Thursday, October 11, 2001
Wednesday, October 10, 2001
Tuesday, October 09, 2001
Look HERE for my winner of the "What are you wearing?" contest (null where prohibited, contest not valid in states that fly Confederate flags)
Wow! Did I really spend my morning discussing set-ups, plots, production values, and artistic integrity of porn films with my favorite kitty hanging off a branch today.
I owe you something dirty, so here it is: Crumpled Dollar Bills - Episodes of My Youth in it's entirety - enjoy!
Sunday, October 07, 2001
Sun in Leo, Moon in Virgo
You were born with the Sun in Leo and the Moon in Virgo. Internally, Leo has a fiery, ardent, and overpowering psychological makeup. The predominantly Leonian individual is dignified, proud, commanding, powerful, and magnanimous. These qualities are not very well expressed in terms of the personality, because the Moon in Virgo introduces a different influence; it restrains these characteristics, emphasizing your more practical side, such as performing services for others. These qualities conflict with the Leonian, and unless you somehow attempt to harmonize your internal self with your personality role you will be an unhappy person.
Notice that though internally you burn with the desire for authority and power, the role of the Virgo is that of service and a subordinate position. The only area in which Virgo and Leo do agree is that Leo gives tremendous clarity and perspective concerning the pride, emotions, and ideas of other people, while Virgo gives an analytical capacity which facilitates deep comprehension. Virgo inhibits the natural traits of a predominantly Leonian individual, causing you to occupy a lower position in life and to be subjected to much snubbing.
Others see you as a person who does not want to take the lead in all matters (although you secretly harbor the desire to do just that). You are attentive, careful, and observant. Outwardly, you are pure in love and sexual matters, but inwardly, you have a devouring passion. Try to harmonize the power of Leo with the cleverness of Virgo, and you will have total success, both in material concerns and in your relationships with others.
Ascendant in Virgo, Mercury in the First House
At the time of your birth the zodiacal sign of Virgo was ascending in the horizon. Its ruler Mercury is located at the first house.
This indicates that throughout your life you will assume a reserved, quiet, analytical, critical, and receptive attitude.
Although you are not an individual with a very strong ambition, you possess the ability to persevere and exert ingenuity.
Some selfishness is noted. However, if you are able to counteract this negative trait with your natural helpful and sympathetic attitude and address your positive qualities to resolve the problems of others then you will accomplish your highest spiritual duties and your degree of consciousness and perception will be expanded.
You are not afraid to work but you like to do things where you can use intellectual resources rather than mechanical ones. There is some independence here but don't try to be forceful about it because Virgo's natural habitat is one in which the person is led by some powerful authority and where the important decisions are best made by others.
You are very attentive to detail and this makes you a good worker, especially so in those jobs that require a great deal of precision and observation. You have a desire for purity and though you don't mind relating to others there is something that you do dislike: continuous intrusion of your privacy. What will your life be like? We think it will be one in which business and practicality are to be very important. Although we are not advising you to turn against your natural traits, which make you slightly cold and reserved, we would suggest that when in love you let yourself relax and respond so as to be able to return some of the affection you are receiving.
Life will find you in many situations in which you will function as advisor and counsellor; make use of these opportunities to project the power of your creativeness.
This makes you a person to whom success is available through personal effort. You are ambitious, swift, intellectual, and possess some sort of scientific vocation; your speech is fluent and eloquent. You are a useful and beneficial person.
Your activities should be those that are intense, varied and require intelligence. You love detailed work: writing, collecting, acting as a middle man, selling, and communicating. You are an excellent critic and analyst.
Moon in the First House
The Moon is in the first house. This position indicates that you are strongly influenced by your feelings and moods.
Your awareness of yourself is influenced by your momentary feelings, and this perception is subject to rapid changes of mood and emotion. In time, you will learn to understand why you react as you do to various situations, and then you can begin to change your response patterns and take more control of your life.
Others sense your lack of emotional self-sufficiency and tend to get involved in your personal affairs, even if you try to prevent it. You express your sensitivity through an emotional need to nurture and be nurtured by others. While you would like to have guidance and supervision concerning your goals and objectives, it would be better to achieve your aims independently so that you will not feel obligated to others.
The advantage of this position lies in your ability to sense other people's needs and desires.
In fact, you have a calming effect on people who are under stress, and this makes you ideally suited for working with the public.
Moon Conjunct Ascendant
The Moon conjunct the Ascendant shows that you have some emotional hangups. You want close, intimate contacts with others, but you tend to keep people at arm's length because you are afraid you will become obligated to them.
You are a mass of contradictions - making demands on people but complaining when they do the same to you; expecting others to make overtures to you and withdrawing when they do. Although you are highly imaginative, you react to stimulating people in a generally negative and critical way.
On the surface you are independent, but you yearn for a quieter role in which you can enjoy the comfort of knowing that someone really cares for you. This can only happen when you lower your defensive barriers and learn to compromise by meeting people halfway.
Saturn in the Ninth House
Saturn, the ruler of destiny, was found in the ninth house at the time of birth. This indicates that your concern over the impermanence of all things will urge you to restrict your personality traits and assume a position of caution and planning before pursuing any important matter.
In a practical sense, your attitude to all higher intellectual functions is that of a studious, serious, and meditative person. You must, however, be attentive to the possible presence of several negative elements in your intellectual make-up such as depression, fear, and severity.
Venus in the Eleventh House
Venus, the planet of beauty and love, was found in the eleventh house at the time of your birth. Your aspirations in life are very aesthetically oriented.
You strive for peace and harmony and if it were left up to you the whole world would be more humane, kind, and considerate. In your more personal relationships, Venus gives you the capability of obtaining substantial gain and assistance through your friends, who will desire to assist you with the best of intentions.
Sun in the Twelfth House
The Sun, the king of this celestial system, was in your twelfth house at the time of birth. This may indicate a life full of limitations, obstacles, and human opposition.
You are urged to make an about face and confront your own accumulated history. Take some time for introspection. It may result in a purification process accompanied by some remorse of conscience.
Internally, you are quite different from the way you present yourself externally. You possess a vast reservoir of energy that may be partially hidden even from your own awareness.
Your internal disposition is strong, commanding, open, and of a rare generosity. More and more you should try to bring these characteristics into the open so that they can overcome some of the less desirable aspects of your personality.
Thursday, October 04, 2001
Monday, October 01, 2001
Perhaps you could just lend me a fleeting moment of inspiration?
I'll be good to it - I promise. I'll feed it, bath it, rub it's tummy til it growls. We'll take nightly walks at sunset as the red, orange and golden hues of the day spill down over the horizon, breathing in the same hot, arid, Arizona air.
Being unemployed has robbed me of a lot of my natural spirit. I start working at a buddies art gallery tomorrow - nothing glamorous, just man labor stuff - moving bronzes, setting up for weekly shows/art walks, putting together mailings. I hope it helps, distracts me until something comes through.
Maybe I would settle for someone telling me a side-spliting, tears-down-the-cheek, think-your-gonna-pee-your-pants joke?
Tuesday, September 25, 2001
Monday, September 24, 2001
Thursday, September 20, 2001
Get to snuggle up over an intimate dinner Friday night with these adorable bloggers.
Of course I may not be able to face them after the "Crumpled, Dollar Bills" stories.
These two better be whispering sweet nothings about me while holding NYC together. Oh Yeah! Happy Belated Birthday Charlie - this is gonna be your year to shine baby!
Monday, September 17, 2001
Tragically, Mesa, AZ (where I grew up from 10 yrs old to college) was the location of the first hate crime murder related to the WTC/Pentagon bombings. I am embarrassed and disgusted for my state.
Lucky and I were driving around the historic Coronado district looking at properties yesterday and drove right up into a Mosque with a protest and vigil going on for the slain man. They looked very unnerved to see us and we were watched very cautiously as we passed. How sad.
HATE is the most wasteful of all human emotions. It lays waste to that which is tangible and intangible in and around us all. HATE has never built a bridge or brought people together - HATE has one practice and it is destruction. I'm not some girly pacifist, I just prefer THOUGHT to accompany ACTION. I can only hope in the coming days and weeks that we practice tolerance with our fellow citizens of the United States and attempt to not only tolerate differences but embrace what makes them wonderful.
Sunday, September 16, 2001
Very, well written piece (and of course yes I verified it's validity, for more thoughts by this journalist - go here):
This is an article by Leonard Pitts, a columnist
from The Miami Herald. It
appeared, Wednesday, September
We'll go forward from this moment. It's my job to have something to say. They pay me to provide words that help make sense of that which troubles the American soul. But in this moment of airless shock when hot tears sting disbelieving eyes, the only thing I can find to say,
the only words that seem to fit, must be addressed to the unknown author of this suffering.
You monster. You beast. You unspeakable bastard.
What lesson did you hope to teach us by your coward's attack on our World Trade Center, our Pentagon, us?
What was it you hoped we would learn? Whatever it was, please know that you failed.
Did you want us to respect your cause? You just damned your cause.
Did you want to make us fear? You just steeled our resolve.
Did you want to tear us apart? You just brought us together.
Let me tell you about my people. We are a vast and quarrelsome family, a family rent by racial, social, political and class division, but a family nonetheless. We're frivolous, yes, capable of expending tremendous emotional energy on pop cultural minutiae -- a singer's revealing dress, a ball team's misfortune, a cartoon mouse. We're wealthy, too, spoiled by the ready availability of trinkets and material goods, and maybe because of that, we
walk through life with a certain sense of blithe entitlement. We are fundamentally decent, though -- peace-loving and compassionate. We struggle to know the right thing and to do it. And we are, the overwhelming majority of us, people of faith, believers in a just and loving God.
Some people -- you, perhaps -- think that any or all of this makes us weak. You're mistaken. We are not weak. Indeed, we are strong in ways that cannot be measured by arsenals.
Yes, we're in pain now. We are in mourning and we are in shock. We're still grappling with the unreality of the awful thing you did, still working to make ourselves understand that this isn't a special effect from some Hollywood block-buster, isn't the plot development from a Tom Clancy novel. Both in terms of the awful scope of their ambition and the probable final death toll, your attacks are likely to go down as the worst acts of terrorism
in the history of the United States and, probably, the history of the world. You've bloodied us as we have never been bloodied before.
But there's a gulf of difference between making us bloody and making us fall. This is the lesson Japan was taught to its bitter sorrow the last time anyone hit us this hard, the last time anyone brought us such abrupt and monumental pain. When roused, we are righteous in our outrage, terrible in our force. When provoked by this level of barbarism, we will bear any suffering, pay any cost, go to any length, in the pursuit of justice.
I tell you this without fear of contradiction. I know my people, as you, I think, do not. What I know reassures me. It also causes me to tremble with dread of the future.
In the days to come, there will be recrimination and accusation, fingers pointing to determine whose failure allowed this to happen and what can be done to prevent it from happening again. There will be heightened security, misguided talk of revoking basic freedoms. We'll go forward from this moment sobered, chastened, sad. But determined, too. Unimaginably determined.
THE STEEL IN US
You see, the steel in us is not always readily apparent. That aspect of our character is seldom understood by people who don't know us well. On this day, the family's bickering is put on hold. As Americans we will weep, as Americans we will mourn, and as Americans, we will rise in defense of all that we cherish.
So I ask again: What was it you hoped to teach us? It occurs to me that maybe you just wanted us to know the depths of your hatred. If that's the case, consider the message received. And take this message in exchange: You don't know my people. You don't know what we're capable of. You don't know what you just started.
But you're about to learn.
Tuesday, September 11, 2001
It's odd to see me having nothing to say. I just don't.
My loving thoughts go out to my friends in NYC and I am sooo happy to see many adored NYC Bloggers safe.
Been up since 6am my time watching it all unfold. Spent almost 3 hours trying to give blood (no I don't give a SHIT about the ban, I am safe - get tested every 6 months - I'll lie about my preference to give blood, sorry, but I will) - the streets in Central Phoenix were blocked with people trying to do the same - everyone was being turned away. There is now a week long wait to give blood (and I was there when they opened)
As I left the hospital. I watched crowds of people filtering into the church chapel to pray.
Monday, September 10, 2001
Wiped out from way too much partying with my very wonderful soul-mate/boyfriend/husband/confidante/buddy and friends. Watched "Hannibal" under some "influence" last night - very fucked up movie to watch when you feel like "your part of the movie".
For those interested 'Crumpled, Dollar Bills - Part 4' is forthcoming, not sure why I decided to change the writing format but hey - change is good, right - uh, guys...are you there.....?
Friday, September 07, 2001
Verbally ushering out my courtier with my Greta Garbo-ish cries of "I want to be ALONE!", he exits, his 5'11", anemic-looking frame decorated with a balding crown of white hair and a protruding potbelly distending many inches over his gray, Sansabelt slacks. Normally this person's appearance would elicit a coo of "When are you due??? What trimester??, but he was neither a woman or I in good humor. Fleeing from the room he cried out in pain as he smacked his liver spotted hand against the fastening hook attached to the entry way, his cheap, tarnished wedding ring making a solid "THWACK!" against the solid metal of the hook.
Trapped in my grotesque position - part prayer/part Kama Sutra - I realized I had never secured the "privacy rope". For the uninitiated (but I mean really, which one among you would read me and be that innocent to said subject...baffling) at an adult bookstore, video booths are often given some method of insuring their occupants' privacy - if they so require. Some have doors (decidedly meant only for those who really, actually want privacy and if so, they should invest in a VCR, they're really cheap these days), some ropes, some nothing (this really sucks because you feel like your playing bouncer at the hottest club in town - "Sorry buddy, no more standing room inside...move along, now, move along"). The "privacy rope" is a 3 foot long rope encased in burgundy leather, heavy to the touch, with a dingy, silver hook on each end. Imagine the ropes used to hold off the swarms of press that line the premieres of Hollywood blockbusters and the "in" nightclubs of New York and Los Angeles; this is not that rope, this rope is it's short, weathered cousin, twice removed - through a nasty custody battle - now living in a trailer park in Yuma, Arizona with a malevolent, broken-down Lazy-Boy chair. The hook is meant to be inserted into a fastener attached to the wall - it is all very high tech. The rope is intended to be pulled across the entryway between the two fasteners, thus blocking the entryway. This simple ropes use is encouraged by The Management for your security and protection. Imagine the designer of the privacy rope first attempting to sell these beauties door-to-door under the name "Rope-Ryder 5000" - the ultimate in personal home security".
Necessity was not the mother of invention, she was a drunken sister-in-law who like to call after 1AM.
As I struggle to pull myself free from the flytrap "incident", I realize that the "Rope-Ryder 5000 Privacy Monitor" is only effective if used properly - I had left mine unfastened. Having left mine in the so-called "off" position I breathed a sign of relief that matters had not been worse.
Freed from my predicament I began the unpleasant task of brushing off my knees
- Hey what luck my lost dollar bill is stuck to my pants!.
I quickly fall back on my agnostic beliefs and renounce my so-called promises to better humanity and vacate the booth (yes - I acknowledge that I am by all probability going to hell - my much loved Irish-Catholic boyfriend, mumbles as much on numerous occasions). I wrestle (well, in as much as they really wrestle in the WWF) with my desire to continue my adventure and retain my opportunity to behave indecently. With several pints of Guiness ebbing through my blood stream, I feel my inhibitions still appropriately flattened to continue my quest. I justify staying. I mean really, what a total sense of loss it would be if I walked away in the middle of the riveting plot developments in 'Forest Hump':
Forest has gone to war (Vietnam) where without the oppression of female companionship, the moral weight of societies ethics and norms regarding tolerance of sexuality and minorities, Forest has developed deepened bonds of masculinity and brotherhood during the perils and ravages of war, allowing him to conquer his inner demons and free himself to love.
In other words: Forest is playing bottom to a really hot, black, platoon sergeant. I STAY.
As is with life, is the universe of the adult bookstore: Feast or Famine. This night is feast, but as with most buffets, the more selection we are offered the pickier we become:
"Oh, um - Nah, I'll skip the Blond Surfer, had that for lunch. Do you have any Gym-Bunnies or Discipling Daddy types?"
A parade of "himbo's", some sheep, some wolves come through the entryway of my booth. I am giving a moment to prepare, adjusting the package, checking the stance and perfecting the "rough-trade" stare; each time forewarned by the knocking sound of the unfastened privacy rope. In some ways I run my small time version of the Hollywood premiere after all, but instead of Superstars and Supporting Actors, I'm given Gaffers and Audio Technicians (I would kill for a Best Grip - I don't even know what he does, but I really think I like the sound of it).
As the screen begins to flash, my last crisp dollar buys me only 60 seconds more; a new entrant comes upon the scene. Perhaps he would be a character actor - one without top billing - but notable after the movie. He wouldn't have many lines, but the ones he does are pivotal. He is "Movie-of-the-Week" handsome, Sunday Night, not Friday Night. Think Gregory Harrison: handsome, a little over 40, well built. Somehow like a pair of Kenneth Cole, black, square-toe, dress shoes that you have had for a couple of years - they still look good, but admit it - they've lost their luster. (Yes - I also know, if it is possible - I am going to hell for comparing men to shoes.)
In a bookstore, a bar at closing time or any place in Wisconsin, there is a phrase often used in describing your prospective choice to friends: "Good for Here". I don't waste time with a self-inflicted, psychological interrogation of the morals of right and wrong (22 year olds rarely do), instead I run through a well-rehearsed mental checklist:
- Am I Single? - check
- Am I Drunk? - check
- Am I Horny? - Sheep should be afraid
- Is he "Good for here"? - Oh Yeah!
Flashing lights, ringing bells, choirs sing, dogs bark - Jackpot, Baby, Jackpot!"
I take a deep sustained breath - I smile, THAT smile - and watch as his masculine, tan hands reach to undo his brown leather belt.
To Be Continued
Thursday, September 06, 2001
Crumpled, Dollar Bills - Episodes From My Youth : Part 1/ Part 2
A small, forest green plaque adhered with super glue to the entry of the video booth warns:
"No sexual conduct of any kind is permitted. One person per booth. Violaters will be asked to leave the premises - The Management".
The Bush and Clinton administration combined issued edicts more grounded in the truth and more certain to be followed through on than this banal threat. Since the plaque is eye-level and is afixed to not one, but to the entry way to every booth - my fellow vagabonds of the night are also aware of the rules. So it is with mob-mentality that we deliberately disregard these posted rules of acceptable behavior. For in a bookstore there are unspoken "rules of conduct" as in all sports, all board games and all horror movie trilogies:
- Do not speak, unless first spoken to. This is less courtesy then helpful to the mystique, some hot, rough trade guys - only look that way, open there mouth and your hanging with the gay version of "Screech" from 'Saved by the Bell'.
- Ask him if he's a cop, if he looks like one and says no ask him to just play along for fantasy sake. Woof!
- No chewing gum - what horrific blow job catastrophe could come from an over-eager, Doublemint-chewer turned sword-swallower in the dark.
- Never give your real name - sure your not Dirk Diggler, but hey this is your dollar bill, your booth - you're calling the shots.
- Never show the goods first. If his package looks like it was deliberately lost by Fed-ex then you'll be able to make a quicker exit.
- Keep your eye on the goal... and on your wallet.
Honestly, we have all come here hoping to break the posted rules and the third unposted rule we breathe, each time, only to ourselves:
I am never allowed to come back here again
This is usually spoken softly when we pull into the parking lot and then mumbled loudly as we exit the parking lot wiping here and there and "aw shit, how in the hell did it get on there!"
A pale bluish glow off the video screen affords the only light one finds in the booth (WARNING: This lighting often makes it possible to mistake a Tom Arnold for a Tom Cruise, it is safer to make decisions on conquests once your eyes have adjusted to the light). Images - sexual, erotic, disturbing and sometimes seemingly impossible, flicker from the screen - a pornographic strobe light giving way to your movements. "Forest Hump" ( Go Forest, Go!) plays on one screen, a soundtrack that would make the producers of 'Kojak' tap their shoes and well dialogue that leaves you reaching for the volume control - only to regret that it's already been touched (INSERT HERE: "Rule of Conduct" # 7 - Always carry a hankerchief or a roll of Bounty). A second screen offers previews of the other 1,185 channels of 'adult entertainment'. I feel vindicated with this buffet sampling of pornography as if I have hit double-coupons at the Piggly-Wiggly or stumbled upon a 2-4-1 at my favorite bar.
The floors never fail to make you shudder, elliciting a sound like masking tape pulled of shag carpet, with every step you take on the floor. A veteran knows to never, NEVER, retreive any item dropped to the floor. A dollar dropped becomes the priceless diamond around Rose's neck in the 'Titanic'; it, the neckless and some guy named Jack, are all forsaken once they disappear into the mysterious, murky darkness of the floor.
I settle into the seat, a bright orange, plastic scoop creaking with distress under me. As I fumble with my belt and pull down my zipper I curse the choice of confining briefs. Urges build, among them a terrible simple yearning for release. My mind vascillates between shame and want.
I grasp to remember the rosary - "Hey! I've heard them recite it in those 'Exorcist' movies".
I fall to my knees - OOOOOH SHIT, BAD MOVE! - in prayer.
Caught like a fly in a S&M flytrap, I struggle both physically and mentally to escape my sin.
"Our Father who aren't in Heaven, who sure as hell wouldn't be caught dead here. Please forgive my trespasses and forgive those who trespass upon me - unless it's that really, really hot frat boy in the hall in the snug grey tshirt with the faded Abercrombie & Fitch logo and cargo pants - he can trespass ALL OVER my sweet little ass...uh, never mind - just please forgive me and unstick me from this floor and I promise I will never, NEVER come here again (is this being tape recorded?)"
A confused passer-by mistakes my position to be an invitation and finds me unwelcome, unfriendly, embarrassed and quite filthy.
To Be Continued.
Wednesday, September 05, 2001
Crumpled, Dollar Bills - Episodes From My Youth
WHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRR! Whiiiiirrrrr!! WhhhhhhhhhhiiiiiiRRRRRRR!
In a bookstore (of the non-Borders, Barnes & Noble and B.Dalton respectable variety) a crumpled dollar bill is a terribly inopportune and frustrating thing indeed. For those envisioning neatly ordered rows of bestsellers, self-help books and coffee table free-weights ("Why - YES - I do find Ecudorian Animal Mating Habits fascinating, but a 75lb Copenhagen oak table isn't meant to hold up a 200lb coffee-table book") organized helpfully (yet not thoughtfully) for Stepford-esque Housewives who rampage through suburbia aided by Prozac and a disbelief of 25MPH restrictions on their shiny, leased SUV's, the piped in Muzak meant to resemble Enya (or more likely, modern day Enya meant to resemble piped in Muzak) and icy cappuchino's - slick with condensation prepared by disgruntled, disinterested, verbally disembowled teenage boys with multi-colored hair ("shaved here, yet oh, not there, thank you") waiting to be discovered and praised for their artistic genius; "Is that merely froth accenting my Latte or a mindnumbing work of Degas ?"
If you are envisioning this, don't, I'm not speaking of those places.
Instead, close your eyes, loosen your belts and picture something dirtier, seedier and honestly - undeniably, more arousing to most. Parking lots full at the witching hour (130AM bar closing time in most states - "I don't care where you go, but your not staying here" still ringing in my ears), hallways darkened enough to hide but with subtle, unflattering splashes of light - invariably red, sometimes blue -disclosing faces, bodies, the scurrying of the shamed or the bravado of those too drunk to care. Men linger, more shadow then real and less real then the air they breathe: stuffy, used, stale and spent. Here they are not searching for Grisham, Updike, Irving or Sedaris, but "Stealth-mode" cruisers seeking companionship and solace in the hands of a ten-minute friend with the aide of a few, crisp dollar bills. In the place of the music of Enya, is a symphony of sounds of the red light district, an orchestra of moans with an accompaniment of zippers (down, then up - for some: REPEAT) and of course the whirring of dollars finding their new home). Nightly the twenty-year-old stained, trampled-on and matted-down carpet surrenders and becomes an ashtray, a repository for things unsaid, undone, under foot - condom wrappers mingle with cigarette butt's, forsaken phone numbers linger - crumpled up used to dispense of chewed gum, and splatters of jizz, cum, spunk - dropped, shot and freed, plays havoc - impersonating tell-tale land mines carried away on the perpertrators shoe. The hallways appear to bow under the weight of it's visitors. Each carrying the burden of fear, apprehension, lust, want, need, hope and desire as if they were each a stick - tied neatly in bundles and slung over each man's shoulder.
The adult bookstore is a perverse playground of funhouse mirrors - devilishly entertaining, offering distorted glimpses of who we could be at certain moments.
"Whadd'Ya into Slugger??", hoarsley whispers one-passerby, a garage mechanic maybe - grit still beneath his nails, perhaps a high school football coach - still wearing recent victory on his brow, but more likely an accountant at Boring, Bored and Tiresome, Inc. - trying to forget the wife and kids at home.
I wish the younger one leaning against the wall, curious, embarassed (making him all the cuter) and strong (making him all the more desirable prey) would follow, yet it's the others - out from the red-laced shadows who wish to play "Tag" to your "It". Oh to be a young, Drew Barrymore in "Firestarter" and just implode these trolls in flames. Stare-Glare-Zap-Poof! Hah! Your a burnt marshmellow in the shape of a troll.
I select a booth, head swimming, crotch throbbing and fall prey to the wait...anxiously ironing out crumpled dollar bills with the heat of my hand.
To Be Continued
Tuesday, September 04, 2001
Surely he had confused me with someone else. Although I had regularly petitioned for a brand-name vacuum cleaner, I'd never said anything about wanting a guitar.
excerpt from Some Day I Talk Pretty, by David Sedaris
Monday, September 03, 2001
Each Thursday at 1pm (following a well-balanced lunch of the color brown, green and white - served warm and red served cold and jiggling), my tiny 3"9', 58lbs frame could be found, but almost not seen, rushing down the hallways. My sweet-faced, melon-sized head (accentuated with a chestnut brown mop of hair with bangs that looked like string cheese and spent most of their time encaging my big, brown eyes like jail cell bars) often full of thoughts of Hardy Boys adventures and Evil Kenevil heroics. I would rapidly shuffle my perpetually untied Buster Browns down the stuffy, overheated - "class-is-in-session-better-have-a-hall-pass" halls with the shamelessly painted, orange glazed concrete floors and posters screaming "Reading is D-Y-N-A-M-I-T-E!".
My destination: Speech Therapy
From age seven to my early and tortureous years of junior high school, I was cursed with a rapidly running mouth, a nasal-garrish-Philadelphian accent and "a lisp". Each attribute difficult to take at face value, unless your with the tour company for "RENT", but far more horrific grouped clumsily together
Weekly lessons, diligent practice and constant pressing of my tongue to the back of my front teeth when I was reciting, "She sells seashells by the seashore" (ala Cindy Brady without the curls and well only "half" the sass) didn't offer nearly half the encouragement to improve, that bullying and put-downs from boys with names like "Rusty" and "Pepper" during 7th grade gym glass (an oddly homo-erotic and homo-phobic institution for pubescent humiliation if ever there was one) brought forth in me
My parents were always so proud at how quickly I overcame my lisp once I reached Jr. High school - reasoning that the timing with puberty must be more than coincidence - and be credited for the transformation. I weakly smiled and often retreated to my boyhood bedroom and practiced words like "Stop saying that Stupid Shitheads" and rubbed my scraped knee or bruised arm, like a genie's latern for good luck.
This is all came to mind the other day when the drunken straight guy at dinner seemed so amazed and admiring of my bruiser physique, quick wit and rough exterior...maybe I let myself down by not telling him how I earned it, maybe I should have just smiled and not let it matter, but somewhere in the back of my head - hidden behind years of forgetting, I heard a kind little boys soprano voice chirping - lisping - "thhhhee thhheelllssssthh thhhheashellssthhh by the thhheashore".
Saturday, September 01, 2001
Things I learned about myself tonight hanging out at a really pretentious staight (but love to hang with fags) bar:
- That I will forever spend my life being told I am the straightest/butchest/gay the only straight guy at the table has ever
met and really wants to join his lacrosse team.
- That I totally remind someone of someone, but they just can't put their finger on it.
- That I flirt unabashedly, unashamedly and unendingly and it really is confusing to the guy with a 1 hour hard-on when I say I have a boyfriend and I only sleep with him.
- Bigger hair on a chick - no matter how tall - does not make them closer to God.
- I love my boyfriend more in everyday life, then in fantasy - he shines so, so much brighter in bleak light of day.
- I am the most gutteral and foul-mouthed fag you ever met - which is probably why I get alot of comments like number #1.
- Insecure friends who spend the entire night worrying that you like your other friends more - really end up fulfilling thier own prohecy with you liking your other friends more.
- Asking another couple (who you think isreally, really cool) to go on a doubledate is embarrassing and immediately returns you to "GO" in the board life of , well, Life.
Friday, August 31, 2001
Wednesday, August 29, 2001
Jonno innocently asked (can Jonno really do ANYTHING innocently??) me, "How will you determine the pecking order of the peckers?"
Well, I can't decide. Length first, then girth, or vice-versa?...should cut and uncut be subcategories? Will fellow Bloggers be honest? Will I need to demand photo's (oh please let me DEMAND photo's). And what of the great debate over showers vs. growers (seriously I always considered myself to be in the later, until the great debate over the "angel" picture and the suspected "squirrel" nesting in my cargo pants) - is that yet another sub-category?
Uh - What??? - there's some sort of sinking noise - WOOOOOOSHHHHHH!!!!!!!!, oh Shit! My blog really has sunk this low to have material hasn't it?
I am my complete sense of shame - I'm outta here.
Tuesday, August 28, 2001
- For most accurate and stereotyping keyword phrase: LIL HORNY BITCH
- For somehow most poetic and surreal: SIX DEGREE'S OF SEPERATION
- For most "WhatInTheBlazesAreYouSearchingForShitLikeThisYouFuckingFreak?": TEENAGE GIRLS AND PERIODS
Whew! Now didn't that just beat the pants off of last years Emmy's (Personal Note: I was wearing a spectacular Mackie gown during the reading of the winners, but do to an unfortunate incident with me scratching my panty-less, crotch the scene was censored by the National Broadcasting Association For Decency In Blogging and E-Entertainment's Fashion Emergency)
I am greatly amiss (am I making up the spellings of words again?) in mentioning that on Friday I actually was graced with the honor of hearing the voice of my "If-I-Wasn't-Happily-Married-And-Your-Husband-Wasn't-So-Much-Better-Looking-Then-Me-I-Would-Make-You-My-Personal-Hump-Back-Whale" favorite blogger: Jonno. He sounded as sexy, smart and cute as I would have ever imagined - felt like I was hopping on the phone with someone I had been chatting with everyday for years.
Monday, August 27, 2001
OR I was suffering from a vicious concussion from kicking myself in the head for wasting an hour of my life watching John Carpenter's "Ghosts of Mars" - needing to be renamed "Space Lesbians VS. Alice Cooper Wannabe's of Mars" (it would have been more than an hour - but I only stayed that long because I wanted to finish my Red Vines)
OR maybe I was just still reeling from my coffee-talk with Chris, but either way I have somehow missed the chance to blog the last few days.
BTW - Chris was great, he makes you want to open-up a six-pack and watch "Mystery Science Theater 2000" - he's the type of cute, cool guy who doesn't put on airs and doesn't expect any of you (he even made more sense than both the movies combined).
The rest of the weekend I found myself ending up at the same local bar three nights in a row - diversity be dead, my friends here love the familiar!
On my job quest today, so I need to focus my thoughts elsewhere - I swear to be more entertaining (or something) next time....
Thursday, August 23, 2001
Tuesday, August 21, 2001
Monday, August 20, 2001
Bad Moment: Running into old friends of my boyfriend's when visiting him at his bartenders gig on Friday night and realizing that all six of us have been laid off from our jobs in the past month to 6 months (and the 6 monthers are STILL unemployed and we all seem to be applying for the same jobs)
Great Moment: Sitting in row 12, seat 13 - behind home plate at the DBacks vs Cubs game on Saturday night for one of the most exciting games I've ever attending.
Bad Moment: The skill it took for that daredevil pigeon to find and target the guy sitting in row 12, seat 13 - behind home plate at the DBacks vs. Cubs game....during the bottom of the 8th.
Great Moment: Running into my best friend from high school at Charlies on Saturday Night.
Bad Moment: Realizing that you are running into your best friend from high school (who you haven't see in 14 years) and your sooooo drunk from 4 bomber-sized Samuel Adams at the DBacks ball game, 3 "way-to-easy-to-ingest" Mandarin&Tonics at Roscoes and you have just made the inebriated decision to walk around the bar with your shirt off because you and the AB Roller have been very intimate these days.
Great Moment: My boyfriend "being in the mood" all weekend.
Bad Moment: Being oblivious to the fact that my boyfriend was "in the mood" because I passed out as soon as my drunk, shirtless, bird-pooped-on-ass, crawled into bed Saturday night.
Friday, August 17, 2001
Am I the only one whose confused? Doesn't Johnny Cochrane normally "defend" the Shark?? I can't find a damn link for it, but Tuesday morning on CNN, they interviewed Cochrane who has been retained to defend the man who was attacked at the resort and his wife claims wasn't aided by the lifeguards. My thoughts are with the lifeguards - "I'm not going in the water and playing fish bait" - SMART MOVE BOYS, you'll never make the BayWatch auditions without a leg, of course I would be more nervous about waving any of my remaining limbs in front of Cochrane.
Tuesday, August 14, 2001
Lucky and I were more digustingly in love by the end of the weekend. At one point while dancing at Detour (Hamburger Mary's/Kickers Sunday Tea Dance) I just sat on the edge of the dance floor and discreetly watched my boy doing his thing on the dance floor - a hot, buff little vixen came up to strike up conversation and I smiled and informed him I was kinda busy checking out my boyfriend - he turned to me and said "well if he's your boyfriend why aren't you out there dancing with him?" - "Because", I said "Sometimes you just have to take a few steps back to see what ya really got"...not sure he got it, or I was just rolling, but wow, what a moment.
Anyway - todays D-Day B-day - the big 32. I'm gonna go get all the pics from the weekend developed, hit the gym, get some sun, lunch with my folks, Lucky set me up for a massage this afternoon, then dinner and drinks with my boy and then maybe hit Roscoes. Nothing fancy, no fan fare, no hoopla - I MUST be getting older. ;)
Thursday, August 09, 2001
Tuesday, August 07, 2001
But hey - that's sophisticated mumbo jumbo for another day - today let's take a look at "The Softer Side of Sears, oops - I mean Cloning". Imagine the fun possibilities that cloning ourselves, our friends and favorite celebrities offer's us:
- You could have the age-old "It's not you, it's me" conversation for hours with your clone.
- Be on first name terms with cloning celeb's like Dolly the Sheep and George Bush (before arguing that he's not a clone - think twice about it)
- Finally the truth is known, am I as good in the sack as I think I am??
- No more "Entertainment Tonight" segments on will Katie Couric move to another morning show - she'll be on ALL the morning show's, Katie clones EVERYWHERE.
- "One-of-a-Kind" outfits ????!!!!! Forgettaboutit !!!! Your dressing for 2, 3, 4, maybe 8 now!
- No more boring dinner's with the In-Laws, meetings with the boss, conversations with your boyfriend (just kidding honey!), let your clone pick-up the slack.
- Let's really fuck with the census people!
No matter how you slice it (ba-dum-bum) cloning is fun for everyone!!
(The views expressed on this web site and within this blog are not supported by anyone even the person making them. This blog will self destruct in 30 seconds...
1....2....3...4....5....6....7...8....9....10....for god's sake go SAFE yourself !)
Monday, August 06, 2001
First Jonno, Now Blogstalker.
Bloggus Interruptus, Writer's Block, Artistic Apathy....what's going on in Blogville ???
Do we suddenly get tired of trying to be interesting?
Do we suddenly feel tied and bound to our computers and our blogs?
Is the summer heat just too much ?? ("it is too hot to blog, we must fuck now" - you need to have seen "Body Heat" to get this attempt at wit)
Or is it something far more insidious (like the Bush administration) ?
Seeing that I spaced on blogging for the last 6 days I know I'm starting to sail in the same boat (but what sexy shipmates I have) so for all involved I have decided to make a list of possible blog subjects to blog on:
- "Blogville Death Matches" . Much like "Celebrity Death Matches" we begin to pair bloggers of different belief's and ideoligies to spar in a cage (ala "Mad Max and the Thunderdome"). Right now I am scouring web sites looking for a Black-haired, White-faced Goth Master into Marilyn Manson to get a Broadway Musical-sized ass-whooping from the lovable Mermaniac
- "Love Life Inventory". We've inventoried our fridges, bathroom cabinets and wardrobes, how 'bout our love lifes? Write a chronological tell-all blog detailing the crushes, the CRUSHES, the flirtations, the loves, the losses and the "if I ever see that bastard in a dark alley even the rats will run scared" 's. Please supply full names, mailing addresses, photographs and any embarrassing answering machine messages....we, uh need these for, uh, um - references.
- "Pick the Missing DC Intern". Sleuthing after the fact is fun, but pulllllllleeeeeeezzzzeee, let's get in the game and pick the intern "before" her DCA sleaze-bag, pretty-boy, politician boss has her knocked off by his psycho brother (I mean not like it happened that way). Qualities to look for: Unique/Confusing first name, "Glamour Shots" taking at the mall, enjoys affairs with older, married men.
- "Role Reversal". Well sure pretty much all of us in this reader's circle are gay (We're FABULOUS!) but how would the point of views of our web sites change if we were straight - I mean I'm sure if I was straight I would be obsessed with sex, always cracking witty/smart ass commentary at life at large, be unemployed and working out every day...oh, uh, aw shit - same Blog, never mind!
- "Confuse an UnAccompanied Minor". Actually this is more or less the theme for a new FOX reality show I'm pitching where we take innocent, frightened, unaccompianed minors and then place them on major airlines and make them feel like luggage (you think your gonna end up WHERE ??? buhahahahahahahahaaha!!). The show will incorporate great close-ups of the little cherub's faces as we put them on a coast-to-coast connecting flight from ATL-ORD-DEN-PHX-SFO, whoooooo - non-stop laughs - I'm tearing up as I write.
Tuesday, July 31, 2001
So I'm 68% gay...but the typical Gay Male is only 51% gay - WHAT??? So I'm 17% more gay then the average gay guy taking this test - and on the world wide average of 68K respondants I was 29% more gay - UH?
Ok, I like to be an overachiever but have always secretly relished my title as one of those guys you weren't quite sure would punch ya or fuck ya if you hit on him. A couple of my buddies have some name they have created for me, something like the "rough-trade deceiver" - but now the truth is out, I'm not "all man", but a "big girl". ;)
I know it's the sex questions that did me in.
- First Kiss with a guy: 12
- Came Out: 16
- Number of Men I've Slept with: !@#$$ (uh, not telling - I was a horny lil shit before marriage)
- Group Sex: Yes, please (oops - I mean yeah I tried it)
Oh well I've lived the lie, I'm moving "gayly" forward - wish me luck.
Monday, July 30, 2001
Oh - I am in a much, much better mood today thanks to a wonderful weekend with the boyfriend (Sex, Beer, Friends and cathartic talks)
Congrats to Bill/ Mermaniac on his 24 hour Blogging-polloza and inspiration of nudity all over the world!
Friday, July 27, 2001
Thursday, July 26, 2001
I hate being an emotional roller-coaster - rickety-crick-creak, rickety-crick-creak as the rusty red rollercoaster car climbs the first incline, the wheels grasping weakly - desperately to the rails
(the boyfriend leaves for work - the roomate leaves for work, it's me and the cats again - I feel like a mother seeing her kids off to school then turning to face an empty & lonely house - no remnants of feeling of "home" remain. Fuck the gym today I think - I'm just not in the mood, I start the laundry, make the bed, do the dishes *naked if that makes it less boring*, when all is done I notice how the quiet floods in from every corner - the tv snaps on with the press of my thumb - angry teenage girls - from periods to prostitution - shit, not in the mood for this...gym clothes go on and I'm out the door)
- rickety-creak-crick-clap, rickety-crick-creak the rollercoaster car halts, stalls, then lunges down the hill of iron and wood, the wheels scream - "I can hold on" and metal slips on metal, as sparks dance
(I get to the gym, I hit the bike and pound my legs, sweath pours forth, a "by chance" conversation with an old friend spotted while we crunch against inflatable balls. I tell him my story and he offers words that are chosen and wise - I believe they call it "advice". I feel exhilirated, I feel bold, I want to race back into the day.)
- clap-grip-clap-steel, rickety-crick-creak the rollercoaster car grabs hold and shakes the steel, pulling up the tracks, grunt-grunt-grunt.
(A call placed to my old employer. The fake motherly bitch from HR - "Oh so good to hear from me, oh how am I, oh how they miss me" - what?? "Oh no dear we haven't got your final check, Oh no we weren't doing that to the end of the month, Oh you know things are tough here at the agency to, Oh I don't think we owe you for that much vacation time". My blood boils, my eyes could bore holes. The boyfriend calls - I want to be understood - I want to be heard - I want some sweetness - his timing is bad - not his fault. )
- wooooooooooosh, the rollercoaster trembles-jerks-flails as it tears down the rails - the sparks, turn to flames. The rollercoaster is on fire.
Wednesday, July 25, 2001
So Lucky's at school and the roomate is MIA or BOMC (Back of Milk Carton), perhaps I'll add him to my new take off on "www.amihotornot.com" that I've been talking about in the side bars, called: http://www.amimissingornot.com
I'm bored, really bored. I could read. I could call friends. I've already jerked off twice. I just - aw shit, here comes that seizure again....
I was never this lazy, I just don't feel like being holed up in the house by myself, and well, a year has passed - it's not like there is anyone I can just call up and say "Hey - you wanna go have coffee with me and discuss, well - me". I'm looking for a break-through conversation, a slap my ass and call me sonny epithany, a lightbulb that bursts above my head and showers sparks deep into my soul, anyone got the time - the right words - a strong spanking hand ???
Tuesday, July 24, 2001
Perhaps it's how we are raised, or even more so, maybe it's who we "chose" to be in later life - but I find my move back to be an interesting lesson in etiquette and behavior.
Why do people who know me socially feel a need to comment on my move back to AZ with such clever statements as "Why would you do something so stupid?", why do people neglect to celebrate with my boyfriend and I the very significant and life changing decision to move in together (I deem it as extremely important and not an everyday occurence - I mean I would have gotten a friend in this situation a card to celebrate this big step in their life with the person they loved) and why do people strike a coorelation between "unemployed" and "free time". I feel busier than ever, try looking for a job in today's economy and see how much of your time it absorbs (add on to that packing up and moving 2,000 miles then moving in and there's no time left) - but I have had several people ask me - "Well what do you do all day??"
In light of this I am beginning the list of the follow prepared responses:
Saturday, July 21, 2001
I need to learn to curb my jealousy - I felt the green-eyed monster creep up on numerous occassions when guys would approach my boyfriend - who knew him in my absence (some "knew" him way too well for my taste but we both agreed an open relationship was the only way to manage the 2000 mile distance) - it's just so frigging hard to come face-to-face with these people and see that feeling of intimacy or "knowing" them seemed to have of the man who is the love of my life, my everything. I know it's just sex, I'm more secure with myself then this but man did I start feeling like just crawling inside myself and turning off the lights.
Topping the overwhelming queasy sensation was running into my boyfriends ex. When you just move in with someone - the last thing you want a reminder of is the last person they lived with. My normal selfless/sadomasochistic side made me encourage my boyfriend to be friendly and speak to his ex, of course then I felt myself closing up as I just stood there watching them talk and thought "Shit, don't let us become that - please I never want to use the word ex-boyfriend again".
I hate this side of myself - "Do I look fat in this Blog??" I hate being insecure, wondering what the other guys thoughts are, worrying my boyfriend may not have completely sowed his oats, worrying that I may not be enough...it's natural, it will pass - right?
I need some time to settle in here, get my bearings straight, I feel like I'm at a party and I don't know the host - ya know where you keep going up to everyone at the party being overly nice because your worried you'll accidently be rude to the person whose house your in, walking on eggshells...I hope I figure out whose holding this shing-ding soon.