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Life is only what you wonder.

Friday, July 29, 2005

Inter View

Here's yet another meme that's bound to spread through the blogosphere like some kind of virus. This one seems more interesting than most, and since it's spawned by my boy man Tony, I simply couldn't resist.
Like any other meme, there are rules.
  1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying "Interview me!"
  2. I will respond by asking you five questions. Each persons questions will be different. I will post the questions in the comments section of this post.
  3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
  4. You will include this explanation and offer to interview others in the same post.
  5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
Here are my questions from Tony:
What is your favorite flower or plant?
There are many flowers that I love. The vibrant blue Forget-Me-Not, the firey Snapdragon, the violet-hued Foxglove, the speckled Astromeria.
But above all else I'd have to say I love Orchids the best. There are a virtually infinite number of varieties and colors. The Orchid's pronounced pistil and stamen (a flowers sex organs for those who slept through high school biology) definitely make it the sexiest flower I've ever seen.
Does this make me a horticultural size queen?

I know you love your partner dearly, but what is the one annoying habit he has that you simply can't ignore?
I only get to pick one?
Seriously though, I would have to say it's his tendency to always be having something to do all the time. If he's not working he's mowing the lawn, doing work around the house, tinkering with the car, tending the garden, or planning the next "project". He never stops.
He's an ant, and I'm a grasshopper.

What is the one piece of technology that you simply couldn't live without?
I'm spoiled by technology. When I want to wash dishes I put an Electrosol tab in and push a button. When I want to wash clothes I load the washer and push a button.
Washing dishes in a sink? Drying them with a towel? How primitive is that?
If my Time Machine trapped me back in the 1700's, I don't think I'd survive. How would I wash my clothes? Take them down to the riverside and beat them with a rock?
I love technology so much I can spend hours at Sharper Image looking at all the nifty new gadgets.
I'd have to say the cell phone would be #1, though. It has a camera, a camcorder, I can surf the web on it, send email, watch streaming videos, send text messages, play games. I could even send a fax with it if I wanted to. Oh yeah, I can talk to people on it too!

Who would play you in a movie of your life?
'Topher Grace from That 70's Show. We don't really look that much alike, but he could definitely play the part.

Would you rather be known as a great kisser, or a great cocksucker?
Probably a great kisser. Giving a good BJ is important, no question, and I strive to do both with both passion and skill, but (with few exceptions) kissing comes first before the clothes even come off.
If someone kisses me like a cold dead fish, I'm not going to want to go any further.

You wanna be interviewed? You know what to do.

Saturday, July 23, 2005

The Return

Got back from my-mini vacation last night. I have to get ready for work soon, but not before a few notes on my journey home.

I didn't mention it, but I chose to take the Greyhound bus for my trip this time.
In my travels I've taken planes, trains, boats and now, buses and I can say for a fact that planes are my favorite mode of transportation.
And they certainly get you there faster. In a plane I could have gotten to NC in an hour and a half, by bus in took nearly thirteen hours.
Although I will say that the Greyhound bus is much less expensive. A plane ticket cost four times as much as the bus ticket did.
So if your in a hurry, take a plane. On a budget, take the bus.

Another aspect of bus travel I didn't expect was meeting different people from different areas with different modes of thinking. The bus is a polyglot of all kinds of everybody from absolutely everywhere going almost anywhere.

The bus had stopped a Greensboro to let on new passengers, and I had stepped off to grab a quick smoke because I wouldn't get another chance until Danville, VA, which was two hours from then. I felt someone tap my shoulder.

    "Can I use your lighter for a sec?"
She was a short slim girl with the darkest tan I'd ever seen on a white person, and her pale blond hair was dreadlocked and tied with a scarf on top of her head so the braids fell down all around her face. She was wearing slightly worn frock-type floral-print dress with scarves around her waist as a makeshift belt, and her sandals looked like something she'd made herself, a soft cork-like material affixed to her feet with ribbons which were tied around her ankles.
The hand-rolled cigarette she lit did not contain tobacco.
    "That's not what I think it is, is it?"
I turned and the voice belonged to a young boy no older than twenty-one. He was smoking Marlboro Reds. He had a thick southern accent and looked like the all-American corn-fed boy-next-door. His sandy brown hair was kind of long, like he needed a haircut, and he was wearing baggy jeans, Timbs, and a Roca-Wear t-shirt four sizes too big. He had a smiley-face tattoo on his arm that he had done himself when he was thirteen. ("I used India ink and a needle. Paw gave me a whuppin' for it, too!" he explained.)

"It's my own blend of rosemary, rose hips, hibiscus, and a dash of peyote." She replied, taking another drag.

Her name was Lasy (pronounced layz-see, kind of like "lazy" and kind of like "lacy") and she was going from Albuquerque, New Mexico to Sarasota, Florida and she'd been traveling for 59 hours at that point.

"Only adrenaline is keeping me awake at this point." she said lazily.
His name was Dale and he was from Omaha and he was headed to Atlanta to live with his Aunt. It was going to be his first time in a "big city" and he was excited and nervous at the same time.

When it came time to get back on the bus, we three sat together. Dale next to me, and Lasy diagonally across from us.
And we talked.
Lacy told us about living on a Native-American Reservation, and dream-spirits and vision quests and sleeping under the stars.
Dale talked about working on his Daddy's farm, tractors, horses, his five brothers and sisters and the nearest store being ten miles from the farm.
And I told all of my stories. (Most of which you can read on here somewhere.)
We talked about religion, politics, relationships. You name it, we talked about it.

We talked like old friends who'd known one another for years. People that normally wouldn't interact with one another, thrust into this situation, and by golly, they're getting along famously.
It was kind of like the last twenty minutes of The Breakfast Club, only it went on for hours.

At rest stops we got out and stretched, got some food, and smoked cigarettes together, traveling as a group.
"Strength in numbers" Lasy said.

Before she got off in Arlington, VA she offered to roll us each one of her peyote cigarettes. (Dale took one, but I said no thanks.)
Dale got off one stop after, in Washington, DC

It's kind of surreal writing about it all now. Like something I dreamed, or a story somebody wrote.
And it couldn't have happened any other way. There's no way the three of us would have ended up on the same plane. And even if we did, the circumstances would have been different, or we would have been distracted by the in-flight movie or something.

I think I'm going to cherish it because I am fully aware what it was: a brief moment in time.

Chances are we will never meet again, but then again, stranger things have happened.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005


Right now I'm in sunny North Carolina visiting my Mom again.
(She's doing fine, BTW.)
I'm trying to convince her to move back to Baltimore. We have a spare room in the house and I don't like the fact that she's living here all by herself, but it's ultimately her decision to make, not mine.

sorry to just spring it on you like this with no warning, but I've been working so much and with everything else going on posting to the blog had to go on the back-burner for a time.
Too bad, so sad, right?

I'll be back home Saturday, so expect posts to resume normally by then.

Sunday, July 17, 2005

Half Full Or Half Empty?

Thought of the day:
'Twixt optimist and pessimist, the difference is droll.
One sees the donut, the other the hole.

Friday, July 15, 2005

Verb - It's What We Do

The Setting:
The server's station in a family steakhouse restaurant.

The Players:
Three servers (we'll call them Mary Ellen, Melissa and Jimmy) are talking about something totally forgettable (because I can't remember what it was we were talking about) and waiting for something to do, when another server (who we'll call Crystal) slams through the saloon doors to join them.

Crystal: I got one thing to say! Nobody better mess with me today! I've only had three hours sleep, I haven't had a cigarette in three days, annnnnd I'm PMSing!

Mary Ellen: I can't believe you've quit smoking!

Melissa: I can't believe it either!

Jimmy: I can't believe she used PMS as a verb!

    [Everyone turns to look at Jimmy, like what the hell is that supposed to mean?]
Mary Ellen: What's wrong with that?

Jimmy: It just sounds weird is all.

    [Everyone just stands there blinking at Jimmy, so once again Jimmy has to explain himself.]
Jimmy: PMS stands for Pre-Menstral Syndrome, right?
    [Everybody nods in agreement. That's right, alright!]
Jimmy: Well, she just said she's "Pre-Menstral Syndroming".

Melissa: So?

Jimmy: Well, for starters, I don't think "syndroming" is a word. I'll look it up in my Merriam-Webster when I get home, but I doubt I'll find it there.
Second, even if it is a word (which I don't think it is, but whatever) a syndrome is something that happens, like The China Syndrome, starring Jane Fonda. It's not something you can do.

Crystal: Sure it is! Why not?

Jimmy: You can "syndrome"? Any time you want to? OK then, show me a syndrome. Demonstrate syndroming to me right now. I wanna tell the world that I saw Crystal syndrome.

    [Mary Ellen and Melissa see that Crystal is reaching critical mass and is about to explode and they make a hasty retreat through the saloon doors and back to the dining area.]
Crystal: Whatever, OK?! I can say it however I want! You knew what I meant when I said it, and that's all that matters!. Didn't you hear me say nobody better mess with me today?! And here you go messing with me! God! I need a cigarette!
Crystal did not have a cigarette.
Her willpower was strong and she resisted temptation.
She's been tobacco-free for five days now.

You go, Miss Thing!

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Right Vs. Left (or Vice Versa)

The human brain is composed of two seperate hemispheres connected together by a thick cable of nerves at the base of each brain.

The left side of the brain is where analytical thought and logic takes place. This is the home of facts, rules, language, and science. This is also where all the data from everything the person did or experienced is stored.

The right side deals mainly with emotional thought and imagination. This is where creativity, artistic expression, fantasy, and "feelings" occur. All emotional responses (happiness, disgust, surprise, suspiciousness, sadness, horror and anger, among others) all come from the right side of the brain.

Let's take a journey into Jimmy's brain, (it'll be an adventure!) and see how this works.

Right Side: Ew! That old fat guy with his shirt off is gross! He should be made to put something on!
Left Side: It's a hot day. He's just trying to keep cool.
Right Side: But he's so disgusting! Pale jiggly hairy flab hanging out everywhere!
Left Side: He has just as much right to so shirtless as anyone else.
Right Side: Ugh! It's making me sick!
Left Side: You don't have to look at him.
Right Side: I know! But it's so amazingly revolting I can't help it!
Left Side: You're being overemotional again. If he was an Abercrombie model you'd feel differently.
Right Side: Overemotional? Did you forget who you're talking to? Wait! Did you say Abercrombie?! Woo-hoo!
Left Side: That's just like you to lapse into a sexual fantasy at any given moment.

Monday, July 11, 2005

Crime Doesn't Pay

My restauarant got robbed the other day at gunpoint.
This was the other day, and it was way before the restaurant opened, and I wasn't there yet, but I heard all about it from the people who witnessed it.
This is a true story.

Anyway, they come in through the back door, which was unlocked and opened (a big no-no security-wise) with guns drawn, bandannas over their faces. They confiscate all the cell phones from the back of the house employees. They get the manager to open the safe, and they take all the money (except the change) and they zoom away. It was all over in about 20 minutes.
It seemed they committed the perfect crime, but . . .

Little did the would-be criminals know, but immediatly before they arrived the opening waitresses got there to set up for the day. Well, as soon as the waitresses see something is up they call 911.

    "Help! There's people with guns robbing the restaurant!"
Meanwhile . . . the security cameras are getting absoloutely everything on tape. (There's almost no place you can't be seen on camera in the restaurant, except the bathrooms, of course.)
Meanwhile . . . someone in the KFC parking lot across the street had seen the guys exit the car with bandannas on and guns drawn and thought there might possibly be something suspicious going on and jotted down the lisence plate number and called 911.

Only a few seconds after the criminals fled, the police were on the scene.
A few seconds later, hard copy of the surveillece footage was in the hands of the police and a trace of the car the robbers were driving was being conducted.
Even with their "disguises" the restaurant workers had recognized one guy as the guy who works as a grill cook and his name and info was pulled from employee records.

The police caught the guys not even an hour later, buying new gear at the mall across the street.
Most of the money was recovered.

I'm no criminal mastermind by any stretch of the imagination, but there were a few flaws (or perhaps I should say gaping holes) in their master plan.

  • It's really dumb to rob the place you work. Unless you're disguise is really, really good, somebody is bound to recognize you. A halloween mask would have been a good idea. Robbing someplace else where people don't know you would have been an even better idea.
  • One of the guys worked there, so he knew about the security cameras. Even with the bandanna, the police were able to recognize the guys because they didn't even bother to change their outfits afterward. They should have worn jumpsuits or overalls or something.
  • If you're going to confiscate cell phones so someone doesn't call 911, make sure you get everyone's phone! Everybody has a cell phone these days.
  • He used his own car in the robbery. Duh! If he was going to do that, he should have stolen plates from a similar vehicle and switched them beforehand, then you switch them back afterward. That's what they do in the movies.
  • He robs a restaurant and then decides to go shopping? What the hell was he thinking? You lay low and see if the heat is on. Then, if you think you've gotten away with it, you go on your shopping spree.
Crime doesn't pay. Remember that, folks!

Saturday, July 09, 2005

Waiting For The Bus

We got the mother and the kids,
We got the guy and his date.
We all get mad.
We all get late.
Looks like somebody
Forgot about us,
Standing on the corner,
Waiting for the bus.

Hey Mr. driver man, don't be slow,
'Cause I got someplace I gotta go.
Say, hey Mr. driver man, drive that thing fast.
My precious time keeps slippin' past.

    "Waiting For The Bus"
    -- The Violent Femmes

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Long May It Wave

I much prefer the term "Independence Day" over "the Fourth of July", even though that's what most people call it.
Ask someone what they're doing on Independence Day and they are likely to reply, "When's that?" Then, of course, you answer, "July fourth" and then they counter with, "Oh! Well why didn't you say so in the first place?!"

The whole historical signifigance of the holiday (1776, the Declaration of Independece) is totally lost on most people. It's a day for barbeques and fireworks and (possibly) waving the flag around.


I've been on this particular soapbox before and the air is pretty thin up here, so instead of beating a dead horse, let me step down and tell you about my Independence Day.

I was supposed to call my girl Nancy and see what she and her boyfirend Steve were doing, but I totally blew them off. I wanted to spend some quality, one-on-one time with my man. Is that so wrong? Well, no, but the way I went about it kinda is. Now the next time I talk to her (and I'm surprised she hasn't called me yet) I either have to be disingenuous ("I thought you were going to call me!") or contrite ("I am soooooo sorry!").
Don't know exactly what route I'm going to take yet. I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

We drove up to the spot where the we could see the fireworks, laid out a blanket, had some cocktails (hidden in regular soda bottles because you can't be obviously drinking in public places, at least in Maryland) and sat there together and ooohed and aaahed at all the purdy lights in the sky.

I forgot to mention this was in the parking lot of the Burger King off Fleet Street.
No shit.
Instead of schlepping all the way to the Inner Harbor, paying premium prices to park (or driving around endlessly looking for a spot), rubbing elbows with all the throngs of people, dealing with the madding crowd and the mass exodus that was sure to occur right after the grand finale, we got a great view of the display, and no hassles with parking or dealing with a bunch of people.
I know where it's at, yo!

Afterwards we went out for some cocktails. Phinn's was closed, Port in a Storm was closed. WTF? What do I have to do to get a drink in this stinkin' city?
We finally went to the Phoenix where we ran into the always fabulous D'Marge, and bartender Rik made us cocktails that were way too strong.
After a few drinks, we went home and made our own fireworks happen.

Anyway, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
I hope you had a good Independence Day, too!

Monday, July 04, 2005

A Five Minute Story

Born In The Year Of The Cock

My gay education, if that's what you want to call it, started pretty early. At fourteen I was playing around (sexually) with my best friend (and later with my cousin, but that's another story and won't be told here) and by age sixteen I was going to gay bars and picking up men.
Real men. Grown men.

That I was able to get into bars (and be served) says alot about the gay community at the time of my "coming out".

At sixteen I looked to be about fourteen. Anybody paid any kind of attention at all could easily tell I wasn't old enough to be in there, let alone drinking a cocktail. Yet management, bartenders and doormen turned a blind eye to it.
I can only guess that they thought that if I was there in the first place I was mature enough to handle it. Or perhaps they didn't care one way or another.

All I know is that after school, instead of hitting the books and studying for that history test the next day, I was at Happy Hour!
And I was the belle of the ball (so to speak). I (almost) never had to buy a drink for myself. I could pick and choose (almost) whoever I wanted.
Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I was cute. Tall, lean, usually wearing tight faded jeans that showed off my butt and my tiny waist.
I knew at an early age how to accentuate the positive.

But most importantly though, I was young. "Chicken" is the gay slang term for it.
Youth is valued highly in the gay community. Everyone wants someone untouched (or at least not touched that much), a blank canvas to draw upon.

I was that canvas. And they drew on me.
More than that, I wanted them to draw on me. I wanted the whiteness of purity replaced by whatever would be drawn there. I hungered for experiences, longed for excitement and, perhaps, the thrill that comes from not knowing what happens next mixed with a dash of potential danger.

(Going to some guys apartment that you just met an hour previously is potentially dangerous, wouldn't you say?)

A good friend of mine didn't come out until he was twenty-five.
By twenty-five I was so over casual sex and the bar scene I actually became somewhat of a hermit for a little while.
So over it.
Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt (and then had the t-shirt, along with my other clothes, ripped off my body ).

Do I regret such experiences so early? Do I feel like I was exploited, or taken advantage of? Do I feel like I was in any way "used" or "corrupted"?

No way, man! I had a really good time.

Friday, July 01, 2005

Let's Talk About Sex

  1. Copy this entire list into your blog/journal.
  2. Bold everything about you that is true.
  3. Leave plain everything that is false about you.
  4. Put an asterisk (*) at the end of false statements you would like to be true.
I have had sex while wearing a blindfold.
I have blindfolded someone else during sex.*
I have had sex while watching porn.
I sleep better after sex.
There are some nights I cannot sleep without sex or masturbating.
I masturbate more than once per day.
The bed is NOT my most favorite place to have sex.
I am turned on knowing someone is watching me masturbate.
I enjoy watching others having sex or being watched during sex.
I will have sex with someone I just met if they turn me on.
I have had sex with two different individuals (at seperate times) during the course of one day.
I have been tied up during sex.
I have had sex with someone who was tied up.*
I have dripped wax onto a lover's body.*
I have had a lover drop wax on my body.
I have a foot/sock/shoe fetish.
I have a leather fetish.
I have a tickle fetish.
Watching someone urinate (or being watched while urinating) is a turn-on.
I have had sex in a vehicle.
I have had sex while driving a vehicle.*
I have been to a sex club or bathhouse.
I like being choked during sex.
My lovers would describe me as kinky.
I shave (or trim) the hair on or around my genitals.
The smell of my lover's sweat turns me on.
I have erotic art on display somewhere in my residence.*
Dirty talk during sex turns me on.
I enjoy pornographic magazines.
I have a collection of porno movies.
Erotic toys are a regular part of my budget.
I have clicked on porn links in my email.
I regularly look at porn sites on the internet.
Much of what I know about sex comes from porn.
Interracial sex turns me on.
I would participate in sex research if given the opportunity.
My current lover does not sufficiently meet my sexual needs.
I have had sex at my place of employment.
I am often disappointed in my sexual relationships.
Some people might describe me as a nymphomaniac.
I am difficult to live with if I'm not having sex on a regular basis.
I sleep better with someone snuggled up next to me.
I have had sex under water.
I have had sex outdoors.
I have had sex in a public place or where I might have been discovered.
I have had sex in a bathroom stall.
I have had sex in the snow.*
I am or have been in a polyamorous relationship.
I have participated in three-ways or orgies.
I have to have music playing during sex.
I have flashed strangers.
I have given sex as a gift.
I have set up a three-way for my lover.*
I stopped during this list to have sex.*
All day I dream about sex.

(Thanks, Evan, for turning me on!)