<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d3440559\x26blogName\x3dWonder+Boy\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLACK\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttp://wonderboyblog.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://wonderboyblog.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d-9208151565435014371', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

Life is only what you wonder.

Tuesday, November 30, 2004

Next Year Is 1984

Quick! Flip open your copy of the December, 2004 issue of Details.
Pages 172-185, the Spring Prevue.

WTF is this?
In this layout all the models are wearing what looks like Anthony Michael Hall's outfits from 16 Candles and Weird Science. They should be in a John Hughes movie or something.
OR they're looking like The New Kids on the Block
OR they look like they should be in a Talking Heads video.

Hello! This is how we dressed in the 80's!
Did we go through some kind of time warp and nobody bothered to tell me?

Monday, November 29, 2004

It's Not Pretty When Things Go Dark

I don't know what the hell is wrong with me, but lately I've been feeling wretched.
Not sick, or coming down with the flu, or any physical ailment.
And it's not like being depressed, or lethargic, or bored.
I've just been feeling rotten and in a perpetually bad mood. I've been snapping at everybody, at my husband, my co-workers. And I've had nothing nice to say about anything.
This is SO unlike me, and the way I go about living my life. I'm usually one of the most positive, bubbly, vivacious people that you could ever meet. I'm not saying that to toot my own horn, either.
Ask anybody.

And one of the things that has been buggin' me the most is everyone else's attitude.
Anyone else can be angry, upset, emotional-- whatever-- and I'm supposed to understand. I'm supposed to let them bitch and vent and then offer encouraging advice and support.
But what happens when things are reversed? What happens if I've had a bad day, or I'm just feeling generally disagreeable?
Nobody wants to hear it. People look at me like I just grew a third eye in the middle of my forehead. Like, "What's wrong with you?" as if I'm acting like this on purpose just to annoy them.
It's as if everyone else in my life is allowed to own their emotions -- no matter what they are: Happy sad, angry, depressed.
But unless I'm this happy-go-lucky plucky person full of sweetness and light, I'm a pariah.

Maybe, it's partly my fault. I tend to hide and repress my "darker" moments.
But that doesn't mean that I don't have them, just like everybody else.

Oh, I'll get over this eventually, like I always do. I just appreciate being able to vent here on this blog.
If I didn't, I'd probably go crazy.

Tomorrow: A regular post.

Thursday, November 25, 2004

I'm So Thankful It's Over

I am so glad Thanksgiving is all over, you don't even know.
What with cleaning the house, preparing the food, playing the happy host, and cleaning up afterwards, I am more exhausted than I would have been if I had to work a double-shift at work.

And the kids! Running, schreeching, getting into everything, tormenting Rico. They had that poor dog trembling with fear.
This clinches it. I am never having children.
Ever.

And we'll be eating leftover turkey for the next week and a half, probably. Turkey sandwiches, turkey salad, turkey soup, any conceivable way to eat turkey, that's what we'll be consuming.

It was fun, though. Don't let all my bitching fool you.
Everyone had a nice meal, and my corn puddin' was a big hit, and everything turned out better than I expected.
I guess I shouldn't complain, it could have been alot worse.

We decided that next year, we're going somewhere else for Thanksgiving. We'll bring side dishes and wine and then we can just thank the host and excuse ourselves at the appropriate time and not have to deal with all the other stuff.

Christmas is just around the corner and I. am. not. ready.

But then again, I never am.

Tuesday, November 23, 2004

I Heart Scott


His name was Scott Madsen. He was an Olympic gymnast, but he was known best for being the very first model for the Soloflex home workout machine.

When I was 16, Scott was the star of my masturbatory fantasies.
He was my idea of the perfect man: Strong, smooth, toned (but not overly muscular), cute / handsome face and a body you could eat a full course meal on.

I recently rediscovered these photos of Scott, and there's also a "shrine" to Scott that you can view here.

He's in his forties now, and probably has a "spare tire" and love handles, but he sure was hot back in the day.

Monday, November 22, 2004

My Irregular Regulars

Not since Dick Tracy's rogues gallery (Flattop, Rughead, Pruneface, etc.) has anyone ever seen such a wacky bunch of characters as the people I wait on at the restaurant.
I've written about The Stinkies previously. These people reek --literally. And they're in the restaurant every other day. Whenever we see them coming, the word gets spread, "The Stinkies are here!" and the server assigned to Section 11 shudders because that's where they always sit.

Supposedly, Mr. Ed was an attorney before he retired, but you'd never guess it, by the outfits this man wears. Never have you seen such a collection of mis-matched clothes in your life: Red and white polka-dotted shirt with blue and green checked pants and yellow and purple argyle socks is just one of his ensembles.
He always looks like he got ready in a clown's changing room -- in the dark.

The Cat Lady - This woman is always wearing a sweatshirt with a cutesy picture of a cat on it, and her clothes are always covered in cat hair. She sits for hours and hours (and hours)and never, ever leaves a tip. We dread the Cat Lady almost as much as we do The Stinkies.

It's an All-You-Can-Eat buffet, so naturally it would be a virtual haven for those people with some kind of eating disorder, right? Aside from the people who overeat (i.e. stuff themselves with so much food they can barely move) I don't see as many as you'd think.
Maybe this chick (who we call Ms. Bulemia) just makes it obvious, but it's very clear she's got a problem. She piles her plate with a mountain of food and gorges for fifteen minutes, stuffing her face like she hasn't eaten in days, then she goes to the bathroom for fifteen minutes, then she grabs another plate and it starts all over. After an hour of this, she leaves, and usually leaves a generous tip.

A WWII veteran, Mr. Jack comes in for lunch every day, and he never fails to brink his harmonica with him. The guests and staff are treated to such classics as "Little Brown Jug", "Turkey in the Straw", "Waltzing Matilda" and a very rousing version of "Hail, Hail, the Gang's All Here" -- whether we like it or not.

This is just a small sample. There are a lot of crazy people in this world -- and most of 'em eat in my restaurant.

Saturday, November 20, 2004

Quote Of The Day

"Let us consider this waiter in the cafe.
His movement is quick and forward, a little too precise, a little too rapid. He comes towards the patrons with a step a little too quick. He bends forward a little too eagerly; His voice, his eyes express an interest a little too solicitous for the order of the customer.
Finally there he returns, trying to imitate in his walk the inflexible stiffness of some kind of automaton while carrying his tray with the recklessness of a tightrope-walker by putting it in a perpetually unstable, perpetually broken equilibrium which he perpetually re-establishes by a light movement of the arm and hand.
All his behavior seems to us a game. He applies himself to chaining his movements as if they were mechanisms, the one regulating the other; His gestures and even his voice seem to be mechanisms; He gives himself the quickness and pitiless rapidity of things.
He is playing, he is amusing himself.
But what is he playing?
We need not watch long before we can explain it: He is playing at being a waiter in a cafe.
The child plays with his body in order to explore it, to take inventory of it;
The waiter in the cafe plays with his condition in order to realize it."
--Jean-Paul Sartre

Friday, November 19, 2004

In The Gut

When anybody asks my advice, the very first question I ask them is "What does your gut tell you?"
Call it intuition, call it instinct, call it the subconscious mind picking up signals the conscious mind doesn't, but your gut knows what you should do ( or shouldn't do)-- even if you don't.
Your guts not just there to tell you when you're hungry.
Someone you barely know asks to borrow $100 until they get paid next Friday. What should you do?
Ask your gut and it'll tell you no way, you'll never see your money again. .
Many of the mistakes I've made in my life could have been easily avoided if I would just have listened to what my gut was trying to tell me.
So listen.

But, when listening to your gut, be careful NOT to listen to The Demon. The Demon is "the little voice in your head" - the self-destructive part of all of us that's just waiting to lead us into ruin.
Alcoholics who have fallen off the wagon know all about The Demon. They've heard him. He's that little voice that said to them, Go on. One little drink won't hurt you. Have one! Go ahead, you know you want to.
People who have lost all their money gambling have heard The Demon too.
Go ahead, risk it all on one throw of the dice! If you win, you'll be rich!
There's a demon (by which I mean a self-destructive part of our own personalities, not a supernatural entity) inside all of us.
Don't listen to him.

Anyway, that's my advice for the day.
Have a good one.

Thursday, November 18, 2004

Must Own, NOW

Thanks to Steph and Alek I have recently discovered the brilliant photography of Pierre Et Gilles.
Amazing stuff. Check it out.

I want all the books for my coffee table, like yesterday.

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

From The Recipe Box

We're doing Thanksgiving at my house this year for G's family. At last count there are about 16 guests (including the children) who are slated to come over. Possibly (probably) a couple more will be invited also.
Eeek, right?

I'm getting a 25 pound turkey from work so I've got that covered, but I'm thinking it would make it a little easier if we get everybody to bring a little something.

G's planning on making his world-famous turnips.
Before I met him I had never had a turnip before, but they're actually pretty good.

My contribution will be the corn puddin'. (Yes, I left the "g" off on purpose. It's "puddin'", not "pudding")
This recipe is easy to prepare, makes a great side dish for almost any meal, and would make a wonderful dish to bring over if you're invited to Thanksgiving somewhere and would like to bring something.

CORN PUDDIN'

1 15- to 17-ounce can whole kernel corn, undrained
1 15-ounce can creamed corn
1 8 1/2-ounce box corn muffin mix
1 cup sour cream
1 egg, beaten

Preheat oven to 350. In a medium-sized bowl combine all the ingredients; mix well.
Pour into a 1 1/2 quart casserole dish that has been coated with nonstick vegetable spray. (I use butter-flavor Pam)
Bake for 60 to 65 minutes or until the center is set. Allow to cool for 15 minutes before serving.
Makes 8 servings.

Try it, you'll like it!

Monday, November 15, 2004

I'm Not That Desperate

Of course there's a Desperate Housewives Quiz*.
And naturally, like a good little lemming, I took it.
You can see my result on the right.

I must confess that Desperate Housewives is my Sunday evening guilty pleasure. The only gripe I have about the show is that it raises more questions than it answers.
As of now, the viewers are left wondering . . .

  • Did Mary Alice actually kill herself? If she did, why?
  • Who wrote the disturbing note the ladies found in Mary Alice's things?
  • Who is/was Dana, and how does she fit into all of this?
  • What was in the box that Paul taped up and threw in the lake?
  • What the hell is wrong with Zach?
  • Why is Mike breaking into houses? What is he looking for?
  • What is Mama Solis going to do now that she knows Gabrielle's dirty little secret?
I love a good mystery, and more than likely everything will resolve itself nicely, but this is becoming like Twin Peaks where we didn't find out who killed Laura Palmer until the middle of the second season.

(*Quiz link shamelessly stolen from Chrisafer.)

Friday, November 12, 2004

Save The Day

Yesterday was going along business as usual at the restaurant. It was Veterans Day, so we were a little busier than usual.
I had a pretty full section, but things were going pretty smoothly.
Right in the middle of my shift someone alerted me that an old man had fallen in the bathroom stall and was unable to get up by himself.
I had a pretty full section, but I asked the other servers to keep an eye on it while I went to see if I could be of any help.

I don't know if he had a stroke or what, but the man was unable to move at all by himself.
The man had fallen and he was partially blocking the door of the stall, but fortunately I was thin enough to squeeze inside and stand him up so the door could be opened. I asked someone to roll a chair with wheels in there so I could sit him down, and asked someone else to alert a manager that someone was hurt in the bathroom.
I stood there holding him up (which felt like forever, but in reality probably only took a few minutes)until the chair was wheeled in and by that time the manager had called the paramedics and they were on their way.

The old man was very grateful and thanked me profusely, as did his wife and daughter who were waiting outside the bathroom.
I didn't do it for the accolades, I was just glad I could be of help.

I was gone from my section for about fifteen minutes or so, which is a long time for a waiter to be away from his tables, but my co-workers, God bless 'em, made sure they wanted for nothing while all of this was going on.

Anyway, that was my excitement for yesterday.
I wonder what will happen today?

Thursday, November 11, 2004

There You Go

For all of those who requested a shirtless photo, there it is.
Am I a sexy beast, or what?
LOL! :p

Wednesday, November 10, 2004

Too Far?

Rico (my puppy) was in the front yard tearing up the grass and I was calling him to come in.
G. was on the porch watching.
Me: Wonder Dog! Come here, boy!
Rico: Woof!
G: His name is Rico, not "Wonder Dog"! Would you please stop calling him that?
I think G's afraid I'm going to put tights and a cape on him or something.
Although come to think of it, that would make a fierce Halloween costume idea for next year.

Tuesday, November 09, 2004

What Will They Think Of Next, Dept.

Manpaper is a new invention that is supposed to revloutionize the way men urinate.
(Translated from German*)
A quantum transition in male hygiene and the healthy attitude of men!
One MANPAPER® introduces the urine jet completely squirt-free in the toilet basin! Even micro-fine urine particles do not escape.
One MANPAPER® makes both the strongest and the weakest urine jet controllable.
Clothes, bath and toilet remain protected from pollution by urine, relieving the housewife and the family budget.
Luckily, I have no need of such a device.
I always hit my mark.

*Translation courtesy of the Babelfish.

Monday, November 08, 2004

New 'Do, New Attitude

I just got my hair done, and I'm feeling so much better about absoloutely everything.
It's totally strange to me that something as simple as a haircut can completely turn my mood around.

I was feeling down and low, like I was something stuck on the bottom of someone's shoe, totally worthless and futile.
Then I walk into the salon and sink down in the padded chair and suddenly, everything is OK -- I can cope.
I can handle anything.

The buzz of the clippers, the sound of the scissors snipping, the pop music playing on the muzak, and the smell of the Barbicide worked it's magic on me.
I am reborn.

Now I just need to figure out what to do with the rest of the day.

Saturday, November 06, 2004

Uh-Huh, That's Right

Being a waiter makes you totally sick of being around people. It's your livlihood, right? You have to deal with the public.
It's mandatory. Cumpulsory, even.

But having to deal with ignorant people that don't even deserve to be breathing the same air as me and having to be gracious about it sometimes takes it's toll.
It's like being forced to smile while you're getting pissed on. Anybody who works with the public on a regular basis can feel me on this.

Case in point: Last night I was assigned the shitty section near the Banquet Room.
This is the area where they sit all the people they don't want to be in the middle of the dining room -- the "ghettoes", the hicks, the welfare mothers and anybody that appears like they don't know how to act. (Oh, they'll tell you that they don't plan it out that way, but don't you believe it.)
I was seated a party of thirteen, six adults and seven children. The children were screaming and running amok, tearing through the dining room, playing tag and leapfrog in the aisles and the parents were just letting them do whatever they wanted.
So I was close to tearing my hair out over that. And just when I thought things couldn't get any worse . . .

Tiarra sat me a party of seven. When the hostess apologizes to you before she seats a party, you just know it's bad news.
"I'm so sorry, Jimmy," she said, "but I had to sit them somewhere."
I was seated the most low-class, uncouth, obnoxious teenage girls you could hope to find anywhere. They were so loud you could hear them shouting and laughing clear across the restaurant and every other word out of their mouths was a dirty word.

When having to wait on a table like that, I use the "less is more" rule: The less I visit the table, the more sanity I will have by the time it's all over.

Not long after they got there the manager went over to the table and said something to them about their language ("This is a family restaurant, so please avoid using profanity") but that only worked for about five minutes before they started up again.

Five minutes after that, everything exploded.

One of the party of thirteen started yelling at the table of girls for cussing in front of the children and the girls were yelling back not to tell them how to @#$%ing talk, they'll talk however the @#$% they want. Security (our restaurant employs off-duty policemen to monitor our dining room) comes over and tells both parties to quiet down or they'll be asked to leave. Both parties turned on the security guy, telling him to mind his business.

The end result? Both parties were escorted out of the restaurant by the security guy and the two Police officers who happened to be there (eating a free meal) and I was left with a section that looked like a cyclone hit it, and no tip from either party.
By the time I left work last night I was longing for a valium the size of a golf ball.

I am SO looking forward to my day off on Monday, you don't even know.

Friday, November 05, 2004

A Five Minute Story*

Visions In Morning Light

Warren was my best friend and had been since kindergarten, and the time this story takes place we were both fifteen. We were all the time sleeping over at each others houses, and you seldom saw one of us without the other.
Warren was a little shorter than me, with a lean tight body. His eyes were bright blue, his skin pale, his hair was a dark sandy blond color that defied categorization. His lips were full and very red. It all became a beautiful combination when he smiled.

I loved him like a brother. The only thing was that lately I was starting to love him in quite another way.

Warren was straight. He was all the time talking about girls and what he wanted to do with them. The liar that I was, I would agree that so-and-so chick was hot, when I really felt no desire at all toward them.
Spending the night at his house or him camping out at mine had lately held both joy and terror. We both had single beds and since before we had even learned to read we had slept in the same bed together.
A single bed is quite a cramped place to sleep for two teenage boys, even if they're like brothers --especially if one has a major lust for the other one.

I remember waking up with Warren asleep right beside me. I was on the right side of the bed facing left and Warren was on the left, also facing left. If our bodies were any closer, we would have been spooning. The morning sun was shining through his bedroom window behind us bathing us both in golden light.
Warren's hair glowed in the light like a halo, and all I kept thinking of was what it would be like to run my fingers through it. To kiss his smooth neck, the small of his back, to wrap my arms around him and pull him close to me.

If I did, would he reject me? (Call me a faggot, queer, cocksucker? Our freindship would go up in smoke as though it never existed.)
Or maybe he would pull me toward him, wrap his arms around me, look deeply into my eyes.
Kiss me on my lips, my neck, my chest like I had been fantasizing he would.

Maybe he feels like I do and is afraid to tell me. (Me! As if he couldn't tell me anything -- absoloutely anything.)

As I was lost in these thoughts, his alarm clock rang and, big fat liar that I am, I quickly closed my eyes. Warren slapped the snooze button, rolled over and shook my shoulder.
"Hey, are you awake?"
"I am now." I answered, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. (As though I hadn't been awake for at least an hour or more thinking those thoughts and drinking in the vision of him bathed in morning sunlight.)
"Well, get up, then! We gotta get ready for school," Warren said, always full of energy in the mornings. "And you just know my Mom is in the kitchen making us pancakes." he added as he swung his legs over the bed and walked to the bathroom.

*This is intended as a work of fiction.
It may (yet may not) be based on actual events.
Do not assume anything.

Wednesday, November 03, 2004

One Word

My feelings about the results of the election?
Disappointed.
(I've been hoping it was all just a horrible dream, but no such luck.)

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

Blog The Vote!

It's Erection Election Day!

It's "Vote or Die", right?
I want to live, so I went to vote this morning.
As a matter of fact, I was one of the first ones in line. It wasn't that I was that eager to cast my vote, but I figured the later I went the busier it would be and I wanted to be in and out of there with as little muss or fuss as possible.

I haven't voted in four years -- not since the last Presidential election, actually.
(I know, I know, shame on me!)
Last time they were passing out stale coffee and buttons that said "I voted today!" but this time we got . . . nothing.
Oh, well. Voting is it's own reward, right?

If it comes out the way I hope, we won't be seeing too much more of George Dubya Bush.
I'm anxiously waiting for the outcome.

Monday, November 01, 2004

Who's That Guy?

Steve Sandvoss is one of the best reasons to watch the truly excellent film Latter Days.
I just came across (figuratively) these amazing photos by Tom Clark.
Steve is definitely a hot young actor worth keeping your eye on.