Inspired by the lovely Jonno, I did my astrological birth chart stuff. Man, do I sound like one messy dope:

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.

Poor, poor Sharon Stone - things have been rough for her of late (the hubbie loses his foot to a huge reptile) and now the her massive headaches seem to be much more (well, at least it will take her mind off of 'Sphere' - I'm still befuddled why any of them made that crap)...well in an effort to offer the 'Distraction of the Day', I give you Sharon Stones Scar

Does anyone have an epiphany I can borrow? I need one.

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?

uh....I'm waiting.

Officially three months in to my state of unemployment, I'm starting to find it hard to smile when people say "Oh, you're gonna find something great - just be patient"...it get's hard to be patient and cheerful after three months of squashed leads and no paycheck. Anyhow - I had to distract myself today and came across this:

OK - I suck. I got caught up in a fun-filled weekend of debauchery - I still owe ya the story. Hmmmmm I wish I had something bright and shiny to wave in front of you and confuse you. Hold it, I do. How 'bout some pics from the AZ Bloggers dinner from Friday night.

Ok, too much depressing stuff in the air lately. I have completed the 4th installment in "Crumpled Dollar Bills - Episodes of My Youth" which will be showing up on my blog late tonight or tomorrow...it's pretty racy (an embarassing conclusion - based on a true incident) so I feel a little funny about putting it on here, but hey - what else would you expect from me?

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!

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.

Sorry, there just seems to be little value in what I want to say this week, compared to the enormity of value in the expressions I have read by others better equipped to comment on the devastation.

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
12, 2001:
*********************

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.

IN PAIN

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.

Wise words. Dumb words. Soothing words. Hateful words.

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.

Amazing.

ok - comments aren't working and the pop-up windows are driving me over the edge. Comments turned off til further notice. But hey - I do respond to email (well not super fast or anything - but I try).

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.....?

Crumpled, Dollar Bills - Episodes From My Youth:

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3

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
  

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:

1. 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'.
   
2. 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!
   
3. No chewing gum - what horrific blow job catastrophe could come from an over-eager, Doublemint-chewer turned sword-swallower in the dark.
   
4. Never give your real name - sure your not Dirk Diggler, but hey this is your dollar bill, your booth - you're calling the shots.
   
5. 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.
   
6. 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.
   
   

   Look at me - I'm multi-tasking! I'm thrifty!
   

   
   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.
   

Crumpled, Dollar Bills - Episodes From My Youth

WHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRR! Whiiiiirrrrr!! WhhhhhhhhhhiiiiiiRRRRRRR!

(Oh Shit!)

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

"Hold on to your hat, " my father said, "because here's the guitar you've always wanted."

  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

More than 25 years ago, back in 1977; I was the smallest kid in school (well I think there may have been a girl or two smaller, but they usually ended up being "March of Dimes" spokes models). Certainly, at the ripe, old age of eight, I was the smallest boy in the 3rd grade at Sabold Elementary School in the painfully, middle class suburbs of blue-collar, white-collar, junkyard dog-collar, Philadelphia.

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".

I have consumed 4 Appletini's (a really girly, but tasty drink that is neither an "apple" or really a "martini") which have managed to make me a little soft around the edges...BEWARE: for once I may spell words correctly and appear to not misinterpret english for "pig latin".

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.

Chris - Man, I couldn't be more embarrassed, I have contacted EBay and asked them to pull the images of the Toaster, Full Length Mirror and my Family Antique Baby Spoon collection from their site.

I am my overwhelming sense of jealousy, whining and empty wallet....damn lay-off, I soooooooooo wanted to be there this weekend peeing and having sex in the streets.

uh, would you like fries with that ??

I just couldn't look at blue anymore...

Bill has been busy arranging his links by Astrological inclination, I feel that I too should reorganize my site's links (plus add some of the great new bloggers I've come across) in some systematic order (I used to use "Lusts", "Sweethearts" and "Loves", but let's face it I'm fickle and kept moving you all around too much) - I have decided to come up with a new system: "the penis".

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.

Well the drought may be ending, I actually had a call for an interview today (of course it won't be til next Wednesday - but hey imagine an anal, over-achiever like me with a whole WEEK to prepare !!!)...once again I felt an incredible need to "HAVE FUN WITH KEYWORD SEARCHES", not only am I doing a free lance project for a local gallery helping them with their search engine submissions and Meta tags but I have remained somewhat baffled by the keywords that are bringing unsuspecting visitors to my mixed up world. So without further ado/adieu/adoo-doo I have winners in not one, but THREE categories for keywords used to find my site via a search engine:

• 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.

Either I'm still trying to figure out if I missed a scene in this (I mean I really enjoyed it - Tilda Swanson is amazing - but there seems to be some character development missing or something to justify each character's motivation and actions.)

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....

Don't worry beautiful I would never result to THAT, crap I may need to sell my body and obviously my asking price will be cut in half without the full package. I mean I don't have Choire doing things like THIS for me.

I find it a little creepy that someone out there came across my site using the keyword combination:

"Gay+Father+Son+Pics"

Try there keywords next time:

"Freak+Seeking+Therapist"

Great Moment: Running into old friends of my boyfriend's when visiting him at his bartenders gig on Friday night after seeing Hedwig and the Angry Inch.

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.

---

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.

Woof, I'm feeling a little wiped out. Need to go swallow a boat load of 5-HTP and get my ass in gear. The wedding was stunning - Les was literally the most beautiful bride I have ever seen (living or in film) and well Mark was pretty damn pretty himself. The boyfriend, myself and another gay couple had a pretty hysterical time confusing the straight, single chicks (Damn those boys dance well - um, but why are they dancing together?)

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. ;)

Alrighty, I'm off to the lovely couple pictured in this photo's wedding - never have you met a lovelier, more open-minded and just cool to be around couple in your life. The boy and I take off tomorrow morning and since the impending (and in light of my current unemployed circumstances) 32nd Bday is Tuesday - I'll be having some beach and "other stuff" R&R for the next few days. Be good to yourselves!

In just a scant 9 months the world could be bouncing the first human clone/baby upon it's knee. Sure there's no way around the moral issues and questions raised by the "Stem Cell/Cloning Controversy" - Is this really a humanitarian effort to assist childless couples by the worldwide scientific community, or a convention of modern day young Frankensteins ("Shhhhhh, be veeeeerrry careful of the stairs, they can be very twwweacherooooouuuuuuussss")

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 !)

  

Hmmm, is it me or is there something in the air??

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.

Ok, checking out Jonno's blog and see his reference to taking a gay test and thought "Oh well it's not 830am yet - I can take the test and still hit the gym" (yeah, yeah - my days still aren't tremendously busy and I'm STILL looking for a job...anyone need a slightly rumpled but loveable Director of Marketing/Interactive Strategist??)

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.

Damn! I have no energy to rewrite the post I wrote today but since it was basically an artillery of venom against organizations like this, I'll let you get riled up yourself.

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!

I don't think you want to see what's in my head today. I better go catch a flick or something - I feel like crawling into someone else's world today. xoxo.

I am the emotional, whirling dervish, oscillating wildly 'tween rapture and despair, giggles and fits.

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.

ok - the look of my site has got to change - sooooooon. I just am screwed if I try to do any coding on my boyfriends computer (can you believe 24MB of RAM ???? Thank god the man has everything else going for him). I have a domain reserved and could just move the all site over to it, but I'm just kinda apathetic about taking on the project. Actually that's kind of a lie - it's more than apathetic - it's like this feeling where everytime I tell myself to just start the project with the intention of finishing it - my whole body just involuntarily does this squirming thing (since I no longer have medical coverage I feel I should avoid these seizures as much as possible).

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 ???

et-i-quette\ 'e-ti-ket\ n. : the forms prescribed by custom or authority to be observed in social, official, or professional life. (synonyms: proprietary, decorum, decency, diginity

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:

I sort through "your" garbage - and I am shocked.

Prepare for my walk-on role on "The Nanny" - what it's not on the air anymore - bastards ! That's why they haven't returned my calls.

Chase my tail in circles.

Watch porn, lot's of porn. heh-heh.

Masturbate - frequently. (often paired with the above response when the person responds - "no, really?"

Drink rubbing alcohol with my old gal-pal Kitty Dukakis - fill'er up sistah!

Contemplate my navel

I have rewritten "Little Women" to include more sex, drugs and references to shower-nozzle masturbation.

Watch "Where Are They Now" segments praying for more news on lovable TV star, Tina Yothers.

Play "Where's Chandra?"

Rewrite history - we now own Sweden lock, stock and barrell.

OK - last night was the first big night back on the town - man, I just can't drink like I'm 21 anymore - my stomach is planning a protest that makes the G8 summit demonstrations seem tame.

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.

I am sick of hearing about Chandra Levy - I assure the media there ARE other people missing in this world.

Well got in safe and sound on Tuesday night around 8pm...It was so odd driving through the mountain pass coming down from Flagstaff, AZ. A huge storm had started over Phoenix and from my vantage point I saw both the dark and ominous clouds as they gathered and poured forth rain and the huge, vibrant full rainbow that this storm created. As Paul Oakenfeld's remake of Vangelis's Blade Runner Soundtrack played on my car stereo it was hard not to have a rather spiritual moment. I hope this was a sign of something fortuitous - beauty breaking through and being brought forth by a tumultuous storm.

Very little time to blog right now. trying to incorporate my life with Lucky's - for the couple's out there - advice is appreciated - you should see the look on his face when I started hanging all my clothes (INSERT HERE: self descriptive word "clothes horse"). Grocery shopping as a couple "living-together" was oddly fun and very sweet.
I love him, we will figure out how to cohabitate, with a couple of scratches and bruises on our personal space and need to control along the way.

Gotta go - must find a job and go visit the folks.

Blogs from the Road, Travel's NOT with Charlie, The Road THAT WAS Taken:

So it's done. How odd. Suddenly it was just done. I stood in my little Milwaukee downtown city apartment and went from room to room and shut off the light and closed the door. I cleaned like Lady Macbeth - "out,out damn spot", it wasn't til much later I realized I wasn't cleaning an apartment but trying to control the moment. I didn't control getting laid off, I wasn't necessarily moving back to AZ on my own terms, my goodbyes and going away parties didn't necessarily go off as planned - but I could control how clean I made this apartment and for some cathartic need - I made it shine.

I realized something about all that has happened. I do not own all of the situations that lead to this moment, but I do own my actions that I take regarding this moment, I will survive, then I will start over, then I will triumph - I mean I am a Leo for goodness(or badness) sakes.

So I climbed on the Interstate 94 about 10pm - logic said just go to bed and start in the morning, but I didn't want to wake up in Milwaukee. I wanted to wake up (as I did), miles away. So here I sit typing to you in a Motel 6 (I spotted Donald Trump in the very next room ordering in) in Bloomington. IL. (dead-center in the middle of Illinois off of the 55 Interstate). I'm going to go grab a cup of coffee and some eats and then it's back on the road, a long day of driving ahead for me.

Think of me, ok? 2000 miles is a lot of terrain to fuck up in - get cut off by a madman and end up in a ditch, have my car have a blowout - who knows, but think a good thought - "Get me to my boyfriend, my new life, my new home, in one piece".

Happy trails.

ok - comments are working again

sur-re-al - adj. 1. : having the intense irrational reality of a dream   2. : of our relating to surrealism

pride - n 1. : CONCEIT   2. : justifiable self-respect   3. : elation over an act or possession   4. : haughty behavior : DISDAIN   5. : ostentatious display

lost - adj. 1. : not used, won, or claimed   2. : no longer possessed or known   3. : ruined or destroyed physically or morally   4. : DENIED; also: HARDENED   5. : unable to find the way; also: HELPLESS   6. : ABSORBED, RAPT   7. : not appreciated or understood

My going away parties begin tommorrow night, WOW - it's over, my "Year of Living Dangerously" - not quite (well the Chicago portion definately) - the first year of my life that I ever lived in a state not occupied by a relative (except for that second cousin who I still never had dinner with, which my Pop is gonna bitch about forever).

So here I sit in Hiroshima devastation, my cute little city apartment with the hardwood floors and funky fire-escape-esque balcony - that I'm still sure is haunted. God - I adored this little place. All my belongings covering the floor, boxes - some full, some open...wondering when those next two paychecks are spent - how am I gonna make it. Will I go from the life of Director to the life of a waiter? Will I drive my boyfriend insane or will he fall deeper in love with me? What will my AZ friends say, have they moved on, will they pity me behind my back, will they recognize me as the same guy who left his safe cocoon, or will they see how much I've grown and the man I've become (yeah - I'm avoiding the butterfly reference - too girly)

I need to - shit, I need to do so many things, I keep holding off - I don't want to hug Dan & Drew (my Chicago Father/Brother, Buddies/Siblings, Confidantes/Comrades) goodbye, Leslie & Mark - what am I gonna do without them (she - the most beautiful girl you'll ever see was in such shock last night), who will Ellena spare with? and will Mike & Jonah (what alternating heartache and happiness we brought to each others lives) make it in SFO on their own difficult journey?

I feel like I'm walking out in the middle of the movie, throwing an unfinished book out the window, writing a love letter and leaving out the adjectives...I'm gonna get weak soon, I'm gonna cry, I'm dreading saying the first goodbyes tomorrow - I can hear the little rips tearing into my heart.

I'll be fine, I have always been one of those guys who always ends up fine...but right now it's the moment in the movie, when the scene touches you and for a moment you lose your breath, your eyes well with tears and you squeeze your boyfriends hand for reassurance.

shit - got to fix the reblogger again, my fault screwed it up.

I'm wiped - what did I do with all my personal errands and shit when I had a job ? Seems like there is never time in the day. Pretty much selling off or giving away all of my belongings (haven't I been here before?) and beginning my possession-less journey back to AZ. Feel kinda like one of those restless nomads who wears to much denim in a movie of the week : he breezes into town, not a care in the world - but carrying all of life's frustrations square on his back, who is this mysterious stranger (and does he put out?)

Moving is a downward-spiral with a spring at the bottom that somehow sends you right back up, Windex on a crystal ball whose contents turned out to be blurred of their on accord no matter how much shine you bring to that sphere...you know it's late and it's tired if I'm getting poetic on you.

So It's odd - I have so much on my mind, but I'm blogging less. Today is my ex-boyfriend's birthday, Joey. I feel cheated I couldn't wish him Happy Birthday today, tell him he's still very important to me, how everytime I see a picture of that goofy smile and boyish face I want to give him an unbreakable bear-hug - I feel like I was so young when I met him even though it was only five years ago. I mean anyone who reads my blog knows my heart belongs to 'Lucky' my current boyfriend/my lobster who this time next week I will be living with in sunny Phoenix, Arizona. But all of this picking up and sorting through my pack rat collection of belongings always brings Joey back in my mind (nostalgia, heartache, sentimentality), add to that his birthday and then go one step further to the fact that this will be the first birthday since 1996 that I didn't call or anything.

Why ? Well I couldn't even if I wanted to. Joey sent me a one email letter one day in the winter - he and his boyfriend were moving to Long Beach (if you are a Long Beach blogger - please do not attempt to go put all the facts together - Joe is a very private person - I respect that and do not wish to intrude on his privacy) and then he was gone, no forwarding address, no phone number, gone.

It was probably for the best, he had his life, I had mine, but how odd that that person could have been such an important part of my first few years out of college and not wanted to see where I had ended up or wanted to share the same with me. Does he hope I succeeded or dreamed that I failed - right now I'm no longer sure which it is. Does he still play the guitar when he's blue? Did he change his side of the bed? How many cups of coffee is he up to in the morning? Does he think the Cohen Brothers have lost their touch? How are his folks? Brother? Sister? If he found out I was laid-off, would his initital thought be sadness or would he wonder if I didn't do a good enough job? Does he ever open the old birthday cards from me and think what I'm thinking right now, how stupid we are for writing "here's to many, many more birthday's together".

ugh -I'm so behind in blogging, trying to through together a new look...maybe

nope - looked like shit - looked so much better in CF Studio....bummer

Ok something is frigging up with blogger today - these updates are taken forever.

beverage: coffee :: black (no cream, no sugar, no milk, no Amaretto, if you want a Mocha - order one - that's Ok - I'll wait til you come back)

listening: Tracy Chapman :: Crossroads :: This Time (you know you know the lyrics often sung through a veil of bitter tears..."this time I won't show I'm vunerable, this time I won't give in first, this time I will hold out with my love, this time I will not be hurt, I'm gonna love myself more than anyone else, I'm gonna treat me right...", don't you just feel Tracy has been crushed and screwed over by every woman in town?)

reading:Hot Jobs, Monster and BrilliantPeople - ugh.

watching: Bigger is Better :: Classic John Summers/Matt Sterling (Rick Donovan, Matt Ramsey, Doug Stevens - woof, how porn should be - well at least I'll be watching and enjoying as soon as I finish this blog)

flying: Newark (EWR), NJ. - then off to Parsippany (I doubt I spelled that right, but I haven't had enough of forementioned "beverage" to get up and go look for a map or dictionary - please continue to love me despite my unforgiveable spelling), NJ to meet my boyfriends parents.

dreading: Refer to "flying" and forementioned final destination.

packing: Conservative Son-in-Law wear :: Banana Republic wearables (Brown Stretch Short Sleeve, Brown Irish Linen Long Sleeve, Green Polo Shirt, Black 3 Button Suit with a Dress shirt and Tie that's colors only a BR employee could explain but do work well together - and several pairs of their clever boxer shorts (yes folks - "boxers" never briefs, and more frequently when no In-Laws are around - "Commando" -definately "Commando"), Kenneth Cole wearables (Black/Square-Toe/Dress Ankle Boot, Brown/Reaction/Camper Shoe, Brown V-neck/Wool-Acrylic Blend/Sweater - ya never know East Coast weather), Big Star wearables (2 pair - 1976/Digger/Vintage Blue - 1 Indigo, 1 Faded to perfection)

feeling: A bit out of sorts

hoping: To sort out the forementioned "feeling"

running: Late, need to hit the gym, pick-up the suit from dry cleaners, go buy a new black BR belt to replace the one somewhere on a dance floor in Orlando, Fl., finish packing, jerk-off, shower and get to airport by Noon.

You packed your books last week, you broke with the past tonight.
I hope you find some beach house on the coast out there with plenty of light.
Cause I know the road is very long, but in my head I'll always hold your song, and I'll keep a good thought for you.
I'll keep a good thought for you.

You left us 'The Best of Frank' and on the back you signed your name.
'One For My Baby' was underlined again.
Now I know the road is very long, but in my head I'll always hold your song, and I'll keep a good thought for you - if you're lonely think of me. I'll keep a good thought for you - If you're lonely think of me.

There's a couple you knew quite well, they moved away last spring, and though he can't find suits they don't miss much of anything.
They're raising a baby now.
At least that's one gift that this world allows.
And I'll keep a good thought for you.
Cause I know the road is very long, but in my head I'll always hold your song, and I'll keep a good thought for you - if you're lonely think of me.

Written by Ben Watt/Everything But The Girl, "The Language of Life/The Road"

How odd is this...skulking around in the background reading your blogs with my boyfriend sitting right next to me (sigh!)...well actually he's kinda back-seat driving but oh well - he's cute and easily forgiven.

Anyway - I just had to check in on the lovely boys of bloggerville - Hungover and Contemplative

Soooo my attention is off my boy and he deserves it more than you :)
See ya later!

THROB-THROB-THROB

Thump-thump-thump

POUND-POUND-POUND

Doctor: I'm afraid we're going to have to amputate.

Me: my head ????

Doctor: I'm afraid so it's been damaged beyond repair, I mean really - didn't you see it coming ?

Me: Well, uh, I mean - ouch- your trying to make me use my head - it hurts, OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD - it hurts

Doctor: Now just hold still for a second and we'll relieve you of the pain.

(INSERT HERE: sound of chain-saw revving up)

(INSERT HERE: sound of "thump" as head falls to floor)

Me: Oooooooh, that does feel better!

I am hung over, I am 'John Holmes, Dirk Diggler, Jeff Stryker-Hung-over'....I hate this pathetic feeling. I wake on my living room floor at 5am curled up next to the phone and a box of Apple Jacks (some men need to fear there boyfriend cheating on them when their drunk - mine has to fear me devouring an entire box of sugar-coated cereal - dry). One of the few comments I remember - when introduced to a guy who was a little to impressed with what he made, what he wore, what he drove and what he looked like in the mirror over my shoulder I just said "oh hi - I don't like you one bit". One of the other remembered comments - when my absolutely adorable/lovable/deliciously beautiful friends Leslie & Mark introduced me to another straight couple they were friends with at 'Jazz in the Park" - I corrected them and said that I was actually their "token-drunk-gay-friend". I am normally kinda cute and endearing when I drink - last night - I was not. I know better than this - the Irish are not to be allowed around booze when grumpy. I had to go by the old office (you know the Advertising Agency that manages to make it to 'Creativity' magazines "Cool companies to watch" and still loses millions in the same year) and clean out my office while HR stood guard. I mean really - am I gonna make a run for it with a stack of Post-It notes ?? I was incredibly tempted to walk into the office unshaved, unbathed, wearing a ratty bath robe (no - I don't own one - I love being nude at home) and have them just shake their heads and mumble "Poor dear - we've broken him". It was the first time I ever had an office in my career, and shit was it a cool one - huge windows - looking out to Lake Michigan and totally freaked out with my toys (Curious George lunch pail, Rocky & Bullwinkle figures, South Park wind-up figures, Dilbert doll) and the walls covered with the most clever ad's I could find inspiration in. I wanted to punch someone - I wanted to strike down the defenseless and stupid HR gal - a stoner, hippie of 55 who just kept telling how terrible she felt - how quiet the office was without me - partners stopped by to shake my hand and profess what a delight it was to be in my presence - how quickly someone like me would find a job - my boss left me a card that reads like a love note and was written in the form of a poem - puleeeeeeezzzzze.

'Lucky' gets in tonight - I need this - I need him. His presence is like a cool bath on a hot day. I plan to let him do things to me and do things to him that are unforgivable in the name of Christians. Yum....sex has amazing healing powers - and no hang over.

If a blogger where to fall in the woods, would anyone hear the "ooomph!"

Looks like it....thanks to several of my Blogger buddies (new and old) for checking in with today to see how I was enjoying my new "lifestyle" of leisure, mid-day work-outs, coffee houses and Blog lurking.

To be honest I had a terrific day - I felt an amazing amount of energy and purpose (though admittedly a little hung over from hanging with friends last night)...I made an embarrassing amount of lists detailing the many things that would transpire as I pack up and move on - Milwaukee my dear friends - is only meant to be a story in the greater adventure in my life. Yes - EB I think your right - there's someone waiting out west for me and has been since I left Arizona just 11 months ago. I wrote a wonderful email to all the partners of the agency thanking them for giving me the chance to work with them and for allowing me the chance to teach them - very cathartic. Things to do, things to do, hours to go before I sleep....

I have a lot to accomplish in the next couple of weeks and 2000 miles to drive - in the meanwhile "Lucky" (my boy) arrives here on Friday night - I can only pray the fireproof apartment walls spare my neighbors the loud, um - "music". The gauntlet will be run in Chicago as he meets all my friends (I chuckle at the thought of my beautiful boy standing in the middle of "Cellblock" on a Saturday night) and then a big dinner with the Milwaukee contingency next Tuesday at La Fuente - here's hoping everyone is on there best behavior.

Things that hurt:

• The first time you fall from a bike, or your own two feet
  
• The first time you get called 'fag', if they meant it - or not - but you heard it and the chill ran up your spine
  
• When your first pet dies - Keesha, my Keeshond, he was 12.
  
• The first crush: his name was Ben, 15, beautiful, blond with piercing blue eyes - my love note (to my then best friend) was carelessly dropped on our high school campus, by 6th period it had become the stuff of a John Hughes nightmare. I cried for weeks
  
• The first one to cheat, his name was David, ran track, smoked pot and made me feel cool - I was 17, he gave me Chlamydia (I gave him a broken nose)
  
• The first death: his name Joe (Big Man on Campus), we were buddies in college - closeted, he lost his life to AIDS - he died during the summer, I had to grieve 3 months after his death.
  
• The first person I loved who took their life - an exboyfriend who saw sadness and shadows in every corner, I was one of the last calls he made and for months I hated him for giving me that guilt and leaving me to grieve.
  
• The first time I truly loved someone and it ended. It was meant to end and I would have never met the love of my life if it hadn't happened, but I wandered around damaged goods for two years.
  
• The first time I ever heard the words - "I'm afraid we have to let you go - blah,blah,blah - economic downturn" - the first time I was ever laid off - today.
  
  

  I wanted to see everything else on this list so I remembered the difference between painful hurt and passing hurt...today was passing hurt. I got through the entire day - in the end I only cried when I saw the email from my father with the subject line "I'm sorry".
  
  I'm tired - it will be ok, I'll figure it out. This list helped....

I've been digging through the past lately and dredged up another photo that well, you see for yourself, man I look like I was gonna grow up gay. I'm not sure if my unique style was a knock off of "Chachi" from "Happy Days" & "Joannie Loves Chachi" or if I was auditioning for Jodie Fosters role in the gay remake of Taxi Driver

Gearing up for Chicago Pride...wish I felt more excited, I'm broke, a bit harried and have a ton of things I want to get done before the boyfriend comes in town next week. I have to go though - if for no other reason then it's my buddy Dan's birthday and I would never let him down. It's embarrassing to admit I'm also a little sucker-paw (my best friend Patrick's word for 'sad') that I'm off partying for a while. You get that sudden pang of fear that you won't have "as good" a time as everyone else, or that your friends will be in a different place then you (INSERT HERE: friends dreamy gaze, caressing hand and "Wow isn't this GREAT, isn't this SPACE/DJ/CROWD BEAUTIFUL" and me staring blankly going "Oh, um, yeah sure" then politely turn friend - who is facing the wall - around towards the dance floor).
Oh well - I'm wearing my big boy pants this weekend and will have as much fun as I can.

I've been thinking about my comment about not being 21 anymore (in yesterdays blog) and started looking back through the old photo's - here's me at 20, the pic looks like it was taken in 1953 or something doesn't it?

I'll be 32 this year. Wow. How did that happen? I can tell ya - I don't think I'm but a faint whisper of the kid in this photo - of course looking at how skinny I was back then maybe that was all I was, was a faint whisper. I have another bad-ass one of me in a leather jacket (21) that will dismiss how wholesome this picture makes me look, of course it explains thoroughly why my favorite book at the time was "The Best Little Boy in the World" by Andrew Tobias. Of course getting in to my need to always be the perfect son, boyfriend, friend, employee, etc. is a shrink lesson for another time ;)

Welcome.

It was a shitty, shitty day my friends - a cornocupia of stess and concern - shout outs go to my boyfriend, the love of my life - who helped me weather the storm, who made me feel loved even when I felt like losing it - thank you, everything I have ever done good to another human being, every unselfish minute, every kind word - has been refunded to me ten-fold in your presence in my life (if you think I typed to the end of that sentence without my eyes welling up tears, then well you don't know me half as well as I think you do - you make me feel lucky, Lucky)....anyway...I went to Depeche Mode tonight - shit, did I feel like the reminder that I'm not a 21 year old twinkie with a 28 inch waist anymore - no, not really. But I can tell you DM isn't the same anymore - now the are just some guys trying to pay for retirement - 2 encores and no "Somebody" - fuck that shit - I was robbed.

Didn't like the new look - pulled it back down - gonna keep it in my pants for a bit.

OK - Mermaniac is begging door-to-door, blog-to-blog for money, dinero, lettuce, cold cash (I suspect a pyramid scheme involving Charlene Tilton from 'Dallas' fame, but gosh darn'it he's so damn suave!)...the following may or may not be things that Bill promised me in a letter for my support:

• to remove the word "because" from the English language (I have my reasons for endorsing this)
  
• to reenact Shelly Winter's death scene in the 1972 classic 'Poseidon Adventure' - naked, online and hungry.
  
• to be the next spokesmodel for 'No Excuses' Jeans.
  
• to make the whole world smile (kinda like a Coca-Cola beverage).
  

If Bill pretends that he had nothing to do with this list - he's being humble. Give the guy a hug.

Awnry & Irish: Rules of Conduct at the Gym

1. If in any way you resemble a bear (Grizzly, Kodiak, Black, Brown or CellBlock), please refrain from floating "belly-up" in the YMCA whirlpool - it is alarming to those of us walking by.
   
2. Workout benches are just that "benches for people working out", I can see confusing that with "the resting bench, the chatting bench, the reading bench and my favorite - 'the staring bench'' " - but please not during my workout.
   
3. If you would like to work in, just say 'Hey buddy, can I work in', if you don't speak - I won't ask and I will add on extra set to watch you squirm.
   
4. Flirting at the gym can be fun, even appreciated to let you know all the hard work is paying off - well of course I mean for single guys (wink, wink), staring and brushing the inside of your thigh is creepy - remember I live in Milwaukee - you may be a friend of Jeffrey Dahmer and I don't want to be Holden-on-a-Stick.
   
5. If the exercise I am doing looks that tricky while I am doing it - walking up to me "while" I am doing it and asking "Wow - that looks tricky - how do you that" will result in me growling like an angry, junk-yard dog (hint: if it looks tricky, it is and requires my concentration).
   
6. Please do not leave your gym towels just laying all over the gym, I have a very healthy body and leave towels laying around my apartment about three times a day after "personal use", when I see an entire YMCA covered with used towels I start looking for the hidden adult theater.
   
   
   Man I'm gonna make a great crabby old man! ;)
   
   

Bloggus Interruptus

A little doped on wine and a little sentimental after watching Queer as Folk - it had to be the wine but I was actually stirred emotionally by last night's episode (as opposed to that "I'm now embarrassed to be gay" episode from last week) - I wrote a sensational blog last night called 'A Love Story'. I laid out in embarrassing-gushy-heartfelt detail one of my utmost favorite stories of all time, "How I met my Boy". I like to get drunk and tell this one at bars and embarrass my boy (Lucky).

"Wow" you say that sounds like a real page turner, kinda like "Where the Red Fern Grows" but not set in 1930's Oklahoma, there is no "Coon Hunting" (though I love a 50% off sale at Kenneth Cole) and instead of a boy and his two hunting dogs, it's just two cute homo's having mind-blowing sex and falling head over heels in love.

Well what do they teach you your entire life in school - "Save, Save often". I hadn't even temporarily posted my epic when I moved my laptop from "my lap" and went to shut the window (it was raining) and pulled the cable out of the PCMCIA modem. Shit. AOL shuts down and when I come back to my Blogger the insidious had occurred - a masterpiece was lost!

Oh well - I'm gonna sulk about this for a day or two and then when you least expect it - BAM!!! Right across the kisser.

I have to share this because it made my weekend. Queerscribe, a brillant writer, intellectual and a sweetheart in an email commented on my writing style: "...I love your self-reflexive long-windedness, your humor". I immediately called my boyfriend and asked what he thought to have him respond "Finally (pause), someone understands you".
Excellent!

Once again I have been innocently lead in to the treacherous entrapments of yet another dreadful Horror movie. Where -oh where, did I begin this fascination with Horror movies ? I mean I remember tearing through my chores as quickly as possible as a young 8 year-old boy in Upper Darby, PA. - wanting nothing more to flick on my very own 13" B&W Panasonic television set, pull close to the TV, while devouring a PBJ&P (I'm afraid that extra 'P' stood for pickles) and watch Saturday's "Creature Double Feature" (Jonno - can I use the apostrophe there - it seems that Saturday can show possession of the time slot of a show, n'est pas ?). Now though - I find myself intrigued by just about any slasher/horror/blood-letting horror movie that comes my way (DISCLAIMER: I am not a mainstream movie guy, I'm a freak for art house and my favorite all time movies include "Six Degrees of Seperation", "The Mission", "Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels", "Shallow Grave" & "Blood Simple" - so this horror thing is more akin to a fetish) and this time do you know what lured me in ??

An Australian Slasher film with two noteworthy names in the title: Kylie Minogue and Molly Ringwold, what was a Horror movie loving queer to do ??? I. Was. Helpless.

Plot:

It's been fifteen years since the director of the ill-fated horror flick HOT BLOODED was mysteriously and brutally murdered. Since then, the film has remained unfinished and sealed away. However, a young group of aspiring filmmakers and horror enthusiasts have seized the opportunity to complete the legendary film, and begin to film once again on location. But there was a reason the movie was never finished, and as students begin to disappear, the filmmakers begin to discover why.

I think I have officially established that not all my weekends are circuit parties, and for that fact, even the least bit exciting.
Alrighty I would love to write more but I just heard about a great sci-fi flick starring Richard Greico, Corey Feldman & Kajagoogoo.