beyond buffalo

The BF spent the night last night. Normally, I welcome him coming to spend the night. It’s nice to have him around to talk to and curl up on the couch for a bit; however, today was his first day at his new practicum so he was agitated and didn’t sleep much last night. Neither did I.

I did feel a little like Harrison Ford sending Melanie Griffin off to her first day of work at the end of ‘Working Girl’. Last night I made his lunch (which he forgot to take) and printed out his driving directions before we crawled into bed for a sleepless, tossy-turny night.

And now, with my car in the shop (again) I’m stuck ‘working’ remotely from the home office pondering my life, my goals (I have none) and my future (pre-final world cruise).

Whats going on in your world today? (Can you tell I’m not very awake yet?)

It would be really nice for the public (and even private) conversations taking place in the US these days regarding a wide variety of topics be put on hold until such a time that people can realize that yelling, shouting, stomping your feet and carrying the threat of death (i.e. weapons) are not the correct way approach to a problem.

Once again, I am completely and utterly ashamed of my country. Once again, this shame is brought on by the predominantly Republican side of the political discussion. The last time I felt this level of shame was right before we invaded a sovereign country. Much like last time, it was the loudest voices being heard. It wasn’t the millions of people around the globe and here at home begging for more time to come up with a real solution. BEGGING to let cooler heads prevail.

Once again, we find ourselves in this very public shouting match… err… one side is shouting. Shouting and threatening and throwing around images and words that have NO PLACE in this discussion. Once again I fear those who shout the loudest will win.

I dream of the time when people with differing views can put the differences aside, sit down over a beer or a latte and have a discussion. I dream of the time when people make the energy to listen to the opposing views and ideas. True compromise can actually be beneficial when both views work towards a solution.

But this can’t happen until we put down the guns, stop the shouting, take a step back, read the proposals of both sides and finally roll up our sleeves and put something in place that works for ALL Americans, not just the Health Insurance CEOs.

I think Americans underestimate the value of a few days off. Maybe it isn’t that we underestimate their value, maybe it is because most of us are afforded so few days off from work that we covet them and protect them and hoard them for the perfect time. We hang onto them like little life rafts of sanity and much like the Titanic, there are sadly too few of those life rafts to go around.

My company recently revised our vacation policy to require a zero balance as of December 31st of each year. We are no longer allowed to accrue vacation time and therefore everyone in the office is scrambling to use up their years of accrued vacation time. It is affecting our operations because we’re so short staffed that important tasks aren’t being completed in a timely manner, like oh, billing.

Now, I rarely write about my work, even though it is supposed to take up the majority of my life because I really try to separate my work life from my home life. Given the nature of my job it is very difficult to do this. You see, I work wherever my phone is. Sales has a way of bleeding into your private life. You never really shut down. I shut down by not answering or carrying my phone.

Today is my first day back from a four-day weekend. Though I carried my phone with me, I didn’t answer it all weekend. I took a true 4 days off from work, from life, from everything. It was the BF’s (Formerly LTT) birthday and we sort of unplugged. Spent most of the weekend curled up on the couch, in bed, running errands, watching rented movies and trying our hands at cooking new and exciting things. (Exciting because we had no idea how they’d turn out). It was a really nice weekend.

It got me to thinking though. Why do Americans get so little time off? Why are we, as workers, so quick to give up our benefits under pressure from management? Why are we, as a nation, so anti-union? Most industrial countries in the world have much better worker protections than the US does. Most industrial countries have more personal time off than American workers do.

I’ve been raised to believe that America is the best country in the world, but the older I get, the less that seems true. We’re at the bottom of most of the world’s best lists. Our education system is broken, our infrastructure is antiquated, the entire health care system is over-priced and doesn’t work for those that most need it, and yet we fight each other to keep things the way they are???

What is wrong with socializing certain aspects of our society? We already have socialized police, fire and transportation. We have a form of socialized medicine (Medicare) that most people in healthcare will admit runs better than private insurance.

I doubt this country will be able to pull itself out of this death spiral until we do what the founding fathers intended and limit the power of businesses. Look at the problems faced by this country, where the money comes from that is fighting to keep the status quo? Unless we seriously limit the powers of the corporations paying off congress and the Senate, America is sure to continue to drop on the world’s “best of” charts… oh, except maybe where to get the cheapest workforce, which is truly what most corporations want anyway. Cheap labor and profits.

Nice legacy America.

Last month I turned 40 years old. Sometime in mid-July, I gathered together with my closest friends (that were able to travel) and celebrated a day that I never though would arrive. I’ve never been the type of person to celebrate my birthday, because, well, to be honest, I didn’t do anything. I just showed up. You could say it set the stage for my professional life but that is another story for another day.

In my entire life, I’ve had 5 birthday parties. My first party was when I was a year old and I have no recollection of it even occurring. I could be fabricating the very fact the party happened. My second party occurred when I was in the 8-13 range. (I’ve never really been good with time and dates.) My third party occurred when I was 29 and took place at a tiny little sushi joint in Noe Valley here in San Francisco. The eight people that attended took over the restaurant and it was one of, if not the best, sushi meals ever. New to that party was Birthday Rick, so called because he was my birthday present to myself. We met 3 days prior to the event and I invited him immediately. He must have enjoyed himself since he’s still part of my life. The following year, 30, saw a concerted effort by several friends and the BF du Jour to throw me a house-based birthday party that was well attended and a lot of fun.

That was it. Until this year when, over a big glass of wine, I was advised there would be a party to mark year 40. I was assured there would be nothing for me to do except show up. Ok, then, sure. Let’s do it and the invites went out far and wide to my core group of friend that have scattered to the corners of the country and world.

The event was planned and the venues shopped. Decided upon and revised and revised again. It grew to enormous proportions. We were talking 100 guests and thousands of dollars and I finally blew a gasket and said “No”.

I cancelled the party, and requested my deposit back from the restaurant. But… not the entire deposit. Nor was the party completely cancelled. I wanted to spend my 40th birthday with those that are most important to me and I did.

There were 14 people circling the table, the gifts all carried a duct tape theme and the homemade cake shaped like an iPhone complete with apps blew my mind. (Even more so when they circled it with 40 candles and set it alight). They turned down the lights in the restaurant but I swore they turned them on full.

All in all I enjoyed my 40th birthday immensely and I’m very glad that I was convinced to throw the party.

i think i finally have the site pretty much revised how i want it. mostly. not completely, but given my limited knowledge of code, this will have to do.

Happy 48th birthday President Obama.

As you can see, I’m finally getting around to revising my blog site. I realize it has been a while and there will be MANY more changes to come as I learn how to write code and use my wildly expensive Adobe CS4 software pack.

I realized that Facebook.com has taken me away from my writing and that my entire life has suffered. I’ve found myself craving the keyboard lately. So, as you can see, there will be a separate tab for my Wednesday Wanks to make it easier for those of you looking for a little more to view them quickly. I like the general layout of this theme but need to add other items to it, like a different color and my logo.

If anyone wants to help me in the short term, let me know and I’ll give you access.

– Title: cocktails and spirits

Saturday morning I awoke with my head throbbing lightly but otherwise not too badly hung over. The night before had been joyous. Cocktails at the St. Regis with Married Well, Mr. Well and the Republican followed by our standard “walking-dinner” through the Russian Hill neighborhood.

I was a little out of sorts, given the conversation I was engaged in with Mr. Edison just prior to my waking. Yes, Mr. Thomas Alva Edison, the famed inventor and I were enjoying a spirited debate about widely varied topics. The man is amazingly wise. Sadly, I awoke before he could finish his point about relationships, and love, so I’ll have to wait until we meet again in the dark of my dreams for him to complete it.

The trip was a bit of a blur, both in time spent and time lost. I saw too much, did too much, and holy shit, drank too much. Saturday night was the worst for our drinking. We began innocently enough in the lobby bar at the Four Seasons over a Chopin martini stuffed with the most sublime blue-cheese olives covered in a light olive oil marinade, prior to moving the celebration back to the roof top deck of the Republican’s flat where we chatted about life, work, the past and the future while taking in the views of the bay, the Golden Gate Bridge and the hills and mansions of the Pacific Heights neighborhood.

Once we were joined by the Crazy Redhead (I use this term endearingly) we sat around the table chatting, enjoying a few bottles of wine and some fantastic Trader Joe’s treats. The night was about to go downhill. We decided to meet TLBO out at a local gay bar in the Tenderloin called DECO for the ‘Bear-A-Cuda’ theme night where the Crazy Redhead was trying to pick up a half deaf/blind blonde boy from the group of men we joined. When someone interrupted her to inform her she was talking to his deaf side, she promptly switched sides with him. The party split up and the girls wandered off to find their own kind of fun leaving me to hang out with TLBO and the rest of my people.

The rest of the night, bits and pieces float through my memory, but nothing overly memorable until late night/early morning when it was time to make my way back.

I placed the first call at 3:43am and proceeded to call every other minute until 4:43am when she finally answered my call and buzzed me into her apartment. In the hour between, I was approached by a 6’7” black tranny hooker named Grace. who attempted to befriend me but when she stated her name, I returned with “full of grace, full of grace, He has risen! Full of grace, full of grace, HE has risen!” leaving a look of confusion on her face as I continued on my way. I also managed to locate a pizza place and purchased the last pizza they made for the night. Happily walking, and chewing on the thick doughy pizza I wasn’t even upset that I still hadn’t reached the Republican by phone and the chances of me spending the night on a park bench seemed almost a sure thing since I didn’t have keys to her place. I waved away a homeless man asking for a piece of pizza telling him “NO!, I’ve been drinking all night and I’m really hungry and I’m eating all of this”. A block further I realized I was but a paycheck away from his predicament and should have obliged him a slice, since I now had no plan to eat the entire thing but I couldn’t locate him and continued on my way.

I walked around for a solid hour calling every few minutes, until I finally called her business cell phone line and she picked up on the second ring and buzzed me in.

“Full of grace, full of grace” became out mantra the rest of our visit.

Thank you Republican for your hospitality and friendship. That thing we talked about… I’m working on it.
– Title: overheard in San Francisco

“Hey! I need to come back to this store tomorrow. FLAX is my favorite store ever…like in the history of ever.”
– Title: and i’m off yo.

Tonight, I jet off to San Francisco for my bi-annual teeth cleaning dental appointment. I’m staying with the Republican in her palatial Russian Hill apartment but I don’t think I’ll have access to her luxury convertible automobile on this trip. Something about maintenance issues and oil burning.

But I’m super excited about this trip. Not for the customary In-N-Out excursion I undertake on each of my trips to the coast, more because, I’m having a mini reunion of sorts.

TLBO is flying in this evening and Married Well and Mr. Well are already in town. Drinks with the Wells tomorrow and drinks with TLBO on Saturday. I have to keep these two separated for various reasons but mostly because of TLBO’s ADDHD.

This should be a grand trip.

Home.
– Title: wednesday wank

– Title: selfish bitch

I’m a very selfish person. I know this. I make no qualms about sharing this. The very act of keeping this little online world going should automatically give you an idea of just how selfish I find myself. I don’t write entirely for you, my fives of readers. In fact, I write more for myself. I realized this morning while writing that last post, that I have a story in my head that I need to get out. A story about my life, my emotions, my crazy fucked up attempts at being a better person. But my life story isn’t as exciting as I often make it seem. I’ll allow myself the little pat on my back and acknowledge that my crafting of words to sentences has a certain rhythm and flow. I’ll allow that from time to time I throw some words together than can create discussion and reflection, not only within myself, but amongst you as well.

Ultimately, I write for myself. I embellish. I lie. I try new things; but I write for me. When I write about topics that touch on parts of myself unexposed to the glaring light of day, I find myself rereading them again and again, tweaking words here and there to get the tone and the emotion just right. I take joy in reading my own words. I’m trying to get a story out, but not necessarily the tale of my life. No, I’m trying to get the tale in my head out. I’m using first person narrative, but many times, it has nothing to do with me. The words flow under their own power and formulate their own sentences. It is my fingers typing, and my heart feeling but the story takes a life of its own.

I wish I had a singing voice. I wish I had another form of expression that I could rely upon to release the pressure from within. I wish that I could sing the joys at the top of my lungs and people everywhere would know, and could embrace my joy. I wish that I could capture the soul of my sadness and paint it with words and melodies so dramatic that grown straight men weep at the power emanating from my voice. I watch movies like Dreamgirls and Rent and I covet their vocal finesses. I remember fondly the days of my youth, the hours spent wandering the vast, barren countryside surrounding my home, singing at the top of my lungs. Songs of happiness that would lift my already buoyant spirit compelling a little dance step or two. Songs of loss, sorrow and pain that would make my heart heavy. Singing, whether joyful or sorrowful offered me a release then. As I grew and my vocal powers lessened, drying up with the adolescent changes taking place within me, I stopped singing in public, instead stealing away to a remote location to practice that which brought me happiness until the very act of stealing away became a burden too great.

I wish I could paint. I wish I could put brush to canvas and move the viewer in such a way that they, themselves, cannot explain what they feel. To confound and delight at the same time would be a wonderful trait as an artist.

I wish I could do anything that would allow me the physicality of expression that writing does not. To write, it seems to me, is to crawl within and push words and thoughts about. Formulating clever compositions to entice and entertain. I’ve only once read a book that brought forth the physicality of expression that enraptures me. The anxiousness at reaching the conclusion, the rushed reading as I poured over the words on the pages, sucking in as much symbolism and description as possible, until reaching the breath taking end and allowing myself a moment to reflect upon the tale completed. All that excitement and thought provocation and yet I still felt stilted, subdued and robbed.

So I write and I’ll continue to write until that feeling is replaced and it no longer feels stilted or subdued. I’ll write until it feels complete, until I have no more stories in my head. I’ll write until I stop formulating paragraphs in my head while sitting at a stoplight. I’ve always said that I’m selfish. The only difference is I admit it.
– Title: accountable to what

Forty. I’m not there yet, but it is hovering awfully close to the horizon. I’ve a few more years of my thirties left, but the looming implications of another decade passing under my stagnant feet are stirring up things in me unlike ever before.

Things like responsibility, growth, love, loss and forward momentum in any direction are the topics that fill my thoughts these days. I’ve led a fairly non-responsible life answering only to my immediate needs and wants. I’ve found comfort in short-lived diversions and material luxuries. I have avoided loss and love for the large part of my life after experiencing first hand the pain I had the power to create in another person’s life. I don’t think I smiled outwardly while twisting the knife in them but I know that I found a level of contentment at the pain I caused. Sadistic? No. Bored is more like it. At the time I thought that any emotion would be better than the caustic silence I felt. Now I wonder.

As I reach my upper thirties, I’ve realized that dating me is good for those willing to attempt it. I set them up for their soul mate. I’m not sure how this power of mine works, but I can say that almost every single person that has dated me for 6-9 months and moved on has moved on to a relationship that lasts longer and is deeper than anything they’ve had before. Most of the people that dated me are still with that person that followed. If that is my gift to mankind, then so be it.

I thought it would be greater. I thought my gift would leave a lasting mark on the world. When I was younger and I dreamt of all that I would accomplish I dreamt great and fantastic things. I dreamt far-reaching accomplishments that would alter the very fabric of this world we share. I envisioned changes that would topple the powerful and enable and enrich the have-nots. Great dreams I had.

Now I wonder where I stalled. I wonder if I had been thrust into a situation where more responsibility had been dropped on my shoulders, would I be a different person. If I were responsible for the well being of another, would my choices have been different? I breached this subject with my mother this morning on the telephone. I’ve been responsible only to myself, and though for the most part, I’ve enjoyed the freedom that has afforded me, I wonder how much more of a person I could have been had somebody depended on me. I wonder how much more I’d have been able to accomplish. I wonder when I’ll grow up. I wonder if I’ll grow up. I wonder about a lot of things.

Living a life answering only to myself, responsible only to myself hasn’t been the great thing I dreamt it would be. Perhaps I should listen to the words of the newly elected democratic majority in congress and put some accountability back into my life. Nah… That’s just crazy talk.
– Title: spring is here

Spring is officially here. How do I know this? Is it because I spotted a Robin this morning while I was walking into an appointment? No. Is it because the calendar is about to be turned into yet another month? No. Is it because the bulbs are pushing through the soil and climbing towards the sun, or the trees are beginning to bud and come back to life? No.

Stella has started shedding. This is what came off her one back leg while she was sleeping next to me on the floor.

This was left after she moved to a different corner of the rug. No brushing, just laying down.

Aaaahhhh Spring.
– Title: The human cost?

Immigration: The Human Cost

– Title: WTF?

UN calls for mass circumcision of men to tackle Aids epidemics

Can someone explain this to me like i’m an idiot? How is the lack of forskin going to prevent the spread of a virus? Anybody? Anybody?
– Title: aaaah friends…

I must admit that I’ve surrounded myself with some very interesting and creative people over the years. This morning, I received the below e-mail from Tom:

You’re going to love this one.

I woke up this morning, and thought “hmm – smells like someone is painting upstairs.” Very strong fumes. I got out of bed, and the fumes were stronger in the entrance hall. I got the paper and went back into bed. Read the paper, and still kept getting whiffs of paint fumes. Eventually, I went in to take a shower, and the fumes were stronger in the bathroom. Then I thought “okay – that’s not paint.” Someone (and I think I know who) had hidden a bottle of poppers in the cabinet behind the bathroom door. The bottle had exploded. It had to have happened during the night, because I didn’t smell anything at midnight when I brushed my teeth. No wonder I was feeling the need to dance all morning. And now, several hours later, I still have a tiny headache and I’m feeling unusually horny.

In addition, my friends send me some pretty unsual text messages at all hours of the day and night. Currently I have the following still in my inbox:

TLBO: “I pray to Saint Dirk Yates.”

Sluggo: “You’re odd.”

Tom: “I’m tot crazy.”

Scott DC: “I want to get you a step-in.”

Sluggo: “Two words: double dickin’.”

I love my friends.
– Title: wednesday wank

– Title: weekend musings

What an amazing weekend. For those of you in the mid-west where we enjoyed record-breaking temperatures and sunny weather, I hope you enjoyed it, because they’re predicting snow next weekend. I, for one, took full advantage of the warm weather to get outside and spend some time with my bitch. We began our summer ritual on Sunday with a walk to Einstein’s Bagels for a sesame bagel (toasted with reduced fat plain cream cheese) then up the block to Starbucks for a medium coffee (I refuse to attempt or feed in to the language they’re trying to force onto the world). The whole city was outside this weekend prompting a flurry of impromptu social gatherings. Well, at least that’s what Stella and I sat and watched from our park bench, while enjoying the sunshine, the toasted bagel and the warm weather.

A few observations I made this weekend.

In a bold move that may perhaps be too soon, given its relatively recent fashion death, the ever-resilient sun visor is making a brave attempted comeback into the fashion arena. I believe the proper pairing with stained and shredded cargo pants, $2.99 flip-flops and a faux-vintage mass-produced graphic T may just give it the big break its been waiting for all these years. Or at least, that seems to be the thought process of the majority of males in Chicago. (Both straight and gay)

Earlier this afternoon while glancing nonchalantly at my reflection on the plate glass of a store front to check on my hair and clothing arrangement, I was stunned to realize that I was having one of, if not the best hair day in the past 3 months. No product. No combing. A little bit of sweat from the bicycle ride. The natural highlights brought out by my recent cut produced a visual that could only be described as the sun dancing off of my golden blond locks. It was stunning. I looked ruggedly handsome with my 3-day growth of stubble and my sweat glistening. “I’d fuck that,” I thought before realizing that people were starting to stare at my narcissistic moment and I quickly continued on my way.

Observation three. People are stupid. This has actually been gleamed from years and years of watching people drive, eat, talk, walk, live, etc. Upper-middle class couples with either 1 or 2 children should be locked onto an island and put through intensive instruction about how to be in public with their young ones.
(I’m generalizing of course; some parents are amazing about keeping their children under control, out of the way and quiet) The double wide strollers you are pushing down the sidewalk that is barely wide enough for two to pass should not force me to the muddy ground to avoid being run down by the likes of you. You bought the damn thing; you pay the price getting muddy.

Get your self-obsessed head out of your ass, the rest of the world doesn’t want to deal with your child.

And last but definitely NOT least.

For those of you recovering from Religious persecution or with a wild and witty outlook on religion, I suggest you visit (click on the picture to visit their website) To check out some of their unique and useful products. For instance, the Baby Jesus Butt Plug, the Jackhammer Jesus personal dildo.

Happy Monday. Have a good one out there today.
– Title: wednesday wank

– Title: by the numbers… Banking in the information age

Let me begin by stating that I love, love, LOVE my Credit Union located in the Bay Area. I’ve been banking with them for going on ten years now. The only problem is the lack of ATM coverage in the Chicago metro area. I’ve mentioned before the limited scope of ATM coverage so I won’t go into it again. (Not to mention the ATM located in the new Macy*s causing me shopping sprees in unheard of manic stages) In addition to the lack of ATMs, there is the little fact of, what I consider illegal, ATM service charges tacked on to the withdrawal of my funds, that have added up to thousands of dollars in the years I’ve resided in Chicago.

This all combined into a less than desirable situation for my limited financial resources and prompted me to search for a local bank to handle some of my banking needs and allow me access to local ATMs without excess surcharges imposed.

Enter Chase bank. There is a Chase branch on literally every third corner in this city and an ATM at the entrance to every Walgreen’s (located on every second corner). I chose Chase because of this and because I could get truly free checking with no costs to me, save the cost of checks.

Happy to be free of the troublesome search for an ATM or the driving required to deposit my weekly paycheck, I dutifully visited the closest Chase branch on Sunday to deposit my paycheck. Now, when I deposit to my credit union, it always posts the following morning with the exception of weekends, when it posts first thing Monday morning, regardless of which day I deposited the check. You can imagine my surprise when I learned that Chase doesn’t have the same policy with regards to ATM deposits. No, Chase considers Monday to be the date of deposit and therefore fund will not post until the following day, Tuesday.

Ok, I learned a tough lesson; I’ll have to better budget my time/funds to allow for this (which is cutting into the convenience factor of opening a local account). Though this rather defeats the entire purpose of me opening a local account, the convenience of a local ATM network would make up for everything… right? Well, not exactly.

It seems that Chase has another little policy in place the requires all deposits in the first 30 days of a new account to be seized and held in limbo for up to but not exceeding 15 days from the date of deposit, which is, mind you, the day after the physical deposit.

Yes, you read that right. My weekly paycheck, I’ve been told will be available to me on the 27th instead of Tuesday the 20th as I assumed once I realized that it wouldn’t post on Monday like my little podunk credit union in the Bay Area. Incensed at the problems this would cause, I promptly marched down to my corner bank branch and spoke with a somewhat less than completely worthless teller to implore them to release the funds they were holding hostage. She proceeded to tell me they needed a copy of the check in order to manually force it through. The fact that they had the actual check seemed to be lost on her so I returned home to gather the pay stubs and the bank information from my boss only to return to the bank to be told by the same somewhat less than completely worthless teller that she would have to call the place where checks are sent and get a copy from them. “Why didn’t you do that to begin with?” ran through my head as I steeled myself from the anger welling inside. “Be nice,” I told myself, “you get more accomplished with a smile than a shout”

I’ve been assured that the funds will be released sometime today and that they’ll contact me once they’ve been released, But I’m already angry, frustrated and questioning the benefits of all of this. The service is nowhere near what I’ve been enjoying for years. Granted the convenience of ATMs everywhere with no fees is a bonus, but what good are they if I cannot actually access the funds I’ve deposited?

In addition, it irks me that I have to be overly grateful and pleasant just to convince somebody to do the job they’re paid for… who do they think they are?? Me?

So now I’m in limbo as to which direction to take. Do I stay with Chase and rearrange my entire banking habits and allow their less than helpful rules to cut into my access to funds? Or do I stay faithful to my credit union and deal with the fees imposed by the banks I’m forced to use to deposit and withdrawal my funds?

The funny thing about all this? After all this happened, I returned home and consulted my online register to check balance and noticed that my tax return funds had been posted to my credit union account today making the Chase situation less important and dire than it started out. I’ll not miss any payments like I originally thought.
– Title: The ugly truth about Easter Candy… An Expose

If you haven’t been to a store lately, a Target, Wal*Mart, or any of the other larger department stores that feature enhanced holiday themed sugar-enjoyment centers, then you probably haven’t seen the wide assortment of Easter candies and candy bars currently flooding the market.

It used to be, even up until last year, that Easter would find relatively minor increases in the candy bar offerings. You would have your standard hollowed out milk chocolate in rabbit shapes with candied eyes, and pastel wrapped Hershey’s kisses. When I was a little kid, Reese’s added the peanut butter egg to the specialized Easter offerings. Prior to that, the Cadbury Crème egg would be the only really specialized Easter product I was aware of.

Now, however, there are a multitude of offerings out there competing for your sweet tooth. There are Almond Joy Eggs when sometimes you feel like a nut, and Mounds Eggs when sometimes you don’t. There are Butterfinger and Snicker eggs, a wide assortment of chocolates wrapped in pastel foils with and without fillings and the rabbits are coming in all different manner of shapes, sizes and chocolate types. Don’t get me started on the candy that in no way can be considered Easter-like in any manner, that are dressing themselves up to sell a few extra bags with the Easter Basket filling rush.

In my quest to offer an in depth and informed opinion, I’ve purchased and tasted the following Easter candy. I did this to provide you, my fives of readers, with a first hand knowledge of all that goes on in the holiday themed candy market. Below is a sampling of what is available, but only the candies that I’ve sampled for you.

I eat so you don’t have to worry about your waist.

To the candy…

Almond Joy Egg

Sometimes you feel like a nut.

Mounds Egg

Sometimes you don’t

Kit Kat Rabbit Ears

Same great flavor. HOT new shape stamped into it.

Reese’s peanut butter egg

The daddy of all Easter Candy bars

Cadbury’s Creme Egg

The Grand daddy of Easter Candy

Reese’s White Chocolate Egg

A variation of the original, for those racist chocolate eaters

Reese’s Fudge & peanut butter egg

A level of decadance unheard of in modern American chocolate circles

Pastel Candy Corn

Its not just for Halloween anymore

Nestle’s Crunch Eggs

An Easter version of the original Crunch candy bar, in bit-sized packages of joy

York, Peppermint Patties

Nothing to see here except pastel packaging.

M&M’s Speckled Easter candies

A fresh new paint job on an old time classic.

M&M Easter Candies

Pastel coating for Springtime. A standard

Life Saver’s Pastels

Not really Easter candies. More spring-like than Easter specific.

Robin Eggs Whoppers – Strawberry Milkshake

Again, Spring-like, not really Easter specific

Easter Egg Tootsie Pops

I’ve always thought Tootsie Pops were egg shaped to begin with, so nothing really new here.

Giant Hershey’s Kiss

If you’re going to make an Easter Statement. Nothing says it like a Giant Hershey’s Kiss. Spread the love and share with a loved one while celebrating the crucifiction, torture and death of jesus.
– Title: Wednesday wank

Something a little different
– Title: Commitment

I have a small problem with commitment. I tend to procrastinate until its too late or something forces my hand and it usually isn’t in my best interest. I’ve been meaning to book my trip to San Francisco to visit the dentist (It’s been over a year since my last teeth cleaning, ick) for several weeks now, but haven’t gotten around to doing it. I’ve been checking airfares and they all seem to be hovering around $450.00 for a round trip ticket. It rather amazes me that every single airline has the exact same fare listed for their flights. Kind of reeks of price fixing in my mind. But alas, I couldn’t afford the $450.00 for a trip to SF on my own and didn’t even consider miles until Tom brought it up to me.

Of course, by this time, it is too late to even book miles travel without surcharges for late booking. I ended up pushing my travels back into early April. Now, I need to rebook the dentist appointment, the eye doctor appointment, the dog sitter and reconfirm with management that I can indeed take the time off.

All this because of procrastination… And yet… I still won’t learn much from this very important life-lesson.

The weekend was lovely in Chicago for the first time in many months. Yesterday morning, I took Stella for a long walk into town for coffee. Well, I live in town, but I took her to the main strip of shops n such; about a 15-minute walk from home; and we sat in the sun on a park bench. We sat there for a few hours enjoying the sun, sharing a bagel with entirely too much cream cheese and the company of a lovely mixed race couple and their adorable little toddler girl. The gentleman was one of the most handsome Japanese men I’ve seen in my life.

In other news… I’m 100% Apple based now. I sold my PC to my brother over the weekend, and after the mandatory 14-day waiting period to ensure his check clears; I’m shipping it off to him. I guess I can add a little “Powered by Apple” logo to the page someplace.
– Title: I have one thing to say…

GIMME A BEAT…

– Title: Wednesday wank

I’ve been reaching a little too deeply inside lately, sharing a little too much. So allow me to take a moment to get back to center. While you’re waiting… please enjoy todays Wank.

– Title: finally…

Wait a moment…

Almost done…

There! Phew! I finally completed one of the most grueling undertakings of my life to date. I’ve finally finished viewing all of the porn on the internet geared towards my people. Let me tell you, this was no easy task. I had no idea how prolific we were in the production of pornographic images. The hours, days, weeks, years I’ve spent hunched over my desktop PC and then later my laptop in various rooms, coffee shops and airport waiting lounges around the world have been spent wisely, in my opinion.

Now that I’ve completed this and viewed all of the porn out there, I can focus on more important things, like walking my dog, learning to speak a foreign language and writing that novella I’ve been talking about, not to mention going to the gym.

I’m really relieved it’s done. I mean, the stress and pressure has been weighing on me for some time now. I haven’t been able to sleep, or focus on anything because I knew I was coming to the end of it all. I knew a few days ago that the end was so close.

I guess this frees up some time for me to continue my other major goal started nine long years ago. No, not finding a man to love, the other goal… Yes, finishing War and Peace.
– Title: peeling the layers

The more I sit and think about my last post, the more I open up the packaging I’ve wrapped around my memory over the years. Pulling away at the layers of denial I’ve forced on my emotions, I am continually met with the same anger fueled thought.

My childhood wasn’t bad. My parents are good people; my family had a level of cohesiveness unheard of in the world these days. We had fun, we traveled we did not starve or go wanting for basic needs. There was much love in the family and we all looked out for each other.

Each time I am confronted with this realization I get angry. I get angry that my parents weren’t drug abusing child beaters. I resent that my siblings weren’t involved in violence and stealing. Any sad tale they base life stories on these days would really be acceptable to me. No, not my youth. Again, let down by my upbringing. There was no major drama, no catastrophe to overcome, no bombed out streets or war torn villages. If any of this had happened, I’d have an excuse. I’d have a reason for the feelings I carry. No, I grew up in relative peace and tranquility, in an age of innocence the rest of the world missed out on. I grew up in a rural community that hadn’t yet been hit with the problems of guns or drugs or violence. Sure we had drugs but it wasn’t a common issue back then. The worst drug I ever saw in my small town was pot.

That blanket of innocence though, once peeled back reveals something altogether different. That environment stifled me. I could not truly be who I am and to this day when I return for visits I once again don the cloak of my youth and pretend to be someone that I am not. My parents have lived in that small town for much of their lives, growing up, attending school and marrying within miles of their birthplace and it is them I think of when I visit home.

It’s hard when you have no home to return to. It leaves you feeling lost and disconnected from people, from life. Add to that the knowledge of the shame I would bring to those that, despite everything, I love the most. This all sounds so elementary in its simplicity and over the years, I’ve dealt with the bulk of all of this. But every so often, I think its good to reopen closed wounds to make sure you successfully examined them for any trace of debris. Maybe I missed something small that holds a huge cloud over me. Maybe I just need to be reminded of how far I’ve traveled to become who I am.

Oh and let me send a great big “Fuck You” to the annonymous fuck that seems to think they are better than me. Grow a set if you feel up to commenting on my writing and leave some conact info. Yeah, I thought not. Annonymous Coward
– Title: a Polaroid from the past

The look of pain and disgust in her face haunts me to this day. Each time it pushes itself into my memory I wave it away before it can sink in and affect me too deeply. It was the moment my relationship with my mother changed forever and though we’ve discussed everything again and again and on the surface things are fine, I maintain an arms length because of the pain and the disgust of that moment. I don’t blame her, but I’ve never actually forgiven her either. She was unprepared for what she saw, for what awaited her when they came to bail me out of my first big mess.

My car had broken down on the side of the road, the drive shaft dropped out of it as I hit a pothole and I couldn’t afford to get it fixed or even get it towed off the side of the road. Not knowing what else to do, I called my parents for help. They jumped on a plane the next day, rented a car and called to let me know they were on their way.

I embraced the freedom an out of state college offered a kid from a small town with a well-known and large family. I was finding myself and felt a newfound happiness unlike any I’d known in my life allowing me to truly explore the person that I was, unafraid of negative family reactions and free from fear of being rejected by the very people I needed to accept me the most. I’d bleached my hair to a badly damaged, yarn-like texture the color of snow melting in spring. I wore my new favorite shorts, the ones I’d taken out to a club months before and passed around with a black sharpie in the pocket, covered with drawings, scribbles and words. It was the late 1980’s and I’d stumbled into the crowd that worshiped all things Depeche Mode becoming a quick study. The music was something I’d never heard before and it lit a fire in me that filled me with joy and possibility. My uniform quickly became that of the underground club scene, such as it was, in St. Louis. I was very close to being happy.
Until I saw them.

My mother cried that day. She sat in the back seat of the car in a deathly silence while we drove to the garage to recover my car, and while my father went to deal with the mechanic we sat together in the car quietly. She started to ask her baby son if he was gay but the tears choked her words and she stopped mid sentence. The only thing I said was “no” as I felt the tears form and the shame return like a sledgehammer.

I still see their faces from that day, captured in my heart like a Polaroid. Their expressions clearly showing their dreams for my life evaporating.

Shortly after I found drugs and the pain went away. The faces faded into the background and rarely emerged from the gloom in the hours I was sober and alert. I’m amazed that close to 20 years later, I can still picture the moment, feel the panic and remember the shame and the pain of breaking my parents hearts and I’m forever colored by that moment.
– Title: dreaming of socks

Last night I dreamt of socks. Dark cotton socks littered the floor of my bedroom in the hours my eyes were closed. Performing pirouettes across the dull and scratched polish of the wooden floors like ballerinas they danced the night away twirling and jumping to and fro. I heard the music in my head, a lively number filled with swooning violins and crashing piano chords to accompany the liveliness of the animated socks. All was filled with joy and light and I felt a glow from the heavens illuminating the procession.

In the corner, however, alone and away from the joyfulness of the others, lay a solitary dress sock, propped against the wall in a listless manner, turned halfway inside out. The intricate design belied the sadness of its solitude for there was no pair to be found. Seeing its condition I franticly searched among the others for its pair finding nothing to come close enough to match its threadwork or size and shade. Filling with sadness as I continued to search for the mate I worried about its fate should there be no match. Can a sock survive without a mate? What will become of it? Will its intricate threadwork and bold design be admired again or will it cease to exist, being tossed into the ragbag along with the yellowing t-shirts and other singled out socks?

As I was about give up all hope, out of the corner of my eye, I spied the mischievous mate hanging from the edge of the laundry basket, its threads grasping onto the woven reed. It swayed gently back and forth hanging as if from a window washer’s rig suspended above the floor.

I awoke imagining the socks reunited, filling the other in on its exciting adventures while they were apart. Last night I dreamt of socks with personalities, fears and weaknesses. I dreamt of a mischievous sock seeking danger and excitement while its mate sought the quiet life, content to lay back and watch the other live large.

I saw myself in the socks. Dreams can sometimes tell you more than you think when you give them a life of their own.
– Title: wednesday wank-athon

The last one looks an awful lot like Larry my Mobile Communications Adviser. I wonder why I go through so many phones and accessories?
– Title: and i’m an alcoholic

I seriously considered scraping together the $16,000 to buy the above traveling bar set from Wedgwood. Tom had to drag me away from it while promising to buy me something shiny.

Correction: The trunk is offered by Waterford NOT Wedgwood. I apologize for offending those of higher tastes.
– Title: I’m building a telescope

I’ve been in discussion with a certain friend of mine lately. You know the one on the East Coast that is going to be wildly successful in Hollywood soon, handsome, intelligent, crazy-entertaining. Yes, that one. We’ve been talking about life, love, and the pursuit of success and happiness. Typical coffee conversations peppered with the occasional illicit leer towards a hot man adding cream to his coffee at the self-serve counter.

He sensed the panic in my voice the other day, the sound of someone on the edge of a cliff, or at a fork in the road and he reached out his hand to steady me, and help guide me towards a different path. The words he chose to explain to me were brilliant in their simplicity and imagery.

He said that what I’m going through isn’t all that unusual when someone is trying to define their world and asked me to picture myself gazing into the night sky, illuminated by a million stars (and not hidden by the lights of the city). He explained that I see each star as a possibility, a path towards happiness and that I’m afraid, that if I choose one star, I’m basically saying “Fuck You” to all the other stars. Given my propensity for ensuring peace and happiness and avoiding confrontation, this is an impossible scenario for me. In addition, I’ve grown up with the notion, re-enforced time and again, that if I stick with something long enough, it’ll get better. Though all my experiences have implicitly proven the exact opposite, I continue along with this mantra. “Stick with it and things will improve”.

So I’m building a telescope, comprised of pen, paper, and my thoughts, filtered through my experiences to date, my fears, concerns, and hopes for the future. In time, I’ll chose which star holds my gaze the longest and fills my soul and makes time disappear.
– Title: i know… i know…

I realize its still a day away from my Wednesday Wank feature-ette, but the snow is falling, its cold, grey, and nasty outside and I was trying to come up with something to get me motivated and excited about the day. So there you have it… an early wank. pull it if you feel it.
– Title: Brewing up some change

I’ve done it! I’ve figured out how to move myself towards happiness. The solution may seem simple, it may seem incidental, it may even seem inconsequential; but this change will put into motion events that will change the world as we know it. (or rather, how I know it.)

Religions will crumble against the awe-inspiring-um-ness. World powers will succumbing and realize the old ways of a hundred generations was wrong. Simple people will stand up and cheer for the answer is and always was coffee. More coffee!

I’m changing blends. No longer will I drink the economy bean mix from the Costco roasters (nestled near the freezers in the back, right next to the seasonal specials and the food tasting centers) I’m switching to 100% Illy coffee.

Ahh, the world is better for it already.
– Title: Friday fuckup

I no longer cook with smoke flavored meats.
I have a hard time telling if it is burnt.
– Title: quiet please

What do you do when every fiber of your life, every fiber of your being is screaming for change? When the noise level is so loud that it creates a level of panic and anxiety you’re unable to surpass? How do you quiet the panic? I know changes are needed. I know which changes are needed, but the noise level is so loud that I can’t get a quiet moment to think of a strategy for change.

I keep telling myself “I get it, I’m unhappy” and “this is what is causing my unhappiness”, so I’ve identified the culprits and know the core causes, but cannot get past the screaming panicked voices.

What do you do when you’re faced with this level of noise in your own head?

I’m running out of aspirin.
– Title: weekend recap

Married well visited me this weekend so my post has been a little late in coming. I’m still recovering from the really nice visit. I’ve known Married Well from a geographic distance for so long that I forget how much fun he is to be around in person. His shyness and quiet can be unnerving sometimes if you don’t know him well, but it doesn’t bother me like it did when I first met him.

The weather was rather uncooperative this weekend so we spent the bulk of out time indoors bundled up under blankets (with bottles of wine) talking, and catching up.

Friday night, upon arrival of his Jet Blue flight from New York, we headed downtown to TLBOs real friend’s art opening at a little gallery in the River West area of Chicago. We didn’t stay too long before heading out to grab some dinner. We stopped at the liquor store for staples before dinner, which was good planning since dinner lasted into the late hours of the night.

Saturday, we headed for tots with Tom and then downtown to see “the Bean” (Cloud Gate) and the Art Institute. Married Well has such a great appreciation of art, that its nice to hang with him in a museum. He’s been to many of them around the world and knows a great deal more about art than I do. I know what I like… that is enough for me. I can appreciate most art (Rothko the definite exception Jason) and enjoy wandering through museums.

The rest of the weekend, for the most part consisted of bottles of wine, conversation and a little bit of shopping in the bitter bitter cold this winter has thrown at Chicago.

We watched the big game Sunday, well the first 5 minutes of it before it got boring and we started flipping channels while waiting for the commercials and the half-time show. I’m not a big fan of professional sports, but when the very first play of the super bowl is the most exciting of the entire game… somebody is being paid too much.

Time to get out of the house and back out into the biting cold.

Stay warm and think happy warm thoughts about each other and the world.
– Title: wednesday wank

My G.I. Joe never looked like this! Well… maybe in my world he did.
– Title: thinking of rain

TLBO offered me an interesting observation about me this weekend on the telephone. He told me that I should move to Seattle. Confused about this complete change in destination advice, I asked him why he would have me move to Seattle. “Who do you know in Seattle that you want to visit?” I asked him.

His response was “I’ve never seen you happier than when it’s raining.” “When you go out for your hours long walks in the rain and come back rejuvenated you always seem so content.” (*note – not exact wording)

It’s true too. I love to go for long walks in the rain. When I lived in San Francisco, I would don my hooded sweatshirt, baseball cap and leather jacket and head out into the storm to wander, splashing in mud puddles like a child. I would spend hours wandering throughout the city, following meandering routes up and down the hills, stopping to peer into closed shop windows, emptying the troubling thoughts from my head replacing them with the sights and sounds of my beloved city.

Often times, I’d stop into the Eagle Tavern and stand outside on the open patio staring blankly into the perpetually lit fire pit.

I don’t do that anymore. For one reason, Stella hates the rain and I don’t like going for long walks anymore without her. Another reason is that I live so far from the beautiful areas of Chicago that I find it pointless to wander. To achieve the same effect as my beloved San Francisco, I would need to take the “el” down to the loop before my wandering commences.

His statement has been sitting with me all weekend.

Damn you TLBO.
– Title: I’m the decider

Decisions are very difficult for me to make. I struggle with them, i worry about them and constantly second guess them. Even when i have months worth of solid data to help me make the decision, i lose myself in the decision.

So you can imagine the difficulty deciding which 5 of my frequently called telephone numbers i should designate in my new T-Mobile MyFaves section. One was very very easy to decide. The republican and I will sit on the phone for hours talking about nothing, venting about crappy traffic, or scheming our next million. She alone is the reason I kept upping my minnutes, eventually reaching the 2500 minutes a month plan. The remaining 4 slots weren’t quite as simple. I downloaded the most recent three months worth of call data into an EXCEL spreadsheet and sorted by telephone number. TLBO was second to The Republican with 560 minutes, so he warranted a slot, leaving three.

Two more were added and congratulatory text messages were sent. I still have an empty slot and I’m unsure who will fill it. There are three people in the running and each of them, according to the data are within 10 minutes of each other.

I know this relates to nothing in the greater scheme of things; however, it does make it easier to look to “The decider” and appreciate how difficult his job is. I mean, c’mon, he tells us how difficult his job is every time he opens his mouth to lie to us.
– Title: Wednesday Wank

Wednesday’s Wank is a little late this week…

– Title: Quantity of Quality.

It seems like just when I solve one of life’s pressing problems, another rears its ugly head. Twenty two days into my celibacy experiment I kiss a boy and realize that I really like sex and intimacy, but the kind of sex and intimacy that I’d been partaking was not fulfilling my needs and therefore, like eating a cracker on the Atkins diet, I began hungering and craving more and more until my appetite was a loaf of bread a day. (To stay with the Atkins analogy)

Thus realizing the key is moderation and quality over quantity, my devious little mind has twisted yet another life lesson to follow its dark demented will. That devious little twist is quantity of quality. It started out innocently enough; a night in Vegas drinking in a casino with the Republican, an angry exchange of words, dramatically storming out of the bar to calm my anger only to end up in what must truly be the happiest place on earth. Gleefully, with a slight twinge of knowing guilt, handing over my credit card to the handsome man behind the counter and waiting as he carefully wrapped my purchase in the signature orange box with the brown ribbon.

I speak of my first ever purchase from Hermes, Paris. A lovely silk tie, Teal “H”s on a white background. Very classy with touches of understated elegance. How a Hermes tie should be.

Upon returning to my world, I chose to wear my new tie to work my first day, only to notice that the thread holding the little label on the back of the tie had come undone and a second string was about to unravel. I marched myself into Hermes yesterday while in between account visits and asked them for help with repairs. The noticed a few other locations that were equally weakened and assured me that they would send it to the person in New York that repairs all of their silk items, for a small charge.

“I’m sorry” said I, “but I don’t think that will work for me, you see, I just purchased this a few weeks ago in Vegas, and this is the second time I’ve worn it.” The shop girl, tall, thin, model-like in her appearance, apologized and excused herself to find the manager to return moments later with the Assistant Manager in tow. He apologized and assured me they would take care of everything if I could just show him a receipt. “Of course, I’ll fax it to the store later today” happy to finally be able to use the new fax option of my new all-in-one printer.

Transaction completed, I stood there, in what has to be the happiest place on earth, thinking about how un-thought out my trip was. Here it was 11:00am on a Wednesday; I had three more sales calls to make and no tie.

I glanced at the shop girl, tall, thin, model-like in her appearance, and said “well, um, I kind of need a tie for today” thus beginning the search for my second silk tie from Hermes and my second signature orange box wrapped with a brown ribbon.
– Title: chiming in on a controversy

I like the current discussion going around the net and the media regarding Isaiah Washington’s use of the term “Faggot”. It is enlightening to see people arguing both for and against its use and greater implications. If you believe Oprah, being fat is the last area of discrimination in this country, but I do not agree with Oprah. Being Gay is still a much more discriminatory place to be than to be fat.

In case my evil sister in law is reading this… I’m not being all militant and “woe is me”, I’m stating a simple fact. Though my family for the most part has accepted me, and my life isn’t governed by hiding my true self any longer, there are millions of men and women both adult and teenagers that cannot feel as if they would be safe to be fully honest about themselves. When one grows up an anomaly of society, be it fat, gay, disabled or a minority their life is affected whether they (or society) acknowledge or not. To be marginalized, to feel different, to be singled out leaves lasting scars. Even worse still is to have your life debated in the newspapers, dissected, trashed and ripped open without a chance to refute with the truth of the debate.

There are a lot of closed minded people in this great land. From the hallowed halls of government to the rusted shacks in the hills and small towns, bigotry exists, mainly out of fear, and religious doctrine (which again exists out of fear) but it exists none the less.

I’ve been called a “faggot” for as many years as I can recall. As a child, it hurt. As a teenager it hurt a lot. It scared me because being called a faggot in a small town was and still is something to dread. Giuliano of GLAAD said. “We also know that, tragically, this sometimes can be the last word people hear before they’re attacked, beaten and possibly even killed.” Unless you’ve grown up with this kind of fear in your mind you have no idea how hurtful, frightening and debilitating the word can represent.

The one thing that troubles me however, is that nobody, not a single commenter that I’ve heard and/or read has acknowledged how closely this relates to Michael Richards recent racially fueled scandal. Why is it ok to call someone a “faggot”? If he had been called a “nigger” all hell would have broke loose.

Bigotry is ugly no matter what word you’re throwing around. Bigotry BY a marginalized minority against another marginalized minority makes me shake my head in disgust. Nobody can be truly free to live their lives until all bigotry is eradicated and understanding, education and diversity are the norms.

I look towards the day that hurtful derogatory words are no longer used, by either side of the debate.
– Title: return to Sodom

Twenty-one days. Not bad. I made it 21 days without the tiniest slip and then I saw his eyes. He was adorable, looking at me with those big brown Greek eyes like a puppy. He leaned in to kiss me and I knew then the resolution was out the window. I’m a sucker for a good kisser and I’d found a good kisser when I wasn’t even looking for one.

Later, when I arrived home there was a text message from him; “next time we cuddle”. I knew it was a one time thing. I know that is a bitter and horrible response to a sweet and playful message but I can’t help it. The term cuddle, to me, implies something I’m not comfortable with. Use the words “hold me” or something, but “cuddle” seems almost childlike in its need and removes the essence of the need for intimate physical contact between two adults. When someone invites me to “cuddle” goose bumps crawl up my spine and I have to fight the feeling away.

Not a good way to return to the slut life if you ask me.
– Title: Dinner for one?

I was recently asked a question by a handsome and intelligent man. The question, unbeknownst to him, has caused a bit of strife in my world. It was innocuous enough, yet it swirls around in my head pointing out failures and weaknesses in my life. I feel like a loser, a hermit confined to his apartment stuffed to the ceilings with stacks of newspapers and bric-a-brac, a socially inept heathen who cannot, nor does not have friends with which to fill my time.

The question, mildly put asked if I had any free time for dinner. Yes. Yes I have free time for dinner. I have free time for lunch and breakfast too. I have all the time in the world (until my 60th birthday). I have so much time it is making me crazy.

I pretend I don’t have the time, that I’m super busy but in truth, I sit home with Stella, puttering into the wee hours of the morning every night. Reading, watching television or playing video games.

My phone rarely rings with invites from locals. There are 3 people that call me regularly and I am very thankful for them. Thankful they put up with my neurosis and quirks.

It was rather difficult for me last night to stop at the butcher shop on the way home to buy some food. “Yes, I’ll have one pork chop and one filet please” telling the store and the world that I’m on my own.

So yes, I have time for dinner. And I’ll try not to be too excited when we finally sit down to eat.
– Title: Smart n Pretty

Today was an expensive day for me. I’ve been thinking for a little while about upgrading into the wired world. I realized while in Las Vegas with the Republican that I needed to be more accessible to my work e-mail when a customer e-mailed a pick-up to me that I was lucky enough to catch when I called the office to check on something else. So I decided to upgrade to a smart phone. The Republican seemed very happy with her T-Mobile Dash, and all the research I did online confirmed that it was a better investment than the much-coveted Motorola Q that I’ve been eyeing. In addition, I needed to review my phone plans, change minutes around and make some changes. It was all costing me way too much.

I stopped in to see the hottest phone salesman in the entire world and spent a good half hour relishing in the attention Larry was sending my way as we decided together which was the best path to follow. I was envisioning something completely different the entire time in his presence but that is something that must wait until February to be discussed. He set me up with the Dash.

Once we completed the transaction, smart-phone in hand, I left the warmth of the store, leaving the most handsome man I’d encountered all day behind in search of another purchase. I headed over to BestBuy in search of a VoIP phone router.

What a day. Much like TLBO commented on Sunday after he dropped close to $1000 on a fantastic rug for the homestead in the valley, it is so easy to spend large amounts of money in no time.

I came home and set everything up. The Dash took me quite a few attempts to get it working and the Vonage router was up and working in a flash.

So now, I’m back to a home phone, and a cell phone. More numbers, more ways to be reached.

All this connectivity left me feeling a little cold, so I spent some time admiring the flowers I’ve been forcing for a few weeks. The blooms came in full on Saturday and are only getting more and more beautiful.

I leave you with a photo of the Amaryllis.
– Title: wednesday wank

For Tom:

– Title:

Las Vegas was a blast. I’ll be recovering for some time to come. There’s a few pictures posted to the left. Take a gander if you can stomach it.

What a trip. I landed at 11:30pm and caught a cab to the Mandalay Bay Hotel & Casino where The Republican met me in the lobby, taking a break from the Foundation Room Lounge to escort me to the room. After opening the door to the room I understood why. The hotel was kind enough to upgrade us to a two-bedroom suite larger than my apartment back home (with more storage space too).

I dropped my bags and we headed back up to the Foundation Room for a few cocktails Martinis. We walked out onto the open-air deck and took in the sights of the strip. Fantastic from the top floor of the hotel situated at the far end of the strip.

The trade show was a blur. Too much information, too many vendors, too many products. I barely remember everything we saw. Thankfully, I have boxes of stuff being sent back to me, not to mention the 5000 mailing lists I was added to while walking through the show floor.

The evenings were meant for entertainment and damn did we entertain ourselves. I miss The Republican because she is the only person I know that doesn’t really eat a standard dinner, but you still eat enough to be full. We nibble on appetizers while sipping cocktails martinis or glasses bottles of wine. The samplers we had, the carpaccio with the buried Polenta was heaven. The Blue cheese stuffed olives on the Rosemary twig toothpick was the most inventive flavor I’ve had in a martini to date.

Friday night, we got a little out of hand and in the city of Sin that can be dangerous. Dangerous enough to find me in Hermes at close to 11:00pm purchasing my first ever Hermes Silk tie and The Republican across the way in Prada negotiating for a pair of fabulous Sunglasses and a wallet.

Back to the Foundation Room for a nightcap which neither of us actually remember having or needing. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” should cover the next few hours of activity. The next thing I am willing to report was me sitting up straight in bed at 9:30am thinking shouting “Holy Shit I’m going to miss my flight” Within 45 minutes, I was showered, packed and waiting for a cab to whisk me to the airport. They were boarding the flight when I walked to the gate; preventing me from grabbing a much needed greasy breakfast sandwich and gallon of Diet Coke. The last to board the plane, thanks to the coveted Group 7 status, I landed in my seat, turned to the woman next to me and apologized for reeking of Gin and promptly passed out. I awoke to the plane grinding to a halt at Chicago’s O’Hare airport. That was the shortest, fastest flight I’ve ever had. Once wee reached the gate, I stood to gather my bags and realized that I was still relatively drunk from the night before. What a trip. What an experience. I related the story to my older brother tonight and he told me, “Your brother Scott would be proud of you”. I’d like to think so.

The New Year’s Resolution is still in effect. The drinking part isn’t, but that was meant more as a means to an end solution. Since I wasn’t looking for that end, nor did I really have the opportunity, I figured I was safe to drink.

Then again, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
– Title:

Things I learned on my trip to Las Vegas to spend some time with the Republican.

The classic novel UTOPIA makes more sense after 2 gin and tonics.

The extra inches afforded in the exit row aisles are a dream on my knees on a 4-hour flight.

I’m glad I had a chance to fly America West before they disappeared.

The best Chili Cheese Fries in the world can be had at the Raffles Café in the Mandalay Bay Hotel and Casino.

Checking into a hotel room to realize that it was actually a 2-bedroom suite AFTER you opened the door is a sublime feeling.

– Title: grey areas

My resolve is wavering under the pressure. I realize it is only day two but I wasn’t very specific in my definitions. Granted I made allowances for New Year’s Eve festivities by allowing a post midnight romp, so long as we were sweaty and satiated before the morning light (technically my plan was to begin when I awoke on New Year’s Day). But new situations have arisen that were unforeseen merely days hours ago.

What about phone sex? Masturbation? Cough Syrup? A sore back preventing me from doing those sit-ups? What about a budget not allowing me to travel once a month? No one to dog-sit Stella for me on trips she won’t be able to accompany me? What about a winter storm preventing me from getting out of the house to visit a museum or gallery? And this thing about ‘Goals’… really now. How do I determine what goals I have and/or want?

This level of confusion about my poor planning and definition came about last night when a certain gentleman that I have been rather enamored of telephoned me and proceeded to attempt phone sex with me. Does faking phone sex count?

I can do this.
I can do this.
I can do this.
Hell someone give me some cough syrup. It’s not on the list.

**Update**
Wikipedia defines Celibacy as :

A vow of celibacy is a promise not to enter into marriage or engage in sexual intercourse. Celibacy has long been a synonym for abstinence or chastity, with “celibacy” a weightier word implying a commitment or even a vow. Some modern commentators use “celibacy” in a limited and loose way, meaning only abstention from sex with a partner. They distinguish between “celibacy” (being partnerless) and “abstinence” (the real thing), and believe one can masturbate and still be called “celibate.” They refer to this as “unchaste celibacy.”

– Title: Day one

I know that woke up this morning pure and chaste as if I’ve never been touched before but I don’t feel any different. I’m cautiously optimistic about this experiment. Since I first mentioned it, reaction has gone from disbelief to scorn to support. I feel good. I made it to lunch so far. Three hours down.

I suppose now would be a good time to detail my resolutions for the New Year. I’ve not made a new year’s resolution for close to a decade because I learned early in my life they are a simple way to set yourself up for failure. So instead of merely removing vice from my life I’m going to add some good things as well. I’ll be adding things to feed my soul and, in the immortal words of Janet, Miss Jackson is you’re nasty, “You must learn to water your spiritual garden”.

So here we go… my resolutions for 2007. I’ll cross them off as I break them (and you know I will)

Subtract:
# Sex for 1 month (minimum)

# Alcohol for 1 month (minimum) – Alcohol makes the horniness factor rise exponentially per sip.

# Internet Porn for 1 month (minimum)

Add:
# Travel more. Once a month I plan to take a weekend trip. January will be Las Vegas. February will most likely be San Francisco because I need to visit the Dentist and Eye doctor.

# Exercise – at least 3 times per week. In addition to longer walks with Stella.

# Feed my spirit – once a week, visit a gallery, art museum, library (book store), furniture store. Anything that will allow me to reconnect with my creative self. Take more photos, write more, read more.

# Work more efficiently – work = income. In my career, more work = more income. I can solve my own financial shortcomings within 2 months should I work harder and smarter.

# Goals – I’ll be sitting down and coming up with clear and specific goals and plans to achieve them in the next few days. Without goals I’ll flounder like I have for the past 5 years.

There you have it. The goals, resolutions, fears and excitements I’m working with. I made sure to have more in the Add column than in the Subtract column.

What are you resolutions? How long do you foresee them being kept?

photoshop courtesy of Scott DC
– Title: out with the old

The year is coming to a close. 2006 hasn’t been the best year for me. The rut I’ve been trapped in has gotten deeper and the numbness of the daily struggle to maintain above the water has taken over. I can’t feel anything. I can’t feel joy. I can’t feel sadness. I feel nothing. I just finished an amazing book last week and the final paragraph of the book speaks volumes to me, to my situation, to my struggle.

Already I know it’s not enough. Already I feel myself becoming bored. I’ve been idle for a year now and it’s all begun to grow off me, the smell of dust, the sight of long grass rolling in a breeze. I’m used to things happening. But I’m afraid too. If I have nothing else right now, I have control, and I don’t want to risk losing that by doing something, meeting a man, making a friend, getting a job. I know I’ll have to do something eventually, but right now there’s just the bedroom, and that’s enough for me, the bedroom and the bed and the idea of sleep. One morning I’ll wake up and I won’t do something I always do, and then I’ll know it’s time to make a change, or else I just won’t wake up and that will be that. Sometimes in those last minutes before sleep my heart feels like a blood-filled bellows, and if I turn and look at Martin’s side of the bed, I can see it beside me. It labors mightily, inflating and deflating, and each time if deflates it spews out a viscous pool of blood which spills everywhere, and all I have ever felt is love and hate, rage and joy, terror and numbness, and there is no center to any of these spectra, only north and south poles which I sway between like a pendulum which exists only at its two high points. Nothing I know tells me that life can be any different from this, nothing except for the experience of these last few months, when there have been no high points, no polar opposites no extremes of emotion, and it’s as if I’ve ceased to exist. Everything tells me that if I want to survive I have to find a middle ground, a place where I can stand and not feel as if on one side a sea rages to consume me and on the other side a vast open prairie waits deceptively to engulf me in immense emptiness I don’t know what the place is I’m looking for, I only know what it’s not, and it’s not that, it’s not all or nothing. It’s something, but it’s not that.

Martin & John by Dale Peck

That paragraph floored me when I first read it. I sat with it and let it sink into my being and for the first time in my life someone else’s words filled me and told me I’m not alone, my experiences, though uniquely mine, are not so different from others. I continued to sit with this paragraph, reading it over again and again, catching new meanings with each reading, and understanding more of myself with each word devoured.

I’ve been stuck on the proverbial prairie for the longest time and numbness has taken over my life. Not sadness like I had convinced myself, because I’m not exactly sad. I’m scared about the changes I’m undertaking because of what they may uncover. But I can’t continue to exist without passion, emotion or activity in my life. I’m not waiting to die any longer. I’m wanting to live.
– Title: fun with photoshop

Somebody snuck a camera into the initial strategy meeting for my global domination scheme.

I can’t claim credit on this.
– Title: Poetry?

tick tock
will you be on any chat system at all? or will i be reduced to your blog?
Should my lips grow dry
will you whet them, Dear?
In the midnight hour
if my lips were dry?
Would you bathe me with me in the stream of life
Will you still love me when i’m down and out
Would you lay with me in a field of stone

My love will never leave you.
– Title: the great big payoff

My my my. Happy post-Christmas Kwanzaa Chanukah holiday. I’m sitting here in the home office after feeling a renewed vigor towards life, work, love and whatnot. The holiday was lovely. I spent the Eve in the warmth of a friend’s home toasting, tasting, and gift-grabbing to my heart’s delight. It’s been an annual tradition that I look forward to with excitement.

Now I sit listening to the essential Judy CD I bought from the soon-to-be-out-of-business Tower records, Stella snoring quietly on her stolen comforter carelessly left too long on the floor and claimed by her in a moment of brilliance on her part. Life is lovely.

The camera in the picture somehow managed to show up, unbeknownst to me, on my credit card sometime during the holiday shopping excitement of the last week. I finally cashed in on the Diet Coke points for something small and electronic. It wasn’t the flat panel TV as originally hoped, but a small handy camera that fits in my pocket is a dream. Now I’ll be able to capture more of my life and share even more of my mostly dull existence with my loyal 5’s of readers.

I’m off to join a gym. I need a distraction for the upcoming month. What better place than the gym, where I’ll be sharing close confining locker room conditions with naked muscled men in towels as they head for the showers. Their well-muscled bodies covered in a layer of sweat, glistening in the low, dim light of the locker room.

A perfect place for me to begin my celibacy.

oh yeah and there are some great new pictures on the left side… just click on that one. no, the other one. yes that one. go ahead. click on it.
– Title: shhhhhhhhush

I’ve received a fair amount of flak from various people about my public disclosure of the upcoming celibacy experiment. Statements telling me that I’m going overboard, that I need to just cut back; I won’t last a day, let alone a month.

To all this I say “shhhhhhhhhh”. This is my experiment. If I succeed, fantastic. If it brings me to a level of enlightenment, even better. If I fail completely and lose my newfound celibacy before eggs on January 1st, so be it.

I’m likening this to Stage 1 of the South Beach diet. Shock the system. Allow it to reset on a healthier footing. Stumble occasionally and grow as a person from everything I learn.

To those assured I’ll fail. Thank you for you support.
To those who understand what I’m trying to accomplish. Thank you for understanding.
To those who merely mock. Kharma sucks. Keep that in mind.
– Title: wednesday Wank

I’ll be writing more and wanking less in the new year.
– Title: no more love to go around

I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about sex, and a closely followed amount of time acting on those thoughts, either with myself or a friendly nameless helper. I have several kind-hearted men that I get together with on a semi-regular basis to act on those thoughts too.

An idea percolated into my sub-consciousness that I should go celibate. Rubs claims that I am stealing his thunder because he came up with the idea first; but since I do not recollect the conversation (I only hear about every 5th word, ask anyone) I have decided to go ahead with the experiment.

I am going celibate in the New Year. Come January 1st, 2007 there will be no more name-less encounters, no more internet porn, no more “quiet times” with me and my admirers. I shall shun the advancements of the amorous masses that seek me out for my impressive skills and passionate embraces. Long kisses into the early hours will be no more, no, I suppose kissing is ok.

Since I’ve had this epiphany and settled on this commitment I’ve been having anxiety attacks regularly. What will I do with all the extra energy? What will I do with all the extra time? What will I do with all the money not spent on booze in seedy bars?

My heart is racing with the possibilities my life might hold should I take a little break from my constant obsession with sex, dick, ass, and the combinations of the two. My friends are taking bets about how long I’ll last. Tom is giving me 3 hours.

I’ve been in a rut for far too long and I cannot think of another way to force myself out of said rut.

Wish me luck; I know I’ll need it.

TLBO, shall I mail you the unopened bottles of poppers?
– Title: tell me what to write about

My dear 5’s of readers. Tell me which tale you’d like to hear.

Option 1. – My end of days scenario

Option 2. – My January plans
– Title: wednesday wank

He has pretty eyes. (at least thats what I’m going with)

– Title: i’m an action star (in theory)

I awoke from my dreams last night to the sounds of Stella’s empty stomach gurgling. Don’t think I don’t feed her. She has had food in her bowl for 2 days. She eats when she wants. I think she may be a tad anorexic since the vet told her to lose 5 pounds.

The dreams, though, are what I want to write about. Strangely, the last few weeks, I haven’t been having the vivid dreams I’m so used to, in fact, I do not remember most of my dreams they’ve been so boring lately. But last night…

I was a Bollywood movie star and an undercover government agent on the side. At one point, my reflection in the mirror showed me to be a rather handsome and very well built Indian man. (hairy chest, beautiful brown skin, huge…, you get the picture) There was intrigue, several gunfights and 2 car chases. The crescendo of the impending danger was reaching a fevered pitch when I was ripped from the excitement by the sounds coming from the foot of the bed.

I looked down to see my Stella, curled up in a ball spooning with my feet keeping them warm, the gentle sounds of her breathing interrupted by the noises of her stomach. I sat up to pet her and she lifted her head in wonderment, gazing at me briefly, stretching and adjusting herself then went quickly back to sleep.

Try as I might, I couldn’t recapture the threads of the dream as I drifted back into darkness.
– Title: wednesday wank

Today, as a special request to a friend, I’m posting 2 wanks. The first is a very sexy man here in Chicago that I met while camping this summer. The second is stolen from the web.

– Title: regrets

Earlier over a single shot of espresso with Rubs I shared something I’ve not shared before. It must have been the 8pm espresso, the bitter cold in the air, or the drift the conversation had taken towards a certain depth. Try as I might, I cannot always stay as deep as the fluid in the cup of the drinking bobbing bird sometimes I slip deeper and my true person comes out however briefly.

When TL and I parted ways over my stupid indiscretions I had no idea it would affect me as deeply or for as many years as it has. That something I shared with Rubs was regret. He couldn’t imagine that I would have any regrets in the loves of my life, or at least that’s how I took his stunned silence upon hearing my revelation. He tried to argue it, but realized quickly that I was sharing something deeply personal and I guess I’m now sharing it with you.

His question, asked for clarification purposes, was simple and direct. “If you could go back, and undo your indiscretions, give up every relationship you’ve had since, undo the crazy wild life you’ve lived, if it meant being with him, would you?” Without the slightest pause I said, “Yes”.

He asked again, altering the words slightly, attempting further clarification, and prompting me to forgo my sometimes-athletic sex life in the equation and structure of his words. Again, I responded in the affirmative.

The biggest single regret in my life has been and I fear always will be TL. Not that I loved him, not that I lived with him, but that I hurt him so deeply, that even though he has forgiven me and we are still in each others lives, I have never forgiven myself. I’ve never felt a connection as strong or as instant as I have with him. When I think about my happiest days, the times of my life that seemed effortless, I think of my time with him. I realize that time has softened the struggles and the work our relationship required. That the quiet nights of desperation, laying wrapped in his arms miserable in my heart about everything, has been glossed over as if with many coats of Maybeline’s Kissing Lips is also understood. Years have a funny way of helping you to understand why things happen as they do. Sometime the years can be kind, allowing you to relish your time together and fondly remember those sunny days. Other times it can be cruel, opening locked doors, displaying things you never imagined existed and forcing you to take stock in your own short comings.

Regrets, yes I have many. This is but one.
– Title:

“This is a bad sign,” said Rubs as we followed the woman, covered in a knee length puffy down winter coat, into the restaurant for a slice of pizza. We’d been out to see a movie earlier tonight and wanted to grab a bite to eat before we started drinking.

It took me a moment to realize why Rubs would say this, given that we’d only just bumped into her. She stopped in the breezeway, carefully scanning the photocopied “wanted” notices taped to the wall. “This is scary” she said pointing to the most prominent notice, “this looks just like my boyfriend only he’s got darker skin”.

She continued to chatter on as we went further inside, ordering, yelling at her boyfriend into her mobile phone, before grabbing her slice and heading to sit down.

Rubs turned to me and said “She’s going to join us isn’t’ she” and we both turned to see that she had grabbed the very center table in the entire restaurant. I reassured him that we could sit comfortably in the far back corner and ignore her.

She made a scene the entire time she was in the place, continually fighting with her “wanted” boyfriend loudly on her phone before she screamed into it that he was ruining her life, finished her pizza and headed out into the sleet filled night to join him in the bar.

My favorite line of the evening, when she confided that he resembled the person on the poster was my own witty response of “take him into a dark alley near where the other attacks have happened and gage his reactions” Rubs thought it was funny, I don’t know what the crazy woman thought, nor did I care.

After our slices, we headed to the bar, following 3 drag queens, 2 in full-length mink coats and the third in a fox stole. They were struggling across the icy sidewalk in the strappy high heeled shoes. I commented on how cold their feet must be.

I had a few drinks, was cruised hardcore by a really hot man that later left with his boyfriend (I assume), said my goodbyes to Rubs and headed out into the snow for the train ride home.

The snow is falling, the first of the season. I love nights like this. Stella curled up at the corner of my bed snoring gently, snow falling quietly outside, covering the ugliness of the dirty city with a blanket of white and the gentle hum of the furnace struggling to keep the place warm.

Tonight is also the first night I’m sleeping wrapped in the quilt my Grandma made for me.
– Title: Quote of the day

“Give a person a fish and you feed them for a day;
teach a person to use the Internet and they won’t bother you for weeks.”

I’m home from Buffalo and Toronto and getting my life organized. December is always my busiest month, work-wise. It is the only month that I personally visit every account, check-in in person and drop off goodies to the people that pay my bills.

I’ve got a crazy 3 weeks in front of me so I shan’t be posting often. My thoughts are with you, my fives of readers.

i hope all is well in your world.
– Title: Gobble Gobble

Happy Thansgiving everybody. I’m making my semi-annual pilgrimage back to Buffalo to spend the holiday with my family.

I hope you all have joyous and happy times.

I’ll return next week.
– Title: Bond James Bond

I saw Casino Royale last night at a 12:01am showing. The theaters were packed and the crowd was very diverse in age groupings. I was not dissapointed. The guy standing near us in line was beautiful and we were trying to gage wether he was on a date or not. I said “no”, Rubs said “yes”. At any rate, the date was going badly and he really wanted to be with me. I could tell by the way he avoided my leer stare gaze.

The movie did not disappoint either. I think it was better than the last 2 combined. However, the product placement forced into the script did a huge disservice to both the movie and the advertiser. Ford Motor Company and Virgin Atlantic airways were by far the most obvious.

In one scene, the entire scene exists for the only reason of showing off the Ford product line. The Jaguar, Range Rover, and Ford marques being the only in the scene. The lingering snail like pace of the scene was more car commercial than James bond.

In another action packed scene on an airport runway (obviously pre-War Against Terroristic Practices™ due to the lack of any sort of security or nightmarishly long screening lines in the terminal, a Virgin Airlways 747 jetliner is digitally added into the scene taking off of the adjoining runway.

I don’t mind product placement, per se, but product placement shouldn’t detract from the story line. The audience shouldn’t groan when the product hits the screen as they did in this film; rather they should subconsciously note that the hot car being driven was a Ford Motor Company product not even available for sale in the United States. Perhaps if Ford Motor Company would bring cars like that to the US, they wouldn’t be in such dire financial straights.

But who am I, except an obvious auto enthusiast that goes through a car every 2 years?

Irf you can get past the blatently obvious and horribly scripted product placements the film is mostly pure classic James Bond.

“shaken or stirred?”

“Do I look like I care?”

you’ll understand that exchange after the movie
– Title: Wanderlust

I’m getting that feeling again…

so far internationally…

and domestically…

create your own visited states map
– Title: Wednesday wank

– Title: Monday madness

I’m stuck at home today, unable to move my car thanks to my fucked up neighbor’s abhorrent parking skills. The person that parked behind me last night is so close to my rear bumper that I cannot even open my trunk or walk between the two vehicles. Then this morning someone parked in front of me, a pick-up truck with a tow-ball extended from its bumper, in an equally personal-bubble penetrating manner. Mind you, there is ample room on the opposite ends of both vehicles, in fact, entire parking spots.

People never understand why I bitch about the idiots that park in this neighborhood, but if you were to walk up and down the block at any given time, day or night, you’d be amazed and the lack of skill and common courtesy much of these people possess.

At least I’m warm n cozy in my apartment, avoiding the falling drops of ice-cold rain. I’m on my second cup of illy coffee n chocolate soy and I’m surrounded with that wonderfully carcinogenic aroma of a fresh plastic shower curtain.

A final note to my readers. Your comments will no longer immediately post once you publish them. Thank you to the anonymous poster who perceives intimate knowledge of me and my inner workings based purely upon the words written here (yet having no concept of my humor, sarcasm or personality) I have decided to force all comments to undergo moderation approval prior to posting. I’ll still approve comments provided a name is attached but it may take me some time to get to them. (Note- The Shrub™ did just sign legislation making your very activity a federal crime and I’m going to look into forwarding the annoying comments to the FBI. Yes, I’m THAT petty.)

Happy Monday to you happy people. I’m going to go try to extricate my car.

UPDATE: I managed to extricate “el Negro” from between the SUV and the truck without actually touching either vehicle. I only wish the SUV last night could have done the same stellar parking job. Once I got out of the spot I looked at the bumper. Two very deep gouges in the bumper and the corner was rubbed by the SUV, removing a fair amount of paint. Thanks alot fuck-tard neighbor! I’m only pissed because I haven’t even made a payment on this car yet and its already fucked up.
– Title: strong enough for a man…

…but totally made for a woman. Its pink, it’s effervescent and it’s fabulous. The Republican called yesterday, shocked, utterly shocked at how quickly she slurped down the can of Tab Energy she picked up to help her get through the day.

“You’ve got to try this stuff” she said licking her lips audibly. (Loud enough to hear over the phone with a bad connection, the windows rolled down and the stereo blasting away a sappy 80’s melody by a band with complicated hair.)

Assuming, from that stellar selling point, that it was a tasty beverage, I popped into my local mass-market, mass-manufactured, food distributor and picked up a few cans to “give em a try” and yeah, they’re that good.

I feel thin
I feel energized
I feel fabulous
I feel pink
I feel fizzy
I feel like a power blonde in a room full of lonely hot businessmen. (That could be because it’s Friday though…)

If you can get past the female leaning advertising, packaging and color, give it a try.

I wonder if it is as good with Vodka as a Red Bull…
– Title: Chivalry is dead.

Yesterday I took a moment, a brief moment, to give “el Negro” a bath and have the copious amounts of white fur removed from the back seat. Yes, I took Stella for a ride and haven’t been able to roll the windows down since for fear of choking to death on the windstorm of flying hair. Unlike the Blanco Mommy Wagon, “el Negro” has cloth seats which her hair rather nicely clings to. In the BMW, I could roll the windows down and the wind would whisk the shed follicles out the windows and sunroof leaving little trace on the pristine seats covered with the hide of the endangered Naga-beast.

While waiting for TLBO’s people to dry my car, I took a seat on one of the two park benches set up for just this purpose and gazed over the hardworking brown people and the fat lazy white people like me. I was in the suburbs afterall.

Shortly after I sat, a tall thin woman in a smart suit exited the building and joined us to watch her vehicle in the wipe-down phase. The benches however, were full and she was forced to either ask someone to find room for her to sit or stand until a seat became available.

I was raised to respect women. You know, open doors get up and offer them your seat and for a moment I considered doing just that. Then I noticed the brand new BMW that followed her out of the car wash and realized it was hers. I opted to stay seated where I was. Chivalry be damned.

Tom is right. BMW drivers are asses.

Thankfully, “el Negro” is a VW.
– Title: wednesday wank

– Title:

I voted!

Did you?
– Title: Vote early and often

If you’ve been reading my blog throughout the last few years, you know that I get a little worked up about politics. I’ve taken great care not to drag that obsession into this venue for quite some time, but I have to say this, if for no other reason that to get it off my chest.

STOP!

Please STOP!

I’m begging you to STOP!

The negative ads that ran non-stop last night made me sick. I couldn’t even enjoy ‘That 70’s Show’ reruns because of the barrage of negative ads that are full of lies and mis-information.

Granted, Americans are lazy, armchair democrats and the ads are how they get most of their political knowledge. I find it sad that people cannot take a few moments to research the person’s voting records, history, and personality before casting a vote for them.

In Illinois, we have Tammy Duckworth, not only an Iraq war veteran that lost both legs in a helicopter accident, but a minority as well running for Congress against a suburban rich white dude that follows the GOP talking points to the letter. His ads are misleading and downright untruthful, but he has more money, so you see more of his ads than anyone else’s. I’ve never seen as much shit thrown in an election in my life.

We, as Americans should be above this. We should demand that politicians stop the garbage slinging, the lies and innuendos and sit down to debate the issues. Remove emotions, discuss, come to agreements and decide rationally on a course of action. The name calling should stop.

I just couldn’t take the ads. So, I popped in a DVD of Kung Fu Hustle and drifted off into fantasy land where people could walk on air and run 300 mph with knives sticking out of them. If you haven’t seen this movie, run out and rent it. I own 7 DVDs and this is one of them.

Oh, and one last thing.

GO VOTE!
– Title: Kate Moss has left the building

I looked across the filled-to-capacity room, eyeing the hot men, the “do-able” men, and those best left for others, and suddenly felt sad to be there. I normally enjoy myself too much on these nights, drinking to excess, crawling home way too late and suffering through a horrible hangover the following morning day.

I had spent the day wrapped around and rolling with, a very sexy man. We had a nice dinner together and spent the better part of the day, lounging, fucking, and making out. We even watched a little of that football thing on television. It felt nice to be in his arms watching the game while he explained the rules and what was happening to me. (Though in truth, I was already aware for the nature of the game thanks to my years on the football team in school) I doubt he is anything more than a passing fling, but the comfort with which we spent our time together and the ease of talking and more importantly not talking with him hit home while I stood in that bar Saturday night.

Could it be that I’m done? Could it be that the years of trolling for instant gratification in dark rooms and strangers’ arms be coming to an end? Is it time for me to want more?

It has been a very long time since I’ve felt this way and to be honest it’s rather discombobulating. (I love that word). Maybe it is time to grow up and settle in with someone that I feel comfortable with, someone I can sit around and not feel the need to talk non-stop. Maybe I no longer need to feel as thin as Kate Moss when I walk into the bar on Bear Night. Maybe I can hang up the Kate Moss need and settle down and accept, to quote the Hollywood smash hit Moulin Rouge, that “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn, is to love someone and be loved in return.”

Maybe.

But probably not.
– Title: to know me is to …

For no reason…
– Title: wednesday wank

– Title: full circle risks

I have so many invitations for travel on my schedule and no money or time to accept any of them. I want to visit my friends, to reconnect with them and spend time laughing and frolicking in the California sun, the Arizona desert, the foreign wilds of Canada, the industrial centers of Germany, among the sky scrapers of New York, and wandering the birthplace of America’s riotous past in Boston, not to mention the hallowed halls of our government center, D.C.

I’m lucky that my friends have been patient with me these last two years while I’ve allowed Blanco the Mommy Wagon to slowly drain all of my money away in repair bills preventing me from traveling in the manner to which I was once used to traveling.

To kick off my newfound financial stability I’m taking my first real trip since my weekend in Boston with Sluggo. I’m going to take most of Thanksgiving week off and drive home, trusty bitch Stella at my side, to just beyond Buffalo to spend some time with my family. It’ll be the first road trip in El Negro® and I’m rather looking forward to this.

I often joke, when people ask what originally took me to California, that I ran out of land trying to get as far away from my hometown as possible, briefly considered jumping a plane to Japan and teaching English, while ultimately deciding against it because I’m too tall for their culture and architecture; but the truth is, even though I am embarrassed with the direction this country has taken in the last 6 years (or 25 years if you consider Ronald Reagan) I didn’t want to leave my homeland. The joke does have some teeth to it, in that I was trying to distance myself from my family at that time of my life. I was trying to understand this obsession I had with sucking dick, the romantic notions I had about living with and loving men and my distaste for anything sports related. I couldn’t do this inner exploration with the people that were influencing me because they didn’t understand, and I was unable to verbalize the damage their words and actions were doing to me.

In making the shift to the West Coast, I came into my own, I stumbled a great deal, and I met some amazing people and had some amazing experiences. I was lucky in that I fell into an environment that was nurturing (for the most part) and people cared about me and took on the challenge of guiding me along my path of personal growth. Nudging me when I needed nudging and pulling the ladder out from under me when my head was too far up in the clouds (though in reality I could have just been really really high).

Life takes risks. I’ve taken some large risks in my life but lately, I’ve found that I’ve grown weary of the fallout from those risks and have stopped striving and risking. There was a time that the world was wild and exciting and I couldn’t wait to get out into that beautiful world and experience all that it could offer. I’m hoping, that by going home for a week, (the longest visit since I moved away 18 years ago) that I can reboot, recharge, reconnect and be driven once again, away from that small town and the ideology that pushed me into dreaming about the world and all the wonders it could deliver.
– Title: censorship

Someone with an I.P. address located in Chicago has a habit of leaving comments on my site anonymously. While I enjoy comments and feedback, this particular person is usually less than pleasant with their chose of words, and I have a feeling that is exactly their point. So starting now… I’ve decided that if it’s good enough for the federal government, it’s good enough for me and I am going to be erasing all comments posted anonymously. Good or Bad.

I share a fair amount of emotions on this blog, which in its own right is revolutionary to me considering I don’t share emotions in person, so for someone to leave nasty little comments anonymously is rather cowardly. If you don’t like my writing or me why do you keep coming back? Is your life so perfect and are your thoughts so much more intellectual than mine, then why do you have the need to belittle? Something must be lacking. Look within. Fix within.

So bring on the nasty little comments. I don’t mind them. Leave your name, let me know who you are and they’ll stay, otherwise… well. I’ve written enough on this topic.
– Title: Friday

I feel shallow, petty and trite today. I was sick yesterday.

Sick I tell you!

Apparently, I am no longer allowed to dine at that restaurant ever again. This is the second time I’ve had such a reaction from their food. I’m not saying who, what or where, for fear of retribution, but alas, I shall never eat their meals again.

Let me tell you, when the digestion process causes one to cry and beg for death, there might be something to learn from that. I seriously considered calling 911 for medical assistance. A really good belch prevented me.

But why am I shallow, petty and trite today?

The neighbor I spoke of yesterday, is still up to his antics, and never being able to leave such antics alone I enticed the driver parked in front of this spot to kindly move his vehicle back 2 feet to prevent the jockeying from happening today. This will force the boy to spend all day long ensuring he has two spots for his beloved.

I wish I could sit and watch his frantic searching… alas, there is work to be done.
– Title: Thursday Thought

I have neighbors, in this very building, that annoy the living hell out of me. No, not the neighbor downstairs. She and I have come to an understanding. We’re good. She realized that I’m childish and self-centered, and I realized pretty much the same thing.

No, the neighbors I’m talking about this time are new to the building, and I think, new to an urban neighborhood in general. They have the strangest and most annoying habits. The building has an intercom system that doesn’t exactly work. You know, no buzzer sound, no interactive-ness, that sort of thing. The inhabitants of the building, over the years, have given up on the concept of a locked outer front door, until these people moved into the building. Now there is a sort of turf-war of wills happening.

They lock the outer front door every time they pass through and everyone else in the building unlocks it. This little battle become annoying on weekends, when you stumble home from the bar at 3am to find the front door locked and you with only keys to your apartment and not the building. The new neighbors on my floor haven’t received keys to the front door, so often they will stand outside and yell or ring what few buzzers do work until someone will wake up and let them in. Management isn’t the most responsive here.

But what annoys me the most about the people from rural America, is their belief in saving parking spaces on the street. Parking sucks as it is in this neighborhood; without the nelly little queen (my assumption) constantly jockeying his little red civic about ensuring that he is in the middle of space for two cars so that his roommate will have a spot when arriving home. I’ve seen him relocate his car more than 4 times in one evening in his efforts to secure parking for his roommate. How tedious. I wouldn’t do that for someone that I was madly, head over heels in love with. Sorry baby, I love you, but I don’t love anybody that much.

I’m hoping this infatuation will pass, but given that its been going on for over 2 months, I doubt it.

*please note, photo is not me pulling my hippie length golden locks out, but rather an annonymous photo I stole from the internets when I did “the Google” search
– Title: wednesday wank

Today’s Wank is a personal favorite. I met today’s wank on my trip to Vanccouver last summer and to this day I am still enthralled with his charm. (he’s also very easy on the eyes.)
– Title: Note to self…

Three 10 ounce martinis on a school night will leave you hunched over the toilet at 10:00pm trying to undo the damage so you can get some sleep and make it to work the next day.

File that one away someplace. This could be an important note to self…

Somebody please call a doctor… This doctor would work nicely.
– Title: Thursday Thought

Why do people driving SUVs slow down, almost to a complete stop, to go over railroad tracks or pavement edges caused by road construction?

Don’t they realize their vehicles were supposedly built for rough surfaces?
– Title: Wednesday wank

Why can’t my boss look/act like this?
– Title: House keeping

Allow me to take a moment to do a little housekeeping of my site. So much has happened in the past few days that I feel a little like a once-pure virgin plucked by the entire football team in a 5 hour gang-fuck on prom night. My head is spinning, I’m physically exhausted, emotionally spent and lying here with a grin on my face telling the football team that I liked it and they can’t leave without another go. My heart is pounding, my ass hurts… well, you get the picture.

Blanco is gone, el Negro is here. (Pronounced like the word for the color ‘black’ in Spanish) Proof that I am not racist since I’m driving an ‘ethnic’ colored vehicle with, in the words of a friend, “ghetto rims”. I’m hoping by “ghetto” she’s referring to the ghetto of Tokyo in the blockbuster thriller “Too Fast Too Furious: Tokyo Slide”, cause that’s how I feel when I climb into the seat of the new ride. Ghetto Tokyo Fabulous™

The total cost of Blanco (not including, tax, title, interest, insurance, fuel and monthly loan payments) was $5,890 and some change. The time frame was two years to the week. That $5,890 of course spread out over 17 different events averaging $352 per month in repairs. Tell me again why BMW calls their product “The Ultimate Driving Machine” when obviously they are rarely actually being driven?

Homer wins a ride in el Negro. I’m not telling you where we’re going, but I have faith that you’ll have a smile on your face when I drop you off at home.

The car buying experience, never fun, was horrible this go around. Horrible enough that I may actually just keep this car until it’s paid off. (Excuse me while I roll off the chair clutching my stomach in laughter). The first attempt on Friday of negotiating the purchase of a car ended with me walking out of the dealer amazed they could think I was as ignorant as they believed. At one point the dealer walked into the “box” as they called it and handed me a blue 3”x 5” card containing the VIN# and a few details about the car, telling me that “…this is the file card for this vehicle…”. I looked at him incredulously and asked him if he truly thought I was retarded. “It is 2006, do you expect me to believe you handle your inventory on 3”x 5” cards?” I left the dealership at that point, realizing they had no interest in my business.

The dealership I actually purchased that car from was a little more trustworthy, though not by far. They wonder why they have such bad images when they pull the shit they do. Buying a car is stressful enough without the games and tricks dealerships engage in.

Being that I had such a bad experience with Blanco and repairs, I was interested in VW’s Certified Used program which basically extends the warranty for 2 years 24,000 miles. The price was negotiated based upon this being a portion of the price, but upon inspecting the paperwork again once I arrived home; I noticed there was no notification on the paperwork of the certified used program. I went back and asked them for something in writing to show this and they happily provided me with the pamphlet for the program wrote in my VIN# and the original delivery date to the first owner. However, the date written down was 02/17/2005. The vehicle I purchased is a 2006 model. You can imagine my confusion when I looked at this date and realized that I was driving a 2 year old vehicle with only 14,000 miles on it. (Please note dear readers that I put 45,000 miles on Blanco in 2 years.)

I looked at the manufacturers placard on the driver’s door and noticed that the vehicle was built in 10/2005 yet put into service 8 months earlier.

Amazing what they will do to hoodwink us, isn’t it. The second dealer still fucked me hard, but at least they were gracious enough to provide a “Courtesy Reach-Around™”
– Title: And this makes what… 15?

Picture this, but black.

This is the car I bought Saturday afternoon. I’m still decompressing from the whole car-buying ordeal, and I know that I paid too much for it, but I have peace of mind that this will run (with warranty) for several more years without a headache and huge repair costs.

I’ll take some photos of mine once I have some time.
– Title: and let it all be done

I have a meeting scheduled for 1:30pm today with the VW dealer that my boss and employer has utilized for his last 10 car purchases. He told me they will give me a good deal because they do not want to lose his business. Let’s See…

This all came about because yesterday I walked into the office carrying a clear plastic bag full of used auto parts coated with engine oil. (in order to dispose of them in the dumpster at work) My boss asked me what was in the bag and I told him that “…in celebration of my two year anniversary with my BMW I thought it would be nice to buy her some gifts, like a water pump, a thermostat and a new fan belt.” I drove Blanco off the lot October 8th, 2004. On October 10th, 2006 I dropped yet another bundle on repairs almost two years to the date of purchase.

In other news, though there isn’t much else going on in my life these days. I pulled out that thick file of Auto repair receipts this morning just to see how much I’ve spent on repairs (outside of normal oil and maintenance) over the last two years.

The first person to guess closest wins a ride in my new car. (name of new car to be determined.
– Title: Burning Bed – episode II

I’ve been lied to and I’m not too damn happy about it. She promised, Blanco promised me not to break down and leave me stranded on the side of the road again. She promised not to cost me anything more than standard oil changes and gas.

She lied.

Tuesday evening I headed off to the airport to recover a friend and as I approached a stop light I heard this horrible noise. Looking at the rust-ridden 1979 Lincoln Town Car in front of me spewing black smoke I was sure it was a sound emanating from within its bowels. The light turned green and I stepped on the gas to be rewarded with a wimpy reply of acceleration and no power steering. Realizing that it wasn’t the Lincoln but rather Blanco, I directed her off the street into a conveniently located Mechanic Repair Facility™ (some of you might call these “auto shops”). Once she rolled safely out of the crush of evening rush-hour commuter traffic, I killed the engine and popped open the hood while simultaneously dialing my father to ask his opinion. (He is a retired mechanic after all and I don’t think it matters that he fixed aircraft rather than cars.)

From my description and the obvious leak of fluids running down the pavement towards the leaf-strewn gutter, we determined that the fan belt snapped and took with it a host of other vital organs. The mechanic confirmed this the following morning when he gave me yet another whopping repair bill.

I told her I would set her on fire and though the mechanic assured me yesterday morning when he called to inform me of the needs and cost that “No, it did not catch fire last night” and “Yes, it is still here in my parking lot even though you left it unlocked with the keys in it”. I decided it is finally time.

Sunday, October 8th was my 2 year anniversary of purchasing Blanco, but if you look at the file in my cabinet labeled “Auto” you would think that we’ve been together at least a decade being that it is the thickest file in the drawer. (My weekly pay stubs don’t take up as much space)

Now I need your help my fives of readers.

Do I replace her with a Subaru or a VW Jetta? I’m torn, they both cost about the same, though the VW comes with heated seats and a sunroof. I’m a touch leery about buying yet another German automobile with the luck I’ve had with this one. That being said, I had few and minor problems with my last two VW’s.

I guess I just don’t trust my own decisions anymore. I figured that out as I walked the 2 miles home from the Mechanic Repair Facility™ the other night and back the following evening. The meltdown was not pretty, but that my friends is for another day.
– Title: wednesday wank

A businessman

A Policeman

a Bartender

a Cowboy

a Leatherman

and a submissive
– Title: The base of pathetic-ness

I’ve finally reached pure bottom. I can go no further down the ladder of success than I am currently located. I’ve been trying very very hard to pay off my debt, to my own detriment. I thought that I’d pay heavy, cut back on expenses and suffer through what I surely deserved living the sort of immediate gratification life I’ve lead these past 17 years since I’ve lived on my own.

No, the first bankruptcy in 1997 didn’t teach me much I guess. I vowed to never file again, to turn my life around and make something productive of myself. I even uprooted my life and relocated to the bustling mid-west because I was offered a handsome sum of money, which, true to form, I proceeded to squander never thinking to stash some away for a rainy day.

The rainy day arrived and let me tell you, this is a financial gale worthy of having a name attached to it. I’ve been paying close to my entire salary towards getting my credit card and consolidation loan paid off in a very short amount of time. “Suffer hard for a few months and everything will improve”, I thought. Suffering is exactly what I’ve done since I cut up my credit cards (save one for work) and took out the consolidation loan. I didn’t realize my credit card balance had risen to the level it had and paying off has taken longer than I budgeted.

To make matters worse, I played roulette with my checking and savings account this past weekend, not realizing it was a bank holiday yesterday, and I lost. My paycheck, safely deposited Friday afternoon to one of the only ATMs in the Chicago area that my small California based credit union has agreements with however did not post until this morning when my bank opens its doors and manually posts the bank activity. Yes, I said manually. In the past, that has been a good thing because it has afforded me a few days without worrying about check clearing or debit card purchases coming in.

This morning, I had an appointment in the loop. I was running late and remembered that my Chicago transit card doesn’t have anything left on it so decided to drive down, park in a garage and all would be fine. Traffic, traffic, traffic on the way down made me late to my appointment. Once I arrived, my contact informed me that though she was not angry or upset with my tardiness, she did have another appointment and we’d have to rush through the meeting. The appointment was a wash because the company doesn’t have the sort of need my company can help them with anyway.

In and Out, I decided to grab the car and head out on more calls. Arriving back to the garage, I put the ticket into the pay station, followed by my debit card and was shocked that there were no funds in my account yet. I knew that I had a grand total of $2.04 in there before today, but surely, it would have posted already. Looking at my watch, I realized that it was not yet 9:00am in California and there would be no money until they opened. Scrambling, I ran upstairs, leaving the ticket in the machine like an idiot, to get as much coinage out of my car as possible to pay this charge. I emptied out my coin cup and ran back downstairs where my ticket was jutting out of the machine (luckily). I grabbed the ticket and went next door to have the coinage turned into bills for the machine and made it back in time to shove the $13.00 in before I ratcheted up another $5.00.

Sweating, embarrassed and shaking, I made my way to the car and left the garage.

Pathetic is not having enough money to get your BMW out of the parking garage. I think things need to change…
– Title: Tuesday’s Tease

Very similar to Wednesday Wank, but ever so slightly different. This specimen lurks in Chicago. I found his picture online and had to grab a copy (just for myself – and my fives of readers). Go ahead, tease yourself. Work yourself up and into a frenzy, cause this week’s Wednesday Wank will be extra special (and extra naughty).

In other words, I’m too busy to contemplate a post today, so I’m throwing a hot man at you and running in the other direction.
– Title: a quote on the times

If Tyranny and Oppression come to this land,
it will be in the guise of fighting a foreign enemy.

James Madison, fourth US president (1751-1836)
– Title: Stand by your man

Maybe it’s because I want to feel needed. Maybe it is because I like to care for and nurture those in need. Perhaps it is because she promised to be better and not cause me so much pain and anguish. I’m not sure what or why, but I just can’t do it. I can’t break it off with Blanco Mommy Wagon. I’ve tried. I’ve test driven other cars, I secured financing (more than I would give myself and it was quite surprising) and I’ve even negotiated some prices.

Blanco begged, pleaded and promised that there would be no more breakdowns on the side of the road, no more cheating on me with tow truck drivers and no more 3-day, thousand dollar spa treatments.

I want to believe, I really do, but Blanco’s history has been strife with lies and mis-truths (much like our current government administration). Blanco however sounds sincere.

Like a heroin addict reaching for a needle, I’ve decided to trust her and keep her. She said she’ll change, it’ll be better you’ll see. She really loves me and doesn’t mean to hurt me. She drinks a lot and that must be why. We’re going to work through this rough patch. I’ve offered to buy her a new wiring harness to seamlessly run the iPod through her stereo and do away with all the cables in the cabin (something she’s been very unhappy about lately).

I think we’ll be fine. But just to be sure, I showed her the classic movie about abusive relationships, “The Burning Bed” starring tragic B-actress Farrah Fawcett. Blanco got my point. Treat me right or end up burning in a parking lot.

It is now her choice.
– Title: can i get a witness

No really, I need a witness. Actually, I need two. I decided that I’ve gotten old enough to have legal protections for my person, and my debt, should something happen to me. I don’t have enough debt to require legal representation since there are ways to state my wishes legally without filing documents.

Over the past few months, I’ve been thinking about whom I should give the burden of unplugging me. At first I thought about TLBO since he is in the medical profession. He would be an ideal candidate because he is analytical and cold when it comes to medical decisions. (Just what I need when the moment comes.) I decided against him though, because he lives in Southern California and he might pull the plug just to get at the pills I’m hoarding for the eve of my 60th birthday.

I considered Padre, but quickly realized what a horrible time he would have with that decision and opted against putting him through so much drama.

The Republican, Jason, Rubs, family and many others also crossed my list but given their location and situation each was summarily nixed.

I choose Tom because he is in the same city, would take my wishes into consideration and well, because, after all, I am his “bitch”.

I’ve listed TLBO as the backup, should Tom be out of the country and Jason as TLBO’s backup. I hope between the three of them my wishes are taken seriously. (Oh and no TLBO, I do not want my ashes scattered on the floor of The Lone Star Saloon.)

That leaves the business of the witnesses. The paperwork must be completed and signed in front of two witnesses so I’ve decided to have a little “Living Will Dinner” next weekend (Friday October 13th should be fitting). Anybody in the Chicago area that would like to volunteer their signature and witnessing skills to my cause are invited to attend. E-mail me for information.
– Title: wednesday wank

Some famous football or hockey player or something sports related. Apparently he’s a bottom because he’s the “catcher” for some guy that goes by the name Red Sox. Regardless, he’s hot.
– Title: post script

I have an appointment with the dead woman’s replacement on Halloween of all days.
– Title: sharing

Today I think I shall share some little known facts about myself. I often think of myself as shy and unassuming, but that would be a direct contradiction to the fact that I keep this blog as a public record of my life, my thoughts, etc. So I am going to fight through my layers of shyness and open myself to the glaring light of public discourse and criticism and share with you these little known items.

I am a public servant. Each night that it has rained since I moved into this apartment on my own, I don my rain gear and my knee-high yellow J Crew boots (bought at the year end sale for like $20.00) I pull a baseball cap down low over my head so the rain will not get into my eyes and I head out into the streets to unclog the drains at the corners. I wade (tee hee hee) into the deep murky water in search of the drain and kick the muck out of it until it runs clear. Once the puddle is dispersed, I kick the accumulated leaves, branches and garbage out into the street and away from the flow of the water. I usually cover a 2 to 3 block radius. I do this under cover of darkness and I do not ask for accolades. I do not ask for financial contribution and I do not seek hero status. I am a simple public servant.

However, I do have super hero powers, or rather, a super power. I’ve only shared this with one person and it was very difficult to share. Telling him about my super power left me vulnerable to being discovered, and anyone that knows super heroes understands how treacherous that is. My super power? I can tell when the weather is about to change. My super-nipples™ get hard and erect whenever a cold front is about to pass overhead. Granted, by super power standards, this isn’t much to get excited about, but it does help when trying to decide whether to wear a light wrap or a heavier jacket. My super power has saved many a night by ensuring I dress appropriately.

Here too, is a little bit about my earliest childhood memories. I was born in the wagon of a travellin’ show. My mama used to dance for the money they’d throw. Papa would do whatever he could. [He’d] preach a little gospel, sell a couple bottles of doctor good. “Gypsys, tramps, and thieves”; We’d hear it from the people of the town, they’d call us “Gypsys, Tramps, and Thieves”. But every night all the men would come around and lay their money down.

[We] picked up a boy just south of Mobile, [we] gave him a ride, [we] filled him with a hot meal. I was sixteen, he was twenty-one, [he] rode with us to Memphis. And [I swear] papa woulda’ shot him if he knew what he’d done. I never had schoolin’ but he taught me well, with his smooth southern style. Three months later I’m a [boy] in trouble, and I haven’t seen him for a while, uh-huh I haven’t seen him for a while.

And that, my loyal tens of readers is about all I can share today. I’m exhausted from the effort. Feelings are almost as hard as math and we all know that “Math is hard”.
– Title: Adventures in Shopping

The search for the perfect pair of pants can sometimes be more of an exciting prospect than hunting big game in the wilds of the African Serengeti. Take for instance the search for the perfect pair of pants I undertook this past weekend.

Several weeks ago, I purchased a pair of Perry Ellis Antique Cotton Twill pants from Marshall Field’s Macy*s State Street store in downtown Chicago. They were chocolate in color and fit me really quite nicely. I wore them a few times and thought that the soft fabric and comfort were nice enough to warrant another pair in a different color. You see, I’ve been looking for ways to dress more age appropriate and wear jeans less often. I’ve been slowly altering my wardrobe to put this goal into effect.

Thursday, prior to my lunch appointment in the historically significant Walnut Room restaurant, I wandered through Marshall Field’s Macy*s looking for another pair of these comfortable pants and was unsuccessful in my endeavor. They had more, but alas none in my larger framed size. I had a lovely lunch with my client and told him of my search prompting a suggestion that they locate the correctly sized pair and have them sent to me.

Following our lunch, we attempted to do just that and after much explaining and patience, a pair was located about 15 miles north of Chicago at the Old Orchard Shopping Centre store. Happy to have my second pair of comfortably soft and ass-affirming pants secured, I made plans to drive north over the weekend to claim my prize.

Saturday morning, Tom and I started our day early over healthy breakfasts with sides of tater tots. We headed north to claim my pants, arriving shortly after the mall opened and went straight to Marshall Field’s Macy*s where I located a helpful clerk of Indian heritage (of the 7-11 variety not casino) that scoured the store for the pants on hold. He searched high and low, made numerous disparaging remarks about the woman working the department where the pants should be and after about a half hour of his hunt he walked back with two pair of my beloved pants.

Tom and I spent the day wandering the shopping venues of the northern suburbs returning home later in the afternoon.

Sunday morning, I planned to wear my new pants. I pulled off all the tabs and even though they hadn’t been washed, I pulled them on and looked down at the Capri length legs and quietly fumed at both my height and my situation. I took off the pants and confirmed with the tag that these were indeed 34” length pants. The tag assured me they were 34” but another attempt at making them fit confirmed they were closer to 30 inches.

Damn-it!

I phoned Tom and told him. Once he stopped laughing, we made plans to take them back and have lunch. Arriving at the State street store again, this time with my return, I headed to the clerk to return the pants, while Tom went thumbing through the stack of pants looking for my correct size.

He found a pair labeled 32” and told me to try them on. At first I argued, but then compared them to the length I had just returned and noticed that they were a good 4 inches longer than the pants I’d just returned.

I tried them on and they fit even better than the original pair I owned in Chocolate. They were sized completely incorrectly on the tags and I was shocked that a brand like Perry Ellis would have such a huge discrepancy in this respect.

I left with my pants and a bemused smile.
– Title: a quote for the ages

Last night the Republican and I had dinner with a certain friend of mine. When we sat down, the waitron came by to take our drink order. Said friend ordered a “kiddie cocktail” which left a bemused look on the Republican’s face.

Noticing the look, said friend responded off the cuff “Wine makes me slutty”
– Title: oooops

You never know what you’re going to run into when you’re making telephone calls on new prospective accounts. This morning, I encountered a first for me in 10 years of doing this sort of work. About 2 years ago, I was given a contact for a major corporation here in the Chicago area. My company does work with one of their outer offices and my contact was trying to help me get in the door. Somehow, I neglected to call on this account at that time and the name recently turned up again as I was looking to expand into some new prospects.

This morning, I called to follow up on some literature I mailed to the contact and was informed by the receptionist that the contact I had called about was “deceased”. I was shocked, at first, until I realized that I needed to say something for fear of ruining this opportunity. A deceased contact means that there is a new person in there handling the same decisions and what a perfect opportunity to get in the door. After I recovered enough from the shock of the “deceased” bomb I went right back into the nature of the call and asked for the new contact in that position.

She gave me the new name and forwarded me to her voicemail. I hung up without leaving a message. How do I explain to her that I mailed literature to her deceased predecessor without looking like a complete tool?
– Title: wednesday Wank

Two Wanks and a puppy

Thanks to Tom for the photo
– Title: Look away – I’m hideous

I’m a bit embarrassed this morning. Last night, after a relaxing evening I took a nice hot shower before crawling between the crisp clean sheets on my freshly made bed. After my shower, I thought it would be a perfect time to groom my hippie-like appearance and took out my clippers setting to work on trimming my neck line, my sideburns and my Andy Rooney-esque eye brows. The clippers made short work of my sideburns and my neck line but when I got to my eye brow the guard popped off mid-swipe removing a large swath of hair leaving a portion of my brow with a stubble usually reserved for my scalp.

I pulled out my thick-rimmed glasses this morning and have now taken to wearing them to obstruct any observance of my unsightly hairless brow.
– Title: moments of clarity – brought to you by wine

I wish the level of mental clarity the morning after imbibing a bottle of Merlot were as crisp as if it were half way through the bottle. Saturday night, I spent the evening sitting, lotus style, on the floor in front of my television, sipping from a $3 bottle of Charles Shaw Merlot I picked up from Trader Joes a few weeks ago. On the television, a Family Guy DVD marathon had been running since about 5pm when I returned home from a purchase-less shopping spree with Tom.

I’ve been deep in thought for some time now about my life and my place in the world because there have been some glaring indications that my life is going in the wrong direction. For instance, in the realm of friendships I’ve always thought that I was extremely lucky. I’ve always thought that I had a core group of friends that I could always count on if I needed them and for the most part, I do. However the bulk of my friends reside outside of Chicago and those that do live in Chicago recently demonstrated quite clearly where I rank in their world.

A few days ago I was talking to my sister about the possibility of flying home to visit with the family for the weekend. My grandmother was visiting Buffalo and since I haven’t spent any time with her in several years and she was going to be in town, I thought it would be nice to fly into Buffalo for the day and have lunch with her and the family. I ended up canceling the trip because of a few reasons, but mainly because I had nobody to watch Stella, and we all know that this dog is way too spoiled to go to a kennel.

So, here I sat, all weekend writing, watching the family guy DVD’s and thinking about life, love, work, money, the future and the past, my phones, both mobile and house sitting on the coffee table beside my laptop. Those that called were from out of town checking in with me, telling me about their lives and their day to day. Tom called me, and TLBO phoned several times. The Republican and Padre called as well.

I don’t mean for this to sound like a downer, because it is not meant to be. It was eye-opening in a lot of ways. I took the time to think about how I affect those around me, my part in why my phone doesn’t ring and some things to which I need to give more thought.

Iced tea was drunk. Epiphanies appeared. Ideas were written to be followed up on.

The reality of the situation told me the path I’m following is not the right path for me.
– Title: wednesday wank

This is another picture I found of Mr Wednesday Wank from Sept 6th.
– Title: an ode to my belly

I was sitting here this afternoon, humped over my computer desk working my little ass off when it hit me that I was leaning on my fat belly, for all intensive purposes, said belly was supporting my upper body. I started thinking about how much my belly means to me. My belly currently holds up my pants. My belly makes it easier to eat while sitting on the couch because I can rest my plate on my belly and it won’t fall. My belly makes it easier to hunch forward because it catches me before I tumble too far forward. My belly gives the thin waif-ish homosexuals something to scorn and point at while making disparaging remarks. My belly can often provide shade to the smaller animals in the forest and on the prairies. My belly lets me know when it needs more food.

I love my belly.

Whatever shall I do when it goes away?
– Title: I’m a winner.

A surprise arrived in my mailbox yesterday. You can imagine my surprise when I received the following notification:

Dear Wade

You are an official prizewinner in our NEW MERCEDES, BMW, PORSCHE or $40,000 CASH promotion. We have been unable to contact you, therefore, in compliance with the program regulations, this notice is being forwarded to your attention.

We are holding your choice of a luxury 4-day Royal Caribbean Cruise for two with meals and entertainment included, value $1,398 or pre-paid round trip airfare and two nights accommodations for two to your choice of Las Vegas/Orlando, value $1,250, plus one of the four guaranteed prizes: a new MERCEDES BENZ M-Class, BMW X5, PORSCHE Cayenne or $40,000 CASH, a $1,500 Shopping Spree, Exotic Island Adventure, $806 value or $500 Cash. To avoid forfeiting your status as a recipient please call toll free at 1-888-587-7534 WITHIN 72 HOURS, M-F 9:00am until 8:00pm and Sat. 9:00am until 6:00pm CST and arrange for a time for you and your spouse to visit and claiming your prizes. There is no obligation to purchase anything. You are guaranteed to receive your prize and gift immediately, in accordance with the requirements of your confirmation letter, which will contain the official rules.

Sincerely,

Susan Murray
Awards Director
Silverleaf Resorts, Inc.

THIS ADVERTISING MATERIAL IS BEING USED FOR THE PURPOSE OF SOLICITING THE SALE OF TIMESHARE INTERESTS

I can’t wait to call them and arrange to pick up my new car, I think I’ll go with the Porsche.

In other news,

I’m signed up to participate in some market research Monday night. The topic is domestic light beer and the compensation for an hour of my time is $75 cash. Wouldn’t it be great if I got to taste as well?
– Title: dreaming

I dreamt of friends last night.

Mr. Married Well and, um, Mr. Well were there sitting on my Italian leather-ette® sofa alternating between sipping cappuccinos and heartily enjoying big robust glasses of red wine. They looked happy and bemused about the rest of the cast of friends assembled.

Sluggo was there mixing martinis and arranging them on a silver tray, being the perfect guest by taking care of everyone’s beverage needs.

Tom was there, sitting quietly with the daytime boyfriend™, giggling to himself, impish smile on his face.

TLBO was there, dressed as an Aussie rancher and surrounded by sheep dogs, large and small.

The Republican was there in spirit, though I think this was a male-only event since I don’t recall her physically present, just spiritually.

Padre was there, in full religious garb, flirting with some hot man he brought with him.

Rubs was there, dressed in full rubber, head-to-toe. He was doing acrobatic flips and jumps and at one point he pulled out the long ribbons and performed a complete routine on my living room rug. (My living space was gigantic at this point. The walls seemed to spread apart like a Hollywood movie set. As soon as he finished his feats of skill, the walls returned, the clapping subsided and the intimacy of the evening returned) TLBO could be heard whispering “Oh no she didn’t just do a acrobatic routine! Queen has to show off!”

Others were present as well, but in the spirit of keeping Beyond Buffalo a family friendly space, I cannot go into what they were doing (to me).

My dreams have been about my friends lately. Good dreams about good friends. I awake in the morning refreshed, smiling. This morning, I whistled while Stella and I took our morning stroll.
– Title: wednesday Wank

Greg Gutfeld shares some of his hotness for fashion week in NYC and makes me want to wank.
– Title: I saw Cher

Well maybe not Cheer in person, but I saw several of her dresses and some of her jewelry and photos of her furniture that she’s auctioning off at Sotheby’s.

It seems that Cher is having a garage sale, but unlike those of us in the poor class, she needs Sotheby’s to sell her belongings. Some of the proceeds will go to charity; the rest will go to redecorate her Malibu home.

News flash: Gothic revival is over. It’s all about Mediterranean now.

or so says Cher
– Title: Conspiracy theory # 5923

I can’t help but think that something major is about to happen. It’s just a feeling and I have no real data to back this feeling up, but the short hairs stood up on my neck this evening while I was listening to super-sexy Matt Lauer’s interview with the Shrub™.

Other than the fact that he didn’t remotely touch on the issue brought up by super-sexy Matt Lauer’s questions, and let’s ignore that the Shrub™ continues to claim that his sole job is to “protect the American People and their families”; something just doesn’t feel right.

First it was Katie Couric’s horribly awkward interview where they could have been skipping through the White House holding hands and blowing bubbles as far as I’m concerned. Then it was Super-Sexy Matt Lauer’s more hard-hitting (though completely ineffective) interview with the Shrub™.

There is going to be a PR blitz about something, or we’re going to invade another country or something big like that is about to hit.

My gut tells me this, and with the exception of when my gut told me to eat the entire 90 count super-sized bag of Pizza Rolls, my gut is usually pretty trustworthy.
– Title: walking in the rain

I love the rain. I absolutely love the rain. From the sound of the heavy rain hitting the roof and the sidewalks, to the blustery wind blowing the trees about, displaying the lighter leaf bottoms. I’ve always been one too stupid to come in out of the rain and I’m sure this comes as no surprise to those of you who’ve read my posts over the last two years.

When I lived in San Francisco, I used to love fall and spring because of the rain those two seasons would bring to the bay area. Many times I could be found wandering the city clad in my hoody sweatshirt under my ACT-UP stickered and painted leather biker jacket. I would don my Doc Martin boots and hit the pavement with no real destination, wandering through the South of Market district towards the bay where I would stand and watch the rain hitting the waters of the bay, colliding in tiny splashes and disappearing into the cold darkness. I loved to walk thru my city blanketed with fog and rain and gray.

This weekend brought the same weather to Chicago. A blanket of drizzling gray rainfall wrapped the city in its arms refusing to let go. Now, I haven’t walked in the rain in many years and have had the urge to do it for quite a while now. This weekend, I had the chance and took it. I had some errands to run downtown, so I grabbed my hoody sweatshirt and my orange Marc New York rain coat (some things have changed over the years) and headed out into my new city to explore and enjoy communing in the rain. I headed to the new Macy’s (yes the one the crazy people picketed on Saturday) to deposit my paycheck, and then headed off to return a few shirts that didn’t fit me once I washed them.

I wandered the city for 4 hours in the rain and drizzle. I window shopped on Michigan Avenue, popping into a few of the high end stores to gawk at the luxury goods I can no longer afford. I walked up Oak Street, the little super-high-end portion of the Miracle Mile and browsed the windows of Hermes, Pratessi, and Prada, taking a quick run thru Barney’s shoe section to drool over the fine hand-crafted Italian masterpieces.

The only thing missing today was someone to walk with me. In all of my years on this earth, I’ve only had one person willing to walk aimlessly in the rain with me. I’d like to find someone willing to wander aimlessly in the rain again. Who knows, maybe it would change my outlook on Chicago.
– Title: wednesday wank

– Title: My goal

It’s nice to know that when all is dark in my world, and I’m at the end of my rope, someone, or something shows up to remind me that I matter. TLBO reminded me of that over the weekend and Scott-DC reminded me of that again this morning.

I forget that I have friends. I forget when all looks like its closing in and I’m choking with the despair of life and the depression I often struggle with, that I’m not alone.

It is the people in my life that I live for, though they may be far away and out of touch, they seem to know when I need them and they seek me out in ways that are mysterious to me, but they let me know “I matter”

Like June Carter Cash, and her main goal in life, I seek to matter. I seek to be of importance in someone’s life. I seek to matter in the now, not in the hereafter. I do not care if I leave behind a legacy for the world and future generations. I seek to matter now, in this life, in this time, to the people I choose to love, the people that choose me to be a part of their lives and the people that I interact with on a regular or even one-time basis.

I seek to matter.
– Title: Bye Bye Blanco

We’ve all had relationships go sour and it’s hard to accept that things just aren’t working. When two parties spend the amount of time together required for a healthy relationship, they tend to rely on each other for more than, perhaps, they should.

When abuses of the respect and dedications of a relationship begin to occur, we tend to ignore them and answer them with little excuses. We justify the expenses incurred, we convince ourselves that this will be the last time they hurt us so deeply, and this will be the last time we have to bail them out of trouble.

How long can one go in this downward spiral before pulling the plug and walking away?

I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve already gone too far. I’m officially done Blanco, its over. We’ve had fun. We’ve seen some great parts of this country and had some wonderful “dates” but you’re draining me dry. I’ve spent more on your maintenance than on actual payments for you.

I’m now starting to replace parts that I’ve already replaced and you’re barely 70,000 miles old. I’m sorry, I’ve been checking out younger women and I think I may have found someone. We’ve gone on a few rides and seen a few sights. I can’t guarantee that she’ll replace the fondness I have for you. I’ll always love you, but you’ve hurt me too bad. I can’t keep taking the knives in my back. This has to stop.

I’ll miss your leather-ette seating surfaces and ample power. I’ll miss the prestige of owning a semi-luxury vehicle imported from Germany; but I have to do this. My wallet is way too thin for someone my age. I should be able to afford to fly to San Francisco next month to get my teeth cleaned like I did every six months before I bought you. I should be able to walk into the restaurants your siblings are often parked in front of; but I can only walk past.

And another thing. You drink too much. I mean come on 18mpg city / 23 mpg highway? That’s disgusting in this day and age. Have some restraint. Don’t you know you’re killing the planet?

It’s not all bad memories. I’ll let go of the rattles and the maintenance. I can forgive the new tires and premium fuel requirements, and I can look back on our time together in a positive light (and I don’t need your help with the flashing dash lights advising me of your troubles). It will be ok. You’ll find someone else to love you more than I do. Someone with deeper pockets that can show you things I only talked about.

I’ll miss you Blanco.
– Title: Blanco possessed

I was out of sorts yesterday. Not a good day in general.

Tuesday night I didn’t follow my standard pre-bedtime routine and neglected to wash my dishes and set up my coffee machine for the following morning. Alas, when I awoke yesterday morning, there was no fragrant, fresh-brewed coffee waiting for me and the ramekin I cook my 2 eggs in each day wasn’t clean. This threw off my entire day.

I struggled thru my morning. I made a dash to $tarbuck$ after I walked Stella, who was also not being co-operative and gulped down a large coffee on my way to my office, an hour later than I had planned.

Once in my office, I managed to catch up to my schedule and was feeling a tad bit better.

However, later in the afternoon, I stopped for a healthy salad (because I didn’t make one the night before) at Wendy’s and when I returned to my car and drove out of the parking lot, I noticed the “Service Engine Soon” light illuminated.

“Shit!” I thought, now what. “I can’t afford anything else to happen to this car” and a rash of expletives followed as I descended into a doom and gloom unlike any I’d been in recently. Blanco was running sluggishly and idling high the entire drive home. In my past experiences Blanco would have left me on the side of the road, refusing to move another inch until a flatbed tow truck arrived to take her in style to the mechanic. This time, I was lucky that she was cooperating.

Arriving home, I made an appointment with the mechanic to have her checked out, and called my father who is a retired mechanic. He told me to disconnect then reconnect the battery and see what happens. So I did. By the way, who knew the battery of a BMW was in the trunk? Who knew?

The idiot light went off, but was replaced with many many more lights warning of impending doom. “Oh great!” I thought, now what did I do. Just then the electronic hatch release for the rear glass clicked and the hatch popped open. “Huh?” I heard the click of the latch each time I got out of the car and walked around to the back to close it. CLICK and it would pop open again.

Damn it! I thought for a moment that Blanco was possessed.

I was late for dinner plans. “Fuck it!” I thought “I’m going as is. I’ll die in this German trap but I will NOT be late to dinner.”

I put Blanco into drive and the lights when off and the clicking of the hatch release subsided. Everything was fine.

I drove to dinner and back with nary a worry. The power level had returned, she wasn’t sluggish or idling high. Maybe it was Blanco’s way of saying “Change my fucking oil you dipshit.” It has been over 14,000 miles, I guess its time.
– Title: Wednesday Wank

– Title: all i can say is Wow

original link here
– Title: Manners

Manners are a strange beast. My parents were very serious about raising my four siblings and me to be mindful of how our actions affect the lives of those around us. We were taught to respect people’s things, people’s time, and people’s attention. We were taught not to stare, not to touch fragile things, not to yell and most importantly, not to wake our father who worked nights and slept most days. This was a challenge for the five of us to be sure, but for the most part, my father slept soundly during the daytime while we were outside, playing or doing our chores.

I admit that I grew up in a patch of trees, surrounded by cornfields 20 miles from anywhere, but the lessons my parents taught me about affecting other people with my actions have moved with me throughout my life from city to city. In almost everything that I do, I am mindful of how my actions directly affect others. I am not perfect and do not claim to be, but I am mindful most of the time.

Given this upbringing of mine, I find it extremely difficult to understand people who do not have the slightest consideration for those around them. For example, the Latino man, parking his vehicle at 1:16am last night in front of my apartment building. The night was cool and crisp so I decided to sleep with the windows open and was awoken at exactly 1:16am while this gentleman maneuvered his oversized SUV into a tight parking space. His windows were all rolled down and his Latin music was at a volume that guaranteed you would hear it for 2 blocks. During the 5 minutes it took him to squeeze into the parking spot, his music changed from a loudly crooned Spanish love song to a accordion-driven dance song which continued to blare while he made sure the windows were rolled up and the sunroof (or moon roof, I really don’t know the difference) was closed. He exited his vehicle and activated the alarm, which, true to form was connected to his horn. Four blasts of the horn and I was ready to jump thru my window and strangle him. Five minutes later, he returned to his vehicle, 8 blasts of the horn, he retrieved something he obviously forgot, closed the door and 4 more blasts of the horn and he was off to bed

And I was wide awake listening to the sounds of the city. The far off sounds of the city given the vast expanse of the Chicago urban landscape.

How is it that I can sleep thru trains rolling by, aircraft flying overhead in their landing pattern for O’Hare and dogs barking, yet something that is controllable by a human being wakes me up?

Bad manners abound and while I was lying there trying to get back to sleep, before Stella started in on her nightly rabbit chase barking and whining, I started thinking. I know, normally the idea of me thinking is a dangerous proposal; but this time it calmed me enough to fall back asleep about the same time Stella started her adventures.

The question that calmed me was “How?” “How can a person impart to another person in a polite manner that their actions are adversely affecting many people and they should be more considerate?”

I’ve considered printing up cards to leave on vehicles that are parked in such a manner to take up twice the room, but the wording I come up with always seems to impart my anger and frustration with their stupidity and self-centeredness and doesn’t help them to understand that they are making life more difficult for their neighbors, or could it be that I am self centered enough that I expect people to have consideration for others (ie . me) in their actions?

So I ask you my dwindling bevy of readers. Any ideas?
– Title:

Wow,
I’m such a label whore.
– Title: A morning Beyond Buffalo

I was having lunch with Rubs earlier today and while mentioning the cigarette smoke wafting towards us from a fair distance away, I flashed back to something that happened to me long, long ago and it brought about a line of reasoning that I must share. What happened long, long ago? Well…

Yesterday, while driving home from my calls, I was following a vehicle whose occupant had so much perfume on that I could smell her heavenly scent at freeway speeds with my windows rolled down. I caught up to her at a stop light, waved to get her attention and told her that I thought her perfume was absolutely lovely and while she gave me a confused look, I suggested that she wear a tad bit less tomorrow, with the comment “vagueness and subtlety are sublime indicators of an enigmatic character.”

At which point, I stated to Rubs, that “Romeo Gigli was my signature scent.” He started guffawing about my signature scent like it was a corporate authorized commodity. This got me to thinking…

How many products do I use on a regular basis? So I give you, my average day Beyond Buffalo: (in 3 parts)

I awaken to the delicious aroma of my Illy coffee (when it is available to my budget)

brewing in my Krups programmable coffee machine.

I hit the snooze button on my cheap clock radio from Walgreens and roll over in the bed that I built myself out of steel pipes. The snooze goes off yet again and I awake enough to hear Eric and Kathy of WTMX radio and think, I really need to set that radio to a new station.

I swing my feet to the floor and rest them on the thickly piled rug I purchased at CB2 when I first moved into this apartment. As Stella rises from her bed in the corner of the room, stretches, shakes and makes her way towards me, I rub the sleep out of my eyes, scratch my balls and stand, heading towards the shower.

I pull the waffle-weave shower curtain puchased from Target (back when I was still shopping with them) back and step into the shower letting the warmth of the water pull me from my slumber.

I reach for my Kiehl’s shampoo and lather vigorously making sure to get a very thorough rubbing of the scalp to stimulate my hair folicles, lest i begin the decline towards baldness. I don’t believe in the “lather, rinse, repeat” mantra, so I rinse the suds from my head…

next I take my Molton Brown re-charge Black Pepper bodywash. and lather up making sure to get into all the nooks and crannies.

I reach again for my Kiehl’s, only this time, it is my Facial Fuel Facial Wash (or facial scrub twice weekly) and complete my shower routine.

I step from the shower, towel off and reach for my 2(xist) underwear. I prefer the Contour Pouch Briefs for support and comfort. (yes, that is a picture of me wearing my 2(xist) contour pouch briefs)

I splash some water on my face, apply either Kiehl’s shave cream or Jack Black Shave Gel and grab my now antiquated Gillette Mach3 Turbo razor and once I’ve completed my shaving routine, I apply my Kiehl’s Facial Fuel moisturizer

A spritz of my signature scent Romeo Gigli and I’m ready to go. (on days i wear any scent at all)

I head into the closet and grab my Ted Baker Suit…

and my favorite Ike Behar tie.

Once dressed, I rinse with Listerene’s Whitening Pre-rinse and brush my teeth with Tom’s of Maine all-natural toothpaste.

I’m ready to go.

I take my Boscoware mug full of coffee (with a touch of sugar-free chocolate soy milk) and head into my home office where I turn on my Dell and my Apple iBook.

I check my e-mail, read my blogs, post my Wednesday Wank and get ready for my day.
– Title: wednesday wank

– Title: Helping those less fortunate (part I)

I decided, recently, that I needed to give back to the community, so when my ex-roommate (ex-r) asked if I would volunteer at an event this past weekend, I said “yes”. Never mind that I had no idea what the term “volunteer” actually meant.

Saturday, the day before I was to participate in this “volunteer” concept, I called ex-r asking if there was any way I could back out of my commitment, and if not, then what exactly was this “volunteer” activity in which I was about to take part. “Relax”, she said, “You’ll have a great time. You’re going to be working the ‘Crazy Castle Jump’. Basically, you’re going to stand there and herd children into and out of the jumpy thing and get free tickets to a concert as a thank you.”

“Free tickets”, I thought: not bad. I can do this.” I had completely missed the words “working” and “children”, because if I had, I would have backed out immediately. I do not like other people’s children because most parents, from my limited experience, are poor parents and their children are little horrors. I witness this every morning when I walk into a Starbucks and have to struggle to get around the double-wide strollers with food smeared faces of their occupants.

It was too late to back out, so I dutifully jumped into the Blanco Mommy Wagon™ and motored north to work with the North Shore’s under-privileged. I was going to do something good for needy children and I was grudgingly excited to be a Carnie for the day.

Arriving at the location, I parked my car (next to a Mercedes) and walked towards the front entrance, past row upon row of luxury vehicles and SUVs. I’d never seen so many German and English luxury cars in one parking lot. I thought to myself, wow, there must be a great number of volunteers here.
– Title: a letter to the editor

I found this letter to the editor and thought I’d share it with you. I’m not sure who wrote it, but it is nice to know there are people willing to stand up against the madness.

I am the mother of a gay son, and I’ve taken enough from you good people.

I’m tired if your foolish reactions about the “homosexual agenda” and your allegations that accepting homosexuality is the same thing as advocating sex with children. You are cruel and you are ignorant. You have been robbing me of the joys of motherhood ever since my children were tiny. My firstborn son started suffering at the hands of the moral little thugs from your moral, upright families from the time he was in first grade. He was physically and verbally abused from first grade straight through high school because he was perceived to be gay. He never professed to be gay or had any association with anything gay, but he had the misfortune not to walk or have the gestures like other boys. He was called a ‘fag’ incessantly starting when he was 6.

In high school, while your children were doing what kids that age should be doing, mine labored over a suicide note, drafting and redrafting it to be sure his family knew how much he loved them. My sobbing 17-year-old tore the heart out of me as he choked out that he just couldn’t bear living any longer, that he didn’t want to be gay and that he couldn’t face a life with no dignity.
You have the audacity to talk about protecting families and children from the homosexual menace, while you yourselves tear apart families and drive children to despair. I don’t know why my son is gay, but I do know that God didn’t put him, and millions like him, on this earth to give you someone to abuse. God gave you brains so that you could think, and it’s about time you started doing that.

At the core of all your misguided beliefs is the belief that this could never happen to you, that there is some kind of subculture out there that people have chosen to join. The fact is that if it can happen to my family, it can happen to yours, and you wont get to choose. Whether it is genetic or whether something occurs during fetal development, I don’t know, I can only tell you with an absolute certainty that it is inborn.

If you want to tout your own morality, you’d best come up with something more substantial than your own heterosexuality. You did nothing to earn it; it was given to you. If you disagree, I would be interested in hearing your story, because my heterosexuality was a blessing I received with no effort whatsoever on my part. It is woven into the very soul of me that nothing could ever change it. For those of you who reduce sexual orientation to a simple choice, a character issue, a bad habit or something that can be changed by a 10-step program, I’m puzzled. Are you saying that your own sexual orientation is nothing more than something you have chosen, that you could change it at will? If that’s not the case, then why would you suggest that someone else can?

A popular theme in your letters is that our state has been infiltrated by outsiders. Both sides of my family have lived in Vermont for generations. I am a heart and soul Vermonter, so I’ll thank you to stop saying that you are speaking for ‘true Vermonters’. You invoke the memory of the brave people who have fought on the battlefield for this great country, saying that they didn’t give their lives so that the ‘homosexual agenda’ could tear down the principles they died defending. My 83-year-old father fought in World War II, was wounded and awarded the Purple Heart. He shakes his head in sadness at what his grandson has had to live. He says he fought alongside homosexuals in those battles, that they did their part and bothered no one. One of his best friends in the service was gay, and he never knew it until the end, and when he did find out, it mattered not at all. That wasn’t just the measure of the man.

You religious folk just can’t bear the thought that as my son emerges from the hell that was his childhood he might like to find a lifelong companion and have a measure of happiness. It offends your sensibilities that he should request the right to visit that companion in the hospital, to make medical decisions for him or to benefit from tax laws governing inheritance. How dare he … these outrageous requests would threaten the very existence of your family, would undermine the sanctity of marriage.

You use religion to abdicate your responsibility to be thinking human beings. There are vast numbers of religious people who find your attitudes repugnant. God is not for the privileged minority, and God knows my son has committed no sin.

The deep-thinking author of a letter to the Forum on April 12 who lectures about homosexual sin and tells us about “those of us who have been blessed with the benefits of a religious upbringing” asks, “Whatever happened to the idea of striving … to be better human beings than we are?”

Indeed, sir, whatever happened to that?

– Title: wednesday wank

Apologies to my loyal 2.5 readers. I’ve been rather occupied with doing that thing that pays my bills. Behold, a Chicago local WW.
– Title: home sweet home

Camping was a blast, but I’m plumb wore out from the excitement.

The bitch and I are napping. We’ll answer all inquiries at a later time.

All I can say is that I love all things tap water after this weekend. Running tap water, showers, toilets, even washing dishes in the sink. I don’t mind the candles, the tiki torches and the flashlights, but the running water has got to be the best invention ever.
– Title: Camping

I’m going camping tonight. Ahhh the great outdoors. It’s been 2 years since I’ve crawled my fat ass into a tent with this group of guys.

A few years back, maybe 4 or 5, I was invited to attend a group camping trip in the great wilderness of Wisconsin. The spectacular Devil’s Lake state park in the middle of the state. I had nothing, no tent, no sleeping bag, and surely nothing remotely wilderness ready. A quick trip to the forbidden Wal-Mart and I was set. I bought, what I thought was a good sized 4 person tent, only to set it up at the campsite and immediately have “tent-envy™”. Every other gay man at that site had family sized homes compared to my miniscule scrap of fabric. But no worries, the tiki torches, the fake lawn and the prime real-estate made up for it all. (I was sandwiched between two tents that had all-night orgies going on.) It was a great weekend.

It has been some time since I’ve been with these guys, due to schedule, cash and Stella-watching issues; so I’m looking forward to this trip.

This time, I’m ready. Same tent, same sleeping bag, same fake grass and tiki torches; but this time, I’m going first class. I spent all evening yesterday preparing my blue-cheese stuffed olives and packing my travel martini kit®. I’ve got Chopin vodka, extra-dry Vermouth, plastic martini glasses, mixed nuts (of course), Blue Cheese stuffed olives, lemon twists (just in case I want something different), fancy crackers, 12-month aged Manchego cheese wedge, and my travel shaker all in a fancy thermal bag.

I think I’m set.

Oh wait. Food. eh. How far away can a restaurant be located?
– Title: No more Lowes

Lowes is on my “No Shop” ™ list. Lowes announced they will not build any additional stores in the city limits of Chicago, and has put plans for two locations on hold.

Here are some details the ordinance requires and the companies affected.

Any retail merchant with at least a 90,000 sq ft store earning over $1 billion annually must pay their employees a minimum salary of $10.00 per hour. Currently this affects 18 companies operating stores in the Chicago area.

The funny thing is that the city gives these stores millions of dollars in tax breaks and incentives to seduce them into building in Chicago in the first place. For instance, Target was given over $9 million to build two (2) stores. How many years of paying salary to employees in two stores will it take before they go through that $9 million dollars?

These stores are cash cows and until they start acting like a responsible member of the community I’m not adding to their coffers.

Mayor Daley is against the “Big-Box” ordinance and is planning to use his first veto in 17 years on this issue. However, he needs 2 aldermen currently supporting the ordinance to change their votes in order to kill this item.

It makes me sick. Greed pure and simple.
– Title: Wednesday Wank

– Title: A Moment of Silence

Esther Snyder, one of the founders of In-N-Out Burger died Friday in Southern California. She was 86 years old.
– Title: I’ve been saved

Thank you dear neighbors for saving my soul and praying for me and my
family. What with all the craziness in trying to make ends meet and pay my bills, I’ve not really had a chance to pray for my everlasting salvation.

I truly appreciate the little note you left on my door telling me that you and some friends of yours were walking through the neighborhood praying for me. Had I known, I’d have invited you in for some coffee and scones, or if you are so inclined, martinis and warm nuts.

Normally the only feedback I get from your ilk is hellfire and damnation at my evil ways. Your signs thrusting into the air accompanied by the angry, hatred and fear filled chants about my family and friends have always told me that you weren’t exactly happy to have my family in your midst. (Sort of like having an African-American family in a white suburb in the 1960’s).

I’m truly glad that you’ve come to welcome us into your neighborhood. Thank you.

Now could you do something about the two gay squirrels that keep fucking on my front lawn?

.
– Title: No more Target

I have a confession to make. Lately I’ve been torn between my love of all things Target and my belief that all employers should provide their employees with an income that will allow them the basic necessities of life (housing, food, and basic clothing).

The city of Chicago recently voted on an ordinance requiring “big-box” retailers (Home Depot, Wal-Mart and Target) to provide a livable wage to their employees. This ordinance now sits on the Mayor’s desk and if my hunch is correct he will either veto it or work behind the scenes to remove any teeth from this ordinance. I doubt he will actually sign it into law and ensure a future to his lower-income constituents.

Target’s response to this ordinance is to immediately put the brakes on any further development within the city limits of Chicago. Several additional stores slated to begin construction, or planned as the major focus of new developments await the outcome of this process. All of these stores are to be located in blighted, lower-income areas already seriously underserved by America’s corporate giants.

My response, as much as it pains me, can only be to stand up for what I believe in. Several years ago, I stopped shopping at Wal-Mart. I guess now, I must stop shopping at Target. In addition, I’ve decided to write a letter to the Target management informing them of this decision. I know my voice isn’t exactly a roar. I know that I’m only one consumer, but if others take up this action as well and there is a general outcry about their corporate greed, perhaps, just perhaps, Target will wake up the way Wal-Mart is beginning to, and Target will take the higher road.

I for one am getting tired of the level of corporate greed in this country.

Seriously, how much is enough? How many millions of dollars does it take to satisfy this level of greed? How much money can one person, one coporation, one administration spend in a lifetime anyway?
– Title: New Feature

Today, I’d like to try something new. It seems that my Wednesday Wank™ is the most popular element of the current incarnation of Beyond Buffalo, so I figured why not continue this alliteration theme and have yet another example to further boost my waning visitor counts.

So today I bring you the “Thursday Thought™”

Thought: “Why can’t I get that damn song out of my head? You know the theme song from that wildly popular movie ‘Can’t Stop the Music’ starring none other than Steve Guttenberg and The village Peeps”

I’d also like to take this time to introduce you to a little background information about me and where I come from.
– Title: wednesday wank

– Title: The wilds

My family is on vacation. Most of them are at least. My parents loaded up the motorcoach and hit the world lumberjack championship in northern Wisconsin over the weekend and drove down to The Dells on Monday to set up camp and wait for all their children to make our way to them.

We had to rough it a little in this rather smallish RV, though at 37 feet long, I believe they call it a motorcoach officially.

Yeah, just a small little coach that has 2 slide outs and comfortably fit all 13 of us while we enjoyed lunch in the a/c due to the intense heat of the day.

Oh and the interior had complete surround sound, DVD and Television set up, along with a full kitchen and bathroom complete with shower.

The girls, Aly, Mom and Sister.

Sister wanted to hit the water and dragged us all along. The 13 of us climbed into the Jet Boats and hit the water knowing we would be drenched by the end of the trip. As we were headed out onto the largest part of the Dells water a fast moving storm came up and ensured those who were not completely drenched were indeed taken care of and covered with water. The water was hitting us so hard and fast as the pilot tried to get us off the main lake and into some covered areas (for safety) that it felt like hail.

I was very happy to be sitting behind a very handsome shirtless man and couldn’t stop thinking that this man’s poor wife has no idea her husband likes boys. He made more eye contact and gestures with me than men with whom i’m sharing a moment of passion. I couldn’t stop staring at him as his sun-kissed skin glowed a delightful healthy tan and i thoroughly enjoyed watching the goose-bumps crawl up his torso and his nipples get hard. Oh the thoughts that went thru my head.

Alas, the ride was over and I had a 4 hour drive home to get back in time for my Wednesday Wank.
– Title: My Sunday in Pictures

It started out at the movies where i went to see My Super Ex Girlfriend with Rubs. But on the way into the theater i stopped off to snap a picture of myself with Will Farrell.

After the movie, we did a touch of shopping on Michigan Avenue. We stopped into the Virgin Store where i went looking for some reading materials. I was out of luck though, because when i got to the section i was looking for, there were no books left.

Spent the rest of the day on the couch with the bitch.
– Title: We’re all in this together

I’ve been reading a lot of the Rants & Raves posts on Craigslist for the past few weeks and I must admit that my worst case scenario about the levels of ignorance, hatred and prejudice in this city, if not this country, are not even close to the depths they inhabit in reality. I’ve read enough bigoted posts about African Americans, Jewish Peeps, Arabs and Lesbi/Gay/Trans in the last few weeks to make me sick, leaving me saddened and depressed about what is happening to this world. (I was going to use the word “folks” in that last sentence, but the good ‘ol Shrub™ ruined that word for me forever.)

Now I realize that Craigslist is a bubble of reality, an alternative dimension, where people, for whatever reason, feel that they can be controversial, hateful and ignorant without fear of retribution; but I am truly shocked at the raw emotions behind the posts.

There is so much anger and hatred that even if 5% of it is genuine it is a frightening glimpse into the blackness in American’s souls.

Misinformation, ignorance and fear-mongering. I’m not saying that I have all the answers or that my views are 100% right on, because in the efforts of honesty, I admit that I’ve become more racist, bigoted and fearful since I’ve moved to this city; but even though I may judge someone harshly based purely on their appearance, demeanor, hair and/or clothing style (not to mention a poor shoe/outfit combination), including entire groups of people based purely on the actions of a single individual, and though I may make sweeping generalizations about entire countries, races and sexual orientations based upon historically inaccurate models, I still give people the benefit of the doubt when I meet them one on one (in a dark room, perhaps one with a shower or small, dimly lit booth). Though I may be all those things, I am at least educated enough to know that my life has been completely unlike the lives of those people surrounding me. I am not arrogant enough to know the situations people of this world live with and therefore have no place to truly judge them harshly for their views.

What saddens me is that the education and acceptance levels of the American people have diminished to such a point that there is no concept of basic understanding left in this country. We are not taught to think on our own any longer. We follow, like lemmings, others words and beliefs without trusting in ourselves. We spout other people’s bigoted words as if they are our own and are comforted by the belief that we “fit” into society because we are “on the same page” with someone we look up to and emulate.

And yet, even though it saddens me greatly, and angers me to read these posts and examples of pure ignorance and hate, I find that I cannot stop reading them. Who knows what depth the next post I open will hold? Have we gotten so numbed by the discourse of hatred that permeates our society that we are searching, perhaps in vain, to be truly shocked?

I believe that I may be trying to find that one item that shocks me to such a point that I get up and become active. The news, each day, carries more and more shocking stories, from multi-billion dollar record profits per quarter for the oil companies to people choosing not to drive so they can feed their families to the bombs raining on a country that was so working towards reentering the world stage and must now start from zero.

What is the cause of all of this? It’s easy to say religion. It’s easy to say greed. Its easy to write this off to a long list of human conditions, especially since few in power seem interested in truly improving the world; because, well what would they get out of that?
– Title: wednesday wank

– Title: The interview

I’m interviewing a new friend, so last night I invited her, yes her, for drinks at the lobby bar of the Ritz Carlton hotel on Chicago’s magnificent mile. In addition, I invited Rubs to join us knowing that they would hit it off as well.

All went gloriously.

Until…

Well, this is a bit awkward…

The conversation rolled around to sex, as it tends to whenever gay men and single attractive women mingle and talk. However, this talk of sex was not the average bump-n-grind variety. No. This was a deep spiritual discussion about the lighter and darker sides of BDSM (Bondage, Discipline, and Sadomasochism) play. The truly shocking moment came when Rubs convinced my new friend-applicant© to bind my wrists with the napkin from the table. She fumbled momentarily with the thick, coarse, starched fabric before she abandoned it, reached into her bag for a large floral silk scarf, and in a quick fluid movement, had my hands tightly bound before I’d even realized she’d changed materials.

I sat there, in the Ritz Carlton hotel bar, a classic interpretation of all things proper and continental, bound with a woman’s floral silk scarf. All the time thinking… “She is so going to round three.”
– Title: An open Letter to Airline Management

An open letter to the CEO’s and COO’s of America’s airlines,

When I was younger, I was lucky enough to be the child of an airline employee, and my father took advantage of his position dragging us across the country and around the world on America’s carriers. I boarded those airplanes back in the 70’s and 80’s filled with wonder and I climbed into the comfortable, economic, yet somewhat spacious seats looking forward to whatever the destination had to offer knowing that I’d be shown respect, courtesy and service. To this day, the very first sip from a can of coca cola (not diet coke) instantly transports me back to the time the era-appropriate-termed “Stewardess” had just served us drinks on a trans-continental flight to Los Angeles when the plane entered a massive thunderstorm, tossing the plane about like a toy as my mother, sitting next to me, calmed me down by making a game of drinking the coca-cola without spilling any. Perhaps due to my experiences, I hold the image of air transport to a very high standard.

It breaks my heart to see what has happened to air travel within the United Stated in the last 10 years. Yes, fuel prices have gone up, yes competition has gotten stronger and yes, security concerns are daunting; but there is no excuse for the treatment passengers on America’s carriers face trying to get from point A to point B about a domestic aircraft. My flight to New York on Wednesday was delayed for over 2 hours, but I was lucky because the seat next to me was the only empty eat on the plane. I say lucky, because being 6’5” tall, having an empty seat next to me is a godsend allowing me to slide my knees ever so slightly out of the cramped space normally allowed me.

On the return trip, however, I was no lucky enough to have an empty seat next to me. In fact, I had a rather stocky man in the center seat, next to yet another stocky man in the window seat. The sheer size of the three of us, forced me to lean into the aisle forcing every person walking down the aisle to bump into me. Worse yet, as the era-appropriate-termed “Flight Attendant” pushed the drink cart down the aisle and slammed into my knee forcing an exclamation of intense pain to escape my lips to no response, not even an “I’m sorry” or an “Excuse me”.

The gentleman in front of me was so kind to forgo a slow reclination of his seat by pushing back as far and fast as possible wrenching my knees yet again into something metallic inside the frame of the seat forcing me up and out of my seat again in a verbal exclamation of pain, again to no reaction from the offending passenger.

So I ask you gentlemen, in all your business knowledge and boardroom wisdom, what have you done to our airlines? Will 3 more inches between seats bankrupt you even more than your current struggles, or would perhaps people be willing to pay a little bit more for good service, reasonably comfortable seats that the average (and ever-expanding) sized Americans will fit.

When American Airlines went through their fleet retrofit adding more room in coach, I switched carrier and maintained loyalty to American Airlines until they silently added those removed seats back into their aircraft without the previous marketing push.
Instead of taking away pillows, blankets and other in-flight items, try adding such things as common curtsey, respectful employees and on-time departures. I don’t understand why twenty years ago, we regularly flew right on through those thunderstorms without a worry but now; the airports are shut down across the country for slight rain showers.

Ultimately, I speak for myself, but I know that I’m not the only one who believes as I do. I am willing to pay more to get more. I’ll pay a bit more to get a larger seat that my fat ass will fit into without a liposuction operation. I’ll pay more to have those 2-4 extra inches of legroom. I’ll pay more to fly on an airline that truly believes they are in business FOR their customers, not in spite of them.

However, I will not pay double the costs I am currently paying.

Take the challenge and lets bring our carriers back to the world-class status they deserve. Americans invented the airline and it’s sad to see the state of things as they now stand.
– Title:

Oh New York New York!

True to form, my flight last night from O’Hare into New York was delayed 2 hours, so I was very thankful that that Married well was kind and thoughtful enough to arrange to have a limo to recover me from the airport and whisk me into Manhattan. Given the 11:30pm actual arrival time, not having to deal with the train transfer or the taxi into Chelsea.

Once we woke up today, we headed to MOMA where MW was nice enought to snap the picture above. This is the third photo and the first that was NOT showing my recently developed belly. While walking around the MOMA, i imagined what it would be like to be dating a super important man that could arrange a private tour of the MOMA without all the out of town tourists. Eventhough I myself am a tourist, I’d like to think I’m much more atuned to what it must be like to living here and dealing with them.

After MOMA, we lunched at the restaurant at the Hudson Cafeteria.

next was off to a cute little t-shirt shop where I purchased an adorable t-shirt (like I do on all vacations).

Then we headed to The Gansevort Hotel in the Meat Packing District where we sat on a lovely balcony on the roof and where MW got me drunk (Damn HIM!)

I heart NY! One more day before I have to start working and join my colleagues for the conference.
– Title: wednesday wank

Sometimes I like the clean-cut guys too.
– Title: A positive Roll Model

Growing up gay in small town America did not allow me a plethora of positive role models. I didn’t know any other gay men or women in my town and the one couple I’d guessed were lesbians, the two women that ran the local movie theater, always seems bitter, angry and mean so I was intimidated by them.

As with all base needs, we find other examples to learn from and satiate us. I chose Chip-n-Dale to be the example for relationships I would strive towards. To my young mind, they were the perfect example of a real and genuine set of lovers. Oh sure, they claimed to be “brothers” but I knew better. I knew that that was just a lie they’d thought up to pitch their tale to the executives at Disney in hopes of sweeping their still taboo love under the rug and keep the ugly spotlight of the cameras off them. It seemed to have worked wonderfully too. You never hear about the scandal of their love like you often hear about Bert and Ernie of Sesame Street fame. No, Chip-n-Dale pulled it off and stayed out of the harsh public debate on gay marriage.

But more importantly, Chip-n-Dale was a force to be reckoned with in Hollywood. They made a string of hit films before retiring. Such memorable hits as “Up a Tree (1955)”, “Squatter’s Rights (1946)”and “Winter Storage (1949) ensured their success and cemented their fame throughout history. 23 films in all over the course of their career and never a whisper in the press about their secret life.

I know they loved each other; it comes across in their films. The playful way they chase each other up the trees and across the grass showed the world their love for each other. They were not ashamed to love each other and that is how I modeled my dreams for the future.

Thank you Chip-N-Dale for providing a strong role model to me and countless other little baby-gays© around the world
– Title: Addiction is the new black

I think I’m an addict. Be it shopping, porn, blogs, reading, drinking, drugs or men. All too easily, I can slip away from reality into blank numbness without even trying. How many hours have I spent staring at my computer screen, mindlessly hitting the “refresh/reload” icon waiting with baited breath for the screen to refresh, knowing that the shoes, dick picture, vacation package or political blog will provide me with everything I need to be complete, whole, loved, informed, accepted, and an all around happier, healthier person.

I do know somewhere deep inside, that this isn’t realistic. I know that I’ll click the “reload” button again in a few moments hoping upon hope. It compulsive of me I know. I sit here silently chanting the mantra, “refresh for happiness”© knowing that happiness will not come from my computer screen. I sit here knowing there is a great big beautiful world out there and it is whizzing past me and leaving me behind. I sit here knowing that ultimately this compulsion is making me more and more unhappy and isolated.

I know all of this and yet, the compulsion remains. My head tells me, my heart reconfirms, but my right arm and my pain hold tight to the mouse, the remote, the hope.

I don’t know what I’m looking for in this compulsive-ness. I don’t know what it is I’m searching for in vain.

Granted this addiction is much healthier than the crystal-ecstacy-acid-mescalin-heroin-morphine-vicodin method I chose in my 20’s, the alcohol I chose in my teens and early 30’s (and occasionally still) and the shopping with which I am currently wrestling.

My right arm hurts from the repetitive clicking and scrolling. I slather “Bio-Freeze” onto it and massage away the knots in the muscles and yet I still sit here, mindlessly clicking away my life.

The other night, I was sitting here avoiding the intense heat outside, mini-fan directing the cool air from the a/c towards me, when it occurred to me that it was always the same people online all the time, the same exact people on the same websites. I could hit “reload” until the end of time and I would be faced with the same profiles reloading. It also occurred to me at that moment, that I was now one of them. I had become one of those people that spent an inordinate amount of time online cruising the photos and profiles. I sat back for a moment and asked myself “Do I even really want to hook up with someone?” “Or is this just a way of filling the loneliness I feel?”

Realizing that, “No, I didn’t want to even hook up with anyone” I quickly deleted my photos from my profile, edited the wording to a few periods and logged off.

Now like a true addict, I’m thirsting for a fix.
– Title: Wednesday Wank

In Honor of the Italian Wold Cup Winners… Them in their underwear.
– Title: and i’m going to be famous

I’m getting nervous

I’m going to New York next week partly for work and mostly for play. I’m staying with Married Well and his husband and I’m ever so looking forward to seeing them both. They are always so good to me on my visits. If I didn’t live in such a crappy place, meaning the city of Chicago, maybe I could return the favor and they would consider stay with me and I could treat them equally as well. Well, I’d at least try. The best I could offer would be clean sheets on my bed and a ride in the semi-luxury Blanco Mommy Wagon. I’m not a man of means despite my well cultured tastes. I don’t have the world at my doorstep like they do in New York. There is no Empire Diner around the corner from my place. I do have a lovely park though.

At any rate, I’m nervous about this trip. There are so many conflicting emotions tied into this trip. It will be my first return to the New York MOMA since I had one of their works permanently placed onto my arm in ink. Will they slap me with a copyright infringement suit? Will they arrest me for stealing intellectual property? I want to have a photo taken of me standing next to the original and I’m also shopping for my next work. I’m leaning towards a Leger`.

I’m also nervous about the basis for my trip. Work. But I don’t want to get into that.

But my largest concern, the one that is keeping me up at night, has more to do with my single most important goal of securing an entry on the famed “Overheard in NY” blog. I’m so nervous that I’m practicing wild and “out there” comments. I’m going to have to be on my game at all times I’m in public. I’ve been doing research as well. I went out and purchased a road map of Manhattan, affixed it to foam board, and have been placing colored pins notating the locations of the comments overheard. I’ve gone back close to 8 months so far. This weekend, I plan to enter the data I have into the iBook supercomputer, and have the super-top-secret comment location software pick the perfect, most quoted location in the city for me. Once I determine this locale, I will stalk this location, spouting wild and insanely funny comments in the hopes of being overheard. I’m even thinking about going out and getting the new Motorola Q so that I can be constantly online and download the comments as they post. I know this all seems like a bit much to get posted to a blog, but hey, what else do I have to live for?

I’m off. More research is needed.
– Title: Entering the “On Golden Pond” years

Today, officially as of 4:28am, I entered my golden years. I know, I really don’t look as old as I am, but it’s true. No longer do I fit into the “tween” category I opined about last summer. No longer am I a “sweet young thing” from my long ago youth and I can no longer dream of being a “boi toi™” and finding some wealthy older sugar daddy to inundate me with untold riches, both emotional and material. I have become the older sugar daddy, albeit without the sugar.

And another thing…

I’ve noticed the younger kids checking me out, the 20-somethings that never paid me no never mind when I was in my 20’s and early 30’s. This weekend, as most weekends, My trusty steed (The Bitch) and I took a walk to the local Starbucks for our morning exercise and java. This walk is a good mile round trip and I know my Bitch loves these walks because she tugs at the leash and her tail is particularly curled on these walks. Once I arrived at my local Starbucks, ordered my coffee (“medium drip, cold soy top, please”) and found a nice table on the edge of the “patio” I set out to enjoy the pleasant weather and spend a little bit of time in the sun. A younger version of me, perhaps 19 or 20, thin, very blonde, somewhat sketchy and very nervous, like this is his first time trying to pick up a man, sits at the table directly next to mine. I can see him working up the nerve to approach me and talk to me; perhaps even try to seduce “the old man”. Once he steels his nerve, he turns in his chair and makes nice with the Bitch. I give this kid credit, he knows who to go thru to get close to me. The Bitch has no patience for fakes and she’s a damn good judge of character… He makes some innocent small talk about the dog, the weather, etc. I’m not biting and he’s getting nervous. His eyes dart nervously about and his voice cracks a bit and as quickly as it started, it ends. The boy, dejected because I’m playing it cool retreats to the inside of the Starbucks. I could never fuck my baby-self and that’s what this kid looked like. I saw myself in him and my heart raced for a moment. I sure hopes he has a better experience coming into his own than I did. I sure hope he stays coherent and mostly sober thru his 20’s. I missed my 20’s. When the drugs wore off, I was 30.

And yet…

And yet…

And yet, I still feel like I’m a teenager pulling off a fast one. A kid, wearing adult clothes, driving adult cars and playing with adult toys (he he he adult toys… I was thinking iPod, Razr, iBook, Blanco Mommy Wagon when I wrote it, but it took on a whole other meaning when I re-read it)

Anyway. Happy Birthday to me! I’ve got to go get the flat tire fixed on the Blanco. Happy Birthday to me indeed. Oh yeah and it’s a full moon.
– Title: Whats the word for “Mmmmm”?

I’m weak OK?! Weak I say. Ever since I committed to my new vice over a year and a half ago in that quiet aisle at Costco, I’ve wanted a nice coffee maker. Nothing but the best for me, or at least the best in my budget, which these days isn’t much.

Since I rent my apartment, the built-in, plumbed version wasn’t an option for me and to be honest, I doubt I would ever drink enough coffee from Starbucks for a $4,000 machine to pay for itself by drinking at home.

When I moved into my own abode in the fall, I went out and bought myself a nice, cheap coffee machine for a reasonable $29.99 and I’ve enjoyed the coffee it makes. However, from the day I took it out of the box I wished it had a timer and an auto start feature on it. Truly a short-sighted purchase. I envisioned myself, much like the Maxwell House commercials at Christmastime, awakening to the intoxicating aroma of freshly brewed coffee, slowly walking downstairs and finding a hot, half naked man waiting with a piping hot cup of coffee. The coffee would get cold while we made passionate love at the bottom of the stairs, on into the foyer, around the corner into the living room, up on the baby grand piano, against the wall separating the living room from the kitchen (reminding myself to clean the “lube-y”™ palm prints from the wall) and into the kitchen where we would finish each other off on the butcher-block island. We would relax in the breakfast nook over freshly poured, post-fuck cups of coffee and all would be right with the world. I would then wonder why I have a baby grand piano when I don’t know how to play. Alas, I’m daydreaming again.

Last night the BF and I were having dinner and I told him I needed to get some Kibble for the bitch since she’d been licking an empty bowl going on a day now. He asked if he could tag along because there was a Bed, Bath & Beyond in the same building and he needed a coffee machine for his new condo.

I decided then and there that I needed an auto starting coffee maker with a timer.

This morning, it all came true, minus the hot man, the house with stairs, the passionate sex and the baby grand. I awoke to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. I even woke up when the alarm went off instead of the 2+ hours of rolling over and slamming down on the snooze button.
– Title: Good Bye dear friend It has been 2 days since I’ve enjoyed that crisp, refreshing flavor of the world’s favorite beverage. A beverage I often call “the Nectar of the Gods (of industry)”. There is no way to describe the anger, fear, and yes, sorrow I am feeling over this, perhaps, hastily made decision to cut myself off from that which I most adore.

But I blame the Coca-Cola Company for their greedy business practices and misleading advertisement schemes.

Many months ago, I mentioned that I would begin on a campaign of total Diet Coke-ification™ in my quest for the rewards of loyalty to a product I whole-heartedly adore. Unfortunately, I was led astray. I was lied to, and I was manipulated.

Between TLBO, myself and his horde of Philippino nurses we managed to save up 800 points in the “My Coke Rewards” program offered by Coca-Cola.

Right away, I realized that no, I’d never be able to save up the 20,000 points needed for that fabulous 42” flat-paneled television promised. It wasn’t until later that I realized that I wouldn’t be getting much of anything for my loyalty and devotion.

First, they limited the number of codes you could enter per day to 10 codes (easily met with the amount of Diet Coke I was drinking, not to mention TLBO’s addiction) Each bottle cap is worth 3 points and each 12-pack case is worth 10 points, so in order to save up the 20,000 points required, well, I’d have to do math to figure it out so let me just say, I’d be drinking a lot of Diet Coke. Next, limit the allowable input to 10 caps/cases per day and you begin to see that it would take me forever to meet their stringent requirements.

In light of this realization, TLBO and I decided to opt out of going for the “gold”, if you will, and set our sights on more realistic and achievable goals, like the Sony VIO laptop for 8,500 points, the Sony Bookshelf stereo system for 1,200 points, or the Sony digital camera for 650 points, etc., but as we playfully drank, saved and entered our way to untold riches on the backs of the Coca-Cola company, said company was quietly removing the very goals we had set. Five more points to the Sony camera, “Hey” where did that camera in my wish list go?” was the topic of a frantic call to TLBO.

Finally, the “wish list” consisted of $10 e-coupons for the Sony Style website for 80 points each.

Angered, disgusted and feeling utterly used and taken for granted as both a customer and a man of the world, I vowed to stop drinking Diet Coke and never shall the delightfully refreshing, complexly crisp and cold nectar of all that is good in the world pass across my lips again.

You brought this on yourself Coca-Cola. You brought this on yourself and I hope you can live it. I hope your corporate greed, and mis-leading advertisement schemes don’t keep you up at night pacing the floors of your spacious penthouse apartments in the sky or the grounds of your estates tucked neatly in the hills outside of Atlanta.

You may have managed to shyster $357.89 out of me in the last 6 months, but no more.
– Title: wednesday wank

Ok, I’ve decided to treat those of you checking in with a summer edition of the Wednesday Wank. This man hails from someplace in Florida last time I heard.

Beyond Buffalo will return in full next week!
– Title: Look at some pretty flowers

I’m taking a blog-vacation. As I come upon my two year anniversary. I’m tired of writing, as those of you, my less than tens of readers remaining have found and i’m not putting my soul into it. Two years is longer than I’ve stuck with most of the things in my life. I mean I wanted to quite football 2 days after i started, once i realized it was excercise and not just sitting in the lockerroom mostly naked snapping towels at each other’s asses.

So I’m leaving you with a field of flowers. A field that stretches on as far as the eye can see. Cause they’re pretty and this world needs something pretty and uplifting even more these dark days.

Thank you for sticking with me these last two years. Check back in July (towards the end) and I’ll be back up.
– Title: wednesday wank

Maybe the missing link for a roll in the hay.
– Title:

A little something to get your week going.
– Title: rant#439

I dream of a day when hatred, bigotry and discrimination no longer exist. I dream of a world filled with hope and possibilities for better lives for the people. I dream of a world where greed is looked down upon as much as it is worshiped now.

I know Utopia doesn’t exist, but it would be nice to see a glimmer of it from time to time. I cannot understand the thinking of people who are so full of hatred and admonishment towards those not exactly like them. I cannot understand how people do not realize that we are all in this together, all people, all nations, all religions; we all need each other to survive.

Why then do we fight and kill and lie and do all that we can to sabotage the good work of people out there trying to help the greater good?

I am ashamed for the state of affairs of this country, this world and its leaders, both political and business. How much do people truly need? When will people have “enough” that they can start to share it with others? $400 million? $1.5 billion? When do those without stand up and say “Enough!”?

We have the power, for the time being, to make change in this world. It starts at home in the local sphere of being. The GOP is pushing this concept hard trying to take the focus away from the failures of the regime. It starts with each of us and the choices we make, it starts with how we feel, love, behave, and the footprints we leave.

Much like the story of Peter Pan, if we believe hard enough, we can save ourselves, oh and tinkerbell too. Of course, if we believe hard enough, we can also destroy ourselves and everything that matters.
– Title: Lost. If found, please call…

This morning while waiting for my medium Starbucks coffee with a cold soy top to be prepared and handed over the counter, (yes I refuse to use the typical Starbucks lingo) an immense sense of loss hit me, overwhelming me and almost knocking me to the floor. I stood there, dazed, confused and trembling with my newfound revelation of loss, trying to regain my composure as my hot beverage was handed to me.

This loss is now palpable in its enormity. I struggle with the knowledge that I have misplaced my God-given, American sense of entitlement. I do not feel worthy of the Blanco Mommy Wagon, nor the self-refilling Starbucks card, the sexy, slim Razor mobile phone, the less-than-one-year-old, yet already out-dated iBook, the GayPod or the GayPod mini. I do not feel entitled to the $200.00 sushi meals at lunchtime, nor the worldwide travel plans. I should not enjoy the flat-panel television and WiFi home network. How can I manage to live with the Ted Baker suits and the Hugo Boss pants let alone carry on wearing my vast range of stylish shoes?

My life is empty, pretty, but empty.

Come back God-given sense of Entitlement. I need you. I miss you!
– Title: wednesday wank

– Title: the 401(k) plan

I’ve been having the strangest thought lately about retirement funds. Mainly, the money I have going towards my 401(k) withholding every week, which mysteriously disappears from my paycheck before the taxes are levied. Am I wasting my money? I don’t actually plan on retiring so should I continue this contribution? Wouldn’t a new suit or some snazzy new shoes be better?

I don’t plan on retiring and for this, I blame the Republicans. Well not JUST the Republicans, I also blame the religious right and all the closed minded people that are preventing my people (shhhhh the gays) from marrying. My people are extremely youth culture obsessed and I can’t tell you how many older gay men I often see still trying to hold onto their fading youth, dressing like the twenty year olds or hitting the gym harder than the 30 year olds, slathering untold amounts of skin care product onto their faces to hide the emergence of those tiny lines the would give away their true age.

I know this because, with the exception of that gym thing, I’m going to be one of them. I know this because it is the fate of my people. We are destined to remain buried in the youth obsessed culture until the mainstream culture will allow us to join them at the matrimonial altar.

Marriage allows people to let go, to give up and wear elasticized pants, to stop working out, to not care about tiny lines around the eyes. Marriage allows you to settle into your own skin and get old without fear of being alone. You have someone, by law, and if you believe in the traditions of marriage then you have them till death.

My people have no such legal requirements to put up with our spouses crap, we can walk out the door and not look back, and it happens much too often. We are trapped in a shallow, self-absorbed existence because the rest of society cannot handle us. Oh sure, they love us for our art, our theatre, even our fashions, but the thought of sucking dick or taking it up the ass is too much for Ma and Pa Kettle of small town USA to handle.

So without the security of a spouse, I’m left to fend for myself, regardless of the fact that I’m with someone or not. I do not plan to be one of those older gay men that leer uncomfortably at the younger boys; I also do not plan on living to 60. Thanks to the government constantly rising the age of retirement, and my horrible concepts of savings I’m destined to work until my final day, July 9th, 2029. (Unless something pre-dates that final day)

So the question is now asked, should I cash out my 401(k) and pay off some debt or put it towards a house?
– Title: wednesday wank

– Title: Hope and a light at the end of the tunnel?

Its a really long read, but worth it.
– Title: Raise your hand if you’re with me…

All of my working career, I’ve enjoyed working in offices that had freaks in them. There was the odd single woman in her 50’s that wore prairie skirts, a ponytail and had lots of cat pictures on her desk and spoke with a New York City bite, or the mid-30’s Philippina that wore entirely too much make-up and talked like a trucker but was a mother of 3 cute little, well-behaved children. There was the ACT-UP queen that had a strange Midwestern sensibility while managing to snort crystal meth off of a key on a moving bus without missing a beat in the conversation. My favorite freak was the chubby girl that played the victim in almost every situation, but would get incensed if you called her on it and turn, anime-style into a raving loon.

This morning, while walking my trusty steed™ Stella, someone else’s office freak passed me and made me long for the days that I reported to an office on a regular basis. It was at this moment, the very moment of longing, that I realized that I have now become the office freak. The tall, hairstyle fluctuating, tattooed man that comes and goes in a flurry of activity and noise. I am the entertainment for my office colleagues on those days that I stop into the office.

I think I’m OK with that.
– Title: Best T-shirt ever..

TLBO saw a t-shirt for sale in Amsterdam that takes top honors. It said “If Jesus came back, we would kill him again”

In other news from Europe…

This afternoon we decided to go to the local bar down the street from the hotel. As we walked into The Stryker (as in Jeff) we heard the voice of a woman call out “B10” in three different languages. It appears in this quasi-leather bar they play bingo during happy hour. The bar reminded me of the old Badlands in San Francisco before they remodeled it and took down all the license plates. As we sat there listening to her call out numbers up, we watched porn on one TV monitor while the movie Kill Bill was playing on the other TV monitor. Remember the scene where she is given her sword by the Japanese sword maker during the special ceremony? While imagine that in one eye while the other is focused on some guy getting a rim job. It gets even better…

As Kill Bill continues and Black Mamba enters the restaurant in search of Oren Ishii, up on the other TV, I recognize a tattoo representing the birth sign of Aries. The one that matches the birth sign of cancer I have on my right shoulder. I started laughing so hard I almost spit out my drink. There was my ex-boyfriend “The Chef” spread eagle on the TV screen. My advice to anyone who has ever considered doing porn. Just know that you never know where your movies are going to be played, even years later.

– Title: Dispatches from Amsterdam

TLBO’s further exciting stories from the front.

you haven’t lived till you’ve watched Jimmy Neutron in Dutch.

It is 1pm-ish on Saturday and we are on our way to a Tattoo Convention. Dicky, the dutch boy that works at our hotel is going to give us a tour of the city and take us to the convention.

I guess Mexico lost to Amsterdam in soccer because every now and then a drunk dutchman yells something to us in Dutch that has the word Mexico in it.

– Title: Dispatch from Amsterdam

TLBO’s tour of Amsterdam continues…

tonight Joe and I went to a circuit club and left after about an hour because we were on the wrong drugs and didn’t recognize any of the music. so….

I decided to go back to the Sauna which is only 125 steps away from our hotel (really, I counted out the paces!). Since it was early (2:30am) the place was relatively empty. I wandered into the sling room and decided, hum, no one is around I think I will lay in the sling and fantasize about being gang raped.

Well it was harder to get in than I thought (especially since I had just taken a Marinol to take the edge off the vicodin/vodka) and once I was in, I felt like a turtle who had been turned on his shell, I couldn’t get out. Being stoned this immediately made me have a giggle fit.

which one of my girlfriends would have been there to help me get out of the sling?

Really, I would have handed him a bottle of poppers and directed the patrons into the sling room. I got your back girl…
– Title: Guest blogging from Europe

The Little Brown One – writes this from Amsterdam today.

Two weeks before I left for Amsterdam, my man “Floppy Dork”(TM) started making fun of me because I had just learned that the Anne Frank house is actually in Amsterdam. Just because his degree is in History and mine is in Nursing, doesn’t mean I am not as smart as him. Just in other things. well….

Today when we were in the Van Gogh museum (yeah that is here too!) I stood there staring at the different country flags depicting the languages you could get the audio tour in, when I realized there was no American flag. After about 3 minutes it finally hit me, duh, the British flag would be the choice for the tour in English! Just because I spent more time in the gift shop than The actual gallery says more of my short attention span than my intelligence.

And in case you are wondering, they don’t actually wear the wooden shoes – too bad.

– Title:

There’s a few new photos from the IML weekend festivities added to my pixelpost photoblog. Just click on that little photo to the left, and it’ll wisk you away and make you feel like you were there for the crazy-ness.
– Title: Wednesday Wank

– Title: at a loss for…

I have no short-term memory left to speak of and while my mid-term memory is suspect, at best, I’ve been finding that my lack of short-term memory often causes embarrassing episodes where I cannot remember that perfect word which would expertly detail my thought or worse yet I find myself drifting in the middle of relating a friend’s most embarrassing tale about shitting his pants while in the hallowed halls of congress.

Throughout the weekend there were so many stories that sparked ideas for posts and when I sat down to write them this morning, there was nothing but the swirl of dust and shadows in my mind. I remember the exact locale where each idea formulated, I remember the circumstances that sparked them, but for the life of me, I cannot recall the actual concept of what I wanted to write about.

And then, this morning, while sitting on the toilet, speaking to all of my friends on my mobile phone, you know, catching up with them, it occurred to me that maybe, just maybe I should do something about my abhorrent lack of short-term recollection skills.

Idea, firmly planted in my head, I excused myself, reached for the handle and alerted my friend to my locale and the reason for the echo in the conversation with the telling discourse of the toilet’s flush.

Fast forward ten minutes, shoes on, teeth brushed and I’m standing in my “Tigger-iffic™ reception hall” with a blank mind wondering where I was headed.

“Damn you memory”
– Title: Wednesday wank

In honor of IML weekend, today’s Wednesday Wank is more than just one man, cause, well… it is IML weekend.

And one more just because…

now be sure to read the post about my sister and give me ideas for retaliation.
– Title: Sisters

I’ve always felt a special connection with my older, and only sister Jill. She was always there to protect me from the horse-play and bullying of my three brothers. She would keep her eye out for me, making sure I didn’t do anything overly stupid and was right there to tell me when I was dangerously close to looking like an idiot. Often, however, she missed the mark considerably and the damage had already been done to my ego, my image and my fragile self-confidence.

When I came out to my parents, via a long-winded and convoluted letter carried across country by the US Post office, it was my sister I called, not more than 30 minutes after depositing the letter into the blue metal mail box on the corner, sealing my fate and ensuring there was no way back. In that panicked phone call with her, I shared, for the very first time with a member of my direct family the news that I was a fag. She was surprisingly calming telling me that it was going to be OK. Something in her voice made me actually think it would be.

It would b a number of years and long-distance arguments with my Mom before it really was, but I knew that most of the time, Jill was in my corner and that I wasn’t alone.

After having lunch with my brother here in Chicago last Thursday, and seeing him for the first time in three or four years, I felt like reaching out to the rest of the family and seeing what was happening in their lives. In addition, the discussion with my brother about what inheritance plans he was making for my parents estate, shook me somewhat, not wanting to think about the days when it would be set in motion.

I picked up the phone and called Jill. We caught up on her life and the activities of her kids. I never pictured my sister as a soccer/ballet mom before, but she seems to be happy with everything she has going on in her life. The conversation eventually wound around to the talk I’d had over lunch and Jill flatly stated “Well, I’m getting all of Mom’s jewelry”. At that point, there was a brief pause and she offered “That is, um, unless you want some.”

Shocked silence on the phone as I digested what my sister was asking.

“Are you one of those guys that wears dresses?” she asked with a playful tone in her banter. “I’m not sure, so I figured I’d ask. Do you want some of Mom’s jewelry?”

“No, that would be my ex-boyfriend, and that is why he is an ex.”

My sister, true to the family’s twisted sense of humor, just called me a drag queen. You know… I’ve gotta come up with something to retaliate. I’d never let her get the spit-wad shot as a kid, and I’ll definitely not let this be the end.
– Title: i’m so jealous

My old neighbors went to the Augusten Burroughs book signing event for his new book ‘Possible Side Effects’ and had their picture taken with him.

I adore this man and his hotter than hot husband. He’s living the life i dream of, you know, the neurotic writer who lives with a HOT Daddy Bear and travels the world writing about how neurotic he is and everybody loves him and wants to make movies about his life. That life. That’s precisely the life i want to live.

I have the hot boyfriend part down… and i guess i write about my neurotic-ness. but where are the hollywood agents, or hell, the literary agents clamouring for my signature on their contracts?

Anybody? I’ll take almost anything. really! $5000.00 for a book? today, sure!
– Title: Monday morning catch-up

I was going to apologize for not writing most of last week after my return from Boston and P-Town, but decided against it, because I really didn’t do anything wrong by not writing. I was busy damn it. Oh! And writers block.

So Boston was wet, wonderful and wild! Sluggo was the perfect host, taking the day off and dragging my sorry-wanna-go-shopping-for-T-Shirts-ass around the city. Got some great ones too! I even convinced him to go into his favorite new store.

P-Town was quaint, yet soggy, and I need to plan a return trip for the summer months when the hot men converge upon the city and take it over in a pulsating crush of hot, sweaty, naked flesh. I couldn’t even visualize. All day Saturday I heard “You should see this in the summer, wall to wall half-naked men as far as the eye can see. So crowded it’s hard to drive down this street”.

The topics for writing fly thru my head so fast, I think “Oh! Great post!” but by the time I sit down before my trusty Mac the concept, the words and the motivation have left me.
I’m going to look into getting a TRIO, maybe I can write mobil-ly.

I’m off to an early start today, so running into the office.

Ta ta
– Title: wednesday wank

Paul Johnson. mmmmmm
– Title:

Lemme just say…

Whitney said it best. “uh uh, crack is whack!”

and so was my weekend.

More when I get a chance…
– Title: Heading back towards Buffalo

I’m headed to the east coast this afternoon my tens of readers. I won’t be lugging my beloved laptop with me so most likely will not be blogging. Have a great weekend! i’ll return Monday with stories and photos.
– Title: out of the mouths…

“ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Wow, we need to do that in real life sometime”

The above quote was uttered by yours truly just last night at the culmination of a very wild and fun roll in the sheets with the bf.

“Um, what should we do in real life?” asked the bewildered bf.

“oh, sorry, remember that hunky arab shop keeper I pointed out to you that we were both drooling over earlier? You know the big muscled guy with the shaved head and the immaculate manscaping.”

“Yeah, what about him?”

“well, you know, while you were… he was…! We really need to try that!”
– Title: Wednesday Wank

He has kind eyes. Don’t you think?
– Title: i’m so smart

It is often said that a little bit of knowledge is dangerous. What about a little bit of knowledge on a lot of different topics?

I’ve often prided myself in my innate ability to carry on a conversation with anybody. This talent has helped to make my job easier, and my life more eclectic. I find joy in a wide variety of topics, but I’m not really educated thoroughly in any one topic and this is beginning to concern me.

Is it possible to be intelligent and still be stupid? Can it be that I’ve spent so much time learning minor bits of information about vastly disparate topics that I’ve damaged my ability to truly be knowledgeable about anything?

For instance, this I know:

# A friend of mine has sex with a mechanic in exchange for repair work on the car.

# I can quote mechanical details like tonnage and passenger capacity about the majority of the great ocean liners built before the Second World War.

# I have enough knowledge about HTML to write a page, but not enough knowledge to actually put that page online. (Thanks John)

# I know enough about fixing cars to know when a mechanic is trying to rape me without a courtesy reach around ™, yet not enough to fix things myself.

# I know enough about my industry to come across as intelligent and educated to a potential client, but not enough to truly explain how things work without calling the operations department for help.

# I understand the concept of exercise and even know what to do, but when I step into a gym I cannot see past the shiny glistening bodies of the hot muscle men working out to actually do the exercises required.

The above examples barely scratch the surface of my shortcomings and yet I’ve managed to “maintain” the appearances that I’m a smart person all this time. I wonder if I’m truly smart or just really good at faking it. I know it’s possible to play dumb, but can you play smart?
– Title: Damn you Richie Rich

I blame it all on cartoons.

As a small child, I would spend hours in front of the television catching the hi-jinx of the Hanna-Barbera shows. Grape Ape, Touché Turtle and Hong Kong Phooey were among my favorites. But I think that the world’s richest 12-year old, Richie Rich sunk into my being more than the others. I mean, sure there could be a giant purple gorilla out there someplace. I wasn’t around back in the 17th century, a fencing turtle is still a stretch of the imagination, but a Kung Foo trained dog that masquerades as the mild mannered janitor working at the local police station is downright unbelievable.

However, the worlds richest 12-year old was someone in which I could believe. The mansions, the cars, the airplanes and the vault were all things I could touch, see and hear. My senses never let me down before so how could this not be real? Richard Rich Sr. was a self made man and he taught Richie Jr. the inner workings of wealth, how to treat people, share and other things the money-set of today’s America no longer comprehend. Forbes magazine ranked Richie Rich as the second richest on the Forbes Fictional Fifteen list (just below Santa Claus) with a net-worth above $17 billion.

All of this proved to my eager young mind that money was ample in the world and all you had to do was throw it around and it would come back to you ten fold. Share and it would be returned. It wasn’t until just yesterday that I realized, while shopping for extremely high-end furniture at the Merchandise Mart’s Sample Sale that Richie Rich led me astray.

I don’t have the bank roll of Richie’s father; I don’t have the mansion, the robot maid, or the crazy scientist working in a basement laboratory. No fleet of cars, planes, or boats fully staffed and covered in precious metals and gems. There is no vault filled with currency and bullion that I can swim in when I’m bored. No Limousine ever dropped me off at school or picked me up from band practice. The president never called me asking for financial advice (though maybe he should have called and asked someone) and I doubt the police will look to me and my vast fortune (and creepy scientist- in a child molesting way- working in the basement) to solve their missing children and/or stolen goods cases.

No. Money for me, I now understand, will be a constant struggle to amass. Budgeting and hard work are the only paths open to me (unless my new bf somehow decides to amass a fortune and offers me the coveted house-husband position I’ve dreamt of).

Thank you Richie Rich for destroying my life and for leading me in the wrong direction. I trusted you. I believed in the stories you told, the web of lies you wove and the sparkle of riches you made me believed were as easy to get as a glass of water.

At least with Johnny Quest, I knew that gay love was something to be quietly proud of. Dr. Quest and Race Bannon’s love for each other was silent but proud. They knew they could count on each other when there was danger, they could rejoice in each other when the cases had been solved and they showed it at the end of every episode when they would look into the other’s eye and know they were in love. The love of Race and Dr. Quest re-enforced that I wasn’t sick or wrong, their love gave me hope for my future and you gave me lies and deceit Richie. LIES AND DECEIT!

So I reject you and your capitalist views on life Richie Rich. You had me tricked for some 30 years (I never claimed to be intelligent) but no more.
– Title: can i get some answers please I have questions… someone better have answers for these…

# Why do straight women, when they’re shopping, walk four abreast oblivious to the fact that I’m walking behind them, in a hurry with an urgent need to pee? Do they not understand the concept of walking two abreast? Why do they hate me?

# Where do the homeless people get the ice cubes to keep their beer cold on a hot summer day?

# Why do all of our government press sessions feel like love fests? The audiences cannot truly believe the lies being told. Are they paid actors? Do they get scale or do they get a higher salary due to filming under fire? If they are paid actors, can I get signed up for that?

# Why does the tomato only squirt out of the sandwich when you’re wearing a white shirt?

# Am I rude if I ignore a homeless person complimenting my flawlessly styled outfit and uber-stylish tie?

# As of lunch today, I’ve eaten cost free the last four meals in a row, who will make it five? Will i need to pony up for the next meal?

# Is there a number I can call to check on my Karma balance? I really would like to know how close I am to switching back into the positive section, or if I’m really that far into the payback-is-a-bitch section.

# If I could guarantee winning a raffle by buying a certain dollar amount of tickets and it was still a huge amount less than the cost of the prize, and nobody would know or get in trouble, but the fundraiser still met their goals would it be wrong? If not, does anyone here control a raffle giving away, oh lets say, a shiny convertible?

# Why is it that when you say “no thanks I just need to pee” to a saleswoman at Nordstrom, she somehow manages to convince you into purchasing a super-cute Ben Sherman dress shirt, specially tailored to make you look flawless around the midsection and a wildly handsome tie to round off the look?

– Title: Failed words

I think I may be the only one here to be sick of hearing words.

Now, I like to think of myself as a writer, somewhat educated via the United States Public school system of the 1970-80s, back when schools had the luxury of books, desks, gymnasiums and musical instruments; but the way words are thrown around these days is getting a bit tired. Each week a new catch-phrase hits the airwaves and everyone and their Great-Aunt June’s 3rd cousin’s 5th grade teacher starts reciting them as if they were standing before the alter of knowledge reciting the password to heaven and eternal salvation.

The word-phrase of the week this week? “Failed policies”

I’m sick of hearing about “failed policies”. I don’t believe these policies are anything close to failed. I believe the policies this administration has put into place are indeed doing exactly what they were put into place to do and that is to fuck the common citizen and make the world rosy for multi-national conglomerates and those that fill the political war-chests.

Five years ago, Dick shoot your enemy Cheney headed up a super-secret energy policy meeting with his friends at the oil and gas companies and refused to divulge the list of attendees. We now enjoy gas prices that are double what they were when they took office.

GOP leaders and the White house rewrote the Medicare bill with complete help from the pharmaceutical industry that made it illegal to negotiate for better pricing on drugs. The government cannot use its huge buying power to negotiate lower prices on drugs from pharmaceutical companies under the letter of the law. Fast forward to January 2006 when the new Medicare drug plan went into effect and you had state governments bailing out the program to ensure those who needed life-saving drugs wouldn’t be without coverage while the Federal government got their acts together.

Failed policies?

Sounds to me like they work exactly how written, in favor of those that wrote them.
– Title: Wednesday Wank

Today’s Wednesday Wank® brought to you by an annonymous photographer at an annonymous street festival at some location in the world. ALlow me to correct that. This location is the world famous patio of the San Francisco Eagle Tavern. I recognize the brick structure he’s leaning on to be the firepit, home to such grilled delights as hamburgers and hot dogs on packed Sunday afternoons with beer filled patrons milling about. I better stop, touch myself inappropriately and get to work, or i’m going to go to that homesick place where i miss San Francisco.

Happy Wednesday Wank boys and girls.
– Title: recap

What a weekend.

It was so good; it took me until Tuesday to decompress.

Should I share it?

I don’t know if I should.

Well maybe just a little.

Let me back up first. Thursday, I had the most amazing conversation with my boss. We spoke on the phone for close to an hour and a half and he shared with me that he is struggling just as hard as I am with getting new business. We devised a plan. We’re going to put it into place this week.

Friday, I was invited by Tom to a house party at a high ranking official of the Italian Embassy. There were important and beautiful people there, unfortunately, none of the hot Italian men I pictured would be there, so we snuck out and hit one of my favorite places in Chicago. Yoshi’s, home of the second best martini I’ve ever had in this flatland. Apparently they were so good my already poor math skills were further complicated. 54% tip you say? Oh hell, he got me drunk. What’s 54% on an $80.00 bill? I didn’t know either until the next morning.

Saturday, Tom and I went to the Merchandise Mart for a combination of Art festival and Antique show. The art side was fun. Every time I surround myself with art, I get motivated and filled with ideas. Saturday was no different. The ideas are still swirling and I hope I take advantage of them before the swirl right out of existence. Not really sure what to say about the Antique show. When we entered the fair, we stood and looked at each other blankly, wondering which direction to start, and as I was saying “Ooh antique posters, Tom said “Ooh antique maps” and we headed in opposing directions.

Sunday saw me and my, I’m going to say it, boyfriend, drunk. Yes, we were drunk enough to be double groping another couple. Until I realized what we were doing and walked out of the bar. Apparently, I also walked away from a very important conversation we were having.

Well, I was trying to get a cab, is it really my fault the cab showed up when it did?

So back to sobriety and work motivation. And get ready for the next Wednesday Wank!
– Title: Friday Flowers

A little something to brighten your Friday.
– Title: Tuck Your Shirt In Lately, I’ve been seeing a lot of straight boys in the city with a strange combination of tucked shirts. The front of their shirts are tucked, the back untucked, or the even better, “I’m going to be so damn cool, I’ll only tuck in a quarter of my shirt”(tm), look.

To these sadly uninformed and terminally straight, fashionally challenged thick skulls, I’d like to direct you to a Details Magazine article telling you to grow up and tuck your damn shirt in. It looks stupid.

Shirttails that hang down to your fly don’t say you’re stylish—they say you’re immature.

A friend of mine, an ad guy and utter sartorial snob—custom-made suits, cashmere sweaters—fancies himself an unmovable rock of personal style. He was wearing his shirttails hanging down the front of his pants long before this look got tagged as a trend, and my friend swore, with conviction usually reserved for damning unfaithful girlfriends, that he would never, ever tuck in his shirt. Turns out he was just going through a phase, much like a teenager who has a brief but passionate affair with Dep. His shirttails are now firmly back where they belong—inside his trousers—every day.

Unfortunately, the majority of untuckers—the guys still blindly clinging to the “rumpled suit, visible tails, and All Stars” formula fomented by Ryan Adams, Julian Casablancas, and their ilk at the beginning of the decade—have yet to admit to themselves that they’re wrong, that the bell has long since tolled for the I’m-dressed-up-but-not-really look.

“It was cool and unstudied when those guys first did it,” says Michael Bastian, the former men’s-fashion director at Bergdorf Goodman who just debuted a namesake line of tailored menswear. “The problem with the ones doing it now is you can see they’ve thought about it.”

Indeed, shirttails that blow in the breeze betray one of two mind-sets—both of which reflect poorly on the wearer. One is that you think flouting traditional fashion mores makes you appear coolly rebellious. I may be wearing this bespoke shirt, but no one can make me stuff it in my pants. On the contrary, liberated shirttails paired with a tailored suit look hopelessly jejune. On a 12-year-old Catholic-school kid, such a blatant sartorial middle finger might be endearing. On a 30-year-old it’s pathetic. If that’s the best way for you to demonstrate that no one can tell you what to do, perhaps you should shift your attention from your wardrobe to your career.

A subset of untuckers wears a sweater over the emancipated shirt, allowing the fabric to hang down past the hem of the pullover like a loincloth. Perhaps Jeremy Piven, Jimmy Fallon, and others who favor this arrangement consider it boyishly unkempt. It isn’t; it’s sloppy and contrived.

The other, equally misguided motive for treating a button-down shirt like a baby-doll dress: It conveys nonchalance, a casual indifference to those tired old rules of dressing—like tying your shoes and zipping your fly. You roll L.A.-style. Sure, you look relaxed. A little too relaxed. A collared shirt billowing over jeans isn’t merely cheesy but vaguely vulgar—like you just came from a quickie with a table-waiting actress wannabe. And maybe that’s what this breed of shirt manipulator—Josh Duhamel and Carson Daly among them—is trying to convey. Alas, rather than attracting ladies, the untuckers are more likely frightening them.

“It’s a scary look for me as a woman,” says Rachel Comey, the young New York designer who, for the record, showed many shirts tucked into trousers in her fall 2006 men’s collection. “The guys doing it look desperate.”

Bastian concurs: “These guys don’t understand that they would pull so many more women if they just tucked their shirt in and looked put-together.”

That doesn’t mean you have to pull your pants up to your nipples, stuff your shirt down in there, and cinch your belt good and tight. You can keep your hip-riding APCs where they are, just reel in the tails. Unless you’re on your way to your first Communion, no one will think your mother made you do it.

By Katherine Wheelock; photograph by Vincent Dilio

– Title: Wednesday Wank

I’ve decided to institute a new feature here at Beyond Buffalo.

From now on, I’ll bring you Wednesday Wank where I’ll feature hot men that I’d like to have sex with. These are all photos pilferred, copied, downloaded illegally, or forwarded shamelessly by my friends. If one of you, my beloved tens of readers happens to be in the mix, well lucky me, but seriously, if you’d rather not be, let me know and i’ll remove your photo.

Notice how the blue of his tattoo brings out his eyes…

Enjoy your hump day!
– Title: In the shadows of the limelight

When I was going to college in St. Louis in the latter years of the 1980’s, I managed to squeeze into a web of people unlike any I’ve ever met anyplace before or since. I’m not sure how, even to this day, I managed to insinuate myself into their midst so easily, but I did and I learned a lot about living ones life on ones own terms. Money was not an issue with these people. They didn’t care about status symbols or impressing anyone. They lived their lives with gusto and passion.

Ever so often, I flash back, in my mind, to that group of people and yearn for a simpler time, a happier place and such an amazing group of people. Most of them are no longer with us, their lives cut short by AIDS and those are the ones I remember most.

Michael Fletcher, (I’m surprised I remember his name, since I’m so bad with the simplest of names) was a character larger than life. He was over 6’5” tall and bone thin with long, very long, wavy brown hair. If I remember correctly, he worked in a salon. My favorite memory of Michael took place on Halloween 1989 at the annual Knights of Pythius ball held in a fantastic old St Louis building near the main St. Louis University campus. The building was spectacular, a big limestone and masonry thing with the garage on the first 5 floors and the “clubhouse” taking over the remaining top 5 floors. You entered through the garage, which had been decorated with tarps of black plastic, ghouls, mummies, and black lights, which formed a maze directing you to a solitary elevator that whisked you to the top floor of the building. Once there, after having checked in, the reception hall spilled out into the 2 level grand ballroom which was circled with a balcony and a set of grand, massive sweeping staircases, built if only to allow a Hollywood styled entrance.

Michael arrived shortly after I did and made the most spectacular entrance of anyone I’ve ever seen in person. He was dressed in a remarkable Vegas showgirl outfit with feather boas shooting into the air a good 3 feet past his already 6’5” frame. The colors, the sparkles, it was glamour baby, yeah.

I like to remember Michael like that. It makes me smile and fills me with warmth.

Several years later, while visiting the San Francisco Public library’s les/bi/gay/tran wing I came across a photo of Michael in a magazine article and I thought to myself that Michael would have been offended at such a simple photo of himself in a publication.

It was also the first time I ever knew someone in print. I rub shoulders with greatness. That’s close enough to the limelight for me.
– Title: I’m a size-queen afterall

The old adage that size doesn’t matter is a fallacy. It does indeed matter. Performance is up there as well, but I’ve realized over the weekend that size matters much more. And while we’re talking about it, the bigger, the better. If you are lucky enough to find an obscenely large one, then you should be very happy. I mean really, once you find the biggest one you can, then you can worry about performance, tweaking this and adjusting that until everything works just as you want it. When you have the size I’m talking about… You will make exceptions for a bit slower refresh time. I mean, c’mon, something that large can’t just “bounce” back as quickly as a smaller one can.

Of course I’m talking about my new 19” Acer computer, flat-panel monitor purchased over the weekend. The obscenity is that my computer monitor is only one inch smaller than my television monitor.
– Title: now you know…

You scored as Green. The Green Party believes in an America where decisions are made by the people and not by a few giant corporations. Their environmental goal is a sustainable world where nature and human society co-exist in harmony.

Green

70%

Old School Democrat

65%

New Democrat

55%

Pro Business Republican

40%

Libertarian

25%

Foreign Policy Hawk

25%

Socially Conservative Republican

10%

What’s Your Political Philosophy?
created with QuizFarm.com
– Title: don’t try this at home

Unsweetened Chocolate Soy milk may be fine for coffee, delicious even, but poured liberally over multi-grain breakfast cereal flakes could be a topic for Fear Factor.

I know i’ve said this before, but it bares repeating…

yesterday, while sitting in traffic…

How many times have i started a post like that? I think perhaps I spend a lot of time sitting in traffic. According to figures released yesterday, Americans spend up to 46 hours a year sitting in traffic jams. That is 46 hours a year on top of normal commute times. The longest daily commute is 370 miles. There is a man in California that drives those miles every single day and he spends $185.00 a week in gas. I’m assuming that $185.00 was long before the current gas crisis pushing the price above $3.00 a gallon. Thankfully, the gas companies are making record profits, if they weren’t i’d have a thing or two to say about these high prices.

The American people voted this asshole into office, not once, but twice, so bitch away about the high cost of fuel, but remember, it was our own people that brought this upon us.

Time to gas up the Blanco Mommy Wagon. Oh yeah, work pays for most of my gas because of the nature of my job.
– Title: homesick

I missed something important to me yesterday. The 100 year anniversary of the 1906 San Francisco Earthquake took place and I’m a bit sad that I wasn’t there to partake. I’ve lived in Chicago for 5 years and to be honest, San Francisco still feels like home to me. What’s a boy to do when he can’t, after 5 years of false starts and stops, still not make his new city his home? Do I drop everything and go back?

My time in Chicago hasn’t been all bad. I’ve met some wonderful people and had some fantastic adventures, but all in all, Chicago has been a lonely, difficult transition for me as I’ve written about too many times already and don’t feel like discussing anymore.

Have you ever felt like you’ve had a day where everything goes wrong? Yesterday would be a great example of that. I overslept, I had 2 broken buttons on my dress shirt, a nice big scratch on my dress shoes, the Blanco Mommy Wagon was bombarded by birds the night before, the gas light came on as I was driving to my appointment trying to make it there on time, and the person I was to meet wasn’t even available to see me when I got there 5 minutes before the set time. I was invited to dinner with Tom at my favorite margarita/guacamole place then un-invited for a good reason that was no fault of mine and ended up with a homemade martini and a lukewarm delivered pizza. The martinis I make these days rock if I do say so myself. Practice makes perfect and I’ve had a lot of practice lately.

Unlike video games… there is no restart button, or I’d have been pushing it frantically yesterday.
– Title: and i’m a fat slob

I’ve taken up the activity of running. Its going to be a long slow process…
– Title:

I have a guilty pleasure on select Monday nights that I’m sitting home with nothing to do. Yes, that’s right. I am obsessed with Wife Swap and Nanny 911. Its true. I can often be overheard on telephone calls to my siblings with children, suggesting a call to Nanny 911 whenever the kids act up. After Nanny 911, I switch to Medium before walking Stella and crawling into bed.

When Medium first aired, I was so happy because I’m a huge fan of the Arquette family of actors but it was very very bad. The energy was off the relationship with the husband was off and the story didn’t flow well. I’m happy to say that two years later the writes and actors at Medium have gotten their shit together and have a fun show.

Oh and I really really really hope that Mission Impossible III bombs big-time. Something needs to deflate Mr. Cruise’s ego. Please, if there is a god… I beseech you.

I still have no idea how I got ringworm… or whatever that little spot on my arm is.
– Title: free to a good home

Spreadsheet

That file I attached contains a list of all the titles i have on 78 rpm records. They’re taking up too much space so i’m getting rid of them. Want one? let me know.
– Title: Grab yourself a cupcake Katie

Katie Holmes loves cupcakes.

I was thinking yesterday about religion. I often ask myself, “Myself, why do people need religion?” What is it about religion that people are drawn to? I’ve said this before and to date have not received any sort of feedback to allow me to change my position, but I believe religion is responsible for most of the ills of society.

In this season of pomp and celebrations among the world’s religions I wondered what the big deal about religion is. I have friends that are devout in their religious beliefs, they follow the scriptures, attended those mass things and give back to the community (And I’m not referring to giving away last season’s styles to the church rummage sale). They believe in the good that religion brings and that gives them hope.

But I see the bad. I see a lot of bad. I see airliners crashing into buildings in the name of God. I see white men on horses, covered in armor invading a foreign land in the name of protecting it from the godless people that reside there. I see white men in tanks invading a desert land because, well, I’m not really sure why they did that, but you see my point. I see men of faith on television telling others to hate, to bury their head in the sand and have no compassion for anyone different. I see people shunned by their families because they like butt sex and sucking dick (I’m not saying who, I’m just saying I’ve seen it) and their “religion” doesn’t approve. I hear people utter the words “love the sinner, hate the sin” while hating both and making sure everyone knows of their disgust.

Religions have a place in this world. They must have, or they wouldn’t be so awe inspiring and powerful. But I believe that the organizations running these religions have become not just flawed, but fundamentally flawed and corrupt.

The Catholic Church, in an effort to be a kinder, gentler religion, opted to completely re-organize the afterworld and do away with Purgatory instead of allowing condoms and birth control. I mean the sheer volume of communications with God and the negotiations with Satan to allow this re-organization must have been monumental. What happened to the souls condemned to Purgatory? Were they bussed to the Super Dome to await processing? What happened to them?

When I think of the word hypocrite, I envision organized religion. The pain and anguish caused is inexcusable. The judgment they claim only God is allowed to dispense flows from their twisted mouths like the scent from a skunk’s glands. Sweet smelling to themselves yet ugly and repulsive to those around them.

Not all religious people are bad, but the ones speaking out in the name of their God in such public displays of intolerance, fear, judgment and anger are doing a horrible disservice to those that allow it to continue unabated.

So in the spirit of the season, I suggest we contemplate what it means to be spiritual and forgo what it means to be religious, and while you’re at it, go have a cupcake with Katie. She needs our love and support and I’m sensing you need a cupcake.
– Title: daydreaming

Yesterday, while waiting for the traffic caused by the combination of a car accident and a back-up caused by a train crossing I got to thinking about what would be my perfect job. I gave myself complete freedom with this task to come up with an environment and a job that would make me blissfully content. I’m not sure how successful I was at this task, but the workplace I envisioned seemed heavenly at that moment.

You see, I work alone. I spend a huge amount of my time alone, either sitting at my desk at home or in my car heading to do sales calls where I interact with people that don’t really want to see me or are only happy to see me because our meeting allows them to pull away from the drudgery of their own jobs for a brief respite. All of this I take in stride because I know it’s not me they are rejecting, it is my job they are rejecting. Sales jobs are hard and some days I’m not sure that I’m up to the task. Other days, the sun is shining and I’m happy to be in my world doing what I do. I’m good at what I do when I get the chance to sit in front of a client with a serious interest and they allow me to do my thing.

Yesterday was in the middle, there were moments of brilliance and moments of doubt. Yesterday was a typical day for me. So typical that it allowed me that moment to fantasize. I dreamt about taking a crowded EL train to the loop, shuffling on and off the train, shoving thru the open doors with the other 50 people at the same moment, queuing up to walk down the stars to the street where I’ll get in line for a coffee at a corner Starbucks, swipe my card to pay for it and glide effortlessly to the “milk and sugar bar”™ to pour one packet of Splenda® into my cup, swirling it around with the thin tan wooden stir stick. I’ll take my coffee, glance at the headlines of the New York Times to see what new horror our leadership has gotten us into today and head out the door, briefly pausing to allow the elderly woman to enter thru the door I hold open for her.

I’ll sluggishly walk the two more blocks to my high-rise office building in the Loop dreading yet another day in my window-less blue-grey cubicle listening to the office chatter and gossip and praying that the coffee kicks in soon. I’ll nod knowingly to the rent-a-security-cop manning the desk in the lobby before swiping my card thru the security system scanner, momentarily waiting for the system to find me allowing the gates to swing open. I run for the elevator calling out “Hold the elevator please!” and arrive to see the uninterested blank-faced stare thru the crack of the closing door.

Counting the floors, I’ll look forward to the stack of paperwork I remembered leaving on my desk to tackle first thing this morning before the staff meeting at 8:00am.

The drudgery sounds like a blessing to me.

As I was getting even more creative, imagining people and personality clashes, management restrictions and those sorts of things, the train passed and the barriers rose. As the traffic slowly proceeded across the tracks, I shook out the visions of coffee breaks with office “chums” and long lunches with girlfriends discussing the ultra-cute new copier repairman and headed off to make my sales calls.
– Title: every day is a new day somewhere

Good morning to whoever is left of my loyal tens of readers. I must apologize for my delinquency with regular posting. I’ve been on the busy side… see… there is this new man in my life, and true to form, all other aspects fall away into the abyss during the first few weeks where I’m trying so hard to learn all there is to know about him.

This past week, I had an opportunity to display to him exactly how I feel about him when I did something for him. In a moment of altruism, I gave up a primo parking spot directly in front of my apartment, on a one way street (where I needn’t worry about my mirrors being taken off by passing cars) to give him a ride home, in what must have been the truest display of affection ever made in an urban environment. I mean, I like this guy more than a primo parking spot. That is HUGE.

In other news,

I’m back on South Beach phase I again because, I’ve been a bit too liberal with the allowable carbs in phase II and my momentarily loose pants have become snug again. Phase I part Deux (Day 1) saw my breakfast of eggs, Canadian bacon, coffee with cocoa-soy-moo and splenda, and an 8oz glass of tomato(e) juice. One daily multi-vitamin and 2 fish oil capsules (Tom said it helps with depression and the bottle says it helps with stress). I did my stretches (ok, half of them, the upper body ones, the lower body ones I’ll do at lunchtime) and tonight, I’m going to go running in the park after work. (Thank god the park is only one square block)

Much to do today while the grey clouds have parted long enough to give me some breathing room. I promise to be better at posting. I do, I swear.
– Title: well then again…

I recently found out that only 10 codes can be entered per day for the television I’m drinking Diet Coke for. That means that I probably will not be able to gather enough points to win it. Smart people those give-away-contest-runners.

Drink more Coke products, send me your codes. I may let you hold the remote.
– Title: Help me out

I have 9 points towards a new 46” Sony flat-panel television. I have 19,993 more points to go. Each Diet coke that I drink gets me 3 points closer to my television. I’ve already asked TLBO for help and he’s jumped to the task, asking those he works with for their bottle caps as well.

If any of you, my tens of readers would like to help me reach my goal, let me know and we can work out a share plan. I’ll get the TV and you’lll get to come over for movie night.

NOTE- Points are earned as follows: (all coke products included)
12 Pack, 12 oz. cans (Fridge Pack) 10 points
20 oz. bottle 3 points
2 liter bottle 3 points
1 liter bottle 3 points
1.5 liter bottle 3 points
3 liter bottle 3 points
– Title: history on a page

I have a weakness for paper products. (Books, journals, pads, cards, sheets of paper, et. al.) In the last few years, I’ve realized this problem and put a stop to the ever growing burden of my shelves filled with empty journals and blank paper pads. The problem started in 1996 when TLBO, in an attempt to nudge me towards self-awareness gave me a journal for my birthday and it’s been spiraling out of control ever since. On last count, I had well over 30 empty books in which to write. The crisp pages silently calling out for the press of pen, some ink, and a story.

But there is one book that caught my attention last night. A simple, leather covered spiral notebook The Republican gave me back in another time and in another place.

Why this book?

This book is unique in my collection because there are words scribbled in it. Words from two people, a conversation, or rather, conversations, that have taken place over the years between two people that come together once or twice a year over dinner and a beer (or these days a martini, as I do love the martini these days.) There is nothing ground breaking in this book, nothing that will be of any interest, even to me. The words are not important, but the conversations are.

My friend, the other participant in this conversation is deaf and I do not know enough ASL to converse, so each time he comes to town, we arrange a dinner via e-mail and I grab the book from its shelf, slide a pen into the spiral rings lining one side and head off to dinner. The book is slid back and forth, words exchanged and stories shared. The truest form of conversation, without distraction from occupants of the neighboring tables. The very act of writing, the meticulousness of putting ink to paper forces the correct choice of words, forces the brain to work within constraints normal voice conversations do not.

After dinner, I add what little ASL I’ve picked up to my vocabulary, consider taking a class to learn even more before quickly discounting that idea and replacing the book to its shelf to await the next visit, the next dinner, and the next conversation forever caught on paper.
– Title: I’m not broken

A few posts back, I discussed my displeasure with anti-depressants of all make describing the side effects as a wet blanket thrown over my emotions, or some such descriptive prose. I quietly received an e-mail after that post from one of my tens of readers suggesting I look into hormone therapy (i.e. Testosterone replacement therapy). He/She went on to describe the same reactions/side effects to the medications that affected me.

In an unusual and bold step, I decided to call my good doctor and inquire about this not-often thought about treatment and was told the pluses and minuses of such a therapy. Once he filled my head with pharmacological hooey and confused me even more, he relented and scheduled an appointment for some blood work to check the various levels of “stuff” in my blood stream.

I finally heard back from my good doctor and I was not even close to ready for the results of those tests. I sat there shocked on the telephone, while my doctor, in great detail, shared with me, the results of my blood tests. It took him some time, to first describe what the test results would indicate, then why these results happened, and what steps could be done to work within the results of these tests.

Most of you, my beloved tens of readers are aware that I like to keep my emotions pretty close to my heart. I don’t share so much about those pesky “feelings”, or my worries. I will break that rule today and share something that has shaken my very life and being to the core.

My blood type is o-negative.

I know, not very shocking, but I had you on the edge of your seats. What’s a little drama without a little fun?

Though I was curious about my blood type, (something I should already have known long before my current age) it was the other 3 tests that I dreaded the results of to a greater extent. My Thyroid was “normal” (whatever THAT means), and my hormone levels were “normal” as well.

So you can all see why I am so shocked about the results of these tests. It means that there is absolutely nothing wrong with me to cause the depression I’ve been fighting so hard to expel from my life the past few years. There is no medical explanation, other than that serotonin-re-uptake thing that is causing such unbearable pain and sadness in my life. Nothing. No low hormone that I can replace, no thyroid condition, no real medical explanation what so ever.

That can only mean that I’m depressed because my life must truly suck. What other answer could there be? Don’t worry, instead of taking responsibility for this turn of events, examining my life to find out the root causes and taking steps to move towards a happier existence, I’ll find yet another medical route to explore in hopes of finding something, anything that could be construed as causing my pain.
– Title: a letter to a BMW dealer

Dear Perillo BMW,

My vehicle recently suffered from a failed alternator leaving me stranded on the road-side. Being that I’ve had all work done by Perillo BMW since the purchase of my car, I directed the tow-driver to deliver it to Perillo BMW for this repair as well.

The following day, I received a phone call from the service advisor at Perillo BMW advising me of the “problems” with my vehicle and the repairs required. I was appalled at thebrazen dishonesty of the service staff member that handled this; I will never utilize Perillo BMW again and will do my best to inform anyone that will listen to my tale to also avoid them.

I was told that not only would I need a new alternator, (which I figured) I would also need a new battery, a new timing belt, new brakes, a new water pump and new control arms. This amounted to well over $3000.00 in repairs. My father is a mechanic so I knew enough about vehicles to realize that the battery would recharge, the timing belt, upon inspection didn’t even remotely need replacement and I had my brakes replaced less than a year and less than 12,000 miles prior by Perillo BMW. This incident has made me look into all past repairs performed by Perillo BMW and I am now questioning if several repairs were indeed required.

The damage done by Perillo BMW’s service staff to BMW’s quality image will never be repaired. I was convinced by all the repairs the service agent at Perillo BMW listed that my vehicle was only going to be a maintenance nightmare and it would be best to dispose of it and replace it with something more reliable, like a Lexus.

To make matters worse I never received a follow-up call from BMW of North America like I have for EVERY other repair Perillo BMW has performed on my vehicle.

You can thank the service team at Perillo BMW for any hesitancy I will have towards the future purchase of another BMW vehicle and the complete loss of faith in the quality of my BMW.
– Title:

Last night, while watching Desperate Housewives, I was absolutely shocked and appalled by a commercial for some sort of Chrysler product. Now, I’m not the type of person that would normally be appalled by a commercial, since I rarely, if ever, give marketing that much power. (Unless it has a catchy tune) This commercial began with Tinkerbelle flying around a city turning things into, well, things Tinkerbelle would turn them into. For instance, Tinkerbelle turned a building into an ice cream sunday with a cherry on top. Fun. tasty. Tinkerbell-ish.
Cut to this Dodge product driving past Tinkerbelle, black vehicle, blacked out windows, meant to look aggressive and mean. It was an SUV of course. Tinkerbelle waved her little wand and her fairy dust flew at the vehicle, only to bounce off, the vehicle un-affected by her magic. Tinkerbelle took off in pursuit, waving her little wand as she flew behind the car. Each shot of fairy dust bouncing off ineffectively. Finally, Tinkerbelle, in anger, flew at the vehicle and unable to impregnate the “force field’ around the truck, bounced off the truck and flew into a brick wall with a thump, a puff of dust and a slow slide to the ground.
The very first words of the commercial were spoken by a rough looking, street-hip dressed redneck white trash man with a snarling Rottweiler on a heavy chain. Those words were “Silly little Fairy” at which point, Tinkerbelle waved her little wand and flash, pop, boom, there stood the same man in white tennis shorts, a pink polo shirt and a white sweater thrown over his shoulders while the dog turned into something small-ish and feminine-looking.
The commercial then goes on to describe this vehicle and its apparent manliness and tough-factor qualities.
I’m not sure what appalled me more, the words, or the result of them.
Either way, it was another three commercials before I closed my mouth and verbalized, to myself and my empty apartment “I think I’m offended by that”

Anybody else see this commercial? Have the same reaction I did?
– Title:

Speaking of new words, TLBO may have just coined a new term today. We were discussing various things, like my previous post about my dreams and I shared that my stomach muscles were exceptionally sore lately. I may or may not have said something about them not hurting this much since I dated Fred back in San Francisco.

“you mean your top muscles are sore?” he asked

“totally” I replied
– Title:

All my dreams were about sucking cock last night. Here’s the kicker… they weren’t sex dreams.
– Title: words are…

Who decides what words we, as a society, will adapt to our experiences? Is it the popular culture that introduces new words, such as “Yo” or gives new meanings to words like “bling” or the political spin masters introducing terms such as Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD) or Improvised Explosive Devices (IED)?

Whoever is doing this, please stop. It is hard enough to work with the English language as it currently stands without the need for constantly updating it with terms that are made up and have no true meaning.

Today, I’d like to explore two terms currently being thrown about. Weapons of Mass Destruction and Improvised Explosive Devices.

Weapons of Mass Destruction – Why can’t they be called “bombs”? Its what they are after all isn’t it? They are bombs. Bombs are meant to cause destructions, the bigger the bomb, the bigger the destructions. Did we really need a new term here? Wouldn’t the word “bomb” suffice for a small destructive device and the term “big bomb” be equally as descriptive for something leaving a larger footprint of damage? No, we needed WMD as a made-up excuse to attack a foreign land. It sounds more ominous. Would we ever believe that a few “bombs” would warrant deployment of our children into war duty? Of course we wouldn’t. Whenever I think of the word “bomb” I picture the tattoo on my leg of Natasha Fatale holding a lit cartoon bomb in one hand and a dry martini in the other, laughing maniacally in her cartoon-ish way. I don’t picture destruction. It doesn’t make me agree with invading a sovereign land no matter how messed up its leadership.

Improvised Explosive Devices – These are the new WMD’s, recently dropped onto the American public as a way to sweep away the old terms and freshen up this war and the grip of fear it should have on the American public. Only, these aren’t WMD’s because they’re not sanctioned by a government, or manufactured by one of the many Military-Industrial behemoths cranking out the machines of death. I mean really, if Lockheed, United Technologies, or Raytheon didn’t make it, can it still be considered a “bomb”? Hell no, it has to be called an Improvised Explosive Device. But isn’t this still a “bomb”?

Maybe this is petty, juvenile and misguided, but lets call these things what they are. Weapons of Mass Destruction are big bombs used as a smokescreen to justify a warrant-less war and Improvised Explosive Devices are smaller bombs with a price tag made up of death instead of corporate profits.

The sunset was beautiful last night. I think I’ll focus on that instead, it hurts my head less.
– Title: without reservations

When I was younger, in my early to mid-20’s, I always tended to go against the grain of what was acceptable and what was responsible and it seemed as though I was also much happier in general. (Then again, that could have something to do with the drugs I was constantly on.) I had less “stuff”, less debt, less responsibilities and conversely much more freedom. As I’ve grown older, so has my responsibility levels, ownership of “stuff” and debt load. I freely admit that I have a slight shopping addiction and the after-effects of that addiction do catch up from time to time, but in general, I want less. I want less stuff, less debt and to leave less of a footprint than I currently leave on the planet.

There was a time, when I could move my entire world within a day since 90% of what I owned fit easily inside my Honda CRX. Now, I would need a medium U-haul to move my belongings, which in the grand scheme of things isn’t terribly much stuff to have accumulated. When I moved from San Francisco to Chicago 6 painfully long years ago, all of my worldly possessions took up less than half of a van.

My point in all of this is that there is a trade-off in the works. It seems that each new item I purchase requires an equivalent loss of freedom. I think the reason this is becoming such an issue for me rests on my desire to relocate to a less congested and warmer climate. So I’ve begun paring down my belongings even though there are no definite plans to vacate my current life in Chicago, merely a dream of warmer places, and green hills in the winter.

In other news…

Yesterday, my beloved Blanco Mommy Wagon died on me again and this time required towing. The dashboard lit up like a disco at 3am and the engine died. I’m hoping its something minor like a battery or something. I think it was because I did have every conceivable electrical comfort device turned on. The windshield wipers to remove the snow, the heated seats to warm me bum, the A/C to keep the windows defrosted, the radio, the headlights, the rear window defroster and I think I was charging the Nano while the stereo was blaring out the tunes. TLBO is just mortified that it died in Boystown and keeps muttering things like “aiigh gurl” or “how embarrassing”.

Upon arriving home from that ordeal, I had the below little note left for me in the inbox of one of the online services I use to look at naked men.

“you really should add a section to your profile letting guys know your (sic) a complete fucking asshole to other people given the opportunity. I mean your sooo honest about everything else what could it possibly hurt?

Its so funny. Everytime I see you I think about kicking your ass, but then I remember that there is nothing I could do to you that you will not do to yourself. Poor impulse control.

You did look good in your suit in Starbuck(sic) though.”

I would say that was a good end to a bad day.
– Title: musing about death

I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately. Namely my own. Not in a morbid, I wanna kill myself kind of way; more in a what will happen kind of way. Many times, more than I can count, I visualize the moment of my death. The violent auto accident, the drive-by shooting and the knife-wielding mugger are all common visualizations that spice up an otherwise dull moment and get my mind going again. These visualizations are often more graphic than Hollywood, with its special effects would be capable of creating. I can almost feel the crush of the metal as it breaks my body, freeing my spirit from my human prison, all while I sit, immobilized by rush hour traffic. I surprise myself with the details my idling mind can create to make each visualization more horrific and graphic than the last time. Often, these flashes of destruction and chaos will capture my imagination for the briefest of times while other times, I escape into the rich, vibrant awfulness of it all, wondering what the corpse would look like, who would come to the funeral, would my family find my porn stash.

Its moments like this that causes me to pause and take stock in my life. To examine my relationships and hold a spotlight of truth to my world and my life. This afternoon, I heard an interview, with formerly fat Star Jones where she was discussing her book and her search for a man. Her words stung. She described holding up a list of what she wanted in a partner to the mirror next to her and realized that she had no right to ask for what she could not offer. I wondered what I had to offer an intimate partner. I know I give good head, ok great head, but what else can I truly offer another person? No, really, I give damn good head. Memorably good head.

But the question that keeps haunting me is “why?” A simple word, a simple question, yet not a simple answer. Why, when the pain of existence is so great, do we get up everyday and go out into the world to keep trying? Why, when you feel so alone do you keep striving to find someone to share your time with? Why do you continue to do the things you know will bring you further unhappiness? Why?

I think I lost my train of thought…

I wonder, from time to time, what keeps lighting that spark of life energy that keeps us going. What is it that picks us up, dusts us off, cheers us up, and pushes us back into the game? I often wonder why I keep going. A big reason is that I really don’t want to leave Stella all alone, or worry that she’s not taken care of. But other than that, what is it that keeps me going? The daily struggles definitely aren’t what keep getting me up in the morning.

Now don’t take this post as a suicide watch, or exploration, cause its not. I’m not even close to the point where suicide would be intriguing to me. I’m merely wondering what force pushes us on.

I’d welcome some feedback from you, my tens of readers, as to what your thoughts are on this topic. Without being stereotypical and telling me that your husband, wife, family or God keep you going, I’d like to know if you’ve ever thought about this, and what your discoveries might be. Share with my your views, if you would be so kind. Have you ever wondered, while walking down the street, with no real destination or purpose what is it that is moving you forward?

The human mind is truly an amazing thing, capable of so much and yet corralled by society and the struggle to survive. Maybe that is my answer. Could it be that that spark that keeps me going is that I haven’t figured it out yet? The mind. The game of life. The purpose for being here. The answers to the riddles that twist my thoughts and hold my emotions captivated.

Anyway… share some words with me.
– Title: Return of my celebrities

I’ve been concerned of late about the strangely absent occurrences of celebrity dream sequences my fertile sleep-fueled brain once provided. Absent are the dreams of coffee and hand-cuffs with Edie Falco, and missing are the dreams of late night phone calls with the washed up, yet strangely still popular, Madonna. I’ve worried that my celebrities have forsaken me for greener pastures, or for a younger, more in-touch personality with a wider audience.

Alas, Tuesday night, I was once again visited in my sleep by a celebrity, calming my fears of rejection by the fame-set. Though the star was not of a caliber to which I had once enjoyed, I welcomed his visit none-the-less as a sign of goodwill from my legion of career cautious celebrities.

David Duchovney was the star of this particular dream, and though the specifics of the dream were lost to me in the waking hours, (perhaps because of the naked man cuddled up next to me that morning) I do remember bits and pieces of it.

He gave me a car. Not just any car, but a ridiculously small, overpriced, American manufacturer-trying-to-be-European car. Sadly, he gave me a Chrysler Crossfire. I once sat in a Crossfire at the Auto Show by folding my 6’5” frame into an origami sculpture small enough to fit into the tight driver’s seat. Once seated, I proceeded to unfold into this space and needed 3 people to assist with my exit from the car. Granted, the styling is sexy, in a sadly Mercedes-copy kind of way but for the price-tag, I would expect they would want to appeal to a broader market by making a car large enough for people of a non-Leprechaun nature to enjoy it.

Upon seeing this most thoughtful, yet strangely thought-less gift, I proceeded to barrage Mr. Duchoveny with a diatribe filled with words I will not repeat here. I awoke with the thoughts and memories of a free car given with love by my celebrity minions to the sweaty heat of the naked man lying next to me.

Thank you David for your kind gift, but I’m afraid a car that is too small for me will not compete with what was laying next to me in my conscious world.
– Title: who’s report is that? its not mine

I normally don’t write about work here because, well, work is work and this is a personal site meant to clear my head, have a little fun, and grow a cult of followers, like you, my tens of readers.

However, I’m going to part with that rule for today because of something incredibly, ahem, blonde, I’ve done.

Several weeks ago, the reports were printed for my sales numbers for the month of January and they were dismal, embarrassing and worthy of scorn. Then last week, while I was in the office, I noticed a stack of reports on my manager’s desk that included all account activities for my sales code for the past five (5) years. The sight of this sent me into complete panic mode and propelled my mood into this strange alter universe where life was a dark place indeed. I feared that management was researching my work over my tenure and was about to make the decision to cut their losses and replace me.

This afternoon, I briefly stopped into the office to pick up some paperwork and was caught up in the middle of a conversation between the Big Boss and the Inside Sales person discussing this very report. She was asking the Big Boss if the report was his since my manager didn’t request it and was wondering why it was on his desk.

It was at this moment, that a light bulb of floodlight proportions, bright enough to light the inky depths of the cold dark Atlantic snapped on in my head when I realized that this was a report that I, myself had requested, only it wasn’t the report I had requested because I asked for a summary styled report and not a full detailed activity report.

A week of anxiety relieved and a weight off my shoulders.

I can go back to work now.
– Title: I would vote for him…

GAY ADOPTION. State Senator Robert Hagan (D-Ohio) says he will introduce legislation to ban Republican couples from adopting children. According to Hagan, “credible research’’ shows that adopted children raised in GOP households are more at risk for developing “emotional problems, social stigmas, inflated egos, and alarming lack of tolerance for others they deem different than themselves and an air of overconfidence to mask their insecurities.” Hagan agrees there is no scientific evidence backing his claims about Republican parents—just, as Hagan notes, there is none backing State Representative Ron Hood’s® bill banning gay parents from adopting. Hood claims children purportedly suffer from emotional “harm” when they are adopted by gay couples. Hagen admits he created his proposal to mock Hood’s proposed ban on gay adoption in a way that people would see the “blatantly discriminatory and extremely divisive” nature of the bill. The GOP House leadership does not support Hood’s proposal.

Brought to you by Politics1.com
– Title: Sunday Saturday in the park with Stella

The screaming hangover and the desert-like parched-ness of my mouth told me I had a great time out last night.

It started at Yoshi’s for a few martinis and went downhill from there. (Downhill was a good thing)

But this hangover…

I thought the bright sunshine flooding thru the windows of my bedroom meant that spring was finally here and I could take Stella to the dog park in the country to let her run. This place is amazing for a city dog. Close to 7 acres of open space, hills, ponds, and trees for the pooches to romp in. Halfway thru the park, my phone rang and after a brief conversation, I looked around for Stella and didn’t see her. She had gone around a corner and was out of sight.

As I rounded the corner, there stood Stella, belly deep in mud lapping at the dirty water. This is unusual for Stella, since she’s a very dainty girl. She will walk around a puddle on the sidewalk, refuse to go outside in the rain, and pout for hours after a bath, so for her to be waist deep meant that she was having fun and feeling free.

I realized that this dog park is like taking the two happiest places on earth and combining them into one, only for dogs.

So now its time for her bath…
– Title: damn these realizations

It’s been about a month now since I stopped taking my anti-depressant medication and I feel alive again. I had forgotten what it felt like to honestly feel and have healthy thought processes. I can understand things better without the blanket of drugs covering everything with a downy soft insulation dulling my senses.

I decided to stop partly because I have always hated prescription drugs not taken for recreational purposes, and partly because of my ever growing paranoia that our big brother government is in cahoots with big business and the pharmaceutical companies to control our brains and make us very pliant sheep to their evil ways.

Ok, well maybe I don’t actually believe that, but it would be scandalous if that was what was going on wouldn’t it…

I stopped, partly because of that recreational use of prescription drugs mentioned above, and partly because I couldn’t feel anything anymore. I was living in an emotional void. I didn’t care if I ate or felt the love of a wet nose pressed against my leg wanting affection. I was, for all intensive purposes, in an emotional coma. As the drugs slowly exit my system, I realize that I started them, again for the 3rd time, because I was unhappy with my position in my life. I’m struggling in a job I don’t 100% love, I’m alone and I’m unhappy. So instead of looking at the core of those problems and taking steps to change things for a different life, I chose the pharmaceutical way out and took 2 pills a day to numb whatever feelings I was experiencing. I can’t hide behind a haze of drugs to avoid that which isn’t pleasant.

I’m not saying my life is hell or that I need sympathy or even that I’m asking for you to send me cash (though I wouldn’t turn down the offer). I’m saying that I haven’t been happy with my life for many years and that instead of hiding; I need to change things, to work towards making my life how I want it to be.

At the young tender age of 36, I think I have finally realized that this life that I’m living is mine. It’s not my family’s, it’s not my boss’ and it’s not the closed-minded, two-faced hateful people that I’ve been avoiding with such gusto.

Ok, now that I’ve gotten that off my chest. I guess I should make some changes to re-direct my life into a more positive direction. That took too much out of me to just realize that. I think I’ll go shopping and start those life changing sessions tomorrow.
– Title: today’s post brought to you by a guest

I was walking out to the mailbox when the large, gold, 10-year-old Delta 88 pulled up in the road beside me. The tinted window came down and I looked at the white haired lady in the driver’s seat. She had on pale eye shadow and lipstick and wore a rose printed blouse and one thin gold chain around her neck. I smelled lilacs from her perfume. For a minute, she reminded of my mother’s Avon lady, who would come to our house every other Wednesday during The Price Is Right and sit at the dining room table with my mother having
coffee and delivering her sales pitch. But the memory faded quickly and I came back to today. “I want you to know something,” the pleasant old woman said.

I smiled the way a polite boy knows he’s supposed to smile when approached by an elder. “What’s that?” I asked.

“I want you to know that my name’s not Rita and I am not a whore.”

I looked at her for a minute, which felt like ten. Blink, blink, blink.
“Well, my name’s not Rita, either.”

And then she drove away, probably off to the next unsuspecting stranger in the street, where she could make yet another attempt to restore her virtue.

Good luck, Rita. I believe you.
xoxoxoxox and then some,
– Title:

Was someone trying to tell me something when this landed in my inbox this morning?

– Title: Can you really go home again?

After landing in Oakland 3 hours late last night/early this morning and whisking thru the rain slicked streets and across the Bay Bridge into San Francisco, I made it to my dentist appointment with a few hours sleep under my belt. My favorite dental hygienist scrapped, poked and polished my teeth to a brilliance I haven’t seen in close to a year, sternly reminding me that I shouldn’t wait an entire year between cleanings.

Afterwards, I motored down the Peninsula in the Republican’s fabulous Mercedes Benz to visit my old colleagues from jobs of yore. The first stop was the company that moved me to the furthest reaches of Siberia (AKA Chicago). I talked briefly with the man that was kind enough to give me the opportunity to sample the 4 seasons of the Midwest, and he was nice enough to remind me of how I longed for those seasons when I lived here in the Bay Area. After him, I visited with the others I worked with day in and day out. It was good to see all of them and catch up all their lives.

Next, I took a chance and visited the location of my first ever job. Japan Airlines Cargo. It was the nicest, warmest welcome I’ve had in years. They seemed genuinely happy, albeit surprised, to see me. It has been close to 4 years since I made an effort to stop in and say hello to the people that truly helped shape the adult I would become and it was so nice to revisit my past with them and see them all once again. At the time I worked with these people, I dreaded them, being the age of their children, I was often treated as such and never given much respect for my abilities or my knowledge. Today, they saw a different me. A happier, healthier grown up me that every one of them commented on. I’m still all fuzzy thinking about it. So I need a drink.
– Title: Nano nation

I did something less than economically frugal last week when I purchased a shiny new 1G black iPod Nano. I didn’t truly need it, but i needed it. I have a 3rd generation iPod, the one with the 4 little buttons and a black and white screen, but its been having battery problems lately. About a year ago, I was having major battery problems and took it into the Apple store for service and they just handed me a new one and sent me on my way. Apparently, the same battery issues are plaguing the replacement iPod and it isn’t holding a charge like it once did.

So, i talked myself into getting a new Nano. I waited until the prices dropped by getting the 1G, but after formatting it last night until 2:00am, i realized I should have probably paid the extra $50 for the 2G because my individually chosen song list of favorite, upbeat, empowering songs would not fit in its entirety onto this smaller Nano. I had to cut such uplifting and perky songs as Purple Rain, Hell Wit ya’, Chains of Love, I woke up in Love this Morning, and others including songs by such famous crooners as Anything Box, Sinead O’Connor and Romeovoid.

Alas, to fit even a few of my favorite photos of friends, loved ones and large penises, I had to remove even more of my personalized song list. Goodbye Lisa Stansfield, The Cure, Franz Ferdinand, and Beth Hart, you’ll be missed in the compacted version of my music library.

But its cute and it still has 15 hours worth of music stuffed into its lithe little frame. More than enough for a flight to San Francisco and back.

Oh yeah, I’m going to California tomorrow night. I’m trying out a new pet-sitter. I sure hope Stella doesn’t take to him more than me.

This iPod Nano is so shiny…
– Title: talk radio memories

I almost called into a radio talk show this morning. The station I usually listen to when I don’t have my iPod hooked up to the stereo was having a discussion where they asked parents to call in and share stories about how their children were so bad at something they encouraged the kids to quit.

I have a story like that. Only, I wasn’t encouraged how most children these days are encouraged. My father was the Manager/Coach of my little league baseball team and saw right away that I had less than zero interest in the sport. During the try-outs, he did his best to get me interested, telling my brothers to play catch with me so that I could learn how to catch, hitting the ball to me, etc. When it came time for him to choose the team members, I was left sitting on the sidelines when the dust settled.

Yes, my coach father cut me from little league baseball.

I was thrilled. Instead, I was able to be the “equipment manager” and deal with the hunky umpires and the captains of the other teams. Plus, I still got the beautiful blue cap to wear and pretend I was still a member of the team.

I have to give my parents credit though. They kept trying to get me interested in sports. When I was just a wee one, (yes, I wasn’t always 6’5” tall), I participated in pee wee football. Perhaps “participated” is the wrong word to use, I was part of the team. Truth be told, again, I had a thing for the concept of the team, but I really loved the uniforms with all the padding and the shoulder pads. I would sit on the sidelines during practices and games, putting grass cuttings into the holes of my helmet in a now obviously foolish attempt at camouflaging myself. I wasn’t too worried though, my mother told me early on in the training season that I wouldn’t have to worry since I was probably never going to be put into the game anyway. Before I agreed to give this “football” thing a chance, I made her swear to me that I would never be put into a game and therefore never be injured or face the possibility of injury. You can imagine the wrath she paid when they put me into the game, citing some rule that all kids had to play in every game, good or bad.

It was close to a week before I would talk to her again, choosing instead to glare at her with hatred in my eyes at her betrayal of her promise. Her word was effectively worthless to my little pee wee football hating mind. I don’t remember if I was any good or not, or even if I enjoyed the game, because I was too busy being angry with her for her broken promise.

I kept trying too. I joined track and field and Jr Varsity football. I desperately wanted to try wrestling, but I was deathly afraid of rolling around on the mat with a sweaty opponent and having my uncontrollable teenage body betray my secret with a stiff reminder that I was different than the other boys on the team.

Eventually, I gave up my pursuit of athleticism in lieu of the arts. The theatre and photography called my name and I answered with all my heart, regardless of my talent.
– Title: recurring crappiness

I want to run away again. I want out of my life as I know it again. I want something new.

Saturday, while we were shopping at CB2, I had a recurring deja vu moment. I was paying for the cute little Green Tea Soaps and the $1.95 soap dish to display it on, when I had this strange and foreboding sense of impending doom. Doom to my life as I now know it. This feeling was so intense, I stepped back from the counter a moment to catch my breath and calm myself that it wasn’t a reality (yet).

What causes Deja Vu? I get these moments often, and they are never moments that turn out well. It is almost as if the collective soul of the universe is directing me upon a course of action, or rather, inaction, since most of these moments require action on my part for anything negative to happen. Instead, in each instance, I pause, calm myself and either keep my mouth shut, or keep still until the familiar feeling of time and space passes.
It is an odd feeling I can tell you that!
– Title: Weekend with Sluggo and pals

I had a great weekend. Sluggo was visiting from Boston with his special friend/lover/boyfriend Michael. Houseguests like this are a joy for me to host. I gladly gave up my comfy bed in lieu of the couch so they could have a comfortable stay. I must admit, that five year old IKEA couch is more comfy than I expected it to be.

They arrived Thursday night and set out to enjoy the city Friday while I was working. We hooked up again for a lovely dinner at Jin Ju here in my neighborhood, and then headed down to Boystown for drinks and revelry. I crawled home (literally) around 2:30am and they quietly came in around 4:30am not able to disturb my drink-laden sleep.

Saturday I took them to CB2, a store not available anywhere outside of Chicago (yet). Then we headed for a driving tour of parts of the city they’ve never been. We went to the Garfield Park Conservatory but alas there was a line stretching to the corner due to the Chocolat Festivale currently underway within. We diverted to the Museum of Science and Industry, housed in a former pavilion of the Great Chicago 1893 World’s fair, known as “The White City”. We drove into the parking structure 10 minutes after it closed effectively shutting down our sight-seeing tour for the day.

Ya know, nobody speaks of “pavilions” anymore, and that truly saddens me.

Saturday night, the boys were on their own and as I was in no shape to drink again, I stayed home on the couch watching the remaining 2 films of the “Trois Couleurs” series. A vividly collection of filmmaking I would recommend to everyone that enjoys foreign films.

Sunday evening brought drama to the visit when they were snowed in and all flights to the Northeast coast were canceled. Something about 25 inches of snow… Their airline rebooked them on a Wednesday morning flight home, via Baltimore AND Washington, DC. Instead we had them on a Southwest flight at 7:00am this morning.

All-in-all, a great visit and I look forward to my visit to Boston this summer.

Time to get to work.
– Title: play time.. a little fantasy

Jack Hampster has an interesting post on his blog requesting readers to leave a comment for him describing a COMPLETELY MADE UP AND FICTIONAL memory of you and me. It can be anything you want – good or bad – BUT IT HAS TO BE FAKE.

Taking him up on the challenge, I left the below comment:

Remember that Sunday morning we were sitting at Cafe Flore, bored out of our skulls watching the club kids tweaking in the corner, picking at their scabs and gulping large glasses of coffee to keep them ever alert.

I think it was you that came up with the idea of causing a scene for pure entertainment purposes. You said, “Follow my direction and try to keep up”, reached across the table and slapped me, hard. You started yelling at me, cruel things, like that I’d slept with half the town while we were together, that I was a worthless slut. Your voice became more frantic the more excitedly you screamed.

We had the entire cafe watching us when you got up and ran out of the cafe crying and screaming that you never wanted to see me again.

I sat there stunned, thinking “interesting first date”. I got up and walked out of the cafe solemnly and saw you standing across the street waiting for me, laughing hysterically. I walked over to you, joined you in your glee and we grabbed hands and walked off laughing over the scene we just created.

God I loved being all “edgy” with you.

Totally sounds like fun, so I’m going to copy his idea completely and claim that it’s mine. Now, you try it. Leave me a memory that never happened between the two of us. Lets keep it clean (mostly) since my family does read this blog from time to time. If you really must leave a nasty, dirty, deprived version, e-mail it to me. I’ll enjoy it more in private!

Get to work… make it fun.
– Title: How to cook

by Me.

Several weeks ago, Tom invited me to a little shopping excursion to the outlet malls of Northwestern Indiana in hunt of economically priced cookware. Ever since returning with new cookware (really good stuff) I’ve taken up the hobby of cooking and now, I’d like to share with you, my tens of readers, a quick lesson on how to cook. My way.

Begin by settling onto the couch in front of your favorite television program to enjoy a quiet evening at home. Moments later, your bitch downstairs neighbor begins her regular “garage band practice” in her apartment, effectively eliminating your quiet enjoyment of your favorite television program.

The next and most important step is to fix a cocktail. (Preferably a Martini, Gin, with 3 blue-cheese stuffed olives.)

Once you have your martini fixed, remove your stereo speakers from the shelves and lay them face down on the floor. Choose appropriate music (I recommend the deep base effects of the Pet Shop Boys and/or a combination of Erasure, The Killers and Franz Ferdinand.) Turn on your stereo and adjust the speakers accordingly loud enough to drown out any noise from the apartment below. (Add 50% more volume for effect)

Remove food to be cooked from the refrigerator and let sit on the counter for 5-10 minutes to take the chill off the food and allow better cooking. Add 2-3 tablespoons of olive oil to a pan and bring to a heat. While the oil is heating, season the pork chops with fresh cracked pepper, salt and my favorite “mixed Italian herbs”. Once the oil has reached a high enough temperature, slowly place the seasoned pork chop into the oil with tongs.

Sear the meat on one side for 4-5 minutes covered.

Place your frozen side vegetable into a microwave safe bowl and heat on high for 3-4 minutes or until cooked.

Turn the pork chops. Let cook for 2-3 minutes.

Pour small amount of red wine into skillet. Once you realize that you poured in too much wine, remove from flame and ladle or spoon the excess wine out of the skillet until the right amount remains and return to heat.

Answer door. When downstairs neighbor complains about noise, remark how horribly annoying it must be for her and promptly slam door.

Remove skillet from flame.

With spatula, scrap the now burned pork chop from the bottom of the pan and place neatly on a plate for serving. Remove the once frozen side dish, (now over-cooked), mix a small pat of butter into and mix until butter is melted.

Spoon onto plate.

Enjoy.
– Title: its so gay in here

Isn’t amazing how much these have blossomed in just a few days!

Ive learned something today. This afternoon, while walking The Loop, i discovered that the street lights in Chicago are indeed timed unlike all of my previous rants about this city have claimed. The thing is, they’re timed for pedestrians. I managed to walk 12 blocks without once having to wait at a stoplight. I’m not sure about the rest of the city, but my frustrations about The Loop at least have been solved. I’ll walk when i’m downtown from now on.

I had a fantastic dinner on Saturday night. What makes it fantastic? I asked me for another dinner. I’m as giddy as a little girl.

I’m off to watch a documentary on Gay sex in the 1970’s. I’d say I wish I was “of age” in the 1970’s to partake of such events, but then again, i’d be SO dead now if I was.
– Title: the view from here

I was sitting here watching my blubs blossom in the winter sunshine and thought i’d share my view with you, my wonderful tens of readers.

For those of you that asked (i.e. Moby) when I was due to arrive in San Francisco and didn’t click on the little link telling you the exact dates, I’ll be arriving on the night of Feb. 16th and returning to Chicago on Sunday the 19th. (Coffee Moby?)

I haven’t written about this, because its all such a new concept to me, but i think i may buy a house. I got to thinking the other day that it would be really nice to knock down a wall and have a living/dining room combination. Then i got to thinking that if i owned it, i could, as Grandpa Reagan said, “tear down that wall”. And one thing led to another and i’ve got an appointment with a Mortgage guy later this week.

I’m not getting my hopes up until after I meet with him. I have a rather checkered financial past.
I’ve said too much.
– Title:

I’ve received an amazing level of response from my tens of readers and friends about my need for warmth and vacation away-ness.

The winner is San Francisco. The reasons are many.

# My dentist is in San Francisco

# My eye doctor / frames stylist is in San Francisco

# The republican has fantastic taste in food / liquor

# San Francisco is home to my favorite restaurant chain Pancho Villa

# The republican offered to lend me her v12 Mercedes Benz Convertable to go to my dentist appointment

# San Francisco has In-N-Outs all over the place

And the cherry on this sunday… The weekend i’m in San Francisco, is Kate Moss weekend. Not just one night a month. An entire weekend of Kate Moss fabulousness.

Phoenix was a very close second. The v12, Jason, you can understand.

In other news… wait, there is no other news. I’m going to California!
– Title: i’m taking a trip

Yesterday, in a moment of desperation over the cold here in Chicago, I sent the following e-mail out to a few of my closest friends scattered about the country:

Friends,
I need to get the fuck out of Chicago for some sunshine for a few days in February. I’ve got a free ticket on southwest (WN for you Jason). Who wants me for a long weekend??

The responses were great and the bargaining is still happening. Here’s what I heard back:

From Married Well -

Would love to see you, but I’m afraid the weather here (NYC) in Feb. won’t be much different than what you are experiencing at home.

Hope to see you soon, though.

From the Republican –

Me, me, me….Pancho Villa and IN and Out are minutes away from my place! (San Francisc0)

From The Little Brown One -

I have a 4 day weekend 2/17 to 2/20 and I live exactly 1.3 miles
from In-n-Out (Los Angeles The Valley)

From Jason –

Sad to say that the new In-n-out is still 15 minutes away, a vast improvement over the 45 minute commute to the other one.

However…

We can walk across the park to Portlands and have a big juicy cheeseburger and fries served to order by the new beefy, somewhat bear-like bartender with the protruding cranial ridge.

And do I have some sun for you. (Phoenix)

and again from the Little Brown One –

I have a big bottle of Vicodin and have learned how to make
Cosmo’s…so basically, I don’t really care if you don’t come to
LA, I won’t remember it

So far Jason has the best offer. You all know how i love a bear-like bartender with a protruding cranial ridge… I’ll let you know how this progresses.
– Title:

i lost my train of thought… what was i doing? oh yeah, i was shaking my groove thing. no, that’s the song… damn the coffee. screw it… shake your groove thing yeah yeah
– Title:

I’ve had too much Coffee this morning. I’m all a jitter or is that a-twitter? At anyrate, i’m hoping to be very efficient today, ADHD be damned!
– Title:

after i watched the same move, i went out for a nicotine patch
– Title:

a quote from Tom, made when describing a certain movie that seemed to focus on chain-smoking mechanics…

“They smoked so much I was afraid I’d get cancer just from watching it!”
– Title: its real tacky

Some strange thoughts have been shooting thru my head the past few weeks. I bounce between a newfound dedication to my job and complete apathy towards my current life path. Normally, I’d find myself doing some retail therapy, but my credit cards somehow found themselves at their limits. I couldn’t explain this phenomena either, so at the suggestion of Tom, a dangerous influence on my fiscal responsibilities, I took out a small loan to consolidate my debt into one easy payment, closed down my credit accounts and took a huge pile of stress off my life.

I’ve been down this path before, only last time; it was much worse before I realized I’d made some horrible spending decisions. I was over $45,000 in debt on my credit cards alone (Damn the lending institutions). This time it was much more reasonable and I should be able to pay of the entire amount in 4-5 months, less if my tax return is anything like it was last year. The funny thing, when I called the lending establishments to close my accounts, I was asked by each of them “Why are you closing your account with us?” to which I replied, “The president said that Americans should be better with credit and that the lending institutions were behind him, so I am being fiscally responsible.” Each card I tried to close, took at least 10 minutes of convincing that no, I didn’t want a lower rate, higher limit, special perks, etc. If the lending institutions wanted the bankruptcy laws changed to protect their business, why would they be so against me doing my best to prevent my own slide to bankruptcy?

My first attempt at TurboTax, it didn’t look so good. Taxes confuse me. I made slightly less income this year than last, I had more taxes withheld from my paychecks, I had a 401(k) account this year, unlike last year, and upon first run of the TurboTax, my return was half of my return from the year before. Explain this so called “tax cut” that went into place.

To pick myself up, I decided to go to the Bloomingdales sale this last weekend and see what kind of bargains I could find. I had a credit on my account, so I needed to use that up anyway. I found a fantastic pair of Ted Baker dress pants (for work) marked down from $225.00 to $95.00 and a Ted Baker shirt marked down from $80.00 to $30. That’s a pretty good deal.

Hmmmm, a lot about money today and I was always told you shouldn’t talk about money cause it’s tacky.

Oooh a shiny nickel…
– Title: shiny thoughts

As I sat there digging at the scabs of my self-perceived flaws, an activity I find especially comforting and entertaining on the long gray, cold days of winter, it suddenly hit me that the only thing about me I dislike that I cannot change is my freakishly tall height (6’5”). All the other things about me that I dislike can be changed. Momentarily comforted by this thought, I began to imagine the negative energy I expend upon myself slowly losing its deathlike grip on me, my self-worth rushing to the surface like an air bubble escaping the plastic treasure chest at the bottom of a dirty fish tank. The years of grime and self-loathing effortlessly falling away, revealing the shiny new me happy and content for the very first time.

Then I was sidetracked by the thought that something shiny existed within me. I lost my train of thought and returned to digging at the scabs of self-loathing.

It would be nice to see some sunshine soon.
– Title:

The $hrub is visiting Chicago today. I lay in bed this morning seriously thinking about joining the throngs of protesters I hope will be out there until I got to thinking about the most recent scandal he’s started and decided against it. Given that he’s spying on us as it is, do I really need to be added to that list?

We’re supposed to just “trust” this man to do what is right for us. King George knows what’s best for Americans and isn’t afraid to tell us what we need. We need to be safe, we need tax breaks, we need to make Iraq stable, and we need private social security?

I swear if I hear from his smug little brain the reference to Sept 11th one more time, I may just go insane. There is not one thing happening in this country today that is a direct result of that event and it is an insult to the people that perished that day to claim otherwise. This war in Iraq was planned LONG BEFORE the towers fell. I’m so disgusted with the people of this country right now. Very few people have the balls to stand up and demand the truth (which will never be given from this administration) and those that do are mocked in the media.

Wake up people.

I’m angry. Can ya tell? I’m angry that nobody gives a shit about personal privacy. I’m angry that even Republicans cannot see that King George and his cronies have stolen their party and twisted it into something it is not. In many ways, I believe in the core values of the Republican Party, (smaller government, less influence on private lives) but the current party is no longer truly Republican. I’m angry that the only other viable party, The Democrats, haven’t the BALLS to stand for anything. They’re all about posturing, polls, and being everything to everyone. Don’t be against the current administration. Be FOR something.

So here is a question I could truly use some input with. How does one not go crazy watching their liberties be stolen in the name of an unjustified war? How does one engage in life again when there is so much despair and depression over the state of things? I realize that most of this doesn’t directly affect me, but, indirectly, it sure does. What tricks do you use to not go insane?
– Title: i don’t understand the anger

I wish someone could explain what is happening to me. I’ve been reading web logs again, yes, the republican followers sites. I don’t understand.

The Republican Party controls the Executive and Legislative branches of government, the person they chose as their president king is above all law to speak of, since he follows none of them. And they’re angry. They’re angry at “liberals” calling the liberals islamofacists and such garbage. They spew hatred and fear. Calling anybody that is for the separation of church and state “anti-Christian”.

Can someone explain the anger to me? These people have everything they want and yet they’re still angry and calling names.

I’m really scared about the state of things in this country. We have a leader that many believe was not truthfully elected either time, that is above the law and spying on citizens without a warrant, which he has 72 hours to obtain AFTER said spying takes place. We have a war that is creating more and more people angry with this country on a daily basis. We have lost all credibility as an honest, good and compassionate country. And now there are rumors that we’re preparing for yet another war with Iran.

On top of all of that… The economy is still lagging behind. Salaries are not keeping up with the cost of living. The corporations are growing bolder in their glutinously greedy schemes. The government is dismantling the very protections to our jobs and our health and our environment that made this country what it is and people are still shouting their love of their king. The religious set is even more powerful that I’ve ever seen it. I swear, this all reads like the run up to the Nazi take-over of Germany.

Every time I read the papers, and I hear yet another law the shrub feels he doesn’t need to honor because of 9/11 or the war on a terror I want to flee. Flee to the great white north, or flee to Europe. Flee to someplace where madness doesn’t rule and rational thought has a chance. I’m tired of feeling lost in a sea of anger, hatred and fear.

Make it all go away.
– Title: New Year Round up

Happy New Year my tens of readers. What a New Year it was too. I attended the festivities at Sidetrack, where, of course, I drank too much, smoked (which I don’t do) and fell into bed completely drunk. (thankfully, I had a huge glass of water before I did).

But more about the night, the last of the year. The bartender provided a most kind gift to us, his favored drinkers, in the magnum of of Veuve Clicquot poured right before midnight. About 1:30am, we headed out and home to walk Stella. We hailed a cab and asked the driver to avoid all the craziness and take a different route home, however, at a stop sign, my door was opened by a drunk female reveler, and as she started to get into the cab, I yelled out “Get out of my limo, this is MY limo!”. This, along with my consistent chatter, badmouthing The Shrub ™ kept the cab driver chuckling loudly the entire duration of the trip to my place.

I’m a people person; I like to make people smile.

So… New year’s resolutions?
I’ve got a few.
Write more
Create more
Own more
BE more
– Title:

Mailed anonymously from East Texas on Dec 23rd. (on lovely stationary i might add)

Overheard dialog at Garden Estates – 12/23 all one conversation from table one:
“When she had her last baby, it broke her tailbone. She had to sit on a cushion since she worked as a lab technician. At least she got good pain pills.”

“Who wants sausage?”

“Its really strong coffee!”

“Whenever i see that, i think of my daddy. He made his own sausage.”

Seen at table seven:

a turban

Even i couldn’t make this stuff up. Thank you anonymous letter writer.
– Title: not so lost

I think i figured out something about the tv series lost. Curious what I’m thinking?
– Title:

Fred the donut maker died today.

A sad day indeed. Who’s gonna make the donuts now?
– Title:

I had a fantastic Holiday thank you for asking. Normally, i spend Christmas Eve with the boys down the street (formerly), but since i moveda few streets away and they had different plans this year, i had planned to spend the day with Stella on the couch watching bad movies. Instead, i received an invitation to The Island of Misfit Toys dinner at my friend Marty’s. I always enjoy spending time with Marty and his family because the food is always spectacular and the company devine. To improve upon things even further, he invited me to pick out a piece of his hand-thrown pottery as a gift. (the large vase in the below photo)

Following dinner, i retreated home to the couch and bad movies. On Christams day i watched “Harold and Kumar go to White Castle” and “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” both silly mindless films that make me laugh with glee. (i’m sure both would have been much more enjoyable had i been high) Following the movies, i headed out for a drink at Sidetrack.

Not much new happening here. i’m looking forward to the new year and the fresh slate always promised by our culture at the start of a new year.

i hope all of your holidays were filled with love, family (however you define it), and joy.
– Title: a request

A request has been made to remove the tattoed dick from the top of my blog so that a certain person can visit my site at work. this should cover that
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Have a wonderful monday.

Oh yeah, and if anyone would be interested in guest blogging for me for the next week or two, send me your posts, and as long as they are not hateful, i’ll post them.

Ta
ta
– Title: a conversation with Tom

The other day I received the below picture from Tom with the subject line of the e-mail reading “Your next tattoo”

The ensuing e-mail conversation went like this:

ME “yeah maybe not”

TOM “oh – right – you’re not a Scorpio”

ME “i’m a cancer, crabs tattooed in that area, not such a good idea”

TOM “my friend XXXX wanted to get one on her inner thigh that said “Hi There”

ME “i wanted to get laundry care instructions on my, hey wait a minute, i already did that. i still like the idea of “Employees must wash hands before returning to work” above my ass. I’m just not into fisting

TOM “good”
– Title:

i’ve discovered that i need boots. at least boots tall enough to walk thru the snow without them filling up with it.

oh yeah, it snowed so much the jets at the airport slid off the runway into the street. sat there all night too from what i heard.

Chicago, the city that works
– Title: fooled my an infomercial

The Furminator doesn’t work.

I’m just saying…

I purchased this product after watching a demonstration on the Home Shopping Channel. It was amazing how they managed to get all that hair off those animals and given that I live with an animal that sheds her body weight at least once a week, I thought I’d give it a try.

$40.00 later I’m left with a tool that doesn’t work anything like what the demonstration showed.

See what happens when I have a television. What is it they say about fools and their money?
– Title:

it’s moments like this that i miss my old roommate. You see, before i moved out onto my own, into this really lovely apartment, Stella used to eat my old roommates things. Scarves brought home from Denmark, t-shirts bought the night before at Oktoberfest, and any manner of fabric left laying around were fair game for Stella when she had an upset stomach, which was often. Tonight, as i was folding my laundry, i noticed the above hole in my favorite sheet. I guess i need to be careful with keeping things out of her reach.
– Title:

i love classic Cher
i love The Partridge Family
i’m so gay
– Title:

i woke up to Stella standing over me on the bed, licking my face and looking concerned. it was creepy waking up to someone staring at me, even if it was my dog.

and the sex dream i was having was SO good… damn it
– Title:

a question for Myth Busters.

is it true that Catherine the Great, empress of Russia in the latter part of the 18th century, was crushed to death when attendants lost their grip on ropes supporting a horse that was being lowered on her for, ah, sexual purposes?
– Title:

i like hardcore porn.

it both shows me that i’m not too extreme and gives me new ideas
– Title:

i close the door when i use the bathroom.

i live alone.

why do i do that?
– Title:

It is ALL about Chocolate flavored Soy milk in my coffee. I’m just sayin.
– Title: Back to the grind

I wrote recently that I was afraid my dog Stella was plotting to kill me, but facts have been uncovered that have proven otherwise, mainly, that my dog Stella is afraid of everything. The other night, my neighbor was doing something on the back steps making noises after Stella and I had crawled into bed. I’m not complaining about the noises, but I had to laugh at Stella’s reaction to them. She barked, once, stood up and faced the origin of the noises, and did nothing. After a few minutes of her whining, I crawled out of bed and walked thru the apartment turning on lights, Stella steps behind me, showing her that there was nothing in the apartment. Once this little tour was completed, we crawled back into bed and fell asleep.

Therefore I am no longer fearful that my beloved Stella is plotting to kill me.

In other news, Sam , sent me CD’s of his music. The man is a very talented DJ and I’m looking forward to dropping in to see him the next time I’m in San Francisco. I also have not taken them out of my player since they showed up on my steps Wednesday afternoon.

In even more news, I met with my blog daddy Scott for our second anniversary shopping excursion to the outlet malls of northwestern Indiana. We shopped, we talked, and we froze our asses off. It’s always a pleasure to see him. Oh, and he shared something with me but I’m not tellin.

It seems that I’m a slow learner. There is a lesson that I’ve failed to learn on a regular basis ever since I was in kindergarten. My mother had baked cookies for me to take into class on a special day, I don’t remember which. She carefully placed the cookies into a foil-lined shoebox with the instructions that there were only enough cookies for each child in the class to have ONE cookie. At the appropriate time, I reclaimed the box of cookies from my cubicle and started to pass them out to the other kids. In my excitement, I forgot about my mother’s instructions and started giving out 2 cookies to each kid, which caused me to quickly run out of cookies. Panicking, I tried in vain to re-distribute the cookies to those that didn’t get them before.

I tend to do the same thing with my time, trying, often in vain, to share my time with as many people as possible in an unrealistic time-frame. This thanksgiving, I overscheduled myself and had a difficult choice to make. Did I learn? I sure hope so.
– Title: Surprising things about me.

Earlier today I fixed my favorite meal. Its not really a meal in the common sense of the word, but the minute I sat down to the hot steaming bowl, I was instantly transported back to a time in my youth that forever holds a special place for me. My family has always had strange dietary tastes, from my sister’s fondness of pouring gobs of ketchup onto her cottage cheese to my brother’s love of Peanut butter and fluffernutter sandwiches. There is however, one dish that is unique to my family and that dish is Fried Macaroni.

My father, when I was a little kid, and actually still to this day, loves macaroni. He’ll often fix a pot of macaroni and pour a healthy amount of my mother’s homemade “hot sauce” over it, sprinkle a fair amount of pepper on it and sit down to watch his soap opera before he would shower and head off to work. (He’s now retired) My mother’s hot sauce is a wonderful spicy/sweet tomato(e) combination that explodes with flavor in your mouth. Again, truly unique to my family as I’ve never tasted anything like it in my years or my travels.

On special occasions, when my sister was in the mood (she did the bulk of the cooking for the family) we would get this special treat, which may sound less that tasty, but here goes.

# Cook macaroni per packaging instructions (I prefer Creamette™ brand)

# Drain and rinse macaroni

# Heat large skillet with a generous amount of pure butter

# Pour cooked macaroni into the heated skillet

# Stir occasionally to prevent burning

# Once there is a crispy “fried” aspect to the macaroni, remove from heat and serve.

Most of my family would use my mother’s hot sauce; I however, would use ketchup (Heinz only thank you very much).

Now I realize that this is a strange meal, but today, while I was eating it, I remembered what it was like in the house during summer vacations, when my dad would cook up a big batch of fried macaroni before heading to work. It truly represents to me what family is all about. We all grew up on one thing, and I would bet that every single one of my siblings still enjoys this dish once every so often. That time was one of wonder, before life’s changes separated my family and spread us across the country, with families and children of their own. I miss those days every so often. I miss the crazy things we used to do, the spit-wad wars throughout the house, the stories that shaped who we would become, the close-ness of the family. I guess you could say that I miss my family, how we used to be.

I’m thankful for the memories, the fond one and the less than fond ones. I’m thankful that I grew up with the people I grew up with. I’m thankful that the experiences we shared were what they were, leaving Eddie at the Grand Canyon, crossing the country on the back window ledge of the Mercury as we moved to NY from St. Charles, MO., with the St, Bernard stretched out across the laps of the other 4 on the back seat. My memories of those days are glossed over I’m sure. My memories do not match my siblings exactly but they’re my memories and nobody can take them away from me. Happy, sad, enlightening, frightening, angry, but mostly fun, carefree, happy times.

I’m realizing how full my life is and has always been.
– Title: paranoid much

I’m starting to think that my beloved Stella may be out to get me. I don’t have any hard facts to make a case only a general feeling I get from her. Things are starting to add up that make me worry about my wellbeing with her around me. The subtle things she does to endanger my life. Circling me while she is on her leash wrapping my legs with it until I almost fall is just one example of her treachery.

She gives me this look rather often since we’ve relocated to the new abode (really its quite lovely, everyone that visits leaves in awe of the space) like she is sizing up her competition. I envision her sprawled out on her corner of the bed, making those sleep induced barks as she chases me in her dreams. I see her legs twitching to match the barks and I just know that she is dreaming of the chase to the death of her master (me).

Oh sure she looks all sweet and innocent and full of needy love, but do not let her shtick fool you, my tens of readers. She is quietly plotting. Gathering information slowly (five years so far) that will help her against her adversary. One day soon, she will pounce. Maybe it will be the day that I only treat her with two Scooby Snacks™ instead of the usual three she prefers. Perhaps it will be the day that I switch her food to a brand she doesn’t care for. I don’t know what it will be that will make her snap, but I live in fear of that day.

When you visit, sleep with one eye open and watch yourself around her, you can see it in her eyes. She’s got that look of blood lust. I’ll play your game Stella, but just know that you cannot surprise me. I’m ever alert.
– Title: pondering quietly in the corner

Some questions that come to mind this morning.

# Why was Hal Sparks walking thru The Alley in Chicago yesterday afternoon looking like a gay Goth freak? (He was really cute too, though a tad on the little side for me)

# Why do I read the newspapers? They only seem to anger me or make me happy to see the demise of this current administration, which them makes me feel guilty because this administration is supposed to represent the American people so in essence I’m happy to see the demise of the American people? See how I can get confused and angry? I don’t know what to think anymore. Every time I see a negative article about the US on the world stage it makes me feel like it’s proving to people that the Shrub ™ is really messing things up; but then I see the neocons and those that support him spinning it to their benefit and it makes me sad.

Its times like this I’m thankful I don’t have a Television.

# Television has seemed to replace every ounce of culture in this country. I’ve been sans Television for a few weeks now since I moved into my new abode (which is really quite lovely, and comfortable thank you for asking) and I don’t know how many times I’ve had to repeat the words “I don’t know, I don’t have a TV”. Not having a television has already in these three short weeks since moving into my new abode (really, you should pop in for a cocktail and check it out one of these days) excluded me from many conversations. Did you see the… “I don’t have a TV”. Oh My God! Last night on… “I don’t have a TV”. I’d really like someone to ask me what I thought about the book “Utopia” which I happen to be reading currently, or perhaps some new book that has been released that is a joy to read. (And I’m not referring to Harry Potter)

# Harry Potter has been a boon to the publishing industry in a time when books were going out of style, allowing more and more children of all ages to find joy in books again. For that, I am happy. However, the marketing tie-ins and general uproar displayed by people over this book confuses me. Sure I’ve seen all the movies and yes, they are entertaining, but c’mon. If only we could have this sort of interest in events playing themselves out on the world stage.

# Commercialism and Materialism. How do you know when you have too much stuff and how do you know when you’re overwhelmed by the marketing industry forcing advertisements down your throat? Where do you draw the line? I often struggle with this issue because I was raised, well, I was raised as a pig-headed, me-first, fuck-those-that-have-not American (against my parents futile attempts to teach me modesty). Since as young as I can remember, I’ve greedily drank in the message marketers have been pushing. Name brands! Luxury goods! BMW! Luis Vitton! Chanel! Hermes! (nod to Tom) The big Track Mansions in the suburbs, or since I’ve moved to Chicago, the gut-rehabbed condos popping up everywhere for $400,000.

Is it even possible to live simply in this culture and still be a part of it? Do I need to strive for the biggest, fastest automobile available and the Vintage walk-up condo full-rehab in the best neighborhood? Why can’t I buy a simple little apartment in a clean neighborhood where my shit won’t get fucked up? Why does that simple dream cost me a minimum of $300,000 these days? How the fuck am I supposed to pull this off?

That last part is a plea to anyone wealthy enough that would like to sponsor a poor, talent-limited writer.

And lastly…

# The Insurance industry. Over the weekend there was a major wind storm that blew (hehehehe I said blew) thru Chicago knocking over a chain-link fence onto the hood of the (B)lanco (M)ommy (W)agon leaving me with a repair bill of $421.00. Since this is less than my deductible my agent told me to file a police report and go after the owner of the property. While I was filing the police report, the very helpful (and I’m imagining hot) man (in full police uniform) on the telephone told me that the insurance company was passing off the work onto me and that I should still make a claim to have them help find the owner of the property and to go after the owner on my behalf. I called my insurance company back and they told me (in their polite corporately trained manner) that since they would not be making a payout they would not be pursuing the matter on my behalf. So basically, since it’s not costing them anything, they don’t care.

This is now twice that I’ve needed minor, very minor payouts from my insurance company to cover something that I had insured that they told me it is not covered and there is nothing they can do about it. Well, I’ve got a call into my agent this morning. We’ll see if I’ll be staying with Allstate much longer. The police officer suggested that State Farm would be much more proactive and helpful and that Allstate sucks. Yes, he used those words exactly.

Come to think of it, there are some good things about Chicago. When people tell you what they think, they don’t hold anything back.

That, my tens of readers is what is occupying my mind this morning. Good day to you all!
– Title: Learning to read all over again

How can you tell when you’ve become too self involved? Is it when you forget the birthday of every single person in your life, including your parents and best friends? Is it when you can’t remember the names or locations of your approx. 9 nieces and nephews?

For me personally, I think I realized that I’m just a tad too self-involved this weekend when my brother called to inform me of his upcoming Corrections Officer training camp that he was driving to Albany, NY to attend. He informed me at the start of the conversation that once again (yes, he used those words) I had forgotten my father’s birthday and that I should call. (Better late than never…) The reason I realized that I might be a tad bit too self involved was when I was more interested in the porn I was viewing on my computer as we talked.

Other things I’ve learned this week.

Read the labels BEFORE you purchase. Sure, I read the labels when I’m grabbing an item off the shelf, however it seems that the item I chose miraculously morphs into something different between the shelf and the check out stand. Since I am not aware of this morphing, it is often not until I get home that I realize the miracle that has taken place. For instance, I recently purchased several packages of new bright white t-shirts, since I realized that my old t-shirts were faded and rather dingy. Ok really dingy. I came home, opened the packages and dumped them into the hamper to be washed before wearing, as stated on the instructions on the packaging. It wasn’t until I was folding them at the Laundromat that I realized the 3 packages of t-shirts were all V-neck. I despise V-neck t-shirts, but since they were out of the packaging and had been laundered, what was I to do? I couldn’t take them back, because you cannot return underwear (or so I’ve always been led to believe.)

Another instance of this phenomenon happened when I purchased a package of new boxer briefs. (Again, the underwear thing). I was shopping at Costco and came across a stack of Champion brand® boxer brief in sport colors. I wanted to try them out as I’ve never tried Champion Brand® underwear. I carefully chose the package from the stack and tossed it into the cart. Upon my arrival to my new apartment, which is fabulous, thank you all for asking, I realized that the package I picked was sized XL. Now I’m a big boy, but I’ve always worn no larger than L.

I waited a week and a half to try on a pair for fear that they fit better. I’m wearing them now, and I’m not telling you if the do or don’t.

So read the packaging before you leave the store. It’ll save you weeks of wondering.
– Title: My night with Holly Hunt

I had the most bizarre dream last night.

I had an interview with Holly Hunt for a very important high level position. I don’t remember the position or what it entailed, only that it was very important and high level and Ms Hunt was “ecstatic” to meet me (Her words, not mine).

I arrived at the interview slightly nervous, wanting to impress Holly, because by now we were on a first name basis and I needn’t be so formal. I entered the stark concrete Tadao Ando designed reception area where I was offered a freshly brewed mug of coffee and whisked right into Holly’s office which was equally as impressive as the Ando reception hall. Her office was in delightful shades of taupe with heavy dark wood and leather sofas and modern accent tables placed about the room, where she sat behind her mammoth dark wood desk talking animatedly on the phone. The scale of this room, no the entire facility was enormous.

Holly saw me instantly and slammed the phone down in a move reminiscent of Joan Crawford with a look of pure pleasure on her face, only at this point I realized, this wasn’t Holly Hunt, it was Holly Hunter the famous actress of stage and screen. She pushed herself away from the oversized desk and approached me in an almost jog, crossing the wide distance of the room in a few well placed footsteps, avoiding the thick chocolate brown deep pile carpet so as not to leave foot impressions.

Her handshake was surprisingly firm for such a small feminine hand. She looked me in the eye and told me how happy she was to meet me and I felt as if this were the most genuine moment in her entire acting career. Once we settled into our conversation, perched on the dark wood sofa, I watched her every move taking notes about how she threw her hair when she laughed and the creases of her forehead as she sat deep in thought over something amazing I had just shared. The interview was going so well.

Abruptly, she stood and said ‘I’m not Holly Hunt, but if I was, I would hire you on the spot”

“Damn you Holly Hunter!” I spat. “Damn you!”

The next thing I remember was waking up snuggled into my freshly laundered grey flannel sheets wondering why Holly Hunter was such a bitch to me and what she did with Holly Hunt.
– Title: Observations from the hip

I’ve been keeping mental notes lately of things that seem strange to me, annoy me, or just make me shake my head and walk away.

Greeters – I’m happy that Wal-Mart saw fit to hire previously retired housewives and truck drivers to say “Hello” to me on those few occasions in the past that I actually entered one of their establishments. However, this trend is spreading into places it just shouldn’t spread. For instance, yesterday, I popped into IKEA to pick up a microwave stand for, well, my microwave and some added kitchen storage which seems to be seriously lacking in my new abode, when I was shakily “greeted” with a perky “Hello” from someone’s great-grandfather holding out a pad of paper and a golf-sized pencil.

Self Check-out stands – On the surface, this concept frightened me at first, though I must admit I tend to head for this lane before queuing up for some surly unionized cashier in the “staffed” lanes. I was afraid that I’d forget to scan something and would walk out of the store with said item in my bag and promptly be tackled to the ground by thuggish security guards all hot and sweaty in their ill-fitting polyester uniforms. We would struggle and roll around on the ground, the hard concrete rubbing mercilessly on my even harder… wait this isn’t a porn thought. Please accept my apology for that detour into the gutter that is my brain. Here’s a thought. Fire the fucking greeter and hire another cashier.

Traffic planning in Chicago – Here is a thought for any administration personnel that has any pull with the family mob Mayor. They are called turn lanes, let’s put up turn signals for those turn lanes. Other cities have them. They’re really quite reasonably priced and would save the residents of the city a hell of a lot of time trying to get thru a left turn light in any part of this city. Oh yeah, and how about timed lights. Why is it that Chicago can never seem to grasp this concept? Monday, I drove into the Loop from the western suburb via North Avenue (I had to stop at Crate and Barrel on North Ave.), and every single stop light for the entire what 20 miles was timed to turn red once the last turned green. There was not a single intersection I made it thru without having to stop for a light.

Is three enough? Maybe more? Only one was a rant. Really! The others were semi-rants. C’mon, I’m not angry anymore. I live alone. And that, as Martha would smile gleefully and say “is a good thing”.
– Title: do that “thing” that you do

I was talking with TLBO earlier this evening about some items of a personal nature and he referenced the episode of Seinfeld where there was this sexual “thing” that you do that makes you stand out, but nobody will ever mention it because to mention it would be to curse it and risk not experiencing it again.

I have such a “thing” and I know exactly where I learned it. Mind you, it doesn’t always work like a charm, but 9 times out of 10 it will make them come back for more. And that is what started the conversation with TLBO in the first place.

I have a bad habit of making straight men gay. Since I’ve moved to Chicago, I’ve had the unfortunate timing to be involved with a few closeted married men that were about to bust out of the closet, and did just that while on my watch. I feel for them, I really do; but this trend is a tad troubling. I’m starting to think that I really am a home wrecker after all.

Caution all married men that read this. I will do that “thing” I do and you’ll never be satisfied with your wife again. I’m sorry. I don’t mean for this to happen. It was a gift that I picked it up in the first place. It was fate that I was talented enough to perfect it.

What is this “thing” I’m referring to? I can’t tell you. But I can tell you this. I have been called on it once, and that was not pretty.

Many years ago, I met a man in San Francisco that was very into leather and bondage and more or less started me on this current path of my sexual journey. I won’t go into details, except to say that he left an indelible image on my brain that is always good to call on when things need a little mental “lift”. We’ve enjoyed several sweaty romps over the years and still keep in contact and share fond memories of our times together. In fact, a few weeks ago, we caught up with each other again, and he listed me in his top 5 of all time. (“Maybe even top two,” he added at the end) All because of that “thing” I do.

Here is where it gets tricky. My ex, the person that taught me the “thing” without actually teaching me, was fortunate enough to spend some sweaty romp time with the same gentleman in San Francisco a few years after me. During the post-sexual cigarette break said man from San Francisco commented that only one other person in his life had ever done anything similar and it blew his mind. My ex knew immediately that he was referring to me and couldn’t wait to get out of there to call me. Let me tell you, that was a hell of an interesting telephone call.

So if you are ever in my bed, and I do that “thing” you may not know that I’m actually doing it, but you’ll never forget it. To all the wives out there, please accept my apology. I always send them home to you, its not my fault I’m better.
– Title: An update and a night on the town

It’s been several days since I’ve written anything, and I’m sorry for that. The move was more complex than I ever expected. My DSL is now back up and I feel like I’m alive again.

There was a moment a few days ago that I panicked, thinking that my readers would never forgive my absence, so I purchased a one day pass for the T-Mobile hotspot at Starbucks. However, once I paid my dues and was happily back on line, I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Added to my worry of yet another Apple/Large coffee interaction, I quickly closed my trusty replacement iBook and shuffled out of there in a jiffy.

So now that I’m up and connected again, I will be more vigilant in my posts.

That being said, last night was magical.

At the last minute, I was invited to volunteer/attend a fund raiser for DIFFA at the Chicago Merchandise Mart. The event was hosted by none other than ELLE Décor’s Margaret Russell and featured designer’s concepts of the perfect table setting. Titled Dining by Design, the event included a silent auction and cocktails.

I was asked to man the door (probably due to my imposing size) and keep out people without tickets. I was stunned by some of the attendees. The wealthy, the wanna-be wealthy, the average and the botox set. The latter being, by far, the most frightening of them all.

Oh yeah, I managed to rub elbows with the elite. I literally did rub elbows with the Elite, because at one point I bumped into Chris Kennedy, son of the infamous Bobby Kennedy and yes, I rubbed his elbow.

Didn’t know I was a mover and shaker did ya. You should hear about my exploits from the society parties I attended in San Francisco during my tenure there, not to mention my brush with fame and celebrity while in college in St. Louis.

But those tales are for another day. I need to get back to work so I can afford to run with the “have’s”.
– Title: Some assembly required

Next time I move, I’m hiring a professional.

Friday afternoon, I picked up the keys to my new home, high up on the 3rd floor of a 3-story walk-up. I spent the next 4 hours cleaning the apartment (to my anal-retentive standards) to remove whatever dirt and decay had been left by the previous tenants. I was thankful that the place had indeed been painted and cleaned as promised so that I wouldn’t need to remove the 50+ empty bottles of booze in the kitchen. Two hours of my cleaning time was spent removing the nicotine coating from the inside of the windows, effectively stripping the yellow tint from the rooms. A new toilet seat, some Kaboom in the tub and bathroom sink and a little scrubby scrubby on the floor and the bathroom was fresh as a daisy.

Friday evening I bribed my old downstairs neighbor with two cases of beer and a pizza for the use of his truck and his back to assist with moving the heavy stuff, the couch, shelves, desk and bed. The rest of the stuff has been moved by 2 other friends and myself. (Note that I still have a fair amount of things left in the old place that I’ll be removing this week. The new tenant of the old place doesn’t move in until Saturday.

But seriously, after carrying my belongings up 3 flights of stairs, I may just tell my old roommate to toss the stuff left into a charity bin. I’m so tired of lugging things upstairs. How did I accumulate so much stuff? Where did this crap all originate? Why is porn so heavy?

Saturday was spent carrying even more boxes and bags upstairs until I passed out and had a nice long nap in the late afternoon. The evening was spent unpacking and arranging.

Sunday was spent shopping! Oh, how I love to shop. I picked up the two 5’x8’ rugs I’d previously purchased at CB2 along with 16 rug tiles of various colors for my new office area and a new stylish coffee table. (It was on the shopping list)

Tonight, I think I’ll try to finish moving everything out of the old place and get my kitchen and office situated.

Anyone in the Chicago area want to help feel free to let me know!
– Title: hundreds and hundreds

I am afraid of plugs because I once stepped on one and it punctured my foot leaving a gash and a painful reminder for many weeks to come.

Tonight, I went to a fundraiser for Equality Illinois, a gay political action organization that has done some amazing work in the past few years. My lovely neighbor invited me to attend “night of 100 drag queens” with him, I accepted and I’m glad I did. I had a marvelous time. (Though I’m pretty sure I only saw at most 10 drag queens all night)

While I was walking thru the bar, I had a slight altercation with a drag queen (unbeknownst to her) and instantly I understood the entire Charlie’s Angeles hair flip phenomenon.

She walked by and flipped her hair as she passed me and I must admit, it kind of stung as it struck my face. The pure amount of product in this queen’s hair was enough to withstand the winds of Katrina.

Those hair flips are not just a display of feminine wiles, but they are also a threat of deadly physical violence. So beware. Whenever a woman fag drag queen flips her hair. She means business and you’d best get out of her way.

PS. Its true. Drag queens do indeed prefer larger barware. It makes their hands look smaller.
– Title: unrealistic fears

I have a fear that I’ve never shared with anyone. I don’t even think there is a name for it in the medical journals. I’m afraid of electrical plugs. I’m not afraid of the electrical outlets, just the plugs.

Many years ago, shortly after I moved into my first ever apartment on my own, I had a horrible run-in with an electrical plug that left me wounded, shaking and forever traumatized. After stepping out of the shower and drying myself thoroughly with an oversized towel stolen from a local hotel, I plugged in the hair dryer and whipped my hair into place. Finished with the task at hand, I unplugged the hair dryer and threw it back onto the shelf where I kept it, leaving the cord dangling and the plug laying on the floor. Looking back, I should have known better, I should have taken that extra step and coiled the cord around the dryer; but I didn’t and because of that one lazy moment, I have had to cower in fear ever since. The strange thing about this phobia is that it only hits me in the bathroom. No other room fills me with dread when I see a haphazardly strewn cord and plug.

What was accident that has instilled this fear in me?
– Title: Home sweet home sweet homo

Yay me!

I found a place. After an exhausting search high and low, near and far, I stumbled upon a lovely place just a few blocks from where I live now. I won’t need to change dry cleaners; I can still stumble home from the Eagle, and since this place is on the 3rd floor of a walk-up, expect me to have an ass like a marble statue in no time at all.

There are a few drawbacks. There is no parking, however the building across the street has garage spaces available (maybe next month) and it was kind of a dump. Let me clarify. It was a dump. The former tenants were not the tidiest of people. They were, however, boozers, as exhibited by the fifty or so empty bottles of booze lining the area above the cupboards in the kitchen. The floors, once cleaned should be very nice. Currently, they suffer from several areas of black “goo” and other sundry items covering them. The bathtub is a lovely shade of brown.

The management company is going to paint and clean this place before I move in. I will do the same ensuring it is up to my anal retentive, compulsively clean requirements.

I get the keys next week.

So now the question is…

Should I go the trading spaces route and have an accent wall? I think not.
– Title: Moving sucks

I hate moving season. The very notion of having to box up my belongings and relocate to another space, re-paint my walls to white, paint my new walls away from white, make friends with someone that owns a truck (which usually means putting out), and convincing others that they should help me move the few pieces of furniture that I have all add up to a big fat headache.

I spent a portion of yesterday looking at apartments. Five apartments to be exact. I rode along with “The Apartment People”, a “free” service here in Chicago that lists and shows apartments. To her credit, she picked out 5 pretty good places that they were close to where I was looking to live. She showed me the perfect place (with a god awful color palette). This place had a garage with remote, 2 bedrooms, brand new kitchen, big fenced yard for Stella to run around in and the rent was reasonable. Then the landlord asked for a full month’s rent as a deposit for Stella. He asked for a $795.00 pet deposit! I told my apartment guide that I would take the place on 2 conditions, one being that he allow me to paint and the other that he make the pet deposit reasonable like $200-$250. He countered with half a month’s rent. So totally move-in cost to me would have been, and I’m bad with math, cause, well, math is hard, but my total move-in would be, 3 carry the 5 minus the 2 plus… $2,200 roughly. I told him he could shove that 2 grand, well, my guide did so much more diplomatically than I did.

So I settled on another place that is very nice, walking distance to Wendy’s, upstairs from a coffee shop, next door to a Hot Dog stand and across the street from both a CVS and a Sears. This apartment too would require close to $2100 in order to move in.

I don’t get it. Why is a full month’s rent as a deposit so damn important?

Alas, I came home and went back at the classifieds and found a few more apartments to look at today. These take dogs and have reasonable deposit requirements. No parking, but at this point, I?ll hunt down a garage at a later date.

Off to find a new abode.
– Title: Magical thinking

A friend of mine told me a story this morning that I have to share with you. She is sure that her actions have sealed her fate and that she is indeed going to burn in hell. To which I say, “oooh company”.

This friend, who under threat of physical pain has forced me to promise that she remain nameless, made her boss cry. Her boss recently transferred into the Chicago area from a foreign country (think – Land where Lord of the Rings was filmed) due to a relationship meltdown and parting of ways. Before she left, she took her dog to a “reader” and was informed that the dog thought it is too old to travel that far, and would therefore remain in this very green land down under. Her boss, let’s call her Sue (no its not her name, I don’t like pain), well Sue, left New Zealand minus dog and relationship and returned to the US broken, saddened, and defeated in life. (I added the emotions, I think it adds to the tragedy of her life, and this story)

She took a position in my friend’s, um, establishment as my friend’s very demanding boss. Personally, I think she is taking her frustrations out on her staff, but who am I to speak. Well, she has been forcing my friend to work late a lot the last few weeks and last night, while they were once again pulling a late evening, (fake name) Sue took a moment to talk to said friend and the topic of New Zealand and the dog were breached. My friend, angry about all the late hours and frustrating working conditions made the decision to push the subject and keep talking about Sue’s dog, sort of turning the handle of the knife in her back, so to speak.

Sue started crying, remembering her dog, her life, her love lost, and my friend left the, um, establishment a little happier that she had taken just a touch of revenge on Sue.

Well, Sue phoned my friend this morning. The dog passed away last night, and Sue was thanking this friend for bringing up the subject last night and allowing her to remember fondly the dog that she adored so much.

My reaction was to question how much she’s been talking about my dream of moving to the West coast, or my career, or my love life. Hell, she killed a dog a world away, with that amount of power; I just want to make sure that she isn’t sabotaging my life as well.
– Title: Thinking things thru

I’ve spent many, many years of my life moving from place to place, from job to job and from man to man. Today, I’m thinking that maybe, just maybe, I should stop, and let life catch up to me.

Is it really so bad to work at a job that you don’t love?

Is it really so bad to live in a city that you don’t adore?

Is it really so bad to sit still and wait for life to happen, or better yet, to proceed with a plan instead of just rushing off into the oncoming winds of change without direction or thought?

If I’ve truly grown as a person these last 5 years in Chicago, then shouldnn’t I have a plan in place before I take off on yet another wild adventure?

Chicago, it looks like I’m stickin it out a little longer.
– Title: kick me when i’m down

Timing is everything.

Today, for the first time in the 2 years working for this company (and the day after i find out that the powers that be consider me a loser), i find out that i’ve met my quota requirements. Two years to make my numbers for the first time. Patience truly is a vertue and i’m thankful my employer has gobs of it.

oh bittersweet irony.
– Title: cha cha changes…

Apparently, I’m not a Southern California kinda guy. The powers have spoken and they were very clear with the words they chose. I forget the exact words, but they came to me in a FedEx pouch basically saying “You Suck!”

I hate when Jesus speaks via FedEx overnight express service.
– Title: BMW’s and brown boys

Wow! What a weekend. I’m on my way back to Chicago, but had to take a few minutes to stop and write the events of the weekend (well, I have an hour layover in Denver).

TLBO bought a new (previously-owned) BMW X-5 on Saturday morning. I sat in the car, while TLBO ran in and signed the paperwork, fighting off a severe case of acid-reflux, or maybe it was just gas from those damn Tommy Burgers I had the night before. At any rate, he was in an out of the dealer before I had a chance to belch and relieve some of the stress on my system. Beautiful vehicle, even if it is a gas-guzzling SUV.

Speaking of gas, TLBO and husband introduced me to the Tommy burger Friday night after drinking until the wee hours of the morning. Too drunk to realize what I was about to ingest, I ordered a double chiliburger which turned out to be two hamburger patties, covered with cheese and smothered with chili. My God, it was amazing. So much so, that we went back on Saturday night again. Yes, I’m still suffering, but it was so worth it.

Friday night, we started at a bar in Silverlake (I think) called MJ’s where TLBO has a crush on one of the bartenders because he gets free drinks all the time. I realized that I have a crush on one of the bartenders as well, but my reasons are decidedly much more graphic than a free drink.

While enjoying the feeling of being “fresh-meat” in a new locale, Rod (short for Rodriguez) and his sister’s ex-boyfriend introduced themselves to me. Rod was friends with TLBO and the husband. Apparently, I found out, Rod also has a thing for tall, somewhat dorky white boys. I found this out when he jumped into my lap and shoved his tongue in my mouth. Of course, I responded in kind by returning the favor, and we shared several moments of PDA’s that would make a porn star blush. I would like to report that this hot Latino had a very nice and firm body.

Leaving MJ’s for some new scenery, of course telling Rod where we were headed, we ended up at a corner bar (I forget the name). TLBO’s husband has an office in the upper floor (setting the stage here), and there are two hunky big bear bartenders slinging drinks. We ordered, grabbed a booth and were promptly attacked by a drunk lesbian ordering us to buy her a drink because she was a lesbian. Exit stage left.

Rod showed up, we macked a bit more, and I leaned into TLBO’s husband and asked for the keys to his office upstairs. With a glint in his eye, and a smirk, he handed over the coveted keys and the Latino and I were off for a few moments of passion.

Fast-forward 20 minutes.

TLBO exits the bar to see me standing on the corner, diet coke in hand, contented smile on my face, and a wet spot on my shoulder. I was oblivious, but happy as he leaned over to Rod and asked, “Does your goatee smile like ass”?

To which Rod responded, “No. My ass smells like goatee”

I love L.A.
– Title: Comin on a Jet Plane

I took a little impromptu trip to Los Angeles this weekend to visit TLBO. See, he’s been after me to come out and visit and see the house he and his partner bought over a year ago, so I figured, with all the stress my life has been filled with lately, I was due for a trip. So I packed my bag, jumped in the Blanco Mommy Wagon and was off to the airport to wait in what has to be the longest, most un-organized example of our government’s inaction in the so called “fight against terrorism”

I somehow managed to get into the slowest moving of the 8 lines stretched as far as the eye can see. Twenty-five minutes later, I removed my shoes, and walked thru the metal detectors and past the staff that wasn’t really even paying attention to anything going on around them. Airport security in the US is kind of like a Hostess Twinkie, a lot of fluff, a lot of hot air, not much substance.

I settled into my comfy Frontier Airline’s seat and prepared for the flight to Denver, a quick aircraft change and I was off to Los Angeles.

As the plane began it’s initial decent into the Los Angeles area, I was reminded of the Jet Blue flight that landed with the gear all messed up. I was sitting in my seat watching DirecTV thinking about what that must have been like for those passengers. And then, I got excited. I was landing in the land of In-N-Out. I started salivating over the thought of a double-double, fry and chocolate shake. It has been over 7 and half years since I’ve been in LA, more than 3 months since I’ve seen TLBO, and I was more excited about having a hamburger that I was about seeing my best friend.

That’s when I saw it. Lit up in a blaze of glory of which any Las Vegas casino would be envious. There was an In-N-Out under the flight path of LAX and we were flying over it.

As soon as I landed, I whipped out my trusty Razr (not so trusty in So. Cal. I might add) and phoned TLBO to let him know that he was feeding me at that very establishment before we took the trek to the San Fernando Valley where they make their home.

The line was blissfully quick. The food took a little longer, but was well worth the wait. The crispiness of the roll, the melted cheese and special sauce dripping onto the fresh, hand-cut french fries, and the long awaited smile that spread across my face, told me that I was enjoying one of my favorite things.

Ahhh the simplicity of a good burger.

Oh yeah, and it is goood to see TLBO and their lovely home in the valley.
– Title: Luck be a Lady

Each day, I learn more and more about myself. It seems that all I need to do is stop long enough to pay attention to the feedback my own brain and conscience is shouting at me. Last night, I learned, quite expeditiously I might add, that gambling, though fun, will burn thru money in no time at all.

I was in Michigan on business, when my client decided she wanted to hit the Casino and do a little gambling. Never one to deny a customer their request, we headed to Michigan City to play some slots. Eighty dollars of my money and forty dollars of her winnings later, I called it quits. Lady luck never smiles on me when I’m surrounded by flashing lights, tired pensioners chain-smoking into the night, and watered down drinks passed out by waitresses that would rather be shoving bamboo shoots in their cuticles.

Said customer stayed in Michigan an extra day, and called earlier today to advise that she stopped off on her way home to Chicago, and won an additional $250.00

I hung up on her.
– Title: Rainy days and oh wait, it IS Sunday

Allow me to admit to a guilty pleasure.

I love the 5th Element. The Science fiction movie starring the super hot Bruce Willis and that Italian model Milla Jovovich. The entire cast wears amazing clothing designed by Jean-Paul Gaultier and the film can easily be shrugged off as Hollywood fluff if you refuse to watch it with an open mind.

I prefer to watch it as a warning. A warning that the world will be inhabited by exquisitely dressed supermodels and action stars saving the world from ultimate disaster. A warning that someday, we’ll live in pods stacked high into the sky and struggle with driving in a 3 dimensional world (as if the 2-dimensional world isn’t hard enough).

Flipping thru the channels, snuggled up on my couch with my faithful bitch Stella taking up most of it, I happened across said favorite film and dropped the remote with glee onto the coffee table. There was less than 45 minutes left in the movie, and I usually hate coming into a movie after it begins, but I’ve seen this movie so many times, it was like I had just pressed play after taking a break to run to the kitchen for some popcorn. I was a tad upset that I had just missed the performance by “The Diva” a blue opera singer as its one of my favorite scenes, but I recovered quickly enough with the action scenes kicking into high gear.

Please don’t judge me harshly for this. At least I’m not telling you that my favorite movie has Famous Actor Tom Cruise ™ starring in it.
– Title: talk about me all you like. I don’t care. Yes, no, yes I do care.

broke down and put my comments back up. I’ve missed hearing from you, my tens of readers. I’ve missed you and I hope that you’ll get back into the habit of checking things out and letting me know what’s up.

So much is going on right now, that I have nothing new to report. In other words, my fate lies in the hands of others. Others that are not returning my phone calls I might add.

How hard is it to pick up the phone and say hello, I want you to come visit me and stay. I’m looking forward to the road trip, the visit to Homer’s estate, and a stop in Las Vegas for a little R&R and gambling.

I just wish someone would tell me what’s going on. I’m just sayin…
– Title: Almost done

Yesterday I almost finished my tattoo. Here are a few images of it.

– Title: its a WiFi world

I love WiFi. This morning, I took Stella with me to grab a cup of coffee and a bagel, unusual for a weekend morning, but I woke up feeling like the world is my oyster and she deserves to be a much more active part in that world.

Its been difficult the last 4 years to include her as much as I’d like to because KoKo, my roommate’s dog, gets jealous if she’s left home alone and usually takes her issues out on my rug. (The only rug in the apartment I might add.) But now that this roommate situation is winding down, I’m not feeling as guilty about leaving KoKo alone as I once did, and the fact that KoKo is in Wisconsin with her mom helps. I guess its all fair, since when Stella has an upset stomach, invariably, she will chew up one of the roomie’s favorite articles of clothing, swallow it, then regurgitate said clothing onto the floor in some corner of the apartment, hidden away for days until it is found and cleaned up.

Life is rolling along at such an amazing pace lately that I can barely catch my breath to see what is happening around me. I haven’t been able to even stop and write about the things that have been happening in my life, the people that have entered and affected it, or the scenes that have given me a moment to pause and say “What the fuck was that?”

For instance, each morning, as I sit at the local Starbucks outlet, sitcom style, with my partners in crime, we watch, with curiosity, as a particular crazy man proceeds to act out his daily drama. Usually dressed in dark brown pants, hanging low off his butt and showing an ample sample of “Plumber ass” he pushes his stolen grocery cart heavily laden with stacks and stacks of newspapers and local street rags. Stopping at each paper racks lining the sidewalk in front of the Starbucks he alternately removes or adds papers from/to his cart/paper rack. Once he is satisfied his task has been completed properly, he reaches down, scratches his crotch, clasps his cart and pushes forward, on to the next set of newspaper racks to repeat his performance for the next crowd of onlookers.

I love the color of life in a city, any city. The individual stories crashing into and bouncing off of each other, coloring, shading, and enhancing each experience of my existence.

This morning, Jr. called me. I’ve been leaving him messages and text messages for the last few weeks (since he professed in a drunken state that we should hang out more before I potentially move, and, he’s always loved me and enjoyed my company, and why didn’t we hang out together more often…). He called me at 5:00 am and left me a message apologizing for not getting back to me earlier, that he knew it was 5:00 am, and that he had just gotten the “shit kicked out” of him and was off to the emergency room. His message went on to describe the gash on his head, the potential broken nose (cause it just didn’t feel right) and the blood covering his apartment. Oh yeah, and the broken window from when he stumbled into it and broke it as he was entering his apartment. The best part of his message was the ending. “Dude, I just got the shit kicked out of me in an alleyway, how fucking funny is that”. I love Jr. He lives an incredibly free-spirited and adventurous life. I could fill a book with the stories he’s shared.

He’s off to the ER and I’ll be calling him shortly to make sure he’s ok.
What does all of this have to do with my love of WiFi I’m sure you’re asking yourself? Well, quite simply, I wrote this entire post, sitting on the back porch watching the rain.

You’ve gotta love technology.
– Title: when it rains…

Don’t talk to me today. I refuse to answer the telephone anymore because it seems that each time I answer the telephone, my horribly, shoddily laid plans are thrown into disarray.

I’ve been looking into moving to Seattle for a few weeks now. Looking into housing, neighborhoods, Starbucks locations, potential shelters, highway overpasses, cardboard box recyclers, etc. I was all set to sell all of my belongings, drive to Seattle, drop what I brought into a storage locker for a while, then head to Vancouver for a few weeks before returning to Seattle and finding a new job earning minimum wage, taking my career into a new direction.

Then.

Then.

Then, I received a call, out of the blue from a firm (a large multi-national firm, dream-job, massive pay raise, all that good stuff) about a position in San Diego, CA. With this information, I began to look south, for housing, neighborhoods, muscle daddies, Starbucks, high-end furniture shops, etc. I had planned my trip west with a stop in St. Louis to say hello/goodbye to a few people before heading to Tucson to say hello/goodbye to the beautiful, talented, sexy, sweet, adorable Homer, then to Phoenix for a little visit with John, my beloved web designer and his partner, and my dear friend Jason. After wearing out my welcome there, it would be off to Los Angeles The Valley to stay with TLBO for a few days on my way to San Diego.

Then.

Then.

Then, I receive a telephone call canceling the meeting from the person I was meeting about the San Diego position. Sad, upset, angry, unsure and lost, I escaped into a night filled with alcohol, fantastic food and retail therapy to right myself and feel better. Thanks Tom.

Then.

Then.

Then, I receive a call from a customer. A very good customer. This customer has increased business considerably in the last two months, perhaps allowing me to actually meet my quota for the first time in two years. Today’s call was to inform me that they would like me to bid on a few small aircraft charters. Like 3 DC-9’s a week from Michigan to Oakland, CA. Three planes a week, at roughly $80,000 each. My numbers would go thru the roof with this and make any move to the west coast a complete idiotic move.

So now I’m lost.

Am I driving to the Beautiful Pacific North West, the magnificent sunny Southern California, or a new apartment here in the alternating cold/humid closed-minded Midwest?

What is a boy to do?
– Title: up, up, in the air

My meeting last night was canceled at the last minute leaving me sitting in my office all day long in a suit. Yes, I actually spent the entire day in the office yesterday. The operations staff is short-handed due to vacations and the night guy resigning, so we sales staff offered to pitch in and help answer phones and whatnot.

So my Monday was a waste. I didn’t get any work done, I didn’t get my tattoo finished (like originally planned), and I didn’t have my meeting. I was very very down after work until Tom invited me to dinner. He took me to the Adobo Grill here in Chicago on Wells St at North Avenue. We had margaritas and 2 servings of their amazing guacamole before we headed to the wireless store to see Larry, the employee there. Tom and I both have a sort of crush on Larry, cause, well, he’s HOT. We’ve been in that store so many times buying new phones, headsets and carrying cases. Last night, I joined the nation of Lt, Uhura wannabes and got myself a Blue Tooth headset. (I’m going shopping for the micro-mini-skirt this weekend. I hope I can find all man-made materials still)

Walking out of the wireless store, Tom and I realized at about the same time, that we’ve run out of reasons to go visit Larry. Perhaps we’ll have to start returning items for exchange.

Either way, the dinner and the visit with Larry lifted my spirits and allowed me to sleep last night without worrying too much about what my new future holds for me.

Although, it is much more up in the air than it has ever been before.
– Title: decisions are a bitch

I’ve never been able to make decisions very easily. Any kind of decisions, large or small will often leave me reeling and unsure. For instance, the other night I needed comfort food. As TLBO can testify, I have a set standard for comfort food that was established one night many, many years ago when returning from a night dancing at the clubs, completely high off my ass. This standard consists of:

1 Tombstone Pizza (pepperoni and sausage, sprinkled with Italian Herb seasonings before cooking)
1 box of Wheat Thins
1 packet of Hidden Valley Ranch Party Dip Mix
1 carton of sour cream

After the pizza is thrown into the oven, I mix up the dip/sour cream combination and settle in front of the TV with the Wheat Thins, dipping away happily while waiting for the main course.

So the other night, I headed to the store for my standard, when I was required to make a decision. There was a sale on both the Tombstone pizzas AND Tontino’s Pizza Rolls. What to do? Who to call? How do I make this choice?

I picked up my new Motorola Razr cellular phone and dialed the only person capably of helping. Yes, TLBO. His suggestion to get both was not very helpful.

In the end, after pacing the frozen foods aisle for many minutes, I chose the Tontino’s Pizza rolls. It seems the small pastry pouches of golden goodness were too tempting to pass up. I’m sorry Tombstone.

Today, I was faced with a much more grave choice to make. Do I discard my pornography, or pack it up for the move? I’m a big fan of written porn. Over my time here in Chicago, I’ve accumulated a good supply of downloaded porn stories and books. Do I take all of this with me? Do I toss it into the trash like some unwanted gadget after all the entertaining moments I’ve shared with it on dark nights?

I chose the best of both. I sat here at my desk, like an Anderson Accounting agent working on the Enron account, shredding all of it for a good hour. I figure, if it is good enough to protect me, it is good enough to protect my glassware and breakables.

But I stand by my original statement. Decisions are hard. Just like math.
– Title: clarification

The request to light candles, say a prayer and do a little chant for me was for a good thing. I’m in a good place right now, so no worries. I just can’t say for what.

Last night, I went to see the Transporter 2 with Tom. As much as I worship Jason Statham, I was really under whelmed with this movie. The pure level of non-believability this movie presented made it rather hard to stomach. I sat there, in the darkened theatre, anxiously awaiting some exposed flesh from Mr. Statham throughout much of the film, with a brief flash of chest and an exposed arm. I felt robbed. Gotta tell ya though, the chick with the gun and the black mascara caked on her face was kinda hot. I’d do her. I’d have coffee with her.
– Title: light the world

If there is anyone out there that is even remotely religious, please light a candle, say a prayer or chant for me. I’m not saying why, but I really need the world to align right now to help me in this.
– Title: moving on

I apologize for going away my dear tens of readers. I needed to take a break from some drama that befell me due to my site. It was an eye-opening week filled with disappointment, surprise, and familial enlightenment. Upon my return, I’ve decided to remove the option to leave comments on my site. I’ve realized that I’ve stopped writing for myself, and found that I’ve focused my thoughts more in attempts to garner comments. The problem with this is that lately, a few commenters have assumed that their knowledge of me is greater than it actually is.

I never realized just how public this forum has made my thoughts until now. I never realized that my family knew of this site and was pleasantly surprised to learn that my brother has been reading it for some time. I was saddened to find that my sister-in-law holds such a low view of who she thinks I am.

So from now on, if anyone wishes to leave a comment for me, please drop me an e-mail. You’ll find it on the left column or at the bottom of the page.

For those of you that read me regularly, and do not judge my life, thank you for your support. I never said I was perfect, the whole point of this site is to allow me to muddle thru my thoughts, to learn about myself by exploring my feelings, and to practice the art of writing.
– Title:

I often wonder about my past and its affects on my present and future. I wonder when I look back at my actions if there is anybody out there that can truly understand me and still be able to love me for me. (Bad spelling and all “jm”) Somebody that can accept my many years of drug use and my less than common sexual practices.

I’m often nervous when I meet somebody new that I’m interested in getting to know better. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve heard the words “I’m probably not as wild as you’re used to”, or “ I’m interested, but you’ll have to teach me some of the more intense stuff”.

It saddens me to think that I come with pre-conceived notions of who I am, based on my past experiences and actions. Notions that are not even close to actual. Have I been that foolish to think that I’d find somebody that would be able to look past all that crap cluttering my past and see the real person underneath? Have I assumed that there is a valiant knight to rescue me from loneliness and pain?

The one thing that stands out in my memory of coming out to my mother was her statement that she was afraid I’d have a lonely life, that I’d always be alone. The more time that passes, the more I see can see the basis for her worry.

Then to be attacked by my own family on my own web site, fills me with something I cannot even describe. I’m sad that my sister-in-law found it necessary to slam me in such a way. I’ve always liked her and tried to stand up for her in the many family conversations that have occurred over the years she’s been married to my brother.

Sad indeed.

Maybe it is the change of life that is happening that is making me think this way. Maybe it’s all because of my mother (if you believe the comment posted yesterday), or maybe it’s just that I’m growing up and starting to take responsibility for my own actions and how they’ve affected my life. Maybe I’m wondering where I’m culpable in my situation. Maybe I’m finally asking the questions that I’ve avoided for so long. Maybe I’m starting to feel strong enough to not care what other, less open-minded people think.

I’m concerned. I’m concerned about my future and my new start in the Pacific Northwest. I’m concerned this move will prove that it is all me after all; that I am fundamentally flawed and not lovable.

However, for the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I’m running away from something. I’m ready to stand and face my demons, be they family or stranger. I’m ready to feel good about myself again regardless of what anybody else tells me.I say this. Bring it biyatch!
– Title: Cover Letter

As you all know, I’m moving to the west coast within 2 months. As such, I am in need of employment opportunities. Realizing that I have no idea how to write a cover letter, I turned to my goood friend Tom to assist. Below is what I received back.

August 31, 2005

To whom it may concern:

I am looking for work. Please hire me.

For a big boy, I don’t whine too much. I promise I won’t spend too many office hours surfing for porn on the web. Honest. And I won’t trash the company on my personal blog site: www.beyondbuffalo.com

For references, please call Tom. I’m his bitch, and he will give me a good reference. Or at least a good spanking.

Sincerely yours,

I think I have a good chance with a cover letter like that. Especially if it is a gay S&M owned business.
– Title: new new new

I had 3 more airlines to write about today, but I’m going to forgo those stories instead to tell you this.

Ouch
Ouch
Ouch
Ouch

Why am I in pain? You may be wondering.

Oh, I don’t know, maybe because I spent close to 4 hours in a chair being stuck repeatedly with 3-7 needles at a time in high-powere procession. Yes kids, I started my tattoo last night.

Here are a few pics of what transpired last night.

This is what it will look like when it is finished.

A huge thanks to Dave for that link yesterday to the British Bearways site. I laughed my ass off.
– Title:

What a weekend!

I went camping with Crazy Michael (CM) to a little les-bi-trans-gay-sexual®camp ground in the wilds of Western Michigan called Campit. I refuse to go into the sordid little details of what transpired in the woods after the sun had set and the drag queens had completed their performances. Let’s just say that the wilds of Michigan are indeed wild.

While on the 2+ hour drive, CM and I took to developing new airlines specifically for the les-bi-trans-gay-sexual traveling public. It all began when we passed a sign in beautiful Gary, IN advertising $99.00 round trip to Las Vegas aboard HOOTERS AIR. Our extrapolation to the most absurd degree is what follows:

BONDAGE AIR
Amenities aboard our fleet of 4 luxurious Jumbo jets painted in flesh colors, with a simulated black leather harness surrounding the fuselage and the leather colors proudly waving on the tail are extensive. We offer two classes of service, Rubber class and Leather class with our Flight Slaves, Dominatrix and Masters in coordinating thongs to serve you. Our leather/rubber upholstered seats come with wrist and full body restraints. We are proud to offer Budweiser products served in cans and our complimentary ball-gags for the slaves traveling with us. Our in-flight entertainment includes vintage porn and Golden Girls reruns.

For flights over 2 hours, we invite you to visit the world’s only in-flight dungeon, complete with St Andrew’s cross, bi-level glory hole room and sex maze.

We hope your flight is painful and we look forward to whipping you again.

BEAR AIR
Bear air is proud to offer our guests extra wide seats and center aisles. You’ll appreciate that extra room as you return from our non-stop in-flight buffet served on paper plates, to your flannel upholstered seats and complimentary teddy bear pillows. Red-Eye flights will enjoy a non-stop pizza buffet. For your in-flight entertainment, Bear Air signed an exclusive deal with the Sci-Fi Channel to re-broadcast all of your favorite series while show tunes and country music is available on your personal headsets. (Available for a nominal $5.00 fee)

TWINK X-PRESS
Twink X-press exists to shuttle our circuit boy clients to/from all the world’s best parties. You’ll enjoy our high energy music and light show as you settle into your seats for your flight to Hotlanta, San Francisco, Ibiza and the grandest of them all, the White Party in Palm Springs. The entertainment doesn’t stop there. Twink X-Press provides all of our party boys with an unlimited supply of bottled water and orange halves. Our unique seats offer mirrored tray tables and include the latest cuts from the best DJ’s the world has to offer.
Don’t forget to visit our in-flight pharmacy and our “Boy Boutique” for the latest and greatest in party pills and fashion on the upper deck. You don’t need to worry about a thing with Twink X-Press; we’ve got you covered with complimentary sarongs and on-board EMT’s should any of your drugs not mix well.

Don’t wait till you get to the party to start, start the party with Twink X-Press.

Tomorrow will bring you the next 3 concepts we’d like to push on the traveling les-bi-trans-gay-sexual® public.

Until then…
– Title: cha cha cha changes

My how things can change in a minute.

I believe there are greater powers working in my life right now. Ken’s admonishment about my dislike of Chicago (A world-class city in its own right) and calls to stop whining like some little girl who lost her Barbie Doll’s head must have kicked something into gear, that set off a series of events that may, just may allow me to stop whining about Chicago, and begin whining about an entirely new locale.

Yesterday, my lovely roommate inquired about what plans I had for that evening. Telling her “Nothing, my life is dull and boring” she told me that was good because she wanted to talk to me. “Awe Jeez, now what did I do wrong?” thinking I complained about something, or didn’t do something that I should have.

“No, No nothing like that” I was told “its more about us living together period”. (I’m paraphrasing here, these are not her exact words, I’m pumping them up to be more dramatic.) (Pretty good huh?)

Well, as it turns out, she wants to change roommates. Her roommate, previous to me, recently broke up with his boyfriend and needs to move out and would like to live with her again. She agreed and that’s what started this whole mess that has my life in turmoil. But turmoil is not all bad.

I have a choice to make.

a.) Stay in Chicago, rent a new apartment and sign a new 1-year lease. Continue hating my very existence, thus allowing me an unbridled opportunity to bitch and moan about how miserable and lonely I am.

b.) Move.

I’m leaning towards Number b.

I’ve narrowed my destination to the Pacific Northwest. Seattle, Portland or Vancouver, BC I’m really leaning towards Seattle I must admit. I’d like to ride the wave of success that this new little company called “Microsoft” is having on the area. I think it might just be something big in the near future.

So, now to find a job there, Save some money (or rob a bank) to pay for this little move of mine. I’m also thinking that maybe the “Mommy-Wagon” should be traded in on something with 4 4 for the rainy wet mountains I’ll be driving through as I live the typical PNW adventurous, outdoor-living, Mountain Bike riding, Kayaking… (You get the picture) lifestyle.

Or should I move to Portland?

Decisions! Decisions!
– Title: Hello Moto

I’ve gone and changed my world.

I’ve been with Sprint PCS mobile phone service for many many years. You wouldn’t be able to tell from looking at my contract, because they re-start it every time you make a minor change on your account. You want to receive e-mail bills? Sure, we’ll just re-start your contract from day one. You want to cancel the Vision portion of your service? Sure, just let me go ahead and re-new your 2-year contract and I’ll take care of it.

Well, after dealing with worsening reception and customer service that seems to be on autopilot, I’ve had enough.

Yesterday, I received yet again, a text message (that I’ll probably be charged for) trying to sell me yet another service for Sprint. I’d begun receiving these text messages from them 3 months ago, and each week, when I receive a new text message, I follow the instructions included to “stop” receiving future messages, and each week, there is a new text messages trying to sell me something new.

I phoned the Customer Service Department where the robots read a script basically repeating everything you say 3-5 times throughout the conversation, confirming that they are helping with what you called for, then confirming that they understood what you called for, then confirming that they are fixing what you called for, then confirming that they have solved your problem. Upon the final confirmation script repetition, they begin the process of ending the call by offering you a free second phone with a new second line. “No, thank you.” Then on to adding new services. “No, thank you.” Finally I just hung up on him as he continued along his sales route.

So I went out (after much research to phones, plans, and pricing options) and changed services. Oh, and I got this super cute phone here.

The man that sold me the service was a beautiful eastern European man with a nice butt and a beautiful demeanor.

Now the process of transferring all my numbers into the new phone and the fight with Sprint to avoid paying a termination fee on service that sucks ASS begins.

Wish me luck and be jealous of my fabulousness.
– Title: Could I please have a match?

As I settle into my cramped and dog hair covered home office this morning, sipping on my freshly brewed Starbucks coffee (Tall coffee in a Grande cup topped with soy please) my Einstein’s Bagel lightly toasted and covered with plain lite cream cheese already eaten and my anti-depression medicine swallowed down, I’m ready to start my morning, making cold-calls, the part of my job that I despise. I often wonder what I was thinking 15 years ago when I agreed to take a job in the cargo operations side of Japan Airlines. Why didn’t I request, no demand, the much more glamorous task of Passenger Service Agent?

Oh yes, that’s right I remember why… It got me out of my parent’s house and to the farthest point away from them on the continent. The glorious San Francisco Bay Area where I would begin my adult life and experience so many mistakes that would ultimately lead me down the path of life that dropped me in Chicago like an engine falling off of a DC-10 aircraft in the 1970’s. I crashed into Chicago in an enviable position that would quickly change for the worse; leaving me reeling and wondering what I’d done wrong to have karma treat me so badly. I was offered the world (on an air cargo budget) and I took it. A huge pay raise, an even larger territory and a goal of developing a crack sales force to cover it, all of them reporting to me. Ha Ha I was now to be the boss.

Of a single sales representative it would turn out, who apparently never quit his last position with one of my competitors thereby collecting at least 2 paychecks and doing little work for either. That would be the beginning of the end for my successful management career. Shortly after this bomb hit, the entire national sales force was restructured, fired (laid off is much more politically correct but less honest) and replaced with people at the corporate office in Santa Clara, California.

I’ve bounced around the Chicago Air cargo job market a tad bit in the 3 years since not really feeling like I fit in here in the Midwest. My personal life is less than enviable as I’ve developed no truly close friends in my more than five years here. I have friends, but none that would remove my collection of porn, fetish wear and toys (FYI, It is all in my closet and night stand, be sure to check the cabinets as well.) before my parents come to claim my belongings (oh and don’t forget the computer porn and the CD’s in the cabinet above my desk), should my body be discovered in some alleyway (I’m sure it would be in a compromising position. I just have a feeling is all…). I picture my body being found wrapped in saran wrap and duct tape, hooded and gagged when they find it. But that is a story for a different time.

All of this negative movement in the past 5 years has truly affected my ego, leaving me feeling like Farah Fawcett just before she set her husband’s character on fire in that now infamous made for television movie, “The Burning Bed”. Beaten, bruised, and begging for it to all just stop. So I’m now shopping for kerosene. I’m ready to burn the bed that is my life here in Chicago.

Think warm thoughts for me. The warmer the better to start a fire.
– Title: Come back to the 5 and 10 Barbara

I’ve realized that you people, my beloved tens of readers, have slowly stopped visiting BeyondBuffalo.com. This pains me. So I sat around my lovely apartment all of last week pondering what to do to gain back your love, to renew your adoration for my words and life tales. This calls for rash action on my part. Something needs to happen to regain your love. Ever the “pleaser”, I’ve taken it upon myself to solve this problem. Here are some of my thoughts (so far). Feel free to share which solution you would like to see.

I thought about offering an array of wonderful parting gifts for each person that took the time to visit me and read about my life (such as it is). I decided against this due to the trouble of finding corporations stupid gullible enough to donate gifts/services towards my worthy cause. Besides I couldn’t figure out who actually makes Rice-a-Roni.

I thought about perhaps promising to compromise myself for my art and sleep visit with each of you and buy you a coffee with the funds available to me on my Starbucks Card. I was forced to disregard this option due to the fact that my Starbucks Card currently has $0.53 available which, truth be told, I would rather use towards my own morning cup of coffee.

For one brief moment, I considered renting out Richard Branson’s private island and whisking all my readers off for a week of pampered luxury in the Caribbean paradise. Unfortunately, Mr. Branson’s private island is booked up thru the end of the year. (I checked)

So what do I do?

Perhaps, just perhaps, I should return to my core concept and maybe entertain you once again. Come up with some witty, alternative view of my world (and yours, we all share this planet Mr. Shrub. There’s no reason to be so selfish.)

I believe my solution will be to add more descriptive adjectives and adverbs into my writing style. I’ll take a page from Ms. Sandra Bernhard and describe everything to its most unlikely and absurdly minute detail. You’ll know all about the color, the smell, the brand, and the taste of everything I encounter. For you, my dear readers, I’ll lick everything I come into contact with. I love you that much.

I must warn you that I’m slightly color blind, so my descriptions of color may be a tad bit off. Oh and my medicine gives me horrible dry mouth, so the taste will be ever so slightly skewed as well. I should probably also point out that I have horrible allergies which effect my sense of smell thus rendering all scents a tad bit off.

I promise, however, to do my best to share with you the true senses of my life. For you, my readers, I’ll do this.

I Need Love you that much!
– Title: trudging on

After spending a great day with Tom shopping for the Vodka I sampled in Vancouver, and not finding it, we hit a few more stores. Tom really helped to get my mind off that thing that happened Saturday night. Another thing that helped was his non-stop litany of jokes repeated from the movie “The Aristocrats” we had seen Friday night after work. I won’t go into it, but if you like raunchy humor, this is the movie for you. Pay special attention to Sara Silverman and her segment.

Even with the distractions, there were lingering thoughts poking thru from time to time. I’m pretty much past it. I’d admitted I was scared, but there was more. There was a sense of guilt for not having stood up for myself, embarrassment that I let myself get into that situation in the first place, and moments of laughing at my reactions to the situation while it was happening. For instance, when he was trying to reach me by going around the sign, he dropped his CD Player, the CD popped out and bounced across the platform. Me, ever the helpful person, stopped to point out that his CD player had fallen, momentarily attempted to assist picking it up, before I realized that this was the time to make my get away as he was scrambling for his CD. I completely forgot that I am 6’5” (ish) tall and could have probably scared him more with my height and size than he did me had I been more aggressive with him. No, I felt like I was the wimp of my high school football team being thrown into the garbage can after practice again. I felt small like a little kid afraid to stand up for himself because he never thought he should get into fights.

This morning as I was sitting at my desk working, (yes I worked today) I had another thought. Who did I call when I needed to be calmed and comforted? Three days have passed and I have yet to pick up the telephone to inform any member of my blood family. No, I called Padre (for his spiritual ness) and TLBO, cause well I always go to TLBO when I need to be truly comforted. For all his ADHD faults, he has always been there for me when I really needed him.

When TLBO and I were roommates, and I apologize if I’ve already written about this, he was a joy to share a house with. I cannot count the number of Friday afternoons where I would pull into the driveway and hear Gloria Estefan blaring from the windows of the house, only to find TLBO cleaning and vacuuming in his red cha cha heels. If I ever hear Gloria, Whitney, Maria, or J-Lo, I am immediately transported back to the year we spent in that little house in San Francisco. As an example of how TLBO was always looking out for my best interests, let me share with you how he handled telling me sensitive information.

I arrived home from work where he met me at the door, took my hand and led me to the couch in the living room. He sat me down and pressed a Xanax or some anti-anxiety medication into my hand, gave me a glass of water and informed me he’d be back in a few minutes when that had kicked in. Minutes later, he returned with a serious look on his face, and he joined me on the couch, held my hand and told me that we were being evicted from the house because our landlady wanted to move back into her own house.

He always told me better living through modern medicine.

Thank you all for your concern and words of well wishes. They mean a lot to me.
– Title: Taking the train

I’m still shaking. Earlier tonight, I was supposed to meet Crazy Michael for a movie. We were going to co-ordinate the train and meet up at my local “EL” stop on Argyle. The thing is, Crazy Michael never called me, and so I decided to head over to the train in hopes of meeting up with him.

As I was standing on the platform waiting for the next train, a black man walked up the stairs onto the platform mumbling incoherently (I believe he was singing along to his CD player) walked into the glassed in area, pulled out his dick and started taking a piss. He was vocal about it, “ooohs”, “aaahs” and “damns” bellowed from him as he relieved himself on the platform. Once I realized what was happening, I moved further down the platform and jumped up to sit on a garbage bin lid to wait for the train without being forced to endure his vocal performance.

Once he finished, he proceeded to gather his belongings and headed in my direction. He had his fist out towards me as he approached, apparently looking for a “bump”, to which I replied, “Get away from me”. (Not the right thing to say I guess looking back)

He stopped, turned and looked at me with his glazed over eyes and started spewing expletives wondering why I wouldn’t give a brother a “bump”, asking aren’t we brothers and getting more and more agitated. I started to get nervous and offered a kindly, “Man, I don’t even know what a “bump” is” to which he replied “Are you that lame”? I thought for a minute about the best way to diffuse this and replied, “Yeah, I guess I am that lame” and shrugged my shoulders as if that would show him that I was merely a backwards country boy without much “street” knowledge.

Again, wrong tactic to take with a drunk, angry black man on a dark and deserted train platform. Here my recollection gets fuzzy cause it all happened so fast, he started swinging at me, pulling his punches before the made contact. I stood up from the garbage bin lid telling him that I wasn’t looking for trouble; I was just waiting for the train. He grabbed his hat off his head, threw it to the ground and dug deep into his pocket, mumbling about where is… I decided it was time to remove myself and headed towards the stairs followed quickly by my would be attacker on the opposite side of the billboard running down the center of the platform. He sped up to cut me off, hands still in his pocket digging for something (which I think was a knife because that’s what it sounded like he was saying). I doubled back and as he turned to meet me, I doubled back again and sprinted for the stairs taking them 2 or 3 at a time. He didn’t follow me down.

I ran with all my speed down the stairs into the station where I was greeted by an Asian man that was running into the station, having seen what was going on from the street below, asking if I was OK. I said yeah and we both alerted the station agent, gave a description of the guy, to which I added, he was the only guy up there. (The Asian man described him as a Ni… catching himself when he realized he was talking to a Black woman, corrected himself with Bla… then once again with African American)

Feeling foolish now for running from this guy and being protected by a woman, (mind you, she was taller and bigger than I so I shouldn’t have felt foolish) I left the station quickly then ran home, looking over my shoulder the entire way.

It brought back all my memories of conflicts in grade school and high school where physical violence was always the first answer. Why, in an age of civilization is there still this much random violence? Why are men taught to answer every criticism with fists? Why did it have to be a black man to further ingrain the very stereotypes I fight to avoid and push from my head daily. The stereotypes I was raised with, reinforced by media and peers, to the point of acknowledging there may be some truth to them, after all, stereotypes exist for a reason. They develop out of experience, shadowed by bigotry, re-enforced by observation.

My observation tonight solidified a certain bigotry into my fibre. Not about black people in general, more about specific black men, that dress like thugs, gangsta rappers, whatever you wish to call the look, and approach people with glazed over eyes looking to establish their ignorant excuse for dominance over another person.

Yes, I’m still shaking, but now that the immediate threat is gone, I’m shaking with anger that this individual could have had such a profound influence on my life had I not fled.
– Title: tell me a story

Earlier, Tom and I went out to grab a late bite to eat, and while I was driving to the restaurant, we were talking, I was telling him about TMWTFS. He inturrupted me and said, “flat stomachs are not always a good thing”

“Why not” I bit

“I once dated an olympic powerlifter that had a flat stomach, and the first time I put my hand under his shirt and thought he had a tumor until I realized it was a six-pack”

This is why I count Tom as a friend. He can always put things into a new perspective.
– Title: Friendship

I’ve been thinking about friendship a lot lately, about my friends, and about what exactly defines a true friendship.

My trip to Canada brought up many issues for me, ones that I’m thankful to be made aware of, but issues nonetheless. AP and I have an interesting friendship. I thoroughly enjoy knowing him, but I must be honest there are times that he’s frustrating, annoying and needy. (and I’m sure the same could be said of me) Yet, for some reason, those very qualities make me love him more. It shows me that he is human, that he is imperfect, and that he is ever evolving. I’ve often wondered why, with all that we’ve been thru in the past 3 years, we’re still friends. I haven’t been able to put my finger on it, but there is something beautiful and awe inspiring about knowing him that refills my spirit and keeps me coming back for more. I wish I could put a word on what he means to me, but there are so many things, good and bad, both uplifting and sad, a true paradox and a complex person that I enjoy getting to know.

So I know that AP is a friend, but how do I know that he is a good, true friend? How do people transform from the level of acquaintance to friend? Is there a point in time and space where it is decided?

When I was little, it was so much easier to establish friendships and develop relationships. All I had to do was walk up to a girl (I WAS a little gay boy after all) and ask her to be my friend and if she didn’t find me repulsive or offensive the answer would be “sure” and we’d go off and play on the swing set or some other childhood activity. As I grew up, it got much more difficult, almost to the point of implausibility. As a 36-year-old gay man, I can’t exactly walk up to someone and ask him or her if they’d be my friend. They’d think I was a nut job, or worse, a needy fag.

But is it so wrong to be a needy fag? Everyone needs interaction of some sort. To be loved, to be reflected in society, to be held accountable for their actions and called on their shit when they can’t see it on their own.

And this is the point that has me the most intrigued. Would TLBO, AP and Married Well be as close to me as they are, if they never called me on my shit? Would I still have as much love for TL as I do if he didn’t call me on my shit, and then forgive me?

Can you be a friend to another person and never be entirely authentic with them?
– Title: oh My

I’m happy to report that there are men out there more sick and twisted than I myself am. For instance the person that found Beyond Buffalo by googling :

“take a hit of poppers before i shove my fist up your ass”

What a glorious world we live in.

Pass me the poppers
– Title: Difference between Night and Canada

I’ve returned to Chicago after a wonderful week in Vancouver. In all honesty, I really do not want to be home. As the airplane landed in Seattle my mood sank and I wished I could turn around and go back. And this is why…

You all remember the story I told about arriving in Vancouver and how pleasant the Canadian Customs Agent was. Now picture the exact opposite for the return to the US. Being a US Citizen, I assumed (incorrectly) that US Customs and Immigration would be no big issue, since all my experiences in the past have been pleasant. I approached the agent and handed him my passport and immigration form.

“Why were you in Canada?”
“I was visiting a friend” I said
“Where did you stay?”
“With him” wondering where this was going.
“Where does he live?”
“Someplace in Vancouver” hating the intrusions.
“What do you do for a living?”
Wondering why this mattered, I replied “Sales.”
“What kind of sales do you do?”
This continued until he knew the name of my company, the date of my first orgasm and when I had my Wisdom teeth removed. I’d never encountered such a personal history search in my entire life and I wondered what the fuck all this information gave him as to whether I could come back into MY OWN COUNTRY or not.

Once I had satisfied his probing, I continued on to the immigration agent, and the exact same set of questions. If this is how Innocent US Citizens are treated, I shudder at the thought of how our friends from other countries are treated.

But let me finish off the rest of my trip before I forget all that occurred.

Saturday morning AP, and the Guest Boys and I headed to this delightful diner called Elbow Room for breakfast, where the solitary waitress berated us and harassed us and treated us in a generally shitty manner. She came to the table and asked if we wanted coffee, and immediately advised us that she was too busy and if we wanted coffee, it was “over there” and we needed to get it ourselves. This, by the way, is the point of Elbow Room and they do it perfectly.

After breakfast, we met up with the girls from Seattle (actual lesbians) and we shared coffee and truly interesting conversation. I wished I could have talked with them further, but I accepted an invite from Carl, the Australian and headed over to his flat to meet him and his partner for a few drinks. We talked for a bit before they gathered me up and whisked me off to a house warming party a few blocks away. From this party, we watched the fireworks competition (Sweden’s fireworks were all timed to an Abba medley.) I was truly impressed with Carl. Throughout the evening, he would occasionally check in with me to make sure I was doing ok, and having a good time. I’ve dated men that weren’t that considerate, and I was very thankful and impressed by it.

At this party, I was introduced to Glenn when he leaned over to the host and, in a voice loud enough for me to hear, he inquired who the silent boy on the edge of the couch was. Glenn has the most beautiful eyes and the thickest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. He was sweet and we chatted throughout the evening. I left with him and a friend of his (whom I thought was his boyfriend) and headed home.

Sunday was Pride. Prior to the parade, the Guest boys joined AP at church for the 9:30am service while I walked the Labyrinth in the other wing of the church, a truly unique and interesting experience that I wish I had the time to do again.

Monday, we took the ferry to Victoria, B.C. where we toured the provincial government house of parliament and took High Tea at the Fairmont Empress Hotel. A truly fabulous thing that everyone should do once in his or her lives.

Now… on to the photos.

day1
My first day in Vancouver, AP and I on a walk, stopped for a photo op.

fresca
On the route to Whistler, I found a Fresca! When is the last time you saw one of these?

Vancouver from Stanley park
I snapped this picture while walking around Stanley Park
close-up
Looking thru my pictures, I saw this little guy with the red mohawk and had to enlarge it. So cute.

Cruise to Victoria
Taken on the cruise to Victoria, B.C. (Vancouver Island)

High Tea
The Guest boys, AP and I at High Tea at the Empress Hotel.

hats.jpg
Girls who take High Tea also wear hats.

Fairies on the ferry
This says it all… Fairies on the Ferry.
– Title: Shopping for Pine Cones and coming to terms

Day three found my host, Anonymous Padre driving me and two other guests north into the Canadian wilderness. Our plan was to drive north to Whistler and take in the sights of the countryside. I must admit the winding highway hugging the cliffs over the bay afforded one spectacular view after another, and in many ways, this area of the country reminds me of Northern California. The forests, the cliffs and the active outdoor lifestyle many residents here enjoy are a bittersweet reminder of what I left behind when I decided to move to Chicago.

We got halfway to Whistler and stopped for lunch at a roadside café (actually it was a Canadian chain similar to Denny’s) where I had a hamburger (cooked well-done, by law) and fries with gravy. Yes that’s right, gravy. Rich beef gravy slathered over the fries. I must admit, I may have fallen in love with this concept, and will do all I can to import it back to the US and urge it to grow and prosper.

After lunch, we headed back to Vancouver instead of continuing on to Whistler. We stopped in a park on the north side of the city called Cypress Bowl affording amazing views of the entire Vancouver area. (again, pictures to follow).

Arriving back in the city, we took “quiet time” for about an hour before heading out for martinis. Now, I’ve always been partial to Chopin Vodka, the last truly great potato(e) vodka, but I tried a brand I’d never heard of and it gave Chopin a run for its money and may have unseated the reigning leader. After 3 of these little beauties we headed off to dinner at a stylish joint called “Lift” where I was somewhat ignored by Anonymous Padre and his love interest the Pagan Diamond Dealer. A C$85.00 crab cake later, I excused myself to hit the loo and returned to an impassioned declaration about a dramatic situation involving Anonymous Padre and the Pagan Diamond Dealer. I listened to his speech with a blank face and replied, “I leave on Tuesday, I really don’t care” and shortly later informed Anonymous Padre that I felt like a third wheel and I was ready to leave.

This was a huge step for me since I’ve never in my life told someone that I was feeling left out or that I was uncomfortable. It was a quiet and awkward walk back to the apartment where we had a “come-to-Jesus” talk and resolved some major issues faced this weekend. We talked until 2:30 when The Guest Boys returned from their night on the town and calling it a night.

This morning I’m off to do a little shopping.
– Title: musings on acceptance

The walk along the coast from Yaletown to Stanley Park was lovely. Around every corner was another man more beautiful than the last. The closer I got to the park, the beauty factor jumped exponentially and I was happy to see it.

I wandered around the island most of the afternoon, ducking in and out of the sun, and in and out of the trees as I covered most of the island in about 3 hours.

I swear Vancouver is the gayest city I’ve ever been to, and I’ve spent time in Amsterdam. I saw more male-male couples walking hand-in-hand throughout this city in displays of love and togetherness that give me hope. As an example of how gay friendly this place is, their immigration forms specifically state a family is anybody that lives in the same household. When I walked thru immigrations the agent took my paperwork and passport and asked me one single question. “What brings you to Canada?” For some reason, my response was “For gay pride.” She handed my forms and passport back and smiled brightly and said, have a great time and sent me on my way.

For the first time in my life I felt like I needn’t be afraid of a government. It was very nice
– Title: O Canada

I arrived safe and sound in Vancouver about an hour ago (midnight) and the air is crisp and clear, the streets are clean (from 90kmh) and the cold beer is extremely refreshing.

The moment I stepped in line to go thru what the US Government laughingly calls security, I remembered again why I have cut back on my travel. Its ridiculous. For some reason, the TSA (Transportation Security Administration) agents in Chicago require you to remove your footwear before walking thru the metal detectors. This evening, I was wearing flip-flops. I figured I’d be safe with flip-flops. I checked the TSA website and was provided with an answer to my question of “Am I required to remove my footwear?” It states

You are not required to remove your shoes before you enter the walk-through metal detector. However, TSA screeners may encourage you to remove them before entering the metal detector, as certain types of footwear, e.g., thick soles, require additional screening, even if the metal detector does not alarm. Selecting footwear accordingly may expedite the screening process for you.

I would have no problem with removing my shoes, if indeed, that was the official regulation put out, but for the agents in Chicago to completely disregard the very words the head office in Washington DC put out, is pure bullshit and it automatically puts me into a nasty mood. I walked up to the metal detector with my shoes on and this bitch of a TSA agent actually yelled at me to remove my shoes. I mean yelled at me like I was a 5 year old. God forbid I confront her with their own regulations; I’d be thrown in jail as a terrorist. THIS is what this country has become and it’s disgusting. FUCKING BITCH.

And I move on…

My flight was delayed leaving Chicago for some unknown reason, making my connection in Seattle questionable for the 4-hour duration of the flight. Trapped in the middle seat, at 35,000 feet wondering if I would be spending the night in a hotel in Seattle or at Anonymous Padre’s apartment in Vancouver is not an enviable position to be in. I arrived with 45 minutes to spare and trudged to my Alaska Airlines Commuter connection. They served me beer. I forgot Vancouver was an international flight and alcoholic beverages are complimentary. I managed to suck down 2 in the 40-minute flight.
I’m watching Anonymous Padre make my bed, so I shall log off and return tomorrow with tales from Canada.
– Title: Happy Birthday

Happy Birthday to me! Happy Birthday to me!

No it’s not my Birthday; I just celebrated that 2 weeks ago. It is however, the 1st Birthday of Beyond Buffalo. One whole year. I had expected so much more to be quite honest with you. When I decided to commit and have a blog, I looked forward to the many intimate times we would spend together, bonding, talking about our shared histories, dreams and experiences. I envisioned you growing into a strong and able bodied being, capable of standing on your own, and who knows, maybe even helping to support your old man when ya got a little older.

This year has been a mixture of joy, sadness and unexplained emotional dependence. I figured we’d bond, get attached and want to spend time together. I visualized teaching you and watching you take your first steps in this world. I never imagined how quickly you would spread your love worldwide. Really, I didn’t even know Bahrain allowed internet access let alone access to a gay blog, and yet, you managed to find someone in Bahrain for me. I love you Beyond Buffalo.

I look forward to your terrible twos. You’ve gotten new clothes that look like they fit you much better than the diapers you wore as an infant. You’re growing up so fast bloggy that I fear you’ll head off to college and then the corporate world before I realize how fast you’re growing up. Then I’ll be left alone again watching from the sidelines while your life takes on new meaning and your success blossoms.

All this because I got drunk one night and well, one thing led to another, and in the morning I knew my life would be different. You were not exactly an accident, like we’ve been telling you. You were wanted Sweetie. Daddy wanted you.

I raise a glass of Lactaid to your future, Beyond Buffalo. May it be filled with laughter, love and interesting experiences. It’s all in the way you look at it anyway.
– Title: the wonders of the slow cooker

I’m a bad cook. I’m a very bad cook. I tried again today. When will I ever learn?

Who in god’s name invented the crock-pot? What evil, demented person thought up the concept of throwing ingredients into an electrified stone pot and walking away for hours upon hours at a time?

I succumbed to the pressure this afternoon and pulled the crock down from the highest shelf in the pantry (placed high for safety reasons). I gathered the ingredients from the refrigerator, the cutting board and a sharp knife and set to work. I chopped, diced I cut a lot of things into smaller things. Then, I made the worst mistake of the entire process. I opted for rice instead of small red skinned potatoes.

What did I make? Rice Paste with Chicken. I could have repaired the Great Wall of China with the rice paste I made today.

To correct the picture above…

102 things to do with a slow cooker.

#102 – make rice paste
– Title: focus-on-dog-food

Can I start a new career as a Marketing Focus Group participant? I’d really like to and here’s why. They feed you. They pay you. You meet new people and you talk about interesting products, concepts and ideas. Oh, and all the Diet Coke(t) I could pour down my greedy little throat.

Let me back up. A few months ago, a dear friend poured coffee on my beloved, but now dead apple. Feeling bad about what he’d done, he forwarded me a posting from Craig’s list about a focus group for owners of luxury vehicles. (I knew the mommy wagon would help get me ahead in life) This focus group offered $350.00 for 3 hours of my time. I figured I could use $350.00 and that my time was worth at least that so I followed up and sent them an e-mail offering to take their money my services.

You can imagine my surprise, when they returned my call and offered me a slot in the group. On top of this, they had raised the offering to $500.00, which was much more in line with what I truly believe my time is worth. Much like the crushing defeat the rebels of Grenada felt when our beloved President Ronald Reagan squashed their uprising with the full might of the United States Armed Services, I was crushed when they told me the date I was to report. It was the day that I was to be on an airplane to spend a glorious weekend in NYC with MW and his lovely Husband, who I think I’ll start calling LH for lovely Husband.

Alas, my dreams of living off other people’s money were put on the back burner and I reluctantly returned to my workplace with renewed vigor (ok, I actually typed that with a straight face).

Then, on Monday afternoon, it happened. I received a telephone call from, I’ll call her Vicky cause, well, that was her name, inviting me to partake in a special focus group.

The topic was dog food. How exciting, knowing that my time and energy would go towards making the world a better place for pets like Stella and KoKo. My input would guide a company forward in its quest to make profits provide healthy nutritious foods.

I was honored to share my unique knowledge with them at a gross profit of a whopping $75.00. Apparently pet food doesn’t pay as well as luxury vehicles.

Arriving for the group 15 minutes early, anxious to make a good first impression, I realized that I had forgotten to shower that day. “I’ll keep to the edges of the room, keep a little distance and nobody will be the wiser” I thought and luckily it worked. I didn’t want to risk this new profitable venture I was beginning.

They offered us a selection of sandwiches (with chips) and beverages and then they took us into the room with a wall of mirrors and began their study, poking and prodding us for input, grinding us for clarification on our thoughts and feelings, pounding the information they needed from us like residents of the Guantanimo Bay resort in sunny Cuba.

Spent, from the emotional adversity forced upon us, we slowly filtered out of the room. The sharpness of the light burned our eyes as we made our way towards the exits, only to be stopped at the door where they slipped a white envelope with our names carelessly scrawled across the front. Oh, we took their cash. We took it for the pain, the blood, the sweat, and the emotions they’d take from us. I took their cash (and another can of Diet Coke) and headed out into the night, exhilarated with this new experience, hungry for more focus groups.

I took their money to dollar drink night at the Chicago Eagle. I figured, hell, I have $75.00 how many $1 drinks can I get for that? I never figured the answer out. I went to public school and math is hard.
– Title: musings about pot

I’m confused by many many things in this crazy, madcap and zany world. I’m confused about trends; I’m confused about this society’s priorities and its laws.

Take for instance, this news article that Married Well linked to. Now, if you read this article carefully, you will see that this man murdered his daughter and her best friend about a month after his release from prison. I agree that this is a heinous crime, but take a moment to read further, and you will find that he was arrested for possession of Marijuana in his younger days.

Follow my thought process with me here. Perhaps, just perhaps, Marijuana was legal, since in reality it is much less damaging to society than alcohol, and this man was never arrested for possession, in fact, he regularly smoked marijuana even to this day. Do you think he would have stabbed his 8-year-old daughter and her 9-year-old best friend to death if he were stoned? I would gage that, no, he would not. Why? Stoners are not violent people.

I would suggest keeping violent people stoned. Hell, I would suggest keeping our leaders in Washington stoned. I’d like to see some of the legislation they pass while stoned, you can be sure it isn’t anywhere near as fucked up as the shit they’re working on now. Imagine if you will a world where people giggled uncontrollably, thought up silly notions and crazy plans of actions. A world where people rolled off chairs in crowded bars because they couldn’t stop laughing. A world where “Stinky” does back flips into an algae filled pond while partaking in San Francisco’s Bay to Breakers Marathon.

Someday, I’ll tell you that story.
– Title: questions to the universe

I haven’t been in the mood to write anything for the past several days. I’m not sure what has caused it, but it’s become worrisome. I usually enjoy writing, whether its to clear my head of something, to pass on something funny that happened to me or someone I know, or hell, even if its just to bitch. But this past week, nothing, nada, zilch.

I’ve been a bit out of sorts since I turned 29 for the 7th time and I’m getting worried. Normally, I would drink myself to oblivion before, during and after a birthday and then shake it off and go about my days. This time, I can’t seem to do that. I can’t seem to get out of my head long enough to catch a breath let alone shake things off.

The questions have piled up, the answers are lost, and my path to finding them is muddied. (And those that know me know how much I hate to get dirty).

So maybe if I pose the questions, it will get them out there for the universe to send me answers.

Here ya go Universe, answer these.

# Why am I not the famous, multi-billionaire actor that I imagined myself when I was 10?
# Why are all of my friends 2,000 miles away when I really need them?
# Why does Stella have to shed so much?
# Why do I feel trapped in my own skin?
# Why have I not been able to shed the restrictions of childhood?
# Why did I listen to so many sad love songs when I was a teenager?
# Why is half of my music collection sad and the other half disco?
# Where did my childhood wonder go?
# Why can’t I follow thru on anything?
# Why haven’t I drafted the “102 things about me list” yet?
# Why do I spend so much time alone?
# Where are my friends in Chicago?
# Why is government cheese so tasty?
# How have I managed to accumulate this much STUFF?
# Who’s coming to my yard sale Saturday?
# When will I focus on doing something productive with myself?
# Why haven’t I mailed the gift to Married Well and his husband?
# How do you stop obsessing about being neurotic?
# How do you build self-confidence and self worth?
# Why are we so cruel to ourselves yet forgiving of others?
# Why does the Shrub™ hate children?
# Why can’t I save money?
# Where have all the heroes gone?
# Who is to blame for the “tie belts” coming back into fashion?
# Is this what it means to be old? When things you wore in high school are popular again?
# Why didn’t I save my parachute pants?
# Why am I sitting here writing when I should be doing something outside in the beautiful weather?
# Why do I always feel on the verge of tears?
# Why am I so damn angry, yet afraid to show it?
# How do you stop the world long enough to catch up?
And last…
# Why do I have to wake up alone every day?

– Title: this is my day when i work at home

Many times I work from home. Making telephone calls to prospective acccounts, setting up appointments, etc. On the days I am home, i can always spin my chair around to see this.

THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A PHOTO OF STELLA SLEEPING IN HER BED BEHIND MY BDESK

Its very comforrting.
– Title: a quickie for you

I was sitting here a moment ago, perusing the want adds on Career Builder.com and realized that I’ve got it really good where I am. On top of it, I’m not really qualified for much more than Sales. This is a rather depressing realization. So to brighten, not only mine, but your days as well oh tens of readers, allow me to leave you this afternoon with a joke.

A man walks into the bedroom with a goat under his arm. He kicks the footboard, waking his sleeping wife, and says “This is the fat ugly pig I fuck when I’m not fucking you”

His wife replies “Yoou dumb-ass, that’s not a pig, its a goat”.

The man shouts “Shut up bitch, i wasn’t talking to you.”

– Title: birthday post script

My birthday wasn’t all that bad. Sure, I spent the majority of it alone trying to figure out what to do to make it special, sure a few people who are important to me didn’t bother to call, sure I woke up alone in my own bed. BUT I did have a wonderful evening and night. I went to the local watering hole where most of the people I know hang out and was rewarded with a visit from TMWTFS and way too many drinks. My neighbors gave me a lift home and I stumbled up to a fundraiser for more martinis. Needless to say. I have a tad bit of a headache today.

But the biggest part of my day was when I jumped online to check e-mail and comments and was surprised to see the new design of my site up and operational. I think John did a fantastic job. So a big thank you goes out to John for the biggest, bestest present I got. Another Thank You goes out to “Tom” for the BeyondBufffalo logo.

It’s really nice to know you’re loved and today (hangover and all) I feel loved.
– Title: the hump thats hard to cross

A little known fact… Tomorrow, 10 July, is my birthday.
a very barbie birthday

In general, I don’t share this information easily, but something about tomorrow looms larger than normal for me, and I’m afraid of spending it alone, again. You see, tomorrow I won’t be turning 29 like I tell those that ask. I’ll be turning 36. No longer will I fit into the acceptable age limits for most men’s interests. I’m no longer a hot young thing, and I’m not quite a Daddy. I’m in that “tween©” stage that I’ve always found uncomfortable.

On top of being in the “tween©” stage, I’ve gotten all introspective and I hate that shit. Checking in with my life, my once dreams, my once aspirations, I’ve found that I’ve accomplished only one on that long list. I got a dog. That’s it.

But this birthday coming up tomorrow truly vexes me for reasons I cannot completely comprehend. When I turned 35, only 364 short days ago, I was excited about finally being my own man, being an adult. But now, turning 36 fills me with dread and regrets. I don’t feel like I’ve accomplished anything in all my years. My circle of friends is extremely small and spread out over large geographic areas preventing me from spending sufficient time with them and filling my ever expanding down time with a loneliness so deep it feels as if I’ll be swallowed whole (and not in that good way). I’m single and unhappy with my career, not to mention my financial status. (I realized a few days ago, as I was walking past a fancy restaurant downtown, where the sidewalks were lined with BMW’s and Benzes, that I may have the car, but would be hard pressed to be able to eat in those establishments.)

Could I not like birthdays because I’ve often spent spent them alone without much fanfare? Could it be that I’ve been dumped (or at least realized it was coming) twice on my birthday? Could it be that when I was 10, my mother threw me a birthday party and invited all the kids on the playground that would beat me up, so instead I hid in my closet, crying, too scared to come out? Nah! That can’t be why I rarely acknowledge my birthday. It must be something else.

I suppose I could resolve myself to make a change, to march in a different direction, to pursue that which would truly make me happy. Yeah, I suppose, but the likelihood of that happening is about as possible as the shrub™ telling the truth.

Do I, instead, settle in for the slow march to death, accepting what the world throws at me and roll with it in utter defeat? I mean since I’m old now. Probably not what my terror-pist would recommend. I mean, the amount of inaction in my life astounds me. The level of complacency frightens me, and the level of acceptance that this is how my life is angers me. Yet, here I sit, dutifully plugging away waiting for that one day that will magically provide me with the nutrients to fill my needs and shine the light on that which will make me happy(er).

This new year, I’d like to fall in love again, and feel the intimacy I’ve feared for so long. I’d like to begin to re-discover who I was when I had dreams and hopeful thoughts towards the future. I’d like to strengthen the friendships I have and augment those with new, healthy relationships that allow me to be who I am without a mask and without attempting to conform to my perceptions of how others view me. I’d like to explore new career options that will better fit my personality while reducing my stress level to something manageable.

Ya know what, instead of all that, I’m gonna bake myself a chocolate cake from a box, slather on some pre-made frosting from a plastic tub, order a pizza and have a few beers. Tomorrow I can contemplate all of this while my hangover wears off, besides I’ve got 365 days before I need to put myself thru this again.
– Title: Observations of late

Whenever there is a woman behind the wheel of a Hummer, she’s bleach blonde with fake tits.

Family can pop up at the most inopportune moments.

My dog Stella sheds. ALOT.

All relationships have clashes of some sort. It’s how you handle them that defines the relationship.

My car handles really well above 85 mph.

It handles even better above 95 mph.

I often wonder what it would be like to have a child seat in the car.

Everyone can find something at IKEA.

The music industry has only itself to blame for its current situation.

Beer makes me smile.

You should really see how much this dog sheds.

I never read the magazines I’m subscribed to.

Famous Actor Tom Cruise is a nut-job.

I love tha plastic smell of a new shower curtain liner.

Americans seem to embrace the ideal of being a hard-ass

Living in the city makes it difficult to find solitude.

If you haven’t seen Robot Chicken on Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim, you need to.

There is nothing like fresh made pork buns from the Chinese Bakery on the corner.

TLBO leaves me some messed up voice mails.
– Title: reactions

Have you ever sarted to read something only to begin tearing up in the middle of it, not quite sure why? Your heart starts to race and your eyes begin to water and you can’t quite put a finger on what is hitting you so deeply.

I find this happens to me often. It happened to me this morning as I read a transcript of Steve Jobs’ commencement speech at Stanford University’s graduation this past June. His speach covered only 3 main topics, and wasn’t very long (as far as speeches go), but there was something that resonated with me and brought about a reaction that I cannot explain.

Here is the speech, tell me what your reaction was.

“I am honored to be with you today at your commencement from one of the finest universities in the world. I never graduated from college. Truth be told, this is the closest I’ve ever gotten to a college graduation.

Today I want to tell you three stories from my life. That’s it. No big deal.

Just three stories.

The first story is about connecting the dots.

I dropped out of Reed College after the first 6 months, but then stayed around as a drop-in for another 18 months or so before I really quit. So why did I drop out?

It started before I was born. My biological mother was a young, unwed college graduate student, and she decided to put me up for adoption. She felt very strongly that I should be adopted by college graduates, so everything was all set for me to be adopted at birth by a lawyer and his
wife. Except that when I popped out they decided at the last minute that they really wanted a girl. So my parents, who were on a waiting list, got a call in the middle of the night asking: “We have an unexpected baby boy; do you want him?” They said: “Of course.” My biological mother later found out that my mother had never graduated from college and that my father had never graduated from high school. She refused to sign the final adoption papers.

She only relented a few months later when my parents promised that I would someday go to college.

And 17 years later I did go to college. But I naively chose a college that was almost as expensive as Stanford, and all of my working-class parents’ savings were being spent on my college tuition. After six months, I couldn’t see the value in it. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life.

So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out OK. It was pretty scary at the time, but looking back it was one of the best decisions I ever made. The minute I dropped out I could stop taking the required classes that didn’t interest me, and begin dropping in on the ones that looked interesting.

It wasn’t all romantic. I didn’t have a dorm room, so I slept on the floor in friends’ rooms, I returned coke bottles for the 5¢ deposits to buy food with, and I would walk the 7 miles across town every Sunday night to get one good meal a week at the Hare Krishna temple. I loved it. And much of what I stumbled into by following my curiosity and intuition turned out to be priceless later on. Let me give you one example:

Reed College at that time offered perhaps the best calligraphy instruction in the country. Throughout the campus every poster, every label on every drawer, was beautifully hand calligraphed. Because I had dropped out and didn’t have to take the normal classes, I decided to take a calligraphy class to learn how to do this. I learned about serif and san serif typefaces, about varying the amount of space between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. It was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can’t capture, and I found it fascinating.

None of this had even a hope of any practical application in my life.

But ten years later, when we were designing the first Macintosh computer, it all came back to me. And we designed it all into the Mac. It was the first computer with beautiful typography. If I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally spaced fonts. And since Windows just copied the Mac, its likely that no personal computer would have them. If I had never dropped out, I would have never dropped in on this calligraphy class, and personal computers might not have the wonderful typography that they do. Of course it was impossible to connect the dots looking forward when I was in college. But it was very, very clear looking backwards ten years later.

Again, you can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something – your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.

My second story is about love and loss.

I was lucky – I found what I loved to do early in life. Woz and I started Apple in my parents garage when I was 20. We worked hard, and in 10 years Apple had grown from just the two of us in a garage into a $2 billion company with over 4000 employees. We had just released our finest reation – the Macintosh – a year earlier, and I had just turned 30. And then I got fired. How can you get fired from a company you started? Well, as Apple grew we hired someone who I thought was very talented to run the company with me,and for the first year or so things went well. But then our visions of the future began to diverge and eventually we had a falling out. When we did, our Board of Directors sided with him. So at 30 I was out. And very publicly out. What had been the focus of my entire adult life was gone, and it was devastating.

I really didn’t know what to do for a few months. I felt that I had let the previous generation of entrepreneurs down – that I haddropped the baton as it was being passed to me. I met with David Packard and Bob Noyce and tried to apologize for screwing up so badly. I was a very public failure, and I even thought about running away from the valley. But something slowly began to dawn on me – I still loved what I did. The turn of events at Apple had not changed that one bit. I had been rejected, but Iwas still in love. And so I decided to start over.

I didn’t see it then, but it turned out that getting fired from Apple was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. The heaviness of being successful was replaced by the lightness of being a beginner again, less sure about everything. It freed me to enter one of the most creative periods of my life.

During the next five years, I started a company named NeXT, another company named Pixar, and fell in love with an amazing woman who would become my wife. Pixar went on to create the worlds first computer animated feature film, Toy Story, and is now the most successful Animation studio in the world. In a remarkable turn of events, Apple bought NeXT, I retuned to
Apple, and the technology we developed at NeXT is at the heart of Apple’s current renaissance. And Laurene and I have a wonderful family together. I’m pretty sure none of this would have happened if I hadn’t been fired from Apple. It was awful tasting medicine, but I guess the patient needed it. Sometimes life hits you in the head with a brick. Don’t lose faith.

I’m convinced that the only thing that kept me going was that I loved what I did. You’ve got to find what you love. And that is as true for your work as it is for your lovers. Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great
work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on. So keep looking until you find it. Don’t settle.

My third story is about death.

When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: “If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.” It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?”

And whenever the answer has been “No” for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something. Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

About a year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. I had a scan at 7:30 in the morning, and it clearly showed a tumor on my pancreas. I didn’t even know what a pancreas was. The doctors told me this was almost certainly a type of cancer that is incurable, and that I should expect to live no longer than three to six months. My doctor advised me to go home and get my affairs in
order, which is doctor’s code for prepare to die. It means to try to tell your kids everything you thought you’d have the next 10 years to tell them in just a few months. It means to make sure everything is buttoned up so that it will be as easy as possible for your family. It means to say your goodbyes.

I lived with that diagnosis all day. Later that evening I had a biopsy, where they stuck an endoscope down my throat, through my stomach and into my intestines, put a needle into my pancreas and got a few cells from the tumor. I was sedated, but my wife, who was there, told me that when they viewed the cells under a microscope the doctors started crying because it turned out to be a very rare form of pancreatic cancer that is curable with surgery. I had the surgery and I’m fine now.

This was the closest I’ve been to facing death, and I hope its the closest I get for a few more decades. Having lived through it, I can now say this to you with a bit more certainty than when death was a useful but purely intellectual concept:

No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life.

Don’t be trapped by dogma – which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of other’s opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become.

Everything else is secondary.

When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalog, which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late 1960’s, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors, and Polaroid cameras. It was sort of like Google in paperback form, 35 years before Google came along: it was idealistic, and overflowing with neat tools and great notions.

Stewart and his team put out several issues of The Whole Earth Catalog, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: “Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.” It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.

Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. “

Thank you all very much.” – Steve Jobs – June 2005
– Title: stupid decisions

I did it again.

I know. I know. It was stupid to put my life at risk like that. I swore that I’d be more careful the last time this happened. I made a promise to myself to be good. I’d agonized for weeks over my actions the last time. The questions I asked myself came in rapid procession.

“Where did it all break down?”, “What was I thinking?”, “Does my health mean that little?”, and “How could I let this happen?”.

Then came the blame and the self-demonization

“Stupid, Stupid. Idiot.” “You know better than that.” “One of these times, it’s gonna kill you” “You won’t always be lucky, someday your luck will run out.”

Then finally, came the task of figuring out what it was that made me slip, again like last time. Was it the situation? Was it the alcohol? Perhaps it was the depression and needing the rush of doing something dangerous. The need to jump-start my life into a new direction, even if that direction is completely ignorant and dangerous. A direction that can forever alter my life.

I wasn’t thinking. I hope that everything works out ok, and that my health hasn’t been put into jeopardy. I hope that I can answer the nagging questions that follow these slips and I hope that some day there will be a way to really fight this scourge of humanity.

Alas, I have not come up with any answers why I did it; but I know that next time, I’ll drive right by that McDonald’s, and I definitely will never Super-Size it again.
– Title: charting the future

I met with my psychiatrist on Tuesday to discuss the new development in my mental health and told him I didn’t really want to start any drugs unless it was absolutely necessary. He agreed with me and asked me to begin charting my moods on a daily basis. Not sure how to do this I inquired about the availability of a mood detecting device of some kind. Perhaps a mood ring would help me to determine exactly what kind of mood I’m feeling, thus allowing for more accurate recording. His response told me he didn’t find that humorous.

Some people don’t have a sense oh humor.

I love the discussion going on in the comments about my fleeing the city post. You all took a personal decision, and the thought process behind it and ran with it. Yay you! I do however have a small request cause I can’t seem to keep all the anonymous peoples seperated, please at least put down your first name. (your e-mail would be great too so I can follow-up with you in private).

I have several new goals all of the sudden. Since I’ve been on a few dates with the man that re-introduced passion into my life, I’ve become jealous of his flat stomach, so I’ve decided that its time for me to have a flat, toned, and hard stomach. “The man with the flat stomach” (TMWTFS) puts a smile on my face, and that’s a good thing.

So does Tom. Check out my quotes on the sidebar, I’ve added a quote from Tom from a conversation we had yesterday via e-mail. We were talking about the new logo he created for the re-design.

He’d rather be remembered for his earlier (and racy-er) quote “bitch, bitch, bitch. . . ever since the baby died”.

Which do you prefer oh faithful readers?

I have more, but work beckons. . .
– Title: please hold

much to write, no time to write it.

excited about the re-design that John is doing for me. Its totally “bitchin” if people still use that term.

i’ll have time tonight to write and I promise I will.
– Title: fleeing the city

This weekend was the annual Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender Pride Festival and Parade in Chicago and I decided I’d have none of it. Even though RuPaul was performing at the festival, I would neither support nor attend this event.

“Why?” you may ask.

Other than the obvious answer, that large gatherings of “the Gays” makes me uncomfortable, I’ve gotten tired of the hypocrisy of it all. The big businesses that advertise in our parade eager to partake in our supposed large disposable incomes but can never quite step up when it comes time to speak up for us. The politicians that ride in the cars waving happily to the crowd of onlookers knowing that if push comes to shove its going to be the gay issues that get swept under the carpet when things get prickly.

Now, on the surface, these may not seem like reasons to avoid the biggest gay party of the year and they probably aren’t. I’m sure I’ll be accused of being an internalized “homophobe” or a bitter old queen. In truth, I’m neither. What I am is tired. Tired of being second-class citizens in a country slipping further into theocracy while people in power speak out of both sides of their mouth. Tired of being useful to big business because studies have shown we have large disposable incomes. Tired of the drugs and alcoholism that plague the community. Tired of the feeling that, as one of “the gays” I should want to “fit in” with the rest of society.

If Gay Pride were truly about being prideful, then it shouldn’t occur one weekend a year. It should occur every single day in the actions I take and the decisions I make. I’m not proud of a community that is full of infighting and petty arguments.

Have you ever served on a mainly gay committee? Unless there is the cool, calm head of a lesbian or two, nothing will ever get done. We can never agree to anything. Never compromise for the greater good.

Maybe its just where I am in my life, maybe its because I forgot to take my medication on Saturday, but I’m not proud of my peoples. I’m sad for us. I’m sad that the drugs are killing more and more people. I sad that bare-backing and unsafe sex has become the norm (I’m guilty of this on occasion as well). I’m sad that we don’t care enough about each other and ourselves to come together to accomplish great things. I’m sad that we lost entire generations of people. I’m sad that our leaders, our elders, and our mentors are either dead, out of touch with reality, or simply too tired of being ignored. I’m sad that the pride festival is just another opportunity to get drunk and high in the streets and have a good time.

If you looked for me in the crowds, you didn’t see me. I was home, sitting on my back porch, remembering what Pride truly means to me. To me, it means honoring those that come before, grieving those that have passed, understanding there is more to be done, but most of all, Pride is about rejoicing, not in being Gay, but in being an individual that will not be pushed into the corners. I look to the drag queens of Stonewall, tired of the injustice and harassment, rising up against the forces of oppression and taking back their freedom. Taking what was is rightfully ours. Taking back their dignity.

When “the Gays” as a community decides to follow the lead of those pissed off drag queens and fight back against injustice and discrimination, then and only then will you see me in the ranks of the cheering masses along the lines of the parade. We miss you Judy.
– Title: the loss of physical restraints

I’m torn. I’m deeply torn. As you know, I have a fondness for rather rough, kinky, nasty sex. Ever since I was a young boy, around 8 years old, I’ve had dark sexual fantasies involving everything from rope to leather to multiple dominant partners. I’ve embraced these fantasies in various times throughout my life, – most whole heartedly when I lived in San Francisco – but I’ve always had a feeling in the back of my mind that it was all a clever distraction to prevent me from getting what I really truly wanted and needed. Affection and Love.

Sure, there is a certain level of affection that comes along with the flogger striking my backside, that gentle (to intense) “kiss” of the leather as it contacts the skin; but am I risking the opportunity to find true and honest love? Will my heart still skip a beat without that electro contraption attached to various parts of my anatomy? Can passion simmer between two people without physical restraints?

I’ve recently had an experience that has forced me to pause and ponder just these questions. I’ve had the good fortune to experience some rather intense sexual situations in the weeks since International Mr. Leather departed the shores of the Chicago River. I won’t go into details, but the videos (if there are any, I really couldn’t tell you) would require a plain brown box with no cover art. In contrast, I met a gentleman recently that has cast a spell over me. I’m not complaining, mind you. I rather like what’s happening. I won’t call it dating, because I’m not sure what it is. I’m very much attracted to him both physically and intellectually. (Great body, intelligent, amazing kisser, all that)

The part that has me pondering my darker side has to do with this passion-restrained “dance” we seem to be doing. The first time we met, upon parting, there was a light, slightly awkward kiss. I thought about that kiss for hours afterward until the vodka lemonade prevented me from thinking about anything. The second meeting brought yet another “stolen” kiss. Then last night, I felt something that has been missing from my life for so long, I thought it was no longer possible for me. I felt passion.

I felt a fire ignite within me that consumed my doubts about my body and my flaws. I only wanted to kiss him more, to explore him and discover what points would make him squirm and what would make him smile. At one point, I actually said “I kinda want you to think about me this weekend.”

Whatever becomes of this, and I’m not making predictions or plans, it is nice to know that the passion I felt with him at that moment didn’t require physical restraints or safe words.
– Title: follow-up

Allow me a moment to apologize for my absence. My last post was written right after I talked with my terror-pist and I was rather raw and unsure of what the implications, if any, would be with this information. I’ve spent a fair amount of time sitting with this concept, and though it seems to answer many questions and fit with my personality, there is still much more to understand and consider before I, by any means, wholeheartedly embrace it.

That being said, I’m not quite sure how to react to the various responses I received from you, my tens of readers, and my closer friends, who I turned to for support. Some of the comments left on my blog left me scratching my head over the negativity and distrust at the diagnosis. Others, like Lord Bargain summed up exactly where my head was when I wrote my post. Thank you Lord Bargain for your understanding and composure. You damn Brits.

I appreciate all your responses, I’ve read them, sat with them and gleaned whatever I could from them.

What happens now to me? Well, I have an appointment with the pill-prescribing shrink to discuss options where I’ll take his input and consider things from there. I’m hesitant to start on any medication because I don’t want to lose the ups and downs of life, which- to me -is what life is all about. The highs and the lows. The bads make the goods better. Would I like a little more stability in my moods? Hell Yes! I’ll let you all know what happens. As if I could prevent myself from writing about it.
– Title: click

Have you ever had one of those moments where everything made sense, even if it was just for a moment, before it all crashed down into confusion? I had one yesterday in therapy.

I’ve not written much about my therapy, because, well, quite frankly, it’s personal and none of your stinking business. But what occurred yesterday has shaken my world considerably and I feel like I need to write about it to make sense of things.

While discussing various innocuous subjects, my therapist stopped me mid sentence and told me that he wanted to ask me some questions and proceeded to ask all these questions about my mood swings. How often, do they seem regularly spaced out, etc. The more he asked, the more nervous I became, wondering what he was trying to dig out of me. Then, he said something that for one moment, just one brief moment, made everything in my past fit. So many questions were answered and everything made sense.

“I think you may have Bi-Polar Type 2 disorder” He said.

I’ve thought about this many times in the past, wondering if there was something possibly wrong with me, something that was beyond my control. But every time I thought about this Bi-Polar thing, I would think about the people who swing to extremes, from excessive mania to a level of depression that I’ve never even come close to and I quickly discount the thought. As he described the details to me, I sat there in utter panic, my heart racing, my eyes watering, my mind speeding through memories and moments of my life plugging this concept into them to see if it fit.

The expensive shopping splurges (Hello, did I need a BMW?), the same day trips to Tokyo, the fact that I get all excited about something and never follow through on any of it. There are so many examples of this in my life, in my love and in my career.

Hearing those words from someone trained to know about these things gave it a level of credibility that my mind would never allow, and I sat there across from him, in complete shock, and panic. What now? What does this mean?

And through all that panic, there was a faint glimmer of hope. Hope that I could finally control my demons and actually learn how to deal with my life, learn how to follow thru on things without berating myself for failing again and again. I say faint glimmer because there was a stronger fear that maybe this was “hooey”. This was just a concept that upon further exploration would turn up to be nothing and I’d be right back where I started.

I’ve never shared this kind of thing with even my closest friends, so you should feel very close to me right now. (Not quite that close, back up a little, a little more, there, that’s better). I’m not too sure what direction this will go so I’m tentatively optimistic that there may be credence to this.
– Title: Stepping up to the plate

I commend Kraft Foods for their support of the Gay Games to be held in Chicago next summer. I commend any company that has the courage to stand up to the bullying of the American Taliban without much positive support from their customers. As such, I’ve decided that from now on, whenever I hear of a company, large or small, that is being harassed and threatened with a boycott because said company supports the rights of ALL citizens to be equal, then it is my duty to support them. From now on, I’ll send letters, e-mails, and I’ll telephone every once in a while just to check in on them and see how they’re doing. I care that much.

In a similar mode, I’ve decided to commmend companies that I do business with that step up to the plate when something is wrong. Companies that listen to their customers and make things right when they are not. Yesterday, I realized, while driving down the highway at speeds far in excess of the legal posted limit, that something wasn’t right with the new tires I bought at Costco. They were softer than the tires they replaced. Upon reading the owners manual, then comparing it to the numbers on the sidewall of the tire, I realized that the speed rating of the new tires was different than the original. I contacted Costco and explained this to them, and they said bring them back and we’ll swap them out or refund them. Fine.

I took my tires back to Costco and they gave me a full refund, no questions asked. When I say “full refund” I’m referring to the amazingly true refund of all the fees and service charges as well. The mounting fee, the tire disposal fee, etc. A full refund.

Thank you Costco for being a fair and conscientious business. I’ve heard you also treat your employees amazingly well, making sure they have health care coverage for themselves and their families. Health care coverage that is actually woorth a damn in this coountry is a rarity these days. Funny thing is, that Costco’s labor costs are half that of Wal-Mart. The reason Costco can do this is simple. The CEO believes in paying employees a fair living wage. He is willing to forgo a certain level of profit to ensure his employees are well cared for.

An amazing story in the world today. Caring more about people than profit. I’ll spend my money at Costco with much more ease than I will even walking into a Wal-Mart.

Who’s with me? Who else is getting fed up with the way things are in this country? Who else wants to cut off the power of the American Taliban? Maybe we need to follow in their footsteps, but instead of spreading hate and fear, we spread love and understanding. Lets support those that support us. Lets tell them we are thankful for what they do. I’m sure we far outnumber the numbers of the American Taliban.

I challenge everyone to join me.
– Title: Road Rage

I’m getting tired of being preached to by the holier-than-thou Christian set. This morning while commuting to my appointment I was stuck behind a car with a bumper sticker that read

“YOUR SCIENCE WILL NOT SAVE YOU”

I was stuck behind this car for close to half an hour in stop and go traffic, reading that bumper sticker, again and again. While I was sitting there behind this obvious preaching against Evolution, I started thinking about the determined creep of the Christian set into our daily lives.

Add to the ever increasing number of Christian bumper stickers and Focus on the Family boycott threats, the number of ribbon stickers of all colors and it’s enough to develop a case of road rage strong enough to want to start ramming into them, just because of their beliefs.

When I get behind a vehicle with a “W 04” or “Bush, Cheney 04” bumper sticker (usually a hulking behemoth of an SUV or an extremely discourteous and self-centered driver) I will do whatever I can do so that I no longer need to be within eyesight of their glaring ignorance.

Am I the only one with this sort of reaction? I am getting very worried about the level of organization and even power that the American Taliban has in politics and commerce.

Procter & Gamble, Microsoft, and various other corporations that in the past have championed for the full equality of all people are being bullied into pulling support, reversing on positions, and canceling advertising on anything that remotely offends the American Taliban. When will this stop? When will Americans stand up and say enough of this already. This country was founded on the belief that I don’t have to follow your religious beliefs.

I have my own beliefs. I don’t share them with others unless they ask first. Live and let live has always worked well for me, I wish the American Christian Taliban would be able to give that concept a try.

Cause unless this madness stops, I’m gonna start ramming people with bumper stickers I fnd offensive. You have been warned.
– Title: when is it?

When is it too late to make a “bootie call”?

Last night, while I was drunk, I contemplated making one at about 12:30am. Instead, I drunk texted Tom. I need to stop doing that. Text messages stay around a lot longer and can come back to haunt you.

What is your opinion? 11:00pm? 12:00 Midnight?
– Title: the fireman with the spider web tattoo

This morning, while walking the dogs, there was a Fire Emergency Response team sent to a building on my street. Being an admirer of all things masculine (i.e. Firemen and Police), I had to get a closer look. By the time I got closer, they had realized it was a false alarm and were climbing back into the trucks to return to wherever it is that sexy, hot, masculine men congregate.

The first truck drove past, the little lesbian woman driving displayed great skill slipping between the vehicles pulled off to the side to allow the big, shiny fire truck by. It was in the second truck that I saw him. Him. He was hanging out the rear window and the first thing I noticed about him was his tattoo. The spider web covering his left elbow made me take a second look, then a third, then, embolden by my actions, a full on gaze. Glancing upwards from the tattoo into his beautiful smiling blue eyes that seemed to be filled with a child-like wonder at the world, I noticed that he know I was staring at him. The sun glaring off his freshly shaved head pulled me back into my world and the truck rolled down the road.

Either he was really beautiful, or I’m really horny.

Ahhhh spring in the big city.
– Title: leaving the big apple

I’m home from NYC. I had an amazing time, as I expected. Married well and his husband are the perfect hosts. MW cooked a scrumptuous meal on Saturday night before we headed out to explore Manhattan’s seedy underground nightlife. We wandered around the Village for a while, popped into Ty’s for a Gin and Tonic before heading to Monster to do a little dancing. (Note: This is the first time I’ve danced in public since TLBO made comments about my dancing style at The Stud so many years ago.) After dancing our butts off, we needed to walk off some of the liquor we’d been drinking and headed over to the Meat Packing District to find The NYC Eagle. We walked into an empty bar on a Saturday night which surprised me. I said, “Hell, we’re here, lets explore” and headed up to the second floor where there were a few more people, and then we hit the roof-top patio and the place was packed, wall-to-wall with half naked, hard-muscled, sweaty leathermen. Here I was experiencing IML two weekends in a row. We stayed for a bit before calling it a night and heading home for some quiet chat time and munchies.

Empire Diner
Sunday, after rising from our hang-overs, it was back to the Empire Diner for bloody marys and diner grub before we hailed a cab uptown to the Museum of Modern Art.

Walking thru the paintings by the great masters, there were two that caught my eye as potential tattoos.

First:
Man throwing a stone at a bird

and second:
Swallow/Love

I’m in the process of e-mailing these photos to the tattoo artist that will be performing this task to see if it is even possible. I would love some feedback on your thoughts.

While you’re at it, my address book was erased when the Apple died so if you want me to know about who you are, please shoot me an e-mail (click on beyondbuffalo at bottom of page) and send me your details.
– Title: Blog Fall-out and searching for Marginally Famous people

For the first time since I’ve been blogging, I’ve suffered a loss due to the words I’ve written. The lovely man that made me dinner a few weeks ago, sent me an e-mail advising me that he’d be blocking my e-mails, telephone calls, and IM chats due to what he calls my double standard.

He was completely correct in the notion that I have a double standard. I do. I’m ok with it too.

My double standard has to do with sex.

Standard 1.
I meet a man that I like. He’s intelligent, extremely handsome, and engaging. This man is someone that I would like to know a little better, perhaps even date. When I meet such a man, it is often my habit, to refrain from jumping into the sack too quickly, lest i make sex the focus of whatever is to develop between us. I would prefer to know this person better and therefore enjoy the intimacy of the first sexual encounter as if we were making love and not having raucous, anonymous sex.

To me. it means more to wait for someone i like. It means so much more.

Standard 2.
Anonymous, shallow, passionate, sweaty, monkey sex much like that i experienced at IML (feel free to read the older posts, since it was those posts that has seemed to cause so much friction among my readers and the person I outlined in Standard 1 above).

This standard allows me to meet someone, have sex, knowing that the chance of ever seeing this person again, let alone getting to know them, is about as likely as a dozen Krispy Kremes surviving an hour at a fat camp.

I believe that such double standards are acceptable and after my initial reaction to his e-mail, of taking the web site off line and erasing all record that i knew him, I became more and more angry at the very thought that he should judge me and cut off all ties without even giving the chance for dialog.

Final words on this chapter. I had an amazing weekend with a wonderful, kind, thoughtful, and interesting man. We had moments of intimacy without anal penetration, and i was looking forward to spending more time with him, learning more about him and his life experiences, and ultimately “consummating” that interest and intimacy with a passion that had a chance to develop and grow and build into an amazing expression of my feelings for him. BUT. He closed the door because of his perception of my activities at IML. I no longer need small minded, judgmental men making me feel bad about who I am and what I do.

Good bye to you as well Eric. May you find someone to put out.

On to other topics, like New York City!
The flight to NYC wasn’t the best experience since I’d just read the e-mail from Eric ten minutes before I left the house. I was sullen and unhappy the entire way to NYC, until I saw Married Well walking towards me thru Penn Station. We headed back to their fabulous apartment on the west side of Chelsea, dropped our bags and promptly headed to the Empire Diner for dinner.

Its always so good to see Married Well and his husband interact. They are kind and considerate to each other, they thank and compliment each other and you can really see that they love each other.

Anyway.

After dinner, we headed back to the apartment, where we ran into my neighbor from Chicago, walking into the same building. Awkward greetings, surprised introductions and quick goodbyes as they exited the elevator.

This morning, Married Well and I headed out to see the city. I was in search of a marginally famous celebrity, like Jenny Garth, Melissa Joan Hart or the girls of En Vogue. There was a moment when we thought we saw one of the Full House girls, but then we realized that she was too fat and couldn’t possibly be one of the Olsen Twins. We walked thru some beautiful areas on our way to the Brooklyn Bridge. We passed thru SoHo, Tribeca and Union Square. Once we got to the bridge, we started across. We got about 50 yards out and I said, “Ok. far enough” and turned back around and headed for Macy’s to do a little shopping.

Tomorrow, I’m meeting my neighbor and Poodle for brunch, since they’re in town for the Tony awards, and then I’m off to the Museum of Modern Art, to look for ideas for my next two tattoos.

Off to dinner. Ta from NYC.
– Title: keep in contact

I’m off to NYC for a wonderful weekend with Married Well and his partner. I’m looking forward to all the APPLE photo opportunities in the Big Apple. SO you know my trusty, dead iBook will be traveling with.

Also, now that I’m up and running on my new andimproved 14” iBook complete with Mac OS X – Tiger edition, I need to repopulate my address book. So if you’d like to be included in my address book, please send me an e-mail (address located at bottom of page) and I’ll add you to it.

Have a great weekend everyone.
– Title: what do you believe in?

What do you believe in?

This question has been asked of me quite a bit the last few days and weeks by various people and I’m not sure I know how to answer it. I’ve never given too much thought to this question until recently. It seems that there was a time I believed in something, but lately, it feels more like I’m floating thru life aimlessly looking for purpose.

My terror-pist and I discussed this in our last session and its left me rather stumped. It seems that I’m always looking for answers to my needs and wants outside of myself. If only, I lived back in California, if only I had a job I felt more comfortable in, if only somebody would love me and let me love them in return, if only. I keep hearing that the answers I seek are within me but have no idea where to look (are they behind the spleen or in front of the lungs) or how to begin that process. One of the reasons I started this blog was to search for meaning in my existence, the other reasons were to become an internationally adored superstar, and attain great wealth. (FYI, I’m still waiting for those to happen.)

I keep myself so busy avoiding everything and maintaining secrecy in my life and in who I am, that very few people have any idea of the true me. TLBO, I know you have a grasp, but how long did it take for you to get thru my defenses? How many people can truly say that they know the essence of who I am? I think I can count them on one hand. I’ve always kept my true self such a secret from everyone for fear of losing them once they got to know that I’m really a scared little dorky kid trapped in a large man’s body begging for the world to stop long enough for me to catch my breath and get my bearings. A small boy hoping that someone, anyone would put me first for a change, that someone would save me from whatever it is that I’ve created for myself through passive inaction.

In many ways, my life has fallen into place without much struggle on my part, that is, until recently. I gave up in seventh grade. I stopped actively caring about what would happen to me. I gave up on my dreams when I realized that they didn’t matter in the world I lived in at that time and couldn’t for the life of me conceptualize anything different.

My education and career happened without much input from me. My college was my father’s Alma matter and my first job fell into my lap because of the name of the degree on my diploma, and the fact that I was a Caucasian replacing an outgoing Caucasian in a Japanese company. I’ve been helped several times by women who saw something in me that I have a difficult time seeing. Tina got me out of Japan Air Lines. CD got me out of my desk job in operations, Kathy was the best cheerleader and motivator I’ve ever known and Shirley got me set up where I am now, at a time when I was close to being unemployed again.

Had it not been for these amazing women, I have no idea where my life would be now. This is a sad and pathetic realization. I’ve allowed others to determine my fate without much input, without striving towards anything, but rather fleeing something that was further proof that I was on the wrong track. Now, 15 years later, with a wealth of knowledge about an industry I have no passion or interest in, I’m in a quandary as to what to do next.

I know I need a change, but I still struggle with my demons. I struggle with allowing myself the courage to dream and visualize a better life for myself. I struggle with finally letting go of the pain and the negativity that has hampered me my entire life and embracing the amazing person that I know I can be, filled with hope and passion.
– Title: IML final thoughts

I did it. Finally, after close to 10 years, I’ve committed to a waist size and purchased a pair of leather pants that are being custom made for me in Toronto. I should have them by the end of June, definitely in time for Folsom Street Fair (September 25th, 2005 to you Mr. Jack Hampster). I walked up to the stunningly beautiful woman in a red leather and floral corset and was browsing thru her selection of pants, chaps and other leather items for sale. She stated simply that she had nothing that would fit my lovely frame, but she’d love to customize a pair for me. I shared with her of the trials and tribulations of my endless search for a pair of well fitting leather pants, or chaps that would fit around my large thighs (from my cycling days). Every pair of pants I tried ended up being too tight in the thigh and seat (from my large ass, I’m assuming).

As we were discussing this, I realized that this was the time to commit. I had a good feeling about this woman and her husband, and described the exact design of pants I’ve been looking for. I’ve been dreaming of a pair of chastity pants ever since my first trip to Mr. S Leathers in San Francisco with Mr. David who talked me into trying on a pair of latex chastity shorts that secured at both the waist and thigh with locking belts.

The pants were described to her as follows:

I wanted the style of pants I was holding in my hands, a simple, low-rise pant without pockets and a slightly bulged codpiece with zippers on each side of it. The additions I requested were to have leather loops added to the zippers allowing them to slide over the belt fitted with a padlock, thus securing them to me. In addition to this slight change, I requested colored piping along the sides to match my latex chaps and most of my other fetish wear.

She directed me to her husband, who was the tailor, to measure me and get a better idea of what he would be making for me. As he pressed his hand into my crotch, he stopped, looked up with a glint in his eye and stated “There are only three people who can truly do this to you. Your tailor, which is me, your doctor, and your lover.” I added that he could also add most men in leather bars and the guys selling raffle tickets by the length of your inseam for $10.00 vs. the option of 5 or $5.00.

I handed him my credit card and finalized the deal, happy that in a month’s time, I’d have the very pants I’ve dreamed of for well over 10 years.

As I was departing the leather mart, I walked by my ex, the cowboy, who had doubled in size since he broke up with me and smashed my abilities to love easily, and he barely registered inn my head. I saw him. He saw me. Neither of us acknowledged the other, and for the first time in many years, I was perfectly ok with it. Earlier in the weekend, I ran into him, and it shook me for a moment. I paused and took a deep breath and resumed my activities without too much difficulty.

I headed upstairs to meet with Scott from DC to hang out with him for a moment, and my day took an entirely different turn than I had planned or expected. He was with his friends and hotel roommates, Mark, Jeff and Chris and they were headed back into the leather-mart to do some final shopping. Halfway thru the mart, Jeff stopped me alone and told me that shortly, he was going to take me back up to the room and tie me up and have some fun with me. I instantly got a little erect at the thought, which of course, he noticed and smiled, walking ahead of me towards the rest of the group.

That little comment, turned into a lovely 4-5 hour session of bondage in their adjoining rooms involving, from what I could make out, 6 men. There was a lot of rope, duct tape, ice, and a hood involved, among other things that I couldn’t quite make out. I was hog tied for the first time and flogged for the second time in my life and it was an amazing experience, much more intense than my initial flogging experience.

I was duct taped to one of the chairs in the hotel room, transferred into the other room and further tortured. It was delightful and that’s all I’m going to share on the subject.

I have received invites from most of the guys involved, and I’m looking forward to taking them up on the offers. I think I’ve made some friends, and sure hope to hear from them again.

Well, I’m beat from the activities and I’m off to bed. FYI, there was no actual sex today, just a lot of rope-work, duct tape, and ice. A lot of Ice. Use your imaginations on that one.

Good Night!
– Title: IML interlude

WARNING – ADULT THEMES AND ACTIVITIES

The International Mr. Leather contest takes place tonight, and to date, I’ve not seen a single participant, no wait, I think I saw someone walking thru the throngs of half-naked men milling about the lobby of the host hotel last night.

I’m not sure how much to share with this post, since I’ve never written very much about my sexual proclivities before and since the main point to IML weekend seems to be to engage in as much twisted fetish sex with as many hot, out of town men as possible. To this end, I’ve not been very successful, having so far, only been privy to 3 or 4 men this weekend. There are many stories from the weekend, but I’m unsure how to or if I should, share them. Sex is meant to be a private act between 2 (or more) consenting adults in a private place (or hotel lobby, bar, alley, etc.).

Allow me to shed some light on a few of my proclivities. I like rough sex with rough men, for I have a weakness for muscular blue collar looking men with an extremely high mental capacity for creativity. The more creative a man can be in bed, the better. Unfortunately, I’m also painfully shy around the very men that I’m most attracted to. The fact that my body isn’t as well muscled as theirs or that my life isn’t as well put together as theirs appears to be, prevents me from feeling like an equal to them, and as such, I remove myself from the equation before hope ever swirls into my head.

I also like bondage. I have a real weakness for duct tape bondage and secure leather bondage. I like roll play and humiliation play. There are other activities that I enjoy as well, but I’m not quite ready to share those with you yet. (TLBO mind your words if you comment, cause I’ll censor you)

My hope this weekend was to enjoy a session of duct tape mummification, but as of now, I’ve not managed to find anybody willing to expend the time or energy to completely cocoon me in tape. But, here goes. Here’s my weekend so far.

IML weekend kicked off to an amazing start on Friday when I hooked up with Ed from someplace in Florida. He was a dirty old man with the largest penis I’ve ever seen (since nicknamed ‘Baby Leg’) that enjoyed shaving, and left me with a bald head and an even balder crotch. (Damn the stubble). We went at it twice that evening, where he found me extremely ‘accommodating’ and thoroughly enjoyable.

Next I was off to find Scott from DC to hang out and have a few beers while determining if we were compatible for more. He met me in Smarty’s room while I was changing into my rubber chaps with the yellow stripes down the legs. Within a few moments of him walking into the room, I was on my knees with his dick in my mouth, and it was a very nice dick indeed.

We headed down to the lobby for a while to hang out and also to allow me to return Smarty’s room key to him. Shortly later, I was back asking Smarty for his room key so that Scott and I might partake in the use of the portable sling erected therein. Smarty was very kind in offering up his key, room, and the use of the sling to us. I’ve never been in a sling before, so this was about to allow me the chance to tick a fantasy off what’s left of my fantasy list. Little did I know that I’d be able to tick off several of the items left on my fantasy list, for Scott’s friend Mark joined us in the room as well.

The sling is a very ingenious invention allowing both the top and bottom ultimate comfort and accessibility due to the customization aspects inherent to the design. The height of the sling can be adjusted for optimum height, which is nice since most beds, dumpsters, SUV’s, floors, rocks, tables, couches, chairs, ottomans, or kitchen counters are either too high or too low for comfort.

I hopped into the sling and adjusted myself into position, grabbed the lube and poppers and Scott and I went to town. His friend Mark assisted by kissing me, playing with my tits, and finally allowing me to check off two fantasies at the same time. One was to be fucked in a sling; the other was to be sucking someone’s dick while being fucked at the same time. Apparently, I got a little ‘hands-y’ at one point, so Mark secured my arms with several layers of duct tape to the chains supporting the sling. I was in pig heaven and the poppers were only intensifying the moment.

Then.

Knock, knock, knock on the door, the sound of the electrical lock being opened and light from the hallway filling the darkened room. It seems Smarty’s roommate was back earlier than we expected. He was amused that his room was full of people that he didn’t know and asked who are you guys.

“Hi Rick! It’s Wade,” I said while doing my best to wave my hand with my arms taped securely in place.

A chuckle at the situation and my predicament and Rick jumped into bed and said, “You don’t need to leave, I’ll just watch.” Fantasy number 3 or 4 or 7 was now checked off the list.

The rest of the story is a bit awkward, since Smarty and his new beau arrived back at the room ready to go to sleep while I was in the shower and his beau was a bit cranky that the room was full of people he didn’t know. We got dressed, thanked Smarty and Rick for the use of the room and the sling and headed back downstairs to the lobby bar and the hundreds of half-naked, half leathered (or rubbered) men.

The next morning, I checked with Smarty to find out if we caused drama, and his response was that he was surprised I’d still be there over 2 hours after he gave me the key.

Its now Sunday morning and I’ll be headed to the dog park to let Stella run and play for a while and to breathe some fresh air myself after all the cigar choked air I’ve been breathing this weekend. Half the weekend gone. I wonder what else will happen this weekend.
– Title: a post modern take on a classic…

Rather than completely throw away the now-worthless Apple iBook that was struck by the evil coffee spiller®, I decided to put it into work, re-interpreting the classics.

In the below photo, you’ll see the Annonymous Padre playing Helen Keller in the famous scene of “The Miracle Worker” where Ann Sullivan teaches Helen how to “say” the word for Apple.
Apple Helen, Apple “Apple Helen, Apple”

Stay tuned for more post modern re-interpretations of historical works featuring my dead Apple iBook.
– Title: update

The face has gone back to normal. No more lump. No more swelling. No more pain. Thank God!

Just in time for IML weekend!

I’ll be a little tied up this weekend, so don’t expect to read much until Tuesday or Wednesday. And then, you better hold onto your seats, cause the stories are gonna blow your socks off!

Happy Memorial Day weekend everyone!
– Title: a quick message

left on my voicemail this morning, was the following message…

“Just so you know, I got kicked out of “The Happiest Place on Earth©“. Its a long story, I’ll tell ya when I talk to you next. It’s about 9:30 your time and I’ve got to go into my conference. Talk to you soon.”

I’m dying to know the story behind that one!
– Title: Fit for a shogun master

BLAHBLAHBLAH visited me this weekend from Madison, WI. Other than being adorably humpy, he’s an amazing Japanese cook!

Here the man is whipping us up several of the four courses he made us for dinner.

He is a genious in the kitchen. I didn’t know until today that he spent two years living in Japan, which makes perfect sense considering that he whipped up Gyoza, Zaru Soba, Tempura Shrimp, Tempura Green Beans, Tempura Sweet Potato(e), Tempura Shiso and a seaweed salad in no time at all, while I sat in the next room on the couch taking long glances at his cute butt, watching “Mystic River“.

The spread.

After shopping for the ingredients for dinner, and stocking up on my oolong and green teas (brewed by Kirin and Asahi), we made a quick 2 hour dash into the city to look into replacing my iBook with a new model (sans coffee). The traffic was horrible. You’d think I’d have learned by now NOT to hit Michigan Avenue on a warm weekend day. I ordered my iBook and should have it within five business days.

In other news, Annonymous Padre made it home safely after another of his jet-set weekend trips. This time he at least stayed long enough for us to spend some time catching up. Oh, and he’ll be back Wednesday for more.

I’m beat, so I’m off to bed.
– Title: day 3

Update on “the visitor”. It’s still growing, but not as painful, so that’s a good thing.

Annonymous Padre popped in last night for another quick visit. Seems that some of his prior parishioners flew him in (first class) from Vancouver to perform some ceremony for their daughters. He’s here thru Saturday, so we’ll have a little bit of time to catch up.

A quick update on the iBook. It’s been dropped off with a friend’s IT guy to see if he can get it working again. Apple went ahead and billed me $802.35 for repairs to my iBook that they never completed. This after “securing” $1800 on my debit card from both the AppleStore and the repair facility. I’m still working with Apple to get the financial aspect of this nightmare fixed so I can get my $1800 back into my account.

I need to get cracking on work, since “the visitor” has prevented me from accomplishing much this week.

Good weekend to you all.
– Title: maybe i am a monster

This morning I woke up and this “thing” on my face got even larger and more pronounced.

I can’t eat (fabulous) cause I can’t open my mouth wide enough to get anything in and if I do manage to insert food, its difficult to chew and swallow without dribbling onto my shirt. Is this what its like to be feeble? I tell you this… I only have to deal with this for a few days, I couldn’t imagine 10+ years like Mrs Schiavo was forced to endure.

My pill intake per day now consists of:
AM:

1 Sulfameth/Trimethoprim 800mg

1 Rifampin 300mg

1 Bupropion SR 150mg

1 Target weight sense multi-vitamin

Lunchtime:

1 Bupropion SR 150mg

PM:

1 Sulfameth/Trimethoprim 800mg

1 Rifampin 300mg

That’s seven (7) pills a day taken at 3 different intervals. I’m forced to set my alarm on my cell phone, cause I’m the type of person to forget what day of the week it is and miss a day of work.

I asked my doctor if this would be cleared up by Memorial Day weekend because at present time, I couldn’t eat bananas, and given IML is that weekend, that would be a very bad thing. He assured me that I’d be enjoying a “full range of use for your mouth” by then. I love my doctor. He “gets” me with a wink, a nod, and slap on the ass.
– Title: I’m not an animal

I’m horribly disfigured.

Yes, that’s right, horribly disfigured. Over the weekend, I developed an ingrown hair in my soon-to-be-lusciously full beard (specially grown for IML weekend) that I’ve been working on for close to 5 weeks. This ingrown hair has caused something to happen that I’m just not sure. My entire lower lip, down to my chin, has puffed up with this hard lump type thingy. I can’t smile. I can’t eat (fabulous). I can’t talk easily.

I’m seeing the Dr today at 11:15am to have him look at it. I’m hoping he doesn’t make me shave my beard.

*UPDATE: Dr gave me two antibiotics (strong ones) to fight this and he swears I’ll be fine by IML weekend. No mention of shaving the beard either. Woo Hoo
– Title: getting forgetful

I think I’m getting old. I’ve been forgetting things the past few days. Important things, like going to work, eating, drinking water. This morning, I went to an early appointment downtown and forgot my wallet, throwing myself into a panic as to how I would pay to get my car out of the garage. My initial solution was to take the “EL” home, get my wallet, and return to collect my car.

Then I realized that I didn’t have the cash to get on the “EL” to get home.

Would I be begging for spare change on the side walk of the Miracle Mile? Whould I be going up to strangers on the street asking for the last $0.25 to get me home? Where would I find a cup to beg for change with?

I was really in a panic.

Until I remembered that yesterday, I bought one of those new Diet Cokes made with Splenda® and paid for it with a $20.00 bill. The change to that was safely tucked into my ashtray in the car.

Will I forget to go to sleep tonight? I’m starting to get worried.
– Title: Moose and Squirrel

In 1993, I met a man named Jeff Struckman in a closet of a sex club in San Francisco called Mike’s Night Gallery. Jeff was beautiful (in my eyes) and the sex we enjoyed that night and many nights to follow were sweaty, passion-filled workouts. I knew there would never be anything more than what we were currently embarked on, so I did my best to enjoy him while he was still paying me attention.

This was the age of AIDS, ACT-UP, and Queer Nation. The predominate style of the gays in San Francisco was the typical uniform of a black leather motorcycle jacket (covered in paint, stickers, and various items), a white t-shirt, jean shorts completed with the mid-calf high Doc Marten boots with white socks.

Jeff, was an artist. He painted sets and backdrops for the opera and various theater groups in the city. One night, there was an art show of local artists to benefit the city’s AIDS charities. It was called “Blinds for AIDS”, and each artist had painted a roman blind to be put up for sale. This was the first time I saw any of Jeff’s work and I was thrilled that he invited me. It was this night that would plant the seed of an idea that I carry with me to this day.

Jeff’s version of the above mentioned uniform included a hand-painted leather jacket unlike anything I’d ever seen. He used a subtle pallet of colors and placed highly stylized cave-painting-like dinosaurs at various places on it. I got the idea that night to ask Jeff to paint my jacket and he agreed.

For some reason that to this day I cannot say, I chose the image of Natasha Fatale to grace the back panel of my jacket. About a week later, Jeff brought me a painting that was the study for my panel. It was a simple Natasha, in her signature purple dress holding, in one hand, a martini, and in the other, a lit cartoon styled bomb. Perfect for me in so many ways.

A few weeks later, I had my painted jacket adorned with the above describes Natasha, but in addition, there were stacks of TNT and drums of poison around her feet filling in some of the dead space in the panel. I wore the jacket with pride for many years.

A short while later, my affections for Jeff spiked to the point that I had fallen in love with him. It was at this point, he told me not to love him because he wasn’t long for this world. He was dying of AIDS and would soon disappear. I had always known that he had the disease and we always were safe, but this devastated me in a way I never allowed myself to admit. This was the first time (of many), the disease hit me directly.

True to his word, shortly after that night, Jeff disappeared from public life. I never heard about his death, but I saw his obituary in the gay papers.

A year or two later, when I had decided to get my first tattoo, I chose Jeff’s original design. It wasn’t until many years later that I even realized exactly why. I still wonder if it was me saying goodbye to Jeff, or to my innocence. I’ve come to think warmly of this gentle, passionate and mysterious man as I grow older, and I love to share the story of how he affected my life.

Today, the original study and the back panel of my jacket hang, framed, in my living room while the ink on my body stares up at me from my right calf.
– Title:

Thank You for logging on to BeyondBuffalo.com. Come in and enjoy the new and improved, moderately priced, and soon-to-be highly entertaining NON-BITCH policy.

BeyondBuffalo.com is proud to offer this new mindset after many, many (honestly far too many) months of angry tirades and whiney self indulgences. All that is gone.

Yesterday, while talking to Tom about my ever-evolving iBook drama, I stopped myself mid-sentance and said “No more bitching, I’m tired of bitching”

“Ever since the baby died, all you’ve done is bitch, bitch, bitch” was his quick-witted response.

It caught me off guard and sent me into a fit of laughter forcing me to abruptly end our conversation, hanging up with tears in my eyes.

Then, last night, over, again, far too many martinis and Red Stripes I had a chance to get out of my head a little and experience other people’s lives. Greg filled me in on his glamour filled days as a Purser for Trans-World Airways (TWA) and his string gorgeous lovers as we sat in the lobby bar of the Westin Chicago tossing back sipping martinis.

Later, I dragged Greg to Big Chicks, my local watering hole (although, to be honest, that stumble home last night was a bit farther than I remembered) where we met up with Ken and flirted with boys named David and “hey you”. Ken sat me down, bought me a shot and read me to filth, telling me that all I need to do is stop bitching about it and “Do it”. There was a load of truth in that comment. Oh we had good times last night. At one point there was a drunken conversation about something that I don’t recall, and then at another point, oh hell, it was a love fest.

So there you have it. The events that brought about the new policy change at BeyondBuffalo.com, and introduction to my new friend Greg and a hint of things to come about my new main character Ken. (editor’s note: not main romantic interest as sadly Ken is already married)

All that on a school night!
– Title: annonymous visit

Annonymous Padre popped in last night for a few hours. Seems some friends of his bought him tickets to the U2 concert here in Chicago, along with round-trip airfare. Nice friends.
– Title: remembering Mother’s Day

I called my Mother earlier in the week so as not to forget to call her on Mother’s Day. I wasn’t sure that I’d reach her, since her and my Dad often take off in the RV for a month or two at a time. Traveling across this great country visiting all of the family (except for me) criss-crossing from Florida to Wisconsin to North Carolina and back home to Buffalo, NY.

I’ve come to terms with the fact that they’ll never visit me directly, instead choosing to have me drive an hour or two to meet them someplace along their journey. I think they are afraid of urban environments and therefore refrain from entering them unless absolutely necessary. So, as the dutiful son, I drive out to have breakfast, or dinner with them, talk to them a few hours, then return home scratching my head over what just happened, and who these interstate hopping RV’ers are. They definately aren’t the parents I grew up with. I guess freedom from work and children has allowed them to become themselves again. My mother is actually loving and my father relaxed and humorous. He’s really quite funny. Who Knew??

Anyway, since I knew they were out on the road, I picked a time when I was sure to reach their cell phone voicemail only to have my father answer with a cheerful “hello”. We spoke a little bit about their trip, the museums and Civil War battlesites they’ve traveled to, the 18 hours of Blue Grass music they listened to and the route they still had to cover. After all this he asks me if I’d like to speak with my Mother.

Mom gets on the phone and starts in with how horrible the 18 hours of Blue Grass was and I can sympathize with her because all thru-out our childhood, Dad would drag us all to these festivals whenever there was one within driving distance.

“I called to wish you a Happy Mother’s Day” I said at long last.

“Oh? Is it Mother’s Day this weekend? I didn’t even realize that. You’re the first one to wish me a happy one” she continued.

“I’d like a record made of this fact in my file” I joked.

“It will be so noted”

“I’d also like to re-iterate that I’ve never asked for money, or moved home again” I added.

“Yes, and we thank you for that”

“Don’t thank me. Remember this when you finalize your will”
– Title: the outc0me

The world’s most expensive cup of Joe turned out to be $750.00

I dropped my beloved iBook off at the Genius Bar at the local Apple Store down on Michigan Avenue for repairs. I’ve been told they would send it to the mothership for loving attention and it would be returned to me by the 15th at the latest.

Today, I’ll be walking a 5K with my girl Stella doing a fundraiser for the Anti-Cruelty Society of Chicago. It’s called “Bark In The Park” and it should be a good time. Since I adopted Stella from the Anti-Cruelty Society, and she’s given me so much in the short time we’ve been together, it only seems fair to give a little of that back.

I’m off to walk…
– Title:

Starbucks Coffee does not mix well with iBook 12”.
I learned this the hard way when my friend Keith dumped his fresh full LARGE coffee onto the table, dousing my iBook, my glasses and my Cell Phone since, of course the coffee was spilling in my direction.

The iBook currently sits on the back porch, battery and keyboard removed to assist with the drying out phase. I hope it works again, or I’m going to be out a shit-load of $$$$ for repairs and/or replacement.

On a brighter note, I started my anti-depressants again today. After meeting with my shrink yesterday and discussing the situation, I’ve come to the realization that depression will be a battle for the rest of my life. I guess that means I need to come to terms with my issues about taking these medications.
– Title: across the room

Saturday night, I stopped into my local watering hole for a few drinks with a friend that was in town for the night and I ran into a man that I have drooled over online for many months.

Linus, was there with his partner/boyfriend/??? and constantly surrounded by the sexiest men in the entire bar. I hovered around the edges of the group for a small time drinking in the incredible tattoo work on this man’s body. His tattoos stood out nicely on his perfectly smooth, alabaster skin in the darkness in the bar showing off the skill of the artist that inked them onto him.

Later the next day, I sent a quick note to Linus introducing myself to him and sharing my admiration for his ink-work.

It was funny that this man should be in my city at this particular time since earlier that day, a thought hit me like a lightning bolt and I’ve finally realized that the tattoo idea that I’ve been pondering for the past 5 years isn’t the direction that I want to go, but in an entirely different direction. I’ve decided to do both arms with 3/4 sleeves, and I’m now embarked on a search for the perfect example of Abstract Expressionism to grace my arms forever. I’m thinking along the lines of a Piet Mondrian but with a less rigid shape pattern and a more organic feel.

I’d love ideas from my readers. The more input I receive the better my final results will be.
– Title: getting better

I bought myself flowers tonight while shopping for a few essentials at Trader Joe’s. I’m working on taking better care of myself emotionally as well as physically.

I’ve been in the dumps for close to 10 years and its finally caught up to me with a vengeance. I tried running away to a bright new future by coming here to Chicago 4 years ago not realizing that the very thing that brought me here is ultimately what is causing all the anxiety and depression in my life. Namely : Work

I could give excuses or point the blame elsewhere, but in reality, it was all my own doing, or rather, undoing starting in High School, where I realized that I was different (c’mon, you guys know that I’m a big homo, right?). Instead of embracing this aspect of fabulousness, I was ashamed. I thought I was dirty, sick, sinful, and disgusting and turned all those feelings inward trying to correct this thing about me that wasn’t right. I was overly critical of myself. Nothing was good enough. My once stellar grades started to fall and I discovered the delightfully numbing joys of alcohol and marijuana.

Growing up, I’ve always been obsessed with steamships, ocean liners, and cruise ships. I could, and probably still can, name the year, size, and passenger configuration of almost every single passenger liner built between the years of 1903 and 1967 when for all intensive purposes the building of ships ceased due to the overpowering allure of the jet plane. I decided that I would design ships. Glamorous ships that would recapture the imagination of the public and bring them back to the waters.

I went so far as to apply for a spot at the Merchant Marine Academy in New York as a Naval Architect all while listening to my mother and father harping on me that there wouldn’t be a future in it and that I should consider being a pilot or an air traffic controller – having long ago given up on the dream of me following in my father’s footsteps as an aircraft mechanic. I begged and pleaded with them to let me try, that this would make me happy. In their effort to dissuade me, they allowed me to travel to the academy for a tour and orientation visit, while dropping doubts and negatives in my ear thruout the entire visit.

I gave up the fight. They had convinced me that I wouldn’t want to sit at a desk all day drawing, that I was more social and needed to be working in a more social environment. As a consolation, I signed up to my father’s alma matter in the field of Transportation, Travel and Tourism Management. What exactly this degree meant was that I could run a travel agent or work in the travel and tourism field. The transportation portion involved one course titled “logistics”.

I figured, if I couldn’t design the grand new liners I envisioned, then I would do the next best thing and Julie McCoy them.

Jump ahead to the summer of 1990 and my move to the San Francisco Bay Area, having just graduated from college and being stuck at home in a forced labor camp situation needing an escape. I kept asking my brother for help until he finally relented and invited me out to SF. While I was there, I saw an advertisement in the newspaper for a passenger service agent with Japan Airlines and applied using his address.

Long story short, Japan Airlines offered me the other job opening in the Cargo division, starting my long and sometimes less–than-illustrious career in the field of Logistics.

I’ve worked the past 15 years in an industry that I’ve never had an interest in, that I’m extremely knowledgeable about, but ultimately completely indifferent to.

In addition to the flowers, I called my shrink and asked for a refill for my anti-depression medication to help me thru the rough patch that I’m expecting to happen as I switch gears and begin the task of overhauling my entire life.

I think its time to be good to myself and do something that will allow me a more rewarding and happier existance. If not, there is always Starbucks.
– Title: The Villa

I’ve started preparing the porch for the summer months. I spend a large amount of my time on my porch during the summer, so i figured that I would make it much more glamourous this year. I’ve only to hang the chandelier and pot some plants, and I’ll be all set.

The roommate isn’t too happy with it. But I suspect she will be after I complete my plans.
– Title: Googlism

I was reading through the blogs in my links column last night, and came across Myke’s entry and thought I’d give my name a try. It was rather interesting what popped up.

Googlism for: wade

# wade is still under attack

# wade is looking for his Canadian father

# wade is cleared to play by randy holtz

# wade is a freak

# wade is still under attack by Lauren Giardina

# wade is in excellent condition with no chips

# wade is on his way to being the fastest man in the world

# wade is an asshole

# wade is the senior staff scientist in the life sciences division and director for the human research facility and the central clinical laboratory

# wade is missing

# wade is perhaps best known for their whimsies

# wade is widely traveled

# wade is among the top 3 realtors in America

# wade is not the law of the land exposing the myth of judicial supremacy

# wade is principal scientist of wade research

# wade is the president of Wade International

# wade is tall

# wade is a very independent Special Olympics athlete who has brought great happiness to the people around him through his love of life

# wade is the worldwide representative organization for those parties seeking the economic and environmental benefits of decentralized energy

# wade is simply “blowing smoke” when he accuses SBC of creedalism

# wade is still meeting with film studios everyday pitching his ideas for a musical he wrote

# wade is a man of rare qualities

# wade is the most promising producer to have sprung up in the last five years

# wade is known for being one of the most tasteful and versatile guitarists around

# wade is this year’s winner of the coast guard reserve enlisted person of the year

# wade is taking the aggressive approach to keeping his life on track

# wade is an NBA player

# wade is more than a romantic young man

# wade is safe even if Bush gets elected

# wade is expected to take office by 3 April

# wade is riveting

# wade is on a path to greatness which is only the beginning

# wade is a hard working individual that believes that “handouts” in life can be more damaging than good

# wade is a past president of ppo and smoky mountain professional photographers

# wade is forecasting US GDP growth of 2%

# wade is a barren new Hampshire town’s resident policeman and snowplow operator

# wade is spending this fourth of July night off

# wade is upset at this

# wade is assistant coordinator of vocal music at Texas A&M University

# wade is correct

# wade is an internationally recognized authority on vibrational energy technology and has lectured and written extensively on the subject

# wade is the founder and managing partner of Empire Ventures Information Technology Fund

# wade is being compared to Barbara Michaels and Sharyn McCrumb

# wade is a versatile (HA HA HA HA!!)

# wade is a consulting manager for the company

# wade is part of an international team of scientists studying climate shifts

# wade is the finest woman tennis player in the world

Damn, I sure have accomplished a lot in my short lifespan. No wonder I’m so damn tired all the time.And if Google says its true, it MUST be
– Title: I’m thinking…

I’m thinking about life today. Life and work. Life and Love, but mostly, work.

Allow me to once again, turn to you, my tens of readers for direction.

What do you do for work?
Are you happy with your chosen profession?
If not, what would you rather do?

The reason I ask, is that I’ve only known one industry in my entire life and find it impossible to open my mind to other options. So please, I beg of you, share your input.

I’ll give you good kharma points!
– Title: The Waitress

So I want to kill this waitress
She’s worked here a year longer than I If I did it fast you know that’s an act of kindness But I believe in peace I believe in peace, Bitch I believe in peace

Tori Amos – The Waitress©

When I dine out with people that I enjoy and I’m in a good mood, I can be rather playful with my wait staff. I’ll usually test them with a small, innocuous comment or request that will tell me in no uncertain terms whether this particular waitperson is open to my unique sense of humor. Earlier this evening, Tom and I stopped into the local pub for some grub after spending an afternoon searching the junk shops looking for a chandelier for my back porch.
Sitting down, I grabbed the menu looking for something healthy, yet tasty that I would enjoy. I was torn between a healthy Cobb Salad or a less-than-healthy Chicken Fried Steak dinner. Tom was pushing towards the Chicken Fried Streak.
When the waitress asked me what I wanted, I very carefully pointed to the Chicken Fried Steak listed on the menu while declaring that I would be enjoying the “salad” this evening.
Without missing a beat, she said that the “salad” would be a great choice for dinner except that they were currently out of that particular type of salad and that I should perhaps try the “Southern Fried Chicken salad” instead.
“Excellent” I said, handing the menu to her, looking up to see Tom smirking openly.
– Title: emotions are…

Emotions are a strange monster. One minute, life is wonderful and you’re happy, or at least, content, with how your life has progressed, how you look, and your collection of friends, experiences and accomplishments. The next moment, you’ve plunged into a level of darkness never before reached, doubting your skills, your worth and your entire existance.

I struggle a great deal with my emotions. I feel, and when I do, I feel intensely. I wish that I was a more rational and thoughtful person, but it has been my burden to experience my existence through emotions instead. I feel the sunrise and sunset and I feel the music that pumps through my headphones. I envy the person that can detach and go about their day without giving a thought to their emotions, without becoming despondent that their day has not gone as planned.

I went to bed last night content. I was on a good path. I had a plan for pulling myself out of the rut I’ve fallen into o’er the last few years. I had a plan for my workday. Something to get me out of the house and in front of people where I could be social without fearing rejection. By noon, that all changed. I decided to stay in and make telephone calls instead. So I smiled and I dialed. I called new prospects. I called old contacts. I checked in and felt like I was intruding on their day, telling myself they didn’t mind the distraction, but I could hear in their voice that they did. They reacted to my call with suspicion and trepidation. “What is he calling for?” I felt them saying silently.

Later in the day, my home telephone rang. Crazy Michael was inviting me out, helping to keep me connected with life. I can get very isolated in my line of work, where I can spend an entire week without interaction if I so choose, and many times, I have. These stretches of time where I am solitary do great damage to my self-esteem. I question my place in this world. Where do I fit in? What is the reason for me being here? At least the breeders have a stock answer that is universal. Straight people are intrinsically here to reproduce and keep the species alive, and hey, if you can improve things while you’re here, without too much trouble to yourself, then that’s a nice bonus. But what about us gays/lesbians/bisexuals/transgender? What is our place in the greater scheme of things?

My hills have become steeper and my valleys deeper as I’ve progressed through this life and this frightens me horribly. I tell myself that its just life, that it will improve. But what if it doesn’t? What if I’ve already peaked? What if there is a limited amount of happiness assigned to each person’s life when they are born and it is up to them to ration that happiness out over their lifetime? What if I wasted all of my happiness in drug fueled moments in dark loud dance clubs with strangers that I loved intensely while they were sitting next to me, never to be seen again?

I hold out hope for a happy future, filled with love, and light, and intimacy but I also believe that my last attempt broke something in me. Shattered my innocence in a way nothing else has ever managed.

I’m damaged goods. I have baggage, and no amount of fancy packaging will change that fact. No BMW, Louis Vitton, Coach, or Gucci will change the hurt and pain that fills me and frankly, that comforts me some.

But the fact of the matter is that I’ve been treading water in this great city of mediocrity. Treading water for such a long time that I’m tired. My failures are weighing me down and my will to keep my head above the surface has diminished. Will I drown in this den of inactivity and loneliness, will someone reach in with a branch for me to grab onto and pull myself out, or will I start to swim out of the dark waters on my own?
– Title: say it isn’t so

Cupid – Free Online Dating and Match

I took this little quiz where I was asked all these questions about my sexual past and how I would react in certain situations. At they end of it, I was labeled a slut. Of course, I had to change all the questions from reading “her/she/girl/etc” to “He/Him/Boy/etc”. But then again, I do the same thing when it comes to music.
– Title: um…

Caught myself drooling… Homer with a buzz cut, beard, and shirtless.
– Title: at a loss

I’m at a complete loss of words today. I overslept this morning so I don’t really even have time to be posting.

In leu of my entry, I ask a favor.

If you’re a regular visitor, or even if this is your first time, please leave a comment with your first name and the location (city and/or country) where you live.

I’d love to know you all just a little better.
– Title: I’m an American

Your Linguistic Profile:

75% General American English

15% Upper Midwestern

5% Midwestern

5% Yankee

0% Dixie

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

– Title: Lessons Learned

The Little Brown One (TLBO) is visiting me from LA this weekend, and while I’ve been laying on the couch recovering from our antics of last night, TLBO has been uploading music into his new silver iPod mini. I love TLBO more than my luggage, but his A.D.D.-riddled brain can be quite the strain on my fragile nerves after a night in which the two of us alone consumed an entire pitcher of Margaritas as a warm-up for things to come. Laying here listening to him rustling around in the drawers of my desk, I rolled over when he stopped poking around and said ‘Hmmm! .Emmalola didn’t send me a Happy New Year’s Card with a photo of her family on it.”

I said “See what things you learn when you go through a person’s personal things?” and nothing further needed to be said
– Title: nightmares

Regular readers of BeyondBuffalo™ have heard before about the multitude of celebrities that visit me in my dreams. Madonna (Madge) and J. Lo. have both made several appearances along with George Michael and a certain plumber from Wisteria Lane.

Last night, I was visited by a celebrity that managed to turn my dream into a nightmare.

That person? Michael Guest, former wife of Liza Minnelli. I was so frightened by his appearance that I awoke screaming for someone to kill me.

Who would turn your dreams nightmarish?
– Title: beginning to worry…

People have been finding BeyondBuffalo by the strangest searches lately.

Examples:

get your lovely ass to that address and do what you learned about 1977

long term bondage

buffalo thong

and

escorts buffalo

Why? Why? When have I ever discussed thongs and escorts?
– Title: the wonders of modern marketing

Sitting here watching television this evening, I’ve had an epiphany about marketing. I’ve realized, to my greatest chagrin, that I am exceptionally susceptible to the modern marketing machine.

If you look at my life, it is filled with icons of what popular culture considers the “must have” accessories. The iBook I am using to post this very entry. The iPod that pumps my entire CD collection into my ears via my Bose noise-canceling headphones. The BMW 325it sport wagon parked serenely in my driveway waiting for me to test her German engineered abilities. The Ted Baker Suit hanging in the closet, next to the collection of designer named ties above the collection of expensive footwear. Even Stella, currently sleeping soundly on the corner of my bed, though she will eventually lay claim to the entire right hand side before too long, has not given me the level of enjoyment I envisioned.

Here’s the thing. Not one of those things has made me happier in my life. Not one of them has given me the level of joy I anticipated when I purchased them. My life did not automatically start to resemble the commercials. I do not dance down the street with my iPod as the shaded out figures do in their commercials. I do not sit in fancy cafes with super models and beautiful people drinking lattes while typing earnestly into my iBook. I still sit my fat ass at my desk everyday spending far too much time on the computer. My daily commute to my home office in the living room does not resemble the twisting back roads of Northern California, depicted in the automobile commercials. I don’t have happy, energetic people in my car with me laughing at how amazing life is as I sit in traffic with the windows rolled down trying not to choke on the pollution coming out of the SUV exhaust conveniently at the same height as my window.

So where did this infatuation with stuff begin? I think it started in grade school. With all honesty, I can blame the Merry-Go-Round chain store in the mall near my hometown. A little background…

googglie goo.. googglie goo… googglie goo…

I was the youngest, and as far as I’m aware, the only gay child in a family of seven. I’ve always hungered for attention and love. I grew up in a middle class home in a farming community where there was never enough money to go around. I was very aware of the fake wood paneled rec rooms that so many of my friends enjoyed. Our house was custom built in an area and time where custom homes were not the norm. From my vantage point, being just 6 years old when we built the house, we were rich. My Mother had the first imported sports car (a 1985 Mazda RX-7) in town and I was always so proud to drive around with her, enjoying the stares and quizzical looks. In my mind, we were the all that and a bag of potato(e) chips.

Typical of any gay boy growing up in the toxic environment of small town America, fighting the urge to kill myself just to be done with the pain of being different and hiding the truth about who I really was from everyone I came into contact with, I would lose myself in books and movies, on television and in magazines. I took the Cosmo girl quizzes in my sister’s magazines and imagined that the models I stared at in my mother’s J.C. Penny catalogue were the men I was taking this quiz about. I escaped into a world I created to protect myself. But escaping into it was never enough for me and more than once, I would beg my mother to take me to Merry-Go-Round so that I could get the hottest new look I saw on MTV or in a magazine. It was my intention to re-create in my own existence, the life I envisioned other people enjoyed.

googglie goo… googglie goo… googglie goo…

Twenty-five years have passed since I pestered my mother into buying me a pair of zipper pants and the matching jacket. The grey suit that unzipped to reveal the black insert was my pride and joy and has also become a symbol for me. A symbol of what trying too hard can do to you. It can cause you to do more than simply make bad fashion choices, it can cause you to make bad choices period.

So what does this have to do with marketing and what was my epiphany?

It’s really quite simple.

When the pizza hut commercial came on less than 20 minutes after I finished a delicious chicken curry tandori bowl I just threw together and I started to drool, wanting to order an extremely bad, greasy, uber-corporate created pizzaI knew I had a problem.

Allow me to make a plea to the marketers out there. please put a notice in your advertisements that they apply to everyone except a certain someone in Chicago with a destructive spending habit.

Not only am I a food racist, but now, I need to be avoid marketing as well.
– Title: excited

I’m so excited I could spit. No really spit. Those that know me should be able to tell you that I don’t spit. I can’t. The very thought of spitting brings up the most painful of childhood memories for me. So painful, in fact, that I cannot discuss it here. No! I said No! I won’t discuss the fact that my father cut me from the little league baseball team that he was coaching. I won’t discuss the fact that I do now and always have thrown like a girl. I won’t discuss the fact that my older siblings would have spitting competitions when we were little and I never really learned how to “hock a luggie”.

I’ve always been disgusted by that and I believe that good social breeding requires of one to deny themselves the vulgarity of “hocking a luggie”. In a lot of ways, I’m very similar to Bree from Desperate Housewives. I believe in a clean home, good food, and the appearance of happiness, all while deep down I get to watch my world collapsing without one clue on how to fix it. But damn it looks pretty!

How did I get off the topic?

I’m so excited I could spit… My friend John has agreed to help me revitalize Beyondbuffalo. There’s so much more that I want to do but haven’t the knowledge to get it here that I asked him for a little help. When he gets home from his world travels, there will be a new Beyondbuffalo site, complete with photos, a new blog layout, a new blog (for the stories you really need a password to read) and oh so much more.

I can’t wait until he gets home.
– Title: Nature’s little wisk broom

I’ve been trying to eat healthier lately, get more rest, and generally surround myself with upbeat and happy people. I think its starting to pay off. My mood has improved and I’m just swimming in my 38” jeans. Swimming, I say!

I’ve read all about the South Beach diet craze that has helped many people lose a good amount of weight, but I can’t follow a prescribed anything, let alone a diet. I mean, I went to the Doctor over a week ago because I’ve been languishing with this cold and cough that just won’t seem to disperse. (check out all these big words). He prescribed some antibiotics that I was instructed to take twice a day, once at breakfast and once again at dinner time. For some reason, I kept missing the dinner time dose, so I’m basically taking 10 days worth of medication and stretching it out into close to 14 days.

So instead of attempting a diet that I can’t follow or stick to, I’ve decided to become a racist. Well, a food racist at least. No More Whiteys. I’ve cut all white colored items out of my diet with the exception of milk, cheese and the whipped cream in my Starbucks Mocha Frappachinos. It also occurred to me to perhaps add some new colors to my diet. I’ve chosen to add the colors Green and Orange.

I’ve been on this diet for about a week and it seems to be working. Its completely un-scientific, so if you’re thinking of trying it, consult a doctor before any heavy lifting or strenuous physical activity. The only problem with this diet is that I’ve been, (how shall I say this delicately?) a little less than regular. I won’t go into details. Let it suffice to say that I’ve had my roommate close to calling 911 several times over the last week thinking that I was dying from the sounds emanating from the bathroom.

My solution?

See Homer? The lengths I’ll go, to improve myself in order to be worthy of your love.

Bye the way, if this works, look for the accompanying diet and cook book in your grocer’s freezer section. I just have to figure out how to make a concept of Do not eat white! take up 350 pages.
– Title: I’m so Butch

I should change careers and become an auto mechanic. Why? Because I’m so damn butch.

I’m going to donate all of my custom made shirts and suits, $75 ties, and designer labeled shoes to take up wearing greasy, dirty jeans and steel toed boots. I’m gonna keep my head shaved and let my beard get craggily. I’ll be the poster boy man for a new national movement of masculinity. Let the metrosexuals choke on their Homo-styled lives and pussy-footed skin-care regimens while I live the life of a real man™.

You may be wondering why this sudden change in my demeanor. Why has The Brat© gone from sensible, high-end shopper and ultimate driving machine enthusiast to wanting to drive a beat up pick-up truck and wearing overalls? “Did he reach his credit card limit?” You may be wondering. “Did he suffer the ultimate insult from the Shrub’s administration and lose his income?” may be another question going through the minds of my tens of readers.

No, none of that.

Pull up a chair and make yourself comfy.

“Jen!”

“Jen!”

“Bring the fresh popped popcorn for my readers please!”

Now, let me tell you the story that has brought about such a massive testosterone building change in my life. Is everyone excited? I’m giddy just wanting to tell you. ok! OK! I’ll tell you.

I changed the central-locking switch in my BMW all by myself!

Can you believe it?

I could hardly breathe I was so excited. I was panting like a little girl at the front of the line at a boy band record signing.

Here’s the story!

Last week, pulling up in front of Tom’s building on our way to the movies, the doors wouldn’t unlock. I actually had to reach over and open it. Following after the wise teachings of my father in the art of fixing anything, I started pounding on the button hoping to dislodge whatever was causing it to stick, which instead, ended up breaking the Hazard Light button nestled immediately to its side.

I dreaded the cost of having a BMW dealer do the repairs, so while I was at the dealer pricing a roof rack, I asked them how difficult it would be to repair it on my own. The service technician was very polite and gave me the simplest of instructions. Just shove something down the side of it and it pops right out. Then pop the new one in.

Twenty minutes later, there was a new switch unit installed in my car. Why twenty minutes to simply “pop” out the old one and “pop” in the new one? Cause it wasn’t that easy. The old switch ended up coming out in parts. Small parts. A LOT of small parts. I should have used a vacuum to get them all out.

So THAT, my tens of readers is why I am entitled to consider myself Butch.
– Title: blog crushes

I think I have a blog crush on Homer. He’s adorable as all get-up and he has a Basenji gracing his blog. If the Basenji is actually his, I’m picking up and moving to Tuscon to be his lover (even if I’m his lover while stalking him hiding out in a car across the street.)
– Title: getting on the bitch box

Please allow me kind readers to step on my soap-box and get a few things off my chest.

Driving –

# A vehicle can kill, as such, treat it with the respect entitled to a potential killing machine. You wouldn’t assume The Terminator would follow the lane and maintain speed while you’re talking on your cell phone, eating your food, reading your books or newspapers, yelling at your children, or just in general not paying attention, so why would you expect your automobile to?

# Suggestion: Pay the extra costs for the Turn Light Options and then USE THEM! When approaching an intersection in which you intend to make a left handed turn, its considered polite (and the, ahem, Law) to indicate your intention by signalling with either your hand or turn signal indicator lights. If you fail to signal and I’m stuck behind you unable to get around your rude ass, expect a continuous blast of my horn until I can maneuver around you and potentially a finger.

# We’re all in this together, so lets be courteous about it shall we? Let someone merge, is the 5 second delay really going to ruin your day? Stop for pedestrians crossing the street. (Today, there was a girl in the middle of two same direction lanes that got caught when the light changed and at least 5 cars in each lane raced past her at speeds in excess of 35 miles an hour. When I stopped to let her safely get out of traffic, I got honked at.)

# The other day, I was listening to the morning radio and they were discussing a new law that will make it illegal to smoke in a closed vehicle, resulting in a $50.00 fine. Think about this. They’ll fine you for smoking, but NOT for endangering your life and the lives of everyone in your vicinity while yakking away on a mobile phone. Get a fucking hands-free headset and pay attention.

I’ll be drafting a letter to the powers that be to bring Illinois into the 21st century and have cell phones banned in cars without hands-free devices.

In most European countries, they take driving seriously and as such require more of their citizens than passing a few common-sense written questions and the ability to parallel park. Most drivers in the UK fail their first 2 driving tests. I say we need something like that here. Make the tests harder and get some of these people off the road.

Shopping

I LOVE shopping. I truly LOVE shopping. When I don’t have anything to do, I’ll head to Michigan Avenue and spend a few lovely hours browsing the wares available for purchase, while not actually considering buying anything. Anyway…

# I’m bothered by the new trend catching on at finer stores everywhere, requiring shoppers to show a receipt for their purchases as they exit the facility. This afternoon, at HomoDepot, the security guard stood there and watched me scan my items, swipe my card, and grab the receipt. She also watched me put my receipt into my wallet and return my wallet to my ass pocket. As I attempted to walk out, she stopped me and asked me for my receipt. I said “You JUST watched me check out, I saw you watching me. Why on earth would you still need to see my receipt?”
“Its my job” she said as she waved her hand in my direction, prompting me to hand over the receipt.

Thank you for letting me get that off my chest. I’m going to bed now.

*note: If you type in www.homodepot.com into your web browser, it’ll actually go to the official Home Depot site. Maybe Home Depot isn’t as evil as I thought they are.
– Title: coffee talk

over coffee at my local Starbucks this morning, I inturrupted Keith’s discussion of our sexual conquests over the past weekend with the statement “I’m trying to refocus my energies away from getting laid”.

“To what?” he asked

“God thats a hard one.” was the only reply I could come up with…
– Title: ugh

My head is pounding with the ferocity of angry dogs fighting over a scrap of meat. I swear I need to either stop drinking those purple slushy concoctions that Sidetrack makes or ease up on the poppers. Everywhere I turned last night, someone was handing me yet another slushy drink. They’re really quite delicious, frothy, sweet, and carry a surprisingly strong alcohol kick.

water

water

water

This is my mantra of the day.
– Title: you have spoken

HOT or NOT
9.9

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

15 votes
Rate me!
– Title: I never do this, but…

Rate me.
– Title: The gays are in the air

What is it about spring that brings out my lust for men?

Could it be the hot shirtless joggers running along the lake shore?

Could it be the muscular hairy legs poking out of the shorts of the men walking along Broadway in Boystown?

Or could it be the sun that brings me back to life and fills me with happiness after 6 months of gray?

Methinks its all of the above.

In other news…

I had a lovely visit from my Blog-Daddy and his boyfriend on Sunday afternoon. Apparently, I’m the only gay man with a white BMW wagon in all of Chicagoland, beacuse they spotted me as I was leaving IKEA and knew instantly that it was me. They called and agreed to make a stop in the city on their way home to Indianapolis.

It was lovely. They met Stella, and sat in the living room sipping S.Pellegrino as we chatted over life and current affairs. I felt as if life was finally good. I like having visitors. Especially when they are all very attractive people! It brightens my day to be able to open my home and share the warmth I’ve created here with people I care about.

Thanks for visiting Blog-Daddy!
– Title: Hodge Post (part deux) ™

Men Seeking ?
Fishing for the big one

I am interested in finding the man with the largest cock in the Chicago Area. If you think you have the largest one, whether you’re straight, bi-curious, bi, gay, I don’t care. E-mail me with your stats. I’m bi-curious myself, and I’d like to play with the biggest one I can find.
hookinbigone, 49 #109054

I found the above personal ad in the Chicago Reader this afternoon while I was enjoying my Potbelly sandwich. Its good to have a goal in life.

My friend Tom dreams in color…

I had the weirdest dream last night. I was in Windsor Castle, walking down the stairs, and there sat Queen Elizabeth, crying into her white gloved hands. I sat down next to her on the step, and she leaned over and started sobbing onto my shoulder. I put my arm around her and asked what was wrong. She said she was really upset about Charles and Camilla, and there was nothing she could do to stop the wedding. More crying. A butler started walking up the stairs, and she sat up long enough to tell him that there had been too much salt in her dinner that night. She turned around on the step to talk to him, and as she did, she let out a little fart.

Then I woke up.

Tom is HOT, I can totally understand why Queen Elizabeth would want to sob on his shoulder.

A Brady Bunch Moment

I had a Brady Bunch moment this afternoon after I picked up my prescription antibiotics. I’ve been fighting a cold/cough thats moved into my chest for about a month. I got into my car and looked in my mirror, over my shoulder and in both side mirrors before starting to back up. Luckily, I saw the minivan before she hit me and was able to avoid it. I seriously flashed to the scene in the court-room where Mike Brady threw his briefcase onto the floor to prove the guy’s neck wasn’t really hurt.

As I pulled out of the parking lot I wondered who’d be my Mike Brady. Who would be smart enough to throw his briefcase in my behalf?
– Title: positively negative

The energy around me has been changing the past few months, or rather, I’ve finally figured out what that energy is. Negativity.

Thanks to my chat yesterday with Anonymous Padre, I’ve realized what has been eating away at me for such a long time. Since I moved to Chicago, my long-term friendships have become stale and strained. Perhaps not on the surface, but deep down, I do not find the warmth and joy of these friendships as rewarding as I once did. On the surface, everything is fine. We talk daily, we keep up with each other’s lives, or rather, I keep up with theirs, and we truly care about each other’s well-being. Yesterday I realized that I’ve stopped sharing my deeper feelings with my friends because, for the most part, they don’t ask about them.

When I lived in California and I would spend time with my friends, there was no hiding my feelings because my face is too expressive for my own good. If you look into my eyes, you’ll see the very fires that light my soul or the deep blue of my ever present struggle with depression. Take away the face-to-face interaction and I become very good at hiding the true nature of my life.

While discussing all this with AP, he said the words I’ve been afraid to utter for myself. “You’re lonely” he said, and as I wiped the tears from my cheeks, I realized that he was right. I have friends, I have acquaintances and activity partners, but I’ve never been this lonely before.

I’ve been hesitant to publish this post because my long-distance friends read this almost daily looking for little tid-bits of humor and a window into my day-to-day existence. I don’t want to get telephone calls from them all of the sudden concerned about me, asking me why I’ve never mentioned this before. They know that I go through life for the most part oblivious to my emotions until they flare up and demand to be dealt with.

Top all of this off with the fact that my circle of friends in Chicago is not the most supportive or sane. I’ve been wondering why I’ve become so incredibly negative in my thoughts of late, and while shopping with friends this weekend, I sort of disengaged from the group and watched them interacting with each other and with strangers. At the end of the shopping trip, as we headed to the garage to get the car, not one person offered to help with the $25.00 parking fee. Its not that I needed the money, or even would have accepted it, but it would have been nice if something was offered.

So what do I do? How do I put myself and my needs in a position to have them met without being selfish or self-centered? How do I balance between giving everything of myself with giving nothing of myself?
– Title: Take the gay out of the ghetto…

Thanks to Mark, I stumbled upon this site earlier and spent the afternoon creating my own wet-dream. It just goes to show you that no matter what technological advancements are made, I’ll use them for my own twisted perverted means.
– Title: I’m just sayin…

I know this isn’t a legal document, but given my meager lifestyle and savings, this will have to do. All the talk in the media of late about Terry Schiavo and her persistive vegetative state have got me thinking about what I would like to happen if I’m in a similar situation.

I say. Pull the damn plug. Remove the tube and starve my ass, just make sure I die thin and fabulous. Then put me in a Hugo Boss suit, set me on fire, and scatter me to the winds.

I believe that means “do not resuscitate” should I die in surgery. Do not keep me alive by artificial means. Put me in a designer suit. Cremate me.

Now with the scattering… There are two schools of thought.

# 1. pour my ashes onto the floor of The Lone Star Saloonto be mixed in with the peanut shells and garbage.

# 2. Find a high cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean and put me back where I was happiest.

and one last thing. There is a vintage suitcase under my bed that contains items of a, let’s say more personal nature, that needs to be disposed of prior to the family claiming my belongings. While you’re at it, double check the night stand.
– Title: Panic makes me loopy

I’m either in the middle of a 2 year panic attack, or the cold medicine has taken over my functions because I’m thinking crazy. Loopy crazy. J Lo and Ben crazy.

Its been well documented that I’m a tad bit unhappy with my current employment situation. Mainly the fact that I can’t seem to close any new business to save my life. I try. I work really hard for weeks at a time until I burn myself out and get all un-motivated again. Then I languish for a week or two until I pull myself back up and try, oh how I try again. Well, I’m nearing the end of the most recent two week languishment and I’m struggling for motivation to kick into gear. I tell myself that the harder I work, the more shiny pretty things I can buy myself. The more fashion designer suits and clothes I can fill my closet with, the more traveling I can do, the faster my beloved Rikka will get paid off. But none of this has worked for me. It sucks working in a money driven career when you’re not driven by money.

That being said, I’ve been considering a move again. To a smaller city. A quieter place with a slower pace of life. A place where I could possibly purchase a home and set down some roots.

My weekend in St. Louis allowed me to slow down a moment long enough to consider a few things. Do I really need to live in a huge city? Do I need to have it all at my fingertips, when chances are I’ll never even check all of it out? Wouldn’t it be better to be the big fish in a small pond than a small fish in a big pond? Do I even want to be a fish?

These were just a sampling of the questions racing through my flu-ridden mind the past few days as I languished (oh how I love that word) about the apartment trying to clean my head of both mucus and depression.

I think the answer is yes. I’m not sure which question “yes” answers, but the answer is most definitely “yes”.
– Title: Its good to be Wade

It must be good to be me.

According to the Urban Dictionary, Wade means

1. Wade
n.
1. One who is enviable in every aspect of his existence.
2. One who induces inferiority complexes and bitterness due to his unattainable and nearly-inhumane perfection.

(Note: This word should always be used as a capitalized proper noun, in order to pay homage to the one true Wade. Furthermore, any references to Wade using personal pronouns must be capitalized out of respect. Any bastardizations of this term should be treated as capital offenses, and punished as such. Any contradiction, by anyone, to the aforementioned defintions is due to the effects on one’s psyche as described in defintion #2. Do not hate these unfortunate people, pity them, as they are suffering from an envy of Wade. Also, anyone who claims to be Wade, or denounces, belittles, or insults Wade is a bitter fraud; Wade does not identify himself, as he needs no identification.)
Wade rules- This statement is, of course, inherently redundant, as it is implied by defintion that Wade is perfect.

2. Wade
n. One that is completely enviable in every way. If this person wasn’t himself he would wish that he was. syn.: perfection.
wade is perfect.-this of course is redundant as it is implied that wade is perfect by his very existence.

3. Wade
Having a complete urban understanding. Empathetic to everyone, understanding and kind. Lovable and beautiful in his own right.
Everything about Wade is amazing from his killer body to the fact he always smells amazing. Wade is the most amazing type of person in the world.

I’m not making this shit up. I swear. And I smell nice too…
– Title: a slow death

*Slosh*
You will sink in a mire. You like to think you’re
normal, but deep down you really just want to
strip off your clothes and roll around in
chicken fat.

What horrible Edward Gorey Death will you die?
brought to you by Quizilla
– Title: left handed turn you say?

Don’t laugh at me, but I’m going to share something deeply personal about myself here.

I get anxious when I need to make a left-handed turn. I’m OK with making such a turn when there is an appropriate arrow signal giving me 100% right-of-way, but when I need to stop in the middle of an un-signaled intersection and wait for oncoming traffic to pass, allowing me to turn, my palms get sweaty and my heart rate increases noticably.

The only reason I share this with you is because earlier today, as I was making a right-handed turn, my turn indicator light burned out. This is the second time I’ve had to replace the right-handed turn indicator light since I purchased the car in October.

It was then that it hit me. Its because I go out of my way to avoid left-handed turns so my right signal gets much more use.
– Title: Road trippin

Its been a little while since I’ve thrown a bag in the car and headed out of town for a weekend of exploring. My dear friend Crazy Michael joined me this weekend to provide much needed company and entertainment for a drive to St. Louis.

We missed the bulk of the Friday evening commute arriving in St. Louis early enough to check into our hotel, freshen up and hit the bars before Missouri’s insanely early closing times.

Now, I used to live in the St. Louis area when I was attending St. Louis University in the late 1980’s, so the city’s layout came back to me pretty easily. The major routes, buildings and points of interest are still pretty much the same and although there have been some pretty major changes in the last 20 years, some things have surprisingly stayed the same. I saw more Robert Smith early Cure hair styles than I could count on one hand, and unlike the word of the weekend, these were not being IRONIC.

I haven’t kept in touch with any of my friends from my days in school. Its difficult to maintain relations over the years without a major commitment from both sides and as is often the case, one side lags behind eventually coming to a whimpering end. So you can imagine my surprise when somebody called my name and tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to find Miss Moffett, my first ever drug lord, staring at me wide and crazy eyed wanting a hug and a kind word. The reasons for our fallout are not important, or even remembered, but the divide was still there and I could feel it in all its coarse honesty. We exchanged polite greetings followed with inquiries into each other’s lives in the time since we last met. Each statement of mine followed by a response of “Right On!” from MM.

The following morning after brunch in the Central West End, we arrived back to my car…
accident

I was livid. I grabbed my camera and snapped a few shots of the offending car and its license plate before jotting down a biting note advising the careless and evil driver that they’d be hearing from my insurance company for any damage done to my bumper. As I got out of the car to put the note on the windshield, there was a couple of little old women approaching the other car. I asked, in an agitated manner, if they were the drivers of this car? I retrieved the camera from my vehicle while the driver helped strap her 98 year old mother into the passenger seat, returning to show her the park job and find out what her problem was. I softened considerably seeing the old woman fumble for words. I told her to be more careful in the future and that there wasn’t any real harm done.

Later, back at the hotel…
glamour

We freshened up again for a night on the town. Another night in a bar followed by a trip to the drive thru on the way back to the hotel, to wake up with dry mouth and a slight headache.

Driving home, we took the long way. Along the Mississippi river for a good 70 miles of back country roads, farms, quaint country inns and the most amazing white trash people I’ve ever seen.

From all the weekend, I have one regret. Why did they have to be little old women?
– Title: how are quotes made famous

I was in the online chat room this mornign before work and I brought up a topic close to my heart. Dating. OK, now I know, that i’m not exactly the type of person to go on a date, much less think about dating, but there was a lull in the conversation and I needed something fast. The gays, they like talking about dating for some reason. Then again, it almost always slides quickly into the gutter with talk of fisting and whatnot. It doesn’t matter that I’m usually the one leading it there.

So I brought up a topic for discussion by asking… “has anyone ever thought about breaking it off with someone who is perfect for them in every way except politics.?”

Most of the answers were “Yes”, a few “maybes”, and one was “if it bugs you enough then sure.”

I took this feedback and replied “but even if we agree to disagree, I still feel like I’m dating an idiot”.

How do you get around that?
– Title: Photos are a comin…

I’m in the process of adding a photo gallery. It’s not working yet, but will be soon.

Its all making me want a smaller camera so that I can carry it with me everywhere. But if I add a camera to the list of items I must carry with me, I’d need more pockets.

iPod
cell phone
camera

Why can’t they all be in one?

I’m sure in a few years, they will be. But until that time…
– Title: Motivational Bean

I’ve figured out my entire life, my faults, my misgivings, my fears, my strengths and my hopes.

All this was achieved in the time it takes to fly from Chicago to San Francisco. A little over 4 hours.

But I was not to be flying to San Francisco as planned this weekend. No! I would be sitting in a hotel conference room in Rosemont, IL, home of the world-renowned Rosemont theatre and boasting a police force numbering higher than the civilian population. I was to be sitting in the Crowne Plaza Hotel listening to Mr. Bean instructing me on how to live a better life, a more complete life, a happier life. All in a little more than 4 hours.

Allow me, if you will, to back up just a smidgen.

Several weeks ago, while killing untold hours of my life and an even larger count of brain cells in an online chat room, I met a man that invited me to San Francisco to spend a weekend as his property. I was to be his boy for the weekend. A few weeks of discussion and sexual talk ensued and plane tickets were purchased about 10 days before I was to depart (thereby missing the required 14 day advanced purchase and driving up the cost, Damn them!)

Two days after I purchased my tickets, I received an e-mail from my boss informing me of a seminar on customer service tactics and it was very clear that I was to attend without complaints. I contacted my new gentleman friend and informed him of this little glitch that felt more like dropping a steel girder into a wood chipper. I wasn’t too happy, and neither was he. There would be a price to pay when we did indeed meet, of this I was sure. (Not that I would particularly mind that price being paid)

This brings me back to Mr. Bean, or rather, Motivational Bean as I’ve taken to calling him since half way through the seminar when I realized just exactly who the man at the front of the room reminded me of, as he contorted his face into the many emotions so often seen on the great Mr. Bean and spoke so eloquently in his faded British accent. I was angry with him for having cost me a potential sexually rewarding experience at the hands of yet another unknown man.

But he reached out and grabbed my attention, against my wishes and better judgment and reeled me in to his way of thinking. Here I was sitting in a room full of “freight people” listening to Motivational Bean and it was making sense. It was the answer to my search. It’s all at my fingertips.

But I’m not going to share what that is just yet because I got into an argument with my roommate moments ago and I want to put a question before you, my tens of readers.

My roommate, bless her soul, is not usually the cleanest or most thoughtful person on this planet. She’s clean, she’s lovely, she is thoughtful to feelings and often will bring me home some sweet little token that made her think about me and share it with a genuine glee in her voice and demeanor. My comment about her not being thoughtful is more directed towards the results of her actions on those around her. The Andersonville version of the butterfly effect. (Sing it Mariah Carey). She doesn’t give much thought to putting the Heinz back in the fridge or turning off lights or capping my $65.oo Acme Brand pen that is my favorite writing instrument thereby allowing the ink to dry.

I on the other hand am almost painfully aware of how my actions affect the lives of others. I will avoid cell phone calls in restaurants lest I anger fellow diners, slow my car to allow a faster vehicle to pass me and even move out the way on the sidewalk to allow other less thoughtful or considerate persons to pass without so much as veering an inch to allow for my 6’5” frame to walk on the same 5 foot wide sidewalk as them. These sorts of everyday sacrifices I do to prevent my existence from encumbering and or interfering with their much more important existences.

I also really like to let people know that I’m making these sacrifices with well placed words, glances or noises. However, you could have knocked me over with a sledgehammer when earlier I innocently informed my beloved roommate that I had taken down the shower curtain and washed it in an attempt to remove the months of dirt and grime built up on the once pure-as-driven-snow white curtain and she verbally attacked me accusing me of blaming her for the dirt contained on that once pristine white garment.

My exact words were…

“I washed the shower curtain today, but I couldn’t get off the dirt from that spot on the edge where you grab it to pull it open.”

When I said the above words, I was using the term “you” to include myself as in “You know how when you drop your pants in a bar and someone grabs your ass…” You know, an example of an act that everyone has experienced and is knowledgeable about.

Her response was indignation that I was implying it was “her” dirt and that she was dirty and therefore all her fault that it was dirty in the first place.

Regardless of the fact that deep down, I probably do believe it is mostly her dirt causing the unsightly stain, I don’t think she should have attacked me like that. So I ask.

how wrong was my comment?

Update: We’ve hashed it out and apparently, I’m quite the ass around the house. So I’ll be changing my ways and making every attempt to be less condesending and more open minded and supportive.
– Title: changes are coming

I want to do more with my blog than simply bitch and moan, whine and cry. I want to be engaging. I want to entertain. I want to have a theme and a direction instead of just going on and on about my memories and current issues facing me. I want a blog that will tell you, my tens of readers, who I am and what I am all about.

So I’ve asked John to help me get a photo styled blog up and running. I’m hoping that he’s bored and in a good mood.

coming soon. Beyond Buffalo with a direction.
Anything you’d like to see? tell me.
– Title: the wheel of life

Life had a funny way of making you realize how much other people mean to you and how short your time here truly is. Today, I attended my first ever Baptist Funeral. The mother of a friend and colleague passed away and to show support, I rearranged my day to make an appearance.

After getting horribly lost and calling for directions, I slipped into the already in progress service and grabbed a seat in the rear of the humble cinderblock church to listen and pay my respects. Nobody noticed my arrival. It was a great service, full of passion and love.

After the service, my friend turned to assess the crowd of mourners and saw me. He did a double take, unsure if he really saw me sitting there, since I’d never been officially invited and he didn’t even know that I’d been informed. He nodded his head a little as if to say “Thank You” acknowledging me in the crowd and shook my hand on the way out of the church.

I gave him my sincerest condolences about his mother’s death and slipped quietly out of the crowd to return home. It wasn’t my place to be at the gravesite, but I wanted to at least pay respects to a woman that raised an amazingly warm and caring person, filled with wit and intelligence.

Driving home, thinking about the small token I’d just done made me realize that I’ve become an extremely self-centered and selfish person. Since my life revolves around me, without much input from friends or family, I’ve gotten into the habit of taking others for granted and putting my needs first.

Time to get out of my life and put others first for a while. So when you really need to merge into the lane in front of me, flip on your turn-signal, and you can be sure that I’ll let you merge in comfortably. Hey, its the least I can do.
– Title: Today’s blog post is brought to you by the letter “H”

“H” stands for hangover.

Nothing more to say
– Title: a bit of a stretch don’t ya think…

be the judge.

Conspiracy theorys
– Title: the little gold one

We watched the Oscars last night. The roommate and I had a little party spread put out should anybody decide to drop by and watch them with us. Oh what a spread. Mac-n-Cheeze, Chili dip, taco-chili dip, nibbly things everywhere.

The red-carpet event is a veritable bitch-fag’s delight. Catty comments about this actress’ dress, hair and make-up, immediately followed with gushing proclamations of love over that actor and his tuxedo.

I had to distance myself after a few minutes lest I take to bitching along with them. I’m trying something new. Positive thought.

Yeah, that thing where you don’t allow yourself to judge another person negatively for their look or actions.

I hear its very “Jesus-like”. I figure with the religious fanatics throwing his name around and all, that if I live by example, it might just rub off on someone.

well, that was until I had to make that nasty remark about Beyonce. I mean c’mon girl you had a fucking chandelier around your neck!
– Title: i’m a racist and I didn’t even know it.

Beyonce was lovely while singing that song in french last night, but the attendies of my little party were making catty comments about her singing it in French. The first thought in my head was “Any monkey can be taught to do that” but I censored myself realizing the negative racist implications should I utter the words. I covered my mouth like a Japaneses school girl and started to giggle at the thought echoing through the caverns of my brain. A quick check with the small group of guests in the front living room and I decided to share it.

Jump ahead to the next time Beyonce performed. The shot opened on a huge wind up monkey with cymbols. Beyonce steps out of the dark dripping in diamonds.

Why did they have to put that damn Monkey in that shot?
– Title: The Friends post

Yesterday, I ranted, cried, and complained about my friends. Today, I’m going to share a few pictures of my friends. Its funny what happens when you write about something. The power it held over you is released and you can see past the garbage to what is really important.

My friends mean the world to me. They are my family in more ways than I can ever list. So here, are my friends (in no particular order of importance)

The Republican
The Republican and the Brat

The Litte Brown One
The Little Brown One

Crazy Alan
Crazy Alan

Mik
Mik and Brat

Brian
Brian and Brat

JJB
Jason

The CD
CD’s BMW replacement

CHI-man and David
The Chi-man and David

Dane and Adolfo
trouble pure and simple

Anonymous Padre
Anonymous Padre

Ken
Ken

New Friend Moby
Mobius Maximus

The German MR
MR

and of course:
Married Well
Married Well

Putting this list together made me realize two things.

1.) I’m amazingly blessed with the people in my life that I call “friends”
2.) I need to take more pictures, cause there are a whole lot more people that I don’t have digital pictures of, like TL, Larzy, Emmalola, and I could go on…

Maybe this will balance things out in my kharma spectrum from yesterday.

Thanks Friends!
– Title: Are you a sucker or a blower?

I had an interesting conversation with The Little Brown One a few minutes ago that kind of put my current dilemma into perspective. There was this crazy woman in San Francisco named “Rebecca” that had a unique philosophy about people. (She also threw an amazing White Trash Themed Party that has left an indelible mark on my soul.) Her philosophy is that you’re either a SUCKER or a BLOWER.

If you’re a sucker, you tend to suck the life force out of people, always taking, always making things about yourself while showing only rudimentary interest in other people’s lives. The crisis talk is always about you, about your life and about your needs. You take. You take energy to deal with. You take energy to be with. You take and you take and when there is no more to take, you move on to the next victim to wait for the first to recover.

If you’re a blower, you give. Your heart is open and full of love to give. You mentor, you calm, you nurture and empathize. You listen with your entire being because its what is needed of you and its what you have to give. Your guidance is usually top notch and filled with the spirit and wisdom, garnered from your own experiences and the lives of those around you. You are a well of strength others draw from.

Most people hover someplace in the middle, jumping from side to side given the needs of their current situation.

Living in San Francisco all those years allowed me the perspective to see both categories of people living and loving. The energy of the area is infused with positive energy and hope towards the future. I can’t really put it into words other than to say, if you calm yourself and allow yourself to feel the energy of the Bay Area, there is no way you cannot be inspired to greatness, however you measure it.

When I moved to Chicago, I did so on an impulse. I was living in a temporary hotel near O’Hare International Airport within one month of being offered the position that brought me here. Everything happened very quickly. One day I was thinking about biking across the Golden Gate Bridge the following weekend, the next, I was planning a going-away party to say “Good Bye” to my friends instead of the bike ride. The whole thing left me reeling.

Jump ahead 4 years to the recent posts on this here website. The talk of moving to San Francisco, of leaving Chicago and the cold behind to return to my beloved city by the bay.

I returned from San Francisco irritable. I snapped at everything, I was depressed, I started to over-eat to fill the void I’ve felt in my heart. Yeah I know, food fills the stomach, not the heart. details! Today, while talking with TLBO it hit me. I can’t move. I’m not done here in Chicago yet. Something brought me here. Something I’ve yet to figure out.

The Republican has been going through hell the past few weeks, the move, the breakup, the business crap, there’s more, but I needn’t get into it. She started taking from me. My energy, my empathy, my time, my ear and my heart. My heart leapt out to her in her time of need. I wanted to be there for her. I wanted to make it all ok. I wanted to be the strength she needed for this event in her life, as others were there for me when it happened to me. (Damn you Cowboy!!) I got the urge to move there, and quickly, to be with her, to be a friend to her. I can’t do that though. Because to do that, would make my life not OK.

I’m very lonely here in Chicago. I have friends. Good friends. But alot of them lately have become “Suckers”, sucking the very life out of me. My spirit is tired. I don’t sleep. I don’t dream. I’m too busy recovering from the drama in other people’s lives to have the energy to get through my own problems and crisis. I never seem to have time to have a break-down of my own and when I do, there is nobody there to listen to me. When Do I get to have the support?

I love them too much to hurt them and not be available for them, but where do I draw the line? Where do I say “This has to stop, I can’t give anymore”?

Now I know I’ve only given the example of The Republican. The fact that she is a Republican is the ONLY reason I’m shining the negative spotlight on her. I love and adore her and will always be there for her and she knows this. So allow me this self-indulgent moment to address my friends.

To my friends:

I am lucky to have you in my life. I’m a thankful you are there. I will be there for you if you ever need me. I will listen when you truly need me. I will drop what I’m doing to laugh at you when you are in jail or have fallen down drunk. I will give you the clothes off my back.* Every once in a while though, call me, ask me to a movie, ask me to dinner, the theatre, the beach, a friend’s party. While we’re doing this, lets not hash through drama and crisis. Lets enjoy each other’s company and respectfully interact with each other. Lets talk over a bottle of wine, or a few beers. Take the time to get to know me, who I am, what makes me tick, because that’s what I’m doing with you. I’m learning about who you are, what makes you the person you are, how you got to be so amazing and why you comb your hair that way.

I’m not perfect, I’m a sucker alot of the time too. Everyone needs to have someone to lean on and listen to them. I’m asking for a little more give and take. From both sides.

*Hugo Boss suit excluded
– Title: follow-up

I figured I’d give it some time before posting to allow my tens of readers a chance to e-mail with photos of themselves to me at (removed to avoid spam) I do have this to say… based on the photos of the two gentlemen that responded, the naked pictures I’ve already received and the in-person meeting I’ve already had, I’ve got beautiful handsome fucking hot readers.

Help prove this little fact correct. I won’t even mind naked pictures. Trust me, I’ll suffer through.
– Title: I wanna know

I want to know what my readers look like. After arranging a meeting with Moby this evening, and while waiting for the moment to arrive, it makes me wonder who else is reading my words.

Unless you prefer to remain annonymous, I’d love for you to e-mail me a photo of yourself.

Mail it to removed to avoid spam

sits back and watches the pictures flood in
– Title: What ?!?!?

Her response stopped me dead in my tracks.

“What???” I said.

“That’s the most bizzare thing I’ve ever seen.” came the reply.

“What?!?” I said.

“You missed your eggs and were salting your mellon balls.” giving me a frightened look.

“And?” I said.

“That’s crazy!” The Republican said.

“You’ve never had salted mellon?” I asked.

“No, thats disgusting” she retorted.

The conversation melted down from there, with me trying to get her to try my salted mellon balls and her distinctly refusing.

If I were a straight man, you might think I was talking about something else; but I’m gay and we were indeed discussing mellons.
– Title: perhaps one day I’ll learn

I think the words of my Horoscope speak for themselves:

Cancer: (June 22—July 22)
It’s true that secret agents have crossed international borders with microfilm hidden in their colons, but you should’ve known better than to try it with three liters of duty-free scotch.

The sad part is I don’t even drink Scotch.
– Title: and let me tell you something else, Ms. Oprah…

Oprah lied to me.

I was sitting here at my computer last weekend pondering the question “who am I?” when I stumbled on a solution.

I’ll ask Oprah. She knows all that emotional mumbo-jumbo and well, if she doesn’t, I can rely on her staff of experts paraded across my television/computer screen. I visited her web-site and typed in the words “who am I really? and was provided with the answer in the form of a specially written page telling me exactly who I am.

Quick, finish this sentence: “I am a ____.”

What popped into your mind? Did you immediately think of your job title? Did you identify yourself with a relationship term, like wife, daughter, or Elvis fan? Maybe you described your body (“I am a svelte size 10”), your personality (“I am an optimist”), or your favorite hobby (“I am a heavy drinker”).

Identity labels like these are useful, even necessary. They shape the way we act and feel (and the way people act and feel toward us) in every situation, from taking the bus to taking a lover. But many labels are misleading, and none can fully describe the multifaceted reality that is a human being. Moreover, any external criteria we use to label ourselves—looks, power, health, relationships, anything—can disappear in a heartbeat. So really, the only way to avoid a lot of insecurity, fear, and suffering is to learn how to wear our identities lightly and let go of them easily.

How To Let Go
Step 1: Be still.
The process of releasing your labels without losing yourself begins in stillness. If we hold still long enough, we begin to feel what we really feel and to know what we really know—a prospect so terrifying that some people bolt rather than face it.

Step 2: Become the experience-er, not the experience.
All great wisdom traditions point to the knowledge that the essence of our true selves is not any fixed label but the capacity to experience.

Step 3: Practice truth in labeling.
Our belief in labels, not the labels themselves, is what gives them the power to influence our behavior. Knowing how to let go of any given identity without losing our essential selves yields a security we’ll never get from fame, power, money, beauty, or any other personality prop.

By stilling our bodies and minds, becoming the One Who Experiences, and playing with labels the way we might play with costumes, we can remain ourselves no matter what happens: loss or gain, pain or pleasure, fame or disrepute.

Following the advice of Ms. Oprah Ms. Oprah’s hired staff, I sat, experienced and labeled.

I realize that I perhaps need to put more than 20 minutes into this excersice, but the result I came up with to the question “Who am I?” was this:

A sore ass, a hang-over and little bits of tape with words like “loser”, “fat” and “fugly” covering me.
– Title: February 13th..the day before love strikes

Seven years ago, in a smoke-less San Francisco bar, a unique friendship was forged. I was training for my first California AIDS Ride and Emily was my ride ambassador, the person who would help me reach my goals of both training and fundraising. Slut-girl™ was another member of the staff putting on the ride.

Slut-girl™ showed up to the bar, a crest-fallen Emily in tow. As Slut-girl™ steered Emily to the bar, she stopped to say hello to me and shared the news that Emily had been dumped earlier that day by her hateful, evil boyfriend and had enlisted our help to liven her spirits.

Earlier in the day, while at work, my colleague provided the entire office with those little candy hearts with witty, love-filled words imprinted on them. A large bag of them for each person in the office.

Sitting in the bar, wearing the same coat I’d worn to work, containing the bag of candied love messages, I looked for a way to lift her spirits. Remembering the bag, I extracted it from my jacket pocket and offered a hand full too Emily. She weakly smiled and I knew I was on to something.

In addition to this drama, there was love lust in the air. Pool-boy™ was in his usual place at the billiards table looking specifically delicious. Ah Pool-boy™, lets have a moment of silence for Pool-boy™.

As the drink worked its magic on my ego, I worked up the nerve to approach Pool-boy™ and talk to him, but at the last minute, I lost my words, and pulled out a candy heart to speak for me. I placed the heart on the pool table in front of him and slipped back to Emily’s side at the bar. He smiled in my direction and came to talk to me. He didn’t like the word on his heart and reached into the bag to pick out a more appropriate piece. I don’t remember what that heart said, but it was much more appropriate than the previous piece, and it showed that he was interested in me too.

As the night played out, there were many more trips to the candy bag and many more hearts passed between Pool-boy™ and I.

Then, things got ugly. Pool-boy™ started displaying affection towards another man. Drunk with both alcohol and jealousy, I retrieved his carefully chosen candy heart and threw it at him. I grabbed another from the pile on the bar and threw that as well. Emily’s spirits were lifted by my antics and joined in with the throwing of candy hearts. Soon it was all out war as we joyously pelted anybody that looked happy. Others joined in and a tradition was born.

Now, every February 13th, my little circle of friends carry on the tradition in our own ways, pelting strangers, loved ones, and friends with little candy tokens of love.

So be warned. If you look happy near me on February 13th, you better have cat-like reflexes or you’ll be feeling the sting of my feelings about this holiday in the convenient carrying case of a candied heart.
– Title: The decision is made..

I’ve got some news to share. Maybe. Yeah, I think I do. We’ll see. It looks possible. But then again I shouldn’t get my hopes up. But why not? I really want this.

I am moving back to San Francisco. I think. I’m trying. We’ll see. I’ve started looking at my options.

I’ve applied for a slew of jobs in the Bay Area with the hopes of returning to my most cherished place in the country. San Mateo, CA. OK, OK, I’m joking. Sort-of.

As you can perhaps tell, I’m not sure how to feel about this. I’ve dreamed of the day I’d return to that glorious city by the bay ever since I set foot in Chicago, 4 long, cold/hot, miserable years ago. So much negative has happened to me here in Chicago that I’m feeling like Kris Kristofferson in that movie with Barbra, where he’s a washed up rock star doing drugs, well, not exactly like that but close.

My life is a blur of inactivity, sadness and grey. The color of the sky here, not my hair. Not yet. My hair is still a luxurious dirty blonde that sparkles in golden hues when the sun hits it just right, when the right product is in it and its styled just so. No, the grey I mention is the grey that has descended on my life since I moved here. Lets add up the reasons shall we?

I moved to Chicago in the middle of January, a week after a small snowstorm. I really think the weather people were exaggerating when they called it a “blizzard”. It was really just a light 8”-14” dusting. I lived in a temporary hotel for close to a month while I searched for my glorious first apartment,that fell into the rare-est of real estate lore, that called “location. location, location”. I was literally in the center of it all. Within 1 block, you could buy crack, speed, pot, cocaine, heroin, hire a hooker, watch the gang bangers in their drive-bys, follow the drunks from seedy lounge to seedy lounge, witness a murder in your alleyway and pay an exorbitant amount of rent. My apartment was within 1/2 a block of seven section-eight low-income residential facilities and a mere mile from the center of Chicago’s many north side homeless shelters. I thought it was a great find.

From this central location, I quickly fell into the best, in crowd.

Why I was just reminiscing with my roommate about this the other day. Shortly after arrival, she invited me to a birthday dinner attended by the majority of this new group of friends I was so lucky to have. The party was quite fun, drinks were had, food was consumed, and laughs and stories were shared around the large group of 18-20 people. When it came time for the bill to be settles, each person at the table, carefully itemized their ordered selection, submitted their portion (including tip% and tax) and passed the bill onward to the next. When the bill came to me, I threw in $40.00 without looking at my bill and passed it on. I got up from the table and walked out.

Time flies when you’re…

Summer of my second year. July 3rd to be exact, I received a telephone call from my new boss to inform me they were letting me go. “Well thank you,” I said. As he attempted to further discuss his reasons, I said, “I guess this means I don’t have to listen to you any further” and hung up the telephone. I was free for the summer.

Skip ahead a few weeks, months, whatever, the summer was a blur. The cowboy, no longer enjoying my comfortable income and happy go-lucky attitude, and actually being needed for emotional support decides he’s not that in love with me after all and dumps me.

The next two years are filled with dead-end jobs earning less and less with each passing year.

I’ve been beaten, bruised, fired, and heartbroken for the last 2 years. I could easily relate all of this to my childhood’s painful memories with the blink of an eye. I find myself struggling to not cry myself to sleep every night. Struggling to not accelerate into the car that just cut me off with the wave of a finger. Struggling to keep a positive attitude. Struggling to have a reason to get out of bed, go to the gym and keep myself a productive member of society.

I dream of sliding off the grid, of becoming a hermit. As long as I have enough money to keep the lights on and the cable Internet paid for, I can picture myself happy. I’ve slipped into a lifestyle of internet based friendships with little-to-no actual contact with live, breathing, feeling, people, unless its for a quick little sexual fling devoid of emotions and interest beyond the passionate, sweaty embraced required to get the job done, so that I can walk home in a deadened state, feeling nothing, expecting nothing, wanting nothing, but to get home, shower and curl up on the couch with my dog and spend another night staring at the television, waiting for the end.

Now that I’ve filled all of your minds with the glamorous life I’ve led since moving to Chicago, I’d like to tell you a secret. I kind of don’t like Chicago.

I wonder at the people that do. I wonder and stare at the happy people on the train, the happy people enjoying the city and all it has to offer. I’m not saying that Chicago doesn’t have a huge amount to offer; I’m merely saying that what it has to offer hasn’t ever been offered to me.

This morning, lying in bed, I started remembering my life in San Francisco. It wasn’t all roses and happiness either, but I honestly don’t remember ever feeling like this about San Francisco. My biggest complaint with SF was the cost of living. It’s fucking expensive to live there. FUCKING EXPENSIVE. But, I started thinking about what I miss about living there and the list is long. When I compared it to the list of what I’d miss living here… (extremely short list), the answer is a no-brainer.

When I leave Chicago, and I will soon, I’ll miss my roommate. Probably a shockingly huge amount, given the little digs we give each other and the petty insignificant arguments we share. I’ve never lived with someone for 3 years before her. (family excepted) I’ll miss KoKo, her dog. I’ll miss the architecture of Chicago. There is just something about living in a big old brick building that you cannot enjoy in San Francisco, land of earthquakes. But looking at the day-to-day stuff about Chicago, I couldn’t find a single thing about Chicago that I would miss. There is no restaurant I would happily sticker the back of my car with like the In-N-Out currently plastered on the hatch.

From the day I set foot in San Francisco at age 16 on a trip to visit my oldest brother, it felt like home. I think its time to stop running away and go home.
– Title: lets meet and greet…

I have something to say

– Title: drinks

He was running late and I was ready to drink. The plan was to meet at 5:30pm at Nomi, the fantastic bar at the Park Hyatt Chicago. I stood in the cold wind of the covered reception area on the sidewalk waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

At 5:45, I decided to check inside. The hostess commented that I should just have a drink and wait it out, at the very least, I’d had a martini while I was waiting, and what’s the problem with a martini in solitude?

Having no comeback to her argument, I aquieced and headed in for a martini.

She was celebrating her birthday she said. I didn’t really care, but I congratulated her. I wanted my drink. That’s what I was thinking. Where’s the bartender and where’s my martini.

It arrived, nicely chilled, the ice forming a wafer thin layer, no, even thinner, on the top of the ice-cold liquid. The olives stuffed with blue cheese and pierced with the triangular plastic spear, rested in the glass ready to be devoured; yet waiting for the alcohol to imbue them and make them one with the liquid.

The first sip was heavenly. Ice cold with a bite.

Satiated, I rested back, comfortable in my environment until my friend arrived. The night wouldn’t be a total loss after all.

I think I may have a problem with alcohol. but that discussion can wait for another day, I’m off to the bar for another beer.
– Title: the new obsession

I rarely watch television because I find that there is rarely anything of value to watch. I’d much rather spend hours surfing the internet looking at adult male porn and sitting in chat rooms pretending I’m a 16 year old virgin from Iowa looking for a hot older man to take her cherry.

However, amidst all the exploits the above activies have provided, I recently got sucked into a new television program called Distraction on Comedy Central. Distraction is a game show where contestants are distracted from answering the questions thru a variety of stimuli such as bottles being broken over their head, professional wrestlers throwing them about, and being required to drink a shot of pure hot pepper sauce immediately before answering. This show is surprisingly funny.

The best part for me comes after they win the grand prize. There’s one more round they must go thru. In the espisodes that I’ve seen so far, the contestant won a brand new Mazda 3 sedan. In the final round, each question she got wrong, the disqualified contestants would damage something on her car. The headlights, the windshield, the hood, or the paint. She missed one and ended up driving home with a brand new car, covered in various shades of paint. In the second episode, the guy won 5 prizes, An iBook, a Vespa, a Video camera setup, a big can of peas, and a Segway-type scooter. For each question he missed, he was required to blow an item up and on the single question he missed, they detonated his iBook.

Definately a show to try and catch. Its on Comedy Central.
– Title: squirming

*** Warning ***

This post will throw open the doors to one of my more perverse sexual idiosyncrasies. Do Not Read if you do not want to know about what gets the Brat off!

Last night, I got together with “Tom” again. “Tom” is a blast, witty, playful, sexy as hell, a little on the twisted side, and he seems to enjoy watching me squirm. We’ve been flirting with the idea of introducing my favorite two items into our little get togethers. Pallet wrap and duct tape. I’m not sure where this little idiosyncrasy was introduced into my consciousness, but I’m thankful that it was.

Many years ago, I traveled to visit with a gentleman that wanted to mummify me in pallet wrap and duct tape. I was new to the whole bondage scene and eagerly seeking out new experiences. He was a gentle and considerate man and was very careful to make sure that I was OK , knowing this was my first experience and wanting me to enjoy it as much as he would. Upon arrival, I shucked my clothes and stood, legs slightly apart, wash cloth between my knees, watching the pallet wrap slowly encase my body. Higher and higher it climbed until reaching my neck, at which point he stopped and switched to a new roll of shiny silver duct tape. The process was repeated and I was soon completely covered, ankle to neck in a shiny silver cast. A leather hood was attached and I was delicately maneuvered into the corner where I stood with the corner supporting me so I would not fall. I heard the door loudly close, signifying that I was left alone in my new environment to get better acquainted. I could not move. I could not see. I could barely hear. The cocoon essentially shut off the outside world forcing me within myself. The sensation is one that I could not describe. The calm and peacefulness was a welcome embrace allowing me to focus on the physical and step outside of my cognitive thoughts for a brief moment (of about an hour).

After some time, the newness of it wore off and I became bored. I mean, really, how long can one stand in the corner without being bored? At this point in time, I started humming the theme song from Green Acres to keep myself entertained. I was beginning to understand the concept of “long-term bondage”. You can go pretty insane if you stay within your head with no outside stimuli for too long a time frame. I heard the door open and close again and instantly stopped my humming for fear that Green Acres would perhaps not be the best thing for the current “scene” we were engaged in.

I felt his hands on me, pulling me from the corner, and moving me towards the bed, where I was pushed backwards into a freefall onto the bed. I won’t get into what happened for the next half hour or so, but suffice it to say, Mummification, was now high on my list.

After he cut me out of the tape, we sat and talked and he shared something that was rather embarrassing, and since this is all about being honest, I’ll share it with you. While I was humming Green Acres, he was still in the room. He never left. He slammed the door to make me think that he left. He’d been sitting there in front of me, trying desperately NOT to laugh the entire time I’d been humming and tapping my feet. It was a first for him. I made a mental note to never repeat the Green Acres part of the experience.

Last night, I was looking forward to a similar experience, sans Green Acres, when I arrived at “Tom’s” place. Shucking my clothes, he followed the same steps as above, only this time, he wrapped it extremely tight. Too tight for me it turned out. After he pushed me back onto the bed, I started to panic. I couldn’t breath. I struggled to calm myself, and in the process only increased my panic. The more I tried to calm down, the more I couldn’t breath. “Focus on breathing” Tom said. I tried to and started to calm down until my hands began to go numb. That feeling of your skin being poked with a thousand pins and needles descended next, increasing my panic. I can’t breath, I can’t feel my arms. I wasn’t sure if I was more pissed that we just started and I wanted to be cut out, or more scared that I couldn’t breath.

“Tom” reluctantly began to cut me out. Though I was relieved that I could breath and feel my hands again, I was embarrassed that I panicked in the first place. This was something that I wanted! The shame spiral was on. That is, until he whispered in my ear “its OK.” and proceeded to go after every single one of my “spots” enticing me into that delicious dance he calls “squirming”
– Title: a t-shirt to remember

I feel this way some days…

– Title: recap # 457

The weekend started off horribly with an unfortunate exchange with my boss Friday afternoon. He was 100% correct in everything he said, but I’ve always found it hard to hear the things I’ve said to myself coming from someone I respect.

Nonetheless, The weekend wasn’t high on my favorite weekend list.

Friday night, I canceled plans with “Tom”, and went fetal on the couch while watching the campy “… but I’m a Cheerleader” followed by the moving and intense “Farewell My Concubine“.

Saturday was a blur of inactivity.

Sunday was spent shopping for a new mobile phone and trying to understand how Sprint can be such a horrible company. I am eligable for a $150.00 rebate on a new phone after 18 months with my current phone, and was informed that I needed to make the purchase in one of the stores. The phone I chose was the simple Motorola v60v (no camera, no internet, just phone) and I couldn’t find it at any of the three stores I visited.

Determined to replace my phone, I contacted their customer service department and attempted to do this on the phone. Alas, I was unable to. They directed me to their web site only to find that somehow, my warranty replacement had been entered incorrectly and I wasn’t eligible.

I ordered the phone. I’m sure I’ll owe them yet another angry telephone call once it arrives and I still cannot retrieve my rebate certificate from their website.

The joys of working with a horrible company never end…
– Title: tax relief my ass…

tax relief huh?

Throughout the months heading up to the election, the Shrub™ touted his “tax Relief™” as a major accomplishment in his first four year stint as the Commander in Thief.

Well, I just completed my taxes for 2004 and was amazed to find that I made approximately $7,000.00 LESS than the previous year, and I paid MORE taxes.

Explain that math to me and maybe I’ll understand the rest of his policies.
– Title: a little splurge

And I’m going First Class to San Francisco thanks to my over-extended American Airlines Advantage Mastercard and my numerous shopping sprees.

Walk on past you cattle!

Walk on past and don’t bump me, causing me to spill my free cocktails.
– Title: goin to California…

Its that time of year again.

Yep! Time for my semi-annual trek to the dentist. Only, well, I’m a little bit eccentric with my dentist. He’s in San Francisco, and I’m in Chicago. I know! I know! Why don’t you get a dentist in Chicago you’re all asking? I have a very good reason.

I’m a very loyal man. I’ve been with this dentist longer than any other single person in my life (immediate family excepted)

When I first moved her, the company that relocated me agreed to my returning to the Bay Area twice a year for visits. (dental, work related, etc) I got into the groove of flying back home every 6 months for my dentist appointment, so much so, that even though I no longer work for that company, I still keep my appointments in San Francisco.

Oh, there was once that I tried to change. The Cowboy had raved about his dentist so I decided to forgo the trip west and give him a try. Big Mistake. Though they were pleasant enough, my mouth never hurt more for a simple cleaning. My gums bled for close to a week after the hygienist poked and prodded and scraped for an extended time. I vowed that when my mouth healed, I’d never switch dentists again.

So I booked my flight and I’m headed out. The funny thing is… It just so happens to coincide with a little social gathering I used to partake in while I lived there.

This being the case required a little change of plans. Originally, I had planned on spending the entire trip in the south bay with The Republican, but then I learned of this event’s timing and made a coffee date with a sexy beast and added that to the mix. As I was telling the Republican of my commitments for the weekend, we devised a devious plan.

Arrive Thursday evening:
# Drink, dinner, drink.

Friday:
# I take the train to the city and visit my favorite dentist in the world.

# I head to the Castro for some spanking new eyeglass frames

# The Republican zooms up in her SL600 convertible (yes that’s the 12 cylinder)

# We lunch

# We head back to the south bay and hit our favorite spots for sushi, oysters, In-N-Out, Martinis, Margaritas (you get the picture here)

Saturday:
# Wake up late with a killer hangover

# grab a super greasy lunch (perhaps Jack in the Box)

# Spend most of the day together

# She’s checking me into a hotel that night in the city

# Dinner/Drinks in the city

# wave goodbye

# I’m off to that little social event I mentioned earlier

Sunday:
# BART to the airport

# Flight home

Monday:
# return to work with clean teeth, new glasses, and hopefully I’ll have a big satisfied grin on my face!

Oh how I miss California.
– Title: new look

I’ve been playing with my blog thepast week. I like this alot more than previous efforts. I cannot claim to have actually designed this… But I did a fantastic job of stealing it from someone else.

I’m not completely done with the revamp. There’s much more to come, but I have to finish reading Dreamweaver MX for Dummies before I can even start to work on the complete revamp of my site.

Picture this. A welcome page with links to my blog, photos, and more new things than you’ll be able to stand! Your very head will spin from the fantastic-ness of it all.

But like I said, after I finish reading a 5000000 page book that tells me how to do just that.
– Title: sex is risky

Sex is risky. Any sort of sexual, intimate contact with anyone may expose you to syphilis, gonorrhea, herpes, genital warts, parasites, HIV, hepatitis, yeast, colds, flu, grumpiness, bad smells, nose picking, fungal infections, domestic discord and that greatly feared and unconquered syndrome: LOVE .

Your risk of exposure varies with what you do, how you do it, how often you do it, and how hard
– Title: and who is to say we’re correct?

Speaking about the current situation in Iraq and the death of another 36 soldiers today, President Bush had this to say:

“But it is the long-term objective that is vital, and that is to spread freedom. Otherwise the Middle East will continue to be a caldron of resentment and hate, a recruiting ground for those who have this vision of the world that is the exact opposite of ours”.

My question is this…

Who decides what the correct vision is? Why is our vision more valid than theirs?

I’m not condoning the terrorists or the tyrants that have taken over these countries, but if truth be told. We put them in power in the first place. Why is Iraq more important than the countries in Africa where there are millions being killed in racially charged attacks?

I still do not understand why we are there, but I have noticed that the term “freedom” is being thrown around alot these days as an explaination. Originally, we were told the war was to find the weapons that we were convinced were there. Then, when the weapons never showed up, we were told that it was to remove Saddam from power. Now that Saddam has been removed, we’re being told that our goal is to extend “freedom”.

I’m just sitting here wondering when the lies will stop, and someone will finally come out and just fucking say…

“Ya know what? We fucking did it to secure more oil and to get republican donors even more of the pie than they already have. We didn’t care about weapons or Saddam, hell why do you think we put him in there in the first place? We knew this would happen, and he was in on it. He’s out by the pool at the Crawford Ranch sipping Mai Tai’s and enjoying the billions we’re ripping off from the taxpayers.”

Yeah, the truth. Will someone please come forward and just tell the fucking truth? OH! and without any spin?
– Title: a whirlwind tour

I’m itching to travel internationally again.

Lets go back in time shall we?

The Love Boat
Picture it. 1977 and a young impressionable gay questioning boy is glued to the television while The Love Boat cruises into his life. I worshiped The Love Boat like other boys worshiped Charlies Angels. (well, I worshiped Charlie’s Angeles too, but only for their fantastic hair styles)

Fast Forward to 1987 and a young impressionable gay no-longer-questioning boy is deciding what to do with the rest of his life. The vision of Julie McCoy and her clipboard safely directing embarking passengers to their cabins popped into my head and refused to depart. I decided then and there, that I too, would be a world famous Cruise Director!

“Mr. and Mrs. Jones, your cabin is on the Lido deck, up those stairs and to your right.”

“Mr. Smith, I hope you and your lovely wife enjoy yourselves on your honeymoon, if there’s anything I can do, please let me know. Your cabin is on the Promenade deck # 435 that way.”

“Single big basket passenger I get off at 10:00. Meet me on the Boat Deck for a blow job?”

Oh the life I’d live. Traveling to exotic locations, dancing with hot mustached, hairy-chested, big-basketed men. It would be heaven being the high sea’s whore. Once this vision of my future entered my head there was nothing I could do to remove it, so I gave in and signed up for the Travel and Tourism degree at my Father’s alma matter.

Fast Forward to 1990. Sitting in my parent’s basement, degree in hand with nary a job offer in sight. My brother invites me to visit him in San Francisco and I, wishing to flee the tyrannical rule of my parents, jump at the chance. [Someday, I’ll re-live the summer spent removing pebbles from my father’s new airstrip to prevent chips to his propeller, and share that story with you, but not today.]

On the last day of my visit to San Francisco, there was an ad in the paper for Japan Airlines. They were looking for Passenger service and Cargo service staff. I sent off a resume, using my brother’s California address and jumped on a plane back to NY, to the grueling task of the runway.

Luckily, they were interested in me, so I flew back out and managed to swing a job. Not the glamorous Passenger Service side, but it was a job, I was out of my parent’s house and I still had flight benefits. I took the job in Cargo Service hoping that I could transfer within the company to the passenger side of the operations. Funny thing was, I turned out to be very well suited to the cargo side and I’ve been working in air cargo ever since.

I was thinking about all of this recently when I stumbled across my first passport. The memories of my trips to Asia made me want to share with you the basics of my trips.

Here, for the world to see, are the dates of the stamps in my passports:

24 Sep 1992 Tokyo, Japan entry
27 Sep 1992 Tokyo, Japan exit
27 Sep 1992 USA entry

06 Apr 1994 Tokyo, Japan entry
06 Apr 1994 Tokyo, Japan exit
06 Apr 1994 USA entry

19 May 1994 Tokyo, Japan entry
19 May 1994 Tokyo, Japan exit
19 May 1994 USA entry

11 Dec 1994 Tokyo, Japan entry
12 Dec 1994 Tokyo, Japan exit
12 Dec 1994 USA entry

Feb 21, 1999 Tokyo, Japan entry
Feb 22, 199 Tokyo, Japan entry
Feb 22, 1999 Taipei, ROC entry
Feb 26, 1999 Taipei, ROC exit
26 Feb 1999 Hong Kong, ROC entry
02 Mar 1999 Hong Kong, ROC exit
02 Mar 1999 USA entry

14 Oct 2000 Singapore, entry
18 Oct 2000 Singapore, exit
18 Oct 2000 Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia entry
20 Oct 2000 Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia exit
21 Oct 2000 Tokyo, Japan entry
28 Oct 2000 Tokyo, Japan exit

18 May 2001 Amsterdam, The Netherlands entry
22 May 2001 Amsterdam, The Netherlands exit

As you can see, I made many short trips to Japan, and yes I did make a same day round-trip from the US to Japan and an overnight round trip as well.

Oh, and almost every one of these flights, I was lucky enough to be in business class or first. I’ve been lucky, and yet. I want to travel more.

So I’ve made a decision. I’m not going to ride in the California Lifecycle, I’ll be riding in a similar version here in Chicago. Instead, I’ll be taking that week and heading overseas.

But please. If you’re interested in supporting a very good cause, my friend Lars will be riding and I know he’d appreciate anything you can give. I’ll be supporting him both emotionally and financially.
– Title: am I crazy to even consider this?

This afternoon, I received an e-mail from a very dear friend of mine asking for money. Not the normal, “can I borrow $100?” kinda e-mail. No, this was a fundraising e-mail for an event that is very dear to my heart.

The California AIDS lifecycle. The 585 mile bicycle ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles raises much needed funding for AIDS organizations in both cities. I had ridden in 2 of the formerly titled AIDS Rides when they were managed mismanaged by Palotta Teamworks and was proud of my abilities to not only complete them, but to also raise in excess of $5,000 all by my little ‘ol self.

The first year I attempted, my knee gave out on the second day and I was bussed back to camp and forced onto the sidelines until I could walk again. I managed to ride the last day (in a huge amount of pain) but I didn’t ride every mile, so the following year, I trained and I trained and I did it! I rode every single mile of the 585 mile ride, some of them twice. I remember my ass hurting for weeks.

Anyway, after receiving this e-mail, it hit me. The question that is.

Should I take the next 6 months of my life and dedicate them to this cause? Should I take 1 week of my vacation time and ride 585 miles through the glorious California Countryside raising money and awareness for HIV/AIDS and the people it affects? Should I commit to raising $2,500 towards an amazing cause in this time when the Republican controlled country is reducing AIDS dollars? Should I?

What do you think?
– Title: If I were a rich man…

My friend the Republican has been going through some relationship/financial difficulties this week and while commiserating with her we got to dreaming about being rich, as is often the case when you are in the middle of tough money issues.

She’d said that she wanted to win the lotto. The value of the lotto in her state was over 100 million dollars. This got us to talking.

The Republican “I’d have to take an extended trip”
Brat “where would we go?”
TR “of course you’d have to go with me”
Brat “that’s a given”
TR “I’d rent a private jet”
Brat “we should go to Europe first”
TR “I’d have the jet stop in Chicago to pick you up”
Brat “We should go on a ship”
TR “No, I think a private jet would be better”
Brat “You think you can afford a jet AND travel?”
TR “No, one of the chartered ones”
Brat ” OH! that makes more sense then”
TR “Yeah, we should go to Europe, like lets start in Italy, but I definitely want to go to Greece”
Brat ya know what?!? We should cross the Atlantic on the QM2
TR “No, private Jet”
Brat “No, see the crossing would take at least a week, so it would allow us to slow down and prepare for a relaxed journey across the Continent”
TR “That makes sense”
Brat “The when we get to Europe we’ll be calmed down and ready to vacation”
clickety clickety of keys in the background
TR “Could you picture us in a Duplex Royal Suite on the QM2?”
clickety clickety “Only $35,000 for the crossing”
Brat “I could totally see us in that suite!”
“So, OK! We’ll disembark in France and take the TVG to Italy for like a week or two, Milan, Rome, Venice, Florence, Tuscany, then we can take one of those cruise ships across the Aegean to Greece.”
TR “We’ll have to stop in NY for a few days for a new wardrobe before we board the ship”
Brat “Ya know, I love spending your money”
laughing TR “I know”
Brat “So then, we’ll shop in NY then head to Italy, then, Ooh ooh! We can take a ship to Greece and stop on Mykonos and Lesbos and all those other gay islands on the way to Greece”
TR “Nice”
Brat “and Spain”
TR “Totally”
Brat “ooh ooh ooh and then after a few months abroad, we can stop into Munich for Oktoberfest”
TR “how long are you expecting this to last?”
Brat “Until you run out of money”

ok, this is a re-creation of the exact conversation, but it captures the spirit or our collective dreaming.

If I won, I wouldn’t take her. I’d spend it all on cars and male whores.
– Title: w.t.f.?

as if my self-loathing isn’t high enough this bright yet friggin cold mid-western January day, I went to lunch with TLBO on our way to the airport for his return to the Los Angeles Basin Area (don’t let him tell you he’s from LA, he’s from the valley).

We stopped into the Taco Bell of Chinese food and stuffed our face with generic Chinese staples. Finishing off our splendid chinese-lite™ fare I opened my fortune cookie to be confronted with the words.

It doesn’t matter.
Who is without a flaw?
Lucky Numbers 8,15,22,34,42,44

and I thought, “what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
– Title: carzy, f’d-up weekend

The little Brown One (TLBO) has been in town all weekend visiting me. He does this often and it almost always throws my life into chaos. This weekend, for the most part was a welcome taste of nuttiness that has been long missing from my life since I’ve moved to Chicago. TLBO and I used to be roommates back when I lived in that hamlet of sensibility and temperate weather known as San Francisco. I’ve shared more of my history and life time with TLBO than with any other non-blood relative and therefore, we “get” each other and can be ourselves without feeling the need to put on airs or explain our inner workings and actions.

However, whenever TLBO and I get together, its the people around us that end up suffering and this weekend was no different. We get together and tend to bounce off each other, and when we get bouncing… someone’s going to get hurt if they get too close. When I heard that TLBO was visiting, I was very excited to have FL (Fashionably Late) meet him since TLBO and I have known each other so long, and FL and I have been checking out this dating thing for the past month plus. Well, this weekend, I shouldn’t have booked time with FL because, true to form, somebody got hurt and I feel like shit about it.

The plan was…

Saturday night, we hang out the three of us, have dinner, grab drinks, head home for a little snogging and cuddling before bed (FL and I, that is). Sunday morning, wake up in his arms (FL’s) and snog some more then grab brunch.

The actual was…

Saturday night, TLBO and I hung out, grabbed pizza and watched a movie (Vicodin and Vodka drinks), headed out for the fantastic Ketel One Krush™ slushy drinks at Sidetrack. FL arrived after TLBO and I’d had 5+ Krushes, TLBO drunk, yours truly exhausted from 2 nights of drinking and also drunk. Home to the sack where we passed out until well into late Sunday morning. And in all this FL was throw aside in a manner that I’m extremely embarrassed and pained about. And I don’t have a clue how to fix it. I don’t know what to say to him or even how.

The hangover lingers from Sunday’s drunkenness (yes, that’s 3 nights in a row) and I’m f’d up over hurting someone so wonderful (notice a trend here?)
– Title: 5 martinis

After 5 martinis I’ve realized, ok 7 martinis but who’s counting, I’ve realized that my last post was more to get sympathy than actually share my space in time. I was sad, depressed and feeling unloved. I’ve been spending way too much time alone, in front of my computer.

So the last 2 nights, I’ve been out with friends drinking.

Its 1:00am and I’m drunk on 7 ish martinis.

Laying in bed with the world spinning and Hoobastank blasting through my iPod that was just returned to me.

The world is better, but I still think I’lll have a little cry before i fall asleep.

tomorrow will be better… or should I say today since it IS 1:00am.
– Title: a letter to a friend

On Jan 13, 2005, at 10:54 AM, Padre wrote:

Dear One,

I haven’t abandoned you… no, it’s just been very busy … and more importantly, I have been in a fuink… you know, one of those… feeling blue… thank you for calling… it helps.

Love you lots!

Padre

______________________________________________________

From: removed
Subject: Re: no, we are not fighting
Date: January 13, 2005 2:14:45 PM CST
To: padre

Ugh! I hear you on the funk. thats why I called, I needed to hear a friendly voice.
I’m tired of everything. work. life. Chicago. Snow. Blogging.
I’ve been sitting here wondering, and don’t worry I’m not going to do anything rash, But i’ve been sitting here wondering for the past week what is the point of this thing called life.
You go thru life lonely, afraid, sad with moments of happiness and then you die.
Oooooh sign me up for that!

I have no direction or something. I’m drowning in my own existance.

I finally realized that one of the main reasons i masturbate as often as i do is not because i’m horny, its because i’m sad and bored and it makes me feel good if even for an all too brief moment.

I masturbate because I’m bored… what does THAT tell you about my life?

Wade
www.beyondbuffalo.com
moving beyond, moving on
– Title: getting to know me

you mentioned once that you weren’t to happy with chicago. where would you go if not there? do you see yourself leaving some time soon? what will it take to get somewhere else?
myke

Therein lies my problem Myke. If I knew where I would want to live, chances are I’d be living there already. There is the issue of $$$$ preventing me from picking up and just getting out of town, but if I truly knew where I wanted to live, I think I’d figure a way around that. Me thinks, in addition, that it may just be myself and my existance in Chicago that I’m trying to flee. We all know, thanks to Mike Brady, that no matter where you run, you eventually catch up with yourself.

————————————————————————————————————————
What song runs through your head most often? Do you have any recurring dreams? What is something you could tell us about yourself that would surprise us?
Scott

I have a song that keeps getting stuck in my head from the obscure 80’s band “The Ocean Blue” thats called : ‘Drifting, Falling’ but when I get tired of that, I force myself to sing the theme song from Green Acres cause that kills any song thats stuck in your head.

I have a recurring dream, but it’s too scary to share. Its always the same. I always wake up in a cold sweat breathing heavy and terrified.

Something that would surprise you? Since you’ve met me in person, you can appreciate this. I was the smallest kid in high school until my senior year. Even more surprising would be that I’m really very shy and the outgoing, talkative part of me is a defense mechanism that kicks in when I feel threatened. I would rather sit quietly talking with people that are close to me than competing for attention in a club or busy restaurant. That day shopping, you saw the nervous side of me. The gregarious, talkative and witty nervouse side.

————————————————————————————————————————
Cake or pie?
palochi

Must I choose? If so, then Cake. I’ve never been a fan of the flaky crust covered hot fruit. Fruit should be room temperature or colder and never covered in flaky crust with a consistence of chalk. I like my cake plain, chocolate or vanilla, nothing special.

————————————————————————————————————————
mayo or miracle whip?
moby

miracle whip™ of course.

————————————————————————————————————————
What’s your favorite thing about yourself?
Karen

My eyes.

– Title: show and tell

Today, I turn the blog over to you, my loyal readers.

What would you like to know about me?

What wouldyou like me to write about?
– Title: Shameless promotion

Allow me, it you will, a chance to shameless promote a service I recently signed up for. Broadband telephone service.

As a customer prisoner customer of SBC here in Chicago I’ve enjoyed some of the worst levels of service and satisfaction with a local residential phone company in my life. The prices, when I first moved here, were still figured on a per call basis and not the flat monthly fee I was used to in California. That was quite a wakeup call for me being that my job allows me to work from home calling my customers and potential customers.

I tried getting rid of the land line a few times, switching to a pure cellular mode, but was forced to switch back each time due to extremely poor reception from my other favorite hated beloved phone company Sprint PCS along with my need for DSL speeds requiring me to have a land line as a basis.

So, I regretfully happily re-installed my land line and put up with the horrible static and non-existent customer service wonderful clear reception and warm caring service professionals.

Things changed again when I switched to Broadband cable internet allowing me to once again consider removing SBC from my home and saving me a ton of money (my bills have been running over $150.00 per month, with basic phone services consisting of ‘a dial tone, costing roughly $35.00 of that amount).

lifesaver
I switched to Packet 8 and for $19.95 +taxes I enjoy unlimited local, long distance and Canadian calling.

I realize that most of you will guffaw at this, but If you’re interested in more, I’d be glad to send you an e-mail with information. (Yeah, I get a free month for each person I sign up, and so will you if you sign up)
– Title: There’s still something missing.

Though the breakup took place more than 2 years ago, and I spent a good year and a half in therapy trying to understand why I behaved the way I did, I still haven’t completely put The Cowboy out of my mind. I still think of him way more than common sense would dictate. I see him in crowds of people, or rather my heart does. Why after so much time has passed does this man still hold so much power over me?

I was talking with Dennis this weekend, who had gone through an equally hard break-up around the same time, and he’s one of the few people to get it. The Cowboy took a part of me when he left me. He took the trusting, loving, open part of me, the part that believed I would find happiness in this world. The part of me left is untrusting and distant.

I’ve felt lost since that day in September when he told me that he didn’t want to be with me any longer, since that day in December when my false sense of reality finally shattered under the weight of truth allowing the pain to bubble to the surface and force me to face the fact that I was acting like a fool.

Recently, I’ve had the great pleasure of meeting (via blog and tribe) Moby in the San Francisco Bay Area. He’s one of you, my tens of fans. I’m glad to have met him and I love to read his blog and the comments he so generously leaves on mine (unlike you other tens of readers) sharing tidbits of his wit and humor. But this budding friendship is not all roses from where I sit because Moby looks A LOT like The Cowboy. I mean he’s a spitting image, except that he’s way cuter, in much better shape, has better muscle tone and isn’t a complete ass. Other than those little details, they could be brothers. So every time, I visit Moby’s blog, I see a photo of my past and I’m reminded of what I once dared to dream but inevitably would lose.

And then on Sunday night, I got sucked into a remake of one of my favorite television shows of childhood. Battlestar Galactica. I was so enamored of the show that I took the time to allow my budding homosexuality to blossom, and wrote to the star of the show, a very handsome Mr. Dirk Benedict, to ask for a signed photo. I digress.

Sunday night while I was watching the new Battlestar Galactica, the Commander of the fleet (Edward James Olmos) was giving a speech, after the remaining survivors of the tribe of 12 colonies had managed to fight off and escape the Cylons, about their new destination. They would be heading to Earth, to meet up with the mythical 13th tribe.

The new President lady, formerly the Secretary of Education and 54th in the line of power cornered the Commander shortly after demanding to know the truth. “There is no Earth” she said “Earth is a myth and you have no idea if it even exists let alone where it is”.

“You’re right” Edward James Olmos’ character replied, “but humans cannot simply exist, they must have something to live for.”

Those words have been swimming through my head ever since because, and this all does come back to The Cowboy, I’ve only been “existing” since long before we parted ways. In a lot of ways, I’ve only been “existing” since high school when my dreams were trampled and mocked instead of supported and nurtured.

So I need dreams, I need something/someone to live for, and that is what The Cowboy represented to me. Hope. Future. Love. Trust. Dreams. Intimacy. Sex. Protection. Security. And I’m afraid to let someone else have a shot at those parts of me again, because I don’t know if I’m strong enough to lose any more.
– Title: Confessions of a closeted Barbra Streisand fan

I have a problem. I love all things Totino’s. The thin flaky crust topped with the unique and flavorful cubes of meat, come in tasty crispy disks the size of a dinner plate as well as the more popular, and portable pizza rolls

I don’t know where I learned of these deliciously scrumptious puffed pastry pillows of goodness, but I’m thankful that I stumbled across them. This, my tens of readers is what truly frightens me. I am thankful for Pizza Rolls.
Golden, heavenly goodness
I know they’re horribly unhealthy for me and I should avoid them at all costs, but there is just something about them. I hear them. I hear them calling to me from the freezer case as I walk past in the grocery store. I see them, dancing within their brightly colored red and yellow packaging, tempting me to reach in and liberate them from the frozen tundra they inhabit. I reach into the freezer case, past the small boxes holding a mere 15 rolls, to the economy pack containing in excess of 60 rolls and lift the heavy bag with a reverence most would reserve for a religious relic or a treasured family heirloom and carry it to the cash register to settle my bill.

Arriving at home, I pause momentarily before putting the hefty sized bag into the freezer sensing the rolls beckoning me to journey with them to the tropical heat of the oven. I melt into a weak puddle of desire waiting for their pasty white skin to toast into a rich golden brown signifying the delicious pastry pillows are ready to devour. The puffs begin to crack open from the heat spilling small amounts of the contents onto the baking sheet to sizzle and burn on the hot metal. They’re done!

Donning my special chili-pepper oven mitts, I reach into the stifling heat of the oven to remove the tray of heaven with one hand while reaching for the spatula with the other, my special pizza roll bowl (left over from my childhood) sitting close by waiting to receive the golden goodness.

As I sit here in front of the television I’m slowly feeding them into my mouth savoring the tangy sauce full of spices and rich zesty tomato flavoring. I’m full, but I’m not afraid of the stigma I risk at sharing this with the world.

Oh shit.

I was going to write about my secret affection for Barbra Streisand before I got distracted by those damned pizza rolls. I love Babs. The Little Brown One is the only person before this that I’ve ever shared that with, and I did that by accident. I had quietly borrowed stolen one of his tapes to listen to in my car. A few days later, we were running errands and he said “Oh, I didn’t know you liked Babs, I’ve got a few tapes you can borrow”. I nodded my head quietly hoping the topic would switch to something more comfortable since I didn’t want to admit that I’d stolen one of his in the first place. Unfortunately, The Little Brown One figured it out before the topic could change and I was “outed”. The freedom felt wonderful. No longer did I need to hide in my room with my headset on, under the covers in the late of night hoping the faint whispers of her velvety voice would not be overheard by any oblivious passersby.
Babs1 babs2babs3

So there you have it. Not only am I a closeted Babs fan, but I have an unhealthy affection to processed foods.
– Title: Incredulous

cranky midgets in the suburbs
sad fag buffalo
military man boxer underwear photos

WHO are these people and HOW do they keep finding me?
– Title: I couldn’t pass this up

This has GOT to be the funniest photo set I’ve ever seen.
– Title: fiction or a day in the life of brat?

The cold mud feels good as it oozes between my toes. Where am I running to this time? The screams and yells echo in my head as I run between the branches heavy with new growth and the remnants of the recent rain.

To the barrel, I decide. Yes, I am running to the barrel. I see it in my mind, sunk in the mud of the swamp next to the decaying and collapsed cabin long since abandoned.

Panting and leaning on my knees, I reach the spot. Its still here like I trusted it would be since nobody ever ventured this far into the forest. “Who put it here?” I wonder to myself imagining a troupe of traveling thieves or escaped slaves making their mad dash for freedom and escaping their life of pain. As I wade toward the barrel through the deep muck of the swamp, I see one of my traveling companions, my faithful mutt Sabrina (aka Wiener) excitedly wagging her tail.

“leave me alone!” I shout causing her to become more animated and excited, hoping for a playful romp in the mud with me.

“go AWAY!!” I scream.

Into the muck of the swamp she jumps, so happy to be away from the house and exploring the swamp with me, while in the distance Kaiser begins barking for our location.

“Can’t I ever be alone?” I groan, my mind slipping into deep thought about how the house is always so full. I’m enjoying the solitude until I hear Weiner yelp directing my attentions to where I find her and Kaiser rolling in the tall grasses on the edges of the small swamp. How nice to be a dog I think as I trudge back out of the mud towards my frolicking friends. As I feel the water seeping up my pant leg, I’m reminded of why I ventured out here in the first place, turning back towards the barrel.

Stepping carefully through the moss covered mud towards the rickety cabin I reach the decaying wood of what once was the roof and scramble carefully up onto it, shaking the mud free from my boots. Just beyond the decaying roof lies the barrel containing my secret treasure buried there many spring times ago. Taking care not to catch myself on a rusty nail, I clamor over the rotted wood reaching the peak just in time to lose my balance and slide, landing face-first in the coolness of the mud. I roll over in time to catch Kaiser jumping from the roof to be with me in the wettness of the swamp.

Wagging his tail, he licks the mud from my eyes, whimpering for me to play with him.

“Now look at what you’ve done… stupid dog!!” I yell.

Shocked at my anger over his playfulness, I gather myself from the mud, and I pluck Kaiser up and hold his wet, filthy body to me as I mumble apologies for my outburst. The mud prevents me from keeping a good grip on him and he pushes off me back into the mud where we roll around and play for awhile.

The screams float back into my consciences from the fight still ongoing at the house, reminding me of my mission. I make my way, around the piles of wood stuck from the mud like evil spikes, towards the barrel, my waterlogged and muddy boots are heavy in the thickness of the swamp.
– Title: Funny funnies that mean something

Fusco Brothers
– Title: Have ya ever heard of such a thing?

I’m being found by some of the strangest searches lately. Apparently my shoe fetish has brought the perverts out of the woodwork. For an example, check out the two most recent searches performed on Google.

The person hailing from Japan was looking for “buffalo shoes crush foot” while the German was looking for “buffalo fetish thong sneakers”.

It just goes to show that once you get out of Buffalo, the world is clamoring to know you.
– Title: Help Wanted…

SGWM seeking open-minded, free-spirited musical genius with alot of free time on their hands. Must be extremely knowledgeable of all forms of music (pop, jazz, R&B, rap, heavy metal, opera, classical, et al.) I’m seeking a person unencumbered by work and social requirements to follow me around with a boom-box to provide a soundtrack to my life. Must be somewhat intuitive and able to pick the perfect music to compliment the situation and highlight my current mood. Pay negotiable.

I’ve been thinking that I need to have a soundtrack to my life so I’ll be posting this on craigslist today.

In other news, I think I may have found the perfect reason to enact an indoor smoking ban in the great city of Chicago ( I still hate it here). Homeless people. Where else will the homeless people get their cigs if we don’t force all smokers outdoors to huddle in the bone chilling cold inhaling their cancer-ridden chemical sticks? Don’t get the connection? The butts are deposited into the sand traps at the entrance, allowing the homeless smoker easy access to a wide variety of brands and flavors. Its a win-win for everyone. Non-smokers will breathe easier, smokers will no longer feel bad about wasting that half-smoked cig knowing that a needy homeless smoker will be by shortly to collect it and finish the job.

All this because I witnessed just such a thing happing.
– Title: lost on Lost…

Last night was yet another exciting and titillating episode of ABC’s lifesaving “Lost“. A show that I will admit, had “sucked me in”, but last night’s episode left a sour taste in my mouth.

I was fine with the opening drama of finding the corpses submerged, still strapped into their seats, in the bottom of the beautiful lagoon (that looked mighty similar to Fantasy Island’s lagoon). I was even more ok with the sensuality and sexiness of that guy with the amazing abs, revealing them before diving into said lagoon.

I was fine with the whole episode being about a lost, then recovered, briefcase.

I was even ok with the stupidity of the object of desire that girl with the amazing abs wearing the skimpiest thong I’ve ever seen, being a toy airplane.

They had me until the end. They brought religion into it.

Why did they have to go and ruin one of my greatest weaknesses by preaching? The closing scene found that drug-addict rock-star guy sitting on the beach praying with the heavy-set black woman (that I thought died in the opening episode) and I immediately turned the channel.

Maybe my tolerance is low for religion right now (To me, it seems that the theologians are trying to organize a coup of the United States), but I didn’t find it necessary to resuscitate this woman from the brink of death (I’m sure she was dying in episode one) only to have her impart words of religious scripture and wisdom to the sinning (but adorable ex-hobbit) ex-drug-addict-rock-star guy that’s lost his way.

I toyed with the idea of writing a letter to the network, to the producers, and to the hot sexy doctor character (more because he’s hot than about the prayer thing) but alas, my laziness got the best of me and Alias was starting in any minute.

I guess I need to add the concept of “follow-through” to my vocabulary in 2005.

eh, I’ll get around to it eventually.
– Title: um, i’m gonna pull this outta my ass

I have absolutely NOTHING to write about today, so I’ll post a picture that inspires me towards greater things.

Wade the Duck

Anybody remember this obscure character? He was on the short-lived US Acres cartoon along with Garfield and many other zany charachters. Wade the Duck was afraid of everything thus constantly running away life and since my first name is Wade, I thought I’d share with you that the Duck and I are similar in alot of ways.

Happy Hump Day!
– Title: A special place in hell…

I think I’m going to Hell.
Not your average run of the mill, everyday, Hell.
No.
Not me!
I’ll be residing in a special place in Hell.

This morning, I woke up when my alarm went off, dutifully dressed and headed to the gym to work out and fulfill a long standing promise to get my ass in a shape other than what it is currently. As I was sweating to my disco mix on my fabulous iPod, I was also surfing through the channels on the Television attached to the stationary bike, when I saw a hot bearded man flash accross the screen. I stopped surfing, removed my feet from the peddles and melted into a puddle of drool . I wanted this man. I wanted to taste this man. I wanted to feel this man. I wanted to do nasty things with this man. This man was beautiful.

He was also wearing vestments.
– Title: New Year’s Eve recap

My New Years Eve this year was by far the best I’ve had in Chicago to date. The Love, The Adventure, The Intrigue, The 4 cabs.

The evening started out with my date (lets call him fashionably late) running behind schedule. My next-door neighbors were getting married, with the ceremony beginning at 8:00pm. I know! Married on NYE? I’ve answered that question tooo many times to count so I’ll not answer it again. Anyway, he arrived around 10 minutes to 8:00pm and we raced to the wedding arriving in an amazing 15 minutes (in Chicago) Once we found parking and our way into the hall, we realized that the wedding ceremony had already begun. We opened the door to the hall a crack and there before us was the Bride and Groom in the middle, no extra set of doors, nothing. We stood outside a moment unsure if we should enter lest we create a disturbance when the door was pushed open from within and the Best Man bid us enter where we quickly made for the cloakroom. Being a bit of an adventurer, I attacked FL (Fashionably Late) and we started making out in the cloakroom.

Moments later, we made our way to empty chairs for the remainder of the ceremony, and it was lovely. The entire wedding party wore Chuck Tailors and the vows brought tears to my eyes (which, for those that don’t know me, is quite a feat considering my emotionless and cold heart). After the ceremony, we hit the bar, the food and the loo. We socialized and mingled until the toasts where the bride and groom were informed of the specifics of their honeymoon. They were given a Honeymoon as a present, but not told where they would be headed (just that they’d need a passport). The speech was both funny and touching (I’m sure there is a word for that, but its late, and I can’t think of it) and they informed the new couple of their trip to Costa Rica for a week of sun, sand and each other.

Honeymoon mystery solved, FL and I snuck out of the hall to rush home to ditch the car and get to the first of our 5 parties on the list. Arriving at home around 11:30pm and searching for parking for 15 minutes, we realized that we wouldn’t make it to the party before the midnight deadline, so we quickly changed into more comfortable clothing and rushed back out (FL with sandwich and champagne in hand) to hail a cab.

This is where it gets a little funny. Walking towards Broadway we knew the moment of midnight was less than 2 minutes away, and paused in an alleyway (FL sandwich and champagne in hand) and waited. I suggested we make out in the alleyway at midnight and he washed down his mouthful of food and leaned in for a little kiss. Spotting the dumpster out of the corner of my eye, I chuckled to myself knowing this would make it into my blog.

We jumped into a cab headed for the party, only to arrive at the address to find it the parking lot of a gas station.
“I’m sure this is the address,” I told FL.
“Maybe you wrote the number down wrong” was his reply.
“No, I remember it was 3912, but there is no 3912” I shot back
“Lets call Wayne,” he said
“UGH” was all I could say.
After repeated attempts to contact the host, a friend, or anybody with an address to this party we agreed to head home for the information I had so conveniently left sitting on my dresser next to my cell phone.

Arriving back at my place…
“I told you it was 3912” I gloated
“Um, yeah but the street name is not ______ its _____” was his cheery response.
“Well shit, I give up, lets go to the next party on our list, its much closer.” I said.

Jumping in our 3rd cab of the evening, we headed back out into the night. The party was a blast and was populated by many of the people I hold dear to me. Friends from camping, ex-lovers I still care about, and acquaintances from my days here in Chicago.

We ended the night, after our 4th cab ride, tucking each other into my bed where we stayed for the remainder of the weekend. (except for food and water)

Happy New Year to all, may 2005 bring you happiness, success, good health, and true contentment in your lives.
– Title: I resolve to… I’ll continue to add to and amend the following list, but for today, I resolve to make a change in my life (as everyone does on the first of the year for some stupid reason). I’ll cross them off as I achieve them.

I resolve to:

# Enlarge my circle of friends to become more culturally and racially diverse, then taunt them with racial slurs.

# Make out with a hot man in an alleyway (near a dumpster) as the New Year rings in.

# Make out in a cloakroom at a wedding while the ceremony is in progress.

# Convince a closed minded, religious mother that her son will grow up gay.

# Buy a Hugo Boss Suit.

# Find a Benefactor.

# Pay for Hugo Boss suit.

# Find a Muse. (I may have someone interviewing for this position and it looks good)

# Start a 401(k).

# Write a will requiring my loved ones to do crazy things before inheriting my fortune.

# Sun soaked vacation in Phuket, Thailand Belize.

# Stalk a washed up child-actor type celebrity. (Maybe that gay one from ‘Who’s the Boss?’)

# Write the world’s funniest and most profitable book and make millions.

# Alienate family and friends once wealthy.

# Blow fortune on gambling and male whores.

# Reunite with family and friends once fortune is gone.

# Get my shoe obsession in control.

# Increase my tens of blog fans to hundreds of blog fans. (Dare I wish for thousands?)

# Meet my quota at work.

# Eat healthy.

# Shop for a religion that allows me to do whatever I want with no consequences.

# Pay off debt to society. (Make sure to get receipt for taxes)

As I said, this is just a rough outline of my aspirations for 2005. Check back often for updates to see how I progress and what I accomplish. It looks like a busy year.
– Title: shop narcotic legal -bbc -mp3 -press -police -information -forum -book -music

shop narcotic legal -bbc -mp3 -press -police -information -forum -book -music

This search of Google brought someone to my site yesterday.

What do I write about?
– Title: civilization is a welcomed thing…

I’ve returned to Chicago after a fantastic ,dull, interesting ,troubling, nice trip Beyond Buffalo. It was really great to see the family that was there and to spend time with My Mom and Dad just relaxing and spending time with them.

The trip to the Buffalo area was slower than expected, as I got caught in a Blizzard outside of Toledo. The snow fell, the interstate covered over and the traffic speeds slowed to a crawl. 40 mph was the fastest I went for close to 300 miles. What should have taken a little over 4 hours took 8 hours bringing the grand total time frame of my ass being attached to the lovely heated leather seats of my semi-luxury sport wagon to a whopping 13.5 hours. [The entire time chanting – “red state let me go” or “I was speeding to get through the red state before something horrible happened and I became hateful and ignorant, Officer”] Stella was a trooper though. We stopped a few times to let her do her thing and stretch her legs, frolicking in the snow in the side of the rest areas.

Arriving at 1:30am, I snuck into the basement door and hit the retired couch near the door and slept soundly until Stella started licking my face indicating she needed to go out.

The weekend was mostly uneventful. We spent “The Eve”® at my sister’s house with the kids running around and screaming at everything. My brother-in-law’s brother was there with his (shhhhhhhhhh) “homosexual”® partner, which was a breath of fresh air and the three of us spent most of the evening talking off to the side.

The Holiday day, we opened presents (I got fantastic suede slippers from the parents) and Mom made Lasagna for dinner (her specialty).

The only downside to the whole trip was the behavior of my older brothers. My immediately older brother is in the process of recovering from surgery where they removed his ass-cancer™. Its been over a month and he’s still feeling a great deal of pain from the operation and doesn’t seem to be improving. But then again, all he does is lay in his bed (conveniently placed in the living room in front of the TV) and moan and whine. After a day and a half, I was ready to smother him with a pillow in his sleep. so I got him out of the house and had a little heart-to-heart with him (yes, much like the one with Madonna in my dream) and he seemed to take notice and the remainder of the weekend he wasn’t making as much noise and whining as much.

The other brother, that’s too much for this post. I’m visiting him and his lovely wife this week, I’ll have tons to unload after that.

This morning, after loading the car, luggage, garage sales finds my Mom’s been collecting and Stella, I hugged Mom good bye and then, for the first time in my memory, I hugged my Dad. I was out the door and on the way back to civilization.
– Title: Happy trails…

As I prepare the car and Stella to shuffle off to Buffalo to spend the holiday with my family, I pause to thank you, my tens of readers for your affection, attention and feedback these past 6 months or so. You’ve become a sort of family to me and I thank you for your love and devotion. (t-shirts to follow soon, I swear)

Happy Holidays to all
– Title: fantasies of grandeur

I realized this evening, while balancing my checkbook, that I don’t have a fortune to leave.
– Title: realizations of loneliness

I realized today, as I filled out my 401(k) forms, that I have nobody to leave my fortune to.
– Title: blah blog

i’m not up to writing this morning. The cold has numbed my fingers making it too hard to type, and the space heater can’t keep up with the draft in the house. No, wait, I just plugged it in. Its working now.

I spent a wonderful 26 hours with Don this weekend. Saturday night we went for dinner and Margharitas at Ceasars then headed to the Brew-n-View to watch the tripple feature of Team America:World Police, South Park: Bigger Longer and Uncut: and Shaun of the Dead while nursing down copious amounts of Vodka and Soda.

The brew-n-view is a wonderful place. The only place I’ve ever been to where you can watch a feature film second run with a fully stocked bar and concession stand.

So if you’re ever in Chicago, don’t forget to stop in for a triple feature at the Brew-n-View, and bring your Visa, cause they only take cash!
– Title: chase the mini

I love men. I love cute men. I love cute men that flirt with me most of all though.

This afternoon while I was driving around the Northwest Suburbs I happened upon just such a man driving a British Racing Green Mini Cooper with the Union Jack painted on the roof. He had salt and pepper hair and a nicely trimmed goatee with a small silver hoop in his left ear. He was also wearing dark sunglasses, the wrap around kind that actually looked great on him.

I know all this detail because we played with each other. Oh no, not physically, “motoring-ly®”. You know the game. You follow, speed up, change lanes, slow down, a lot of glances in the mirrors and through the side windows while idling at the stop lights.

The funny thing is that I was merely headed in the same direction as he was, and I was driving aggressively. I wasn’t “cruising®”. Ok, maybe I was checking him out, but I didn’t for a moment believe he thought me cute.

Until…

He waved.

Our paths diverged and as he turned off, ending the ballet we’d danced for the last 5 miles. As he merged into the left turn lane, he waved to me. Low enough in the car, that if I wasn’t looking at him, I’d have never seen it, but high enough that I did.

I wish I had access to the DMV records. I got his license plate number.
– Title: a little something for me?

Oh you shouldn’t have. No really. Stop, you’re making me blush.
ok!
OK!
If you really want to get me something, but I’m telling you, I don’t normally celebrate religious holidays (except for the fact that we get them off of work. I will always celebrate that).
so my wish list for the holiday gift givers just begging to get me something is as follows:
• Pay off my car. I know I’ve only made one payment on a car I bought in October and re-financed twice already. Ask about a simple payment plan.
• an iMic for my iBook so I can transfer cassettes and vinyl to my iTunes and upload them into my iPod. I think I need to get an iLife, nope, nope, that came loaded onto the computer.
• Pillows. Fabulous, free-range goose down pillows hand stuffed by little children in the Swiss alps.
• Cooking lessons. (while you’re at it, how about throwing in a gourmet kitchen and a set of Calphalon cookware.)
• Unlimited travel on American Airlines (more space in coach for my long legs). Coach class is fine, unless you really love me and believe, as I do, that I should always fly first class.
• A new cell phone with bluetooth technology so I can have a wireless headset for my cellular phone.
• A Hotspot account, so I can blog from any Starbucks location in the world.
I’m pulling at straws here. I can’t think of anything else, so I’ll turn the list over to my personal shopper and stylist which, oh yeah, is also a gift idea.
• A personal stylist and shopper.
In all honesty, I would love to have our military safe from harm and an administration that was honest and truly looking out for the good of the people and the world and less about how much money and oil they can secure through bloodshed. I know world peace will never occur in my lifetime, but shouldn’t we at least be headed towards it instead of blindly retreating away because someone kicked us in the shin?
– Title: Top 11 reasons not to flee to Canada.

11. Wouldn’t want to be subject to U.S. foreign policy.
10. We’ve invaded enough countries.
9. Red-staters would suffer terrible privation without federal funds derived from blue-state taxes.
8. Loverboy.
7. Schwarzenegger has already drawn up plans for its annexation in 2009.
6. A Canadian gallon of gas is almost $3.00
5. 50% Canadian Content from 6PM to midnight.
4. You actually believe that the U.S. meat packing industry is protecting you from bovine spongiform encephalopathy.
3. It didn’t work for the Nez Perce.
2. A summer day is about 25 degrees.
1. No one believed you would actually go through with it, drama queen.

*borrowed stolen completely from www.toostupidtobepresident.com
– Title: Support our…

Yesterday, while I was driving someplace unimportant, I passed a big-assed billboard that was advertising an item that I truly wanted to purchase, but couldn’t figure out how. This mile high sign was advertising the most amazing product called “support our troops”. The very words emblazed over a giant American Flag shown graphically fluttering in a gentle breeze brought up some deep seated emotion and caused me to think, while on the phone with the republican, about how I could “support our troops”.

So I put my little hamster in its wheel, powering my thought processes and came up with a few ideas how I was going to help.

I plan to:

# Pay my taxes in full and on time so the Pentagon can afford to buy the soldiers armor.

# Drive a lot of mile in my gas guzzling car so their efforts are not in vain.

# Obey the laws. (Many municipalities are short staffed in police departments due to deployment)

# Volunteer with Toys for Tots program since the Marines that run this are mostly deployed to Iraq.

# Place yellow magnetic ribbon on back of my gas-guzzling SUV to alert others to my concern.

While I was thinking, the hamster wheel still spinning, I realized that the first time I noticed the whole concept of “support our troops” was when this war started being questioned openly. When the people of this land no longer believed the reasons we were told in the beginning. When people realized that there were:
# No weapons

# No Al-Qaida link

# No reason for us being there

This is when the slogan started appearing. This is when the opposing candidate started saying, I support our troops, because he was forced into proving that he did indeed care for their welfare.

It finally hit me that this slogan was not as much about supporting our troops, as about supporting the politician that sent them there in the first place. This slogan, and the millions of dollars of profiteering from the t-shirts, magnets, posters, billboards, hats, et. al., was truly about the re-election effort of George W. Bush. How can you criticize the president? To criticize the president is to criticize him sending us to war, and to criticize him sending us to war is to criticize the troops fighting that war, and to criticize the troops fighting that war is to criticize normal American people.

I’m not claiming to be whole heartedly correct, but it kinda makes sense. Doesn’t it? The best re-election poster I’ve ever seen and it didn’t even have to be reported to the FEC…
– Title: I need a muse…

This weekend in Phoenix, Arizona i attended a party with John and Jason at the McMansion, a beautifully ostentatious manse in the hills above Scottsdale (but below Frank Lloyd Wright) that boasted of a master bedroom suite the size of my 2 bedroom apartment in Chicago.

The pretty people were out in force, decked out in shiny shoes and fashionable button down shirts from the main gay stores , and I started feeling very self-conscious, fat, poor, and ugly.

Earlier in the day, we’d gone shopping for something to wear to the party. I searched the racks, the stacks and the stockrooms for a pair of pants that fit me. Apparently, in Arizona at least, you can be short and fat, but not tall and fat, and since I couldn’t locate a single pair of pants longer then the 32” inseam in my required (but hopefully temporary) 38” waist, I was forced to find a pair that I could at least pull off.

You see, I’m 6’5” and 235 lbs.. There! I’ve said it for the whole world (or at least my tens of readers) to read in all its ugliness and shame.

I’ve been slowly gaining weight since moving to Chicago. My life has become sedentary and my eating habits horrid. I adore fast food and do very little in the means of exercise, so I have no one to blame but myself. But my question has been of late… what happened to me?

I used to hang out with active people that would do things other than just go drinking and carousing (although I do adore those activities). I rode in 2 California AIDS Rides (well, one and a half due to an injury) and I was well known and i believe well liked by people. I knew famous people, and artists and thinkers and “Doers”.

Since I’ve moved to Chicago though, I’ve not met that many similar people and I’ve ended up spending alot of time alone. It shows in my work performance and my general happiness in my current life.

In other words, something is not right in my life but I can’t quite put my finger on was that means.

Now, I’m not putting blame anywhere except on myself, but I think that the people I’ve been choosing to spend my time with are not exactly conducive to the life I’m searching for. The activities I’ve chosen to fill my time are not moving me forward, but anchoring me to my past habits of denial and self-destruction.

in my head and in my heart, I know what I must do, but the disconnect happens right there. Knowing and doing are two different things.

I know, for instance, that I shouldn’t drink and carouse (though, as previously stated, i adore these activities).
I know that I shouldn’t eat fast food then merely consider the act of exercise. (though the #8 from BK is an easy alternative to real food, especially if you ask them to throw some cheese on it)
I know that I should push myself towards great goals and heights of self advancement and growth.
I know that I should learn more and watch less television.
I know that porn will rot my brain and dull my interest (not to mention destroy my body image).
I know that I am capable of achieving so much more with my life than I currently am.
I know that whatever choices I made after my 21st birthday when i moved out to California can not be blamed on my parents (shadowed by, but not blamed).
I know that I’ve made errors in judgments based upon fears and perceptions that are a reality only to me.

I know this and so much more, but the disconnect still occurs. I know what I know. I know what I’ve learned. I know that therapy was an amazing tool for me that helped me to understand where my life veered off course and what continues to color my choices and actions, but I’m still not sure how to get back on course and strive for more in my life.

I used to rely on my circle of friends. I used to rely on people that were actively reaching for the brass ring, and self improvement. Maybe it was all the tofu in San Francisco, but there was an energy of awareness in California that I’ve not been able to replace in the midwest. This is not another post slamming Chicago because I’ve realized that Chicago is what it is (a saying that irks me to no end because the cowboy used it when he broke up with me). I’ve realized that Chicago is a beautiful, vibrant and interesting city. Its also not right for me the way my life currently stands.
I need a change in me. I need a change in my scenery. I need a change in my thought process.

Yeah, its time for a Montage…
– Title: reconnecting with my past

The sunshine in Arizona was a much needed boost to my spirit. In addition to hanging out with Jason, and having my web site fixed and perfected by John (didn’t he do a fantastic job??), I had a chance to reconnect with parts of my past and see how much has changed for myself and those I love.

Jason and I were roommates at one time in San Francisco and he’s always had an influence on me that he probably wasn’t aware of. He’s always been the type to search for bigger and better things, to strive for happiness and excitement and to question his current surroundings for further improvement. (Also there was that one time when all his hurt, fear and anger was directed at me on the day the secret squirrel first reared its ugly head, but that’s for another post.)

Spending this weekend in his presence again awakened some dormant emotions for me and at one point this weekend, while I was driving John’s Mini Cooper on my pilgrimage to the In-N-Out in Scottsdale we were reminiscing about times gone by, what’s changed and what is missing in our lives. I started to tear up because it was so nice to just be sitting with him and catching up. Thankfully, the ultra dark, and sublimely stylish glasses recommended to my by Karen, hid my eyes from him. It was a simple moment that called for a simple comment.

“I’ve missed you” I said, fighting back my friggin overwhelming emotions. In the moment it took to say those 3 little words, I felt more emotion than I have in the past year and a half.

Has my life changed so drastically that simply sharing my feelings with someone overwhelms me? Emotions have always overwhelmed me and caused great confusion in my life. The pure power of joyful emotions can shake my very foundation and send me into an emotional spin that often requires a fair amount of solitary down time to readjust. But this isn’t about me today, because the emotion I was feeling, was that of love and devotion, to a friend that has been there for me in ways he’ll never truly understand, and a good dose of sadness for the paths that we’ve gone down that has separated us by such great physical distance.

The minute he pulled up to the Phoenix Sky Harbour airport Friday night in the rocket and I climbed into the sport seats for the dizzyingly fast trip back to his house, it all felt like the years and the miles were never there. I know that he will be in my life until the life goes out of me and I’m comforted by that knowledge. Though he may not be in my daily activities, as he once was, he will be in my heart and my actions.

This was going to be a post about how my life has changed over the past 4 years in Chicago, but in the middle, I realized that I needed to thank a dear friend and put me second for a change.

May the road in front of you be clear, the pavement made of recycled tires and the police unable to catch your license plate number.
– Title: back in the…

I’m back after a few weeks of utter confusion. Thanks will never be enough to John for his invaluable assistance in putting my site together again.

He got my wordpress up and running, transferred my archives and generally laid out my site to the exact specifications I requested while annoyingly leaning over his shoulder say, “no, not like that” or “Yes, perfect, but can you…?”

I’m visiting John and his partner in Beautiful (and warm) Phoenix for the weekend. We’re off to a party at the McMansion in a few, but I wanted to jot down my thoughts and my debt of massive proportions to John.

I’ll be back in Chicago and blogging again come Monday.

Hope great weekends are in progress for everyone!!
– Title: i’m gonna get those suckers… I’ve been violated. Not in the fun, sexual kinda way, but in a much more menacingly effective attack.

I’ve had my e-mail password stolen and my Yahoo account hijacked. I have no e-mail access. I cannot access my 10+ years of e-mail addresses. Friends, family, strangers that are great in the sack. Gone! All Gone!

It happened yesterday morning. As I was sipping at my chilled coffee like beverage reading my Yahoo mail, I realized that my Yahoo! Messenger was having difficulties in logging on. I stopped the Messengers attempts and that’s when it happened. My password had been changed on my account. I no longer have access.

HOW? How can somebody gain this information and disrupt my life to such a huge extent. My Yahoo profile has my address, my telephone numbers and all my friend’s and family’s contact addresses. My credit card information is readily available in my in-box (due to some pretty cool items I recently purchased online).

I spent the evening closing accounts, requesting new credit/debit cards, changing all my online passwords, trying to contact yahoo.

I’m not sure if I’m more incensed that somebody did this, or that there is no way in hell to actually contact a live person at Yahoo. I spent hours searching for a telephone number and found several (all automated, of course). I called Yahoo travel to request my itinerary for my trip to Phoenix be re-forwarded to my new e-mail and even asked the nice Bangladeshi woman for a number which she happily supplied (a different number for yahoo travel it turned out).

How can a company with the amount of customers, and the amount of personal information and credit details, NOT have public access?

I’m hoping that one of the 6 e-mails I sent to Yahoo will be returned by a live person. so far, the first 5 have been identical, automated responses. I think I’m fucked. — Title: Have a nice…

Yesterday was World AIDS day and many of my fellow bloggers have written about how AIDS has affected their lives and loved ones.

What more can I share? What more can I add that hasn’t already been said?

I’ve had 2 HIV+ partners in my life and many, many HIV+ men that I’ve known and loved and that have changed my life forever.

I grieve for them. I miss them. I am angry that their lives have been forever changed. I am more angry that the people in power do nothing and rely on their Gods and Books to help them sleep at night while millions die because they refuse to act for the greater good.

Earlier this week, I read words of Larry Kramer’s speech and was reminded of what I’ve pushed from my mind, what every gay man has tried to push from their minds.

I have been remiss. I have been stupid. I have been afraid. I have acted foolishly. I have put myself at risk for momentary pleasure. I have become a hypocrite. I’ve been lax.

On the other hand, I listen to a dear, dear friend who is in panic mode because he had a “questionably” unsafe encounter while he was visiting Chicago on Memorial Day Weekend. I’ve listened to him worry and panic and work himself into a stress-related fever over an anonymous blow-job in a certain bathhouse.

What changed?

10 years ago, I’d never even consider having unsafe sex. No Way! However, in the years since, I’ve had numerous questionably unsafe instances. I make excuses, I rationalize, but the excuses and rationalizations won’t prevent my seroconversion. I needed the wake-up call what Larry Kramer wrote. I needed it to remind me of what we, as a people, have been through, what we, as a people, are still going through.

In the past few years, I’ve noticed more and more of a lax attitude about safe sex. Adult films, web-sites, and chat-room fodder abound with unsafe activity. My own life has seen more than its fair share. This may come as a shock to some and will worry some as well. I have no excuses. I can’t change my past actions. I can change my present and future.

The war has been lost for generations of HIV+ people. The war was never even fought for countless millions who’ve died and who continue to die.

What must happen before the world stands up and demands action?

What can I do on an individual scale to encourage the rest of the world to take up arms against this terrible disease? Someone tell me. I want to make a difference. — Title: between heaven and work The alarm went off this morning at 6:30am as it always does, only today I heard it. Normally my alarm will blare at 6:30am and every 9 minutes after due to my sub-conscious reflex of hitting the snooze button. I don’t even realize that I’ve done it until, sometimes, after hours of doing it.

Today, however, I was aware. I was going to get up early and go to the gym before starting my work week. I’d gone to bed early last night to allow me to get the sleep I needed, but when the alarm went off. I listened to the radio for a moment and contemplated my options. I could get up, get dressed and go work out, or I could stay here in my nice warm flannel-sheeted bed and float halfway between sleep and awake and relish the feeling.

I chose the later. There is something magical about the moments between sleep and waking that has always held me in its grasp. Even as a child I would “lollygag” in bed in the mornings before school, sometimes to the point of missing the bus.

As an adult, most of my jobs have allowed me flexibility with my hours, thus affording ample “lollygag” time in the waking hours.

I’m not sure what it is. But this morning, while I was laying there, listening to Stella’s soft breath from the bottom corner of my bed, everything was good. My life was good. I was content. I was smiling.

If only I could figure a way to maintain this effect throughout my day… It looks like the gym will wait until later.

– Title: adding to the list everytime I meet someone new, I often find myself looking back at how others have left a mark on my life. Some have left important and deep marks and others have been like a gnat flitting about my face, distracting me from the world around.

This morning, I met my Blogger Daddy. I can’t describe what its like to meet someone that has had such a profound impact on my life other than to say, it was glorious. The twinkle in his eye throughout the day told me that we were on the same wavelength. We were both kinda awed at the situation and happy that we’ve finally met.

But meeting Blogger-Daddy as he will now be known to me, brought up memories of people that have passed through my life and has kinda made me pause and reflect on their contributions.

My memory of names has never been very good, which is why I often assign a nick-name to anyone that I expect to be staying for any length of time. (and I’ve come up with some fucked-up nicknames over the years.)

The early years of the 1990’s decade saw hundreds of people rotating through my life. Some good friends, some bad, some just faces in a crowd dancing to the music in the glow of the spinning lights. A few people stand out more than others. People that disappeared before I had a chance to let go or say goodbye. They haunt my memories and I find myself wondering about their whereabouts and lives.

Dash was one. Dash was a wild girl at least 5 years my junior. She spoke a language all her own and I was enthralled in her passionate love of life. She was a flash in my life that ignited a frenzy of activity and experimentation, of thought and of love. One day she was gone. I never heard from her again and I wonder about her, and I remember our walks thru Golden Gate Park and the Lower Haight district and I am thankful that I shared her with the world, even if just for a moment in time.

So Blogger Daddy, as long as you want to stay in my life, you’re welcome. I hope your moment lasts longer than a dash. — Title: I’m thankful Fo’shizzle In the spirit of the day…

I am thankful for: (in no order of significance)

# Stella – my bitch
# Rikka – my car
# SBA – my paycheck
# Jen – my roommate
# the little brown one – for years of putting up with me
# KK – everyone needs a Republican to remind them/oh and for her impeccable taste in Vodka
# Padre – he knows why
# the Jew – for reminding me of my sanity
# TL – he knows why
# My Family – without who I’d never have learned the true meaning of pain and love
# My iPod – it drowns out the heavy footsteps upstairs every night
# my iBook – just cause
# clothes – to cover my fat ass and keep me warm
# the kindness of strangers – though this is getting harder to come across
# the glow of the streetlights thru the snow – its pretty
# Forest Laboratories – they make my anti-depression drugs
# Vodka importers – self-explanatory
# beer manufacturers – again, self-explanatory

I have many more things to be thankful for… but i don’t want to cry about how abundant my life (and ass) has become.

Happy Von-Turkey day to all and to all a good drink.

– Title: Finding cover in an insane world Sponge meets world

I saw the Spongebob Squarepants Movie. No, not in my plush Spongebob Squarepants slippers like I originally planned. On Saturday afternoon, my roommate and I visited a friend’s house and convinced them they needed some time away from their adorable 4 year old daughter. As if we rehearsed it, we worked off each other and convinced them to allow us to “give them a break” and “go have a nice dinner” while we would watch their daughter.

“I know” I said, “Lets take her to see Spongebob Squarepants.”

“Sam?” Jen (my roommate) asked, “Do you like Spongebob Squarepants?”

Thus convinced, the parents loaded the car seat into Rikka and we were off to see Spongebob Squarepants.

There is something pretty cool about seeing a kid’s movie with a kid, although, I’m convinced I enjoyed the movie more than she did.

Next on my list is “Polar Express”.

Anybody have a small child in the immediate Chicago Area that would like a night off so I can borrow your kid to see a movie? Its a win-win situation.

– Title: change is coming to Beyondbuffalo Hello Dear Reader (s?),

Beyond Buffalo is going thru an unprecedented growth as tens of people are now reading my daily words. Due to this unforeseen surge in readership, I’ve been forced to update my server capacity to allow for the increased traffic (to avoid the congestion most Chicago drivers suffer through daily) .

Soon, very soon, beyondbuffalo.blogspot.com will be moved to

drum roll please…

www.beyondbuffalo.com

Please don’t check yet. I haven’t actually figured how to do this so it doesn’t work… tee hee hee. Oh, the site is mine, domain paid for all that, you know… even have everything loaded onto the server, I just can’t seem to get past the parent directory…

but… if you know how to make it work, e-mail me at: removed to avoid spam

T-shirts to follow. they’ll be friggin cool man — Title: the find on my trip to St. Louis last weekend, I did what any normal gay-boy with a dog and a station wagon would do. I went Antique shopping with a friend through the Central West End area of the city. Its a cute little area, full of gays, bohemians, artists, you know the type, and literally stumbled upon this chair in the basement of a shop. I had to have it. I think it works nicely. Now if I can only find an ottoman to match it.

– Title: memories catch up It’s been a few days since I’ve posted and the only excuse I can give is that my mind has been elsewhere. Well, in one specific spot. A little lower… lower. there ya go!

I’ve been obsessed with getting some, ahem, attention.

I was going to write about my trip to St. Louis, but there has been something more pressing on my mind this week. I’m actually starting to worry about my sanity lately. It seems that I’m addicted to my Internet connection. I don’t want to be too far away from it for fear that I’ll miss something, an e-mail, a breaking news story, a really nice dick shot on my favorite porn site. It has started to control taken over my life.

I took a step back from things to try to gather my thoughts (which is why I haven’t written) and it hit me. I’m lost.

Remembering all the fun I had in St. Louis and all the adventures I enjoyed with my friends throughout the years has painfully illuminated my current situation. I am alone in so many ways that I’ve been trying to run away from the feelings for the past 3 weeks (at least).

I miss my friends. I miss the little brown one, I miss KK, I miss the Padre, and I even miss Joe from time to time. I’ve not had a whole lot of close friends in my life, partly because I’m the slowest to let people get close to me, and partly because I tend to isolate myself, so when the few friends that I have are thousands of miles away from me, it affects me tremendously.

Over the years, I’ve managed to bury these emotions, in alcohol, in drugs, in sex, in shopping and now in the Internet.

I think its time to stop running. Its time to stop being afraid. Its time to figure out why.

Or maybe I need to move.

Or maybe I need to sit still and be with my thoughts, without outside interference.

When I first moved to St. Louis, I dated a wonderful man named Ed who is no longer with us. Ed passed away many years ago of AIDS and his death was the closest loss I had due to the disease. I will always remember the telephone call. I was sitting at the dinning room table when TL (my partner of 5 years) came in and handed me the phone telling me that it was some woman calling about a guy named Ed.

He held me that night. We lay on the bed and he held me while I cried.
– Title: a pre-emptive attack I’m not a well woman.

I was sitting in the car at one of the billions of stop-lights in Chicago this afternoon absent-mindedly rubbing my 4 day old beard growth searching for rogue hairs.

I found one and couldn’t wait to get home and pull it out.

I have mutant hairs. Not many, but a few and they manifest themselves whenever I decide to cultivate my creative side in facial hair.

“Mutant?” you gasp? (as well you should!)
“Yes, mutant!”

A few hairs decide to co-habitat in a single pore but end up mutating together into a sorta of “Super-Hair” that is considerably thicker than the rest of my beard. These so-called “Super-Hairs” often become ingrown and get red and painful, so when I was younger, I began a Bush-styled pre-emptive strike forcefully tearing them from my skin in a surprisingly painless stealth-like attack. Over time this became habit forming and, much like our leader, I found that I enjoyed this pre-emptive style of attack and I took to it religiously.

Now, after years and years of endless pre-emptive attacks on the same rouge,mutant, “Super-hairs” I find myself wondering if the glee I get from finding them is really in my best interest at all…

Excuse me while I find my tweezers and get this sucker. — Title: a statement by The American Academy of Matrimonial Lawyers “We believe this is a fundamental issue of equality, that the U.S. Constitution protects one’s legal right to marry as a fundamental right and that there is no reason to deny same-sex families the legal rights and obligations arising from marriage,” said Richard F. Barry, the academy’s outgoing president.

a nice thing to see today — Title: seeking a higher calling, but answering to a baser need… I think I may have a problem…

On Monday night, after many months of avoiding, delaying, and finding excuses not to, I went to my first ever yoga class. It was introduction to Yoga and it was taught by a nice limber little girl with a ponytail.

True to form, I arrived 5 minutes after the class had begun and slid in between two participants (one of which was kind enough to stop, and slide his mat over to give me room) and jump into the routine already in progress. I’ve never done anything like this in my life. Stretching? What is that?

I had no idea what I was getting into, but thruout the class, I kept hearing my massage therapist’s words saying “don’t push too hard, don’t follow gym mentality with yoga”, so I found myself restrained (not the good way, that’s part two). I was pacing myself. Pushing when it felt right, and holding back when it was too much.

I’ve never worked out that hard in all my years, and I’ve ridden the California Coast from SF to LA twice (CAR 5 & 6). But, I was also very much out of my element. I’m the proverbial bull in the china shop. I bump into things, often breaking or knocking them over.

I have no balance and was shocked when she was asking me to stand on one foot and keep that pose for an extended amount of time. I believe the pose was called “the tree”. As I glanced at the other participants via the full wall of mirrors (damn evil gym owner) I was rewarded with silent, graceful strength. Nearly all of them were still, balanced on one foot, arms reaching to heaven. This awe inspiring visual was shattered when my balance gave out and I stumbled out of my pose. It was as if there was a tornado that touched down in my little section of the forest, but it affected nobody but myself. As I rocked franticly on one foot trying to regain the pose, the instructor (with a slight knowing smirk) instructed me the class to hold our gaze at specific spot on the wall and it would help. DAMN…who knew.

By the end of the class, I was winded and covered in sweat vowing to return until I could handle it and move to the intermediate classes. After Yoga class, I went for a great hamburger and fries and slowly slid back into my previous lifestyle of bad food and worse urges…

Tuesday night however, could be the paradox of Monday.

I was horny. I mean, climbing the wall horny. No good looking man was safe from me, and aAfter trying to get the sexual thoughts out of my head unsuccessfully, I finally gave in and decided to “take a soak” at to the local bathhouse. Now, since I’ve been in Chicago these past years I’ve only been to this place 3 times (including Tuesday). I’m not against bathhouses, but I’m not necessarily for them either. The serve a purpose, unfortunately, on Tuesday night they fell through on their service purposes. It was woefully quiet.

After arriving and paying for my locker, I quickly donned my towel (big-girl sized please? Thank you!) and started my tour of the facility. The location is remarkably spotless considering its main purpose. I stopped in the hot tub and soaked for a short bit before starting my laps. There were maybe three people there I would even consider having “relations” with and sadly, I wasn’t someone they would consider in kind.

After my laps, I decided to give up and focus on the “spa” features of the establishment, retiring to the hot tub and steamroom for the duration of my stay.

My intention were to have freaky monkey sex with a stranger to satisfy the burning need I had, but I ended up having a relaxing evening in a hot tub and an approximately 2.5 mile walk through the hallways of the club.

So am I reaching for enlightenment with Yoga or searching the depths of the gutter for validation and affection?

See ya at Yoga on Monday after my weekend of debauchery in St Louis. — Title: Weekend wonderful-ness? Oh What a weekend we had…

Friday Night, The Jew and I went after work to see the Incredibles and can honestly share that it was the most fun I’ve had at a movie in months. We then headed to a diner for some eats before bed.

Saturday, I awoke early to meet an internet date (play-date??) I met him at a Starbucks near his home, and after initial introductions and my purchase of a coffee-flavored drink, we got to know each other a little better before heading to his place to engage in the act that brought us both there. Now perhaps my manners were a bit wrong, but I felt it was my duty to uphold my long-held belief of “truth in advertising”.

I said to him “You have got to change your profile. There is no way that you can be considered ‘hung’. I’ll still blow you, but you are so not hung.”

After finishing up, I headed home to catch up on some sleep that the early “date” caused by getting up before noon on a Saturday. Hanging out at home, I got a call from my Saturday night date canceling our engagement (Kinda ok cause I already had sex and didn’t really feel like driving 2 hours to Milwaukee). It seems he had a work engagement come up at the last minute and there was no other way.

Well, hell. Now what was I to do?

Oh wait! its the first Saturday of the month. Bear Night at Touche’

Bear night at Touche is a long-time Chicago tradition for me. Where else can a boy (me) that is 6’4” 230lbs go and feel super-model thin? Bears, if you’re not aware tend to be overweight, hairy men that like to gather in dark bars, “woof” at one another, eat free pizza (delivered promptly at midnight) and drink copious amounts of liquor. I can flit through the crowd like a heroin-chic Calvin Klein model and get that feeling of fabulous lacking in other areas of my life.

I met an adorable guy (and his husband) who proceeded to share intimate details of what he wanted to do to me and with me. Since his other half was there, we made arrangements to get together Sunday afternoon to take him up on the offer. (Its not my relationship so don’t judge me for being open to an offer from someone in an open relationship).

Following the trend of my weekend, he sent me an e-mail canceling Sunday morning once again freeing up my day. Jeremy got ahold of me and asked if I’d like to go to the beach with him. Stella wanted to go too, so we packed up the car and headed to the beach. Here, to share, are some pictures of us on the way…

Stella and Daddy

Stella Stylin’

After the photoshoot and a good hour of watching and chasing Stella all over the beach we headed home for a quick rinse off of the girl and a wardrobe change to get me back out into public.

It was messy and I still feel a tad hung over. I kissed alot of men this weekend. And ya know… I know none of them will call.

and for those of you wondering…

Could it be the tooth fairy?

– Title: A Day in the Life of Joe Republican this will be my last (hopefully) stolen words on the direction of this country…

A Day in the Life of Joe Republican

Joe gets up at 6am and fills his coffeepot with water to prepare his morning coffee. The water is clean and good because some tree-hugging liberal fought for minimum water-quality standards.

With his first swallow of water, he takes his daily medication. His medications are safe to take because some stupid commie liberal fought to ensure their safety and they work as advertised. All but $10 of his medications is paid by his employer’s medical plan because some liberal union workers fought their employers for paid medical insurance – now Joe gets it too.

He prepares his morning breakfast, bacon and eggs. Joe’s bacon is safe to eat because some girly-man liberal fought for laws to regulate the meat packing industry.

In the morning shower, Joe reaches for his shampoo. His bottle is properly labeled with each ingredient and its amount in the total contents because some crybaby liberal fought for his right to know what he was putting on his body and how much it contained.

Joe dresses, walks outside and takes a deep breath. The air he breathes is clean because some environmentalist wacko liberal fought for the laws to stop industries from polluting our air. He walks on the government-provided sidewalk to subway station for his government-subsidized ride to work. It saves him considerable money in parking and transportation fees because some fancy-pants liberal fought for affordable public transportation, which gives everyone the opportunity to be a contributor.

Joe begins his workday. He has a good job with excellent pay, medical benefits, retirement, paid holidays and vacation because some lazy liberal union member fought and died for these working standards. Joe’s employer pays these standards because Joe’s employer doesn’t want his employees to call the union.

If Joe is hurt on the job or becomes unemployed, he’ll get workers compensation check because some stupid liberal didn’t think he should lose his home because of a temporary misfortune.

It is noontime and Joe needs to make a bank deposit so he can pay some bills.
Joe’s deposit is federally insured by the FDIC because some godless liberal wanted to protect Joe’s money from unscrupulous bankers who ruined the banking system before the Great Depression.

Joe has to pay Fannie Mae-underwritten mortgage and his below-market federal student loan because some elitist liberal decided that Joe and the country would be better off if he was educated and earned more money over his lifetime. Joe forgets that in addition to his federally subsidized student loan, he attended a state-funded university.

Joe is home from work. He plans to visit his father this evening at his farm home in the country. He gets in his car for the drive. His car is among the safest in the world because some America-hating liberal fought for car safety standards to go along with the taxpayer funded roads.

He arrives at his boyhood home. His was the third generation to live in the house financed by Farmers’ Home Administration because bankers didn’t want to make rural loans.

He is happy to see his father, who is now retired. His father lives on Social Security and a union pension because some wine-drinking cheese eating liberal made sure he could take care of himself so Joe wouldn’t have to.

Joe gets back in his car for the ride home, and turns on a radio talk show. The radio host keeps saying that the liberals are bad and conservatives are good. He doesn’t mention that the beloved Republicans have fought against every protection and benefit Joe enjoys throughout his day and takes for granted today.

Joe agrees: We don’t need those big government liberals ruining our lives!
After all, I’m a self-made man, who believes everyone should take care of themselves, just like I have.
– Title: getting a lot of shit.. I’ve been getting a lot of shit from friends, family and co-workers about my knee-jerk reaction of wanting to flee this country, and as much as I despise the moral-righteousness of the population base, the fact that the very Constitution of our land isn’t worth the paper its written on, or the ignorance and bigotry of the hateful voters and leaders of this country, the probability of me fleeing this country stands at about 5% at the time of writing this.

So why did I have this knee-jerk reaction? Maybe its because The United States is not the bastion of freedoms and glory that it claims to be, but a collection of frightened people wrapping themselves in the narcotic of religion. These very people completely out of touch with global reality are the same ones that fight tooth and nail to make sure my chosen “narcotic” is illegal.

When did we become a country of Gladys Kravitzes? When did we start paying more attention to what our neighbors and fellow countrymen are doing, than to what is happening in our own family? Why is it that 90% of the policy makers that support abortion will NEVER be faced with having to decide it? Why is it that the very people that are fighting so hard to “support the sanctity of marriage” are themselves sometimes twice divorced?

The hypocrites have taken control of the country, and I for one don’t care to watch the hard work and sacrifice of the generations of men, women, soldiers, workers, thinkers, and visionaries unravel any further in the next 4 years.

I think this article is a little more telling than anything else. The very fact that somebody took the time to write about this gives me hope in our future.

We are not alone in our fight against hypocrisy…

Oh yeah, and another reason I probably won’t be moving to Canada… I’m too lazy to pack it all up and rush across the border under dark of night. — Title: a light-hearted change… A class of primary children started a class project to make a plant pot to take home. The teacher wanted to have a plant in it that was easy to take care of, so it was decided to use cactus plants.

The children were given greenware pottery in the style of a clown pot. They painted them with glaze and had them professionally fired at a class outing so they could see the process. It was great fun. They planted the cactus seeds in the finished planters and they grew nicely.

Unfortunately, however, they were not allowed to take them home. The cactus plants were removed, replaced with a small ivy, and the children were then allowed to take them home.

The teacher said cactus “seemed like a good idea at the time”…

– Title: the new republic
– Title: a broken dream its 12:43 am and I’m turning off the tv and going to bed. Tomorrow I need to decide on a direction. I’ve stated thru-out the past 4 years that if this man was elected legitimately then I would gladly give up my citizenship.

It looks like that is about to happen and I’m stunned.

Not only have Americans across the country embraced hatred, war, and fear-mongering; but they’ve embraced the very greed and secrecy that has caused our countries ills.

All that is fine. That doesn’t bother me. Candidates come and go, political parties are constantly in flux. What bothers me most, are the candidates platforms and rhetoric. Blatant homophobia, racism, lies, deception, and illegal acts have permeated this election.

During a conversation tonight, a friend mentioned that it seemed like the Republican side was determined to just get as many votes as possible thru whatever means, while the Democrats were trying to keep the process pure and legitimate.

All that I know, is that I need to come up with C$10,000 if I’m going to immigrate to Vancouver and away from this hate filled and hopeless land. — Title: the tooth fairy man, scrambled guilt, and false advertising… What a weekend. the Highs and Lows of the life of Brat…

On Friday night, I did a dry run of my costume. I donned the Tooth Fairy duds and headed to the bar. Other than the two cute house painters there, I was the only one in costume. Walking into a bar with wings was an experience I’ve been dreaming about. Oh yeah, let me share my costume…

Picture this.

Sneakers, white tights, white tutu, White Fairy Wings, White T-Shirt with a big ol smiling Tooth, a big assed, super rusted pair of pliers and a cigarette.

I was a pissed off tooth fairy. and I had a blast.

Saturday night, I donned the same costume for a Black Tie Fundraiser for the Howard Brown Health Center, Chicago’s LGBT health clinic. I have been volunteering for this fundraiser for about 5 weeks trying to get items donated for the silent auction. On the night of the event, I arrived at the event about an hour early and quietly changed into my costume. Peels of laughter were heard as I stepped from the handicapped (private) restroom.

Throughout the evening, I was thrown smiles and laughs from adoring, and shocked spectators. One of the items on display was a Bright Red Vespa, that many times had a smiling and waving tooth fairy sitting on it shouting “chow”, “chow”.

The night was a blast. I even met a handsome prince with the most stunning, sparkle in his smiling eyes. We flirted shamelessly throughout the evening, and even blatantly once I had changed back into my normal clothes. I wrote his name on my hand, and gave me his number to go with it. I hope he calls.

Sunday morning, bright and early, I jumped into the car to meet my parents for breakfast. They were driving though on their way home from visiting my brother. The only reason we were having breakfast was because my lovely roommate called them on how mean it was to pass thru Chicago and never contact me.

rewind

Thursday I called him to check on my brother with ass-cancer and he told me that Mary and Gene were on their way to Madison to visit my oldest brother. I was floored, hurt, and extremely angry. I shared this with my roommate who immediately called my sister-in-law (its a very tangled web of relationships) and informed her. My parents knew they were busted and proceeded to call me constantly throughout the weekend.

Finally, in an attempt to stop my phone from ringing and get a little nap, I answered and agreed to meet them for breakfast on their way back home. They told me that they had planned this all along and that they were looking forward to seeing me. I knew it was a guilt response cause they would have contacted me to tell me if they had truly planned to see me. This was just another in a long series of similar events throughout my adult life.

So that explains the scrambled guilt part of the post.

Sunday night I went to the Halloween parade in boystown, but was a little sidetracked by this handsome beefy man in leather. The looks, approach and demeanor of this man told me one thing, but once we arrived at his flat a few blocks away, I quickly realized my error and again, thanks to my cat-like reflexes, I was saved from yet another black eye as his legs shot towards the ceiling. False advertising indeed. I’m calling shenanigans! “shenanigans!”

Now its back to work… Oh yeah, and I met my numbers last month. — Title: Halloween Costume Ideas for Children Littlest Prisoner at Abu Ghraib

The Your child will be the hit of the neighborhood costume parade in this recreation of the Abu Ghraib prisoner-abuse scandal’s most indelible image. As an added bonus this easy-to-make costume will remind everyone on your child’s trick-or-treat route of our national shame! Simply roll a cone from a sheet of 24”x38” black cardstock, making sure to cut out a hole for the face. Drape with two yards of black felt, and add leftover wires from your last lamp-rewiring project. VoilÀ! So easy, so quick, and so terrifying!

See this and more cheap and scary costumes at www.thestranger.com — Title: I put this question to you, my loyal reader(s)… I’ve got an interesting question to put to you dear reader(s). This morning, I received an e-mail from an annonymouse woman in NYC with a invitation to trade blog links. Since this is my first invitation of this sort, and since ultimately YOU read my blog, I wanted to get some input from you.

Here’s the letter:

Hi,
I recently came across your blog Beyond Buffalo, and I think its fabulous! That letter from the Christian Conservative was aawesome. Maybe once Bush gets booted he’ll get subpeoned to answer those questions.

My blog has a bunch of regular visitors and I think that some of them would enjoy your blog. What would you think about doing a link exchange? If you’d like to, here is my link A New York Escorts Confessions. Please let me know what you think.

xoxo,
Alexa

I’m going to sit down and read a book and wait for your responses.

I hope you all say YES, cause I’m rather envious of her career choice and can’t wait to expand my knowledge of NYC. Plus, she’s a great little writer.
– Title: porn has killed me… I was going to take a few days break from writing, but stumbled upon a very interesting thought as I was looking at porn on the local gay hook up site last night.

Porn has ruined me.

I spend an inordinate amount of time thru-out my days and evenings looking at finely sculpted male bodies, some covered with hair, others shaved smooth. The main purpose of these sites being to advertise oneself to others with the intent of actually having a face-to-face encounter and doing what normal, healthy gay men do when they get together. Have sex.

But for me its something else entirely. I enjoy the male form to such an extent that I do not want my perception (read “fantasy”) of the person behind the thickly muscled bodies to have a real personality and therefore the very thought of meeting that person is out of the question. I would rather spend hours just looking from a distance, safe in my little world, from having yet another fantasy man ruined when he opens his mouth and a finely sequined silk clutch tumbles forth or he walks up to me with such a swish to his hips that I fear weather patterns will be affected worldwide.

There was a man I once worshiped from a distance when I lived in San Francisco. I nicknamed him “God” because for all intensive purposes, to me, he was the ideal. He was tall (almost reaching my height), dark featured and muscular. He was Hispanic and wore his clothes so tight that there was no need to see him naked to know that he was not only exquisitely muscled, but, ahem, also very appealing in the stallion department. I refused to approach or meet this person, and on several occasions when our paths were inextricably crossed, I found a way to avoid the meeting. This went on for about 6 years until I found myself face-to-face with “God” holding out his beefy hand to introduce himself to me.

“Hi, my name is David” he said while pumping my hand. His voice deep and thick with masculinity.

I think I squealed with excitement that for once, my fantasy expectations were not let down when we met in person. In my excitement, I’m sure that I, however, confirmed his fears.

Meet you in person?

No thank you, I’d rather not risk it again. I’ll stay home with my internet porn and peruse the pictures, establishing personalities and life stories (involving golden retrievers and cabins on pristine country lakes) that suit my needs.
– Title: thinking… I’m taking a break from writing for a day or so. I can’t write and think about my life at the same time. But do not worry, I will return to write more about my journey Beyond Buffalo when I remember why I started this blog in the first place… so in my absence read some thought provoking questions…
– Title: a letter from a pissed off Christian Conservative Republican to our President… : Demand Letter Sent To
: Bush By Corp CEO
: From Karl W. B. Schwarz
:
: President, Chief Executive Officer
:
: Patmos Nanotechnologies, LLC
: 10-13-4
:
: By Email, By Facsimile to White House
:
: Mr. President,
:
: I am a Conservative Christian Republican that has no intentions of voting for you in this year’s election and many other Conservative Republicans are following me.
:
: America demands the TRUTH and not after the elections; this nation demands the truth from you RIGHT NOW! This letter and an identical email will be going out to hundreds of thousands by me, millions by others. The following content was sent to the White House by facsimile earlier today from Ground Zero in New York City.
:
: 1. I demand as an American citizen that you lift the “gag order” on Sibel D. Edmonds and let Americans know what foreign names and what AMERICAN NAMES she uncovered in her FBI translations that were involved in drug trafficking, money laundering and the financing of 9-11. Her facts and your “official story” lies do not add up. Americans demand the truth on that matter before the election.
:
: 2. I demand to know what energy companies were in that Cheney Energy Task Force meeting and what discussions there were as to the steps that would be taken to remove the Taliban and Bridas Corporation as the last remaining obstacle to the United States controlling the Trans-Afghanistan Pipeline. I met that company in 1999 and have known since then about the Bridas v Unocal, $15 billion interference of contract lawsuit in US District Court, Southern District of Texas. I also know about the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals decision on September 9, 2003 that upheld the Bridas $500 million arbitration settlement and the March 22, 2004 denial of Writ of Certiorari at the United States Supreme Court, Case 03-1018, Turkmenneft v Bridas.
:
: 3. I demand to know how many prisoners are being held at GITMO and other places that are either BRIDAS EMPLOYEES or are persons that know all about Bridas Corporation and what your administration did to get control of that Trans-Afghanistan pipeline.
:
: 4. I demand to know how many board meetings Condoleezza Rice and Thomas Kean sat in on at Chevron and Amerada Hess where it was discussed how they were going to deal with making the billions in “Big Oil” investments into a land locked Caspian Basin and how to get rid of the Taliban and Bridas so they could turn those investments into cash flow. How many times did Big Oil ask for military force to complete a commercial transaction they could not get under their control, and on what exact date did you agree to provide such military force – prior to 9-11? Isn’t it true Mr. Bush that the Cheney Energy Task Force discussed that attack on Afghanistan and removal of the Taliban / Bridas obstacle once and for all – and did so well in advance of 9-11?
:
: 5. I demand to know why you appointed 10 persons to the 9-11 Commission, 8 of which are directly benefiting by the Taliban / Bridas “contract” obstacle being removed – breached with military force, and the big Caspian Oil deals that are now coming to market. No, America does not ‘thank you’ for that nor do we hold such despicable conduct up high.
:
: 6. I demand to know what US Oil Company stepped up as the sponsor of that OPIC and Asia Development Bank funded Trans-Afghanistan pipeline and what US company is constructing that pipeline right now, and what US firms are supplying the key components and their relationship to your administration.
:
: 7. I demand that you identify the company and persons who were going around Bridas to be “natural gas suppliers” to the US owned natural gas electrical generation plants in Pakistan (Dynegy – Illinova /Tenaska, El Paso (2 OPIC financed transactions) and others.
:
: 8. I demand to know why you have not been truthful with the American public that your GWOT and military policy are protecting the Caspian Basin Oil and Gas deals for many of your Bush Pioneers, some $9.6 trillion in oil and about $3 trillion in natural gas, now mostly in the hands of your elite wealthy contributors and some elite Liberals to keep this all quiet.
:
: 9. I demand to know what role the post-bankruptcy ENRON (Prisma Energy International, Cayman Islands) is playing in the Caspian Basin area, the same Enron that uses the law firm of Mayer Brown Rowe & Maw [Richard Ben Veniste, 9-11 Commission] that established the offshore SPE’s for assets that were never under the jurisdiction of the U.S. Bankruptcy Court.
:
: 10. I demand to know why you appointed Richard Ben Veniste to the 9-11 Commission when it was his law firm that was stalling Bridas Corporation at the Fifth Circuit US Court of Appeals in the matter of Bridas Corporation v. Turkmenneft and his law firm is directly involved in Pakistan, Turkmenistan, Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan and your administration.
:
: 11. I demand to know the exact date of the order that had our military practicing in early 2001 the invasion of Afghanistan to take out the Taliban and Bridas Corporation and make that pipeline under control of US interests, many of your Bush Pioneers, and the exact date that our military started practicing and preparing for that invasion.
:
: 12. I demand to know who Remington Holdings Ltd is, and Western Acquisitions, Inc, both Baker & Botts clients and the lucky recipients of OPIC financing to acquire oil and gas deposits in Pakistan.
:
: Who are the parties involved in those entities by name and benefited from such governmental magnanimity? Is this transaction a payoff? Since American taxpayers are footing the bill, we have the right to know – right now.
:
: 13. I demand to know why you could not find 10 people to sit on the 9-11 Commission that are not directly benefiting from the actions you have taken and the lives you have cost or otherwise ruined. Why would you select people not motivated to find the truth for that would impact “their bottom line”?
:
: 14. I demand a full disclosure from your administration as to the Citibank / IFTRIC / OPIC / Export-Import Bank financing of American / Israeli based deals in Islamic nations on behalf of your major campaign contributors.
:
: “IFTRIC and Citibank have an agreement allowing Citibank to finance approved IFTRIC-backed transactions. Citibank Israel CEO Nandan Mar said: ‘The Citibank branch, and the Structured Trade Finance Group, view IFTRIC’s program as a basic product for the bank’s domestic activities.’”
:
: I see distinct differences between “terrorism” and “outrage” (Shurtan II) at your policies.
:
: 15. I demand to know why you wanted an entire new division of the CIA for Argentina. As an American citizen I take umbrage to your belligerence towards a nation that is not an enemy of the United States by any stretch of the imagination, except possibly yours. It is abundantly clear that your intentions were solely to intimidate Argentina and Argentina based Bridas Corporation into silence and that is NOT AMERICA. That has every appearance of the United States acting as the terrorist and a state sponsor of terrorism. Yes, you are wrapped in a flag but I clearly see that it is not the one you purport it to be.
:
: 16. I demand to know why your administration has never disclosed that DynPort Vaccine, LLC, owned by DynCorp and now owned by Computer Sciences Corporation, a Bush Pioneer, is a possible source for where the weaponized Ames Strain of anthrax came from that was used against this nation. How did your administration manage to miss one of your campaign contributors and a company doing large volumes of business with your administration and even being known euphemistically (DynCorp) as The Mercenary Company? Who put that Contract on America?
:
: 17. I demand to know how you can claim a pretense of being a Christian while sponsoring and condoning the torture of prisoners, including sodomizing children, at Abu Ghraib prison.
:
: 18. I demand to know how your administration can send firms overseas as “representatives of this nation” that were convicted of running a flesh trade in little girls in Bosnia, specifically one DynCorp. Convicted in Texas and the United Kingdom according to reports I have seen and apparently detested in Afghanistan. You do recall that DynCorp is the company providing security to protect your puppet Karzai in Afghanistan and your other puppet Zalmay Khalilzad is deterring anyone from running for President in that bogus “free” democracy?
:
: 19. I demand to know why your administration keeps running the name and photos of Adnan G. El Shukrijumah as the “dirty bomb boogeyman” and on March 25, 2003 the FBI knew exactly where to find him and did not go after him. That telephone call was made from my telephone by a Canadian friend that was in Little Rock on that date, Mr. Bush, so do not pretend “national security” with me.
:
: I am “first person” on this matter and all of America deserves to know the extent that your administration has been and is lying to us all – and someone that is not Al Qaeda is probably “dropping a suspect name” as they set up a dirty bomb attack. Sure have pushed up the oil and gas prices with your strategy though, guess we can consider that another “Mission Accomplished”.
:
: 20. I demand to know why your administration keeps referring to Adnan G. El Shukrijumah as a “Saudi” when the FBI knows full well he is not Saudi. His family is from Guyana in South America and they have lived in Florida since 1986 without incident. His grandparents were from Yemen, moved long ago to South America and his mother is from Trinidad & Tobago.
:
: 21. I demand to know why you alerted India, Pakistan and “Axis of Evil” member Iran of your intentions to attack the Taliban / Bridas well before 9-11, and not notify the citizens of this nation. That matter was reported on June 26, 2001 in India newspapers.
:
: 22. I demand to know the exact date that the first meeting, first page of the Patriot Act was started by your administration.
:
: 23. I demand to know why it is you, your backers, certain Democrats that apparently “hate our freedoms” more than these purported GWOT Islamic fundamentalists, hence the Patriot Act that treats all Americans with the same degree of contempt and disdain you treat all non-wealthy Americans.
:
: 24. I demand to know why Homeland Security is protecting this government and not protecting this nation.
:
: 25. I demand to know why any dissent or objections to your Orwellian, imperialistic, pro-corporate agenda is referred to the Homeland Security Counter-Terrorism Division.
:
: 26. I demand to know why you defile everything you touch and try to twist it into something that is pro-Bush Backers and anti-American citizens and then try to alter our rights as Americans via Patriot Act measures that are designed to force America into submission and does nothing to protect this nation, only this government.
:
: 27. I demand to know why your administration is planning a “pro-Bush Pioneers pharmaceutical program” derived from TMAP (Texas Medical Algorithm Project) and PENNMAP (Tom Ridge, Pennsylvania) to have Americans tested under guidelines prepared by your Bush Pioneers and force psychotropic drugs on Americans.
:
: 28. I demand to know why your administration keeps injecting our troops with an anthrax vaccine known to be deadly and harmful to the health of our soldiers and now apparently wish to inject that into all Americans under Project BioShield and martial law. Is that why you have no concern whatsoever for the 3 million jobs lost, for between your TMAP lunacy and Project BioShield lunacy, well over 3 million Americans could perish if the same statistical rates hit the general population as has hit our military? Can you explain away Holocaust with “brilliant strategy policy” driven by unmitigated greed?
:
: 29. I demand to know why Li Ka-shing was denied Global Crossing on national security grounds (very public) yet allow him in the back door in Savi Technology (not disclosed), the RFID technology company that is purportedly protecting our ports from insertion of a nuclear bomb into this nation via “ocean going containers”. How many doors are left wide open by your administration in this GWOT Fable?
:
: 30. I demand to know why you search the world for mythical terrorists and cannot find robber barons and financial terrorist right under your nose. That many of them are Bush Pioneers and even backers of the Democratic Party, and have plundered the investors, workers and citizens of this nation, is very apparent to Americans and not very pro-family on your part.
:
: Christians do not lie, Mr. Bush, for that is an affront to God. A Christian would not willfully mislead this nation, nor send our troops into Harm’s Way for a lie while your wealthy contributors take over a $9.6 trillion oil, $3.0 trillion natural gas deal and already maneuvering for Africa. You are proving to the world that you are terrified of the truth and have impeded every investigation into the truth.
:
: Your actions prove that you are not an upstanding Christian, nor are you a Conservative Republican worthy of that designation.
:
: Your position as President does not make you unaccountable to the citizens of this nation, nor does it entitle you to act as a tyrant, an emperor, or serving only those Americans that dole out money for your political ambitions and agendas. I see no “stewardship” in your conduct whatsoever.
:
: You have “Mission Accomplished” three times – the removal of Taliban / Bridas to control that pipeline, radically escalated the price of oil and gas for some of your major backers, and the death and maiming of many due to your lies. Your “Iraq Strategery” makes perfect sense to me, since all of you needed a diversion away from Afghanistan, the Caspian Basin and what you did to Bridas Corporation to get control of that $9.6 trillion in oil, $3 trillion in natural gas.
:
: Go back home and wrap yourself in the flag of Texas and the shame you alone are responsible for creating. Your resume is your doing and yours alone.
:
: If you were running against me this year, you would not have the guts to stay on the stage in a debate with me.
:
: Shame on all of you, both sides of the aisle that have lied to America and gotten so many killed and maimed for a lie, and no, I am not an antiwar person. Just adamantly opposed to what you stand for, for that is lower than Clinton on his worst day.
:
: Sincerely,
:
: Karl W. B. Schwarz
: President, Chief Executive Officer
: Patmos Nanotechnologies, LLC
– Title: trying out a new vice i’ve been needing a new vice since I’ve given up drugs and cut back considerably on my drinking. I once tried to start smoking several years back during a visit to Long Beach’s Gay Pride event. The little brown one was dating a smoker who promised to teach me how to smoke and not look too gay.

He bought a pack of Camel unfiltered cigarette and set out to teach me how to inhale along with many variations of holding the cigarette to look street tough. It took me close to a day and half before I could inhale the burning mixture of tobacco, chemicals and air without hacking like an amateur, but I got pretty good at it and soon looked forward to the heady rush of nicotine that would briefly follow a drag, while absent-mindedly picking the errant tobacco pieces from my lips. The nicotine rush lasted longer than I expected, so I got very little sleep that weekend which I quickly realized would be a problem since I cherished my sleep more than this new chosen vice.

I went to the local Walgreens, bought a box of nicotine replacement patches and started my withdrawal from a weekend of heavy smoking. Two weeks later, I’d be itching for another vice and would return, reluctantly to alcohol and sex.

Last night, The Jew and I went to Costco, and the itch for a new vice returned. I spent a good amount of time in the liquor aisle considering seriously my options between Gin, Vodka, or perhaps expanding my repertoire to include the “brown drinks” like Scotch or Whiskey. I spent even more time going thru the wine bins choosing bottles of hearty red wines, until it hit me that this would not be a new vice. I’ve been drinking wine and liquor since Highschool. No I would need something new.

A little while later, while reaching for a case of Diet Coke, I noticed a pallet of Starbuck’s Mocha Frappachino in the next bin. I briefly pondered the idea of coffee drinks as my new vice since it made good sense. I enjoy spending many hours in coffee shops and bookstores, and it was rather awkward to only order tea at these venues. But truth be told, my last experience with coffee was not pleasant.

While preparing for my first international business trip to Hong Kong, my then boss, sat me down to teach me how to conduct business in a foreign country. “Always take what is offered or it is rude and considered a slight against your host” she admonished. Being raised in the household and manner that I was, this advice terrified me. I swore to myself that I would never turn down anything offered and the business trip would be a huge success and I would be welcomed into the fold of the office in Hong Kong and soon they would send requests for my return. “Send that nice young boy that was so courteous” I would imagine the telephone conversation sounding.

Fast forward two weeks to my arrival in Hong Kong. I arrived on a Friday evening and was met at the airport by my counterpart and several of his colleagues from the office. He had the weekend planned for me and it would start immediately. He would take me to the hotel to check in and freshen up, then we would have dinner and following dinner would be drinks. He asked if there was anything I’d wanted to do during my stay and I mentioned that I’d like to get a suit and some shirts tailored for me. I’ll get into that in a future post.

After settling into the hotel, we went to a very pricey Sushi restaurant, where even more of his office colleagues met us for dinner. He set about telling me his plans for the weekend when I interrupted him and asked if he had a family and wouldn’t his wife would be upset that he was spending all this time with me. It turns out that he did have a wife and a small baby at home, so I asked him to please spend the time with his family and that I’d be fine in Hong Kong on my own. I like to wander around foreign lands alone anyway.

On Monday morning, he collected me from the hotel to visit the office and start my week. Enroute he asked if I’d had breakfast. I replied “no, I’m not a big…” trailing off in thought, remembering my boss’ words. I said I was starving and would love to grab some food. We stopped at a cafe across from the office where he was a regular customer and he ordered me up a cup of this drink called Yuanyang found only in Hong Kong. Again, hearing my boss’ words, I quickly set to drinking it. After about half the cup, I was wired. I could feel a level of energy similar to when I abused speed years before, which frightened me and prevented me from finishing the strong brew.

The day proceeded with meetings and introductions where I met the entire staff in Hong Kong at all four offices. By the end of the day, I was still wired. They took me back to the hotel to change for dinner and during the trip, my host leaned over quietly and asked “You don’t drink coffee do you?”

“No” I replied still twitching from the morning brew.

“Then why did you drink it?” he asked.

“I didn’t want to insult you” came my embarrassed reply.

Once he stopped laughing, he informed me that if I didn’t want something I didn’t have to take it and that my boss was incorrect in her beliefs about doing business in Hong Kong. (I’m sorry CD, but that’s what he said.)

Standing in Costco remembering this story made up my mind. I reached for the case of Starbuck’s prepackaged Mocha Frappachino.
– Title: shhhhhh, i’m wearing man-panties tonight I’m going to share something intimate with you. Very intimate indeed. I’m talking about my newest fetish, underwear. My entire life, I’ve worn nothing but normal Fruit of the Loom, or Haines, but recently the little brown one introduced me to the joys of shhhhh, man-panties™.

Over the long Memorial Day weekend, the little brown one visited Chicago to attend the world famous International Mister Leather convention. We rented a room at the host hotel and proceeded to have a very interesting and fun-filled weekend that broke down many of the few remaining boundaries we shared with each other, one of which was his admiration of underwear . He recently purchased a pair of 2xist thong styled underwear and proceeded to extol the virtues of these shhhhhhh, man-panties™ the entire weekend. They lifted, they supported, they gave a bigger basket.

I was intrigued. Bigger basket you say? As a gay man, this can be quite a selling point. I decided to give them a try and went out and purchased a pair of pouch-enhancing black tight little shhhhh, man-panties™. They not only lived up to his hype, they were comfortable. As I’ve mentioned, I’ve been very loyal to my Haines boxer-briefs up until this moment and the thought of making a change was down-right frightening.

Could I do it? Could I be the type of man that wore fashion underwear? Could I be the type of man that walked around with skimpy little thongs under my suit?

As it turns out. Yes, I can! In the months following Memorial Day Weekend, I’ve purchased a wide variety of fashionable underwear in a full spectrum of colors. 2xist, Polo, Jockey and Calvin Klein now fill my drawers’ drawer with a rainbow of colors and styles and I’m ok with it.

This may not seem like much to you, my gentle reader, but for a boy from the backwoods of New York State, the act of wearing anything other than tighty whiteys is a monumental achievement.
– Title: hodge-post(tm)… i have so much to write about tonight that I decided to come up with a new term for it (and trademark it for my own protection). So lady and gentlemen, I bring you the Hodgepodge post (ie hodge-post) issue 1 volume 1.

Terror-py. Its a good thing. I’m not talkin the kind of terror-py that happens when religious fanatics get ahold of WMD’s and/or American Airlines aircraft. I’m talking the mental terror-py. Others have called this phenomenon “therapy”, but I will use my own term, thank you very much!

I’ve been in terror-py for close to, perhaps even more than, two years. It all started many years ago in a far away city. Well, 10 years ago in San Francisco really. I tried terror-py once. I went for my consultation, and the guy had me at 100% pure raw emotion in half an hour and I didn’t know how to handle it. The fear and overwhelming-ness of it all scared me into not trusting terror-pists. I left his office and never went back.

Flashforward to 2002, fall, the leaves are starting to change and the air is getting crisp. I’m living in Chicago, and I’ve just gone thru the worst break-up of my otherwise glamorous life. It hurt. It devastated me (sorta like the upcoming elections will devastate the shrub.) I needed help to get thru this period in my life, so I asked a friend and he recommended the person that would turn out to be an amazing lifebelt.

I started seeing the terror-pist shortly after and over time I began to let my guard down and really come to understand how relationships are supposed to be. I learned how to feel, how to cry, how to be open (mostly) and honest. There were topics that I’ve still not opened up because, well, they’re personal and nobody should know about them except YOU, my loyal reader.

I think I changed and grew as a person. I’m better equipped to handle the bumps in the road and I’m starting to understand and trust my own feelings and needs. It is really kinda cool.

But… cause there always is… I’ve been needing to test the waters of independence again. To be out on my own and see how I do. It feels a little like growing up and moving out of the house and heading out into the world for the first time; only, this time without the frat house kegger parties and the all-nite, drug-fueled raves and nightclubs. This time, I’m going to do it in a healthy and adult way.

It was not an easy topic and I found myself walking around it for the first ten minutes in his office. I touched on topics that I’ve already dealt with and filed away under “mostly done”. Then I realized that what I’d been thinking for the last 3 weeks needed to be talked about. And ya know what… It wasn’t as bad as that one time when he wanted me to do group and I agreed cause I didn’t want to disappoint him, but then I had a panic attack and had to take xanax to get to sleep. Not even close to that bad. It made me see, that I actually have grown. I was able to tell him my needs and face the outcome of my words. We discussed it calmly and openly. I’m going to miss my time with the terror-pist. He’s a great guy and, well, I’m partly writing all this cause I finally broke down and gave him the link to my blog so I thought I should probably write something about him, cause I don’t think I have yet… (Damn you self-censor)

in part two (2) of the Hodge-post™ I need to talk about The Padre.

Padre used to live here in Chicago until June when he relocated to Vancouver, British Columbia. That’s in Canada for those Republicans that read this. No, not the state north of us, the country. Yes that one. The cold one with Socialized Healthcare that works.

Anyway… He has been in town for close to two weeks and it has been great to see him and reconnect. Dinners and lunches and coffees. All the things we used to do regularly, now take on a special feel because his time here is limited.

Something special happened on Friday night. After his wildly expensive dinner extravaganza the last few remaining party people decided to head to a new little pub called Crew to continue the festivities.

We drank, caught up and had a general good time. The night began to wind down and since we were calling it a night we said our good byes and headed out the door. Padre was going to give me a ride home, but as he walked to his rental car, he was approached by one of the regular pan handlers that loiter outside the bar praying on the drunk gay boys. They walked and talked quietly in a manner I’d never seen before and it struck me strangely. Once we crawled into his car he informed me that when he arrived, that man had asked for money but was instead offered a hot meal. Padre had taken the man across the street to a Chinese restaurant and bought him a meal. I believe it was a shrimp dish of some sort. The quiet interaction that I’d witnessed was actually the man thanking Padre. I finally saw the real Padre. A caring and conscious man that is doing his version of God’s will quietly and without fanfare. He was helping, one man at a time. It was a beautiful and spiritual moment that will resonate with me for some time.

I’m done. Thank you for reading the hodge-post™ issue 1 volume 1. Go help someone

– Title: tonight on our celebrity spotlight… yet another celebrity filled dream sequence I feel like I should share with you.

My dream last night was a full body sensory overload that left me twitching, throwing my covers off, and scaring Stella from my bed, back to her own sometime in the middle of the night. I was on vacation with my friends at a theme resort someplace in the Southwest part of our once proud land. The resort was unique in that the entire concept was that of a farm. The elevator to the rooms consisted of a wooden base with ropes at each of the corners. That in itself was nothing major, but the floor was not solid. It was pivoted twice in the middle essentially breaking it into 4 individual sections that were independent of the rest. There were seasoned professional elevator operators that assisted you to your room since the entire contraption was dangerous at best and a death trap at worse. Did I mention that there were no walls and that the elevator shaft was, oh, a lot larger than the elevator? I remember clinging to the rough thick twine-like rope for dear life as the floor undulated and swelled during the trip upwards into the dark shaft watching in horror as the little old Republican couple from Ohio plunged to their death clinging to each other and their beliefs during the fall. (I love my dreams sometimes)

upon reaching the upper levels of the hotel, we proceeded to the bar area which was arranged and decorated to bring back the glamour of the 1980’s hair bands. It was here that I ran into my long time friend Job Bon Jovi who immediately berated me for being so inept at keeping in contact with him and Ricky Sambora. My flimsy attempts at apology were waved away with the back of his hand as he grabbed my arm and dragged me to the bar. I followed, watching the fringe of his leather jacket get tangled up with the long curly locks of his golden brown hair.

After much merriment and joy, I parted ways with Jon, promising to be better at keeping in contact.

It was at this point that I realized that my dream was friggin strange and I think sub-consciously even, that I couldn’t pull off any more of it, and I awoke confused and betrayed. I’m the one that never calls??? I thought to myself. I always call you and you never take my calls.

I let go of my anger as I rolled over and looked down at Stella sleeping soundly and peacefully on her little bed next to mine. My heart swelled with love while looking at her and forgot all about Mr Jovi and his rude comments.
– Title: speaking of lovers… “the little brown one” called to check in with me this morning and somehow we got to talking about bringing homeless men home for a little sex in the afternoon. We have some amazing conversations he and I.

This brought back conflicting memories for me and I thought that I needed to share the experience with you, my gentle and loyal readers.

Many years ago, when I was still living in San Francisco, I was fortunate enough to meet an amazing man named PIN. Yes I said “PIN” and I wasn’t referring to that little number you need to get cash out of the ATM. PIN was a beautiful man. He had short thick, wavy black hair and an olive complexion that Hercules would envy, and a trim, tight body without the pesky attributes of the gym attitude. PIN was also homeless. I met PIN while walking into “The PIT” (a moment of silence for its passing please). The PIT was a great club, and on Monday nights they would spin a mix of early house and Industrial (think Nitzer Ebb and Front 242 mixed with Wax Trax classics). He was standing by the door with the bouncer and our eyes met and I felt my heart flutter. He smiled at me and said “Hi“. A little while later on the dance floor he came over and danced with me.

One thing led to another and soon we were in my apartment rolling on the floor in a passionate embrace. It was at this point that he informed me that he had nowhere to go, that he lived on the street (He was clean and smelled nice, so I was shocked). He also told me that he wasn’t gay (then why were you macking with me just now?).

I told him that he could stay with me as long as he wanted (I was young and innocent) and he thanked me by giving me a night filled with passion that I’d never known before. I did things with this “straight” man that I’ve never done since and I’ll never share the details, but let me say this… there is nothing like getting it on with a straight man thats comfortable with his sexuality.

The days passed in bliss for me. Tuesday rolled into Wednesday, into Thursday and PIN was always there when I got home from work. Waiting for me with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his beautiful brown eyes. The passion filled nights were amazing and have left a warm feeling that gets me even now more than a decade after.

One evening, we were laying in bed talking quietly and he offered me one of his earrings. I eagerly accepted and asked him to put it in for me. I, in turn, offered him one of mine to fill the now empty hole in his ear. I got out of bed and grabbed my jewelry bowl, and fishing thru it for something that would fit this mysterious man, I returned to the bed deciding to let him make the choice. He chose a big golden hoop. I’m talking BIG golden hoop, the kind you might see on a black woman in the ghettos (Not to be racist, but you guys all visualized what I was talking about). He inserted the hoop into his ear and grabbed me into a big hug, holding me and talking quietly with me until we both drifted off to sleep.

Friday night, the bottom fell out. He said that he needed to leave. He was headed home to Philadelphia because there were problems with his family. His Mother had sent him an airline ticket (which he had cashed in and bought a much cheaper bus ticket and used the rest on, well, probably drugs) and he was due to leave town within a few days.

I knew in my heart that I’d never truly keep PIN because wild animals cannot be caged, but I was grateful for having him make a brief stop in my life. I wonder if he remembers me or ever thinks about me. I think of him from time to time and every time I do, I think…

“You mother fucker! I opened my home to you, I opened my heart to you, and you stole my Mutha fucking earrings!“
– Title: you’re in contempt… I’d love to hear those words.

I’d love for the debates and political rhetoric to be governed by law. You cannot lie when you’re testifying to a judge and jury, so why do we allow our politicians to do the same thing? I’d like a rule to be imposed that requires jail sentences for perjury during political debates. I’d like a rule to be imposed that requires all facts and figures thrown out during a debate or speech be backed up with details as to where they were collected and when.

I’d like the hatred and the mud slinging to stop. I’d like more than 2 viable political parties in this country. We’re a big land…we have room. Why are we limited in our choices? We would never allow the same thing to happen with automobiles, cell phones, televisions, computers or airlines, yet we refuse to even consider more viable options for how our country is governed. This makes absolutely no sense to me.

I’ve been reading a lot of blogs lately. Both Democratic and Republican. The level of hatred spewing from both sides is downright frightening.

The republicans hate blindly. They use profanity easily and with a certain amount of glee. There is an ignorance to their blind devotion to the party platform that can only be likened to a cult. If you are not with the Republicans, you are an idiot, fat, a communist, a terror-ist, any number of invectives depending upon the level of schooling of writer. They do not offer up an argument for their thoughts or beliefs. It is fanaticism pure and simple and god save you should you be on the wrong side of their beliefs.

However, the Dems are not much better. They are perhaps, more polite, better educated, can spell and properly use large words; but there is an uncomfortable limit to this camp too. There is a feeling, and correct me if I’m wrong… that we can have it all and not pay too high of taxes. Everything will be rosy of we just get the shrub™ out of office. I doubt it will be that easy. There are still the Senators and Congresspeople that are out there NOT representing their constituents.

Now, I’m voting for Kerry. Pure and simply because I think the shrub(tm) is an evil, hateful and intolerant, frightened little man with way too much power. The world despises the United States for his views and for his beliefs. He took the largest outpouring of grief and good will and within 6 months turned the entire world against us. (Don’t worry Mr. President, I’m not forgetting Poland). I’m voting against the shrub(tm) because he believes that I am such a huge threat to his marriage to Mrs shrub that he wants to amend the very document that protects us, to discriminate against me. He wants to make me a second class citizen without rights and protections. As if changing that document will make me go away. As if changing that document will make you a better Christian. As if changing that document will protect your marriage. How? Please tell me how I’ve never even met you, and chances are if I did meet you, I’d dislike you even more than I already do.

wow, this is quite the rant tonight…

forgive me gentle and sensible readers…i’ve had a lot on my mind.

Let me finish by saying this…

When you are asked a question… answer it. don’t sell me a house of cards that does not and never will exist. Lets have some frank and honest discussions. Its gonna hurt, things are too fucked up for it not to. This country cannot be everything to every person. It never has been, and it never will be. But it can be a lot more than it is. Lets start holding people, business and politics accountable. Lets start rebuilding the communication between the two halves of the country. We’re really not that much different. We still worry about our family and our jobs and our safety. Lets do this as a country united and not as two political parties that will never see eye to eye.

– Title: am i with Captain Hook? I’m sharing an embarrassing moment, so please be gentle with your remarks. Recently, during a momentary weakness, I met a man on the internet for sex. Ok, so it wasn’t a momentary weakness but a normal behavioral pattern, only this time, I met him in person.

Arriving at his highrise condominium building, I gave his name and apartment number to the guard and was quickly given approval and directions towards the elevators. The ride up, took forever , but I was soon greeted in the hallway by a handsome, yet older gentleman. (Obviously, his picture was slightly dated, by, OH about a decade).

He invited me into his apartment and ordered me to strip. (Yes, I said ordered) I like it on the rough side for those of you new to me. Things proceeded along at a friendly, well, you know, kind pace until I was on my knees in front of him.

He sat back on the couch and lit up a cigar. I leaned into him and rested my head on his chest to snuggle into his chest hairs while he enjoyed his moment with his cigar. It was at this point that I noticed a faint little sound. Was that a clock ticking? I got even more quiet and listened carefully, because how often, in this modern age, does one hear a clock ticking. It wasn’t a clock, it sounded more like a metronome. Upon realizing this, I quickly search the surrounding area for a piano or musical instrument. None to be seen.

It was at this point that I realized the ticking was emanating from within his chest. I pressed my ear closer to his flesh and sure enough there it was. The gentle, slightly metallic click, click, click of a metronome. I was lost in thought. How far have I slid? What would my friends say when I shared this (As I invariably would)? What if he dies while we’re, ahem, in action? How would I explain the ropes to the cops? Who would find me?

All these thoughts went thru my head in the blink of an eye as I lifted my head from his chest. It was only now, that I noticed the long jagged scar running the length of his torso, hidden quietly in the ample hairs of his chest.

Wow! A new experience. I’ve never been with a man who’s had heart surgery! I’m ALL for new experiences and I’m glad I relaxed and let it happen. He was fun and knew his way around the male anatomy.

But still… What if it really was Captain Hook?

– Title: a little history of my life so far… Cars. I’ve always loved cars. It shows too. Below, you will find reasonable versions of the vehicles I’ve owned in my life. Some were with me for a while, some were passing fancies… All of them spoke about who I was when I drove them…

So pull up a comfy chair, fix a hot mug of some warm love (Maker’s Mark for YOU Hot Toddy’s Toaster Oven), and reminisce with me about my life… so far.

1982 Chevrolet El Camino

my first car was the El Camino. Mine was light brown and given to me by my Father when he upgraded to the GMC version. Sadly, on a drunken evening in my senior year of high school, this car was marooned on a bolder in a friend’s front yard.

1980 Ford Mustang

The Mustang started as my sister’s car. It was maroon, and she sold it to me for $300.00 and a promise not to smoke pot. Sadly, this too ended up marooned in a drunken excursion into the city of St. Louis from my dorm on the Illinois side of the river. The drive shaft fell out as I drove across some railroad tracks.

1978 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme

The Olds Supreme was fun. It was my first car with power windows and Air Conditioning. My Dad bought it for me from a friend of his. We had a real bonding moment together when we spent the weekend painting it with rollers and left over aircraft paint from work. My Dad worked for US Airways and they were repainting their fleet that summer so they had a good deal of paint left over. It had a badly rusted bumper that was easily replaced with a body color matched piece of 12 1 lumber. Sadly the bumper didn’t last long. I was trying to turn around in the alleyway next to the Powerhouse in San Francisco during, ahem, yet another drunken evening and backed into a dumpster, severing what little rust remained holding the wood onto the car. I drove off leaving the 12 1 wooden piece in the dumpster as a left souvenir.

1976 Honda Civic CVCC

After arriving in San Francisco and losing my bumper to the dumpster demon, in addition to feeling like complete white trash, I didn’t feel safe driving a car with no bumper and an exposed gas tank. so I sold it off for $50.00 and bought the above little Civic. Mine was white but because of some unfortunate rusting on the roof and hatch I was forced to make do with a little white trash fix all. Yup. Duct Tape. I liked to tell people that the tape was offset for that Euro look, but it was really covering up the rust holes. I sold this car when it needed a new clutch. I should have probably kept it longer… This would be my first, of many, financial mistakes.

1990 CRX

I replaced my older Civic with a new CRX. This car was a blast to own. It was fast, sporty, great on gas and fit anywhere. I went thru 2 major accidents with the car and both times I walked away without a scratch. My first break-in was one of the most memorable nights of my life, and the second was the night Bill Clinton won the election the first time. There was partying in the streets of San Francisco (and a homeless man sleeping in my car). During one of the repairs to the CRX, I toyed with the idea of a convertible… ok, I bought one.

1968 Fiat 850 Spider

I never officially owned this car, because I sold it off to my roommate within 4 days of buying it, but was still given full driving privileges. This was a fun car. The seats were not attached, the top was shredded and torn and the wheels needed air daily (at least). The exhaust didn’t match the engine, didn’t match the body, didn’t match the seats, didn’t match anything. But it ran and it was fast and it was fun.

The CRX lived on another year or two until I tired of my car payments. I sold it off and bought something cheap.

1980 corolla

This helped me save money and get my life situated. Around this time, I met TL who would turn out to be a major influence on my life. We became quick and passionate lovers. We fought, we cried, we played and we shopped. Oh how we shopped. We bought this together…

1995 Jeep Wrangler

Hard Top, 6 cylinder, loaded. This was a great car…but alas, the relationship was doomed by myself and my youthful indiscretions. I learned the hard way about honesty and trust… He got the free and clear exit, and I became saddled with the debt of 4 years of uber-shopping. I bought his half of the Jeep out by absorbing his part of the credit card debt.

As the payments climbed and my finances stayed the same, it was obvious that I needed to do something… I tried to get rid of the Jeep and downsize again…

Well it worked before so why not try again. I bought this.

1987 CRX

It was a good plan. But I neglected to think about selling the Jeep. I couldn’t. It didn’t help that I bought this with a cash advance from a credit card. I sold the CRX a few weeks later, and took the remnants of that money and filed Chapter 7.

The debt was gone, but the Jeep remained and worse yet… the maintenance issues were just arriving. I managed to unload the Jeep on an unsuspecting Ford Dealer when I traded it in on my first VW.

1994 Jetta

I had this car for several years and it took great care of me. I rebuilt my credit, traveled the Bay Area and got a good little amount of work done in the meantime. I was rolling in money from my commissions. So much so, that I went and bought my dream car…

1996 Volvo 850 R

This was a monster! It was FAST, it was SEXY and it was EXPENSIVE. I was in heaven. I bought it used. Mine was white with a tan interior. The seats were heated SUEDE. Yes that’s right Suede BABY!. The rims were titanium and the wheels were z-rated. This sucker hit 140mph on the freeway before I even felt the speed hit me.

I drove her cross-country with my Mother from the Bay Area to Chicago when I relocated in 2000. The trip was another that will live in my memory because my Mother and I had a great trip and a chance to clear the air about me being gay. ( well some of it anyway) The R racing-tuned suspension was no match for the ripped up, pot-holed streets of Chicago and after replacing several of my tires at $220 per tire, I got fed up with the cost of this car and bought…

2002 VW GTI

I was feeling old and wanted to spruce up my life so I bought the GTI. Fun little car. Little the key. 2 doors and hatch. I drove this car almost 2 years until last week. I’ve had a love/frustration feeling with this little beast. Loved how fun it was to drive, hated the small parts breaking regularly. It was with semi-sadness that I recently… ok VERY recently, said goodbye to it.

Why??? Cause I bought myself a BMW!!

2001 325i

This is the beast I’m driving now. Its great for Stella… Its even better for me!

I feel like an adult again. It was a long journey to my first BMW, but I made it, and I thank you for joining me as I drove down memory lane.

*** please note that the photos in this post are NOT my cars, but pictures I found on the internet. I’m sad to say that many of my cars never had photo ops with me. I really wish I’d have taken pictures of my Fiat most of all. That was a rare car and I’ve never seen another in person since.
– Title: a small little change in plans well, I didn’t get the Volvo. I got the white one picked out, but not the White Volvo. Instead, you’ll soon see me driving the highways and byways of this once great land in none other than a station wagon. Thats right, Brat is buying a wagon.

But this is not ordinary wagon. Its a German Wagon. I feel like such a yuppy that I’m even proud of buying it.

Its a Bimmer. BMW 325iT to be exact. Loaded. It even has the little cage in the back for Stella. I was thinking that I’d never be able to take Stella with me in a Luxury vehicle, cause I wouldn’t let her on the seats where customers could one day potentially ride. So I needed a hatchback, but what options do I have in hatchbacks on a luxury car. I have the SUV’s and Station Wagons.

Brat likes to just say “NO” to SUV’s, so that was out of the question.

If ya see Stella and I thru the super dark tinted privacy windows of my new semi-luxury vehicle… Wave. I may just wave back! — Title: pssst… i’ve got a secret i’m bursting to tell someone this secret, but I can’t.

I understand what Hot Toddy’s Toaster Oven meant now when he wanted to talk about his date, but couldn’t. I understand this because I’m dying to share this completely AMAZING experience with everyone that will listen.

But, I can’t.

So, I’ll talk about the mundane. Tuna Girl thinks I look HOT, HOT, HOT, in the Lincoln LS, so I’ve added this option to my luxury car search engine. (in truth, she only said HOT once)

This is what I’ve come up with in the $10,000 – $15,000 range.

2001 Saab 9-5 SE V6 – Steel Grey $17,995
2001 Lincoln LS – black on black – $14,995
2000 Volvo S70 AWD – White – $13,995
1998 Volvo S70 GLT – RED – $9,990

Yeah, I saw a few BMW’s and MB’s but I don’t want to spend a fortune on maintenance and upkeep. Not to mention that in my hood, a car like that wouldn’t last long.

So I’m filling out the loan paperwork and I’ll let ya know what I find… but between you and me… I’m leaning towards the White one.

– Title: all dressed up and… i took my car in for service today… again

now I like my little car, but I’m rather frustrated with all the maintenance issues I’m faced with. They’re not big things, but isn’t it always the little things that just kind of grate on you? I mean a rattle here, a replaced doohickie there, a loud crunching sound when this happens. Its all starting to wear on me. Today, its the exhaust system. 46,103 miles and the exhaust is rattling. I took it in for an oil change 2 weeks ago, and as soon as I started to describe the problem, the tech guy finished my words telling me exactly what it is, and that this is a regular problem with VW’s.

So I dropped off my little car and waited for Enterprise to pick me up. Arriving in the largest vehicle I’ve been in to date, my uber-friendly driver who I’ll call, oh lets say “Chris” wouldn’t stop talking about cars. My car, his car, new cars, cost of cars. And I thought I was bad.

When we arrived to the lot, I noticed 3 vehicles in the lot.

A truck
An SUV – the one we arrived in
A Lincoln LS

I took the Lincoln. They didn’t have the car class I wanted, but wouldn’t really give me a deal on the Lincoln other than dropping the price by $10.00. Oh Well, I won’t drive and SUV as big as a my ex’s house in Milwaukee (its a small house), and the truck wouldn’t work for the sales calls I had set for the day.

I paid the price, climbed into the luxury surroundings and was impressed for the first time in a VERY long time about an American Made automobile. It drove better than the Jaguar I rented in San Francisco last spring, and felt as solid as my Volvo of old.

I think it may be time to start saving for a new, larger, (maybe even 4-door) faster vehicle.

Oh yeah, and the appointment…. She just called to cancel.

– Title: is it wrong… ? i have a date tonight. We’re just meeting for coffee. I think he has a partner already anyway, so its not a dating thing. But he’s cute and the sex could be fun.

I was planning all day, on going to the gym tonight then meeting him afterwards for coffee. We set the time at 8:00pm.

Then, at around 5pm, I caught a view of myself in the mirror and said to myself… “Cute hair!!” I love having a good hair day, and since I worked from home today, its going to be wasted on my dogs.

So I’m going to forgo the gym and head direct to coffee.

Why risk it? — Title: i AM somebody!!! its finally happened.

I knew it would, but I honestly didn’t expect it to take so long. I’ve had my first googol search response.

Yes, somebody ran a search in google for “Persian Ass Master”!

I was the number 2 return.

Time to strive for Number 1 — Title: throw in some luxury… can i admit a secret with you, my loyal readers?

i’ve struggled for many, many years with this secret and I think its time to share this with the world at large. I want to be rich!, Not just comfortable, but FULL-ON Wealthy!!

I grew up in a simple middle-classed household with my 4 siblings. Both my parents worked, and worked hard to support the family, sacrificed, cut-corners, worked a lot of overtime (there were times I wouldn’t see my father for weeks) all to make the family stable and put their children thru college. I rebelled at the thought of being poor, because, well, I grew up during Reaganomics. Everyone on tv drove a Porsche and lived the high-life, why couldn’t I.

Eventually, I came to realize that money didn’t grow on trees and I’d need to earn it on my own. This sorta-taught me about money. Once I started working, my money bought me the things that my parents wouldn’t. Rather short sighted I’ll admit, but shopping made me feel powerful. I could walk into a store, and they would HAVE to be nice to me. The more money I made, the more expensive my tastes became.

When I moved to Chicago, I was making more money than I had ever made in my life and I was happy to have it. Then, I got fired. Well, technically “laid-off”. But I was fired.

I’ve been going thru two years of downsizing. Taking lower paying jobs just to cover my bills and learning to get by on less. This has been fun and all, but I think its time that I get by on MORE. My current job forced me to cut my expenses considerably. My base salary is a lot less than I’m used to, but the silver lining is that I have a truly workable commission structure. Unlimited earning potential. The more I bring in, the more I make.

So this has forced me to re-evaluate my beliefs.

I’ve struggled with the thought of being a consumer. Consumers waste. They drive big cars, live in big houses and waste a lot. So I’ve always convinced myself that I didn’t want to be rich because then I’d be like that too.

But I’m realizing, that I can make a lot more money and NOT be that way. I can still drive an economical vehicle, live in an ecco friendly house and shop in self-sustaining food stores.

I can enjoy the finer things in life and not worry about leaving a negative impact. Besides, I’m happiest when I’m sharing, spending on friends and family, or giving away to charities.

So, to kick off this new phase of “going for the gold ring” I decided to pamper myself. I invited Double D to join me for a pedicure.

the full treatment

He agreed and now I have 4 toes that are the most sublime color of blue you’d ever see.
– Title: pettiness and bullshit i watched the debates last night. It was difficult at best to watch our President (who is supposed to represent the people of this land) stumble, fumble, and smirk his way thru questions, responses, and lies.

I was very impressed with Kerry. I’d decided long ago to vote for Kerry, but I didn’t really like him. I just didn’t like Bush more. (Actually, I’ve feared the Shrub™ since he was illegally crowned by the Judges Richard Nixon, Ronnie Reagan and Daddy Shrub put into power.) He was strong, forceful, intelligent, and the little father-to-father moment both men shared, showed that he was compassionate. I like Kerry.

So, this morning, I went to the two parties websites to see some spin doctors results. I wanted to see how far both sides spun the truth to their advantage.

At the Kerry site:

they shared return polls and comments from various people…

CNN / GALLUP POLL ON WHO WON DEBATE

Kerry: 53
Bush: 37

CBS POLL ON WHO WON DEBATE:

Kerry: 44
Bush: 26
Tie: 30

ABC POLL ON WHO WON DEBATE:

Kerry: 45
Bush 36:
Tie: 17

Mort Kondracke: “This is the President’s turf, this is the place that the President is supposed to dominate, terror and the war in Iraq. I don’t think he really dominated tonight. I think Kerry looked like a commander-in-chief.”

Kate O’Beirne, National Review Online’s the Corner: “I thought the President was repetitive and reactive.”

Jonah Goldberg, National Review Online’s the Corner: “The Bush campaign miscalculated on having the first night be foreign policy night.”

Bob Schieffer: “The President was somewhat defensive in the beginning”

Mark Shields: “The President showed a few times obvious anger”

Bill Kristol, Weekly Standard: “I think Kerry did pretty well tonight, he was forceful and articulate.”

Bob Schieffer: “Kerry got off to a very good start.”

Joe Scarborough: “It was John Kerry’s best performance ever As far as the debate goes, I don’t see how anybody could look at this debate and not score this a very clear win on points for John Kerry.” (MSNBC)

Andrea Mitchell: “This is the toughest we’ve ever seen John Kerry. He attacked the very core of the President’s popularity. He’s basically saying, who do you believe?” (MSNBC)

Tim Russert: “Tonight he seemed to find his voice for the Democratic view of the world.”

meanwhile over at the Bush website:

They got petty…

Breaking Pre-Debate Fact: Kerry For Lights Before Against Them

RNC Chairman Ed Gillespie On Reports John Kerry Wanted Timer Lights Removed From His Podium After Agreeing To Have Timer Lights On His Podium:

RNC Chairman Ed Gillespie: “Only John Kerry Could Be For The Lights Before He Was Against The Lights.” (Fox News’ “Big Story,” 9/30/04)

Breaking Debate Fact: Kerry Flip Flop On Iraq

Tonight’s Flip:
In response to question #4 John Kerry said Iraq was not close to the War on Terror until the President invaded it.

Breaking Debate Fact: The Bush Administration Has Shown Disdain For Allies, Treaties And International Organizations.

The Facts:

Kerry Dismissed Coalition Partners As “Window Dressing” And Claimed They’re Not Sharing Burden Of War And Reconstruction. (CNN’s “American Morning,” 3/2/04)

Kerry Mocked Coalition As “Coerced” And “Bribed.” (Herbert A. Sample, “Kerry Blasts Bush On Iraq Effort,” Sacramento Bee, 3/14/03)
A Multinational Force Of Some 30 Nations Continues To Help Secure A Free Iraq.

I could go on… but honestly, the Bush website is not as well organized for blatant copying and posting like Kerry’s was. That alone, is reason to vote Kerry in my book.

I have a moment of hope on my hands, so I’ll run with it and enjoy my Friday. I hope everyone out there feels the same amount of hope that I do…

Have a great, hopeful, weekend

– Title: Results… – what 80’s band am i? You’re going to let it be known that you are a
sexual being. Some people may be offended by
what you do, some will be amused, and some will
be turned on. In the future, you will
mysteriously acquire a British accent.

This is SO not true. I’m not a slut, but I’d take the British accented husband. — Title: an idea whose time has come? i sell air freight for a living. Its not glamorous, but it pays the bills, or it could pay the bills if I was more motivated to get out on the streets and do the job I was hired with more enthusiasm.

So i was talking with “the little brown one” this morning and we came up with a great idea. It seems a certain person in Los Angeles has used her unique take on selling and has risen through the ranks of the Orlando-based Tupperware company to become the number one personal seller of the world famous bowls and plastic ware in the entire United States and parts of Canada and Guam.

So i was thinking…

How about Brat using this concept to sell air freight?

My new persona as a sales agent? — Title: does this count as drunk dialing? I was sitting in the sun on Sunday of all days. Avoiding solid foods (impending colonoscopy), enjoying an iced cold tea beverage from Cruizy-boo (Caribou) the local coffee chain when my phone rang. The number came across strangely and I couldn’t figure out who it was, but I answered it anyway.

On the other end of the connection was a German accented gentleman asking to speak with Mike. “Is Mike (blah blah blah) available? I’m looking for a Mike (blah blah blah).” said this accented gentleman. Now I knew this name Mike (blah blah blah) so I allowed this to happen, knowing that I would be soon let in on the joke.

Hearing the signature laughter of said Mike in the background and realizing that I was being drunk dialed from Europe, in broad daylight, in the middle of the gayest patio in crowded boystown, Chicago, I was at a loss how to get out of this situation with my ego and my gay identity intact.

Eventually the accented fellow relented and handed the phone to Mike and his laughter came thru in full force.

He wasn’t drunk. He was stoned. legally!

He was calling from Amsterdam and had been retelling (again and again) the story of our quick trip to the sin capitol of the world to anybody and everybody that would listen.

It went a little like this:

Shortly after I moved to Chicago, I met a man at the cell-block that informed me I was able to purchase real “poppers” from the internet and have them shipped direct from Amsterdam where they were still legal in their original formula (Amyl-Nitrate). This excited me to no ends since I’d never sampled the original formula due to the fact that Nancy Reagan’s war on harmless drugs required they be banned from the shores of this so-called “free” country.

I rushed home and put in an order for 4 bottle, thinking I’d give 2 out for Christmas gifts or housewarming gifts. I’d find a reason to give this particular gift of joy.

So you could imagine the anger when instead of a little brown box full of little brown bottles, I instead, received a certified letter from U.S. Customs advising me that my merchandise had been seized and that I would need to petition for its release.

I took the easier route.

I jumped on a plane that very weekend to Amsterdam. I called Mike in Frankfurt and told him to meet me there and “get a hotel, its boys gone wild Amsterdam”. (I should have trademarked that one) We did go wild, we tried legal mushrooms, smoked legal pot and drank a lot. I also had legal public sex with a hot Dutch leather Daddy and a beautiful bald headed British soccer thug. (yes, at the same time, international relations were at stake)

I purchased my 4 bottles of original formula “poppers”, packed my bags, jumped on the train back to the airport and was home for work on Monday morning, tired jet-lagged, and in pain (from the…well). I also had the biggest smile on my face from one of the best weekends on record.

The reason this story was told by Mike on Sunday, was because he was there, in Amsterdam, doing legal mushrooms, smoking legal pot and drinking lots of beer. …And telling the highlight of the weekend.

That hightlight went like this…

We had been sitting in a cafe, relaxing with a legal joint when, (and I swear this was true) about 20 big, muscled British rugby players walking along the opposite side of the canal, all stopped at the same time, turned to face the cafe across the canal, pulled out their dicks and started pissing in the canal.

When I came to, Mike was laughing hysterically. I’m not sure if it was the pot or the 20 naked British men that made me lose it, but… that memory is one of my most cherished highlights.
– Title: its over the indignity of it all…

i had my colonoscopy procedure today. I spent all day yesterday “preparing”, but I will not go into specifics on that topic. This morning at 10:00am i checked into the hospital and was quickly processed into a waiting room where I was instructed to strip, put on the gown and crawl into the bed.

The nurse returned and checked my vitals and inserted an IV containing fluids to replenish my system. I laid there for a half hour watching the slow drip, drip, drip of the fluid into the IV, convinced that there had been an error and this was poison dripping directly into my blood stream.

After a half hour, the nurse advised that the Doctor would be in shortly, so I asked for the TV to be turned on, you know, jerry Springer, or Ricki Lake. I was happy with Judge Joe Brown. Halfway thru the case, they came for me and wheeled me down the hall to the procedure room.

They strapped on the sensors, the oxygen tubes, and the blood pressure cuff. Next the lovely nurse, that spoke a lot like Cher, (during her early years on TV) injected the sedative… “is that big bubble supposed to be in that tube”? I asked

Both the nurse and Doctor (Persian Ass Master) calmed my fears and told me the bubble would need to be much larger to kill someone. I started to explain that I knew what was going on, cause damn it I watched ‘ER’. I’m not sure how long it was before I woke up, but I did and the nurse was there handing me a cup of Cranberry juice and Graham Crackers. Telling me to get up and get dressed she went about removing the IV and all the tape and sensors attached to my body.

I dressed and wobbled my way to the hall where I was directed to sit and wait for the Doctor. This is the funny part.

He walked up to me with a smile on his face and handed me the photos of my procedures that I had apparently asked for, no demanded, during the process. He said “I didn’t have a CD to put this on, so you’ll have to scan it in order to post this to your blog.

embarrassed, I made my way down to meet my ride home.
– Title: oh New York, New York… I’m home from New York, and settling back into my comfortable little world. Below are some snapshots of my trip… just makes ya feel like you were there doesn’t it?

Here I am on the subway at the 42nd street stop.

a little while later, we’re walking thru Manhattan, and look… there in the distance, on the other side of that cab I think its, a Famous Writer Rob Byrnes.

or maybe its not and I was just all caught up in the excitement of the city.

Continuing thru the night, we stopped for dinner at a fabulous place in Chelsea that reminded me of a Shoney’s Big Boy restaurant of the early 1960’s.

Finishing dinner, and with a few hours before my return train to Long Island, we popped into a little bar for a drink (or five). Since I was indeed a tourist, I asked this gentleman…

to snap a picture of us. He promptly turned into a raging and bitchy queen but I thanked him anyway.

My time in the city was drawing to a close, so we pulled out our transit card…

and I jumped on the train to the hotel and the seminar that would consume the rest of my time in New York.

I sincerely apologize for not posting while on this trip, but as you can see, my actual time in Manhattan was rushed and glamourous. Once I headed back to the seminar in Woodbury, NY (Still rushed, not glamourous) I was in meetings, meetings, meetings, the entire time. On top of that, the hotel did NOT have a Wi-Fi network available to me and with no transportation, I was not about to hoof it the 1/8 mile to the borders and risk them not having one either. So I opted, to crawl into bed, dreaming of living in NY and being fabulously wealthy. Which it turns out, I could be… As proved by someone at the seminar. He made over $500,000.00 in commission alone last year. I think I have reason to be inspired… if not for myself, then for my economy!

More from the front to come.
– Title: changing lanes beyondbuffalo is going on the road. Not only will i be traveling beyond that little town known as Buffalo, but I’ll be leaving my current digs in the “so so” city of Chicago and traveling to NY!

Ok, this sounds like I’m going to glamorous New York City, but truth be told, I’ll be in Woodbury, NY halfway down Long Isand way. OH, I’ll be in NYC, but only for a few hours. I’ll be arriving in beautiful Islip, NY, sharing a taxi to Woodbury with my manager and inside sales girl. After we check into the hotel, my ass will be back in a taxi headed to the Long Island railroad stop to jump onto a train to Penn Station.

I’ll be meeting my friend “married well” and his partner “Shoe VP” for dinner in Manhattan. We’ll grab a few drinks, where I’ll suck in the atmosphere of the big apple as quickly as possible and drag myself back to the train for the long commute home.

I’ll spend the entire evening pretending I’m a bridge and tunnel person that the residents of the island hold with such disdain. I’ll ride back to the Syosset stop pretending I’d just put in a long day at the office on West 43rd (made up address) and that I’m rushing home, beat, weary, and wanting nothing but sleep, to my family, wife, two kids, Bif and little Betty with the bluest eyes ya ever saw.

I’ll slink back to my hotel, pull back the covers and dream that indeed, I am a New Yorker.

It’ll all be a dream, but it’ll be mine and nobody can ever take that from me.

I’ll write the reality upon conclusion of the actual evening.

Ta ta — Title: well this is a good start i, um, overslept this morning. I had every intention of rising from my bed, throwing off the blankets and rolling out into the sunlight of the day fresh and well rested to begin my new journey towards self discovery.

What happened instead was a little like this:

6:12am awoken by repetitive pounding and hammering 2 buildings down.
6:13am covered head with pillow and cursed
6:20am got up to pee
6:22am ran back to bed and got into the warm spot. threw covers over head.
6:25am loud pounding again
6:26am vocalized my displeasure in direction of window
6:30am alarm goes off – sprint commercial on the radio
6:30:10am: slam fist down on snooze button
6:34am nudge Stella out of center of bed back to her side
6:39am alarm repeats itself
6:39:05: slam fist down on snooze button
6:40am further pounding from building 2 doors down
6:40:10am scream at top of lungs “Stop that damn pounding”
6:41am pillow firmly pulled over head
6:48am alarm tries again to rouse me from my warm wonderful bed
6:48:02am slam fist down on alarm OFF button
6:50am pounding, pounding, pounding
6:51am decide to ignore pounding and pretend its music
7:48am sit up straight in bed cursing “oh shit! Oh Shit” I’m gonna be late for work.
7:49am cover head with pillow and whisper “fuck it”
8:15am stumble to the kitchen for a Diet Coke to get my day started.

so much for riding forth on my new journey towards enlightenment.
– Title: further clarification my last post needs some clarification.

The Padre called me frantic, Double D left some wise and wonderful words, and Jerbear uttered his concern.

in my less than eloquent verses, I was attempting to share with you, my faithful readers, that I am at a crossroad. I can either continue down the same path as I have been for my entire life, or I can veer to another path and try something new.

I’m choosing to try something new. I’m choosing to throw off the shroud of my fear and begin to see the sunlight in my life. I have many wonderful friends and have accomplished many things in my years here. Have I accomplished my goals yet? no. Have I even identified them yet? no.

So the choice I spoke of, the difficult choice I made, was to part with what is comfortable in my life. Double D and I have taken a step apart at my request. He’s an amazing man. I may have underestimated just how amazing he is, but that doesn’t change the problem for me. We had a conversation a few weeks ago, ok, more like an argument and I asked him in a heated moment “What do you want from me?” His response, set my mind spinning and has opened a pandora’s box of questions begging for answers. He proceeded to share with me, in great and loving detail, what his dreams for the future were. They are lovely dreams, noble and bewitching in both their simplicity and their scope. The problem arose when I could not share mine. I saw glimpses of myself in his vision of the future, but for the most part, I drew a blank. I had nothing to share. I have managed to stumble so far from my original self that I cannot even recall the simplest of dreams I once held.

I’ve come to realize that I cannot ask Double D to stand by while I take time out to explore myself and find out what exactly it was that I wanted from this life.

Like a good man, he set me free to find my dreams, my inspirations and my goals.

I cherish his input and his warmth and will miss him on my journey. I am richer for having shared this time with him, and I wish nothing but love and happiness for him.

So, off we go… lets see which direction this adventure takes me. — Title: cue montage please I’m at a cross roads of sort. I have realized that my life is in need of something. That I am in need of something. That something would be self-awareness and direction. I’m not quite sure of who I am anymore. The values and beliefs are not working for me anymore. The views and thoughts are stifling me in repressed fears and emotions. I’m drowning in self-doubt and choking on denial.

This would be a great place to cue the montage. You know, where I figure out what I want, and the camera shows brief glimpses of me putting my life together and succeeding in whatever it is that I’m doing (Skiing, that big test, etc…) Wouldn’t it be nice if I could cue that montage for my life?

But…

The montage can only be cued when the direction and need has been identified. That my friends is much harder to accomplish when you have 30(ahem) plus years of repressed emotions bubbling up. Years of wrapping myself in the comfort of my failures and mishaps have made me gun shy. Decades of enveloping my emotions in the voices of my detractors and bullys has left me without my own voice.

I’ve lived my life in fear. Fear of shining lest I attract attention. Fear of failing, lest I receive confirmation of my worst fears.

I’m tired of blaming this on others. Yes the Mother was critical. Yes the Father was distant. Shouldn’t I be able to rise above it? Shouldn’t I be capable of discarding other peoples pre-conceived notions of who and what I am, how I am supposed to behave and who I’m supposed to love. Why do I continue to hold onto the dream, as faded and worn as a flag that has endured years in the elements, of familial acceptance and love? I think its comfort.

Well, tonight I did something uncomfortable. And it still doesn’t feel very good but I have to trust in my decision because I made it. I chose the destination at this fork. And it feels crappy.
– Title: say “hi” to some new friends I’ve been meaning to update my blog for some time now to add to my list of blogs I read regularly.

Say Hi to Palochi everyone.

Say Hi to Godofbiscuits too.

and we can’t forget the original party boy and name dropper Rob.

visit them often. be nice play together.

While you’re at it, tell the chicken what you want. He’ll do it.

I’m going to shower.
– Title: between a rock and a republican i have a dilemma that I’ve never faced before and not sure how to now.

I have this friend … yes, she’s a, shhhhhhh ‘Republican’. We’ve been best of friends for many many years and we’ve always taken the approach of agreeing to disagree on politics. I’ve always ribbed her about it but never seriously. She’s allowed my angry rants over the latest fucked up thing the Shrub(tm) has done and I know that its been rather one sided.

I’m not denying that she’s been very patient with me and I’ve been not so patient with her. Well, this is not going to change. In fact, I’m deeply troubled about something that again has to do with me and not her, but she is perpetuating this so I’m vexed as to what I must do.

Here is the issue of the hour…

Bush is a hateful, lying homophobe. My friend supports him and his party and agrees with most of his decisions.

Under normal circumstances, I’d agree to disagree. However, that was before he proudly and firmly stood behind a proposed U.S. Constitution amendment that would have Discriminated against me! Now I realize that it did not pass, but the very fact that he got behind it is enough for me. (in addition to the lying about Weapons, his past, his un-questioned cocaine use, the tax cuts for the rich, the Welfare/HMO fiasco, big oil, war in Iraq, unemployment, jobs shipping overseas, his VP’s traitorous past, et al…)

The question that comes to mind is… “How can a friend support a man that wants me out of the picture?” She has every right to vote her beliefs, but in doing so, she risks our very friendship, because she is voting against me and my kind. Is supporting those against me detrimental to us?

I am at a complete loss how anyone would openly say that they love you and then vote for someone that clearly hates you.

I know, agree to disagree… I’m not sure that I can this time. Words and actions have to match.

– Title: hot persian ass master i have two reasons for putting those particular words in my title in that exact arrangement.

1.) I am curious how many people will Google it.

2.) My new specialist is a Hot Persian Ass Master! I’m serious! He’s friggin gorgeous in that super-intelligent and nurturingly kind sorta way. All this is going to help ease my anxiety about being sedated and sodomized. Personally, I like to be awake, alert, and enjoying the act of sodomy.

But now this brings up a very good question…

Will I react to this anal stimulation in the same manner sedated as I would awake and alert? Will I be moaning? Will I be grunting? Will I be saying “harder, harder, ass master”?

This has me truly concerned.
– Title: i’m sorry, i thought you said you wanted to shove that… i just got home from the Doctor’s office. I generally don’t like Doctor’s offices, so I make it a policy to rarely ever go into them. However, due to some familial situations, I am required to visit this particular Doctor’s office to schedule a “procedure”.

My brother has cancer. Ass cancer of all things. Not Lung cancer, not skin cancer, ASS cancer. His prognosis is very good, otherwise, I wouldn’t make light of it, but he still has ass cancer and has forced the remaining family members to undergo the colonoscopy.

Sitting in a Doctor’s office for over an hour and half wondering if I will have a strange man’s finger up my ass in a non-sexual way is kind of like watching a Felini film. The magazines were uniquely Chicagoan. There was only one choice of magazine. O, Oprah’s magazine for upscale women.

Flipping through the magazines, I couldn’t help but notice the incredibly overwhelming amount of Pharmaceutical advertising in the waiting room. Posters, coasters, candy jars, even a tape dispenser.

I don’t really have a point to all of this other than the fact that I don’t like the amount of power pharmaceutical companies have over my life. Especially while I’m waiting to get fingered.
– Title: What Kind of Drunk Are You? Thanks Palochi I now know what kind of drunk I am!!
I’m So Drunk!
What Kind of Drunk Are You?

– Title: thats not what I asked you I didn’t get the job. I called to inquire about some forms she had asked me to fill out and the HR gal broke the news to me. It was a bit of a shock since I didn’t even know that they were considering another person.

Oh well… I was having misgivings about it anyway so this is probably good news.

– Title: dreams… part deux i’m a little scared. I know that I’m just a normal mid-western boy (for now) and that I’m nothing special, but I’m beginning to wonder why the celebs are starting to flock to my dreams. Celebs I haven’t thought of or even cared about are now making guest appearances in my nightly dreams. I can only hope they are working at scale. There was the bit about Madonna and Edie Falco the other night, and then last night… well, it went something like this.

I was sitting in my kitchen eating my fruit loops (I swear that’s what I was eating in my dream), when there was a loud noise that startled me. Thankfully, I have cat like reflexes because there was something flying straight at my head. Doing a little Uma Thurman, Kill Bill styled movement, I dodged the item only to see it strike the cabinet behind my head. It was a half moon shaped metal thing. Some sort of improvised throwing, um… moon(?).

Quickly jumping to my feet and going into my Hi-Karate stance I see Halle Berry about to throw yet another, um… moon.

Needless to say, the ensuing knife fight and sword play was quite riveting and exhausting. There were, um… moons, stuck to everything they hit and a real mess was left for me to clean up. Miss Berry died valiantly if there is such a way to die.

I yet again woke with a start and thought to myself… “What the f… did I eat before bed?!?”

– Title: i was arrested for driving under the influence by Edie Falco last night.

Apparently I’d had a little too much to drink while I was having a come to Jesus talk with Madonna about her attitude and her recent career choices. I know what you’re thinking! “Who is Brat to be telling the golden one about career choices”. To you I say… “rapping about soy latte”? I think I’m entitled to at least having a concerned discussion with her about this.

In reality, I wasn’t just talking about her career. I was talking about her attitude. She’s a bitch. Though, since she’s found the Kabalah she’s supposedly not such a bitch, she’s still a bitch and I knew that someone had to have a real heart-to-heart with her. I was worried that she wouldn’t have any friends in the nursing home when she got a few years older. She needed to change her attitude and I was just the person to tell her. Over a few cocktails of course.

It was pure hell. Being the first person to ever have a shouting match with Madonna about this topic is a daunting task. She brought up some valid points. (she’s rich, beautiful, gets fucked by Guy regularly and the world adores her). I didn’t care she needed to hear some tough love.

“Mum” I said, “You’re career choices are making you the laughingstock of the gay clubs.

She started crying and realized that I was right. Moving over to the well stocked bar, she fixed me a martini the way I like it (She’s made me one before I guess)

We talked into the night and she finally started to come around. Being that I had to work in the morning, unlike Mrs Ritchie, I bid her “Adieu” and told her I’d always be here for her if she needed me.

A quick hug and I ran thru the rain to my little car for the commute home to Chicago from London.

The next thing I know, there are the red and blue lights of the police cruiser in my rear view mirror. I dutifully pull to the side and lower my window, license and registration already in hand. I am pleasantly surprised to see Edie reprise her roll from OZ as a keeper of the peace. (I know, prison guard, not police officer) She was very gruff with me. I tried to explain that I was tired after having solved Madonna’s career problems, but she wouldn’t hear it and made me go thru the inebriation exercises in the rain.

I Failed.

You would too after 3-7 of the Martinis Madonna fixed. (I think she has a drinking problem)

It was off to the station for me. Edie was very polite. She held my head as I got into the cruiser so that I wouldn’t end up with an ugly lump and we laughed and joked about Tony Soprano and how they met.

Once at the station, I was booked and processed, but because Edie and I had bonded so thoroughly, she let me sit at her desk with her instead of throwing me into the Gen Pop as they call general population. We sipped coffee together and laughed about my current predicament. Me in soaking wet clothes and handcuffs, she in the normal blue uniform with her hair pulled tightly back into a bun and a gun at her side.

After a few hours, she winked at me and said, “Ya know what… I like you and I’m gonna just let you go.”

She undid my cuffs and we embraced the embrace of new found friendship, knowing that we would be seeing a lot of each other in the coming moments of our lives.

I walked out into the sunshine of a bright new day dawning. A clean record and just a little bruising on my wrists from the cuffs. I’d have proof of my evening to share with my friends who’d never believe me.

At this point, I woke up and searched franticly for the visible handcuff marks without any luck. Damn it! It was all just a dream.
– Title: thank you for holding… caller? are you there? i’m home from my interview in glamorous Newark, NJ. I’m a little disappointed to be honest.
Since I was flying into New Jersey, home of the Sopranos, I’d envisioned a big meaty Italian in a dark suit and even darker shades meeting my flight and directing me towards the waiting town car only to be whisked off to the office (with the Sopranos theme song spinning in my head) for my interview. We’d talk, then they’d take me for a Pasta lunch to seal the deal. They would welcome us with big kisses on both cheeks and escort us to the back room for a little more privacy. Plates of pasta would be consumed, with a bottle of a nice Chianti to top it off.

Once again, reality is not even close to how it should be.

I walked off the flight and saw nobody there, or maybe, this little Italian looking woman in a dark business suit that appeared like she was looking for somebody. I stopped and called the only number I had for these people and was given my contact’s mobile number. Sure enough, the little lady was looking for me.

After our precursory greetings and the polite interest in my flight she directed me to the food court. Yes, the food court. We stopped at the BK and got a beverage then proceeded to a semi-private area to get into the nitty gritty. For the next two hours, I had the pleasure of her schpeal. And it was good. There were many times that I could feel that inner little kid get excited about the prospects of a good future.

By all standards, I’d say it was a good interview. Do I expect them to offer me a job? dunno. (secretly nods head yes)

A very funny thing happened to me while I was sitting there talking to her though. I started getting excited about the job that I already have. I was thinking of things I could do to jumpstart my prospects and get some more business in the door. (do what I should have been doing all along, for example). So what do I do if they offer me the job? Do I take it? Do I politely turn them down and thank them for their interest?

DUH It depends on how much money they offer

All this travel in one day reminded me of my early trips to Tokyo. On my first trip, I spent a total of 2 hours and 34 minutes in the country. I landed, proceeded through Customs formalities and had my passport stamped, then I went outside and said to myself “They drive on the wrong side of the road here”.

I went back inside the airport, upstairs to the check-in counter and checked in for the return flight. Proceeded back thru customs formalities and headed towards the First class lounge. (Yes! I was flying first class). I sat in the same seat I had just occupied for the previous 10.5 hour flight.

I was gone from the US for almost 3 days and yet in linear time it was less than 24 hours.

The hardest part of that trip was explaining to US Customs officials why I had flown to Tokyo and returned on the same day. My answer? “I had nothing else to do this weekend”
– Title: please stand by i’m flying on that ultra luxurious carrier known as ATA where I’ll sip on the finest selections of sodas the world has to offer while headed towards the hot spot of beautiful Newark, NJ where all the rich and famous go to see and be seen.

In reality, I’m headed for an interview and ATA was the cheapest option available which sends me a good message of course. We want you, but we don’t really want to pay full price.

At any rate, the potential new job would keep me in Chicago, but increase my salary enough that I could afford to keep the second liver and stop selling my plasma and sperm.

Wish me luck it that’s what I want. I’ll figure it out on the way home.

– Title: “i hate Chicago” follow-up Some valid points have been raised about my latest rant about Chicago. This will rebuff them ALL.

I’ve lived in SF and though I often complained about the high cost of living and the crappy traffic and the non-existent parking, I never felt like I wanted to hide under my bed and never leave the house.

I seriously moved here because of a job. It was a great opportunity. I came to Chicago to check things out before I moved here. Note to self: a 3 day weekend during a blizzard in December right after Christmas is NOT a good time to decide on how livable a place is.

The stops signs truly ARE a part of my problem. When you are supposed to spend 6-8 hours a day in your car driving around the city making sales calls and you hit enough of these damn things, they begin to cause anxiety and hatred. The fact that I can drive down Ashland and hit every single stop light for 15 miles tells me that this city does indeed need to spend some money on traffic planning. It takes longer to drive Ashland than the side streets which increases traffic on the side streets thereby altering the quality of life for the inhabitants of those side streets and making the overall street safety lower for children on those side streets.

Ooh, this is fun. throw some more reasons I am wrong about hating Chicago out. C’mon, give me something to chew on.

In all seriousness, which the beginning of this post has nothing to do with. Yes, I reached saturation point with the Bay Area. I was tired of struggling so damn much financially. I was tired of the commute and traffic, and yes I was tired of my job. A huge part of my dissatisfaction in my life has been my career choice. I often spend days dreaming of serving Chai-Lattes and half-caf-half decaf- espressos. But Borders apparently ain’t hiring.

Oh and to the nameless man in Colorado that should be the last person speaking of whining … I can whine all I want. Its MY BLOG!

– Title: yet another “I hate Chicago” rant i have nothing to post. Absolutely nothing of importance has happened to me in the last few days. With the exception of the upcoming interview in New Jersey on Tuesday, and the undo amount of stress it has placed on me. Nothing is going on.

I’m laying here next to my man and we were talking about my wanting to move back to California. it went something like this:

Me: “I hate Chicago, I’ve finally realized!”
MM: “Why?” as he glances up from his book
ME: “cause traffic sucks! You can’t go anywhere in the city very easily. In California you can get to complete nature and solitude in 20 minutes; here, in the same time frame, you can get to another neighborhood that looks identical.”
MM: “that’s true” going back to his book because he realizes I’m on yet another “I hate Chicago rant”.
Me: “No, I’m serious this time. I think I’ve finally figured out why I hate Chicago. I realized yesterday while I was sitting in my car waiting at yet another stoplight why I’ve been hating my job so much.”
MM: “uh huh” without glancing up.
Me: “Its because I spend so much time sitting at a stop light or stop sign. This city sucks for traffic flow. None of the streets are timed like in CA. Not to mention that they keep throwing up stop signs like they’re beads at Mardi Gras.”
MM: “I know, like on Foster”
ME: ” yeah, like on Foster. I mean when I go to my terror-pist it takes me 10 minutes to get there, and 8 of those minutes are spent on Foster. C’mon how many stop signs do you need? There are 5 stop lights and 2 stop signs in a 8 block distance?”
MM: “I know, its a bit out of control”
ME: “A BIT???!” getting up to look for the number of city government to complain.

So yeah, I’m thinking about getting out of Chicago again.

I truly miss the bay area. You could be at the ocean in 15 minutes, the mountains in 20 and downtown shopping in 10. Not to mention that there are the most beautiful vistas with the fog rolling in, the green, green hills and the sparkle of the sun off the bay. Granted the cost of living is outrageous, but so what!

I think I have a lot for my “I Like” list that will be about San Francisco, while most of my “I’m not such a fan of” list will probably originate in Chicago.

The first could be the upstairs neighbor. She’s gotten a little better. The landlady spoke with her. But now I’m intrigued. No matter what time of day or night, there is activity upstairs. The girl is like the Energizer bunny. She never stops moving.

And to close.

THANK YOU from the bottom of my heart for all the warm, heartfelt sympathy for my friend and her Georgie. I know that she truly appreciated it and so do I!
– Title: a sad day.. my best friend has had to make one of the hardest decisions. She had to put her dog to sleep. Georgie was one of the smartest, cutest, funniest Boxers I’ve every met. She was also 15 years old.

. Posted by Hello
May you have all the kibble and lamb chops you wish and the fluffiest down pillow to rest on.
– Title: follow-up Thanks for the advice on the neighbors and the rug. Here’s the steps I’ve taken.

I spoke with my Landlord about the neighbors and she addressed this issue with them. She’s from NYC originally, so she’s a bit brash. They were delightful last night. If the problem occurs again, I have a devious little plan of action. A simple buzz of their apartment at 6:00am when I head to the gym should do the trick. The buzzers in our building are extremely loud. I figure that if I’m up when they are, then they should be up when I am. All is fair right? I’m still amazed that a little person of her size could make that much noise. She can’t be more then 5’2” and 90lbs and yet she thumps around like an elephant.

Just so I don’t come across as a whiney, complaining little queen… I hear her ALL day long too. It doesn’t bother me. Last night I went to bed early (9:00pm) to catch up on my sleep and I heard her thumping around a little. Not a worry cause it was still early. Live and let Live I truly believe is how people should be treated… Unless its 2:00am and you’re dropping a stack of encyclopedias on the floor above my bed. Do people even have such things anymore?

The rug is hanging out to dry. Yesterday, I took it out and hung it over my deck railing and hosed it off. Then, I covered the stained area with several commercially available rug cleaners and let them soak in. Then, I hosed it off again. Both sides, top and bottom.

I think what’s happening with the dog is really quite simple. The girl (my roommate) walks them most mornings before she leaves for work, but occasionally she has to be there super early and asks me to get them. She leaves before I rouse myself from my comfy bed. I think her dog panics or gets angry and takes it out on my carpet. This makes sense to me, but I’m not a dog psychic I’m just guessing here.

I’m well rested and ready to take on the day. Amazing what a night of sleep will do. — Title: a grand day indeed… i’m finally starting to wake up. It is almost noon here in Chicago and I’m just now starting to feel normal. yeah, the upstairs neighbors were at it again. At precisely 1:32am (I know because I looked at the clock in amazement) there was an extremely heavy object dropped onto the floor directly above my head rousing me from my 2-martini induced sleep of the dead.

The ensuing gymnastics floor exhibition continued until well after 4:00am and followed me to the living room when I attempted to sleep on the couch to get away from it.

Me thinks I may start ringing her doorbell at 6:00am when I head to the gym and give her a taste of what she’s been giving me. Ya know… waking me from my slumber during deep REM. Who lives like that? The only thing I can think is that they are on speed and that I need to do an intervention. I’ll be checking with the Betty Ford Center for advice.

Other events include a urine soaked rug and a stained hardwood floor thanks to my roommate’s dog. Of course the 6’ round rug is the ONLY carpet in the entire flat and it is the ONLY target for KoKo’s urine, vomit, etc… She comes to visit the front of the house only to defile it. I think I need to have a sit down with her and find out why she hates me so.

off to terror-py — Title: damn that Mikey… i have to send a curse out to a blog reader and friend of mine. Mikey’s post today had a link to a brilliant web site that has captured my attentions for the last HOUR. Damn you man! Damn You!

but since he’s super hot and always interesting, I’ve added him to my links list. Hey Mikey, I’ve been meaning to do this for over a week now, but I’m lazy!

– Title: full of questions i had to turn off the tv. I was watching the RNC telecast on C-SPAN tonight and was utterly disgusted by the political use of the World Trade Center disaster. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t “the shrub” say again and again that he would not utilize the events of that day for political purposes???

* What does an event that took place 3 years ago have to do with the next 4 years?

Senator McCain made close to a dozen references to it, then there were widows on stage talking about the sacrifices of their husbands and the police and the fire departments. Are these the same fire departments that are struggling under record budget cuts? The same police departments that cannot equip their officers?

They’re talking about the soldiers that are giving their lives for this war. These soldiers are important enough to be politicized at the GOP convention, but not important enough for their Commander in Chief to attend a single funeral of the almost 1000 fallen soldiers? The soldiers that will return wounded and sick that will enter into a Veterans Affairs system whose budget has been cut so extensively, that waiting times for a simple office visit can stretch 6 months to a year. The same soldiers that have been given pay cuts and whose families are living at or below the poverty level because of these pay cuts.

How can we be proud with a record like that?

I have more questions…

* How do you wage war on a noun? (terrorism, drugs, poverty, etc)

* Wasn’t it the United States, specifically the Republican leaders of the United States that put Saddam Hussein into power?

* Wasn’t it the United States, specifically the shrub’s father that gave Osama Bin Laden the money to start his little network?

* Wasn’t it the United States, specifically the shrub’s father that backed the Taliban when they overthrew the Afghanistan government?

* Where is Osama Bin Laden and why has he stopped becoming a focus of our troops efforts?

* How can Bush justify this comment, “I don’t know where he is. I have no idea and I really don’t care. It’s not that important. ” (President Bush, press conference, 3/13/02) , when this was his reason for attacking in the first place? “I want justice. And there’s an old poster out West, I recall, that says, ‘Wanted: Dead or Alive.’” (President Bush, on Osama Bin Laden, 09/17/01)

How arrogant of this current administration! How arrogant indeed?

– Title: missing friends have you ever had a friend go missing on you?

well let me clarify… an ex-friend go missing? My one time “New Best Friend™”, lets call him Joe, because well, that’s his name, has gone missing. I’ve sent e-mails, well, AN e-mail trying to find out what happened to him. Do you think I’ve had a response? “NO” would be the box to check.

A little history perhaps??

Joe moved to Chicago a little over a year ago and when we met, it was instant fun. He sorta “got” me. We did almost everything together. It was a grand time at the leather bars, but there was a darker sinister undercurrent that my naive and innocent self did not comprehend at the time. I was being judged and used. Joe would revel in learning all of my emotional secrets and get giddy with all the ensuing drama of my life. When the tables were turned and I attempted wiggling into a more intimate position in his life (not sexually), the doors were slammed shut and nary a peep would be heard.

There was the inevitable falling out and we fell into parallel patterns of the traditional “nod of acknowledgement” at various events and locales.

At about this time, I went thru my semi-annual “purge’ event where the trappings of my closet simply must be whittled down to the bare essentials. You would assume with a lifestyle like mine, that my semi-annual event would be written about in the papers and the papparazzi would descend upon my locale, hoping to snap a picture of my good friends Hot Toddy, or Kristin Scott Thomas. Not this time. This was a quietly held affair in an off season.

underneath that damn Harry Winston necklace that my good friend J Lo hasn’t returned yet, I found the pair of leather pants that Joe had lent me for a night out at the Cell Block. This is all pre-”my Man” days, so I was still being a little slutty. No longer being friends with Joe, I sent an e-mail requesting directions as to how he wished me to dispose of his pants. There was no response. I waited a few weeks. Still receiving no word, I sent another e-mail request for instructions only to be responded with an error message that the e-mail address in question no longer existed.

hmmmmm. Now what shall I do with these pants?

And J Lo, you should be ashamed. I shouldn’t have heard about your wedding from the press! You know how that makes me feel? Come get your damned jewels outta my closet or they’re going to Howard Brown with the pants!

– Title: sleepless in Chicago I couldn’t sleep last night. Stella started barking when the upstairs neighbors came home at midnight and wouldn’t stop. It took me five minutes to get her calmed down. Stella never barks, so this is a major event. Once she was calmed down and curled up on her half of the bed (and a little bit on my half), the real fun began.

The upstairs neighbors stomping around, dropping shoes, moving furniture, etc. kept me up till about 1:30am. Eventually, I grabbed my pillow and blanket and slept on the couch. I pretended that I’d just had a huge fight with my man and was storming off to the couch.

I woke up with a stiff back and a sore neck.

I’m off to an appointment today. I think I need a diet coke.
– Title: please make an appointment to call… just a few moments ago, my telephone rang with an impromptu telephone call from my blogging muse’s boyfriend. Yes, Jay, Sardonic Bomb’s Scott’s boyfriend called me to say “Hello”

i promptly called him a stalker and hung up the phone.

in other news… as i was speaking with my man (new name to be determined), we were saying our good byes and he uttered, “Love you later”. What does that mean? Did he just mix “Love You” with “Talk to you later”?

Or do I need to be on the lookout for some strange kind of “Love” a little later in the day, or the week, or the month?

– Title: i’d like to make an order for delivery please… my beloved roommate has a few curious habits. Typical of most roommates, one is clean and the other is, well, lets say, more than anal-retentive. Being the only gay male in the apartment, that latter usually falls onto my shoulders.

The girl has a habit of taking our plastic food storage containers to work with her lunch contained neatly inside. Once there, the black hole of her curious habits engulf them, never to be seen in their complete form again. Perhaps a lid will return, or the container itself, but never, or at least rarely, the complete set consisting of both container AND lid.

A few weeks ago, upon entering my apartment, there were menu’s jammed into the door advertising a chinese restaurant i’d never tried before. Being an adventurous sort, I gave them a ring for dinner that night. The food was at best acceptable (the girl says there is too much sauce and I’d have to agree). The truly remarkable thing about this eatery is the plastic containers the food arrives in.

chinese takeout Posted by Hello

I’ve recently realized that the only reason I’m still ordering from them is because I love the containers. Bad Chinese food + Good Containers = keeping my business.

This restaurant has saved my relationship with girl.

in other news…

Triple B has redeemed himself and been returned to Double D status. But I’ve realized that I don’t like that nickname, so I’ll be thinking up a new one. He deserves something special don’t ya think? He’s made it past the 3 month point… almost.

– Title: we now return to our regularly scheduled program… I’m back and though I cannot say I am well rested after my day off yesterday, I can tell you that I’m rejuvenated. I spent the majority of the day painting my living room, and my entertainment center. Once I hang the pictures tonight, it’ll be complete.

I have to say, I think I have a knack for this sort of thing. Picking out colors with triple B (formerly Double D) was fun on Sunday and thinking up new ways to make the tacky Ikea furniture presentable boosts my morale.

So I’m back to work today, hoping that my day out of my head and off my ass will do wonders for me.

We shall see.

note to Scott… I can’t take Monday off, but I can schedule a day from home if you want to grab lunch. — Title: We are experiencing technical difficulties Just a short note to advise that the Brat has taken a day off. I’ll be in the house most of the day painting. I got the cutest color for the living room. Its purge and merge time in the brat household.

Have a great Monday everyone while I have a mental breakdown day. Finger paints…. ooooooooooh! — Title: apologies to a brave man I was horrible to Double D last night. I was cranky, angry, moody, pushing him away and fighting off his affections. I’m not really sure why.

The only thing I can come up with is that the stress and unhappiness I’ve been dealing with in my work situation has started to spread to other parts of my life that are still doing well. I’m Sorry Double D for being a pill last night, but thank you for staying and putting up with me. You’re a brave man. — Title: something else to ponder over a Diet Coke Diet Coke kills.

At least thats what a recent conversation told me. My friend “Holly Golightly” (name changed to protect the guilty) recently had a bout with “aspertame poisoning”. True story. Two weeks later, his sister had the same thing happen. It seems, that if you drink copious amounts of diet beverages you can develop this life threatening disease.

But not just beverages… Look at food labels. Almost every fat-free or sugar-free food out there has aspertame as the sweetener alternative.

Here is my thought on this.

Save your aspertame
save your High Fructose Corn Syrup

Give me real sugar.

And do you really think that this was an error???

– Title: how supply chains work My friend called me today complaining about the fact that the price of his Diet Coke has gone up as fast as gasoline. He’s now paying $1.44 per 20oz bottle.

He asked why. I told him that this too, could be blamed on “the shrub™”. He didn’t follow. go back to the source I told him.

OIL. Oil is the basis of plastic. Oil is used in the containers to transport the syrup to the bottling plants. Oil is used in the bottles, the caps, the plastic labels, the plastic transport crates. It all comes down to OIL.

Oil is so heavily involved in our everyday life, even if you do not own a vehicle that burns gas, that most people do not realize it. The computer I’m typing on, though it may be a cute yet fabulous little iBook, is made with oil. Petrochemicals are just as bad as gasoline for the environment.

This brought up a question. Today, I read in the paper that oil prices are surging again because of the continued violence in Iraq and the threat that it may disrupt the Iraqi oil production levels. Why would this effect oil prices, when less than a year ago, Iraqi oil wasn’t even allowed on the market due to our embargo? Shouldn’t all of Iraq’s oil production be considered a new source and thereby ease oil prices?

When are we going to stand up and demand reasonable answers from our leaders instead of sitting back and watching the oil companies rake in record profit after record profit year in and year out?

this rant is finished… or is it? — Title: Victory Avenue is closed today I was talking on the phone with a friend of mine in LA a few minutes ago and he uttered a surprisingly pertinent question. “Is it a metaphor that Victory Avenue in Los Angeles is closed?”

This is as good a point as any to start my post today. Sorry for not writing yesterday, but I’ve been pre-occupied with a job interview. I’m frustrated with the state of things in my life. A little under a year ago, I took a pretty hefty pay cut to get out of a bad work situation, only to throw myself into a bad economic situation with another bad work situation rapidly approaching.

It doesn’t look good for me. But I still have time to turn things around.

My job is not easy. Most people probably think that sales people are slimy, gold chain wearing used car hawkers. And to be honest, in my industry, most still can be classified as such; but I’d like to think I’m above that. Problem is, most people I come into contact with don’t give me a chance to prove it. The bulk of my job has to do with cold-calls, telephone or in-person visits to solicit business. Not easy when you work for a small relatively unknown company. I believe in the product I’m pushing, but having a hard time believing in myself lately. This is probably in direct relation to the amount of money I’m making. I’m not making enough to live comfortably, but the money is there to be made. So it’s a bit of a mind-fuck. The harder I work, the more chances to make more money. But I’m struggling so its hard to have enough faith in myself to do the job I’m being paid to do.

I have brief moments where I shine, but they are very brief and there is a wide gap between them. To tie this into the question posed above…

How do you get to drive on victory avenue if its closed?

Do I stay in an industry that I am familiar with, but not all that interested in, or do I try my hand at something new knowing it would be starting over in everything (including pay scale)?
– Title: stuck in reverse? How do you know its the right time to let go of the past and move forward? I’ve lived in Chicago for almost 3 and a half years now but I just realized, while talking on the telephone with a friend from the Bay area, that I’ve never really said goodbye to California and embraced my life here in Chicago.

I often find myself reminiscing with people about times gone by. The company Christmas party where KK came out with her man and we turned everything upside down. The things I did to egg on the man that would, in turn, fire me from my job and give me an unwanted (and unpaid) 3 month long vacation. The trip to Amsterdam to replace the bottle of poppers seized by U.S. Customs. These milestones are revisited again and again, and retold with energy and reverence that my present life does not hold.

When living in the past is happier than the present, how do you stop and refocus forward? How do you embrace a place and a way of life that feels temporary and unwanted? How do you let go of the bright lights of your past and look at lighting new, brighter lights in your future?

Answers anyone?

– Title: The Quest for a room The weekend is over and the workweek resumes.

Quite a weekend for me. Double D took me to a “Spa” for the weekend, at least, that was the plan. The reality was a whole different story.

We arrived at “The Pheasant Run Resort” in the far west suburbs of Chicago around 9am. He checked into his seminar and I tried to check into the room. Wasn’t quite that easy since Expedia never booked the room with the hotel so they had to find us a place.

Warning to everyone, if you use Expedia, double check directly with the airline/hotel/car rental company before you leave on your trip.

They would have a room for me by noon, so I headed to the quaint little downtown area and poked around the antique and junk shops that lined the street. In one shop, I stumbled across a series of books put out by Time-Life in the 1970’s. I had all of the books in the series except one. Do you know how much of a mind fuck it is when you see every single book that you have and get excited that maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to complete your set. They didn’t have the book I was missing. They too had the rest of the series but were, alas, missing the much sought out volume.

Having my hope quashed, I headed back to the hotel to check in. They found us a room, and in the new (luxury) wing. After getting to the room, I realized that this room had double beds and not the king sized we were asking for. (How can you have “mad hotel monkey sex™” in a double bed?)

I’ll save the details of the 7 trips to the front desk just trying to get a room. Finally at 4:00pm (eight hours after beginning “the quest for a room”) they handed me the key cards. The room was a dump no better than a Motel. In fact, I think it was a motel that was enclosed due to the fact that all rooms had A/C units facing into the hallway and the hallway had A/C units trying to fight the heat in the hall. It was the hallway of battling A/C units.

The weekend wasn’t all bad. I had an AMAZING hot stone massage at the Marco Tricoci salon and day spa and I spent some wonderful moments hanging out with Double D. We travel well together I think. I’ll let him comment on that (if he so chooses).

Being without a place to go for eight hours taught me something important. I could never be homeless. I was out of my friggin mind just trying to find a place to sit and read the books I brought. I gave up on the hopes of Wi-Fi access as soon as we exited the highway so that was out of the question. So today, as the work week begins, I have a renewed sense of vigor in my job. I have new focus. I am dedicated and driven. Well, I will be as soon as I get back from Krispy Keme. This coupon expires soon and I want a doughnut.

– Title: crazy things I’ve seen today (and its only 8:00am) crazy Item #1 – late night drunken bootie calls. I think that’s enough said!

Crazy Item #2 – Rogue Personal Trainers. I love to sit at the gym (between sets) and watch all the personal trainers put their clients thru their paces. It amazes me how each trainer has a unique way of doing the exact same thing. It makes me wonder why with thousands of years of physical fitness material available (Hot ancient Greeks to present day muscle queens) there isn’t some standardized method of getting a body in shape. Today, I saw a trainer put her victim on the treadmill to walk backwards. Please tell me what that will do.

Crazy Item #3 – speed freaks at the gym. you’re already thin. Bitch

Crazy Item#4 – this is really just my own paranoia, but are Pizza Rolls™ healthy breakfast foods?

Off to shower
– Title: Hot Toddy’s competition In response to Hot Toddy’s post today, I wanted to share something that I wrote l about my treadmill experience… Is is wrong to recycle Blog entries?

Terror on the treadmill – 12/10/2002

I know it has been a while since I’ve last written and I apologize. I have found a new vigor in life, love and yes, even in work.
I have gotten to a point where life is rolling along again. I’m even better about going to the gym. I feel so good after a nice hard workout. This is actually where I need to begin my story…
I usually wait until after 7:00pm to go to the gym. This allows for the after-work rush to process through and I get the tail end of it. (affording me the benefits of the show without the headaches of waiting for a machine) Last night, I arrived at the gym, bag slung over my shoulder, headphones affixed to the ears, ready to sweat to some Disco. I proceeded to the gym to change into my workout gear and new sneakers.
After changing, I headed to the second floor where the cardio is located, well actually where the bulk of the gym is located. And to my amazing eyes, every single piece of cardio equipment was occupied except … The TREADMILL.
Now I have never been on a treadmill before. I’ve played with one at the stores, but never really used it to exercise. I jumped on the only piece of cardio equipment available and pretended that I knew what I was doing and I had no doubts about how to operate this thing. That was my first mistake. Or no, my first mistake was to do this while the latest dance song was pounding into my headphones. I pushed a few buttons and the damn thing started lurching towards the sky. “Oh!” ,I remarked, “That must be what the incline button does.” I adjusted the incline to feel like I was back home in good ‘ol San Francisco and I was climbing away towards Twin Peaks.
Next came the speed request from the little computer running the show. “hmmmm” how fast do I walk? I’ve never timed myself. Lets say 5mph that seems reasonable enough. The belt started moving and I jumped on and started walking. Or run/walking as the case may be. I adjusted the speed down to 3.5mph which was MUCH more doable for me.
It’s the funniest feeling walking on a treadmill when you are 6’4” tall. I’m used to walking, I’ve been doing it most of my life, but when I was walking on this thing, I felt nauseous. I felt like there was something not right in the world. I had a constant fear the entire time I was on that damn contraption, that I would glance at a hot man walking by, put a foot ever so slightly out of place and have the belt whisk it out from under me taking my body with it sending me careening to the belt whirling beneath me, where I would then be moved at great velocity into the machine directly behind me with a thud so loud the entire gym would gather around at the dork laying mangled in yet another tragic treadmill accident. These things happen. I know they do.
So I walked, holding onto the side rails for life, my gaze fixed squarely on a specific point directly in front of the machine. Concentrating on that spot, I walked, and as I walked, I got more and more comfortable, until I picked up a bit of a jaunt to my step. I was swinging my arms, I was getting into this new machine driven sidewalk. Then the worse thing that could ever happen happened. The machine started beeping at me, telling me that my pre-set time was about to expire. This filled me with dread. I knew the machine would stop, but would I be able to? The machine started to slowdown, eventually coming to a stop. My head was telling me that the machine was still moving, and to keep walking. It was about 5 minutes before I could walk a straight line again without feeling dizzy.
Needless to say, I won’t be running on one of those things anytime soon!
– Title: kicking off of the Olympics Let the games begin!

I’m excited about the summer games starting this weekend. I won’t watch them, but it would be cool to have another major terror attack be caught on film to shock and awe the world. Oh wait, I’m sorry, “shock and awe” have already been used by the U.S. Regime currently in power. Just so you know, I popped a bag of popcorn and was glued to the TV for both the Loma Prieta Earthquake in California and the World Trade Center attacks. Television is entertainment after all. Don’t get all pissed off about the death of innocent people, I’m callous, not hateful.

No, what I’m talking about is the kick off of the Grecco-Roman wrestling matches taking place in my upstairs neighbor’s apartment. I was only happy to lay in bed until 3am and wonder in awe about how 2 relatively small people could manage to make that much noise. It wasn’t sex, I was listening for the groans. It wasn’t a fight like I secretly hoped (an affinity for overhearing arguments learned in the prime of my childhood due to the rarity of occurrence in my household). So the only thing I could come up with was that they were competing in the Grecco-Roman wrestling competitions.

I am curious as to the outcome and who won? Being the shit-starter that I am so proud to be, I’m sure I’ll ask them next time I see them during daylight hours.

I’m off, need to change the Cher CD-single that I started listening to at 6am right before I hit the gym.
– Title: whipping it all into a frenzy I whipped myself into a panic attack today. Its very difficult for me to accomplish this feat and when I do and it has passed, I’m often very impressed with the intensity of my own mind-fuck. I sat at my computer and convinced myself that I would soon be out of a job and thereby out on the street turning tricks for food and a chance to plug into the net and upload my blog. I imagined myself hanging out in the public library reading blogs all day to pass the time until I needed to head back to the shelter and fight for a bunk to sleep in. On the plus side, I’d be fabulously thin because most homeless people are. C’MON! I’m sure I’m not the only one that has whispered under my breath “thin bitch” as a sinewy man walks by in clothes obviously from a better time.

All of this because within 2 months I’ll have been at my job for a year and I haven’t met my sales numbers yet. Of course there is more to it than this. I have half a mind to place some scrutiny onto Miss Cleo’s reading yesterday. She’s the one that whipped up my imagination into the grand “walk-a-bout™”. But ultimately, I need to reflect upon my own actions over the past 10-20 years.

You see, if I truly want to get to the bottom of things, I need to look back to high school when I was offered a chance to skip ahead a year in Math. My parents were dead set against it. This was just another notch in the belt of defeat they’d manage to wrap around my heart while growing up.

Their lack of faith in my abilities, and lack of support for my dreams managed to take the wind out of my sails in ways I’d never comprehend until just recently.

Of course, I failed miserably at Math. Not right away, in fact, I excelled for a few years until I hit Calculus. Due to my failure in math, my dream career of being a Navel Architect (yeah designing ships) was no longer an option and I never had a second option in the wings to fall back on.

Thank god for the whole alumni college acceptance policy or I’d never have gone to college. I humbly accepted the offer from my father’s alma matter and entered college in the innocuous transportation field. Its in this capacity that I’ve languished for the past 15 years.

I agreed to this field thinking maybe I could be a male version of Julie McCoy, (Welcome aboard. Your room is on the Lido deck, thru those doors and down 3 flights. enjoy your cruise). I fantasized about that clipboard when I signed on to this college fiasco. But I do have a degree. and I thank my parents for that.

But today, I was sitting here panicked because I’ve been in an industry that is decidedly blue-collar and anything but glamourous. I have very little contact with anything creative and have no passion in my job. And when you’re in sales, that comes across, so I feel like I’m in this self-defeating cycle that is tightening around my neck.

My last job was hell so I took a considerable pay cut to leave and now I’m struggling financially, this affects my self-worth, which affects my ability to be positive and upbeat and secure enough to hit up strangers for business. All this, in turn, makes it hard to get new business and meet my numbers, which perpetuates my situation.

ya know what… lets just blame Miss Cleo.

I’m gonna go back and read some blogs and pretend that I’m thin.

– Title: calling Miss Cleo… I have had the strangest day.

Waking up in a strange bed usually doesn’t throw me the way it has today, but for some reason, I just feel a little bit off. I woke up feeling groggy and stiff and forced myself into 25 minutes of cardio at the gym. (cute new Doctor thinks I’m fat) I was shooting for 30 minutes, but after 25, I was bored and my right foot was just a tad bit numb, so I called it quits and headed home.

Nothing of consequence happened until I started to get dressed for work at like 1:30pm. As I was standing there in my Ted Baker suit, trying to decide upon which tie would best bring out the blue stripes in the H&M dress shirt, my fingers floated across a tie I picked up on my travels to Kyoto, Japan. Its a very simple tie done in dark blue with a very famous Buddhist prayer in white Kanji script. My favorite tie. I chose this tie and took a moment to remember when I bought it.

I was in Kyoto on my own. At the time, I had an amazing boss who allowed me two weeks in Asia on a business meeting. While I was there, I phoned home and added a week in Japan for vacation since I was already there. She told me to contact the office in Kyoto and she’d allow me to expense the whole damn week. I was only too happy to oblige her request.

So this morning as I was tying my tie, I thought back to that trip and how happy I was to be traveling, and seeing the world and I said to myself that I wish I had an opportunity to travel again.

Fastforward to the arduous commute home. I called Double D’s friend Miss Cleo to take her up on her offer of a psychic reading. We talked for over an hour and a quarter while I maneuvered my way home thru the crush of traffic and stop-lights. She brought up some very good points and made some very dead on observations. But the thing that caught my fancy more than anything else was her mention of a “walk-a-bout™”. She told me that within a year, I’d be leaving Chicago to go on a world-wide trip. I’d finally get a chance to see the world and better yet, I’d be given an opportunity to share my truly unique view of things with others. So now that Miss Cleo has spoken… the task is mine to take upon…

– Title: again with the defense of marriage crap I don’t know what to think anymore when it comes to Politics. On the one hand, we have the ever smirking Shrub™ who looks like he got stuck in some half-brained college prank that he cannot extricate himself from; while on the other hand, we have a supposedly liberal, intellectual war hero that has no real personality and isn’t very clear about his stand on many items that are dear to me.

Until now.

I read in this article today that the two Johns gave no objection to the recent ruling in Missouri banning marriage rights for my peoples. Now, and I’ve said this before, I’m not exactly a person that has thought long and hard about getting married. I’ve never dreamt that I would find a man, fall in love, move to the suburbs to an oversized house that sits 4 inches from my neighbor’s equally oversized dwelling. I never thought about these things because I knew that it wasn’t an option. But shouldn’t it be my decision? Should the government tell me who I am allowed to do that with?

My whole problem with the Gay marriage bans that are going around is the defense term. What are you defending? Marriage? or is it that you are defending your tax breaks, your way of life, your stability, your ideas?

Well lets take a looky-loo at this shall we?

Marriage is a religious ceremony more than anything else. Marriage is a step taken when two people love each other enough to stand up in front of their family and the world, and oh yes God, and announce to everyone that you love this person and wish to spend the rest of your life together. Some prefer the regal churches and synagogue, while others, like Brittany, prefer the little white wedding chapel in Las Vegas. Marriage provides a basis of support both legal and emotional. Marriage tells the world and each other, that this is something serious not just a trick that didn’t go away (I’ve had a few of those).

When my siblings all were married, they had to go to the Doctor and get the blood tests done, next they had to go to city hall to get the marriage license, and lastly, they had to go to the church to have the ceremony.

Now, given that little document called the U.S. Constitution has a statement about “separation of Church and State”, you’d think this was a no brain-er. Marriage is a religious ceremony. Priests and Rabbis are given the power to sign the marriage certificate. Why? Doesn’t this constitute religion within the state?

I suggest this. Every couple, male-female, female-female, and male-male be allowed to do the first 2 steps. Get the blood tests, get the marriage license. This allows every couple the legal protections and requirements of a civil union. Take the religion out of it. If you want to go to the 3rd step, they by all means, go, have your ceremony and I wish you the best for your future.

But DO NOT limit MY RIGHTS to spousal support, palimony, equal distribution of assets and inheritance rights!

Take religion out of our politics like the French have. There are way too many religions floating around this country to fair and equal to each.

phew… sorry about that little rant, I’m not sure what came over me.

back to my point…

Who the hell do I vote for? They all seem like first class fuck-ups who will lie, distort and do whatever it takes to make it to the white house.

Lets rename it to “The House of Shame™” and see if the drive to get there is still as strong cause lets face it, this country is in one fucked up place.

– Title: the dilemma i am faced with a dilemma brought on by many years of poor planning.

I have been working for my current employer for about 9 months now and being in sales, i am expected to bring a certain level of new business/profits to the company. I took a rather substantial pay-cut to join this company (more to escape my last employer than anything else) and have tightened my proverbial belt to within an inch of its usefulness. I am poor. Well, not living in a hovel in India with 25 relatives and a cow/God poor, but I’m poor compared to what I’m used to. This week, being the first week of a new month, my sales reports/figures were generated for last month. I was 25% better last month than I am this month. They don’t look good.

Then, in what I am sure MUST be a sign from God, I started to get Recruiters calling. First Monday i received an e-mail with a job opening, then this morning I received a telephone call from a very accomplished recruiter. She told me the details and I must admit I’m intrigued.

The dilemma I’m faced with is probably a no brainer for most, but for me there is a certain level of loyalty that I have for a company that saves me from the hellish existence I was living.

Do I leave my current employer and add yet another company to my increasingly long resume list?

OR

Do I stick it out, suffer thru with my miserable salary and hope that I meet my numbers soon so that I can get commission?

i have a feeling this will consume my weekend.

I know…I’ll have a martini… That ALWAYS helps me relax and get to the meat of the matter.

– Title: A quickie before work A little update on my porn situation. Still wet. I think the torrential downpour washed away any scratch-n-sniff capabilities, but we’ll have to wait a few more days to confirm.

Last night after the gym, I stopped off to a relatively new Sushi place in the neighborhood. Words of warning to any restauraneur that waits on The Brat(tm)… “When I ask for the check, BRING IT TO ME!” Don’t make me wait ten minutes to ask a second time, and definitely DO NOT make me walk it to you after another 10 minutes have passed. I rounded off the bill with a whopping $5.45 tip on a $54.55 tab. I think I over-tipped.

I’m off to the Doctor today. I doubt I’ll get a butt exam, but I’ve “freshened up” just in case. I’m a bit on the nervous side this morning because my brother finds out what’s going to happen to him today as well. hmmmmm. Ass Cancer. It sounds funny when you say it, but it doesn’t quite feel funny when its your 36 year old brother. I really hope I didn’t wish this on him when I was 5 and he was pounding the living daylights out of me.
– Title: another sad day in a string of sad days What are they so damn afraid of?

I’m writing, of course, about the constant hateful focus of the Religious Right onto anybody that is different from themselves. Today, Missouri added fear and hate into their state constitution by approving a gay marriage ban. Personally, I’m on the fence about marriage for myself, but I think that I should at least have the option should I want to utilize it. They join Alaska, Hawaii, Nebraska and Nevada in telling me that they do not want me in their midst. I’m now waiting for Louisiana, Arkansas, Georgia, Kentucky, Mississippi, Montana, Oklahoma, Oregon, Utah, Michigan, North Dakota and Ohio to finalize their fearful marches against us.

I realize that while I attended public school and my education is second rate, I’m pretty confident that somewhere along the line I heard the words, ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL. Where, in the founding documents of our country does it single me out and say, “EXCEPT for Wade cause he’s a big friggin FAG!” ?

Each day, our sane neighbors to the north seem more and more welcoming to me. Some days, like today, the hateful policies of Saudi Arabia seem more welcoming than my own homeland. At least in Saudi Arabia, I know that they’ll kill me for being gay. Here, they’ll smile to my face, tell me that they hate my “sin”, but that they love me.

Call a spade a spade. You hate gay people that’s why you write laws against us. Don’t hide behind your Religion and tell me that you are trying to save the sanctity of marriage. If you are truly trying to save the “sanctity” of marriage then stone Brittany Spears, stone J.Lo., stone the twice married John Kerry. But leave me the fuck alone and let me love who I love.

on a lighter note… (cause I’m sure you need one)

If you’re ever in Portland Oregon, be sure to check out… “Mini-KISS, one of many troupes of KISS imitators.”…”they get more attention because they’re midgets! In a flip-flop of the KISS image (larger than life shoes, shoulders, tongues, and libidos), Mini-KISS is bringing houses down with their miniature version of the glam monsters. Eerily, Mini-KISS bear an uncanny facial resemblance to the objects of their spoof, and it’s not just the makeup… maybe someone just finally cut Gene Simmons down to size.”

Mini-KISS Posted by Hello

– Title: Poppers, poppers, everywhere – addendum A truly sad day for me. Shortly after my return from the gym, there was a sudden downpour. Alas, years of collecting and tens of dollars of investment are gone. My porn suffered the downpour poorly. It now sits on the porch in a soggy puddle of ink.

I shall try to dry it as best I can. I may have to cancel all my weekend plans to iron my porn back to its original state.

I may be the first person to have scratch and sniff porn.

I stumbled accross this little blog entry earlier today, and I think it sums up my beliefs on marriage very nicely.
– Title: poppers, poppers, everywhere It started with the sound of breaking glass and a barking dog. I thought, “oh shit! the dog knocked over a picture frame in my roommates living room and I need to clean up the glass.”

Not exactly.

After thoroughly searching the house for broken glass, and checking the back deck I started to smell something familiar in the air. Yep, Poppers! I realized that I hadn’t accessed this item within the last hour or two and rushed to my nightstand and the overpowering “aroma” confirmed my fear. A bottle of my premium grade poppers, procured at the annual International Mr Leather conference had exploded inside my nightstand. I ran to the window and threw it open, closed the bedroom door and turned on the overhead fan to get as much air moving as possible without allowing it to seep into the rest of the house and thereby affect the two innocent dogs that I live with. This was not good timing. I was due at the gym to meet my workout partner in five minutes.

Now, in my nightstand are the carefully chosen contents needed for any and all stimulatory activities both solo and multi-partnered. I carefully extracted the items one by one shaking off the tiny glass particles and separating said items based upon washable or non washable, which for the most part went directly into the trash. Gone are my blindfold, the exploded bottle of poppers and out of fear of a repeat, the remaining bottle(s) of opened poppers.

Also contained in my nightstand was a sampling of my written porn collection (procured over time from http://www.nifty.org/, lovingly printed and professionally bound). Today the sample was a stack of at least 3 inches tall. I briefly toyed with the idea of discarding this stack but thought better of it and simply discarded the upper most story (title noted first so that it could be reproduced and replaced into the sample) due to the glass shards sticking to it. As it turns out, this sampling of printed porn saved my day by soaking up the entire liquid contents of the little brown bottle. The stack now resides discretely on a wicker shelf on the back porch.

I should warn my roommate not to read it… She might not look at me in quite the same frame of reference again.

Once all was cleaned, vacuumed, hosed off, thrown away, and finally restocked into the nightstand, I proceeded to the gym to work out.

I was half way to the gym before the familiar “wah” “wah” of the poppers left me.

– Title: fake fur, porn stars and ass cancer I like men with hairy chests and big dicks. What can I say? Its just what makes me happy. My new boyfriend, whom I’ll call “Double D” is missing one of the pre-requisite items I just mentioned. So, to correct that problem, I went to a fabric store, and searched the aisles of patterns and prints until I came upon the fake fur section. The swatch I ended up buying even matches his complexion quite nicely.

What? there are some things I just cannot do without

It is Monday morning and I’m not feeling like working today. I wish somebody would pay me to look at internet porn and play in chat rooms all day. But alas, I must focus and work this afternoon if I am to keep my job, such as it is.

Lastly, and most importantly, my big brother has been diagnosed with cancer. They found a tumor in his ass about 7 inches long. He doesn’t know yet how bad it is, but he will find out on Thursday when he goes for his consultation. He will probably have chemo, then surgery, then chemo again. He’s taking it very well, but my Mother is not. His attitude has been, “well, there’s nothing I can do about it so why worry”. My Mom on the other hand has been running around calling everyone warning them to get checked for something similar.

Mine is scheduled for Thursday. I hope its just a coincidence and not a sign.
– Title: cartoon monkeys In the middle of a night full of strange dreams and continual tossing and turning, I woke up my new boyfriend. It seems that I had stolen the sheet and he jerked it back, rousing me from my dream. Apparently I said, “I’m having the strangest dreams tonight. I just dreamt of a cartoon monkey with real people in it too.” I have to take him for his word at this, because I don’t remember ANY of this; stealing the blanket, rousing from sleep, or uttering those words, none of it, nothing. I usually don’t remember my dreams and I rarely will admit to the fact that I speak during closed-eye hours. There have been times that stand out in my mind, but they are rare and far between, meaning, the people that will tell me what I’ve said are rare and far between.

Some of the times I remember my dreams, I wish they would linger long enough for me to write them down in exactly detail. If I were able to record any one of these times, I’d be a wealthy screenwriter. I’m telling you, “The Governator™” would have nothing on my stories. Full of action and mayhem, my dreams would put his block-buster summer fare to shame. Unfortunately, as I lolly-gag in my half awake state, the story boards of these dreams dissipate from my head like the sleep from my tired body.

The story of this cartoon monkey, however, has followed me thru the day. While out a while later, we spotted several references to cartoon monkeys; placemats, napkins and books. It has become a cartoon monkey extravaganza. What is this telling me? More importantly, why is this the most interesting thing I have to share today?

Notice how I skipped right over the bit about the new boyfriend??

– Title: Dangerous dealings I have something that worries more than the fact that “The Shrub™” may be re-elected. My ATM is down.

Due to my unending loyalty, I’ve stayed with my small little credit union based in San Francisco. It really is the best of all worlds. They are not tied into the normal net, so it takes an extra 3-5 days for transactions to post to my account and they all know me and my account by the sound of my voice when I call. They ask me about Chicago everytime I call to check on something or order new checks.

The problem is that my current employer does not offer direct deposit on my weekly paycheck so I need to visit an ATM, or drop it into the mail and wait 3-5 days for it to move via the most trustworthy service in the world, the US Postal Service, thus undoing the previous benefit of having my 3-5 day lag.

There are exactly two ATM’s in the entire Chicago area that accept deposits to my account (through some agreement with my credit union). One of them is in Rosemont (Suburb of Chicago) and the other is on the 7th floor of Marshall Field’s State Street Flagship store. The past two weeks, the ATM in Rosemont has been “out of order”. Today, the ATM was actually GONE!

So, I plugged my headphones into my iPod and headed towards the “El” to go down to the Loop and deposit my check. To get to and from the ATM, I walk right through the Men’s department, the Houswares department, the Kitchen department, and the bedding department. These are all very dangerous places for me to be right now. I am trying very hard to be good, but last week, I bought 4 t-shirts and a tank top, and today, I got a fantastic deal on 2 pair of Kenneth Cole dress pants (38 34 and flat front).

I hope they get my ATM repaired quickly…
– Title: Caught in the Cogs Today was a communications nightmare for me.

Sprint PCS has this very nasty way of treating its customers. They give you a pre-set spending limit and then the day that your bill is printed, if you go over that limit, they shut off your phone with the news coming via the means of a text message.

I don’t normally complain about bills and such, but when did the concept of Net-30 Day payment terms mean shutting off service the day your bill is printed? This is the second time this has happened to me. This first time also co-incided with a change in my usage plan.

Sprint also has this habit of not allowing you to know how many minutes you have used for the entire month that you are in a new plan. I was trying to be more thrifty a few months back and explored my usage finding that I was paying for 1400 minutes a month, but only using on average 700. So I dropped my plan to 1100 minutes to save $20.00 a month. That cost me an extra $120.00 for the first month. Realizing I’d made a mistake I put it back, costing me only $89.73.

On top of my Sprint nightmare, my local phone monopoly, SBC Communications, came out to fix the static on my line and decided the line needed to be turned off all day to do that, leaving me without communications for the majority of the day.

This wouldn’t necessarily be a problem, but I work from home alot and need all the communications options I can get.

Thank GOD my Cable internet wasn’t down so I could still look at my porn. I don’t know what I would do without that

In a different direction, I think it may be time for me to find a benefactor. Not a Sugar Daddy, cause they would expect you to have sex with them. I just want someone to pay my bills. Sure, I’ll be nice to them while they hand me a check, I’d even polish a shoe here or there if the checks were big enough.

I’m going to go for a walk down to the beach and watch the sunset over the city. Its been way too long since I’ve spent time on the lakefront.
– Title: A brighter future? Wow!

I watched the Democratic Convention tonight and was totally blown away by Barak Obama’s speach. I can honestly say that for the first time in 3 years I feel Hope towards a brighter future. I was in tears of relief at the end of his speach. I had shivers of excitement cursing thru me as I sat there and listened to him tell me about the bright future he saw and the good things this country can still accomplish.

It was such a relief to hear something hopeful after 3 years of fear-mongering and lies. Whether “The Shrub” lied or not is not even the point to this post. The very nature of all notices from the White House the past three years have been negative and fear filled. Another attack likely. Another rogue nation building “nukular” weapons of Mass destruction.

I’m so tired of being afraid. Its nice to hear someone hopeful. Its nice to hear a different message. I would vote for Obama for President after THAT speach alone.

On another note…

I’ve been at this blog less than a week, and with no training at all, I find myself re-writing the html code to improve my site. I’m very excited about this as this has been something that a few days ago seemed about as possible as positive messages coming from White House. And yet, here it is. I’ve added links and a quote that I stumbled across someplace on the web.

Oh yeah, and I found this too.. Not sure if its real or fake, but its funny, in a completely Politically-Incorrect manner.

Thanks to my friend at the Sardonic-Bomb that encouraged me to start this.

Its late so this will be a short entry. I’ve been up playing with html code for hours… fun fun fun…

– Title: A little about Concha The introduction: ( I wrote this a few weeks ago)

I have a well-earned respect for drug addicts. I myself had been a regular drug user during my 20’s, and it was during this time that life took on a strange context of normalness and sanity. Looking back upon those days however, I’m careful to realize that the majority of my experiences were drug-ridden flights of fancy that had very little basis in reality. The memories I have of those days are filled with inaccuracies and perhaps downright lies, but I still tell the stories and I still relive the memories both real and imagined as if they were irrefutably proven hard facts.

My decent into the decadence of the underground drug culture began innocently enough in an alleyway in San Francisco’s SOMA neighborhood as I crawled out of my 1978 Honda Civic. The car was a perfect extension of my personality with its duct tape racing stripes precisely applied to cover the rust spots on the roof, but appearing to give the offset appearance of the European racing cars of the 1960’s. The ample rust taking over the rear hatch had been covered with the remnants of a stack of stolen bumper stickers from an Army/Navy surplus store in St. Louis. The hatch screamed out “Hullabaloo” in bright orange and yellow.

It was from this car that I was crawling when she walked up to me and changed my life forever. Her name was “Concha” and she was a child of the night. An ample girl of at least 300 pounds, yet standing only 5’8” tall, she was covered in a lace moo moo styled dress obviously purchased from a second hand store due to the aging and yellowing yarn crochet work not seen since the late 70’s. She had a small ring thru her nostril and was waving an unlit cigarette in my direction asking for a light. Not having a book of matches I suggested the cigarette lighter in my car and off we went back to the car to help her get her nicotine fix. Once we had her cigarette lit, she firmly took hold of my arm and said in her unique and completely flattering way “You’re adorable, come with me you have to meet my friends”. When Concha would speak, she spoke with an earnestness that was not questioned for she believed her words with complete conviction.

The rest of that night became a blur of bright lights, hours on the dance floor and an endless number of trips to the special VIP lounge on the upper floor of the nightclub. The VIP lounge was located upstairs towards the front of the club and was guarded by a serious looking drag queen/club kid and the ubiquitous velvet rope. Concha was well known and just a nod of her head and the rope was pulled aside and we were whisked into the confines of the inner sanctum.

This new world fascinated and enraptured me. Once inside the lounge she continued her tight grip on my arm and dragged me towards the VIP lounge restroom, a small room off to the side with just a small sink and toilet. Once we were inside she said “Meet Chrissie” and handed me the little plastic pouch full of a white powdery substance that would be both my devil and my savior for the next few years. Speed, Crystal, Chrissie, the names were not important but that white powder did an amazing thing to me as it burned its way into my brain via the lining of my nasal passages. Time melted away along with any insecurity I had been hanging on to. I was a beautiful boy, full of life and wit. I had enough energy to talk all night long, and that is exactly what I did for in another area of the VIP lounge there was a fireplace with beanbags strewn around on the floor in front of it. Concha and I had conversations of such depth and importance that we’d missed the fact that the sun had risen and the music had stopped. People had joined us for brief moments of an hour or two, until they would wander away to dance or further enhance their own chemically altered existences.

The people I met that night were unlike any I’d ever seen in my life before. Colors and clothes I didn’t think possible were on display for all to see with each person attempting to show themselves as more “fabulous” than anyone else. This was not just people dressing outlandishly for their own fun, this was a downright competition and the losers would swear to beat them the following weekend, often spending hours hunched over sewing machines and picking thru thrift stores for an idea or two they could latch onto to outshine everyone else. They had club kid names like “Richie Rich” and “Robnoxious”, and were people I would soon call friends as I too would merely nod at the VIP Lounge guard and the rope would be pulled aside for me.
– Title: Standing on the threshold of Hope I have alot going on in my life all the time.

In my mind, I long for a time when I can sit in the sun on a rocking chair and read while sipping iced tea or homemade lemonade. I relish memories of a long ago time that I’ve never even experienced. A simpler time when you could trust the people around you, and leave your doors unlocked. Where you know your neighbors and they look after your place while you’re traveling, mowing the lawn and collecting the mail so that your place looks inhabited. This is the kind of place I come from, where you know your neighbors, you may not like them, but you know that if you truly needed help, they’d be there without question.

When I graduated college, I chose to move as far away from my family as I could. I ended up in San Francisco, CA. I briefly considered moving to Japan, cause it was even farther away, but my lack of interest in Asian men kept me from making that leap. Settling in San Francisco was a major culture shock and one that took many years to adjust to. I was less educated, less affluent, and less experienced than most people that I met. I was the little town boy that landed in the large city and hoped to fit in. I lived in SF for over 11 years and I never truly felt at home. Oh, I loved the Bay Area and still call it home though I’ve been in Chicago for over 3 years now. But to really feel at home is something that I’ve never really been able to master. Growing up gay in small town America, I longed for the life in a big city where there were other people like me. Once I made it to big city life, I missed the slower pace and simpler life of the small town. I’ve never really felt like I fit in.

Where is this all going? I don’t really know. So I’ll go on to the subject that the entry is titled…

I’m going camping with my family. I’m hoping that I can make it thru the experience without reverting to the feelings I had when I was twelve.

So I guess, I’m standing on the threshold of hope. Hope that my family will one day (meaning very very soon) come to accept me and my life and my loves without judgment, without fear, and embrace me for who and what I am.

But my biggest fear is that they will continue to be exactly like they are and make their attempts to force me into the roll that they feel comfortable with.

– Title: A fresh new start Hiya Kids,

I’m new again to this idea of blogging. As the days and weeks go by I’ll start to shed the layers of my life as an onion would… micro-thin layer by layer.

But this is just a start.

A Big Hello Wave to all who’ve read this.