Wonder Boy

Life Ain't Easy

2006-10-03T13:48:00.000-04:00

It's been a while, hasn't it?
Wish I could say I have alot of positive things to say, but life has'nt been easy lately.

Before I begin my tales of woe I just want to state for the record that I'm not looking for pity, sympathy, or any other kind of response from this post.
This is not a cry for help, I'm just telling it like it is.

I guess the easiest thing to do is to make a list of it.

G.'s car got into two accidents, both of them hit-and-run's and neither of them his fault.
Then, a while later, the car catches on fire (!!) and needs extensive repairs.
Then, while taking Rico for a walk around my block a Pit Bull escapes from his yard and starts attacking Rico. When I pick Rico up to protect him, the Pit starts attacking me to get to him. We're a little banged up, (I went to the hospital to get patched up, Rico went to the vet) but it seems like Rico and I are going to be OK.
A week later Rico gets very ill, with vomiting and bloody diarrhea (sp?).
We rush him to the vet and after ruling out an obstruction in his bowels, accidental poisoning and Parvo, they diagnose him with canine HGE and reccomend that we keep him there for treatment.
When I call the next morning they tell me that Rico died overnight.

And if you think I wasn't devastated, then you don't realize how much I loved and adored my Rico.
I cried for three days.
It's just so unfair! He wasn't quite two years old, he should have lived for a long, long time!
I rescued him from the Jaws of Death (literally - that pitt bull had his jaws around Rico's throat and would have killed him had I not stepped in) only for him to be takebn from me a little over a week later.

I'm through crying now. I'm still sad, but I'm glad I had the time that I did with him.

Of course, there's more that went on than what I just wrote, but that will do for now.
And on a lighter note G. and I celebrated 7 years married on October 1st - a major milestone.
So, snaps for us.

Gone Too Soon

2006-10-03T13:46:00.000-04:00

To say Rico was "just a dog" denies his true nature.
He was my son, and my buddy, and the best friend I ever had.
He was my comforter, my playmate, and my loyal sidekick.
He was the Tonto to my Lone Ranger, the Robin to my Batman.
He was love and affection wrapped in a furry body, cold nose and a waggily tail.
Always happy to see me, always ready to defend me, always by my side no matter what.

Goodbye, Rico. My precious Boobah.
I wll miss you forever.

It speaks for itself

2006-08-15T19:19:00.000-04:00

I came across this interesting roadsign, so I thought that I would share.

You know it has been one of THOSE weeks, when...

2006-08-11T22:46:00.000-04:00

You know it has been one of those weeks when:
1. You get up in the morning to go to work, and it 12 in the afternoon and your workday started at 7am.
2. You get stopped at a random police checkpoint, and it is the one day you forgot your wallet.
3. You open the garage door to get your car out only to find that the flat you got fixed the day before mysteriously caused the tire in the front to go flat.
4. You try to pay for lunch and your debit card's magnetic strip is damaged, and who carries cash with them anymore.

And last but not least,
5. You know it is one of those weeks when you meet three boys the same night, and accidentally schedule dinner with two of them the following evening. And they both call you up and cancel in the afternoon.

Alas though, the week is gone, those experiences are nothing but a mere memory, and my pal Wonderboy has always told me to look for the silver lining in all the crazy stuff that happens to us.
Like, the police saw the flat tire and told me to go get it fixed, and never did check my credentials. And the two boys that cancelled on me--both called me back the next day to reschedule. And I was just enjoying the mere fact that I had some numbers to put in my cell phone, it is about time I am in double digits.

Thanks for reading my entrires, I know I dont have one-tenth the talent my Wonderboy buddy has in the writing thing, but I am enjoying the opportunity to write.

PEACE

DEAR GOD

2006-08-10T12:42:00.000-04:00

TO: GOD

FROM: THE DOG

Dear God: Why do humans smell the flowers, but seldom, if ever, smell one another?

Dear God: When we get to heaven, can we sit on your couch? Or is it still the same old story?

Dear God: Why are there cars named after the jaguar, the cougar, the mustang, the colt, the stingray, and the rabbit, but not ONE named for a dog? How often do you see a cougar riding around? We do love a nice ride! Would it be so hard to rename the "Chrysler Eagle" the Chrysler Beagle"?

Dear God: If a dog barks his head off in the forest and no human hears him, is he still a bad dog?

Dear God: We dogs can understand human verbal instructions, hand signals, whistles, horns, clickers, beeper s, scent ID's, electromagnetic energy fields, and Frisbee flight paths What do humans understand?

Dear God: More meatballs, less spaghetti, please.

Dear God: Are there mailmen in Heaven? If there are, will I have to apologize?

Dear God: Let me give you a list of just some of the things I must remember to be a good dog.

1. I will not eat the cats' food before they eat it or after they throw it up.

2.. I will not roll on dead seagulls, fish, crabs, etc., just because I like the way they smell.

3 I will not munch on "leftovers" in the kitty litter box, although they are tasty.

4. The diaper pail is not a cookie jar.

5. The sofa is not a 'face towel'. Neither are Mom and Dad's laps.

6. The garbage collector is not stealing our stuff.

7. My head does not belong in the refrigerator.

8. I will not bite the officer's hand when he reaches in for Mom's driver's license and registration.

9. I will not play tug-of-war with Dad's underwear when he's on the toilet.

10. Sticking my nose into someone's crotch is an unacceptable way of saying "hello".

11. I don't need to suddenly stand straight up when I'm under the coffee table.

12.. I must shake the rainwater out of my fur before entering the house - not after.

13. I will not throw up in the car.

14. I will not come in from outside and immediately drag my butt.

15. I will not sit in the middle of the living room and lick my crotch when we have company.

16. The cat is not a 'squeaky toy' so when I play with him and he makes that noise, it's usually not a good thing.

And, finally, my last question...

Dear God: When I get to Heaven may I have my testicles back?

Time to retire the old Mustang

2006-08-08T20:09:00.000-04:00

Hi All,
It is Fireguy again, and I am going through the automobile blues.
Anyone know what it feels like to watch the inanimate object that they spent so much time with die a slow and horrible death?
Well, I am beginning to know the feeling.
Living out here in Phoenix has taken its toll on my poor old 1998 Silver Mustang.
It has 162,233 miles driven on it and all mine.
And I started to think about the amount of time I spent inside it and where it has taken me in this wonderful country.
Here is my thought on the time:
If I drove each mile in a minute that would be 162, 233 minutes of driving time at 60 miles in an hours OR
1. 162,233 divided by 60 = 2704 hours OR
2. 67.5 full-time 40 hour work weeks of driving time
WOW, what a lot of driving in 8 years.
Then I thought about the last eight years of life and you know, that car has taken me from my birthplace state-NJ to my first Federal career in Texas, to Indiana, to Phoenix, to Atlanta, and back to Phoenix where I now reside stil working in a Federal career.
And it never let me down until I got here to Phoenix, where I had all of the repairs:
The air conditioning was fixed twice and is about to go a third time, the clutch was repaired, and the battery died twice already in two years.
And, I know what you are thinking, cars wear out, so what no big deal, it is like that white tshirt that is old, buy a new one.

But you know it doesnt feel like that to me, and it saddens me to know that my Mustang wont be my vehicle too much longer.
Because no matter what I do, it is gonna go, no matter how much money I dump into it, it is gonna go, no matter how many battery transplants or oil transfusions ithas it is gonna go to Mustang heaven.

When I think about that, my tears well up but I hold them back because I know that when my Mustang finally goes it will be at peace.

Peace to All !

My first post

2006-08-05T16:16:00.000-04:00

Well, I just thought that I would take a moment and write to all of Jimmy's readers.
I have known him for quite some time, we were together when Princess Diana died. I know that he hasn't been writing real regular, and I am so fortunate to get the opportunity to make an entry on his blog.
So, Hi to all of you out there. I am nestled in the heart of Phoenix, Arizona.
I relocated here from the East Coast for a job promotion. I am employed in our Federal Government, and work very hard for you at giving you good government.
There are many harworking, nose to the grindstone leaders and workers in our Government. I am proud to go to work for and with them everyday.

But, on a different note, none of us can drive on the same road with each other out here in Phoenix, not like the skilled drivers in CA, or back East.
Nope, there are so many different driving styles out here, and everyone does their own thing.
I always wipe my brow and let out a big Phew! when I get to my workplace just 4 miles and 7 minutes travel time away.

And, if any of you follow the news, the authorities have caught the baseline killer.

Well, hope all of you are well, and I will be writing from time to time!

I Wanna Be A Dog

2006-07-03T10:36:00.000-04:00

If reincarnation were possible (and I'm not saying it isn't, it's just nobody knows for certain what happens -if anything- after we leave this mortal coil) I wanna come back as a dog.

Not just any dog, though.
Wouldn't want to be a hunting dog, or a guard dog, or even a Seeing-Eye dog or any other dog with actual duties to perform.
I wanna be somebody's pet.

When I think of my dog and his life, I can't help but think how lucky he is.
He doesn't have to work, he gets fed and watered and walked and played with, gets special treats all the time, he gets petted and pampered and loved almost constantly. And all he really has to do is look cute and not pee or poop in the house.
I wish I had it so easy!

And yes, Rico is kind of spoiled.
But I think pets should be spoiled, otherwise why have them?

And yes, that's me giving Rico a treat. Sorry for the poor quality, it's a video from my cell phone. When I get the digital camcorder I've been wanting, expect the quality to imrove one hundredfold.
Until then, I have to just take what I can get.

Have It Your Way

2006-06-24T23:02:00.000-04:00

I just found this.
I'm warning you in advance, this video is pretty twisted.
That's precisely why I'm sharing it with everyone.
Enjoy (or not, as the case may be).

I'll never look at the King the same way again.

The Pride Thing

2006-06-23T10:15:00.000-04:00

After starting out pretty rough, Saturday's Pride Festival turned out to be OK this year.
Before it got to that, however, things weren't looking too pretty.

First, I had alrealy previously arranged it beforehand that my relief would come in at three o'clock instead of four so I could get home, washed up and changed for the Parade which was to begin at four. (So they say, but it always runs a few minutes late.)
Anyhoo, when I got to work I found out my refief couldn't make it in early.

My balloon was officially busted.

Work was horrible. I don't know if it was just my frame of mind, but the whole day was just a struggle to keep it together.
Then, my relief showed up a half-hour late. My eyes were glowing red and I was frothing at the mouth at this point.

OK, Jimmy, chill out, at least you're out of that torture chamber, I told myself.

So I get home, shower, shave, do the do', don my ensemble and we're out the door. After we get to Mount Vernon we end up driving around looking for parking. Probably only took a half-hour or so, but it seemed like forever.

I promised to send my buddy Stephen some photos and videos from my cell phone. He lives in another state and had never been to a Pride before anywhere.
"Take plenty of pics and videos," he advised me, "I want to feel like I'm there with you."
Normally that would be easy; I can whip out my phone and snap a picture faster than Jesse James can sling his gun. But right at that moment my phone decided to malfunction and I couldn't send (or recieve) any media but text messages.
WTF?

So everything was just going wrong.

Then I ran into my old buddy Mike, who I've known since we were both underage and sneaking into the clubs hoping we wouldn't get carded. Seeing him, and other old friends, plus the several cocktails I consumed, and (most importantly) my husband being right by my side, totally turned everything around. I can't even describe it. Something just clicked, like someone flipped a switch in my head.
Not that I plan to analyze it too much.
Things like that you just don't question.

So it was good.
And, as predicted, I drank too much, smoked too much, and partied too hard.
Mea culpa, at least I ended up having fun.

P.S. Thanks to Alan for the photos, although I suppose I should have asked first!

Coming Soon

2006-06-11T18:08:00.000-04:00

Baltimore's Gay Pride is coming up this weekend.
And according to the website (and all the gay newspapers that litter the top of every cigarette machine in every gay bar in this city) ~~washed-up~~ former 80's pop star Tiffany will be performing at the Block Party in the heart of Mount Vernon sometime Saturday evening.
Big whoop, right?

Actually, it kinds sorta is, it's just hard for me to get jazzed up about it all.
It's gonna be too muxh drinking, too much smoking, too much bad-for-you food (like the big smoked sausage sandwich I end up getting every year) a long wait for restrooms, too many people.

But on the other hand, I'll be comfortably numb, surrounded by my husband and friends, and I'll see people I've known from long ago I haven't seen since prob'ly last year.
Oh, yeah, and they'll be plenty of Eye Candy. (How could I forget the Eye Candy?)

It's an even trade-off, I guess.

Oh, I'll be really psyched about it by the time Saturday Morning rolls around.
Who am I trying to fool?

Experience The Wonder

2006-06-10T00:59:00.000-04:00

The Wonder Woman major motion picture will be in theaters sometime in the Summer of 2007.

It's way to early to speculate on how this will turn out.

If you want to read all the contradictory stories about what costume she'll be wearing, who the villain will be, who will be cast as the Amazon Princess, and other various "trivia" (which may or may not be true), simply type "Wonder Woman movie" in google and you will get pages and pages of rumors and gossip.

Rest assured I will be keeping a close eye on this project.
Look here for further updates as soon as more facts are known.

Lazy Day

2006-06-06T09:08:00.000-04:00

I toiled and struggled and got the majority of the stuff I needed to get done on my first day off yesterday.
You know, all that really fun stuff like mopping floors, scrubbing toilets and sinks, grocery shopping and whatnot.

I can be lazy all day!
Yay!

The best part about being lazy is I have all the time in the world to surf the internet looking for random craziness.

Like this:

"Tearin' Up My Hurt!"

I'll be back with something more substantial soon.
Have a great day!

To The Nth Degree

2006-06-05T09:52:00.000-04:00

Aargh!!
I have had that "Nth Degree" song by Morningwood in my head for three days now.
It has taken up permanent residence in my brain.
(You can veiw the video here.)

It doesn't help that they play it on Sirius "Sirius Hits 1" about every hour and a half or so.

And it's not the whole song that plays endlessly through my mind, just the chorus where she starts spelling "morning wood" for no expicible reason.

And she get's louder and more excited the more she says it.

The first time I heard that song, I didn't know who did it, and I caught the song halfway through.
You know when something is spelled at you, it takes a couple seconds to figure it out? So I'm listening and after a few seconds, I get it.

"Morning wood? What's that about?"I had no idea it was the name of the group.
I'm listening some more and the singer is just getting all in a lather, so I'm thinking:

"Boy, this chick is really getting excited about that morning wood!"
And . . .
"Is her boyfriend impotent and that's the only time he get's an erection?"
And . . .
"Has it been awhile since she's gotten some and she wakes up and sees her boyfriend's sportin' a boner and she's like, 'Yay! Morning wood!!'"

Hey, I can't help how my mind works.

Still, not a bad song, and the video's not bad either, even if they did sorta copy the concept for Liz Phair's "Why Can't I?" video.
I might even have to go out abd buy it, if only to get it out of my brain and onto a shelf, where it belongs.

If We're Both On Here, Shouldn't It Be Called "OURspace"?

2006-06-02T23:58:00.000-04:00

After putting it off for the longest time, I finally did the MySpace thing.

I wasn't initially going to join. I mean I did the Friendster thing, then the Tribe thing. How many of these clique-y "friends network" things am I going to join?
I mean, seriously, it's hard enough for me to return email in a timely manner.

But seeing as it's the Thing To Do, I bit the bullet and did it anyway.
You can view my profile here.
If you're on MySpace, too, and are so inclined, click "Add As A Friend" or drop a message my way.

But don't be offended (or surprised) if I take a while to answer.

Don't Go Away Mad . . .

2006-05-27T23:59:00.000-04:00

Normally, I don't work Saturday nights. Saturdays are normally 11AM - 4PM, and it's been that way for so long, I'd forgotten all the whacky fucked up guests that come in on Saturday nights. So when my work bud Tony asked if we could trade shifts today, my day shift for his night shift, I said sure. I didn't have anything going on, so why not?

Well, everything was going OK, until around 8PM when I was seated a party of four: A man, his wife (I guess) and their two daughters (approximately 14 and 16 years old).
FI*? Trailer trash.
Hate to say it, (not really) but that's what I thought.

Anyhoo, everything was fine at first. I took the drink order, brought their drinks, and when I went back to the table the guy says to me,
"Go away, and don't come back!"
So, I'm stupified, like, what did I do to him? Then I thought I might have heard him wrong, so I said,
"Excuse me?"
"Go away!" he said, "And don't come back to this table again!"
So I went to my manager and said, "I don't know what this guy's problem is, but he doesn't want me to wait on his table."
"Get Nancy to wait on them," she said.
So I did.

A few minutes later, Nancy takes me aside in the drink station and says, "I know why that guy got all upset."
"I'm all ears'" I replied, 'cause I had been wracking my brain trying to figure out what I did.
"He told me you were staring down his 16 year old daughter's blouse."
"WHAT?!?" I exclaimed, 'cause I barely even glanced at his daughter, I didn't even look at her blouse, and I certainly didn't stare down it.
"I told him you would never do that because you're a nice person," Nancy said, "But mostly because you're gay and wouldn't be interested."
"Oh?" I replied, "And what did he say when you told him that?"
"He didn't say much of anything, actually," Nancy said.

I looked over and saw him glaring at me. Obviously knowing my sexual orientation didn't help matters any.

The worst thing was they left quite a mess, and didn't leave Nancy a tip, even though it was (technically) her table, she was nothing but nice and attentive to them, she didn't do anything wrong (well, neither did I, in actuality, but that's neither here nor there) and she did the bulk of the work.

That was just one table of crazy people I dealt with tonight.
I could go on and on (and on), but I'll spare you.
until next time, that is.

*FI = First Impression

Photo Ops

2006-05-26T10:46:00.000-04:00

I haven't done this in a while, mostly because my Nikon digital camera was stolen a few months ago.
I won't get into the details, because I'm still slightly annoyed (read: highly pissed) about it.
The camera on my cell phone is pretty good, though, and that's where these photos came from.

This Shit Is Bananas!
99 Bananas and Omega energy drink: The Breakfast of Champions!

The (New!) Plaza at Baltimore Center
I snapped this one while smoking a cigarette and sipping my coffee at the new plaza/courtyard at Charles and Saratoga Streets. It was a good day. No street people hassled me for spare change or cigarettes.
This hardly ever happens.

Blurd!
Yep, that's me, looking blurry as all Hell.
I take good pictures usually, but I had shaky little fingers that day, I guess.

Make A Wish . . .
. . . and blow!

Rico Wants In
Defin'ly need a Doggie Door. I'm the canine doorman, letting him in or out whenever he wants.
I'm his pet, not the other way around.

Secret Message
I recieved this as a tip one day.
It reads, "We Trust . . .Therefore . . . We shit . . . "
What does it mean? I have no idea.

You Will Be Assimilated!
When I saw the box of Borg (brand) Vine-Ripened cantaloupes, I HAD to take a picture of it.
All the Star Trek fans will know why I find this so humorous.

Me, Again
Nope, I never get tired of taking pictues of myself.
Here I am trying to look alluring. I'll let you decide whether or not I succeeded.

Awwww! He's So Darn Cute!
Here I am rubbing Rico's belly, one of his favorite things.

Well, that's all for now.
Have a great day!

Who's That Guy?

2006-05-23T14:12:00.000-04:00

I had only seen photos of Adrien Brody until recently.
"That man looks like an anteater." I thought.

Then, after seeing him in Details a few months ago, I remember thinking if there was a machine that could turn animals into human beings and you put a weasel inside and flipped the switch, Adrien Brody would come striding out.

In the past week I've had a Brody-fest and saw him in King Kong, The Pianist, and just last night, The Jacket.
The man is hot.
In pictures he doesn't really shine, but when you see him on the screen, and you see him move, or laugh, or grin, something happens.
Some combination of his movements and his features that makes him beautiful.

Extrordinary Machine

2006-05-19T12:09:00.000-04:00

I am a dynamic individual, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice.
Not only do I enjoy long walks on the beach, I arrive early to pick up litter and rescue starfish.
I am able to bicycle up steep inclines. I consult with the FAA to plan safer routes for migratory birds.
During my lunch break, I recycle enough office paper to save 3.7 acres of rain forest.
I am a private citizen, yet I receive fan mail.
At night, I transcribe the proceedings of the Baltimore City Council into Braille.
I am the proud breeder of a fleet of champion beagles.
I do not perspire.
I tip 40% and hold doors indefinitely.
Once, I rescued hostages from an Iranian prison using only a magnifying glass and a spork.
Gary Kasparov consults me on chess.
After liberating research monkeys, I employ them to review tax returns for the IRS.
I am an ace at blackjack, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Nicaragua.
I experience significantly less gravity than the average person.

OK, maybe not all that. Or any of it, actually.

BUT . . .

When life gets me down and I think about cashing in my chips, saying "Goodbye, cruel world!" and chasing a whole box of Unisom with a fifth of Johnnie Walker Red, you know the first thing I think about?
Actually the first thing that enters my fevered brain in those moments (which rarely ever happen, by the way. Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere.) is that song by Queen.
But the very next thing is ... I don't wanna die. Sooner or later it's gonna happen anyway, nothing I can do about that, but there's no need to help it get here any faster.
And if you think about ot logically, there might not be a heaven (or a hell, for that matter) or reincarnation or anything else besides what we have right here. This might be all we get. If that's the case, take whatever you can get while you can, right?

But there's an even more important thing that keeps me going.
I love life. I like being alive.
The cup of coffee early in the morning to start my day. the look of happiness in my puppy's eyes when he sees me. Having money in my pocket. That delicious cocktail going down real smooth when I need it the most.
These things bring me joy.
And I enjoy being me.
No one else can be me as well as I can.
Who else can see the world the way I do? Who else can make the witty sarcastic remarks about everything that's going on around them like I can?
Sure, life's not always fun, and you get disappointed and depressed from time to time. but nothing worth having ever comes easy, and if it doesn't come easy then you don't really appriciate it that much.

I was put on this planet to be me, so that's just what I'll do.

Choose A Number From 0 to 10 That Best Describes Your Pain

2006-05-15T12:15:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was Mother's Day, and I worked.

I could just leave it there, just say that I worked yesterday, but that wouldn't describe the magnitude of the event.

Mother's Day is the worst day of the year for restaurant workers. It's like the Friday after Thanksgiving for the people that work in retail sales.
Mother's Day (said with utter dread in their voices) is discussed two month's in advance. Nobody get's to take it off, everybody works, and if you call in sick, you better be a cold white stiff corpse 'cause no other excuse will cut it.
Luckily, I worked the breakfast/lunch shift, which is slightly less Hellish than night shift. At least with the earlier shift you get a little breather between 11:30 and 12:30 while most people are in Church, and it doesn't start to get really bad 'til about an hour before it's time to go.

We were giving out long-stemmed carnations to all the mothers. Since you can't tell by looking who is a mother and who isn't, every female of child-bearing age and older was given one.
I was giving them out near the end of the meal, arounf dessert and coffee time. This was to keep them fresh 'til right before they had to go, and also to save space on the tables. Who want's a wet-stemmed flower sitting on thier table all through their meal, right?
"Thanks for dining with us. Happy Mother's Day!" I'd say as I handed out the cranations.
Well, I had people who had just gotten seated getting all indiginant with me. "How come they get flowers and I don't?! Where's my carnation?!"
Automatically assuming I'd forgotten about them or overlooked them.
They didn't get a flower and they were pissed and, by God, they were going to make their voices heard!
I'm there to serve food and drinks, not hand out flowers, so I said screw it. As soon as people were seated I handed out flowers, just to get it over with.
Then they asked me to put them back in water 'til the end of their meal so they wouldn't wilt!
Sometimes you just can't win no matter what you do.

Anyway, I got through it, and my pain level was only at #6.
Success!
As I was walking out the door I saw the line going all the way around the restaurant.
Those poor, poor night shift people. How I pitied them.
But what did I care, I was free!

I'm off today, and though I usually spend Mondays cleaning the house, I'm going to take it easy today. Take a hot bath, lounge around.
Cleaning can always wait 'til tomorrow.

I Guess It Could Be Worse

2006-05-13T23:08:00.000-04:00

Deciding to take on Adrian's weekend assignment, I went to My Heritage to see which celebrity I most resembled.
I was curious, because I don't think I look like anyone famous.
Literally.
I mean, in chat rooms (before I had any photos on my profile) people would ask me which celebrity I most resembled and my reply was always "I don't look kike anybody".

Anyway, the results are in, and this is what they are:

The celebrity I most look like is John Cusack, star of such films as Grosse Pointe Blank, High Fidelity and Say Anything.
Apparently I resemble him by 81%.
It could be worse, I guess. He was kinda cute back in the day.

Next on the list were:

Oscar Wilde (60%), Prince William of Wales (58%), Matthew Fox (57%), and Dan Quayle (55%)

Oscar Wilde is pretty cool, I guess. He wrote The Picture of Dorian Gray, which is one of my favorite writings.
Prince William and Matthew Fox are pretty hot, too.
But Dan Quayle?!?!
I honestly have no words.

The Gay Questionaire

2006-05-12T10:19:00.000-04:00

I saw this questionaire on Addaboy's blog and thought I'd do it myself.
If you feel the urge, copy and paste the questions (with your answers, not mine) to your own blog or journal.

1. How old were you when you knew you were gay? Around 11 or 12, right when puberty started to kick in.

2. Have you ever had sex with the opposite sex? Yes, just a kind of a test to see if I was really gay or not. It was a disaster.

3. Who was the first person you came out to? My high school friend Renee.

4. Are you out to your family? Yes.

5. Do you want children? Once in a while when I see a cute baby I get a longing, but most of the time, no.

6. Do you have more gay friends or straight friends? More gay than straight.

7. Were you out in school? No.

8. Is your best friend the same sex as you? Yes.

9. If your best friend is the same sex, have you ever had sex with them? Yeah, once. We made better friends than lovers.

10. Have you ever done crystal meth? Tried it a few times. Didn't care for it much.

11. Have you ever been in a sling? Never.

12. Have you ever done a 3-way? More times than I could count.

13. Have you ever dressed in drag? Once. I make an tall skinny ugly woman. LoL!

14. Would you date a drag queen? I doubt it, but you never know.

15. Are you a top/bottom or truly versatile? Truly versitle. Truly.

16. Have you seen an uncircumcised penis? I've seen every kind.

17. Have you had sex with someone of a different ethnicity? Oh yeah.

18. Have you ever barebacked? Yes.

19. How many Cher CDs do you own? Probably about 7.

20. Name of your first love? Joey.

21. Do you still talk to them? No.

22. Does size matter? . Not in the least. Well he can't be too small, like an inch long or something ridiculous like that. is

23. Biggest turn on? Great smile, shapely forearms and calves, small waist.

24. Biggest turn off? Overweight.

25. Ever been harassed due to you orientation? . Yes. I doubt there's any out gay man that hasn't been at one point or another.

26. Worst gay stereotype that applies to you? See question 19. Also I love Showtunes.

27. Ever been to a pride rally? Every year.

28. Would you marry if you could? Yes, I think it's a basic human right.

29. Would you rather be rich and smart or young and beautiful? I've already been young and beautiful (snort!), so I guess I'd choose rich and smart.

30. Do you sculpt your eyebrows? Never.

31. Do you trim your body hair? I trim the bush, otherwise I don't have much body hair.

32. Ever had sex with more than one person in a day? Yeah.

33. Ever been to an orgy? A few times.

34. Have you dated your best friends ex? Nope.

35. Would you vote for Hillary Clinton if she ran for president? Depends on who she was running against. The lesser of two evils, and all that.

36. Do you want monogamy in your relationships? It's not a question of "want", it's a prerequisite.

37. Do you believe in true love? Yes. Most definitely.

38. Do you have any tattoos? None YET.

39. Do you have any piercings? Just my ears.

40. Would you date a smoker? I am a smoker, so yeah.

41. Do you get HIV tests every 6 months? More or less.

42. Do you know anyone who has died from HIV? Too many.

43. Do you know what Stonewall was? Duh!

44. Strangest place you have had sex? In the storage room at Taco Bell (after the store was closed). It's a interesting story, actually. I should tell that one some time.

45. Strangest place you've woken up? . Aside from Strange beds all over Baltimore City, I can't think of anything unusual.

46. Are your best years behind or in front of you? Both.

47. Favorite porn movie? .Brian's Boys

48. Are you in love now? .Yes.

49. Ever been in love with a straight guy? Not in love, but had a major crush.

50. Did you ever have sex with him? No.

51. Have you ever been to a nude beach? No, but I wouldn't rule it out.

52. Have you ever been to a bath house? Yes.

53. Ever had sex in public? Public public? No.

54. Have you ever been/stayed in a relationship for Money or Security, instead of Love and Friendship? No. That goes against everything I believe in.

55. Have you ever keyed someone's car? Never.

56. Have you ever fantasized killing someone not famous? Thought about it briefly? Sure. Fantasized? No.

57. Have you ever witnessed someone dying? Not the actual moment of death, no.

58. Have you ever contemplated suicide? Yeah, but I got over it.

59. Are you glad you're still here? Every day.

Once More Into The Breach!

2006-05-11T23:07:00.000-04:00

OK, it's been awhile.

Don't know what I can say about my extended absence. It's not that I had nothing to say. It's more like every time it came time to sit in front of the keyboard, I lost any any motivation I had to write.
Does anyone really wanna hear another waiter horror story?
It seemed that everything I felt like writing, I had already written before.

"The world won't end if I don't post something today." I told myself. And the longer I went without posting, the harder it was to post something, anything.

But no matter how apathetic I had gotten, I just couldn't bring myself to write a "So long, it's been fun!" post, or to hit the DELETE THIS BLOG link.

Aha! There must be something there!

Don't know why, but I can't let the blog die. You're stuck with me for the time being. (Or, I guess you could say we're stuck with each other.)

And, of course, I'm blogging about blogging, which is breaking one of the Blogging Commandments or something.
But, then again, I never claimed to be cool or anything.

Must They Rape And pilage My Evey Childhood Memory?

2006-04-18T12:08:00.000-04:00

Marshall, Will, and Holly, on a routine expidition,
Met the greatest earthquake ever known,
High upon the rapids, it struck their tiny raft

And plunged them down a thousand feet below . . .

The Land of the Lost was a children's science-fiction television series produced by Sid and Marty Krofft which originally ran from 1974-1977, and was shown in syndication for many years afterwards, which was when I saw it.
It also happened to be a particular favorite of mine.

For those that don't know, it was the story of Rick Marshall and his two teenage children, Will and Holly, who inadvertantly enter a strange world (actually a pocket universe) where dinosaurs roam, furry caveman-type creatures (the Pakuni) dwell, mysterious pylons open doorways to other times and dimensions and the Marshalls are constantly threatened by evil lizard-like creatures (the Sleestaks!), all the while trying to make it back to Earth.

Kind of hokey, I know, but it was meant for children.

If you happened to be a little kid in the 80's like I was, you probably have fond memories of watching this show on Saturday morning.
In your flannel PJs, sitting cross-legged in front of the TV, munching on cereal and shuddering as the Sleestaks slink around or jumping out of your seat as a Tyranosaurus Rex lunged at the camera.

I haven't seen this show in years. (About 20, actually, which makes me feel really, really old.)
The series is on DVD now, and although there's a part of me that would enjoy seeing it again, there's another part of me that would laugh at the cheesy special effects, or see the Sleestaks (which were pretty darn scary when you were seven) as just men in rubber suits or the dinosaurs as cheap stop-motion animation.
instead of cherishing it, I would scoff at it, whether I wanted to or not.
It's better left as a memory.
Seeing it again now, after all I've seen since, would only spoil it.

Now, I find their making a movie of it.
A comedy.
Starring Will Ferrell.
(Read the article here.)

My thoughts on this are mixed.
On the one hand, I think it's great that they're paying homage to a show that I really loved as a kid.
On the other hand . . . Will Farrell? A comedy?

I'll keep an open mind, but I'm not optimistic.

A Five Minute Story

2006-04-17T22:23:00.000-04:00

A Fistfull Of Dandelions
It was a very warm spring day as the child crouched in the grass. Fat fuzzy bumblebees flew lazily in the air and an occasional pastel yellow butterfly would flutter past as he attended to the task at hand.
He was picking flowers for his mother.
Not just any flower would do, though. The one's with the very long stems were the best, the ones that kind of drooped by the weight of their heavy golden heads. And the flowers themselves had to be thouroughly inspected, any that seemed wilted, or brownish, or missing some petals were simply not good enough.
When he had collected a couple dozen of the very best ones he ran to the house with them clutched in his small fist.
He found his mother in the family room sipping cold coffee and watching a soap opera. (She called them "her stories" and she watched them every day without fail.)
"Mommy! Mommy! I picked some flowers for you!" the boy said as he held out his fist, offering them to her.
A handful of brightly-colored weeds.
His mother paused only for a moment and then she said, "Oh, sweetie! They're beautiful! Thank you!" and she took the bright yellow dandelions and then she said, "Let's go put these in some water."
By the way she acted you would have thought they were orchids, or lillies of the valley, or some precious exotic flower that grew only in the remotests parts of the earth and only under the rarest of conditions, not some pesky weed that the groundskeeper had been trying valiantly (but unsuccessfully) to eradicate. Her soap opera forgotten for the moment, she went to get a vase.

The Custodian Of Memories

2006-04-11T14:53:00.000-04:00

I must remember this, keep it tight inside of me, store it and cherish it like a prized possession, for only then will it have any worth, and it will never come again . . .

Memories are funny things. Your memories are unique to only you. You and someone else can witness the very same event, and have two different (sometimes vastly different) versions of said events.

Like this:
A few years ago, the husband and I went to Montreal, Canada. I hadn't been to Canada since I was a child, and aside from a day or two here and there, it was me and the husband's first real vacation.
OK, I've set up the scene. Here is where I fill in the blanks.
It's our second day there, and there's a disco not even four blocks from our hotel room. It's a beautiful night as we stroll down Ste-Catherine Street, not too cool, not too hot. We look into the windows of the closed shops as we pass by, some shops we wonder what it is they sell beacause it's all in French and neither of us speaks it.
The disco was hoppin' that night. You could feel the pound of the music from a block away. As I recall, it was kind of crowded that night in the disco. Not the standing-room-only packed where you can't move, but a fair amount of people with plenty of lovely young men to gawk at.
After getting our drinks, we sit at a table and as we sip the song "When The Money's Gone" by Cher comes on. I'm a big Cher fan, and I love to dance so I take G.'s hand and lead him to the dance floor.
It was getting hot in there, sweat was dripping off my brow, my hair was plastered to my forehead as I was gyrating, my t-shirt was clinging to my skin and sweat was trickling down my back -- but who cared? I was in Montreal, the lights were flashing, the disco ball was spinning, the beat was pulsing through my veins and I was dancing with my man (to Cher!) surrounded by beautiful men (most of them with their shirts off)! I could have died right then and there and that would have (almost) been OK.
We didn't stay there that long. The husband suggested we go to a quiet bar/tavern up the street, and so we did.
It didn't matter where I went as long as he was with me.

This was a memory that I cherished like a precious jewel.

Not that long ago the husband and I were at Leon's. We popped in there for a nightcap, and as we're drinking someone played "When The Money's Gone" by Cher on the jukebox.
"Oh!" I excaimed happily, "This song reminds me of Montreal!"
For a split second I was back there again, lights spinning all around me.
G. had a puzzled look on his face.
"Why does this song remind you of that?" he asked.
"This is the song we danced to at that club on Ste-Catherine's."
*blank stare*
"Don't you remember?" I asked.
"Well," he replied, "I don't remember that. But I do remember the place was too crowded -- and way too hot. I could barely breathe in there. The stupid bartender made my drink all wrong, and the drinks were way too expensive. And you practically yanked my arm out of it's socket pulling me to the dance floor. And once we got out there I kept getting kneed, elbowed and stepped on.
I couldn't wait to leave there and go someplace quiet and cool."

Frankly, I was stunned. His version of events was so not like mine. I had thought we had a much better time than that.

It was then that I realized:
The only place this event exists (as I remember it) is in my own mind.
That's it.
Not any of the 500 or so people that were there in the club that night have this memory.
Other people might have memories similar to this one, but not exactly.

This is why I hold on to trinkets, movie ticket stubs, and why I never want to throw anything away.
If I don't remember it, remember it as I saw, tasted and felt it, there's nobody else that will.
Plus, those memories are mine and I aim to keep them.

Travels With My Anti-Hero

2006-04-08T15:22:00.000-04:00

Back from vacation.
It was fun, relaxing and enjoyable -- but over way too soon.

We didn't stay in Myrtle Beach as planned. The timeshare there was booked solid. Instead we went to Fairfield Resort in Williamsburg.

You know, I would reccomend going to a resort to anyone. I had never stayed in one before and I was amazed at how nice everything was.
First, the accomodations were like living in a luxury apartment. Living room with a huge TV, VCR and DVD player, dining room, fully-stocked kitchen with plates glasses, silverware and appliances, spacious bedroom and a bathroom twice the size of the one in our house. Turn a dial on the wall and the music on the stereo is piped into any (or every) room in the unit. The unit even had a washer and dryer, and a dishwasher.
That's just the living quarters. Not far away was the "Recreation Center" with an indoor and outdoor pool, spa, hot tub / jaccuzi. There was an arcade, weight room, pool tables.
I could go on and on about how nice it was, but I won't.

The night life in the area left something to be desired, though. The closest gay bars were in Richmond, a 40 minute drive away, and there were only two to choose from.
I'm spoiled, I guess. If I want to go to a gay bar in Baltimore they're less than a ten minute's drive and theres seven or eight to choose from, and a half dozen more if I drive a little farther, and all of DC's bars if I feel like driving 45 minutes.
The one we spent the most time at was this place called Barcode. It kind of reminded me of the "pub" part of Grand Central (without the pool tables).
Going to bars in other areas is weird because it's so not what I'm used to. Bars in Baltimore are kind of segregated. The cute young club boys go to the Hippo, the slightly older guys go to Grand Central, Leon's and The Drinkery are the "wrinkle rooms", the leather and fetish guys go to the Eagle, The black thugs go to Club Bunns and the Sportsman and all the ladies go to Gallagher's, Port in a Storm, or Coconuts. (I've left out some places, but you get my drift.
Of course there are other kinds of people that go to those places. I've been known to sip (a powerfully strong) cocktail with my gay brothas at the Sportsman now and again, but almost every time I've gone I was the only white boy there, and I've also been known to shoot a hot game of pool while tippling a drink at the Port with my lesbian "sisters", but I was also one of the very few men there.
But when you go to bars in rural areas and everybody is there. All ages and races and sexes (although I didn't see any "thugish" black people or guys dressed in leather from head to toe). I guess if it's the only gay bar for miles, it's gonne be like that -- a bar for everybody.
It was kind of nice, actually.

So we had a really good time. We visited my Mom for a day and she was so happy to see us.
My mother is so motherly -- I love it. She packed us brown bag lunches for the drive back with sandwiches, and Little Debbie oatmeal cream piees and she made me promise to call her the instant we got back, so she would know we were safe. I didn't have a mother for the longest time, so I miss this kind of treatment.

Anyway, now I'm back, and it's back to work.
It was fun and you wish it could last forever, but it dosen't.

We're planning another trip in August or Sepember. Don't know where we'll be going, but I can't wait.

Life Is Full Of Toil And Blunder

2006-03-28T12:04:00.000-05:00

Hey.
Didn't forget about the ol' blog, but posting on here had to kind of take a back seat.
I've been picking up extra shifts and working my days off to prepare for vacation which begins Thursday night.
I'm so tired, but it will all be worth it.

What are we doing? I'm so glad you asked!

The 1st of April is G. and my anniversary - 7 years together.

I will pause to let the magnitude of that set in.

So Thursday night, we're headed to my friend Josh's timeshare in Myrtle Beach where we will spend three luxurious days probably doing nothing more than relaxing in the hot tub and making love as much as we can.
We really need this.
We need time off together, out of Baltimore, and away from our lives for a little while.
Not that life is Hell by any stretch, we just need a change of scenery.

Then after that, we're headed to Thomasville to spend a couple of days with my Mom, who I'm kind of worried about.
Ever since Dad passed away she's been living alone in that house, all isolated.
Of course, I try to call as much as I can and let her know that I love her and that I care, but I know she's lonely, and aside from her sisters (most of whom live far away and have families of their own) I'm all that she has.
I know she's looking forward to our visit, and so am I.
I miss her, too.

Anyway, I probably won't be posting 'til sometime after I get back, but you never know, I might slip an audio post (or two) in here.

So until next time . . .

Take A Look

2006-03-21T12:45:00.000-05:00

When, for the third time the other day, a group of attractive guys was seated on the opposite side of the restaurant from my section, I made a point to say something to the hostesses.

"OK," I said to them, "Here's the new rule: All cute guys get seated on this side of the restaurant. You don't have to seat them in my section, just as long as they're close by."
"Why is that?" Nicole asked, "Are you trying to cheat on your husband?"
"No, I just like to look at pretty things, that's all."

I could tell by her puzzled expression that she didn't understand.

Maybe it's a guy thing, to want to look at sexy people, even if you're not planning on doing anything. Even if you wouldn't do anything if given the opportunity.
It's why the men go to the strip clubs, or dine at Hooters. A guy who goes to those places knows the chances of him taking Excentrica the stripper or Staci Lou the cute li'l waitress in the hot pants home with him are slim to none. That's not why he goes there.
He goes there for the eye candy.

So yeah, I look. I probably look more than I should.
For example:
A really sexy guy was seated in the section opposite from mine. He was with this rather plain (in my opinion) girl, and they were obviously dating.
Anyway, this guy was gorgeous. Could have been a model for International Male.
So I looked.
Hell, I stared.
I couldn't take my eyes off of him.
Well, the girl he was with caught me looking, but she thought I was looking at her, so she started doing those things that girls do when they think someone's checking them out: playing with her hair, looking over her shoulder and batting her eyes. (That wouldn't have worked on me even if she looked like Heidi Klum, but she didn't know that.) Well, it took her awhile, but she finally figured out I wasn't looking at her, but at her boyfriend, and she was furious. If looks could freeze, I'd have been a fruit-flavored popsicle.
Which (of course) makes me wonder: Why was it OK for me to be looking at her, but not her boyfriend? Was she pissed 'cause I wasn't attracted to her? I don't get it, but I'm not going to lose any sleep over it.

I don't know about you, but I like to look at beautiful things.
Doesn't mean I don't love my husband. Doesn't mean I'd jump Mr. Gorgeous' bones if I had the chance.
It's my opinion that no matter what your status, if you don't look, you might want to check your pulse.

At Least I'll Be Wearing Green

2006-03-17T12:24:00.000-05:00

I have to work tonight, so no green beer for me.

And I know, without even having to text someone who's at work to check the list, that I'm going to be in a bad, bad section tonight.

AndI also know that the corned beef their serving at work will be overdone, and the cabbage will be limp, soggy, and tasteless.

But at least I can wear a my green (Abercrombie & Fitch) shirt instead of my normal work shirt.
That's at least something.

Happy St. Pat's!

Who's That Guy?

2006-03-13T12:02:00.000-05:00

I've never seen anything else he's done, but I first noticed Eric Balfour when I saw the (rather pointless, in my opinion) remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre not too long ago.

This guy has everything that I like. You can't tell by the photos I've posted, but he has a killer smile and big beautiful brown eyes. You can (easily) tell, though, that he's built like a brick ~~shi~~ outhouse. Very manly, muscled, and strong looking, but not overtly so.
But look at that tiny little waist! (The better to wrap my arms (or legs) around, my dear!)
He's got the mustache and goatee thing going on, but that just makes him appear devilish and mischievious and even more appealing.
(Bad boys are HOT!)

There's no telling where his career will go from here, but I'll be keeping my eyes open to see more (literally!) of him in the future.

Shakedown

2006-03-10T12:46:00.000-05:00

Had some guests last night that I remembered waiting on before.
Now let me tell you, I wait on so many people. Hundreds upon hundreds a day. Their faces all blur together in such a way that in as little as a week, I won't remember at all.
If I've waited on you and I remember who you are, it's for these reasons and these reasons only:

You're a regular customer who I see every day or every other day, or otherwise pretty frequently. I know the names of all my regulars and greet them with it. ("Hey, Mr. Harold! Good to see you! How've you been?")
You are an evil mutant. You were a facist tyrant with nasty demon children that should have been strangled at birth. Evil mutants are engraved upon my memory like the searing hot scorch of a branding iron.
You are exceptionally good-looking. If you look like a greek God that fell from Olympus, I'm gonna remember you.
Or . . .
You failed to leave me a tip.

That's about it.

Now, these people weren't regulars, they weren't mutants (or at least they daidn't act like mutants), and although the guy (it was a young guy and his pregnant girlfriend) wasn't ugly, he wouldn't have made the cover of any magazine, so they must have fit into the last category.

Here's my strategy for dealing with folks that don't tip that I happen to get the chance to serve again.
My service is generally good. Even when my section is twice as big as it should be and there's a line out the front door, I manage to give adequate service to all my guests. There are some exceptions to this, because nobody's perfect and some people can't get enough no matter what you do.
So if I get stiffed, it's insulting. (Back when I first started waiting I had a party of 20 that left me three dollars in quarters, nickels and dimes and I actually went in the back and cried. I don't cry anymore, because they're not worth it.)
Anyway, a guest stiffs me once and I get the opportunity to wait on them again, I'll give them the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they were short on cash that day. Maybe I took too long bringing that glass of water they asked for. Maybe the steak was dry and overdone (not my fault, but meal quality does affect tips to a certain degree). It could be any number of things and chances are, I'm not gonna know what the reason is.
I give them extra special service the next time. I'll give them such good outstanding service they will feel like dog doo-doo if they don't leave me something. They will feel like something on the bottom of someone's shoe. I'd estimate that 90% of the time, I get tipped exceptionally well. Last night I did, too. A 40% tip, not too shabby.
I turned it around.

You stiff me twice and get seated in my section a third time?
God help you.

It's Not About What Happens, It's How You Take It

2006-03-06T12:39:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, when I was at work waiting tables for Sunday Breakfast, the host Q-Ball (his name's Quentin, but I call him Q-Ball) was seating a group of three in my section. Just as I was about to zoom over and introduce myself, Ron, who was working the section right next to mine, swooped over and said to them, "You want to sit in my section? It's right over here." and ushered them to his area.
This is a no-no. It's called "stealing tables" and it's not really fair. The host (or hostess) seats by rotation so that everyone gets an aqual number of tables. Ron already had two parties he was waiting on, while my section was totally empty.
Suddenly, everyone's up in arms about the incident. Another wait confronted Ron and got into an argument (right in the middle of the dining room) about what happened, saying it wasn't fair, and it got really heated for a few moments there.
I, on the other hand, wasn't going to let it bother me for two imortant reasons. For one, going all ballistic wasn't going to change the situation or help matters any, and two, I knew Q-Ball saw what had happened and would seat me more frequently and with better quality people than he would Ron.
And I was right, Q-Ball hooked me up. While Ron had his three little parties, my section was filled.

"How could you let Ron disrespect you like that?" one of the other servers asked me.
"He didn't disrespect me -- because I didn't let him," I replied, "I'm not going to let the fact that he's a jerk ruin my day, that's all."
Blank stare.
I swear, the worst thing is how people just don't understand where I'm coming from. That bugs the hell out of me more than anything else.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand.
Nobody can make anyone feel anything. Ron can't disrespect me if I don't allow myself to feel disrespected. Nobody can put me down unless I allow myself to feel put down. Nodody can ruin my mood-- or my day --unless I let it happen.
"He made me feel guilty because I didn't call when I said I would." No, you let him make you feel guilty. Should you feel guilty? That's not really for me to decide.
I just don't let crap like that get to me. Letting someone make me feel guilty, upset, angry, or depressed is giving them power over me, and that's not cool.
'Tis a far, far better thing to focus on what I can do to make the situation better (like taking extra special care of the guests I do have to make up for the table I "lost", for instance).

Anybody who has the attiude "I ain't taking no shit from nobody, nohow" has to be constanly on guard, from the cashier who shortchanges them a dime, from the whithering glance of a receptionist, to the words (or tone of voice) of anyone they encounter, ready to confront even the slightest of idignities. Anyone with that sort of attitude must be exhausted all the time or have killer migraines.
That sort of never-ending battle I just don't have time for.

Don't Go Away Mad

2006-03-03T12:03:00.000-05:00

My manager cornered me as I was walking in the door yesterday. This is always bad news of one kind or another. She never does this to tell me something good.
"Is everything OK with you?" she asked.
This wasn't what she really wanted to ask, though. This was the warm-up question.
"Uh, yeah. Everything's fine," I replied.
I didn't ask why she was asking because I knew she'd get to that anyway, and why waste my breath?
"The reason I'm asking is because you totally flunked the latest Mystery Shopper Report. They said you didn't greet them properly, didn't give good service, didn't give them a tray of mints with a comment card and you didn't thank them and ask them to return. That's totally not like you. You aced the last five Reports, so I thought something might be wrong."
"No everything's fine. I can't imagine how that happened," I told her, "I'll make sure that never happens again."

Yeah. OK.

I remember that table. Two evil women with their two mutant children. Bitches came at me wrong right from the start.
I go to greet them and I'm all, "Hi! My name is . . ." and the one woman was like, "Someone needs to wipe this table down better, it's sticky. We both need a glass of water NOW and we need bibs for the kids!"
Dammit, let me at least get my greeting out of the way before you start barking orders at me. Actually, now that I think about it, I never did get my greeting out, because every time I tried I got interrupted.
At first, I gave them the benefit of the doubt.
"Maybe these people aren't really evil," I told myself, "Maybe they're just having a bad day today."
But as time passed, the truth became clear to me. Yep, definitely evil, all right.
And they were acting like they were the only table I was waiting on. Hello? Can't you see I have seven other tables and they would like some service too?
But when the one bitch raised aloft her cup of ice and shook it and then snapped her fingers at me, that was the last straw. Don't snap your fingers at me, I'm not a dog. And don't raise your glass at me unless you're proposing a toast.
"Those bitches can die of thirst," I thought to myself.

Because it's all a question of worth. Is the measly couple of dollars those bitches might (possibly) leave me worth the aggrivation of having to endure waiting on them? No, I'm worth alot more than that.
So they were Mystery Shoppers? Who knew? And so what?

I'm the best there is at what I do, but I can't do my best if someone won't let me.

"It Ain't Natural!"

2006-03-01T23:08:00.000-05:00

You might be interested in this short video about a graphically homophobic sermon by Rev Willie Wilson of Washington DC.

It's a fitting memorial for the passing of Coretta Scott King, who never lost sight of her husband's belief that an injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.

Catching Up With Wonder Boy

2006-02-21T12:00:00.000-05:00

Whever I'm feeling kind of blah, out of sorts, totally emotionless and futile, I put some fun music in the CD player and I dance and sing along.
(Today's selection was Jamiroquai.)
The living room is my stage and I'm the star of the show. I only have an audience of one, my dog Rico, and that's just how I like it.
And I can't sing. At all.
And I dance like a white boy.
I'm sure Rico would have covered his ears if he could, and he had this look on his face that said,
"Yep, Daddy's gone crazy again."
I haven't gone crazy. Au contraire, mon frere! This is what keeps me sane.
This is my therapy.

I'm in a good mood today because it's my second day off in a row. For the past two weeks I've been working my off days and working double shifts to make extra money. Plus, people call out at the drop of a hat and I'm the go-to person when they're in a jam.
"Jimmy, three people called out and we're short-staffed. Can you come in?"
*groan*
And I'm the boy who can't say "no", so I end up going in whether I want to or not.
I made a promise to myself that I wasn't going to work on my days off this week, even if the restaurant was on fire. I was determined to side-button any calls from the Occupation, but luckily I haven't gotten any.
Will wonders never cease?

I'm trying to plan something for the husband's and my 7-year anniversary, which is coming up April 1st. We haven't gone on a trip in awhile, and both of us need to get out of Dodge, even if it's just for a little while. Just pack up and get out of Baltimore, out of Maryland, and away from all of this and go . . . someplace else.
He suggested going to Canada again, which sounds good to me. We've been to Montreal, so I think we should go somewhere else in Canada. Niagra Falls, maybe?
We'll just have to see what happens.

We acquired a new purchase not too long ago, that I'm asbsoloutely loving: a huge flat plasma screen TV. The cool thing is you can hang it on the wall like a picture.
The TV, plus the surround-sound speaker system makes going to the theater almost obsolete. And the Wonder Woman episodes (I have all three seasons of the TV show on DVD) look fabulous on it, too.
I swear, technology is wonderful.

Speaking of technology, I just found out people can send photos direct to my mobile phone via email.
If you happen to feel like sending me any interesting photos, send 'em to: wonder_boy[at]pm[dot]sprint[dot]com.

Anyway . . . What else is new? Let's see.
Oh, yeah, as for my recovery I hope you'll be pleased to know that I am almost back to normal. The slight puffyness that remained has all gone away, and I'm starting to get the feeling back in my face.
Nobody looking would ever know that anything had happened.
So thankfully, everything's going to be alright.
Now, more than ever, I feel like I have a guardian angel looking out for me. Otherwise, I don't think I'd be here.

Waiting Is

2006-02-17T12:05:00.000-05:00

Just saw the movie Waiting on DVD. As a matter of fact, I liked it so much I bought it.
This movie, while it does egaggerate some things, is totally what it's like to wait tables. That's what makes it so funny, because it's so true.
From the waitress who's sweet as honey while at her tables ("A hot fudge sundae? Wow! That does sound good! I'll be right back with that for you!") and gripes about them when she reaches the kitchen ("Like that fat fucking bitch needs to be eating dessert!") to what could happen to your food if you treat your server like shit. I won't tell you what they do to this woman's meal, but it's totally revolting and it underscores the cardinal rule of dining in restaurants: Never, ever fuck with people who handle your food.

What happens when the waitstaff is forced to sing the "birthday song" is totally dead-on accurate. When we see people with baloons that say "Happy Hirthday" we all groan, because we know that we're gonna have to perform like monkeys without the benefit of an organ grinder.
And just like it's portrayed in the movie, we all hate waiting on foreigners.

If you've ever waitied tables in a restaurant, you will totally relate to this movie.

Love Is All Around

2006-02-14T16:09:00.000-05:00

After working like a dog (not literally) I finally get some time to spend with my honey tonight.
What's on the agenda? A movie, some cocktails, and then some "quality time".

I'll post more later when I get time.

Happy V-Day!

Show Me The Money

2006-02-07T14:13:00.000-05:00

It all started, innocently enough, we me doing my (and the husband's) taxes.

I'm terrible at math, don't have a head for numbers at all (if I lost my telephone book I'd be SOL, 'cause I don't have anyone's number memorized) and I barely squeaked by passing algebra in high school.
I can do math (simple math like adding, subtracting, multiplying, and division) with a calculator, and I could do it with a paper and pencil if I have enough time, I just don't care for it.

I never got the point of algebra, anyway.
If you have 10 apples, Leon and Chico each give you 3 apples and Tyrone and Rufus each give you 12 apples, how many apples do you have? That's addition, which I understand. (I don't understand why Leon, Chico, Tyrone, and Rufus are giving away apples, though, but that's neither here nor there.)
With algebra you get an equation like:
(2 x Y) + (24/6) = 28
and you have to figure out what Y is.
It hurts my head.

But I digress.

Taxes aren't that difficult to do.
They give you a handy dandy instruction book and all you need are the forms, your w-2s, a pencil and a pen, and a stapler to staple your W-2 to the form. Oh, yeah, and a calculator.

So I did 'em. Took me about a half-hour to do both me and the husband's State and Federal.
So I'm at work, and everyone's talking about their taxes.

"I haven't gotten around to taking mine to H&R Block yet."
"I took mine to Jackson-Hewitt."
I'm getting my brother-in-law to do mine. He's an accountant."
"I did mine yesterday," I say.
"Where'd you take yours, Jimmy?"
"I didn't take them anywhere," I replied, "I did them myself. Mine and G.'s. Took about a half an hour."

Stunned silence. Like it's a big deal or something.
Jimmy did his own taxes! Oh My God! Alert the media!

I'm not about to go to a tax preparer, who's going to take a big chunk of money out for doing what I could easily do myself, you know? I know if you go to H&R block you get your refund the very same day, but there's no hurry. I can wait and get everything that's coming to me.

Well, when word got around that Jimmy can do taxes, everyone was coming around asking me to to their taxes for them.
So I'm going to do them. Partially because I'm a nice guy, but mostly because I'm charging a nominal fee for my services.

There's no such thing as a free lunch.

Wonder Boy Approved

2006-02-06T12:44:00.000-05:00

Mysterious Skin
(2004) Starring: Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Brady Corbet, Michelle Trachtenberg and Elizabeth Shue
As to not spoil the plot, all you really need to know is this:
At age eight, in their small Kansas hometown, Neil McCormick and Brian Lackey both played on the same Little League baseball team.
Ten years later, the boys couldn't be more different.
Neil (Joseph gordon-Levitt) has become a cold and hardened teenage hustler, while Brian (Brady Corbet) has become a shy introvert obsessed with the idea that he was abducted by aliens.
When these two paralell lives eventually intersect, both boys discover their haunting shared past.
And this:
This movie is as brilliant as it is disturbing and thought-provoking. Josph Gordon-Levitt's portrayal of Neil, "who has a bottomless black hole where his heart should be", is nothing short of amazing, and Brady Corbet's Brian who is desperately trying to delve into the secrets of his own past is equally good in his role. Elizabeth Shue, is also very well cast as Neil's free-spirited mom.
It should be noted that Mysterious Skin is not for the squeamish, as it contains some very unsettling and shocking elements: a terrifying rape scene, a scene involving fireworks, and the disturbing revelations at the end when Brian's "lost hours" are finally brought to the surface -- just when you think it can't possibly get any worse, it does.
In conclusion, this film is a gripping, moving film that definitely isn't for everyone, but is unquestionably worth seeing for it's performances.
Highly reccomended.

Have you seen this movie? Tell me what you thought of it, using the comments link below.

I Hate People That Hate

2006-02-03T14:02:00.000-05:00

Prejudice is such an ugly thing.
And it matters little who that prejudice is directed towards; skin color, gender, age, sexual orientation, it's pretty much all the same.
I tend to get more of the skin-color varity than any other.
I don't hear "faggot!" yelled at me -- I get "Hey, whitey!" which comes from the neighborhood I live in. I've been called every derogatory name for a white person you can think of: the aformentioned "whitey", "cracker", "whitebread", among others -- and even "honky" which, God help me, reminds me of The Jeffersons every time I hear it.
(By the way, isn't "honky" a little outdated? It's kind of like saying "groovy". Do people still say "groovy"? I guess somebody somewhere does. It's just a little odd, that's all.)

Anyway, if Baltimore City is 70% black, that makes me the minority. If you're walking down Lexington Market and you see a white boy, it just might be me, so say Hello.

Anyway, I've come to terms with it. Don't like it much, but what can I do?
Choose your battles wisely, as my grandpappy used to tell me.

Which brings me to the incident that happened just last night. I worked a long tiresome day and I was looking forward to getting home and soaking my aching feet (along with the rest of me) in a long hot bath. G.'s got the car and he was helping a friend of his with something, so he couldn't pick me up. I whip out my handy-dandy cell phone and call for a taxi, The Green Sedan Service, which is the one I always use. Normally, they're very efficient and I get picked up within ten minutes, but the dispatcher told me that half the drivers called out and the wait would be at least an hour, if not more. Hell, I could walk home in that amount of time, not that I was prepared to.
So I call a another taxi, and they said they be right there as long as I didn't mind sharing the taxi with someone else who was going in the same direction. No problem as long as I get home, you know?
So the taxi arrives and I get in and I'm sharing it with another white guy and the driver is also white.
Anyway, I tell him where I'm going and he says, "You live there?" and I'm like, "Uh, yeah."
"Awful dark around there, isn't it?"
ding ding ding The red flag goes up.
"What do you mean 'dark'?" I ask, hoping against hope that he means they need more streetlights and lampposts around there. No such luck.
"Lotsa darkies 'round there. Useta be it was a good neighboorhood, years ago, then the negroes came and took it over."
And there it was. Prejudice right there in my face. I guess he thought that because eveyone in the taxi was white, he could say whatever he wanted.
No way, not on my watch.
"People are people," I said, "I don't look at people as colors. It's not the color of your skin that makes you good or bad, it's the things that you do." He realized right quick that I wasn't going to stand for any more of that kind of talk, because he didn't say anything else the enire trip home.

I walked through the door with a heavy heart, thinking how horrible this world is, and how most people delight in their hate and their inhumanity to one another so much that peace and harmony will never, ever be possible.
I've said, "My faith in human nature has taken such a beating, I'm surprised it still exists" before. Yes, it still exists, but it seems to diminish with every passing day.

I will not give up hope, though.

Rub It The Right Way

2006-01-31T15:41:00.000-05:00

Everything's almost back to normal.
My stitches were removed from around my right eye, and you can't even hardly tell that anything had happened.

But if it's not one thing, it's another, right? I was told that it's really imortant that I rub the skin under my right eye in an upward motion, like, all the time. Every second I'm not doing anything else, I'm supposed to massage the skin under my eye.
Otherwise my lower eyelid will droop and I'll look like Jonah Hex or something.

So I rub.
I rub it while I'm drinking my morning coffee. I rub it while I'm chatting on the phone. I rub it while I'm watching TV.
I'm even rubbing it right now, and if you think it's easy to type one-handed while rubbing your lower eyelid in an upward motion, you try it sometime.

Haven't done much of anything lately except work. I've been dying to go out and paint the town pink, but with being out of work so long, the bills have gotten crazy.
It's Blockbuster and cheap vodka at home for a little while 'til I get caught up.

Speaking of bills, if I had a weaker constitution, the bill from the hospital that arrived the other day would have sent me to intensive care.
Nearly $12, 000!
They better be satisfied with monthly installments, 'cause it's not like I can just write a check for that amount.

But all is not gloomy and bleak. I'm in a good mood, everything's fine at home, and I got a brand-new hairdo the other day!
Yay!

Have You Seen Them, Too?

2006-01-30T12:36:00.000-05:00

I was surfing the net, and came across this article about The Shadow People.
And it struck me to the core, because I've seen the Shadow People!.

Before you write me off as crazy, hear me out.
I used to see them all the time, but not so much lately. I never called them that, though, I called them "imps". They're not there all the time, and you don't really get a full-on look at them. They're there in the corner of your eye and when you turn your head they dart into the shadows and disappear. They're small (no bigger than a foot high) and dark-grey to black in color. They don't have faces or mouths (that you can see), but they do have red eyes that glow. They're kind of scary when you first see them, but I used to see them all the time in my room when I was a kid, and I kind of got used to them. "Go away, imp!" I would say when I saw them in the corner under my dresser.

Whenever I would tell people I saw an imp in the shadow of the corner of the room, people would give me that "your crazy" look.
"But there was a little black imp right there just a second ago! I swear!"

Anyway, nobody can explain the phenomena. Demons, ghosts, aliens, a trick of the eyes, delusions -- all have been believed to be the cause of the "shadow people".

I don't know about all that, I'm just glad to know that other people have seen them too.
Doesn't mean I'm not crazy, it just means that I'm not the only one.

Tom Cruise Kills Oprah!

2006-01-27T12:17:00.000-05:00

Remember when Tom Cruise was whooping it up and jumping up and down on Oprah's couch?
Some digital wizard took a clip of that and actually managed to make Tom look crazier than he really is.

Check it out:

Tom Cruise Kills Oprah

New Vocabulary words

2006-01-24T12:16:00.000-05:00

Straight (ahem!) to you from the Urban Dictionary:

Brokeback (adj.) Used to describe something of questionable masculinity.
Believed to have originated from the 2005 motion picture Brokeback Mountain.
common usage:
"It's not a purse - it's a man-bag! It's very manly!"
"I don't know man, it looks kinda brokeback to me."

Who's That Guy?

2006-01-22T23:05:00.000-05:00

You might remember him as Harry Osborne (Peter Parker's best friend) in the Spider-Man films.
He's actor James Franco.
He's currently starring in two films Tristan and Isolde, which is out right now and appears to be a sappy surupy love story of a kind that I secretly adore but am (almost) ashamed to admit to, and Annapolis, due in theatres on January 27th, which looks (from the trailers at least) to be a rehash of An Officer and a Gentleman, but I will withhold any judgement until I've actually seen it.

It Ain't Pretty

2006-01-20T12:19:00.000-05:00

No posts in over three weeks?
I'd feel really guilty about that, 'cept I have a really, really good excuse. (Not that I need one, but you know what I mean.)
Just keep reading, and you'll see that I'm right.

I'm warning you in advance that this post is going to be a long one, so print this out and read it on your lunch break, or at least grab a drink and a snack.
And, as the title suggests, it ain't pretty, so consider this your first and only warning.
To make things easier to digest, I've broken this post into little "chapters" to make it easier for you to follow along.
Are you ready?
I am if you are, so let's get this over with!

This Is Whack! Literally

It was on Tuesday, January 10th and had just turned dark when I noticed I was nearly out of cigarettes, so I walked two blocks from my house to go get some. On my way back, I'm walking along, minding my own business, when I suddenly hear running footsteps behind me. I go to turn around to look at who's running up behind me and WHAM! something hits me in the side of my face, near my jaw, HARD. I don't know if they hit me with a closed fist, or brass knuckles, or a pipe or what, but I saw stars --and I thought that was only something that happened in cartoons. It was hard enough to double me over and make me pass out for a few seconds.
Three teenage boys decided it would be fun to beat up a white boy walking alone.
Aside from the one blow, they didn't touch me. They laughed at me for a few seconds, ("You want some more, whitey? Haw haw haw!') then dashed away.
Turns out that one blow was more than enough to totally mess me up, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

You know the thing that's the most messed up about this situation, in my mind at least? They did it for kicks, just for the sheer masochistic thrill of it. I think I could deal with it a little better if they were after money. Or if I would have done something to them and they were after revenge. It still wouldn't be a great situation, but I think I could handle it better. They didn't even attempt to rob me, that wasn't why they did it. They did it because they could, and because there was nothing else to do.
And if you think I'm not totally pissed off at what happened, then you don't know me that well.

Anyway . . .
I managed to pick myself up and make it home, bleeding from my nose and mouth. And after I cleaned myself up a little I called the police and the husband, in that order.

The husband arrived first. The police din't arrive 'til over an hour later. My report didn't help much because I didn't get a look at their faces. All I could tell thell them was there were three of them, they were black, by their voices they sounded young, and the one that struck me was wearing a black coat, blue jeans, and white athletic shoes.
Not much help -- and we were totally out of range of the security cameras that were all around.
I would have gotten a look at them if I could, for identification purposes, but it didn't work out that way.

Jimmy's Conduct Well Chastised

No sooner than the police left, the husband saw fit to chastise me for going out after dark.

"Don't you realize they could have just as easily killed you? Or put your eye out? What were you thinking going out after dark alone?"

I understand the reasons why he said what he did. He was upset at what happened.
It's like when Rico jumped the fence in our yard (who woulda thunk he could leap so high?) and I didn't know where he was. I totally panicked. When I finally found him down the block by the fire hydrant I scooped him up and gave him a smack across his nose. "Don't you ever do that again! You scared me half to death!"
Being chastised wasn't what I needed at that point, though. At that point, I wanted to just die. My face had swollen up where I had been struck, and I had a headache you wouldn't believe. I took some aspirin, and went to bed, thinking I would be OK in the morning.

Business As Usual?

I went to work the next day, even though I was sore and my face was still swollen. I noticed when I tried to eat that it hurt to chew and my head wasn't feeling any better either.
Still, somehow I got through the day.

The next day I woke up feeling even worse, if that were possible. My head felt like there was something inside trying to get out. But worst of all, all around my right eye was black -- not just bruised, but black as ink -- and my face had swelled even more.
G. took one look and said to get dressed, he was taking me to the hospital.

General Hospital (Condensed)

Arrived at hospital at 10:30AM. Resistration. Triage. Waited for four hours in the ER waiting room. Finally taken back and examined.
They took about five vials of blood, X-Rays, urine sample, CAT scan of face and head, Opthamologist tests vision, various doctors test reflexes, motor functions and question endlessly. While waiting for a diagnosis, finally given a painkiller (Morphine!). Diagnosis: Facial fracture in five places, possible break of skull at the jawline. Treatment: Surgery was required to repair the fracures.
At 6:30 given a room to await surgery sometime the next day. Jimmy's Comment: I could very easily see how people could get addicted to Morhine. That's good stuff!

We Can Rebuild Him - We Have The Technology

Hooked up to an IV, instructed no food or drink until after surgery, made to urinate in this plactic container so they could measure it, otherwise left alone.
Nothing to do but watch TV.
Do you know how horrible it is to be confined to a bed, with nothing to do but watch the boob tube? Sure, it's fun for awhile, but it get's very tiresome very, very quickly.
My surgeon, Dr Hatch
came a little later to tell me what they were going to do. Apparently, I had five fractures in my face. Four of them were around my right eye, and if not corrected my eye might sink into my skull, or more alarmingly, pop out of my skull. Either way is bad.
The other fracture was in the part of the face where the cheekbone meets the jaw, which was why it hurt so much when I tried to eat. They were going to put two metal plates in my face to repair the fractures. One half-moon shaped plate under my right eye, and another L-shaped one for my cheek. To minimize scarring they were going to insert the one under my eye through the socket, and the other they would insert from the inside of my mouth and attach it to the cheekbone.

TV Time

That night and all the next day I had nothing to do but watch TV. Caught Isaac (designer Issaac Mizrahi's talk show). What a queen! After ten minutes I had to change the channel, his mincing and swishing was getting on my nerves.
Finally got caught up on what was happening on The Young and the Restlesss and watched a dozen episodes of The Golden Girls and The Nanny.
Have you seen the commercial for life insurance with Meridith Baxter? Something about her just doesn't seem right. I know she's gotten older and all, but it looks like she's not really old at all but is wearing old lady make-up. Maybe she's had too many face-lifts or something, but it looks weird, like she's wearing a mask. Check it out yourself and see if I'm not right.

Under The Knife

At 7:30 PM the next day I went down for surgery. After I huffed the oxygen thing they put over my mouth and nose, I rememer nothing. Cut to my hospital room a few hours later. I'm even more swelled up on the right side of my face than I was before, and I didn't think that was possible. I have pretty blue stitches all around my right eye, along the lash line and the right side of my mouth is so puffy I can't even talk right. I look in the mirror and feel like the Elephant Man.
"I am not an animal!"
I was finally given some juice - my first thing to drink in over 24 hours. It was cranberry juice, and I usually can't stand cranberry juice, but it tasted wonderful.

Doctor's Orders

I was released the next afternoon. Breakfast consisted of chicken broth and orange juice and Jell-o.
Doctor gave me orders before I left: Total bed-rest for four days. I could only get up to use the bathroom, then right back. No strenuous work/activities for two weeks. By that the Doc meant anything that required standing or sitting or being vertical for any length of time.
Liquid/semi-solid diet for a week and a half, at least.
Given precriptions for antibiotics and pain (Oxycodone).
G. picked me up to take me home. They wanted to wheel me to the car in a wheelchair, but I insisted that I walk. I'd been lying around too long as it was.
When I got home I went right to bed. Still in bed, watching the boob tube, but at least I was home.

Video Break

Have you seen the video for "Pretty Vegas" by (the new) INXS? Close your eyes it almost sounds like Michael Hutchence, doesn't it?
I knew when they did that Reality Show Rock Star: INXS that they weren't going to choose the blonde chick, or the black chick, or the black dude with the mohawk. I knew a white dude would win. They were looking for a Michael Hutchence clone, and I guess they found him.
Still, good song, good video, and the lead singer (whatever his name is) is pretty hot, though, isn't he?

Back In Business

I was supposed to spend a full two and a half weeks in total bed-rest, but bills were piling up, and even if that weren't the case, I was going stir-crazy just lying around.
It was against Doctor's Orders, but I went back to work the other day. I'm almost back to normal, 'cept there are parts on the right side of my face where everything's numb. My plastic surgeon said that was from nerve damage. He said the feeling might come back eventually, but there's no way of telling.

In A Nutshell

So pretty much the first part of my New Year totally sucked.
Although, I must say the liquid diet I was on totaqlly obviviated the little "kangaroo pouch" I had gotten over the holidays. I wouldn't recommend it for anyone, but my tummy is totally flat now.

Jimmy Rants For A Few Moments

I've written this over the course of about four days, off and on, when the painkillers aren't making me too groggy and my thoughts are coherent.
I'm trying not to think too much about it, partly because wallowing in self-pity and regret is something I regard as a waste of time, and in my experience nothing good ever comes from it, but mostly because everytime I do, I get more and more angry.
It just sucks that you can't just stroll to the store without someone messing with you.
It totally blows that, once again, I'm a victim.
I loathe the fact that people are going "Tsk, tsk! Poor Jimmy!" because I hate, hate, hate when people feel sorry for me.

But bitching isn't going to change anything. Shit happens, whether you want it to or not. You go through it and you either don't survive, or you get stronger from the experience.
Pretty soon I'll be stong enough to go through anything. Bring it on!
I'm a survivor. I'm not just going to give up and die, and I'm not going anywhere any time soon.

Thank Yous

Thanks to everyone who sent e-cards and emails. Didn't get them 'til this morning, but they're appriciated. Mucho, mucho!
A big thanks to my best bud Fireguy for spreading the word on what happened when I wasn't able. You're always in my corner, and I won't ever forget it.
And thanks to you (yes, you) for your support also.

Excelsior!

What Have We Learned?

2005-12-30T12:01:00.000-05:00

The year is coming to a close, and now it's time to look back and see what this year has taught us.
It's not the time for making resoloutions or promises to ourselves that we just can't keep. Life is about experiences, and everything we do (or don't do) teaches us something -- whether we want it to, or not.

In this year I've learned . . .

. . .to watch what comes out of my mouth, although I will probably slip up again somewhere, somehow.
. . .people are evil. Well, not everyone, but there are alot of them.
. . . to cherish the people I love while they're still here.
. . . sleep deprivation is nothing to fool around with.
. . . everything would go much smoother if people would just let me do my job!
. . . Red Bull, for me, is just not a good idea.
. . . sometimes life can be like a scene from a movie.
. . . there are still some things I haven't done! Amazing!
. . . Rico looks exactly like Triumph, the insult comedy dog.
. . . the streets aren't safe so watch your back!
. . . breaking up is hard to do.
. . . Jury Duty blows.
. . . I would make a damn fine Super-Hero.
. . . Big Brother is here.
. . . Alternate Universes really do exist.

And I know I have yet to learn even more.

P.S. Just in case I don't get a chance to post before the new year, have a good one!

Possibly One Of The Best Gay Elf Porn Stories I Have Ever Read

2005-12-27T12:52:00.000-05:00

Of course, it's the only gay elf porn story I ever read, but it's still worth checking out.

Gumdrop Mountain: Part 1, Part 2,and Part 3.

To be continued? I certainly hope so!

Something Happens

2005-12-26T12:42:00.000-05:00

It happens every year.
Every year I bitch and grumble and "Hmmph!" and "Bah, humbug!" my way through the month of December like Ebenezer Scrooge with PMS.
"I HATE Christmas!" I say, "I hate Christmas tunes!"
"I hate packages, trees and Christmas baloons!"
(Oops! Going all Dr. Seuss again. Sorry about that!)

Anyway, you know what I mean.
I go from Thanksgiving foreward with nothing good to say about Christmas.
Then, around the 24th, something happens. Something magical.
No, I don't get visited by Jacob Marley and the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future.
But somehow or other (I can't quite explain it) I suddenly get the Christmas Spirit.
It's a wonderful feeling.

Then, while sipping (100 Proof) eggnog with the husband last night, Christmas lights and music all around us, I realized that it's not Christmas itself that I despise so much.
It's all the other stuff: the long lines and the crowds in stores, the indecision and angst that comes from not knowing what to buy people, all the money that's spent makes me worry about the bills that are coming next month, and the hassle of decking the halls (and then having to undeck them afterward).

I don't hate Christmas at all.
I actually believe in the whole "Peace on Earth, Goodwill to men" concept. I want everyone to get along and be friendly to one another and embrace the joy of giving -- even if it's just for one day.

And there's nothing like the smile of joy on my little nephew's face when he opens his presents and Santa Claus brought him everything he asked for.

And Santa Claus was good to me, too. No lump of coal for me this year!
I guess I was a good boy after all.

Ho Ho HO!

2005-12-24T23:47:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas!

I hope Santa brings you a big surprise!

Slay Bells

2005-12-20T12:15:00.000-05:00

See that glazed expression on my face? That wide-open deer-in-the-headlights look?
That comes from listening to Christmas Carols all day at work, every day since three days before Thanksgiving. And I have to put up with them until after New year's.
Pray for me.

This is why Christmas music is absoloutely forbidden in my house.
Play whatever you like: NWA, Willie Nelson, Sex Pistols, Beethoven or anything else and I'm fine with that. Stick some Yoko Ono in the CD player if that's your cup of tea. Put on anything Christmas-y and watch me transmogrify into a hideous ogre right before your very eyes.

You'd think that they'd give us a break and put something else on once in awhile, but no.
I've heard "Jingle Bells" by Barbra Striesand, Diana Ross, John Denver and those damn barking dogs.
I've heard "Winter Wonderland" by Annie Lennox, Garth Brooks, Lee Ann Womack, Amy Grant, Jewel and Clay Aiken. I've heard "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" by The Jackson 5, Barenaked Ladies, Billy Gilman, and Harry Connick, Jr.
Suffice it to say I've heard every fuggin' version of every fuggin' Christmas Carol by every fuggin' artist since the dawn of time, OK?

And I swear, I swear if I hear "Felis Nativdad" one more time I am going to snap!

People don't actually do that, though, do they? Snap, I mean. I think that only happens in movies.
Like in the movies someone goes through something traumatic and they "snap" and suddenly go all psychotic. (Jason Voorhees sees his mother brutally murdered and "snaps" and goes on a killing spree, like in Friday the 13th, for instance.)
I can see someone going through something horrible and their mind shutting down (catatonia) but I don't think people actually snap like in the movies.

At least I hope not.

I can picture it now.
I'm waiting tables and everything is fine. It's a perfectly normal day. Then "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer" comes on for the one-hundreth time and my eyes start buggin' out. Drool starts coming out my mouth.
I get a crazy evil grin on my face, like Private Pyle in that crucial scene halfway through Full Metal Jacket. ("I am . . . in a world . . . of shit!").
I start slowly walking toward the kitchen area. Everyone is wondering what's up with me because I walking so stiffly and I'm all mute and starey-eyed.
I grab the super-sharp and extra-big chef knife from the knife block.
Then "Jingle Bells" comes on for the the five-hundreth time and I snap!
"Jingle bells!" I screech as I start swinging the blade.
"Jingle bells!"
"Jingle jingle jingle all the way!" I cackle as I hack away, blood flying everywhere, spittle flying from my mouth.
Oh, it's just too gruesome to contemplate.

By the way, have you ever wondered why every artist in the world does a Christmas album, but Hip-Hop artists don't? Kenny Rogers, Hanson, Mariah Carey, Jessica Simpson, almost anyone you can think of has a Christmas album, or has done at least one Christmas song, but not any rap or Hip-Hop people.
What's up with that?
Where's "A Snoop Dogg Christmas"? Where's my "Chris'mas N' Da Hood'?

Can you just imagine a hip-hop Christmas song though?
(Smokin' dat blunt on Chris'mas eve, etc.)
Hey, I would probably buy it anyway, just because it was different.

Christmas Comes Early For Rico

2005-12-19T13:29:00.000-05:00

We got Rico some new outfits for Christmas, and I just couldn't wait to dress him up in one of them.
Here you see Rico modeling a sporty denim vest, paired with a goose-grey and canary hoodie.
Rico is by far the most stylish hound on the block.
Sometime after Christmas I'll be posting photos of him in his new turtleneck sweater and track suits.

As for me, I've barely scratched the surface when it comes to buying presents.
It's terrible when you go into a store and buy one present for someone else, and three things for yourself!
It'll get done, though.

Molly Ringworm? Never Heard Of Her!

2005-12-13T12:01:00.000-05:00

As Wonder Boy, one of my amazing powers is the ability to peer into alternate universes.
Only sporadically mind you, and always when I least expect it, but I possess that power.

Just in case you aren't aware, there are an infinite number of universes, and in them, anything that could possibly happen, did actually in fact happen. And conversely, anything that didn't (couldn't, shouldn't or wouldn't) happen, actually did. (Or didn't, as the case may be.)
My point is, conceive of any scenario you like (within reason) and in one universe or other it actually took place. (Or didn't take place, depending.)

Anyway, once you've grasped that concept (you might want to re-read that last paragraph again) then you can dig (if you will,) on this:

In an alternate universe (specifically universe #99.44-W, just in case you're keeping track), this movie (and subsequent hit soundtrack) came out, and, much to everyone's surprise, it was a total blockbuster smash -- and I was the star.
This movie was my very first film and it paved the way for me becoming internationally famous, launched my hit movie career, and when both of those faded, I eventually (after nearly a decade of obscurity and a jag in the Betty Ford clinic) landed my own sitcom on the WB and my star started to rise once again.
(What an amazing life I had in that universe!
Oh, well!)

Too bad nobody in this universe will get to see this movie, because it was really really great.
Really, it's true!
And I'm not saying that because I was in it -- even the critics liked it, and they don't like much of anything.
(That universe's Siskel and Ebert gave it two thumbs up, so you know it had to be good.)

Anyway . . .
The movie was called Look Good In Blue and here is the general plot outline:

Andy Walsh (played by yours truly) is a poor but extremely attractive and fashion-concious "New Wave boy", plagued with insecurity, who has a crush on one of the rich boys at his school, Blaine McDonnagh (played by Andrew McCarthy).
At first, after Blaine makes his attraction known, Andy can't believe that a wealthy (and terribly cute) boy like Blaine could be interested in him -- it's like a dream come true! He's had his eye on Blaine but thought him "out of his league".
When Andy and Blaine try and get together, the pair encounter resistance from their respective social circles.
Andy is ashamed of his unemployed drunken father and of his shabby home on the "wrong side of the tracks". Blaine grew up wealthy, but he's not a snob and could care less whether Andy has money or not.
Andy gets some very bad treatment from Blaine's circle of friends, especially Steff (played by James Spader). This most likely stems from Steff trying to pick up Andy for a one night stand and being rebuffed because Andy only has eyes for Blaine. Steff is used to getting whatever he wants and Andy's rejection annoys him to no end.
Likewise, Blaine gets some shabby treatment from Andy's friends when he tries to cross to the other side of town.
Andy's friends are the ultra-stylish but slightly-fem Ducky (played by John Cryer), and uber fag-hag Iona (played by Annie Potts). Iona is an eccentric older friend, mentor, and something of a fairy godmother to Andy; she wears vintage clothes and runs the record shop where Andy works after school.
Ducky has a "secret" crush on Andy, but doesn't want to risk losing their friendship, even though he makes his affection toward Andy pretty obvious.
Andy is only somewhat aware that Ducky likes him, but thinks of Ducky only as his best friend.
The film ending has Blaine and Andy overcoming their social obstacles when Andy creates a faaabulous and funky blue suit for the high school senior prom.
He "looks good in blue", and Blaine realises he's truly in love with Andy.
After he makes his feelings known to Andy (during a romantic slow dance at the prom), the couple decide to give their relationship a try -- no matter what anyone else thinks. They finally realize they're a perfect fit.
Roll the credits.

Doesn't that sound great? Wouldn't you go and see that movie?
I know I would.
And not just 'cause I was in it, either.

Your Caption Here

2005-12-12T12:33:00.000-05:00

"Damn! You could hang hand towels from these piercings!"
by Spankey

Ix-Nay On The One-Phay

2005-12-11T19:22:00.000-05:00

Memo
To: All employess
Re: Cell phones
This matter is out of hand. Effective immediately, cell phones will no longer be tolerated at all in the restaurant for any reason. Cell phones must be left at home, in your car, in your locker, or in the office. Anyone caught with a cell phone --whether they are on the clock or not-- will have it confiscated and placed in the office until after your shift is over. If you must use your cell phone you must be off the clock and you must use it outside and around the side or back of the building, not directly out front. Too many employees are talking, texting, or playing games on their cell phones when there is work they could be doing. There will be no exceptions.

I went into work the other day and saw this memo stapled to the bulletin board.
(Although the original was riddled with misspellings, typos, grammatical errors and run-on scentences. You'd think management would run a spell and grammar check before they post their little bulletins. It would make them look alot less foolish. I swear, every time a memo is posted I just wanna take a red pencil and start making corrections.
And while I'm on the subject, why must every fricken memo be in all caps, bolded, using the Times New Roman font? Is using the shift key too difficult? They think all caps and bold will make us pay more attention? Selecting a different font -- Courier? Arial? Desdemona?-- is too challenging for them? I'm not saying every memo should look like a love letter from P.T. Barnum, but is a little variety too much to ask for?)

WTF?
I can see them telling us we can't use our phones on the clock. If we're on the clock we're supposed to be working, not chatting or sending text messages. But off the clock is a totally different story. If we're off the clock we should be able to do whatever we want, because we're on our time.

To give you an example how asinine this whole deal is, check this out:
OK, I had gotten to work early. The restaurant opens at 11AM, but it's a little after ten so I make a cup o' joe, grab my newspaper and sink into a booth and start reading. Bear in mind that I'm off the clock at this point. Anyway, my phone rings, so I answer it. I chat for a few minutes and then I hang up. Cathy, the front of the house manager comes up to me and says, "Don't let me see you on your phone again."
And I'm all like, "But I'm off the clock."
Then she says, "Hey, it's not my policy. This came directly from corporate. No cell phones allowed in the building, whether you're on the clock or not. If I see you on your phone again, I'm going to have to take it from you."

What, am I back at school again? Is she going to send a note home to my mom? Make me write on the chalkboard? Send me to the principal's office?
Take it from me? I'd like to see her try it.
The only way you'll take my phone from me is to pry it from my cold, white, dead hands.

And all of this is due to a few misguided individuals who don't know when to hang up and take care of business.
Hostesses who are chatting away when the should be seating guests. Grill cooks (who are in full view of the dining room) chatting when they should be putting steaks on the grill. Servers too busy with their conversations in the Server station that they neglect thier tables.

I will admit to anyone, I love text messaging. The reason I like it so much is because of work. It's much easier to send a text right quick and then tend to my tables than have an actual conversation.

In all my time at this restaurant I don't think I've ever had a complaint about my service.
Ever.

Well, I have no choice but to comply, even though I think they need to alter this rule so it only applies when you're on the clock. If I can sit in the restaurant, off the clock when it's not even open yet and read my paper and drink my coffee, I should be able to chat on my phone if I like.
One is no different than the others.

I'm No Slave

2005-12-10T23:59:00.000-05:00

I know, I know. No posts in over a week.
Is Jimmy dead? Is he in a mental hospital somewhere on a Thorazine drip? Did he get amnesia and forgot who he is?
No, no, and no.

First, I gome kind of evil bug that knoched me on my ass for a little while.
Being sick sucks.
I just got over a bug (cold? virus?) that made me totally miserable for almost wo days.
Fever, chills, body wracked (racked?) with aches and pains, head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton.
It wasn't pretty.

Let me just tell you, my immune system is fantastic. That, if for no other reason, is why I thank the Gods that be for the genes that I have. I'm usually one of the healthiest people you can come across. The husband get's sick almost three times as much as I do, and a cold that knocks him out for a week will only take me out for two days or so.
But in those two days . . .

I'm a big baby. I'll admit that to anyone. And what sucks most of all about being sick is you have no contol whatsoever over your body. Your nose runs, or gets stopped up. You sneeze, you cough. You cough up phlegm, which is so gross, I'm not going to say another word about it. Your muscles ache, you sweat, you can't get warm even though the heat is turned up full blast and you're lying under five comforters. Your forced to take drugs like Dristan (which clears up your congestion but makes you woozy), or Actifed (which dries you out, but makes you irritable and bitchy).
Anyway, I'm better now.

Sickness counts for a part of it, but the other reason I took a little time away from here is, truth be told, I was feeling rather blah about the whole blogging thing.
What to post next? Gotta finish that entry so I can post it later! Maybe I should change my template!
When you're thinking too much about it and it seems more like fun than work, you need to take a little break.
So that's just what I did.
Slave to the blog? Not me!

The Holiday Ten

2005-11-29T16:05:00.000-05:00

Instructions: Copy and paste the questions to your blog (with your answers, not mine), and tag at least three others to do the same.
1. What is your favorite holiday movie?
Frank Capra's It's a Wonderful Life! I would reccomend this movie to anyone. The original black and white version, though. Avoid the colorized version. Trust.
2. What is your favorite holiday song (title and artist)?
Feed the Reindeer, by Peggy Lee. My mother used to play the record for me when I was a little boy.
3. What's the best holiday gift you were ever given, and why?
Last year the husband gave me these diamond earrings (real, not cubic zirconia) set in white gold that are so bangin' bling-bling I'm afraid to wear them, 'cept on special occasions.
4. Do you have a special someone to kiss at the stroke of midnight on New Year's?
Oh, yeah. I'll be smooching my husband of six years.
5. Name of your favorite reindeer?
Prancer, 'cause you just know he was the gay one.
6. Favorite Holiday food?
Is eggnog a food? Eggnog is what I look forward to every holiday. Spiked, of course, with some nutmeg sprinked on top. Mmmmmm.
7. Snow day -- cuddle by the fire, or hand me a snowball?
Cuddle by the fire. And pass me some eggnog, too, while you're at it.
8. What was your New Year's resoloution for this year? Did you stick to it?
I stopped making New Years resoloutions when I realized that they always get broken a few weeks (and sometimes days) later, so why bother? I make my resoloutions throughout the year.
9. Is there really a Santa Claus?
Oh yeah.
10. Present, or stocking stuffer?
Can't I have both? (I'm so greedy!)

Now for my tags:
Elmo, Eric, and Robbie.

I choose you, Pikachu!

What Is Truth?

2005-11-28T13:13:00.000-05:00

Someone recently contacted me inquiring about one of my fellow bloggers.
(I won't mention any names, so don't ask.)
They were questioning whether the blogger in question was really who they said they were. They thought the photos that went along with the blog were not of the person who wrote the blog and implied that most of the posts on that blog were fabricated or untrue.
"Have you ever met so-and-so in person?" they asked me, "Are they really who they say they are?"

You know, up 'til then I had never thought to question it.

I don't expect 100% honesty from anyone.
Everyone --even if it's only slightly, and once in awhile--embellishes their stories to some extent, leaves out the potentially embarrasing moments, punches up the things that make them look better or that make the story more dramatic, and omits the things that would possibly confuse the reader, or the things that had only a minute impact on the events but were totally irrelevant to the matter at hand.
It's a natural part of storytelling.
You do it without thinking too much about it.
And if you have a journal-type blog (as I and many others do) then, like it or not, to some extent you're a storyteller.

Then, there's the aspect of proof to consider.
How can you ever know if what you read on a blog is the truth, partly the truth, riddled with lies, or a total lie altogether?
Sure, I say my name is Jimmy, I'm a waiter in a steakhouse restaurant, I live in a house in Baltimore with my husband and my little dog Rico. I say that's my photo to the right.
I could even swear that all of the above is the total absoloute truth.
How can you know if any of that is actually the truth?
There's no way of knowing.

Of course, the people that know me in real life know. But what about everyone else?
I suppose if you were local you could try to hunt me down. There are all kinds of clues where I live, where I work, and where I hang out in this blog. It wouldn't take Sherlock Holmes to be able to find me if they were determined enough.
But what about those people on the other side of the planet that are reading this?

My point is, there's no way to know -- for 100% -- if any of this, or what you read (or see) on any other blog is true.
It's out there, and you're free to believe it or not. It's your choice.
People believe what they want to believe anyway. That's why the National Enquirer is one of the best-selling magazines in the world.

People blog for various reasons. I do it to get my ideas out there. I do it to free my mind of all the clutter that bulds up in there. I do it to tell my interesting, funny, (or sometimes tragic) stories.
And yes, I do it to entertain.
I want you to be interested, intrigued, inspired. That's not my sole purpose for doing this, but it's one aspect of it. (And I would do it anyway, even if my readership dropped to barely nothing, because this blog entertains me. I enjoy it. It's a labor of love.)

The question isn't whether it's "true" or not.
The real question is: did it educate you? Did it touch you, move you? Did it make you laugh out loud? Did it make you think about things or think about things differently? Did it bring you up when you were down? Did it excite or arouse you? Did it provide a neccessary distraction when you needed an escape? Did it relieve the boredom for five minutes?

If you answered yes to any of those questions, then it has worth.
Whether or not it's "true" is irrelevant.

Believe it.

Gobble Gobble Gobble

2005-11-25T11:11:00.000-05:00

I had a great Thanksgiving this year!
Wanna know why?
'Cause we didn't do anything!

The past six years, every Thanksgiving we would spend it with G.'s family. Either going to his mother's or his sister's or his neices for dinner, and last year the family came to our house.
I'm not knocking on family, especially G.'s family. They're great. They're my family, too, actually. It's just that Thanksgiving can be such a hassle.

If you're hosting T-giving at your place, there's all that food you have to cook. Even if everyone brings side dishes, you still gotta bake the turkey, provide the gravy, cranberry sauce and everything else that goes with it. And who only bakes a turkey and nothing else and expects the guests to bring the rest? Nobody does that.
Thennnn. . . you gotta make sure the house is clean and festive. Can't have guests come over and the house isn't spotless.
And . . . oh, there's alot that goes into it. If you've ever done Turkey Day at your house, you know what I'm talking about.

Then there's the flip side of going to Thanksgiving.
Admittedly, this is a better deal. You might have to bring a side dish or something, but you could always buy a Mrs. Smith's pie and grab a bottle of Arbor Mist and you're good to go.
You also have the added benefit of being able to leave right after you set your dessert fork down. ("Gosh, dinner was great! I'm stuffed! Well, thanks! We'll be seein' ya!") Except for one thing: unless you're incredibly rude or you're an ER surgeon on-call, nobody leaves right after dinner. It just isn't polite.
As a matter of fact, the trickiest part of going to Thanksgiving at someone else's place is knowing the perfect time to extricate yourself.

I was freed (thank the Gods that be) from all of that nonsense -- this year, at any rate.

G. and I discussed it and we both decided that we were going to do Thanksgiving with just us.
A party of two.
So that's just what we did.

Two Cornish game hens, a bottle of wine, G's (world famous) garlic mashed potatoes, some Stove Top stuffing, and green bean casserole (canned green beans, a can of cream of mushroom soup, and topped with deep-fried onions. It's easy, baby!)
We cooked, we ate (and ate too much. Happens every year.) and had a great time.
Then, all bloated from stuffing ouselves, we lay (laid?) on the bed together and watched Miracle on 34th St. (the original).

no muss, no fuss, no complications.
It was a good day.
Hope you had a good one too.

Take Your Best Shot

2005-11-22T15:17:00.000-05:00

I am often the councellor to all of my friends. I'm the person people will tell all of their troubles to.
I didn't actively choose that role, it just sort of happened all by itself.

If only I were a psyhcoanylist, I could get paid the big bucks to do the very same thing. ("Verrrry interesting," I'd say, scratching notes on a pad, "Tell me more about that.")
In a way I'm glad I'm not -- too much Freudian bullshit.
I'm quite good at giving out advice, I must say. I don't tell people what to do, I don't criticize their actions (or inactions), I simply tell them what I would do in a similar situation.

What amazes me most, I think, is how people are determined to do whatever it is they want to do, regarless of the good advice you give them.
It's like saying, "Be careful, there's quicksand up the path ahead, you might want to consider going another way."
And what do they do?
They go right down the path I warned them about.
I guess maybe they think the quicksand wpon't be so bad, or maybe they think they can handle the quicksand no matter how bad it gets. I don't know.
It's like I'm wasting my breath.

Someone (Sylvia Plath? Collette? I'm too lazy to look it up right now) once said, "Advice is what you ask for when you already know what you should do, but wish you didn't."

What is all this leading up to? I'm glad you asked!

My buddy Roger came over last night and he starts telling me his troubles. He was a little reluctant. Roger's a really good guy, and he always tries to put a brave face on, even when things are horrible.
Anyway, he tells me suspects the guy he's seeing is cheating on him. There's condoms missing and they haven't had sex in months, and there are suspicious text messages on his boyfriend's cell phone. Plus, his boyfriend got angry about something the other day and hit him hard enough to leave an ugly black bruise.
"What do you think I should do?"

The first thing I pointed out is that you shouldn't put up with anyone hitting you --ever.
Sure, it only happened once, but it could easily happen again.
My ex Danny used to punch walls, break dishes and throw things around the apartment when he was angry. After I discovered his violent temper, I made it very plain:
"If you ever hit me, you better hope to God you kill me, because if I get up you'll wish you'd never been born."
And I meant it, too.

I don't know if the guy's cheating or not, but the clues all point in that direction, and the fact that Roger suspects enough to go through his boyfriends text messages says alot.

Because people know.
Call it intuition, call it a sixth sense, call it whatever you like, but every time I've been cheated on I've known about it. I might have had no "proof", but deep inside I knew.

Anyway, I told him that he basically has three options:
One, do nothing and see what happens;
Two, confront him with it and see what he says, and then decide what to do;
Or three, leave him. Pack your stuff and get out.

What's he gonna do? There's no way of knowing.
But whatever happens I'll be there to catch him if he falls.
There's nothing else I can do.

I Confess . . .

2005-11-21T12:18:00.000-05:00

confess

They say confession is good for the soul.
This is the core concept behind Group Hug.

The idea is for anyone to anonymously confess to anything. It actually feels kind of good to to know that someone will read it.

I know I sure feel better!

Anyone care to guess which confession is mine?

Big Brother Is Here, And I'm So Glad To Know Him

2005-11-19T21:11:00.000-05:00

The Baltimore City Police put two of their new state-of-the art surveillance cameras on my block last week.
I'd seen them elsewhere, of course, and I didn't think much of them, really.
Like anything, you don't think much about it until it pertains to you.

Do I think they're a deterrent to crime? Most definitely. Because most people aren't going to do anything they shouldn't if they know someone's wayching them.
Does this mean all the muggers and rapists are going to stop? No, it just means they'll be forced to do their mugging and raping elsewhere where there aren't any cameras. In a sense, they're not stopping the crime, they're just moving it to another location.
Good news for me, bad news for somebody else.

In one sense, it's a little disturbing to know you're being watched and recorded when you're merely walking down the street to the drugstore. The eyes of Baltimore are on you (all the livelong day).
But when you think about it, most places of business (in Baltimore City anyway) have security cameras, buses and other public transportation (including some taxicabs) have security cameras, too.
Walk within fifty feet of any bank and --"Smile, you're on Candid Camera!"
We're already being monitored almost all the time.
What, really, has changed?

Have the new cameras affected me in any way?
Well, the gang of hoodlums that hang out in front of the liquor store have gone away.
Ditto for the dude that hawks pot to anyone walking past ("Hey, man, wanna buy some reefer?").
Ditto for the people that smoke crack in the alley by the convenience store.
Ditto for the gang that hangs in front of the 24-hour fried chicken carry-out.
I never feel 100% safe walking around the city streets after dark --a policeman on every corner wouldn't even do that-- but the cameras make me feel alot safer than I used to.
I might still get mugged, but gosh darn it somebody will see it and (maybe) catch the guy who did it.
That's somewhat comforting to know.

And after all, if you're not doing anything wrong you have nothing to worry about, right?

Random Thoughts About Sex

2005-11-15T11:03:00.000-05:00

No major point to this post. These are just some things I've been thinking about.

I never cared for sex in the morning, right as I wake up.
Oh, sometimes when I awaken I'm sportin' wood, but that just means I have to pee.
It takes all my effort just to force myself into conciousness, sex is the last thing on my mind.

Plus, I don't feel attractive in the morning. Part of wanting to have sex is feeling sexy, and I just don't.
I know my hair is a big mess, I've got eye boogers, my eyes are probably puffy (especially if I've been drinking the night before), and my breath is foul enough to kill a rhino.
It's not pretty. At all.

G. says I'm sexy no matter what, but he has to say that, he's my husband.
I don't quite believe it, though. Not that he means it (or thinks he means it) but that I actually am. Sexy no matter what, that is.

'Cause it's all about how you feel.

It's like this:
If I've got a great hair-do and I'm having a good hair day, I don't have any breakouts or spots on my face, and I'm wearing my favorite shrink-to-fit Levi's that make my butt look great and show off the bulge in the front and the shirt that accentuates the positive but eliminates the negative, I just know I look sexy.
"Ooh, baby, I am one hot tamale! Yowza!"
Therefore, I feel sexy.

When I'm feeling sexy, I don't walk, I strut. Like a rooster in a henhouse.
And it's not arrogance.
It's not like I'm all "I'm so sexy -- and you're so not." or even, "I'm so sexy and you're not getting it! So there!"
It's just that you know, wothout having to be told, that you're desirable and worthwhile.
Not for what lies beneath -- or perhaps in spite of it.

The only way I'm feeling like that in the morning is if I'm still up and haven't gone to bed yet.

Another insight (almost, but not quite, totally unrelated to the above):

As someone in a long-term relationship (and I hate starting scentences like that, because it feels like I'm lecturing - which I'm not) you begin to notice that strokes from your partner (boyfriend, lover, signifigant other, whatever) don't come as frequently or as often as they did in the beginning.

Oh, you know they love you and all that. And you know they're still attracted to you.
But they don't grab your ass when you bend over to pick something off the floor anymore. They don't want to rip your clothes off and do you right there in the foyer when they come home.
They love you, and they might want to make love to you, but that element of lust, that primal urge to go at it like a dog in heat is, for the most part, gone.
Of it still raises it's head now and then - sometimes when you least expect it -but not nearly as often as it used to.

This is perfectly normal.
If you expect that you and your partner are going to have the same sex life you had at five years as you did at five months, you are bound to be disappointed.
Trust and believe.

This is part of the reason why mean cheat.
(The main reason is that men are pigs, and we love bacon, but you knew that already.)

You want an example? OK, picture this:
I'm at a nightclub, and for some reason the husband either didn't come out with me or he's in another part of the club. (This hardy ever happens, but just suppose, for the moment, that this is the case.)
OK, I'm just standing here with a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other (minding my own business) when someone walks by and grabs my ass.
OK, the major part of me will be offended, "You dirty dog! How dare you grab me like that!"

If I find the guy to be sexy, there will be another, totally different, part of me that's strangely excited by it. Him grabbing my ass, the look in his eyes, feeling his desire.
Desire is a big aphrodisiac. If somebody wants me bad enough, it triggers something in me. Something primal.
Now if I were the type to cheat on my husband (which I'm not -- this is just an example) I would possibly consider doing something about it. Either going home with him, or arranging something for another time.

(I'm not a cheater, so grabbing my butt at the club is not really an option, no matter what you look like. And if you do and the husband is with me, I hope you know how to fight.)

As I said, no major point to all this.
I'm just letting some stuff out of my brain to make room for even more bizarro thoughts.

On The Fly

2005-11-14T23:04:00.000-05:00

For those that are interested, I now have a mobile photo blog, called a "moblog" (mo' blogs, mo' problems!) provided by TextAmerica. I'm planning on using it to post any interesting photos I might happen to take with my cam phone. I can post photos to the mobile photo blog with just one keypress of my cell phone.
Neato, right?

The URL is: wonderboy.textamerica.com.
If you're on your hand-held, PDA, or cell phone, point your browsers to: wonderboy.tamw.com to see the purdy pitchers.

I've set it up so anyone (even you) can comment on my posts, and send me messages or photos.

Don't expect anything Earth-shattering to appear there, but if I do happen to have an encounter with a UFO, (or something else strange or unusual happens) the photos will probably appear there first.

Get Over It

2005-11-12T14:02:00.000-05:00

The Higher, The Fewer

2005-11-10T15:25:00.000-05:00

Let me tell you a little story.
Actually, it's more like two stories.
Now that I think of it, it's really three stories, but they're all tied together and it will all make sense when I'm through. (At least I hope so.)

Anyhoo, several years ago I worked for a cafe, and I had been working there for almost five years. The Head Waiter (no jokes, please) position was up for grabs, and me being the waiter who'd been there the longest, and considering I'd recieved several "cusomer service" awards, and also considering (not to toot my own horn, but if I don't, who will?) I was (am) a damn good waiter, I assumed I would get the position.
"It's in the bag!" I thought to myself.
It turns out I didn't get it.
A waitress who'd only been there six weeks got it. (Bitch!)
I confronted my boss about it after I found out, and she said (in a nutshell) that, although I was great at being a waiter, fantastic even, she saw no "leadership potential" in me. I wasn't the "take charge" kind of person she was looking for to fill that position.
That really stung, because I hadn't ever thought of myself that way. It was a real blow to my ego.
(It turned out the girl she promoted was fired a few weeks later for stealing out of the register, which shows what a poor judge of character she was. But I digress.)

A little while later, when I was working for another restaurant, I was offered a Team Leader (same as a Head Waiter, just a differen't name) position, which I accepted.
I got a special uniform, a fancier nametag, and 50 cents more an hour.
Woo-hoo!
As a Team Leader I was expected to arrive before everyone else to assign sidework, schedule breaks, and assign all the other waiter's sections (off the clock, I might add); monitor the dining room during the shift to make sure all the sections were kept up, and customers were being satisfied; make sure all closing duties were done according to procedures (meaning that aside from management, I was the last one out the door every night); make sure the employees weren't goofing off; and assign "special cleaning tasks" to employees during slow periods, among other things.
Oh yeah, and while I'm doing all of that, I have my own section that I have to wait on and maintain.
It was more trouble than it was worth.

I started out as "just one of the guys" but when I became a Team Leader, everything changed. I was one of "them".
And if something went wrong during the shift, I'm the one who was responsible, and I was the one who got upbraided for it.

Disssatisfied with management's lack of caring about the employees and the horrible conditions at the job, my complaints reached management and I was demoted. (I mentioned it on my blog here, in case you missed it. )

At my current restaurant a Head Waiter position might possibly become available soon and and I've been asked "Do you want to be a Head Wait?"
At first, I said "Sure, why not?"

But now I find I've changed my mind.

Why don't I want it?
Because I realized something.

I don't want to be resposible for anyone else's laziness.
I don't want to have to monitor my fellow employees like the Waiter Police.
I don't want to be the person mangement comes to when there's a problem.
Especially if it's somebody else's screw up.

I want to just come in, do my work, and get the hell out of there.
No muss, no fuss.

When I was a Team Leader, I was a bitch.
On wheels.
Because I had to be. There was no way to avoid it.
It was the only way to get the job done.
Make yourself into a doormat and people will walk all over you. I found that out the hard way.

I had to get people to do their work. I had to get people to redo their sections when their closing was shoddy. I had to tell people to dust their goddamn light fixtures. I had to write people up for insuborbination and if I caught them smoking when they weren't on a break. I had to make everyone do all the stupid crap that management decided was "important", like get all the servers to scrape all the gum of the underside of their tables with a knife.

I don't want to be a bitch. I'm a nice guy, usually. (It's true, I tell you!)
I enjoy being the one my co-workers come to and say, "Hey, let's go sneak a smoke by the loading dock!" (Smoking is a social activity. It's more fun with a buddy or a group.)
I like being able to say "My stuff's all done! See ya later!" and just breeze out the door, knowing the headwaits are stuck there for another hour and a half (or more).

And I also like being "just one of the guys". Someone you can tell a dirty joke to, someone who you don't need to impress or "look busy" for.
There's an invisible line you cross when you get promoted above your co-workers. You don't see it, but it's there.
After I became a Team Leader, conversations would stop when I approached a group, when before they would say "Hey, Jimmy! Listen to this!"

A select few are Chiefs -- most are Indians.
I think I'd rather be an Indian.

Must Be The Poltergeists

2005-11-04T12:26:00.000-05:00

Part of my duties as a server is clearing dishes and plates that are finished from the table.
Most people put plates that they're done with on the edge of their table, and as I walk by I can quietly, but efficiently, place the plates on my tray and take them to the dishroom.

I do it quietly as to not interrupt any conversations that are going on.
Service is best when it's effortless (to the guest). Condiments, refills, and side items appear as if by magic. Dirty dishes just disappear, also as if by magic.
I'm like David Copperfield. (The magician, not the Dickens character.)
It's like they have a fairy waiting on them.
Aactually, they do have a fairy waiting on them, but we won't go there.)

Anyway, this couple had finished with their salad plates and they (the plates) were sitting at the edge of the table.
Here I come, tray in hand, and I grab the plates and start to quietly slide them onto my tray when the woman starts shrieking and scrabbling for the plates.
I am, of course, a little taken aback. What's in Sam Hill wrong with this woman?

The woman notices me, and then exhales deeply and puts her hand to her chest and then says, "Oh, my! I didn't see you there! I got scared because I thought the plates werre moving all by themselves!"
I, of course reply, "Oh, that's OK. How is everything?"
"Oh, just fine. Everything is great!" she answers.

But that whole exchange got me thinking. . .

What kind of world does this woman live in where plates go flying off tables all by themselves?
Are the laws of gravity different in her universe?
"Harold! Gravity's going sideways again, better tie down the dog!"
Did she see Fantasia one too many times?
"The plates are growing legs and walking off by themselves! AAAAGH!"
Is she plagued by evil spirits?
Is there an exorcist in the house?

It's one of those things that make you go "Hmmmm".

Parental Guidance Suggested

2005-11-03T22:32:00.000-05:00

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale.
(Well, providing someone is reading this aloud to you. Otherwise you'll read a tale, not hear one. But we don't have to get too literal about this, do we?)

I was down in the basement in the "laundry room" folding towels the other day.
Rico is playing happily in the back yard, doing what doggies do: sniffing around, munching on his rawhide bone, playing with his squeaky toy, taking care of "business".
As I'm wondering vaguely why two people have so many fuggin' towels in the first place, I hear Rico barking his head off outside.
The basement window is open to air out the smell of All-Tempa Cheer and bleach, so I yell out, "Shut up, Rico!" like I nornally do.

Normally, Rico hears my voice and stops barking and then sticks his nose through the basement window. Then I pat his little head and he starts wagging his tail and I say something like "Be a good boy, Rico" and then he happily goes about his business.
Not this time.
He's barking and barking and I'm thinking, "What in the world has gotten into this dog?"
So I drop the towel I'm folding and go to investigate.

As I'm walking up the stairs, I'm thinking it's that stray cat that's setting Rico off. Sometimes I catch him sitting on the fence just out of Rico's reach, going "Nyah! Nyah! You can't get me!" and laughing. (Well, that's what the cat would be saying if it could speak -- or laugh.) The cat does it on purpose, I'm sure of it.

Anyway, as I get upstairs and out the back door, I see it isn't the cat that's stting Rico off at all. Some neighborhood kids (two boys and a girl, the oldest couldn't have been more than seven) were throwing Rocks at him and Rico was going nuts.
And who could blame him? Throw rocks at me and I'll go nuts, too.

I admit it, I lost my temper.

"Stop throwing rocks at my dog!" I yelled at them, "Or I'll let him loose and he'll rip you faces off!"
Upon hearing that, the kids ran shrieking down the block and around the corner.

OK, in retrospect I realize that was not the right way to handle it. I will freely admit that.
But I was angry.

That doesn't excuse what I did, it only provides a reason for it.

Anyhoo, a few minutes later I'm back downstairs folding towels again and Rico is right by my side chewing on one of my old holey socks, when I hear a BANG! BANG! BANG! (on the door, baby!)

So I go up to answer it and when I open the door there was this indiginant looking woman standing there with a little boy and girl kind of cowering behind her. Of course I recognize them as being two of the three kids I had cought throwing stones at Rico just moments earlier.

Before I could even get a greeting out, she says to me,
"Did you tell my kids you were going to get your dog to attack them?"
And shes all up in my Kool-Aid, nahmean?
"Oh," I replied, "They told you that part of it, but did they tell you they were throwing rocks at him? My dog was playing happily in the yard, not hurting anyone and your kids come over and for no reason start throwing things at him.
Techically, I should be the one knocking on your door right now for what your children were doing to him."

To her credit, the woman's entire demeamor changed.
She turns to the kids and says, "is that true? Were you throwing rocks at this man's dog?"
The kids say nothing and just stare down at the ground. Their guilt was obvious.

"I'm sorry," She says to me, "I'll make sure it doesn't happen again." and she marches the kids down the block.

My first instinct is to insert something like: "Don't kids have nothing better to do nowadays?" or "Why can't parents nowadays control their children? That's why this world is going to hell in a handbasket!" but that would make me sound like a grumpy old man, which I by far am not!

Oh Yes, There Will Be Blood

2005-11-01T14:46:00.000-05:00

Went to see Saw II last night with the husband. There's nothing better than a scary movie on Halloween night!

The plot (without giving too much away): Jigsaw, the "serial killer" (who doesn't actually kill his victims, but devises clever ways for them to kill themselves or each other) from Saw is back again.
The good news (?) is that he's been captured after his latest grisly act. But that's just the beginning as his true insideous plot is revealed.
This time around he's trapped eight people in a house with a deadly nerve gas. They have a limited amount of time to find the antidote before the gas they're inhaling kills them.
Did I mention the house is booby trapped in various lethal and ingenious ways?
Watching it all unfold on the monitors at Jigsaw's lair is Police detective Matthews (Donnie Wahlberg!), and to his horror, one of the people in that house is his son Daniel.
That's all I can really say without spoiling anything.

If you like horror movies or thrillers, I highly reccomend it.
It will have you on the edge of your seat.

However, I also reccomend you see the first one first. Go to Blockbuster and rent Saw and if you really like it, go see the latest installment.
You could watch them out of order, I guess, but seeing the second one first will spoil the twist ending of the first one.
Plus seeing the first one before this one will help you keep track of what's going on here.
Am I making sense?
Oh, and if the sight of blood offends (or nauseates) I reccomend skipping this one altogether. I am not squeamish when it comes to gore and even I was squirming at some scenes.

It's pretty intense in some parts.
Trust me on this, will you?

I'm Waiting . . .

2005-10-28T12:08:00.000-04:00

On my worst days, I think that before you're allowed to eat out at a restaurant, you should be required to work at least one shift as a server in a restaurant.
Not as a cook, line attendant, cashier, or host/hostess, but as a server who has to put up with everyone's crap and doesn't get paid by the hour to do it.
And not in a fancy-shmantzy restaurant either. Someplace like Denny's or the White Coffee Pot or some Truck Stop Diner -- on the busiest most chaotic night of the week.

People either don't realize that we rely on the tips we make to pay our bills, or else the just don't care and some days it's all I can do not to go off on somebody.

Like this:Two ladies are seated in my section and I go over to introduce myself and take their drink order and they immediatly start out barking commands at me before I can get my name out.
So all through their meal I'm being super-attentive. There's nothing I didn't do for them. I even took the one woman's coffee and heated it in the microwave because she said it was too cold. (She puts four creamers in it and expects it to still be piping hot. I guess she didn't pay attention in science class.)
Why was I so attentive? Because I have dollar signs in my eyes, that's why. I don't do it because I'm such a sweet person. (I mean, I am, but that's not why I do it.)

Anyway, I treated these women like they were queens, OK? Then right before they left the one woman calls me over and says,
"I'm so sorry. You've been great, but we didn't bring enough to give you a tip. But next time we'll take care of you, I promise."
"Sure thing, you bitch."
OK, I didn't say the "bitch" part, but I thought it pretty hard.

Because it's all about graciousness.
Which is another way of saying keep your fat mouth shut and think before you speak.
Who knows? She might actually follow through and take care of me later.
I'm not going to hold my breath, but it could happen.

And this:Last Sunday three little old Church ladies in thier humongous hats and floral-print dresses were sitting in my section.
Nice ladies, very sweet, no trouble at all to wait on.
Anyhoo, right before they left one of them (the one with the biggest hat - I guess she was the leader of the pack) calls me over and says, "I'm sorry, but we have no money to leave a tip, we gave all our money to Jesus."
Of course, my first instinct was to say,
"Well, you should have gotten Jesus to wait on you then!"

But I didn't say it.
I didn't even think it for more than a minute or two, because at least they were nice.
Sometimes that makes all the difference.

On a related note, I saw the trailer for the movie Waiting.
I haven't seen it yet, but it's only a matter of time.

Catch Me (If You Can)

2005-10-25T15:16:00.000-04:00

It's been awhile since I posted last. It's not because there hasn't been anything to wite about.
Au contraire, mon frere!
There's just been too much to do and not enough time.

So now it's time to play catch-up.
This is what happens when you procrastinate, folks!

I've decided that instead of one massive post, I would break my adventures up and post them retroctively.

(I call them RetroPosts©. If you want to use the term, you owe me twenty five cents.)

These RetroPosts© will make eveything easier to digest, and they also have the added benefit of making it appear (to the casual observer at least) that I haven't neglected this blog for a week and a half.

So, after typing my fingers to the bone for the past hour and a half trying desperately to make everything up to date, it's time for a nap.

Happy Birthday To Me (Yet Again)

2005-10-22T17:24:00.000-04:00

Yes, today is my birthday.
I've gotten some pretty good swag so far, but the best present of all is that my Mom came from NC to see me!
She arrived last night and will be leaving tomorrow morning.

I know it's only for a few days, but having her here is wonderful.

It was the first time that the husband and Mom were meeting each other and they were both kind of nervous.
Turns out they needn't have worried, they both got along famously!

I kind of worry about her living all alone out there.
I'm trying to convince her to move back here and stay in the spare room. The husband even told her she would be more than welcome here. She said she'd think about it, which is the only answer I could get from her. I guess I'll have to see what happens.

Not much planned for tonight except the husband, Mom, and me (I?) are going out to dinner someplace tonight.
I'm going to save the partying 'til after Mom goes back to North Carolina. I don't want her seeing her only son drunk and/or hung over. That wouldn't look very nice, would it?

So, yeah, I'm another year older.
It's not how old you are, it's how old you feel, and right now I feel like I'm 21!

This Sh*t Is Bananas!

2005-10-21T15:09:00.000-04:00

I know the Gwen Stafani song "Hollaback Girl" is tired, worn out, and everyone's totally sick of it by now.
Well, I can't speak for everyone, but I know if I didn't hear it again for a year or so I would be totally OK with that.

Still, reading the in-depth analysis of the lyrics made me laugh 'til tears were streaming down my face.

The Duty Deed

2005-10-20T18:47:00.000-04:00

I had "Jury Duty" today.
What a total waste of a perfectly good day!

Do you know what my Jury Duty consisted of? Well, I am going to tell you.

Jimmy's Jury Duty
8:15 AM - I arrive at the courthouse and have my bag searched and walk through a metal detector. I am then directed to a "Jury waiting room" where I wait for further instructions.
8:45 AM - I watch a scintillating video that explains everyone's rights to a jury trial, a (thankfully brief) history of our legal system, and some propagandist pep-talk about how we should be proud and thankful to be a part of the jury selection process.
Oh, yeah. I woke up this morning and said "YAY! I have Jury duty today!"
9:15 AM - Jurors are being called by number for check in. I sit and wait patiently for my number to be called.
9:40 AM - They finally get to my number. I go downstairs and wait in a line. When I get to the little table the woman takes my jury summons and my ID, checks my name on the list and has me sign the line next to it. She gives the summons and my ID back and I am then directed to wait in another line.
When I get to the counter the woman verfies my address is correct, hands me a sticker that says "JUROR" that I'm supposed to wear and three five dollar bills. (I get paid $15 for my wasted day. I could have made that in one hour if I was working.)
I am then directed to go back upstairs and wait.
11:15 AM - I've read two chapters of the book I brought (Sphere, by Michael Chichton) and I'm working on the third.
They must sense we're getting antsy because they put on a movie for us to watch. "The Terminal" starring Tom Hanks and Catherine Zeta-Jones.
12:25 PM - Just as I was getting into the movie it cuts off and an announcement states that it's time for lunch. The announcer directs us to be back no later than 1:45PM. I don't know what happens if you're late. Maybe they throw you in Jury duty prison or something.
12:27 PM - I am in the lobby, headed for the door, cigarette already in my mouth and my lighter clutched in my paw. Give me that sweet delicious cancer!
1:43 PM - I spent my hour and 15 minutes of "my time" wisely. I gorged myself at Quizno's, called everyone in my phone book telling them what a waste of time Jury Duty was, loaded up on snack foods and soda (the vending machine in the jury room was pricier than at the airport. Eighty-five cents for a packet of cheese crackers!) Bought some gossip magazines ("Katie is pregnant! Is Tom the father?") and smoked about seven cigarettes. (Too bad you can't store nicotine in your body and time-release it when you need it. You could smoke a whole pack, one after another, in the morning and then you wouldn't have to light up all day. It doesn't work that way, though.)
1:45 PM - My bag is searched and I walk through the metal detector again. I go back upstairs to wait.
2:00 PM - They put "The Terminal" back on. Our eyes glaze over.
2:37 PM - The movie is finished, roll credits.
Not a bad movie. I would never have picked this at Blockbuster.
3:00 PM - An announcement is made that they need some jurors.
Everyone perks up. Maybe the day won't be a total waste after all.
They call numbers of people to go to another room for Jury Selection.
I am not one of them.
A dozen or so people shuffle out of the room, never to be seen or heard from again.
I crack open a magazine, pop the top on my soda and munch on some cheese crackers.
3:30 PM - In order to placate us they put on another movie. "Hitch" with Will Smith and Kevin James (from "The King of Queens").
4:20 PM - Just as the movie was getting interesting, it cuts off and an announcement tells us that Jury Duty is over. We're free!
I make a mental note to rent this movie the next time I'm at Blockbuster so I can see how it ends, put a cigarette in my mouth and dash for the exit.

That was my Jury duty, folks. Thank God they don't come around that often.

Get A Long Little Doggie

2005-10-19T15:02:00.000-04:00

Actually, I got two long little doggies.
Well, counting Rico, I now have three long little doggies.

Wait, let me back up a bit.

G.'s sister just moved into a new apartment and she couldn't afford the "pet deposit" (which is equal to half her rent) so she asked if we would take care of her dachshund puppes Foxy and Coco (both boys) for a month or so until she can come up with the neccessary funds.

My first instinct was to say no. Rico is a handful by himself -- and he's trained. He knows to do his "business" outside, that he doesn't belong on the sofa, and that chewing electrical cords is a no-no.
These puppies have no training whatsoever. They're not even paper-trained.

Still, it was either with us, or in a kennel.
And as tough as I try to act I'm actually a big softie, so I said OK.

They arrived last night, and they're adorable!

I did observe something pretty strange, though.
I put Rico and "da boys" out in the back yard last night to they could run and romp and play and so they were out of my hair for a few minutes. When I went back to check on them, they were humping one another!
No shit! It was like an all-male dog-orgy on my back lawn.
Upon closer inspection I noticed they weren't actually "doing it", they were just going through the motions.
I guess just like men in prison who have no access to women, dogs will take whatever they can get!

A Five Minute Story

2005-10-13T10:16:00.000-04:00

Make It Last
It was just one of those things, you know?
I was sitiing at the bar, kind of feeling depressed because I had no man in my life, and I was drinking too much, which was only making it worse.
(Sorrows float in alcohol.)
And the damn Patsy Cline music someone played on the jukebox wasn't helping matters any.
Then he walked in, scanned the room, then came and sat on the stool right next to me.
You know how you can just look at someone, and just know without knowing, that you could very easily fall in love with them?
Maybe physically their your ideal "type". Maybe it's the way they walk, or the way their eyes sparkle, or the way they smoke their cigarette.
Maybe it's the shape of their hands, the long tapering fingers.
Or the color of their hair or the fullness and curling of their lips when they grin at you.
Sometimes you just know.
There's an instant attraction, an instant connection.
Maybe this has never happened to you, and if so you probably just won't understand.
It's OK, I'm used to that by now.
He was from out of state (Arizona) visiting friends that live here, he said.
He had a boyfriend at home whom he'd been with for over three years, and whom he loved very much, he said.
He was leaving tomorrow morning to go back home, he said.
And all through our conversation his eyes were telling me he wanted me.
I wanted him, too.
Thinking back, I can't remember who made the first move. Our eyes were making love long before anything physical happened.
All I do remember is Erasure ("Chains of Love") was playing on the jukebox and his mouth was on mine, his arms were around me and mine were around him and his kisses were making me breathless.
We went back to my place.
Although I knew he was cheating on his boyfriend being with me, I didn't care. That was his bad Karma, not mine. And if he felt guilty for it afterwards, well that's not my problem either.
And all through our lovemaking (passionate as it was) these thoughts were going through my head:
Make it last, this will never happen again.
Make it all that he wants, and everything that I need.
Make it last, because we're not making any promises. He'll be gone forever tomorrow.
Sometimes you have to take what you can get.

It's All About The Follow Through

2005-10-11T15:53:00.000-04:00

Sorry I haven't posted anything substantial in a little while. What with working and other things going on, I haven't had much time.
It's quality, rather than quantity that counts the most, right?

This morning I had to go to court about the whole mugging thing that I went through not too long ago. It was the preliminary hearing to see if it should go to trial at Circuit Court.

Technically, my presence wasn't strictly neccessary because the officer that made the arrest was there to testify. But just in case something untoward would have happened and the officer couldn't make it, my presence would have been very neccessary.

I must admit, when they brought the guy who mugged me out in shackles, it totally creeped me out. Just seeing him brought it all back.
I would rather have not gone back there, but some things you just have to face whether you want to or not.

The Assistant States Attorney went over everything that happened with me again, even though I had told her (over the phone) everything that happened.
"The Defense wants a reduction of the charges," she told me, "But after reading the report, and now talking to you, I've decided that they're not going to get it."

I was asked to step outside the courtroom when the officer gave his testimony (apparently so it wouldn't influence my own), so I missed that part of it, and it turns out that my original police report was enough, so I wasn't needed after all.

The final result is that all the charges (first degree assult and battery, theft) all stand and the matter will be going to Circuit Court.

"Will you be willing to testify if we need you?" she asked me afterwards.
"Oh, yeah." I replied.
After what he did to me, I want him sent up the river.

I'm going to step up on my soapbox (again) for just a moment. Bear with me, please.

If you are a victim of a crime (theft, rape, assault, what have you) you need to report it. It's the only way we can get the bad elements off the streets and in the prisons where they belong.

If your a witness to a crime, you need to step forward and tell what you witnessed so justice can be served.

And last (but definitely not least) you need to follow through. Go to court, testify. Move Heaven and Earth to be there.

Before that case went before the judge I saw three cases dismissed (It's called a "Null Pros" in legal jargon) simply because for one reason or other the police officer couldn't make it and the victims were not there.
These people just got to walk away scott free.
Were they guilty? Who knows? We will never know because they're roaming the sreets even as I type this.

Anyway, it's not over with, a few months from now and I'll be back to follow through yet again.

And if that wasn't enough, guess what I recieved in my mailbox the other day?
An official summons to report for Jury Duty on the 20th.
It's neverending.

Who's That Guy?

2005-10-10T23:11:00.000-04:00

I haven't done this in awhile, but after seeing Twist, Bully, and Disturbing Behavior recently, I couldn't help posting photos of Nick Stahl. Not only is he way sexy, but he's a good actor as well.

Apparently he also appears in the HBO series Carnivàle.

He was extra sexy in Bully, that's for certain, but that's probably because he was playing a "bad boy" type, and you know how sexy bad boys are.
(Well to me, anyway.)

Ready For Action!

2005-10-04T12:39:00.000-04:00

I had a dream that Tony and I were superheroes and I posted it on here the way I sometimes do when I have an interesting dream (that I can actually remember).

Well, when I checked my INBOX early (like around 2AM) Monday morning, what do my bleary eyes see before me? Tony had read my post and sent me a drawing that he did of us in superhero gear! What a nice surprise!
This is the very first time someone has created a graphic or picture for me.
Thanks, Tony!

The drawing is quite good, actually, as you can see for yourself. He got my face and my hair perfect, and with just a few lines.
Amazing!

Some random thoughts:

I hope we're fighting crime someplace warm. In the wintertime we would get pretty chilly in those outfits!

Look at the buges in our tights. We are humongous!
(Those must be our secret weapons, and they look pretty powerful by the size of them.)

Look at the cute swashbuckler boots Tony is wearing!

We look like a pretty dynamic team, don't we?

Never just content to leave things just as they are, I immediatly set to work on the graphic, adding text and word balloons to make it look like a comic book cover.
What do you think? Pretty spiffy, huh?

You Make It Happen

2005-10-03T12:29:00.000-04:00

One of the most difficult things there is in this world to do is to look at someone and not make a value judgement about them.
By "value judgement" I mean a judgement of someone's "worth" strictly by what you see with your eyes.

We all have our little prejudices. Most of us try to overcome them, but even so, they're there.
Maybe it's heavyset or overweight people ("fatso"), maybe it's the elderly ("old geezer"), or small children ("little brats").
Some men are women-haters, some women are man-haters, some people have a dislike for one race or another. Anything someone can be (black, white, rich, poor, panhandler, thief, gay, straight, doctor, lawyer, Indian chief) is going to be disliked by somebody, somewhere.

I'm a gay white male, and if someone has a problem with that, then it's their problem, not mine. I can't do anything to change any of those things. Nor would I want to just to please someone else.
You don't like it, you can kiss my pale white butt.

Value judgements are particularly dangerous in my line of work, mostly due to the "self-fulfilling prophecy" aspect.

For those that don't know, a Self-Fulfilling Prophecy is a prediction that, in being made, actually causes itself to come true.

For example, if a party is seated at one of my tables and I look them over before appoaching the table and make a judgement about them ("Oh, it's a bunch of [inset value judgement here: elderly folks, teenagers, lesbians, Mormons, whatever], I probably won't get a good tip from them.")
The very second after I make my little judgement about those people, my actions from that point on are altered slightly, most of the time totally subconciously.
Maybe I'm not as attentive to them as I should be.
I might not smile as broadly.
I might, without even knowing I'm doing it, give them a nasty look or roll my eyes when they ask for more cream for their coffee.
I might wait for them to ask me for something insead of offering it, or (better yet) just bringing to the table.
They might notice that I'm not as attentive to them as I am my other guests.
They might sense a certain "standoffishness" in me.
Even if I try to "fake it", they could pick up on the fact that I'm being a big phoney.
The result of all of that? A lackluster tip.
Surprise! I just made my "prediction" come true.

I try never to judge people before I get to know them. (Afterwards is a totally different story.)
There are all kinds of people in this world of ours and there is room here for all of us.

SFP's are also desructive in quite another way.
If you're thinking ahead of time that someone won't like you, they very possibly won't. Not because you're not a likeable person, but because you're giving off a vibe (probably subconciously) that says either "I don't care if you like me or not" (passive) or "I don't like you either" (agressive).

Anyway, that's my thought for today.
Have a good one!

Joke of the Day

2005-10-02T23:28:00.000-04:00

I heard this one the other day, so I thought I'd share it:

A salesman rings the doorbell and a little boy opens the door. The boy has a bottle of Jack Daniel's in one hand, a Playboy magazine in the other, and a lit cigarette is dangling from the corner of his mouth.
"Hello there, little boy," the salsesman says, "Are your parents home?"
The little boy says, "What the fuck do you think?"

Take It

2005-09-30T10:28:00.000-04:00

Too many things to do, I know, but spare a few minutes out of your busy schedule and take the test.

(Link shamelessly stolen from the Brat Boy.)

Dreamscape Escapades

2005-09-29T22:22:00.000-04:00

Episode 2: I Dream Of . . . Tony?

As I've said previously, I don't usually remember my dreams.
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.
Crazy shit.

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.

It Creeps Up On You

2005-09-27T16:34:00.000-04:00

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 Creeper
Ingredients:
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
Mixing instructions:
Pour all ingredients over ice and mix or shake together.
Strain into a small cocktail glass.
Down the hatch!

This is one of those "sneaky drinks" that don't really taste all that potent.
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

2005-09-27T11:07:00.000-04:00

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?

Where Did He Go?

2005-09-26T15:29:00.000-04:00

"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.

The Dating Game Sucks

2005-09-19T16:35:00.000-04:00

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.
WHOA!
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.

Oog.

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!

WTF?

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.
Dating sucks.
My right hand is going to be my best friend for a little while longer, but I'm OK with that.

*No Strings Attached

I Feel Numb

2005-09-16T12:29:00.000-04:00

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?

Hats Off To Baltimore's Finest

2005-09-14T09:23:00.000-04:00

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.
Bingo.

"That's 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?

Here I Go (Again)

2005-09-12T12:58:00.000-04:00

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.

Boys In Boxes

2005-09-11T13:42:00.000-04:00

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.
Brilliant.

"As we figuratively create boxes to put people in . . .
. . . I create figures and put them in boxes."
— E. Gibbons

After looking through the portfolio of the artist, E. Gibbons, I have concluded that he is a genius.

Shake your Groove Thang!

2005-09-10T01:17:00.000-04:00

Just Can't Help It

2005-09-09T13:07:00.000-04:00

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.
Eeeeeee!
I'm so excited!

Lucky Seven

2005-09-08T23:43:00.000-04:00

I done been tagged again. This time it was my boy Tony who was taggin' me.
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.
It's multiplying!
OK, here we go . . .

1. Seven things I plan to do before I die:
Get a tattoo. (Next month for my birthday, if everything goes as planned!)
Skydive
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
Tolerate assholes
Function without my morning cup o' Joe
Not spoil my dog

4. seven things that attract me to the opposite (or same) sex:
Pretty teeth
Shapely calves
Biceps
Small waist
Cute bubble butt
Nice head o' hair
Confidence, but not arrogance

5. Seven things I say most often:
What up?!
Woof!
Meanwhile . . .
I didn't do it!
I'll kick yer ass!
Good God!
Ooh La La!

6. Seven celebrity crushes:
Ben Jelen
Eric Johnson
Shemar Moore
Heath Ledger
Hayden Christensen
Gael Garcia Lopez
Orlando Bloom

7. Seven people who must participate in this meme, or die in shame:
Robbie
Amnesia Sparkles
Ethan
David
Ian
Charlie
Morrie

This Time Around

2005-09-06T14:05:00.000-04:00

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."
"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."
"Go ahead."
"Don't go."
"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."

These are words I never expected to hear-- ever. You could have knocked me over with a feather.

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.
Ever.
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 stayed.

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.

I'm Waving As I Go

2005-09-02T14:24:00.000-04:00

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.

For example:

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.

The Brotherhood Of The Traveling Shirt

2005-09-01T23:59:00.000-04:00

First things first: Congratulations to Tony for his blog's first anniversary!

YAY!

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.
No shit!
(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!

I'm Not Gonna Crack

2005-08-29T18:28:00.000-04:00

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
-----Message------
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.
------End-------

A message from Tony! YAY!
So I texted back:

To: Tony
-------Message----------
You just did, Tony. Thanks! :)
-----End-----

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! :)

Already Gone

2005-08-26T12:02:00.000-04:00

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.