It's good to report that I've been feeling great.

I truly feel like I just finished a book and now I'm ready for another, more challenging, more exciting, sexier, funnier, romantic, powerful, life-affirming book.

The second half of my life has truly just started.

Booked my tickets for Halloween in Australia. Doing the great barrier reef and the rain forest in Caryns and then a week of slutting and partying in Sydney - totally something great and not to far off to look forward to.

Great work-out tonight capped off by putting the top down on the convertible - which with the heat I haven't bothered to do in months - but hey, it felt terrific.

House guests.
Muddy Dogs.
Hangover.
Red eyes.
Black coffee.
Breakfast is ready, but I'm dying to go back to bed.

...drove back in safely from Palm Springs yesterday and back in to the maddening clutches of the business and a hectic-life-as-usual/unusual. A huge monsoon played havoc with Phoenix last night and my yard calls out to the three neglected hounds - "bath in me, roll in me, roll to the back door and then through - there is a carpet calling your names", I finally gave in and resolved to tear out every inch of carpet in my home and lay tile and wood floors before the winter.

So as for the anniversary of HERO's death, my 35th birthday and my trip to Palm Springs - I guess everything was better/worse and worse/better in varying degrees at different and vascilating moments. The weather was horrible. Palm Springs had it's own difficulty with monsoons for the first two days, the days I most need to be out-of-my-own-mind...I did my best, watched movies in the hotel room, reading half-heartedly staring out the casita window at the dark skies and empty pool. I ended up staying Sunday night since it was the first day that afforded me a day to get the much needed sun and pool time that I had been planning on.

In a way it had been perfect, I wasn't entirely ready to just lay around laughing and pretending every was ok. When I returned though there was a difference, it seemd like ages had past since I had been home; those things that were haunting me when I left HERO, my birthday, work - they all seemd so long ago, so in the past. I traded a couple of blow-jobs in PS, met my share of off-the-wall locals - my wounded energy pulling the wrongs ones closer to me and probably shutting off the ones I would have rather met. In the end, it was good I went away - not for the trip itself but maybe for the distance and the physical space added to the mental process I was working thru.

I did one thing with my entry of the 13th I don't ever do - I forwarded it's contents to family and closest friends.

What I say here, stays here. In many ways, mainly because I choose not to speak to people about such incredibly personal things - maybe it seems to reader that I have pondered endlessly and spoken of nothing else but HERO's death, when in reality - it's only here that I lay it all, raw and exposed. The family I come from loves each other - but pain and anger aren't expressed - they are held tightly to the chest and casual jokes and celerity gossip is offered instead.

After receiving my email, my brother two years my senior wrote me this, simple note:


Thank you for being the person, and the man you have become. Thanks for sharing even a little part of the difficult last year with me.

Let tomorrow be a wonderful new start, to a wonderful new year for you.

Happy birthday brother

A world of little hurts, can be dulled hearing words like that where love and compassion are not easily shared.

I decided not to the post of second half of the "Ghost" entry, maybe I know enough of the last two months to not air the details.

Another monsoon hitting tonight and some close friends are taking me out for dinner and drinks - the 35th year begins.

Thanks for birthday wishes and all, really.

So here it is, and here am I

The one year mark.

I awoke and even then it wasn't real, I went to the spot where I found you and I sat down - alone and naked - and waited.

Did I expect your return?

Did I think there would be ghostly vengeance ?

No, probably neither.

I've been living in shadows for months, knowing that this day had to come.

Imitating your ghost, by becoming one myself.

I offered my apologies for the last words I said before I closed my door, for my part in your life that may have lead you to this path, for the ways I loved you and the ways I din't love you enough, for all the pain that others had brought down upon you.

I spoke your name finally - Kyle...

I held the air and wished it was you.

One year later.

This really happened, didn't it?

The horror. The despair. The darkest of my days and the lonliest of my nights.

I miss you terribly, I look for you - standing on the street corner, about to wave - your smile broadening, your eyes so crisp and blue, a chuckle and the gentle rising of your shoulders , then your hearty, delightful laugh...the way you spoke my name...

One year later, I need you to let me move on.

One year later, I need to give myself a chance to move on...

One year later, I can't cry anymore.

You will always be loved, you will always be reflected in my expressions, you will always be in my life, you will never be forgotten......

but please, let me - let you - go.

I'm still here - hurting, breathing, crying, trying, hoping, dreaming and I may have
30, 40, 50, 60 years left in me, I can't have them be like the last year that I have lived through. I have pained my family, friends and even passers-by.

I want the next - many years - to shine with love
and rain down on me with happiness...

I want to believe that the first 35 years were where I lived thru my pain and that now I have reached the other side, where the next 35 years are where I live through my love.

Goin up to the mountains to see John Kerry speak on his "whistle-stop" tour of America tonight.

If you haven't seen it - see "A Home at the End of The World", my fucking god - who knew that Colin Firth could act - and be so damn lovable and beautiful while doing it - I'm a pig so I'll be rushing to the movie store when it's DVD version is released so I can freeze-frame the much talked about (and edited) dick shot that had woman swooning - hey I nearly passed out just watching him kiss a man.

Swoon.

GHOST

If a house can be haunted, can I ?

So begins the story of the last two months of the year of living dangerously. Though I guess knowing a bit about the months that lead up to them is required.

I've been raked over the coals for being to depressing, too real, self-destructive, indulgent and well - I guess I should warn you, the following passage is no different - so change the channel if it bothers you (I'm sure "Everybody Loves Raymond" is on in someone's time zone.)

Hell isn't what you go thru. It's not the dead body, or the riga-mortis, or the tongue he bit off choking down the carbon monixide. It's not the blood and the vomit and the shit - it's not the moment you sit there cradling him, despite the forementioned; it's not your screams, it's not your tears, it's not the funeral and the looks and having his best friends blame his death on you, it's not telling your parents or your boss, it's not the way your neighbors stare at you, it's not the hours of therapy or the medication, it's not those akward social moments where you explain - "he's not with you because he's dead", it's not the night terrors and the sleepless nights, it's not packing up his belonging - his life - in a box...

Hell is the aftermath.

Hell is every moment from that day after.

The silence. Worse - a noise at 3am.
The unspoken things. Worse - the things people try to say.
The days. Worse - the nights, the dark, lonely nights.
The crying. Worse - not being able to cry anymore.

So this was the first few months.

The terrible firsts.

The first time I slept in my house again, the first time I read his love letters, the first time I heard another speak his name, the first time I talked about it, the first time I kissed a boy, the first time I slept with a boy.

All these moments left me in tears.

Yet - you do move on and you do laugh again. I remember what guilt I felt the first time I really, really had fun - I felt like I didn't deserve to have fun - I shouldn't be seen having fun. We think fucked up things when we are grieving.

I hid out, did lots and lots of drugs, drank lots and lots of Vodka.

Then the medication started to work it's magic - I started to feel lighter.

I could walk in to a room of people and I wasn't short of breath. I started to chuckle lightly and feel horny, and remembered how much I wanted to live. Boys started to ask me out, I sucked dick and fucked ass.

Something was missing though - a sentence without punctuation, a car without wheels - it felt incomplete. When I held another in my arms - I wasn't trying to connect to them - I was trying to press HERO into them - to hear them speak words that I could find absolution in. I behaved cruely - if I couldn't see an apology on their lips I condemned them - highlighted their flaws and pinpointed their faults. I'm not proud of this - I'm ashamed, deeply.

I pulled back from the drugs after a scare with my heart that sent me back to the Arizona Heart Institute. I'm killing myself I thought. The holidays were nightmarish - hours lost, always covering up for where I had been or what I had been doing. Being single was working out for me though - it made it easier to be high for days on end without interference.

I pushed away boy, after boy, after boy.

I began to push away friends.

Then came a sort of calm in the storm, I felt like my head was clearing. I worked hard, I stopped doing drugs, I eased off on going to bars, I worked out and read and played with my dogs. I met a man with blond hair and blue eyes. I seduced him. I swept him off his feet. It seemed great, until it began to go very, very wrong. My friends made comments sparringly about his jealousy and outbursts, at least at first. But the more I gave, the less I was getting and the more he wanted his control. I ended it, but unfortunately left the door cracked open - an opening made through lust, lonliness and fear. He came through that opening and betrayed me - making a key to my home without my permission, sleeping in my home when I was out of town - and then the final - the ultimate sin - he read this blog.

There were other things that brought me back to where I had been the year before - but it was these betrayals in my very own home by someone I cared for - that brought HERO back to the flesh and that's when the nightmares began. Hideous, cruel, painful nightmares. There was always a common element - death. The second element was always - guilt, my guilt - people who loved me would die. It was absurd and stupid - I know this, but at three AM, my heart and pulse racing ahead of me - my bed soaked from night-sweats - they felt real to me. Naked, alone - halfway down the hall - they felt, oh so fucking real - and I was screaming, again - that scream.

I can't just bust out the last two months in an entry - I need a breather - and I'll try to get the rest out of my system tomorrow night. Sorry - I'm doing this on my rules.

One man, three dirty dogs and a bath tub.

Exhausted.

I need to sit down and write - there is so much to write, but it deserves it's moment and I want to express all that's been going on in my life and my head accurately.

One day I will re-read these words and that is the greatest purpose of my writing - as powerful as the ability to connect with others over like experiences, dreams and pain; so I can look back and understood who I was and what I was going thru at the time.

I'll be 35 in eleven days, I'll drive out to Palm Springs, lay by a pool, read, maybe have some dirty sex - and heal. Friday the 13th is the anniversary of HERO's suicide - how friggin appropo, I can't be in my house on the day at 5:45am...but I hit my low last week - a dirty, humiliating, dark, empty low and it made me furious - absolutely fucking crazed - I will not be controlled - by drugs, booze, depression, or myself.

At that moment I decided enough was enough - I had to purge myself of everything. I called my ex-therapist and asked him to help me to put an end to this - to redirect me, remind me that I have a future before I ended up dead.

So I want to write an entry that does the past two weeks justice - that is gritty and real and fucked up and probably will scare the shit out of my readers - just know the reason; I need to read that entry a year from now, when I'm in love and healthy and feel joy again - and here on this blog I'll see how bad things can get and it will be a high for me to know how far I've climbed out of this abyss.

I went - and it was good.

Very, very good.

C and I laughed and traded barbs - I can't believe how fucking pale I've become - a ghost of my former self in many ways I guess. I decided not to weigh myself - I really don't want to know, I'll do it in four weeks. We're gonna go again on Saturday - C's making a pact with me to get back 4 days a week. Take it easy - make it fun - just get back to where I used to be.

I can't just get back the body I had.
I can't wish I would stop hurting over HERO's death.
I can't keep beating the mental shit out of myself.
I can't dread the rest of my life,
I can't keep all of this in to make my friends more comfortable.
I can't change my past.

I'm glad I felt a bit myself tonight, it was a good feeling.

alrighty - news alert - after a self-imposed, body-neglecting hiatus - I'm starting back to the gym tonight; it doesn't take Mr. Science to figure out that blowing off the gym for two months and investing that time in boozing, crap food etc. haven't done wonders for my morale or gotten me through this emotional rough period - at first I told myself that the aspect of replacing gym time with reading time would mean I was making a greater effort to enhance the inner me, but alas my inner-n-outer me are pretty much connected so if I look like I shit - I feel like shit. Ideally I just need to connect the two - start reading while I run at the gym (just hurts my brain)and feel like I'm feeding both beasts....and no Donald, no pictures will be posted til I, er - regain my girlish figure.

...sometimes I shut down for a little while - hold up on my couch with a varsity bumper up my nose and some Vodka in my belly and stop interacting, with this blog, my family, my friends...and in all viens I am plagued by the same feeling - talking about the pain - shuts people out.
 
But then there I sit, many layers deep in a K-hole, drunk and too messy to answer the phone - and the phone rings - and rings unanswered.
 
So here is how those states come about.
 
Lately I keep waking - usually around 4am, but then lately even earlier, no matter what a stupor I drink myself into - the curious dark stirs around me and I'm awake. Sometimes I feel like he's there sitting at the edge of the bed - sometimes closer - "don't wake him, let me watch him sleep", he says.
 
So Wednesday night, I avoided friends, the gym, I drank, weaved my way to the Jack-In-The box and ate food that reminded me of being 19. I slept - my three retrievers surrounding me - I slept not next to them - but amongst them - part of the litter, the runt, the one who may not survive.

There was a nightmare - there is almost always a nightmare - the last guy I slept with on an on going basis told me who the screams would wake him in the middle of the night.
 
In the dream I was at a party in a beautiful, skyrise penthouse, my brother - still younger than his impending marriage, still 40 lbs away from giving in, attending with me - we brought our beloved nephew - a mere baby boy would had just learned to walk.

In the dream - the party switched unexpectedly from a cocktail party to leather - my brother was charming men near the wall on the penthouse floor - he let my nephew perform acrobats on the railing - in the dream I ran to the wall screaming and screaming to my brother "Get him away from the wall!", my brother startled turned and his arms sent my nephew flying outwards - grasping at empty, night air and then falling and falling in to an nighttime abyss...I screamed and cried - "Oh my GOD - OH MY GOD !!" - my brother and others turned and looked at me - "Look what you've done - YOU, YOU'VE KILLED him", the guilt swelled, yet I knew I couldn't be responsible for this - "...but, I did nothing I stammered!?", my brother screamed, "You saw what you did, you know this is YOUR fault!!". I cried and the guilt filled me - I need to die - I'm cursed - I ran for the wall and stoped short grabbing the edge - I don't want to die yet, I thought - I'm not ready.
 
I awoke - my breathing harried, heart racing, tears spilling on to my  pillow - I killed him, I cried - this is all my fault, but I'm not ready to die.
 
I paced up and down my hallway - I wasn't stupid, it was all starting again - the guilt, the blame 0 I grabbed a dvd and pulled all my pillows around me - and with bumper at hand sailed far away and felt peaceful again.

Ok - a few too many people didn't read the last post close enough to realize that pic is me LAST year....I'm not EVEN gonna show you a pic of the new fat tummy! Anyway - Its this great excuse to constantly issue statements - "Ya know my age and my waist line have been in synch since my late twenties and now that I'm about to hit my mid-thirties - not so sure I like the evolving scale"

We had our first monsoon blow through last night - I have three words for your this morning:

Filthy Muddy Dogs

Ugh...guess my dinner plans tonite will be followed by three dirty dogs, naked me, Lavender Shampoo and a much needed bath.

I'm one of those dumb shmucks who admits all his faults (like I would rip Augusten Burroughs out of rehab and stuff my cock down his throat - AND THEN tell him maybe I'm not good enough for him)...

This is the pic I put on Gay-waste-alot-of-my-friggin-time.com and well yeah the torso was looking pretty sweet - but as a college "reality" major - the tummy is well a little more bearish. A lot of boozing, fast food, comfort food and for the first time in my entire life - a complete lack of working out - well I look like a pretty straight guy - 'cept the pretty and definately except the straight.

Maybe the Keebler Elves will want to bone me...

So as mentioned by the biggest reason to be a top, I kinda double-posted the last entry - alright, ALRIGHT I was a little shook up, I mean first the gray chest hairs, then the NY Post makes a mistake and the one of the Olsen twins falls from grace - it's been a hard week!

So I went for sissy, fancy drinks at a high end straight bar with my best friend from Arizona who pointed out a few things to me:

• I become incredibly distant when I'm hurting
  
• That I'm lousy at returning phone calls
  
• Money has become my only motivator
  

To this I thought - well shit - nothing makes me happier than ignoring close friends and buying pretty things..ok, I'm joking (well except for when I'm butin Etro or Paul Smith, I get all catatonic and shit)...yeah, I've become a dick, yes I've become an overwhelming, obnoxious drunk and your right; I've been spending alot of time hurting. I also spend a lot of time reading and working and with my dogs and working on my house - I'm just trying to survive this summer and the 1 year anniversary (on friggin Friday the 13th - no less)...and if I haven't mentioned NYC is the unlikely city to host me, my fucked up emotions and my 35th bday come August 14th (book your Florida time shares NOW)

So I really need to choke the beast SO, I leave you with this list:

Remember when....

• You could say Kajagoogoo and people didn't think you had sneezed
  
• Kitty Dukakis wasn't a drag name - just an apllicant at Betty Ford
  
• Bush was the worst threat to the global economy, gays, liberals, free-thinkers...oh, well I guess never mind that one.
  
• People actually thought Ronald Reagan was leading this country - well I mean forget about that one to - that's just plain silly!
  
• Nothing said "I love you" like a mixed tape.
  
• Your parents were concerned you might get a girl pregnant - hahahahahhahahahah - yeah like butt-babies live!
  
• You thought you were misunderstood - uh, well I mean present company excepted (and yeah how many of us thought it was - "present company accepted")
  
• The Olsen Twins WERE cute and loveable
  
• Paris was a place in Texas (ok, ok - France for you fancy folk) and Nikki was a cute greek, buy in your American Government class
  

Ok - done - commence personal fondling - NOW!

(dance - a little, yeah to the right, now shake a little to the left)

I got stood up tonight, er -uh - STOOD UP.

I'll turn 35 in August and I find myself reflective - have I ever been blown off before ?

I mean certainly, I have - admit it everyone has, even if the uneasy other party later claims a "misunderstanding" - you know like the "temporary insanity defense" !

Though I have to admit - it brought on the worst hour of two Woody Allen nerousy (I'm kinda making that word up, or I just spelled it terribly!).
Here hows it goes (uh, please respect me after this - it's really pathetic):

Background Situation: Saturday Nite SL and I are out causing some trouble; we meet some pretty YOUNG things at Hamburger Mary's (INSERT HERE: Oh HCL, will you ever learn??), well after a lil lip-lock with said pretty boy and damn really he was fucking sweet and pretty - he ASKS if he can give me his number, I may be goin on 35 - but I swear they still call this a come-on.
Well I read through my SWINGERS manuscript and decide two days is a coolio amount to wait, I call yesterday and we arrange a dinner date for 7pm tonight - I mean, really - tell me know already if you didn't mean yes.

ANYWAY - so I call on my home from work to ask where he would like to go - Elements, Pizzeria Bianco, Fermier, T Cooks - i mean this guy (uh, ME)is an awesome and genrous first date, and - er, well, with all embarrassment and humility, the boy never calls back - and since I never bother to hold back on this site I will admit to you I even took my new Motorola cell in the shower - hiding it behind a shampoo bottle so I wouldn't miss my ringer.
I feel like a fucking tool.

So I get ready - don my new Dolce and Gabbana shirt and Big Star jeans - and well, kinda look at the clock. Tick - Dork - Tock- Friggin Loser.

So then the nerves kick in:

• I see it, he brags to his friend we're going on a date - his friend in mock horror says "Oh Gawddddd, not him - he put his last boyfriend in a grave not him!"
• He recalls that maybe the last month I took off the gym would mean less entree for him and more for the "tummy monster"
  
• Maybe the AC/DC t-shirt I was wearing when I met him was little TOO retro.
  
• Three words: Male Pattern Baldness
  
• I am cursed, I wanted this date out of sheer horniness "Me See Pretty Boy, Must stick Dick in Pretty Boy!"
  
• Many other self-mutilating thoughts.
  

So this is what I managed to do til about 8pm.

Well then I buck up and think - well men suck - but COMMERCE IS ALIVE - and went and bought myself a bright shiny 22 inch (ok, ok - it's 21.3 but we all round up - admit it) flat panel monitor for my computer...I mean, really I SAVED at least $300 on dinner - it was like a discount off the retail price.
Well - my love/sex life sucks - but I have pretty things....

Hmmmmmm, I'll just keep telling myself this is healthy.

...are your REAL?

I admittedly had to giggle - think Catholic Girl, no panties, past her first kiss, well on her way to her first blow job - metallic-braced teeth rubbing on the Catholic Prep Quarterback's cock - giggle...when reading a comment on Joseph's site

I am in fact very real - I can be sexy, stupid, arrogant, charming, intense, pensive, vunerable, depressing, cruel, loving, guillable...but dear anonymous friend - I am very fucking real...I dont make up what I write - I live it, and if you think I wanted to live the past year and half of my life the way I did...well I'm sorry I've confused you.

So I guess I'm not giggling so much as I am thinking - is this who we are, distrusting, uncaring, movie-of-the-week drama queens - your bullshit trumps my bullshit....

I issued this warning over what is now what three years ago - read me if you dare - my vasicillating desire, my pathetic need, my big-hearted hope to humor, charm, woo, freak, fuck, with, piss-off and clear my pysch...is mine

- and ANONYMOUS it is real - oh, so fuckin' real.

Less than a couple of months after HERO died - I had an opportunity to fuck the hottest guy I have ever known. We used to always run into each other in my circuit party days and while the G - or K - or E played with my seratonin - I felt inextricably drawn to him. He was movie star handsome - but in an indie movie way - he was quiet, intelligent, confident and full of a sexual fire. He was italian - dark, thick hair and knowing brown eyes, he spoke slowly and would as soon as discuss Dick Cheney's multiple short-comings as whisper "I want you to fuck the shit out of me".

I knew him when I was still with Lucky and Lucky would allow me to flirt, even once let us flirtatiously compare cocks in a bathroom stall - but cut me short when my mouth wanted to do the measuring.

As luck - or lack of - would have it, he happened to be visiting Phoenix one weekend and casually cruised me at Padlock, not realizing for a brief second that I was me. Does grief physically change you, or was it my need to be drunk by 9pm every night after Hero's death. When we connected it was fully-charged, and I realized how badly I wanted to feel a man next to me, to pull my arms around him, slide my cock in his mouth, fuck him holding his hips as I pushed into him again and again and again.

We passed our phone numbers to each other and went on our ways.

The next day - hanging in the yard playing catch with Hope, I hear my cell phone ring - I ignore it, I always ignore it, I've become some sort of apparition in my own home - unsure if my ghostly fingers can hold the ringing phone to my face. My curiosity always begs the lesser of me and the ghost finds a way to pick-up the phone. The message is from him and he isn't shy about asking for what he wants - would I like to have sex with him this afternoon ?

My well-worn heart races, my unsettled stomach flips - I think, I'll have shot my load before I even return the call. I call him back - the conversation uses only enough words to seal the deal. I pick him up and bring him back to my house - we begin to talk and talk and talk and suddenly, I worry - oh shit this is way too much talking - nervously trying to remember how to make a move - suddenly, irrationally, I stammer - would you still like to do what you came here for ???

Before he can answer I've crossed the room, my mouth and tongue exploring his - he pulls his shirt off, I push his pants to his knee's - I take his perfect, beautiful cock in my mouth while fumbling with my own clothes - it's hot, it's fucking red hot - but I keep issuing commands to myself inside my head - "don't freak out, don't freak out - you've always wanted this - oh God he's so fucking perfect".

We move to my bedroom and I push him face down - I tease him, rimming his hole - knowing how hungry he his - and as I rise to pull a condom over my hard-on - I begin to weep.

Suddenly, I'm unable to breathe - "oh my god what kinda bastard am I - what am I fucking doing - I'm horrible, this is horrible, I haven't fucked anyone but Hero since, since...fuck, oh fuck"...

I feel his perfect, muscular back tense, this is one of those moments, sexual humility - shame...disgrace.

My dick recedes, erection-regression...the hottest moment of my life is about to become the most humilating. He looks back at me over his shoulder - he seems so beautiful - pained, confused, horny; he wants to give a shit - but I can see in his eyes, he didn't come here to see me fall apart.

Without a wasted word, I push him back down and pull his ass to my face, and with tears still streaming down my cheeks, I alternate rimming him and sucking his beautiful cock - mindlessly working my way back and forth - fucking him with my tongue, then working my tongue to the fat head of his cock - I keep thinking, if I make him cum I can be alone, I can cry alone. After several minutes of dedicated effort his knees buckle and he shoots between his legs on the brown fur of my summer-tanned chest.

I sense that we both have found relief.

I drive him to where he's staying,
I apologize,
he tells me it was hot.

He waves as I drive away, I turn up the radio to drown out the sound of my own tears.

So there I am starved - doing my least favorite activity as a single man:

Grocery Shopping

I mean seriously as a married man - it has this sweet flirtatious vibe:

Hey losers - Look I'm off the market, domestic bliss, I like the Starkist Tunafish Packets in the handy do it yourself, take-em and go packaging...him? Oh he loves the sensibly cut carrot sticks - I mean REALLY who has time to cut carrot sticks anymore !!!.

You trot around AJ's not holding hands, but we see the invisible-domesticated-partner-leash as we stand in the "single-serve" aisle, just from the gym (well actually not lately - El Flabo be Me) finding ourselves fondling the Ben & Jerry's "Chubby Hubby" while eyeing yours - you throw us that I'll scratch your eyes out and leave you for kitten milk look.

Hey, if you can't have a happy home, Momma says wreck one. Kiddin - KIDDIN...well, kinda.

So with a strut and a mince - I walk up and down the aisles thinking "This is such BULLSHIT", I mean either I'm gonna end up going out for dinner tonight, or I'll order pizza, or even maybe be thrifty (choke!) and eat the rest of the large pizza I JUST ORDERED LAST NIGHT.

Then I think ...well I am here.

So I trot on over to the liquor section - cursing to myself - Bastards! would it kill their P&L guy to go on a limb and start buying Hanger One, so slumming I grab a bottle of Level (Vodka).

Suddenly, I start thinking - Oh I might look like a drunk, get something else - get something else - so, I grab a package of dental floss - not any dental floss - but the kind that's for one time use and has a little handle - cuz, I mean really the only thing more exasperating than shaving and cutting your OWN carrots, has got to be the two-handed, dental flossing manuever we were all taught in grade school - I mean really - HOW BARBARIC !!!

Feeling more respectable,I proceed to the "Ten Items or Less Line" (and yes I AM a 10 ITEMS or LESS VIGILANTE - if I see you trying to convince the cashier that 10 watermelons are 1 item by some misguided logic that because she only has to enter watermelon once than multiply it times ten - well you got another thing coming)

With the luck of the Patron Saint of Kristi McNichols Career, I end up in line with a woman with red hair made from straw, who accidently drops her debit card; which I subsequently stept on, I mean the debit card not the hair made from straw:

Sssscuse me - I hate to be well - FRESH - but your standing on my card.

Worried and confused that this may be some new-fangled-jargon for "clitoris", I leap 3 feet ahead. Somewhere in my vagina-ladened-fear she see's something that convinces her to continue speaking to me.

She references with what I can only suggest to be a squeal of delight - think HEE-HAW, she asks me if my dental floss - is in fact "one of those pretend tooth brushes".......suddenly I would rather she asked me if I was a drunk.

The clerk interupts - my savior in bad glasses - and says "Oh no these are just floss" and have after an understanding pause:

"Sir, the booze is yours too right???"

- sister - I think - you don't even know.

I think, tonight I floss, tonight I pound my bishop and I drink to you.

Anyway - I guess that will cover my grocery shopping for the month - anyone have a take out menu ?

What is 'Luck' ?

I have always been divided on if I have it, or not.

At 34 - I have buried two boyfriends (both suicide) and more friends than I can mention, I have cried more than my share of tears, I have fallen more times than I deserve...but still my friends tell me how lucky I am, my job, my life, my family.

So what makes us lucky - the fact that we haven't ended up married to Britney ?? Or that we make as much as much as one of the lawyers anolling her last marriage ?

Where does it begin that we envy anothers circumstance and call them "lucky". Or that we see anothers pain as 'misfortune', regardless of his net worth ?

Blah, blah, blah...but really folks where do we begin to envy and where do we begin to forgive ?

Let's face it - I'm single and I'm friggin horny - This weekend I work on a BIGMUSCLE.COM entry, boy needs some sugar - or even better protein.