Friday, September 30, 2005
Thursday, September 29, 2005
- Episode 2: I Dream Of . . . Tony?
I've read that during a standard eight hours of sleep most people dream at least twice, but I couldn't tell you the last time I woke up and remembered a dream I've had.
I know some people that remember their dreams ever single night. There's this one woman at work that dreams lottery numbers!
I'm lucky if I remember one dream I've had in six months.
No sense crying about it.
Sometimes you have to take what you get.
And, as I've also said previously, the dreams I do remember aren't normal ones.
I'm on a really high ladder changing burned out lightbulbs in a factory and then suddenly I'm I'm being chased up a mountain by a bunch of monkeys.
The other night I dreamt of Tony.
Now, I've never met Tony, but I consider him to be a good friend of mine.
There's a connection there, even though we've never even spoken on the phone.
I never thought I'd neet him in a dream, but that's just what happened the other night.
Dreams are funny. You know stuff in dreams that you couldn't ever know in the real life situatations. You know if the monkeys catch you they will kill you and they will eat you -- so you run.
You run like hell 'cause the monkeys are after you! It doesn't matter "why".
"Why" doesn't exist in a dream, not really.
Anyway, in the dream I had, Tony and I are superheroes.
I, of course, am "Wonder Boy" and I'm wearing this red, white and blue leotard that resembles a high school wrestler's uniform (in the dream I'm a little more "buff" than I am in real life) and Tony is "Large Tony" and he's wearing black boots, black spandex shorts, a black cape and a black Zorro type mask.
We were hot!
No shit, we were the sexiest superheroes ever.
I don't know if either of us had superpowers.
I'm kind of thinking we didn't because the one scene I remember the most clearly we were running down the street chasing some bad guy, and why run wehen you could fly?
We might have been a Batman and Robin type team, relying soley on our wits and physical prowess.
And the funny thing is, I was Tony's sidekick!
We were in some fictional place called (possibly) Beltway City, and we were keeping the streets safe from all the human vermin.
Striking fear in the hearts of all the muggers, rapists and fag-bashers everywhere!
We were a hell of a team, Tony and me!
Quite an adventure we had, I must say. I wish I could remember more details about it. My dreams tend to fade so quickly after I awake, it's amazing I remember as much as I did.
In a way, i'm glad I only dream things like this occasionally, otherwise I might never want to wake up.
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
It Creeps Up On You
I went to see Nancy last night at the bar she works at called The Full House.
It's just a little hole-in-the-wall bar in Highlandtown. Not much to see except a bar, a jukebox and a pool table.
I didn't go there for the decor, though. I went there to see Nancy.
I also knew that since she was the barmaid, that I'd get my drinks for free.
It doesn't really save me that much money though, considering I tip her three or four dollars for every "free" drink I get. And she made sure my glass was never empty.
By the time I left her tip jar was bulging and I could barely walk.
This was mainly due to the fact that I was drinking this cocktail called "The Creeper".
The recipe is supposed to be a secret, but I'm among friends. I can trust you not to tell anyone, can't I?
Here's the "secret" recipe:
The CreeperThis is one of those "sneaky drinks" that don't really taste all that potent.
1 part vodka (Stoli)
I part Bacardi light rum
1 part Malibu coconut rum
1 part Triple Sec
1 part orange juice
1 part pinapple juice
a dash of Grenadine
Pour all ingredients over ice and mix or shake together.
Strain into a small cocktail glass.
Down the hatch!
Then three drinks later -blammo!- you suddenly realize you're almost, but not quite, totally wasted.
Nancy and I had some good "girl talk" over Creepers and she was matching me drink for drink. (I wanna be a bartender. It's the only occupation I can think of where you can drink on the job.)
I told her everything that's been going on, and she told me everything that's been going on with her.
(Lots of drama. But it's not for me to tell her stories.)
I don't know why, but it seems I reveal more of the deep intimate stuff to my girl friends. With my guy friends the conversations are fun, of course, but they never get that "deep" and I only reveal so much.
There are exceptions to this. My buddy Fireguy is a good example. I tell him pretty much everything.
But he's like the only one. If I'm telling my troubles to someone, nine times out of ten it's to one of "my girls".
I never thought about why that is, but I'll take a stab at it right here and now.
Part of it is that "macho" thing. Men just don't talk about that kind of stuff with other men. Even as a gay male, that stuff I was told growing up about what constitutes being a "real man" is still in my head.
And . . .
I suppose I think that, although they're friends and technically I could tell them pretty much anything, they're also males, and therefore (in the back of my mind at least) possible potential future sex partners (or lovers).
Try as I may, I can't get past that.
Just like it's next to impossible for me to go to a gay club and not mentally compare how I look (hair, clothes, body, youthfulness) against everyone else there, like it's some kind of beauty contest. I don't do that as much as I used to anymore (by far), but I still catch myself doing it occasionally.
Sometimes I wish I didn't think that way, but you can only control so much about how your mind works.
I find more out about myself every single day.
Anyhoo, I had fun, hung out with one of my girls, got a little buzzed.
It was a good night.
Celebrity Look Alikes- The Canine Edition
Put a little hat on his head and a cigar in his mouth, and my dog Rico looks like Triumph, the Insult Comic dog, doesn't he?
Monday, September 26, 2005
Where Did He Go?
"Over a week without posting anything?!! Jimmy must be dead!"
No, I'm not dead. I'm very much alive and well. I've just been working -- alot.
Plus all of my posts lately have been so heavy, you'd need a crane to lift them, and posting to blog just didn't seem like a fun thing to do.
Tired of that, tired of the drama, but most of all I'm tired of talking about all of it.
God, give me patience, just no more conversations.
I've been incognito all week, not calling anyone or returning phone calls. Not even checking the email, much less responding to it. (My inbox has about 200 messages in it, not including junk mail. I have alot of typing to do.)
That's totally not like me to withdraw from the world like that. I guess I just needed to be inside my own head for awhile without any outside influences.
My girl Nancy had called me three times and I just didn't feel like talking to anyone so I let the voice mail pick it up. When I finally talked to her she chewed me out about it, too.
"There are people that love you and miss you -- you can't just shut them --or me-- out like that! I was worried about you, you jack-hole!"
She's so sweet!
But I know she wouldn't be so forceful with me if she didn't care.
And I know there are other people just waiting to chew me out about it as well.
Go ahead, I deserve it.
As for my situation . . .
I'm still living at the house.
G. and I are attempting to work things out. I've even put my wedding band back on.
And believe it or not, things have been OK.
What will happen from here on out is anyone's guess. I can't predict the future any more than anyone else can.
I just couldn't see throwing away six years. That's a long time --for me anyway.
I could tell he was truly sorry for what he had done. Not having me was the worst pain he ever felt, he said and I believe it. And I was hurting, too.
I'm not saying it's going to be easy. Anything worth having takes work and effort.
And for those of you that think I need my head examined for going back, I have just this to say: You can't know everything about a situation unless you're in it. I'm looking at things through my eyes, and I'm the one standing in my own shoes, and I'm the one who has to live with the results and ramifications of my decisions. I don't ask that everyone agree with me, but at least respect the fact that is my life and my decision to make.
Anyway, that's all I'm saying on the subject -- unless something else happens.
And as for that Justin guy . . .
I texted him that I thought he was a nice guy and all, but I wasn't interested in him, etc. This was me trying to be "nice" about it. He wasn't a bad guy, just not the one for me.
Well, after I brushed him off, he wouldn't stop texting me! Over and over again. At least ten texts a day for five days!
Some people just can't take a hint. I guess rejection is a pretty powerful aphrodisiac after all.
(BTW, just the other day I saw a post from him on craigslist which said he was looking to "be used by five or more guys" and that he "would blow and swallow everyone".
What a ho!)
Anyway, now that things are back to normal (whatever that means) expect posts to resume with some regularity. Also, expect more "light and fluffy" posts in the future.
All that heaviness was draggin' me down.
Monday, September 19, 2005
The Dating Game Sucks
Imagine me, dating again after six and a half years!
Bizarre, but that's just what I did.
A friend of mine told me of a guy (not a friend of his, per se --just somebody he knows)who was "looking for a boyfriend. You would like him." and asked if he could give the guy my number.
I'm always down with meeting new people, so I said sure.
So he (the guys name is Justin, BTW) calls me and the first thing I'm put off by is this guy's voice, high pitched and nasally. Not like a woman's voice, but not like a man's either.
But I disregard that for the time being. It's not wise to be too judgemental. After all, there's nobody perfect.
We exchange photos via cell phone picture mail and he's really cute.
Like "Teen Idol" cute.
You could imagine the photo he sent being on the cover of the next Tiger Beat or something.
So, that was a definite plus. (I sound really shallow, I know, but I can't help it.)
So we have several other phone conversations over the next few days and this guy seems pretty cool.
I ask can we meet for cocktails somewhere and he says he can't, he's only 19.
Totally wasn't expecting that. Was he too young for me? Was I too old for him?
But then I considered how mature I was at 19 (my own apartment, full-time job, paying all my bills by myself) and thought that maybe it wouldn't be that much of a big deal.
Keep an open mind, Jimmy, I told myself.
So we agree to meet at his place.
Well, when I got there and he answered the door, it turned out that he looked like his photo, or else I would have been out of there before you could say "knife".
But what the photos didn't prepare me for was how nelly he was. He flittered and fluttered around, and his hands were like two birds flying this way and that when he spoke.
You can't help what you're attracted to, and that's a fact.
Conversely, you also can't help what your not attracted to, and Justin's feminine mannerisms were a turn-off for me. A little is OK, but he was flaming so much I kept wishing I had a fire extinguisher.
Anyway, we watched Hedwig and the Angry Itch on his DVD (really good movie, BTW. I highly reccomend it) and then we made out a little. He grabbed me and started kissing me during the closing credits, but my heart wasn't really in it, although Justin seemed to enjoy it.
But it wasn't long before I said goodbye, it was fun, and headed home.
On my way home I receive a text from him:
Next time I want your c*ck in my mouth, then I want you to f*ck me!
This guy said he wanted a boyfriend, and he's acting like a total slutpuppy. If I wanted a NSA* sex encounter, I could have one. Finding someone at a club who you're attracted to and who's attracted to you and going home and doing the dirty deed is one of the easiest things you can do.
I don't know what I was looking for, exactly, but it wasn't that.
So, I doubt I'll be seeing Justin again. It just wasn't a good match.
But like all experiences, good or bad, this one taught me something.
My right hand is going to be my best friend for a little while longer, but I'm OK with that.
*No Strings Attached
Friday, September 16, 2005
I Feel Numb
When I came home from a long day of working a double shift yesterday, I was greeted upon my entrance to the house to a scene I simply wasn't prepared for.
Two dozen long-stemmed red roses were sitting in beautiful vases on the coffee table. Arranged aound them were our wedding pictures, champagne glasses, carnations and lit candles.
G. was (is) trying to woo me back (again).
He told me how much he loved me, how much he needed me, how I was his light and his world, how he didn't think he could love anyone like he loved me. And I know he wouldn't have gone through all that trouble if he didn't mean it.
Any other time something like that would reduce me to a puddle on the floor.
As a matter of fact, the craziest thing about this whole thing, everything that's happeneded in the week or so, is the fact that I haven't cried once.
Oh, I teared up a little here and there, but I haven't bawled my eyes out like I expected I would.
I almost positive that I would be an emotional wreck at this point, but I'm handling everything surprisingly well.
For someone who's usually very emotional, this is a pretty big deal.
I cry a river during The Lion King for Jah's sake! What's wrong with me?
And this is quite a reversal from the way things usually are. G. is normally the inscrutable one and I am usually the one with my heart on my sleeve.
But there he was, professing his undying love for me, and I was touched, sure. The roses were (are) beautiful.
But something is missing. Something inside myself.
I don't think I can explain it better than that.
I was moved by his words, and deeply touched, but it didn't trigger an emotional response.
I'm no psyhcologist, but I suspect it's my brain's way of coping with everything.
(If I'm not mistaken, I believe it's called repression. Damn, I wish I'd paid more attention in psych class!)
It's certainly nothing I'm doing purposefully.
I didn't say, "Let me just turn all of my emotions off now." and flip a switch or pull a lever.
Sometimes I wish it were that simple.
Where do things stand at this point?
I'm still planning on moving. Unless something changes or something else happens before then that's the only thing I can do.
My target moving day is October 1st, which would have been our sixth wedding anniversary.
Can you see the irony?
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Hats Off To Baltimore's Finest
I officcially take back anything I might have said that was negative about police officers. They protect us, keep us from harm (when they can), and go after all of the bad guys who want to take our lives, our liberty, or our livelihoods.
What am I babbling about, you ask?
I got mugged last night.
(Never a dull moment, huh?)
Before I get into that story, lets go backwards in time a few hours. (Time travel is easy, baby!)
I was moping at home, thinking about how much my life sucks. Thinking how f***ing unfair it is that my husband does me wrong, and I'm the one who has to leave.
Why doesn't he leave? I can afford the house payment by myself.
It's just not right, I tell you!
(I'm still a little bitter. Can you tell?)
Anyway, I get a call from my girl Nancy. She's in a pool league and she invited me to come and watch her play.
Any excuse to get out of this house at this point, and I'm there.
So I go to this bar called My Cousin's Place and watch her play. (She won both games, BTW. You go, girl!)
After she was through shooting, we had some "girl talk" and I I told her everything that was going on and she said a great thing. She said, "He lost the best thing that ever happened to him."
Meaning me, of course.
She also said, "There's the better half, and there's the other half. You were the better half."
It was just the thing I needed to hear.
I purposely didn't stay out long, because the streets aren't safe after dark, and I'm a skinny white boy walking alone.
I go to catch the #22 bus home, but when I got to the bus stop the posted scedule said the next bus wasn't due for another hour and a half.
Luckily, The Quest is right aroiund the corner, so I go there for a drink.
In the meantime, I called my girl Blondie to let her know what was going on. She told me she backs me up 100%.
I have great friends.
Anyhow, when I get to the bus stop I have twenty minutes until my bus arrives, so I sit on the bench to wait.
The next few minutes are kind of fuzzy. It all happened so quickly.
So that's how I'm going to tell it.
This guy comes over and out of the blue smacks the crap out of me - HARD. Hard enough to knock me from the bench and leave me lying on the ground, stunned. He grabs me by my shirt, breaking my silver necklace, and smacks me again and grabs my messenger bag. I guess I should have just lied there and let him run off, but you're not thinking clearly in a situation like that. I lunge for my bag and shout "Give me my f***ing bag!" and he strikes me a third time sending me flying and knocking my classes off my head, then goes running down the street.So I'm lying on the ground, can't see a damn thing, feeling around the concrete for my glasses. I finally find them and I grab my phone which flew off it's holster when I landed on the ground.
I was panicking at this point, so I called G. "I just got mugged!" He said to hang up and call the police, which I did. I should have thought of it myself, I guess, but I wasn't thinking too clearly, as I said.
The police arrived and I told them what happened and gave them a description of the guy, and then we drove around looking for him.
Meanwhile, the cops are stopping anyone on the street that matches his description. After a few wrong people are released after I told them "That's not him." we pull up to a third guy and they shine the light on him.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure."
He had taken off his hat and changed his shirt, but I had no problem recognizing him.
They hauled him away in handcuffs and I went to the Police Station to write out a statement of what had happened.
Meanwhile, the dude didn't have my bag on him. I guess he rifled through it, saw there was nothing valuable (to him) in it and threw it in a garbage can or something, BUT he did have a Sprint card with my name on it in his back pocket. (It said "Sprint Cash" on it, so I'm thinking he thought it was a debit card or something. It's not. It's the card I use to make a payment on my Sprint PCS bill.)
Apparently he was wanted by the police anyway for a couple of other things, and one of the officers said it seemed like he was on something.
Whatever, all I know is we got the sucker. Hopefully they'll lock him in a cell and throw away the key.
So there's the story.
By the way, there was nothing very valuable in my bag. A couple of magazines, a paperback book (Party Monster), my phone book and a few unpaid bills.
I'm a little scraped up and bruised, and I was a little freaked out for awhile, but otherwise I'm fine.
It could have turned out alot worse.
And another bad guy is behind bars, where he belongs, which is a good thing for everybody.
And how was your day?
Monday, September 12, 2005
Here I Go (Again)
I tried, but it turns out I couldn't do it.
The husband asked me not to leave him, and I went back, but it turns out that sometimes you just can't go back no matter how hard you try.
It's a cliche, I know, but it's been said that if a relationship doesn't have trust, than it doesn't have anything.
That's all too true.
His infedelities and all the bullshit that I went through I thought I could forgive and forget.
Turns out I couldn't do that after all.
I was listening to my heart when I went back, and my heart was talking so loudly and forcefully, it drowned out everything else.
Then, after it quieted down, my brain spoke up.
Oh, it was easy to ignore for a little while, but it became increasingly more difficult. And the whole distrust issue was bugging the hell out of me as well.
He'd get a phone call and I'd think, Who's that? Is that one of the boys he slept with?
He would go out to the store for cigarettes and I'd wonder where he was really going.
Eventually I had the epiphany that I didn't believe him at all any more. Not anything he did, or anything he said.
His faithlessness had totally destroyed my trust.
We hadn't had any kind of sex since we first got back together and that was mainly because I had no desire to. I'd think about it, but then I would get the mental image of him touching other men, kissing them and it would sicken me. No way could I make love to him.
It wasn't going to happen.
And I was kicking my own ass, too.
He can do whatever he wants and then say "I'm sorry" and you just go back just like that? What a fool you are!
I sat him down yesterday and told him that it just wasn't going to work. I loved him, but he hurt me too much to forgive him for the things he's done.
Maybe someone stronger (weaker?) than I could do it, but not me.
After our conversation I took my wedding ring off and put it in my box of mementos.
So that's where things stand.
I'm not worried, though. I've been here before and it's not such a bad place to be.
As long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Boys In Boxes
I don't usually use this space to advertise for anything. As a matter of fact, I shell out good yankee green to ensure there's no pop-ups, banner ads or anything else to distract you from what I'm trying to say or show you.
I even got rid of that goofy Blogger NavBar.
Nothing goes on here without my approval.
(I am the king of this MFing castle, OK?)
However, when I recieved an email regarding this guy's artwork, I just had to show it to everyone.
At first glance these look like photographs, and pretty nice art photographs at that.
But upon closer inspection you realize that they are actually paintings.
"As we figuratively create boxes to put people in . . .After looking through the portfolio of the artist, E. Gibbons, I have concluded that he is a genius.
. . . I create figures and put them in boxes."
— E. Gibbons
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Friday, September 09, 2005
Just Can't Help It
It's not often I lose my cool at work, but sometimes, no matter how hard I try, I can't keep it together.
Here's the story:
It was 45 minutes after the restaurant was closed and I still have people in my section. First, let me just tell you that from the waitstaff point of view, anyone who is still there in the restaurant longer than a half-hour after we close is considered Pure Evil. If you're seated a few minutes before we shut the doors, that's OK - I want you to have a good meal and enjoy yourself- but these people were there for over two hours.
Everybody else in my section was gone, the tables were clean, swept and restocked. All I had to do was close down the table they were occupying, and then vacuum and I woulda been outta there. I couldn't do any of that until these guys left.
It was two nerdy looking guys in their twenties. Both of 'em looked like thier mothers had cut thier hair in the kitchen with dull, blunt scissors. One was wearing a Xena: Warrior Princess t-shirt and the other was wearing a holey, faded Star Trek: TNG t-shirt that looked about 15 years old. (The one in the Star Trek shirt was wearing cheap velcro-fastened sneakers. God knows where he got them.)
That's not a good sign to begin with. Every Trekkie I have ever waited on (ever) has not left a good tip. I guess they don't tip their waiters in the Star Trek Universe. (Now that I think of it, I don't remember ever seeing anyone pay for anything in cash on that show. Don't they use money in the future?)
Anyway, they're there talking about photon particles, who was the best captain of the Enterprise, and whether Xena could beat Hercules in a fair fight, and through it all I keep looking at the clock and fuming, and wishing I had a Star Trek phaser of my own. Or a sword.
I finally said screw it, and went in the back by the loading dock to smoke a cigarette. When I come back to the table they were sneaking out the door. Literally sneaking, scurrying and glancing behind them nervously.
I glance at the table - no tip.
Oooooooooh!I stalk over to them and just as the door was closing I say, "Thanks for your generous tip. By the way, Wonder Woman could kick that bitch Xena's ass!"
Their shocked dazed expressions as the doors closed (and locked) behind them were priceless.
Kind of asinine, I know, but I couldn't help myself.
And in other news:
A listing in the Baltimore City Paper said Ben Jelen is going to be performing at Fletcher's on Saturday the 17Th. I'm getting tickets if it's the last thing I do.
I'm so excited!
Thursday, September 08, 2005
I done been tagged again. This time it was my boy Tony who was taggin' me.1. Seven things I plan to do before I die:
Any time I get tagged by Tony, it's a good thing!
Here's the deal:
Seven questions, seven answers per question, seven new people to be tagged.
OK, here we go . . .
Get a tattoo. (Next month for my birthday, if everything goes as planned!)
Travel across Europe
Learn how to really swim (not just doggie paddle)
Learn to speak another language
Own my dream car (a 1978 Gremlin)
Actually have a conversation with Tony on the phone (hint, hint!)
2. Seven things I can do:
Make a mean batch of spaghetti
Dance my ass off
Organize and throw a party
Put together an outfit at a moments notice
Give straight girls makeup tips
Give good advice
Have a (good) conversation with just about anyone
3. Seven things I cannot do:
Blow bubbles with bubblegum
Work a hula hoop.
Sing (It doesn't stop me from trying, though!)
Go to bed early
Function without my morning cup o' Joe
Not spoil my dog
4. seven things that attract me to the opposite (or same) sex:
Cute bubble butt
Nice head o' hair
Confidence, but not arrogance
5. Seven things I say most often:
Meanwhile . . .
I didn't do it!
I'll kick yer ass!
Ooh La La!
6. Seven celebrity crushes:
Gael Garcia Lopez
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
This Time Around
It happened right when I was on the verge of leaving.
My bags were packed, the change of address forms were waiting to be filled out, and I was just about to look at the apartment in Hampden I had found in the paper. I was really leaving this time.
Adios, sayonara, auf wiedersehen and good-bye. Not looking back. No way.
Then G. said he wanted to talk to me.
"I want to say something to you," he said, "And it's something I've never said to anyone. Ever."These are words I never expected to hear-- ever. You could have knocked me over with a feather.
"I'm listening, " I replied, wondering what else there was to talk about.
"You know how it's difficult to express my emotions sometimes." he continued.
"Yeah, I know." I did know. After six years I probably know him better than anyone.
"So I want you to really listen to what I'm saying now," he continued, "It's very important, and I might never say it again."
"What?" I had heard him, I was just stunned for a moment.
"Don't go. I love you. We can work this out, make it better, make it as good as it once was. Don't go. Give us another chance."
So what was I to do?
Looking inside my own heart and reviewing my own actions, I wasn't entirely blameless in this relationship. I made horrible mistakes before which hurt him. I'm not snow white and lily pure. He's not wearing a black hat, and I'm not wearing a white one.
He's not the devil incarnate. He's human just like I am.
Was I willing to sacrifice six and a half years? That's longer than I've been with anyone.
Plus, I love this man. I've loved this man for over six years.
He's my husband, which is not a word I use lightly.
I'd like to say I thought about it long and hard, but it didn't take that long at all, not really.
I listened to my heart.
I made it very very plain that things would have to change.
That's not an option, it's a prerequisite.
When we first got together it was him and me against the world, and it gradually ended up with both of us doing our own thing, living our own lives which barely overlapped.
This time around we would have to get back to where we once were, and make it work for real.
I also made it very clear that if all this crap were to happen again I would be leaving, and no amount of coaxing or pleading or saying "Don't go! I love you!" would ever bring me back again.
If we're going to make this work, then by God, lets make it work.
It's not often I "lay down the law", but this time I did. The stakes were too high not to.
So . . . that's where things stand at this point.
I talked to my Mom and told her what was going on and she said, "As long as your happy, James. That's all I care about."
(My mom is so cool!)
Anyway, it's ultimately my decision to make.
Some might call it weakness, but I see it as strength. It would be much easier to walk away and never look back, but I'm not like that.
I can't do that. I'm not built that way.
Only time will tell where this is headed, or what will happen.
It is unwise to make predictions -- especially about the future.
Friday, September 02, 2005
I'm Waving As I Go
I have some really great news!
No, I didn't save a bundle of money on car insurance by switching to Geico. This is even better!
I might possibly have found an apartment.
The description of it sounds perfect.
It's in the Hampden area of Baltimore, it has hardwood floors, washer/dryer & dishwasher (I can't live without modern appliances), central AC & heat ('cause I can't stand radiator heat), it's close to bus routes and local shopping. I could buy a bike and pedal (peddle?) my ass downtown or to Mount Vernon (my stomping ground) in less than ten minutes. And it's in my price range.
There's one snag -- no pets. I would have to leave Rico with G.
I would miss him alot, but I know he would be well taken care of, and I would have full visitation rights.
I'm so torn.
I actually don't really want to go at all. I would prefer to stay in the spare room of this house and just help pay the rent and other bills, but that would be too weird.
Then I could help take care of Rico, and wouldn't have to bother about moving (which sucks).
Things are already a little strained around here though, plus it would be too difficult for either one of us to move on with me staying here.
G. caught me jerking off to a porno this morning. (I've been jackin' like a monkey in heat lately. Oh, me so horny!) I thought he was going to be working! Turns out he wasn't needed, so they sent him home.
Oops! Caught with my pants down, cock in hand, with a boy-orgy scene on the large-screen TV.
Well, getting caught in the act led to us having sex. I wasn't going to do it, because that's what made it so difficult to leave the last time, but I'm weak. What can I say? Mea culpa.
Let me clue you in to something you might not already know. Sex after a breakup is extra hot for some reason. Firey, passionate, and exciting as it was in the very beginning.
Maybe it's so incredible because you know it might be the last time. Maybe the stakes aren't as high. Maybe it's because you're enjoying the sex for the sex's sake, just the physical sensation of tactle pleasure from another hot body, and all that other crap (Why didn't the trash get taken out this morning? Why do you always leave the toilet seat up? All the dumb shit you keep in your head) isn't a factor anymore.
It might be some of those things, but this is what it really is:
It's your mind trying to trick you to keep you from going.
I fell into that trap before. I won't let it snag me again.
And not once has G. ever said, "Don't go!"
"Don't go! I love you! We can work this out somehow! Don't leave me!"
I don't know if it would or could sway me or change my mind at this point, but it very possibly might.
Just like part of me wants to say, "I don't wanna leave you! I love you!" but I'm not going to say it.
Not this time.
I go to look at the place tomorrow afternoon. If everything looks good, I can start moving Monday on my day off.
We'll see what happens.
Anything could happen between now and then.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
The Brotherhood Of The Traveling Shirt
The first one is the major milestone.
I know when my blog had it's first blog-iversary (on April 8th, 2003) I was like, "Wow! Incredible!"
I was amazed at myself for sticking to it that long.
But, after awhile blogging gets in your blood. You can't imagine not blogging any more. It's like smoking cigarettes. You start it by trying to be cool and hip and because everyone else is doing it, and before you know it -- you're hooked.
I'm never giving it up! Never, I tell you!
(Whoops! Got a little carried away there! I guess I should reign it in a bit.)
When Tony first approached me about the Shirt Heard 'Round The World Project, I replied I would be more than happy to participate.
Tony is an amazing, incredible, awesome (there aren't enough adjectives) guy and I would bend over backward (heh!) to do anything he asked of me.
About the project? Here's the deal:
You receive the shirt, you put some kind of "mark" on it (a drawing, a message, some sequins, whatever) and your name and blog URL. Then you take a photo of you wearing it and post it on your blog and send the shirt to the next recipient who will then do the same (and so on, and so on).
Eventually, the scribbled on, drawn on, painted, sequined, glitterized, utterly defaced shirt gets back to Tony by September 1st, 2006, by his second blog-iversary.
Pretty cool concept, huh?
(Yeah, I thought so, too!)
(BTW, these t-shirts are effin' hella cool, yo! I'm going to order one that I can keep for myself. A white one with the logo in red, I think, since red is my favorite color. My birthday is coming up -- I should treat myself!)
Anyway, not only did Tony choose me (yeah, me!) to particiapte, but I was to be the first to put my "mark" on the shirt.
Oh my God -- the pressure! I can't handle it! I'm not worthy!
It was like deflowering a virgin, writing on that pristine new shirt.
I paused, Sharpie in hand, over that brand-new shirt, and in those few seconds before the marker hit the fabric, I heard the voice of God.
(God has a deep, sexy, resonant voice, and he speaks slowly and with a slight southern drawl, surprisingly enough.)
Then, just like deflowering a virgin, after the deed was done I thought of how I could have done it better.
I could have put my handprint on it using tempera; I could have written "pinch me" with an arrow where the the nipples would be; I could have done a dozen different things than what I did do, which was to write "What up, Tony! Happy blog-iversary! -- Your buddy, Jimmy --AKA Wonder Boy".
(I wanted to do it fairly quickly, though. This shirt is going 'Round the World. That's going to take some time, right?)
Anyhoo, I did it. The shirt will be on it's way to the next recipient (Jonah, the Muscle Boy in Training) soon.
God knows what he (and all the others) will do to it, but my part in the project is done. I was proud, honored, and overjoyed to participate.
Thanks to Tony, not only for asking me to participate, but also for being a great pal as well.
I got nothin' but love in my heart for you, Tone!
I'm the number one fan of the man.
You're the greatest!