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Life is only what you wonder.

Monday, August 29, 2005

I'm Not Gonna Crack

What with working, spending the rest of my time packing and preparing, and still more of my time having patience-trying conversations with the ex, I'm worn out.

I hate those conversations!
If you've ever broken up with someone you're bound to have had at least one yourself. You know the ones where each person dredges up all the crap that they put up with for the last such-and-such amount of time (in our case it was six years).
You point out all the ways they failed you, disappointed you, pissed you off, and were totally unworthy of you. Then you have to hear about all the things you did wrong.
You'd think getting all that off your chest would make you feel better, but it doesn't. And hearing all the crap that you did (or they percieve you did, 'cause it's all about perception, after all) makes you feel like something on the bottom of someone's shoe.
It's exausting, headache-inducing, and doesn't do anyone any good. I reccomend avoiding such confrontations whenever possible.

I did manage to go out for a little bit on Saturday evening for Happy Hour.
I wasn't looking for a trick or a potential new boyfriend or anything. I just needed to get out of the house for awhile and clear my head.
I was feeling kind of low.
Six years down the drain. It makes you feel like such a failure.

Then on my way to the bar I got a message on my cell phone.

From: Tony
Jimmy . . . I wish I could give you a hug or buy you an ice cream or whatever would make you feel good for at least a few minutes.
A message from Tony! YAY!
So I texted back:
To: Tony
You just did, Tony. Thanks! :)
It's amazing what a little thing like that can do to brighten your day.
Instead of (probably) crying in my beer (or in this case my Jack Daniel's and Coke) about how much my life sucks, I had some good conversations and a decent time.
Thanks, Tony. I needed that!

I haven't told my Mom about the break up yet. As a matter of fact, I've been avoiding her calls.
Why, you ask?
Well for starters the conversation would start with me telling her everything that's going on, and end with me crying and sobbing incoherently.
(Crying to Mommy at my age? Pathetic, I know.)
Second, she's just begun to accept G. as a part of my life, and as a part of her life, even though they've never met.
"How's that son-in-law of mine doing?" she'll say, "And how's my little grandson (Rico)?"
She was planning a trip down here around the end next month and was going to stay in the spare room.
That's all off at this point. -- I won't even be living here then.
One of the things I hate the most is being the bearer of bad news. That goes double if it's about me.
I suppose I have to tell her eventually, so I might as well stop putting off the inevitable.
I'll bite the bullet and call her later tonight.

So, that's all that's going on. I'm actually feeling quite optimistic about everything. Like everything's going to be OK.
It's not the end of the world. Nobody died or anything.
I'm totally not interested in sex, or tricking, or finding a boyfriend, though, which is a total surprise. You'd think that after six years I'd be itching to get right back into the action, but that's the last thing on my mind. The desire just isn't there.
Oh, I'm sure it'll happen eventually, just not right now.

Sorry if this post was depressing. Life's not always sunshine, lollipops and rainbows, though.
More later as it happens.

P.S. Thanks, also, to all of you who sent emails and left encouraging comments. I appriciate it more than I can say.
Thanks again! :)

Friday, August 26, 2005

Already Gone

Sorry for the lack of posting lately, but I've been through alot this past week.
And I don't say that lightly.

I was looking for a nice and or subtle way to put it, but there isn't any, so I'll just get it out there and get it over with:
The husband and I are no longer together.
I'm still living at the house at this point, but that's a temporary thing.
In my head I'm already gone, though. The rest is just minor details.

I'm not going to get into what happened -- not yet anyway. It will all come out soon enough --every last ugly tidbit of it. But those are stories that will come later.
(Although to give you a clue, you should know that history has a way of repeating itself.)

No time for tears. No time for regrets. No time for wallowing in self-pity.
All that can (and most likely will) come later.
Right now I just need to get out.
That's my main objective.
My Prime Directive.

I've already started packing, and I've already scoured the paper looking for apartments, but haven't found any that suit my needs (i.e. not too pricey, in a decent area, not a roach-infested dump).
I know several people with cars and I'm sure if I beg and plead I can find people that can help me move.
It'll happen -- and soon.

I'm prepared to fight (if I have to) for custody of Rico. I don't know if I could take not having him in my life. I love that dog so much --he is like a child to me!
(I think I'm more choked up at the prospect of losing Rico than I am my husband.
That's pretty fucked up.)

My minds a horrible jumble at this point, so forgive the lack of coherence.
More later.

Friday, August 19, 2005

Before And After

That's me on the left.
And who's that ravishing beautiful gorgeous creature on the right?
Oh, yeah, that's me too.

I've never used my PhotoImpression (kind of like Photoshop, but it came free with my Nikon digital camera) to doctor up my photos before.
Oh, sure I've used the fader, the "soft glow", the "red-eye remover" and employed several other effects, but not with the sole intention of making me look better.

I'm a pretty together guy. I'm pretty much aware of my flaws. I'm not the most gorgeous thing that's walked the Earth, but I'm not ugly. I couldn't use my face to break mirrors or stop clocks. There are more uglier people on this planet than me, (I know this for a fact!)
I've always been pretty secure in my looks (or how I feel about them).

But . . .

The other day I was bored and had nothing better to do, so I started tinkering around. A little airbrish here, a little smudging there, a little blurring here and there, a little sweep of color, and --voila!-- I'm filthy gorgeous.

And I notioced something right in the middle of my "doctoring", when I was smoothing the lines and smudging away the blemishes. (I didn't shout out "Ureka!", but I came pretty damn close.)
Brace yourself for a brutal dose of truth here.
It's our "flaws" that make us who we are! It's our differences that make us unique. Otherwise we would all look the same, like in that Twilight Zone episode.

I noticed something else, too: Once you start correcting your 'flaws", you never want to stop. You keep finding more things to "correct".
You can make your eyes bigger and more vibrant (or even change the color altogether), your skin tone less pale (or even tan - no more worries about melanoma or skin cancer!) , your lashes longer, zap out any and all zits, ditto for winkles, moles, and scars, make your face shorter or less round, your mouth wider, your lips fuller and redder. You could even add some highlights to your hair if you wanted to.
Where does it end?
The result of that much tinkering is that the final image looks absoloutely nothing like you! Someone wouldn't be able to pick you out in a line-up if they tried.

Look at the fellow on the right. He's hot, no question -- but he doesn't exist. He's someone I created with my photo, a program, and a couple of sweeps of my mouse. He's the ideal version of me, the version I want others to see when they see me.
But, of course they can't because It's not real. It's an illusion I created digitally.
He has no character at all in his face. His face is totally smooth and devoid of lines, but he's also devoid of anything that makes him human. He could be Barbie's new boyfriend or a department store mannequin.

Not that I don't plan to "touch up' my photos now and again.
(That zit had no business being on my face in the first place!)

Thursday, August 18, 2005

Nude Jude

(To the tune of "Hey Jude" by The Beatles)
Hey, Jude,
I seen you nude*
Don't try to fake it,
I seen you naked . . .
OK, I won't be winning any songwriting awards any time soon.

Honestly, though, Jude Law is so "man pretty" all that would matter to me was that he had a dick. (Which, obviously, he does.)
I'm no size queen.

Not safe for work!

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Almost (But Not Quite) Entirely Not Useful

You might need to be under the influence of a powerful hypnotic drug to get this one:What's it do? What's it for?
Beats me, but the dude who keeps welcoming you to Zombo.com is quite funny, and the colors are pretty, aren't they?

Monday, August 15, 2005

Hot Stuff!

With the "heat index" making it feel 110 in the shade, to say it's been hot is an understatement. Perhaps the word "inferno" would more accurately describe it.
If this is a taste of what Hell is like, I'd better try very hard to be good in the future.

My Saturday Night was spent at the Stone Soul Picnic. I had to stand there and give out $2 off cupons for the restaurant. I couldn't give them out fast enough. People are so greedy!
Anyway, I got to see performances by Mary J. Blige, Sunshine Anderson, Li'l Mo and Toni Braxton. Mary J. was my favorite. When she sang "I'm Going Down" I forgot all about handing out coupons and grooved along with everyone else.
It was hot, but I got to take frequent breaks, I got a special STAFF t-shirt (which will be a part of my "lounging around the house" wardrobe) -- and I got paid.
How cool is that?

The AC unit at the restaurant shut down completely at the restaurant yesterday. With all of the ovens. grills, steamers, broilers, hotplates and fryers going full blast (not to mention the dish machine pumping out a godawful amount of heat and steam) it was hotter inside the restaurant than it was outside.
It was so hot that about a dozen guests that were waiting to be seated just walked out.
All the church ladies in their floral print dresses and big hats were fanning themselves and complaining.
It was horrible.

I was soaking wet by the time I left. I had to literally peel my drenched sticky wifebeater and underwear off when I got home.
Gross, I know.

Luckily this happened an hour and a half before I (and the rest of the morning shift) was scheduled to leave. Imagine a dozen cheering servers racing for the exit door while a dozen other servers enter a restaurant-sized oven full of evil angry sweaty people -- and it was only going to get hotter.
Sucked to be them, but what did I care -- I was free!

Spealing of hot things . . . (nice segue, eh?) I saw Fantastic Four recently. The movie was all right, but not quite as fabulous as I expected. That's probably more because I was expecting so much, and whenever you do that you are always disappointed. My advice: wait for the DVD to come out and rent it from Netflix or Blockbuster.
The highlight of the movie was Chris Evans as Johnny Storm (AKA The Human Torch).
It was worth the price of the ticket just to watch him burn all his clothes off and run around nekkid -- even if it only lasted a couple of seconds.

It's a little cooler today, but I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to lounge around in the AC, read the book I've been trying to get through for the past week, and chill.

Saturday, August 13, 2005

Comin' Atcha Live!

this is an audio post - click to play

Friday, August 12, 2005

Enquiring Minds Want To Know!

Hey, you! (Yes, you!) I would like you to answer a few burning questions, please.
Even if you got here by accident (looking for porn, for instance) why not take a minute of your time and help a brotha out?
I asked these questions to all of my co-workers and almost everyone I came in contact with yesterday and everyone answered them exactly the same way, so it's got me curious.
The results of my queries will follow, but for now here are the questions:

Question #1:
If your boyfriend /girlfriend /spouse /significant other left their cell phone unattended, would you go through it? (Reading the text messages, seeing who called, listening to the voice mail, looking at the photos, etc.)

Question #2:
If you left your cell phone unattended and you later found out your boyfriend /girlfriend /spouse /significant other had gone through it, would you be angry or upset?

Leave your answers in the comments section below. Please be honest!

The Results:
100% of the people I asked Question #1 said they would go through the cell phone "just to see what was on it". Even if they trusted him/her they would still look.
Most people queried said they "hated to admit" that they would do it, but that they probably wouldn't be able to help themselves.
A very few people said they would confess to such an act after the fact, -- as long as there wasn't anything questionable found.
Most people answered this question immediately and emphatically, without hesitation. "Damn right I would!" They didn't have to think too hard about it.

100% of the people I asked Question #2 said they would be angry or upset if they found someone had been going through their cell phone.
A few people stated that they might get "violently angry" if they found out, regardless if there was anything questionable to be found.
One lonely querent stated they would be upset, but they would "expect that they would look. It's human nature to be curious.".
Some people realized the hypocrisy and irony in how they answered the questions, however most did not. Of the people that made this realization, I allowed them to change their response to Question #1, but all of them said they "would do it anyway."

This leads me to conclude . . .
1. Absolutely no one has any trust for anyone else, and nobody has any respect for anyone else's privacy. And . . .
2. Virtually everyone has the upmost regard for their own privacy.

I, for one, am appalled!

And as for me . . .
I would have to answer the questions the very same way!
I'll admit it.
It sucks that I am such a hypocrite, but it sucks even more that I am exactly like everyone else! I had hoped to be better.
Oh, well!

Anyway, how would you answer?

Tuesday, August 09, 2005

Do Not Assume

Situation #1: My buddy Mike got a job at my restaurant.
False Assumption: Well, if he's a good friend of mine, he must be gay, too! Right?
Fact: He's totally straight, but secure enough in his own sexuality that we can hang and he doesn't care what people might think. He knows who and what he is.Situation #2: I'm seen sitting at a bar with another guy (who's not my husband) and we're whispering to one another and laughing, and obviously having fun.
False Assumption: I must be cheating on my husband!
Fact: I've known Michael for over fifteen years. He's like a brother to me, and it's very apparent how close we are whenever we get together.

Situation #3: My husband got a promotion at my restaurant.
False Assumption: I'm on the gravy train now. I have less work to do and I can get away with more than anybody.
Fact: In order to prove there's no favoritism going on he has to be harder on me than everyone else. I have more work to do, less privileges, and get away with less than anyone else in the restaurant. (I'm not bitching. I knew what his promotion would mean before he even accepted it.)

I hear the whispers and the gossip.
You think I can't hear what they're saying?
I have bionic ears and I hear it all.

"He's cute, but he's Jimmy's friend so he's probably queer."

"That guy Jimmy is so chummy with is most definitely not his husband. I always thought they were cheating on one another. Their relationship seemed too good to be true."

"Jimmy's got it easy now that G. became a supervisor. You just know he's not going to be as hard on Jimmy as he is on us."

I guess people don't think I can hear very well. Or maybe they don't care if I hear. Or possibly they want me to hear in order to provoke a reaction from me.

I will let everyone keep their assumptions.
Let everyone gossip and whisper, I know what the real story is.

And now, so do you.

Monday, August 08, 2005

A Five Minute Story

Nude In The House Of The Doomed

On the way to the After-The Club-Closes Party at Evan's house I knew I shouldn't have had those last two shots. My stomach was weaving and lurching in my torso and I could almost hear all the liquor I'd consumed sloshing around inside.
Josh's driving didn't help any either. With a great effort I managed to unroll the window of the truck and the cool breeze chilled the sweat on my face and forehead, but did little to invigorate me.
"You OK?" Josh asked.
"I think I drank too much" I managed to mumble.
"We'll be there soon."

There were three carloads of us going to Evan's. Of the dozen or so I knew only Josh.
I had wanted to go home, it was Josh's idea to go to this thing.
"Come on! It'll be fun." Josh pleaded, "Smoke a little weed, have a few beers, meet some new people! You're always saying you never meet anybody new."
It's true, I did say that all the time.

Memories of getting out of the truck and into the house are hazy. Everybody was being introduced to everyone and Evan, the host, was passing beers around. Someone else was kneeling at the coffee table rolling joints. I waved the beer Evan offered me away and asked where the bathroom was.
"Down the hall, the last door on the left."

I was kneeling on the bathroom floor, forehead resting on the cool porcelain bowl, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I could smell the sick in my nose and taste it in my mouth, and I sincerely hoped I was done. I think I might have passed out for a couple of minutes there, hugging the toilet bowl, head resting on my arm.
When it was obvious it was over, I wiped my mouth and chin with some toilet paper and wiped off the toilet bowl and flushed the disgusting mess away.
Luckily I had managed to hit my target and there was nothing on the floor or the bathroom carpet to clean up or apologize for.
I freshened myself up the best I could (Thank God there were Dixie cups and Listerine in the medicine cabinet!) and walked back to the living room.

The "party" had devolved into an full-blown orgy. A porno was on the large screen TV and the living room was a sea of naked bodies and sexual positions, like an obscene game of Twister.
A guy (cute, blond) at the edge of the fray grabbed my crotch and then tried to unzip my jeans. Someone else (brawny, dark hair, goatee) grabbed me from behind and took my t-shirt off over my head and started playing with my nipples.
I saw Josh standing across the room, totally oblivious to everything but the two guys kneeling at his feet, one in front and the other behind.

I stepped out of my jeans and slid my briefs down to my ankles and stepped out of those too.

Friday, August 05, 2005

One Apple And A Can Of Tuna

Christian Bale lost a little over 60 pounds to play the lead in the film The Machinist.
How did he do it?
By subsiding on one apple and a can of tuna per day.

"The Machinist's bare, stripped-down design complements both the film's conceptual leanness and Bale's emaciated body. Lest he seem like a sadistic movie director, Anderson explains that the star wasn't quite as unhealthy as he looked. 'He looks pretty awful when he takes off his shirt but we also amped it up a little with lighting,' he says. 'Every time we had a scene where you saw his body, he wouldn't drink any liquids for 24 hours before so he'd look even more sinewy. He also said that he was popping vitamin B12 because he thought it made his muscles stick out more too. This shows you how insane Christian Bale is.'"

Tuesday, August 02, 2005

It's A Beautiful Day And Baby, I'm Alive!

I am in an extrordinary mood today, for no apparent reason. The kind of feeling where you want to say hello to people who pass you by on the street, or twirl around and break into song. Or jump up and down on Oprah's couch and go "Wooo-hooo!"
Did I mention this is coming out of nowhere?
I need some hormones or drugs or something, I think.

One of the things that's probably fueling my good mood is that the husband got a promotion to Floor Supervisor.
They're gonna switch up his hours, and he'll probably be working more, but more money will be rolling in.
But then, of course, we'll be spending more. This is why we can never get ahead!

And (surprise, surprise) I might be getting a promotion as well!
I wasn't going to talk about it, because I didn't want to jinx anything, but then I thought, why not? I don't believe in jinxes, anyway. (Or do I?)
Cathy came to me the other day and asked if I would be interested in being a Head Waiter (no jokes, please) and after deliberating over it for a little while, and conferring with the husband, I said, yeah, I'm interested. She said I'm at "the top of the list for consideration", whatever that means.
She hasn't made up her mind, though, so I'm not going to get all hopeful or anything. It might not happen.
But then again, it just might.
(BTW, in case you didn't already know, me telling myself not to get my hopes up is like telling myself to stop breathing. It's gonna happen whether I want it to, or not.)

Regardless, I think this calls for a celebration.

Plus, I got a new hair-do yesterday, and it looks pretty spiffy (if I do say so myself)!
Hell, yes!!

Happy Hour, here I come!