines from the doctor's office and the hair salon every time I go.
If you ever wonder why the only magazines left in the rack are Women's Day, Family Circle, or Modern Maturity--it's because I've already been there and swiped the Entertainment Weekly, GQ, Vanity Fair and People magazines.

3. When was the last time you lied?
Just last night. I snuck outside for a smoke at work and a manager caught me when I was coming back in.
"Did you just go out and smoke?" he asked.
"No, I was taking a highchair back to the lobby."

4. When was the last time you broke or vandalized another's property?
Geez, these aren't easy questions! I am sitting here racking (wracking?) my brain trying to think of the last time I vandalized something and my mind is a blank.
I'm basically good. I think evil thoughts from time to time, but I very seldom act on them. And the times when I do act on them I'm consumed with a guilt so terrible it makes it not even worth it to do whatever it is I did.
Anyway, the only answer I can give to this question is: I don't remember.
(God, this sucks! I didn't realize I was such a goody-goody!)

5. When was the last time you hurt a loved one?
A couple of days ago during an arguement with the husband.
People say things in the heat of an arguement that wouldn't ever have been said otherwise.
It wasn't intentional, I did't deliberatly set out to hurt his feelings but there were some things I said that hurt him and I'm really sorry about it now.

"I learned so much about fashion and hairstyles and makeup and pointy-toe shoes," John Waters says with a sigh.
"I still wear pointy-toe shoes because of The Buddy Deane Show."

R.I.P. Buddy Deane, 1925-2003

It's A Fine Day

OK, my image server crashed at some point last night so that's why the images on this site aren't displaying. I checked the website and got this cryptic message:
"Due to a failure of our second backup server tonight we have begun the transition to our new equipment ahead of schedule. Bear with us during this period, we're doing our best to keep everything online. We are nearly quadrupling our capacity with this upgrade!"
I could get all bent out of shape about it, but what good would that do?
*sigh*
So I'll just let it go and be patient.
It isn't easy, but i'll try.

I'm off work today so it's gonna be a good day--I'm determined.
It's all about me today.
I know, I know, I said I'd finish cleaning my closet today, but I really don't feel like it.
You know that saying "Don't put off for tomorrow what you can do today?". My version seems to be "Why do it today when you can do it tomorrow?"
I'm so bad.

I've been totally groovin' my boney butt off to the fantabulous tunes sent to me by my insect friend.
He really knows how to make a fuggin' good CD! It's all I've been listening to.

So I'm jazzed up, in a good mood despite everything, and I'm totally ready to seize the day.
I might even go to Happy Hour later.
It's been awhile.

Cleanin' Out My Closet

I decided that I would do something constructive and clean out my closet.
I could leave it there, just say clean out my closet, but it wouldn't convey the actual magnitude of the event.
I don't throw anything away. Anything I think has some value or anything that I think I could make use of in the future gets stored away somewhere. Sometimes it's in one of my (three!) "junk drawers", but most of the time it goes in my closet.
Cleaning out the closet is kind of like an archeological dig on the scale of excavating a buried Egyptian tomb. There weren't any mummified pharoahs among the artifacts I found, but I wouldn't have been surprised.
It is so difficult for me to throw things away. I wonder where I get this from?
Each little thing I uncovered would spark this internal debate:

• Is this something I need?

• Is this something I could make use of in the future?

• Is this something I could bear to part with?

• If I got rid of this would I regret it later?

I ended up throwing away two "lawn and leaf" sized trash bags of junk, and I'm still not finished.
I'm off work tomorrow so I'll finish it up then.

If I go missing, somebody send out a search party.

A Five Minute Story

Hell Has No Flavor

He sat there in bed and stared at the plate that had been set before him. By the rumbling in his stomach he could tell he was hungry, but he didn't know if he could eat or not. He would probably have to force himself again.
He sniffed the air, inhaled the steam coming from the plate. Nothing.
He had lost his senses of smell and taste three days ago.
He'd asked the doctor about it, of course.
"Nothing to worry about, Scottie." Dr. Maxwell had said, "Just a reaction to the new drugs. You should be back to normal in a few days."
Scott would have been more assured if Dr. Maxwell had smiled or there was a hint of warmth in his voice, but he had been as impersonal as a textbook. He was surprised the doctor had said even that much. Nobody would ever call Dr. Maxwell talkative. Last week when the doctor told him he was changing his prescription Scott didn't even bother to ask what they were changing it to.
The drugs seemed to be working, though. He hadn't had an episode in a whole week. They would be letting him out soon, he was sure of it.
He speared a forkful of meatloaf, inserted it in his mouth, chewed, and forced himself to swallow.
Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. Hospital food was supposed to taste bad, right?
Actually, he would rather it had tasted bad, taste like anything--even something vile and despised.
Any flavor was better than this nothing.

Picture This

Here's some B&W photos of me, taken by my special gal-pal Blondie.
Thanx, hon!
*hugs*

Click on the thumbnails to see the larger version>>

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Be kind with your comments, please.

Things That Make My Head Hurt

I'm at work and I'm waiting on this little old lady. She got her meal at a super discounted price and a free beverage because she's a "senior citizen". So after her meal she takes her reciept, a slip of paper and one of those little nubby lottery pencils with no eraser and cactulates exactly 10% for the tip.
Forty-six cents. Which she left in nickels and pennies.
Forty-six cents?
She couldn't round it up to fifty cents? It's only four cents more!
She got a discount. A dollar would have been too much for her?
Was her income that fixed?

I'm walking down the street to the store about five blocks from my apartment. I come to the crosswalk and the "Don't walk" sign is lit, so I stand there waiting for either the traffic to stop or the light to change.
A minute or so later the light changes, the "walk" sign comes on and I start to cross the street. A woman in a green Honda Civic who's trying to make a right turn into the street I'm crossing starts honking her horn at me, presumably to make me hurry across the street so she can go.
Was she on her way to a fire?
Did she have to go to the bathroom really bad?
She's so impatient she can't wait 3 seconds for me to cross?

OK, I'm at the store buying cigarettes. I don't know the name of the asian guy behind the counter, but I've seen him every other day (or so) since I moved into my apartment over two years ago.
So I'm trying to buy my smokes and out of the blue he asks to see ID.
WTF?
Suddenly, after over 2 years he doesn't recognize me?
Did I loook 10 years younger yesterday?
Are the feds really crackin' down on underage smokers?

I'm going to take some aspirin and lie down for a little while.

Madam 8-Ball's Horoscope

"Do people like you for who you are?"

AQUARIUS: It is certain.
PISCES: Reply hazy, try again.
ARIES: Most likely.
TAURUS: Outlook good.
GEMINI: Outlook good.
CANCER: Concentrate and ask again.
LEO: Outlook good.
VIRGO: Ask again later.
LIBRA: It is decidedly so.
SCORPIO: Outlook not so good.
SAGITTARIUS: Yes, definitely.
CAPRICORN: Outlook not so good.

I cherish These Moments

This is the life!
I'm sitting here, enjoying a cuppa joe.
"Yeah? So what?" I hear you thinking.
Well, it might not sound like a big deal, but this is my absoloute favorite thing.
Mornings are generally "me time". A small moment at the start of the day where I put on some music (stimulating or soothing, depending on my mood), have a cigarette, sit at the kitchen table and let my mind drift.
Coffee, cigarette, music, solitude.
It's probably like what meditation is for the people who practice Zen. Thoughts go in and out and around and through my brain and I just let them. I don't try to organize them, or figure out how I feel about them, I just let them come.
It's nice, and I encourage everyone to try it at least once. You'll be amazed at how ready for the day you'll be when you're done.
Non-smokers can omit the cigarette.

My Blog Is Rated . . .

"Some material in this blog may be inappropriate to younger or close-minded people.
This blog is probably inappropriate for pre-teens.
Rough or persistent violent talk is absent; sexually-oriented nudity is generally absent; some talk of drug use may be present from time to time in this blog;
You may find a fair amount of sex talk here."

What rating is your blog?

Yeowch!

I pulled a muscle in my back last night and right now it's killing me.
I went to bed last night thinking it would untie itself (or whatever) while I slept, but no such luck.
The pain isn't constant though.
80% of the time I don't even feel it so I forget all about it, but then I turn or twist the wrong way and I get this spasm and the pain stabs through me like a knife.

I just finished ransacking the medicine cabinets for muscle relaxers and/or any kind of drugs:
Vicodin, percodan, percocet, codeine, valium.
Hell, even morphine. When it comes to pain relief, I'm not choosy.

Unfortunately, the strongest thing in my cabinets is Extra-Strength Tylenol and NyQuil.
I'll just take the Tylenol and see what happens.
Hopefully it will correct itself.

Just Imagine

If we could urinate out of our index fingers. . .

everyone would be required to wear gloves at all times.

the ladies could write their names in the snow, too.

people would download photos of hands off the internet.

it would be really easy to put out small accidental fires.

greetings wouldn't involve shaking hands.

washing your hands after going to the bathroom would be very strictly enforced.

trips to the powder room for the ladies would be much quicker.

Depends would make "finger diapers" for the incontinent.

gloves would have little zippers at the fingertips.

pointing at someone wouldn't be just bad manners, it would be a crime.

Alright With Me

There's not much going on. I'm not complaining. In fact, quite the reverse. It's nice not to have a crisis to have to solve, or a fire that needs to be put out.
Speaking of fire, it's incredibly hot here in Baltimore.
I need to move someplace where it's "springtime" all year long.
Actually, it's not so much the temperature, but the humidity level.
"It's not the heat, it's the humidity" is a hoary old cliche, but that doesn't make it any less true.

I caught the premiere of Big Brother 4 last night.
There's no "token gay" this year. I guess they forgot!
This year there's a new twist to the game where some of the houseguests have their ex-boyfriends/girlfriends/fiancees in the BB house with them. It's an interesting concept, but we'll have to see what happens.
The houseguests are even more attractive than last year.
Nathan is so cute it's worth watching the show just to see more of him.

It's supposed to be my day off today, but I'm calling work in a little bit to see if they might need me.
It's not for the love of my workplace that I'm doing this, it's the love of the money it brings me.

Living In A Material World

We will always have a point of view.
Who? You!
I could not do without.
We're in an awful mess,
And I ripped it like before.

She takes the keys, he breaks the door
She cannot stay here anymore.
When you see that,
I can make you dance.

We can make it all
for you and no beginning, you're here with me.
Though I wish that you would desert me.

You're gonna break my heart.
Will it grow cold?
The secret that I hide?
I know I can go crazy.

That's when I look in your own imagination
So use it.
That's what you want to say goodbye.
So say goodbye.

I used to be loved for who I am,
Not what they want what you do.
I think it does.

That's why we have to pretend.
Some day I was sad and blue.
But you don't.

Who's that girl?
Senorita, mas fina,
Who's that girl?

Make your own Madonna song here.

A Five Minute Story

A Pound of Flesh

He was a glutton, a sensualist and a hedonist. He lived his life as though each day would be his last.
He was 48 (going on 49) and he looked every day of it. He was cocky, and arrogant, strutting around like a rooster in a henhouse. In his little mind he owned the world. The rest of us only lived here.

In short, he was a pig.
As a matter of fact, his skin was bright pink, just like a pig.
He was grossly fat. Rolls of fat over more doughy rolls of fat, surrounded by even more fat. (Did I mention he was a glutton?)

Eating was like breathing to him.
He drank an obscene amount of alcohol. An amount that would cause most men to pass out barely even gave him a buzz.

He favored young boys, barely eighteen. Hustlers, who he would pick up driving his SUV down the main strip in the seedier part of town. He would have preferred not to have to pay for sex, but for some reason, guys just weren't attracted to him. He couldn't figure out why.

The huslers he picked up called him "Jabba", although not to his face. He would pay extra to have them shower with him and spend the night. To hold his large gross body while he slept.

At night he would sleep with his paid-for boy in his large bed, wrapped up in a silky cocoon of satin sheets.

Most nights he did not dream.

Celebrity Sightings

There are alot of celebrity look-alikes that come to eat in my restaraunt.
Why this weekend alone I've waited on people that are dead-ringers for

Mink Stole

Busta Rhymes
and

Farrah Fawcett, looking really rough and strung out.
Actually, the Farrah look-alike might have actually been the real thing.
Although, what Farrah Fawcett would be doing in a Family Steak House in Baltimore is anyone's guess.

Who's That Guy?

He's Jeremy Bloom, professional skier and football player.
The majority of guy photos I've posted have been either actors, models, or musicians. It's about time I chose an athlete.
This guy is such a hottie.
Check out the link for more photos,

Cuts Like A Knife

I just got finished getting ready for work.
After putting a new blade in my razor, I went ahead and cut the hell out of myself -- and not on purpose, either. (I'm not that masochistic.)
So now I'm sitting here with little bits of toilet paper stuck to my face.
Now that's attractive!
You ladies are so lucky! You don't have to run a razor sharp peice of metal over your faces--a delicate part of your body that everybody sees-- every single day.
But now that I think about it, ladies do shave their armpits and legs -- which is probably takes alot more effort and time.
And ladies do have alot of other monthly stuff that I never have to worry about.
So OK, I take it back. Men are luckier. Sorry about that!

I don't know what the heck is going on, but work's been going incredibly well lately.
I must have wandered into some Bizarro alternate universe or something where good and evil are reversed.
Why is this happening now when I'm slated to start another job soon?
It's either fate having it's way with me or a sinister plot to keep me there, but I'm not fooled.
I'm just going to ride it out and enjoy it--it might not last that long.

OOOOOOOOOOH!

Have you ever noticed that everyone goes "Ooooh!" when they see fireworks?
Even me.
You'd think by now they wouldn't be as exciting. After all, you've seen 'em before, right?
For me, it never gets old. I still love those bursts of color and sound, the wonderful way the air smells. The smokey, ozone-like chemical scent that you only get from pyrotechnics.
By the rockets red glare I realized how much fun I was having.
I hope you had fun too.

Afterwards, I just had to go have a cocktail, so I hauled by star-spangled butt to Leon's and then over to Central Station Grand Central.
I had a couple of drinks, saw a few people I knew: Eric, Sean, Bernie, and Mel.
Sean was drunk, as usual. I don't think I've ever seen him sober. That boy needs a 12-step program.
Eric gave me a lap dance. I didn't even ask for it. I saw him and said "Hey, you!" and gave him a hug -- the next thing I knew he was on my lap and humping me.
At first it was a nornal Friday Night. Busy, but not too crowded. Before long, though, it got totally packed in there--there were more queens than you could shake your stick at.
There was this girl, Christie, from R.J. Reynolds who was giving out packs of Salems and mints in a little round tin.
I remember someone telling me a little while ago they couldn't give out cigarettes in bars or clubs anymore in Maryland, but they must have been mistaken 'cause there she was.
El Cheapo that I am I picked up a couple packs.
I didn't stay out too late, 'cause I wanted to be fresh for today.
After getting into bed I kept hearing these Pop! pop! Pop! noises, that I thought were gunshots at first.
After a few minutes I realized that it couldn't possibly be, unless a massacre was going on.
Someone around the corner was setting off their own fireworks in the vacant lot.
The last thing I remember it was 2AM and they were still going off.
It didn't bother me, though. If I'm tired enough I can sleep through anything.

You're A Grand Old Fag Flag

I'm The Emblem Of The Land I Love

I've got my outfit for Independence Day all washed and Ready To Wear.
I'm very patriotic.
I'll be wearing my star-spangled shorts, an American Flag t-shirt and belt, and my "I Love The USA!" button and carrying/waving an American Flag.
I'll even have on my red, white, and blue underwear, not that anybody else will be seeing it.
Basically, I'm going to look like something Yankee Doodle threw up.
Kind of like this, but in boy clothes.
I might not get a chance to blog tomorrow 'cause I've got lots to do before the fireworks begin, so just in case:

Happy Independence Day!

It's Like This

There's been all this talk about "A-Listers" and "Top-Rated blogs" lately. As if the number of visitors or the amount of bloggers who link to you were some kind of validation of how "good" your blog is.
It's like some weird "blog popularity contest". My blog's more popular than yours is! Neener neener neener!
It must be a real strain trying to be so "cool" all the time.
Then there's the Bloggies, which I know I'll never win, even if I was trying.
Which I'm not.
And it's not sour grapes either. I honestly couldn't care less.
It's like this:
I blog for me first, the rest of the world comes in somewhere after that.
There are a million things flying around in my head all the time, like a swarm of locusts, and blogging gets rid of some of them.
(Picture Linda Blair in Exorcist 2: The Heretic.)
I would blog even if my hit count were to drop to zero. I don't care about things like that.
I check my Referer Log every once in awhile to see how people got here, but that's just because I'm nosy.
Blogging for me is like therapy, only cheaper and more convenient.
And it's fun, too.
When it stops being enjoyable and starts feeling like work, that's when I'll stop.
I don't see that happening any time soon though.

Can You Feel It?

I know I always say I don't like surprises, not even pleasant ones, but I think I might be changing my mind about that.
Yesterday was a pretty good day at work.
This doesn't happen that often, so that was a pleasant surprise. Tips were plentiful, work was (almost) effortless, and I got out of there at a decent time. There's nothing better than that.
I decided to go to The Quest after work and (surprise, surprise) my good friend Jeannie was there!
YAY!
Our schedules are so out of whack we can go for months and months without even calling each other. I hadn't spoken to her in I don't even know how long and out of the blue--boom, there she was!
Then, surprise again, I saw my friend John, who I don't get a chance to see that much either.
Double yay!
He was there with his friend Skip who is straight, but very, very sexy.
Grr! It's not fair! All sexy men should be gay. There should be a law or a rule or something.
So we had cocktails, good conversation.
John buys us a round of "Gilligan's Island" shooters . Very tasty, actually!

Here's the recipe: cranberry Juice, pineapple juice, 99 Banannas, and Malibu or Parrot Bay coconut flavored rum.

Anyway, a nice surprise.
It wouldn't have been the same had it all been planned out.

Five Minute Story

A Moment of Weakness

I am not going to touch him.
No matter how much I want to, I will not.
The passion died and there was no one mourning it but me. I'm tired of trying, carrying the weight of us both on my back.
All warmth initiated by me. I'm the one to start the fire, keep it going. Keep it burning.
No kind words for me lately. No smiles. Conversation died. Empty silence.
I want so much to hate him for that, but I can't.
I let it happen.
He's lying there on the other side of our big bed.
His broad beautiful back toward me, his hips covered by the blue and white checkered sheet.
I know he is warm, and I want so much to slide over next to him and put my arm around him, feel his skin against mine.
My love was red and liquid and burning, glowing, in the beginning of our romance. Somehow it changed into something solid, and grey, and heavy.
Coldness is an infection that works it's way from the inside out.
It cuts you inside, but you aren't aware. Coldness hurts me more than anything, more than a physical blow, more than hunger.
It would be so easy to reach out, turn the cold marble into hot liquid flesh. Touch turning to friction, to fire.
I shut my eyes and feel the fat warm tear trickle down my face in the darkness.
I reach out . . .and touch him.
He mumbles in his half-sleep and pulls me toward him.
I curse myself for my weakness.