New Year's Eve Eve

Funny that we utilize this time of year to set goals/ resolutions (difference?) for ourselves, but it seems the thing to do. I suspect, in my case, that the time between Thanksgiving and New Year's marks our most gluttonous time so when better to be reminded of our misdeeds than New Year's day? I sit here at 7:30 am, unable to sleep because of the higher than average levels of nicotine and beer residues coursing through my system. The caffeine from the Goody's powder I took two hours ago to fend off an impending hangover has got me wired, and my head hurts anyway. It doesn't take much anymore. I didn't get drunk last night, but with enough cigarettes one beer can trap me within my throbbing head for hours. This seems like an opportune time to work through those resolutions; those made New Years Eve are tough to remember the next day (except for, "I will never drink again.")

• Get back to the gym, that is, if your fat ass will fit through the door
• Read Allan Carr's "Easy Way to Quit Smoking"
• Learn to use that camera
• At least research grad school options
• Stick to your three drink rule, always
• Blog more often and more honestly
• Get to church at least once a month
• Get re-involved in church activities beyond poker and service

Alright, that's a start. I will admit I thought of a few more important ones, but nothing I'm feeling ready to commit to right now.

The hillbillies come out at night...

Visited Biltmore Estates on Monday to celebrate my birthday as well as seeing the place at night & fully decorated for Christmas. My favorite quote from the evening?

"They call 'em 'loo-minaries'. They're paper bags with candles in 'em!"
"Well, how do they seal the bag?"

Sometimes they come back

I dreamt last night about my best friend in High School (and long time object of my crush) M.C.. This got me to thinking this morning about those people I knew way back in High School. Many of them I genuinely have no interest in, but some people I really have a desire to know what became of them. The one in particular that I've been so curious about for all these years is S.O.

S.O. was the gay one. He carried his books like a girl, had a way of gliding, rather than walking, down the hall. He stuck out, and in a high school known for nothing besides it's location (middle of a corn field in the middle of no where in Virginia) this stuck out. I shared gym class with him one year, and M.M. (object of my crush. Many fellas were). I distinctly remember one day in the locker room, I was sitting on the bench, with the back of my head perfectly level with, and precariously close to, M.M. tighty'whitied crotch. One turn and he was mine, even if just for a second. From here I could smell him... cough, sorry.. As I was saying... S.O.'s locker was across the room from mine, across the room from everyone, I know he thought no one would remember he was back there. They spit on his locker. On a regular basis guys in the class would spit on his padlock so he'd be forced to touch it to get in to his belongings. I never responded, I will admit, but I also never took up for this guy. When you're already the youngest in your class, trying to get a good look at the star wrestler's package, and a raging punk rocker, it's self-preservation to keep quiet on these things. I will even go as far as to say that I appreciated S.O. for taking the heat off of me. They would never find out about me if they saw HIM as the picture of gay.

I actually pulled out the old yearbook this morning to look up his picture. I happened upon S.O.'s picture as well. hehe (drum roll...) Anyway, I am appalled by what I see. This kid is sitting in his high senior portrait and all I see in his face is terror. (A mother somewhere has that picture on her mantle.) He was nothing but tormented throughout those four years by shit heads who had no idea the impact of their actions, and by wimps who sat back and let them get away with it. Self-preservation. By preserving myself I did a few things which I regret: I allowed this poor guy to suffer outwardly what I was suffering within myself; I allowed these asshole bullies to maintain their status as big shots; and I showed M.M. what kind of guy I really was. M.M. expressed some degree of interest on more than a few occasions. I reciprocated by hiding; silently supporting the "other" side.

AFA= Arrogant Fucking Assholes

"Ford Reaffirms Support for Fairness

The Ford Motor Company released a statement on Dec 14, saying it would feature all of its brands in a 2006 ad campaign in gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender-themed publications. Indications that Ford made a deal with the right-wing extremist group American Family Association to cease some advertising in community publications were put to rest with this announcement. Read the full text of the statement made by a broad coalition of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender organizations on this news." (hrc)

Glad to see that this ridiculous organization is still not having an effect. Doing much of my shopping this year through Target, just in case.

*follow-up: "Ford shares rose 1 cent Thursday to close at $8.17 on the New York Stock Exchange."

Nancy's Diner

My dream last night: I had some friends over, unexpectedly. The boy was here, and I didn't want some of my friends to know, so he went in the other room. Gradually I noticed that all my friends were coupled and I felt awkward and jealous. Gradually the friends left, and the boy left as well. I was so sad and walked downstairs to gaze out the window. Apparently I forgot that my front window looked into the diner next door, and there were all of my friends, sitting in their little pairs... And damn if the boy was not sitting sith some fake tan, hoop earring'd fag at the end booth, lookin' so very proud of himself. I could barely see him through the glare on the window, but I'm not positive the guy he was with was totally on his side of the glass.

Anyway, I awoke and stared at the back of his head while he slept for at least 20 minutes. Am I unable to trust anymore? Am I unable to deal with his cheating (even after 6 years?) How did I go from not giving a shit to wondering all the time?

December 1

Dream a Little Dream of Revenge

I think I mentioned before that I've been having dreams about the b/f cheating on me. He always does it right in front of me, is not very good at it, and it causes me to wake unrested and thoroughly pissed off. Although tempted, I'll avoid the analysis, except to say he's been acting weird (-er than usual) and I tend to think dreams are driven by narcissism (that is to say, they're all about me, not really him at all).

Anyway, I'd apparently had enough the other night and got my revenge. I became an assistant at my real life hair guy's shop. Apparently I was pretty damn good at working heads (cough...) and was having a blast. My hair guy pulled me in the back room to pick up supplies or something and we made out, for a long time. Sloppy, passionate, slammed against the wall long time. Now for the record, my hair guy would not be my type, and I have no intentions or temptations to cheat, BUT, it was a hell of a kiss.

I awoke rested settled and vindicated.

The Fury

I finally picked up James Frey's "A Million Little Pieces." It has been on my recommendation list over at Amazon.com and it really peeked my interest. In case you haven't heard of it, (can I get the address of that rock?) it a memoir about the author's six week stay in a rehab clinic.

The reason I bring it up is that I'm a little nervous by how well I relate to this character and the issues involved. I've spoken to some others who are reading this dark and dismal tale and they seem to come away with a, "oh my god, the poor guy, I'm so blessed, I'm so lucky, that's not me..." type of response. They can't relate. They can't see themselves wanting to drink until their body can't function; they can't fathom trying to subdue the "Fury" they've had with drugs and drink.

I'm afraid to admit that I can. It scares me that I have this same Fury as the author. We both remember this feeling of internal resentment, hatred, and blinding rage going back years and years into early childhood. While I generally present as a happy positive guy, it's only when I'm drinking that I can feel free of this nagging frustration and contempt (for myself and others).

I don't know the origin of my fury, but suspect it's related to a medical condition I had when I was younger. Without going into details, it resulted in very few friends, being tormented by others, very low self-concept, and a fear of not being accepted by others. (In college I remember priding myself on being a chameleon and manipulating myself into whoever there people I was with wanted me to be. As long as I could keep my different circles of "friends" apart, I was golden, especially when I could drink them all under the table.) My Fury is related to this in that I am set into a rage whenever I feel as though I am seen as a fool, outcast, or lesser person, or when I perceive that I'm being spoken to as an idiot (it's the tone of voice, it's very subtle and my dad uses it. So does his dad. So do I.)

For the record, there are some minor differences between myself and Mr. Frey: he started drinking at age 10, graduated to crack cocaine within a few years; he spent the last few years before rehab on the street, much of that time he's totally forgotten; he was wanted in three states; he lost his virginity to a prostitute while still in high school. The list goes on.

Anyway, I'm not saying it's a "problem" in the most severe sense, but I've always known there is the potential. I don't think it's gotten to the level of having to quit having a drink here and there, but I must explore this issue of this "Fury."

Naked Boy Tags

Another fun tag from Naked Boy... Thanks!! I hope I have 23 posts, lets lower that bar boys?!

"Who the hell wants to hang out with that guy?!?!?!" In reference to my tendency to become panicky, needy and lonely when I get sick. Hmm, it's true. Sometimes when I'm not sick too.

ANYway, who to tag?? Lets see:

• Curious1 (thinks I'm a girl, but I like his site anyway...)
• Christian (a bit critical, but I like his stuff too.)
• Chris (the running man.)
• Frank (whew, talk about liking his stuff...)
• Joe (will never respond, but hey, hell of a blog.)

Rules:1) Go into your archives. 2) Find your 23rd post. 3) Find the fifth sentence (or closest to it.) 4) Post the text of your sentence in your blog along with these rules. 5) Tag five other people.

Blue Sunday

Arthaus

What an amazing weekend! Beautiful weather, mountain air, good company, and live music! Went to Asheville for the Wilco show. Man I love that city. It really strikes me as what my hometown is trying to be. Revitalized downtown area, with lot of art, hippies, musicians and their tin cups. I really love it. We stayed in hostel called Arthaus. While not overly impressed by the "art" in arthaus, it was a great place to lay my head at night.

With this in mind, I am reminded of my Sunday Art Projects day gone by. I tend to get very blue on Sundays, and the only thing that seems to help is to complete small art projects. Low stress, low expectations art with very long time limits. This way I have a craft to enjoy afterwards, and the day just washes away. I think I may (no promises) try to house my Sunday art on here for a bit. Seems like worthy use of the space.

Currently I am taking photos of numbers. And repeated patterns. I can't explain the significance, not because there isn't any (I've had a mad desire to take these photos for a while now) but because I just don't understand it myself. I am not a photographer, so please, be nice. Remember, these are chasing my blues away.

Early Happy Halloween

Winner the past three years of the Ugliest Dog Contest, from Santa Monica, I present to you, Sam:

October 11: "Talk about it"

The following is a "testimonial" I plan (hope) to give at my church in the next couple of weeks in honor of the National Coming Out Day:

As a child I was afraid of the dark. To me, laying in bed late at night in a house devoid of the common sounds of talking, laughter and communion, darkness was a place of loneliness. My parents placed a nightlite in my room and my door would regularly remain cracked. This light would provide a glimpse of hope for the following day, a reminder that there was love around me. Sometimes my light would go out, or the door would be closed. My parents were always there to refresh that light and continue the reminder of their presence.

As I've grown I've worked to maintain that light in the darkest corners of life. This light comes to me in the form of loving friends and family. As I traveled through my 20's, an exciting time of college, parties, music and fun, I found it more difficult to provide myself true light. I found myself living darkness in the midst of blinding light. I was not happy. I was presenting myself as a person whom I was not.

By my 28th birthday I decided that I needed to become the person I had created on the surface. I attempted to let the puppet drive the hand and I deeply hurt some of those around me in the process.

I came to [this church] in crisis. My plan had fallen apart. I was deeply wrapped in the most pervasive darkness of my life and I didn't know how to get out. You provided me an out. I walked in the the front doors, was greeted by my mentor in the pulpit, and jumped into the hymn, "what it is to be free." I cried. I looked around to find myself surrounded by true and light. I saw black people, young people, white people and people older than myself. I was illuminated by poor people, rich people, straight people and my people: Gay people. I couldn't see for the light. It was only then that I knew freedom, truth in my life, and myself. Thank you for this. You [church], my friends and my family. Thank you for returning the light.

The Web is full of these people...

One of the creepier sites I've run across lately: Ratzinger Fan Club

And subsequently, one of the strangest and most unexpected places to find an article that really interested me: http://darwincatholic.blogspot.com/2005/09/legends-of-fall.html The gist being, the catholic tradition leads many to fall back on the idea that "bad stuff happens because of the humans who do bad stuff..." Ellen hosting the Emmy's, Gay in the French Quarter, etc... Did these folks ever stop to think that a) these natural disasters happened long before Adam and ever saw this garden? and b) how would our world function without these geography altering events? How would continents be formed, mountains project from the earth, forests be rejuvenated?

Anyway, thought provoking article from a most unlikely source... Can't even admit how I found it.. :)

This is a test

Went out with the girl friend/ stalker last week, yes, for real. She's been on my ass to "go to a movie," "how bout that movie," "what movie ya wanna see?" for weeks, so I folded. I took her for a beer. At least that way I'd get drunk out of it (she has horrible taste in movies). So we went for a beer. I had three, and I wish I could blame that on her. I just like my beer. It was an okay time, but you should have seen the looks. I swear she's the only one in my town that thinks I'm straight. Picture this fag, jeans and a nice thin, plain black tee, and his friend, looks twice his age (swears she's not), with tiny tiny little bangs and big ass gray/ black new yorker (long island, not manhattan) afro hair (she's white).

I must move on as the memory alone is making me sick. I drove back, it takes about two minutes, and she tries to kiss me. Ick!!! I, usually the slow one, dodged her like a cheetah and caught a quick peck on the cheek. She went in and I haven't seen her since. I smoke out front now.

So, just when I dodge that bullet (I'm calling it, "redefining our relationship"), have my new smoking pad out front, guess who buys the townhouse straight across from mine? Straighter than all bartender who I've known for years. Okay, I lied, he doesn't know I'm gay either. Maybe he's heard my drunken rants at his bar when I'm being forced out by a girl with a crush, but, dunno... Actually, I'm barely out to anyone. Mostly my best friends and total strangers. No one in between. So he's out front, she's out back. My boyfriend (and you think I'M closeted?) has two co-workers living on either side of me and will never stay over again. We were practically living together at one point, now he's gone by ten every night. What is the cosmic message here? I was trying to think it was, "come on out we've got you surrounded," but now I'm thinking it's "run away, move... it's easier then facing these people."

Memories...

Was in the hospital yesterday visiting dad, who'd had chest "pressure" most of the day before. With his history of heart problems I was glad he got over there. Turns out it was stress related and not the heart. Good. But in the waiting room I got reminiscing. Here are a couple of my favorite childhood memories that may explain why I was sitting in the coronary unit on a fine Friday afternoon.

• My grandmother passed while I was a junior in college. We traveled to Pennsylvania to attend the memorial and funeral. It was a nice visit, full of emotion, my regret over having chosen to spend my time with TV rather than my beloved grandmother, eating, sharing, claiming property, etc. It was so nice, in fact, that I suggested we stay for another day. They listened! and we did. After a nice extended stay we left very early for our lengthy journey back to NC. We had no idea. The skies broke open, people started driving into each other, traffic stopped, and we sat. My dad stewed. We could all feel it. No one spoke, blinked, sighted, or shifted. Any wrong move would bring forth the wrath, and no one wanted to be the victim (as we all knew, the victim was on their own.) As we sat in traffic, watching the night arrive and the rain fall, I felt a drop on my head. Another and another and another fell from the end of a strap which ran from the roof-rack into the door frame so as to avoid scratching the paint. I was getting drenched, and there was no room to move. I knew I was the one who'd suggested staying longer, so I was not going to be the one to ask to pull over. I sat. I got wet. I didn't say a word. Finally, my mom timidly passed Wendy's embossed napkins over the seat to dry my head. No words were said. Dad fumed, I got wetter. Finally my mom yelled, "pull over!!" "There's no time, we're late as it is," "Would you look at your son?" My dad quickly turned to absorb and dispel this flimsy evidence which would fuel his fury and stubbornness against stopping. There sat his 23 year old first born son staring blankly into his lap with a mound of soaked napkins spread across his head. We pulled over.

• I remember sitting at our kitchen table one time eating tacos (a family fav. before I went vegetarian, and then gay.. thereby cutting out ALL versions of the taco. Now we eat vegi dogs.) As is typical of a 10 year old boy, I envied my dad's use of hot sauce . I saw fit to utilize this unknown red sauce on my own meal, and apparently without prejudice. After taking a bite into this crunchy ball of beefy flames I tearfully explained that it was too hot for me to eat. Turmoil ensued, of course, and I was told, in no uncertain terms, to eat that taco. I'd made it, I'd eat it. I couldn't do it, so my dad hastily grabbed the taco, made a comment about eating it himself (that's the first time I recall using the phrase, "knock yourself out," even if it was only in my head), and jammed it into his mouth. As everyone kind of stared at their plate to avoid the wrath, I watched. His eyes got pink, the milk was drunk, tears came. We had tears! And then the profanity... "This shit is hot!! Oh my god!!" It would be years before I learned the word vindication, but I understood the meaning at that moment.

Someone loves me...

Thank god, I can stop wasting time on feeling sorry for myself (nothing to do today, boyfriend is gone, avoiding my psycho stalker neighbor...) and dear ol' Naked Boy tagged me with this:

7 things I plan to do before I die:

• Drive Highway 101
• Own a bungalow style home
• Write a novel
• Skydive
• Raise a child
• Have a commitment ceremony/ wedding
• Have a tight knit circle of friends

7things I can do:

• Play drums
• Ski
• Run 4 miles (hey, it's a start)
• Overthink anything
• Teach children
• Embrace the smallest aspects of life & living
• Touch all four limbs to the headboard for long periods of time

7 things I cannot do:

• Speak to a group without my face getting red
• Snowboard
• Touch my toe to my nose
• Tolerate hatred
• Come up with seven items

7 things that attract me to the same or opposite sex:

• Hair (less the better)
• Warm smile
• Intelligence (even a little "geeky")
• Nice ass
• Decisiveness
• Humor
• Risk taker

7 things that I say most often:

• Mutha-fucka (Soprano style)
• Ouch baby, very ouch
• Shut up to me
• Why?
• Yeah, you told me (not good...)
• "Hey.." (southern for "Hi")
• Fin'ta (I'm about to...)

7 celebrity crushes:

• Usher
• Toby Maguire
• Chris Martin
• Anderson Cooper
• Glenn Kotche
• Billy Joe Armstrong
• Ian Mackaye

7 people I want to do this to:

• Bob
• Chris
• Donnie
• The Exile
• Charlie
• Brian
• Jim
• Candee

Tag, I'm it....

Kinda hung over today (my tolerance just SUCKS these days!) so I'm thinking about dessert. And since I don't forsee anyone tagging me anytime soon with one of those clever surveys of song or such I'll tag myself (lord knows, it's not the first time).

From www.purpletwinkie.com

1) Favorite cake: cheesecakes, particularly the coffee or liquor flavored ones.
2) Favorite pie: Pumpkin
3) Favorite cookie: Warm macadamia nut cookies, also peanut butter
4) Favorite pastry: eclairs
5) Favorite specialty dessert: blueberry shortcake

My Spot

Cream Filled Please

Been having dreams about infidelity lately. My mom seeing my dad with some woman at the flea market (flea market?!?!?). My friend got caught just before his baby was born, even my god father visited me last night in some very very cool city to let me know he's getting a divorce (he's not married, is he?) I'm starting to wonder what it all means. Maybe I shouldn't have had that eclair before bed. Well, now that I think of it, I really shouldn't have had that eclair. yum.

Six Feet Under

As far back as I can remember I've always had a sense of life as a temporary state. Not so much in a morbid way but really understanding how important it is to grasp the moment. Butterflies dancing joyfully up from my grandmothers grave; my mothers kiss and father's carrying me to bed at night; those silly conversations that occur half-way through a bottle of fine wine.

The mistake that I've made in this sense is to mourn the moment before its fully passed. I think sometimes that I live in dread. I hear myself being irritable and mean, but am coming to find that it's out of sadness; loneliness; knowledge. Knowledge of the temporary state.

As Nate said tonight, "You can't take a picture of that, it's already gone."

You're a peein'

It's so nice out! Noon in the southeast and the temperature is currently 75. Beauteous. Last night I even got to sleep with my windows open, one of my favorite things to do. I got into bed at around 10:30, let the dog curl up close (it was almost chilly!) and cracked open my new copy of "That's MISTER Faggot to You!" As this book is the most boring, bitter thing I've stared at since Tom Cruise, I was asleep in no time.

Sleeping with windows open is Risky Business (sorry) as boxers are bred to be guard dogs and bred well they are. The dog likes to toss and turn all night, is afraid of the fan, and will perk up to even the slightest scurry outside my room. At 3:30 or so I rolled over, apparently only partially awake anyway, and put my hand right in a wet spot, on my mattress, and not the good kind. MY dog left a spot and was, of course, laying on the opposite side of the bed from it. I always thought it was embarrassing to watch my mom smell urine, but god, it's so much worse to realize you're doing it yourself.

I don't know what it is, it had no color, and little to no smell, but seemed to have seeped (yuck) through the blanket, sheet and into the mattress. There is absolutely nothing like getting up at 3:30, putting your nose into what very well may be dog piss, and then have to scrub your mattress, only to look up and realize your shades are wide open. In a townhouse. With many many neighbors.

I did not sleep well last night.

I'm an asshole...

So, I have these neighbors. These two ladies (adult woman and her daughter) moved in from NY about a year or so ago. The daughter is in middle school around here and is the picture perfect adolescent female (i.e. totally ca-razy...) I like them both, for what they are: my patio friends. I like to sit on the back porch with the mother (to be referred to from now on as "my girlfriend. This is what my boyfriend calls her.) We will smoke cigarettes, share neighborhood news, and the like... Sometimes we will have a beer... These are the parts I like.

We will also: listed to her whine, not let me go inside even after persistent and blunt comments about having to eat, relieve myself, mail a turd to the superintendent.. Whatever... I can't get away from them... And now my girlfriend has asked me to go to a movie with her... There is no theatre on my back porch. I have resorted to smoking out front, where it's sunny and miserable, but they've caught my plan. They now knock on my front door and ask stupid question (you want some tomatoes?)

I also like to think I like having friends, and that I'm a friendly person, but jeez... The hunky guy across the court has never brought his chiseled chest over to see what I think... Nope. With me it's the pushy NY'r and her daughter. I'm an asshole.

What it is to be "FREE"

At church we have a song, psalm, whatever, called "What it is to be free." (okay I just googled that and it seems I have the name wrong, butttt....) When I first started attending I was in crisis and this was the first song we sang. I was fighting one last battle with myself over my sexuality and losing. I was bringing down everyone with me. This was the song that changed my life into one of (more) consistency and fulfillment. I've been thinking again lately about what it is to be truly free in your life. Here are my thoughts on the topic....

To live with a clean conscience
To live in the present with plans for the future
To live outwardly and with purpose
To reserve judgment
To live for yourself and those that love you
To let go of those that do not
To forgive those who hurt you
To forgive yourself when you hurt
To allow yourself to dream
To allow yourself to act foolish sometimes
To allow yourself to grow up
To allow yourself to remain a kid
To maintain your health
To continue to search for moments of beauty
To organize your time and home
To spend more time in the gym than you do in the mirror
To keep your knives dull and your jokes sharp

Last Dance

Played my last show with the band on Saturday. It must have been the most awkward show we've played thus far, which seemed so fitting. Four straight (as far as they know) folks singing loud rock and roll to a room full of wild wonderful lesbians. They ate it up, man. They loved us, I loved them.

Anyway, not much else to tell about it although it was pretty emotional for me, having decided going in that I'm done with the group. I noticed that "time of your life" was playing before we went on, and that Duran Duran song (I wont cry for yesterday...) after. Very cool, and no accident I'm sure. I love when I can hear my soundtrack playing.

I did talk to K about starting a new group to perform his stuff and he was very into it. I hope that gets off the ground soon. This new job may really take up some serious time.

RIP SH. Seems that decisions like these are easier with age. I would be the last one to leave five years ago. I love when I make the right choice, it does happen sometimes.

State of the mind address...

It seems like the more I have on my mind the less I have to write about. Hmmm.... Dunno what that's about. Hopefully finishing up on this cold/ stomach virus thing. I hate being sick, it makes me panicky, needy and lonely. Who the hell wants to hang out with that guy?!?!?!

Painted that kitchen last night. Some boys inherit their ancestral home, I inherit ancestral psychosis. I was napping yesterday, awoke, and after contemplating this paint job for at least six months, jumped up, drove the Lowe's, and within five hours had that room covered in Apple Green. I loved it, until this morning. Something changed overnight and it looks a lot heavier now. I dunno, maybe I'm a lot heavier now.

Almost back to work time. Don't wanna think about it.

Speaking of ma-widge...

I wish someone read this blog so they could help me trully understand this gay marriage problem. Here's my current take on the situation: Marriage is a religious institution. I still hold to seperation of church and state and don't believe that the government should be able to tell a church whether or not they are to allow people to marry. If I go to a catholic church I'm not going to expect the priest to wear a yamica just because that's part of my belief system. Of course, if I attend a Unitarian Church I do expect that would be able to marry/ be joined with a man.

Just before this past "election" Bush came out and said, very publicly, that he was for civil unions and extension of full benefits to same-sex couples. Where did THAT come from, and more importantly, where did it go? What I dont understand is why the government cannot pass anti-discrimination legislation to allow same sex couples to come together in civil union, with the SAME legal, tax, medical, etc. benefits of married straight couples, and then leave it up to individual churches from there? My church would surely allow me to marry if they were allowed the choice. That's why I attend. I do not believe gay marriage is a Christian, but I also believe that Christianity is not the only choice. I dream of a nice civil union ceremony with friends and family at my church. I want a beautiful reception and a partner to happily share the rest of my life with. I do not want to be "married," although they sure would look the same in daily life.

Now, for clarity, my non-existant reader, understand that I am not in a position to marry/ partner/ cohabitate/ have a ceremony/ or even attend a church with my BF. My BF is not interested, does not believe in it, thinks his life is a sin as it is. SO, I guess it's a mute point for me, but for those couple that are in a safe/ comfortable/ loving enough place to seek marriage, let it be known that I'm behind them.

Had it up to here...

Went to a restaurant with dad and sis on Saturday. This place was hoppin!!! "An hour wait," she said... and we said "fine" because the taxi cab'd dropped us off and we were told this was the place to get what we want.

An hour... We kept our humor, sis making friends with everyone about as usual... How does she do it? I turn and dads chatting with some cop.... I look to see if i can talk at end about nothing but no one's around... no one I would be able to approach for a chat... maybe it's just that i don't care to talk? i get weird looks and sometimes an expression that says, "you did not really just say that, DID you?"

Point is... we waited for an hour... and then fifteen minutes more... dad losing cool.... everyone before us had been seated and they are seating the folks behind us... all of the people behind us are eating... "fifteen to 35 minutes more" she says.... okay.

Wait for another hour.. bitch... and has a nerve to cop attitude with dad... and he with her, no doubt.. he can talk to anyone....

This is how it always goes... always... sis and I have a cloudy of anxiety hanging over us just waiting for it to come... it's inevitable.... dad waits too, but does not seem to recognize the pattern.. its always such a surprise, but he's fully willing to bite the bait and get shitty every time.... I've inherited this.... And its not just the way we react... it finds us... got hit with candy on fourth of july... annoying and embarrassing teenagers sit in front of me at the movies.... neighbor girl picks my door to endlessly pound upon... then they get pissed when I tell her to get lost.... I'm still an easy target, and people get so surprised at my reactions....

So I asked him, "do you ever feel like we live in a parallel universe or something?" wait for shitty response... "often," he says..... what are we doing wrong?!?!?!?

Another sad day for us all...

Goals check-in...

(Lets check in with our willing subject and see how he's progressing with those goals he thinks we forgot about...)


ptm: Well, good morning monkey boy. Enjoying that frothy cup of coffee?

him: umm, yes, hey! what are you doing in here?!?!? get the @#%^ outta my house....

ptm: wait, WAIT!!! asshole... we're here to check in with you on the progress made towards accomplishing your summer goals. put down the phone.

him: oh. okay. coffee's fine.

Goal 1: Join AND attend the gym.
Joined Sunday. They wanted $600 for two years, I talked 'em down to $300 for one. ooo, smooth talker. I've been the past two days, I can barely move my arms, and my ass feels like I've been slammed by a bus (and not in a good way...)

Goal 2: Write every day.
Well, you can see that hasn't happened, but I'ved written more days than not, except when I've been on the road. I was surprised that hotel in Raleigh didn't have computer access. I'll do better mommy...

Goal 3: Plan for this coming year.
Yesterday I spent about three hours mapping out my driving route and coming up with a tentative calendar. I will go by the old job today to pick up "stuff" and check e-mail, since that damn system wont work from here. Still need to get down to research, interest survey development, etc...

Goal 4: Paint.
Haven't done shit.

Fucking Fun Friday

I've been noticing that our guitarist is around less and less before we play. I'm not sure where he wanders off to but I've just assumed he's playin the mysterious rock star and left him alone with this idea.

Ten minutes after we were scheduled to play Friday night here he comes, lead singer in tow. He's straight faced and serious, she's leaving a healthy trail of tears along the sidewalk.

The set was over an hour of pure emotion. After we played I heard, "passion, driven, raw..." thrown around among our friends. She strarted to cry again. The music can dull the pain, but just doesn't seem to take it away.

The guitarist approached me afterwards and let me know he's quitting the band. Asshole. Selfish, self-absorbed and less-talented-than-he-thinks asshole. Quitter. I did not beg him to stay, barely asked him why he was leaving. Some people run from failure, but it seems more run from success.

We chatted, I made myself clear, I started to gather my belongings. As I was walking inside for another armful of gear I heard a loud 'thud' behind me on the road. I turned to see her sitting on his hood, dead center, legs crossed and head held high. I walked inside.

When I re-emerged from the bar they were still there. He was now out of his car, she was crying hysterically, and I was asked (told?) to intervene. I don't think well on my feet in times like this.

"I'm not getting in the middle of your shit." I wisely retorted and walked on. I thought about it and returned.

I offered words of encouragement, I gave a hug, and said, "good luck with all that," before jumping in my own car and heading home. I passed the cops on the way out. Last I'd heard she was searching for a joint she had dropped on his hood. I was glad to be gone.

Twenty minutes later, at 3:05 am, I received a tear-soaked call from her, asking that I return to her house. By 3:35 I was on her step (I had to stop for cigs and gas, let the dog out... priorities I guess...)

We talked until 6:30 am. 6:30. I have not seen either side of 6:30 am in years and years. We laughed, she cried, it was better than Cats.

C-C-C-Coffee

My best friend, J, got engaged last year. She'd only known the boy for a couple months when he drunkenly proposed and so they spent the past year or so trying to sort it all out. Needless to say, once they started to tear away the layers and really know each other, they were not thrilled with what was revealed. They no longer talk.

So in my attempt to build excitement for myself around this imminent train wreck I travelled to target. com and sulked through their wedding registry. I was the only one. In a year not one other person picked anything up for them (or maybe they were smart enough to keep theirs rather than having it mailed). So J returned my coffee maker last week, a week after they mutually agreed that they should no longer have any contact or conversation (and four days after they last talked).

My bf and I travelled to Targe' to trade in this doomed plastic and steel caffeine delivery system for my very own single cup maker. (I'm so tired of making coffee in a huge tank for one person.) So many choices! The black and decker one was what I wanted but it was so cheaply made! (I was soon to learn that "anything Black and Decker makes is crap!") The Senseo was cool, and came in a couple nifty colors... and the other just didn't "speak" to me. But Joe did.

"So you in the market for a coffee maker are ya? Wellll if you like coffe you have to get the Senseo, you HAVE to! I mean, you'll like it.. it's like espresso, but not quite as much and the pods are so great and easy to clean??" ....quiver quiver, tic, tic... Joe went on about this coffee maker for at least fifteen minutes, had a brief conversation with his long-red-haired son, and continued to tell me the benefits of this wonder of modern science. I've never been so excited about a coffee maker! I got the one in blue (mistake, but...) dropped the bf at home and promptly came home to begin my addiction. The thing is still sitting in the center of my stove with the plug draped precariously across a burner. The machine is surrounded by packing materials, coffee marks on the counter, and a large bag of 'free' coffee pods...

This morning at four a.m. I got out of bed to check the web for deals on a 'less-caffeinated' alternative.... This is getting out of hand...

Bush Devil

Anyone surprised?

Back from the beach and off to a workshop until Wed. Then off to Pennsylvania. I came into the summer thinking, "Hey, I don't do well with a lot of down time, so I should travel some, volunteer maybe, build a car from scratch, establish world peace, and paint the Sistine Chapel." Why do I take on so much? I also wanted to lay by the pool, clean this rathole of a home, spend some time writing and do some painting. July' s looking pretty empty, what should I do?

The Invisible Stage

I used to love bars. I really used to love bars. Laughing, watching, deep talking, drinking. Now I'm finally realizing the obvious fact that a bar is simply a group of people waiting for something to happen. It's like going to a theatre with no stage. Sitting for hours waiting for the invisible curtain to open and reveal a great comedrama. But the curtain is never raised, the lights may fade, but insignificantly, and the actors are the crowd themselves. It's really all very lonely and sad to watch through those glasses. But it is still fun to watch.

100, err... 50 Facts About Me.

1. Born in Baltimore, Md. 2. Teacher (but secretly applying for a new job) 3. Drive a Honda 4. Smoker since 1992ish 5. Drummer 6. Favorite band is Wilco 7. Own a townhouse 8. Have a boyfriend of 6.5 years 9. Live with a boxer (dog) 10. Attend a Unitarian Universalist Church 11. Not working this summer12. Fav. show is Six Feet Under 13. Live in North Carolina 14. Travelled to Malta 15. Am Irish/ German 16. Fav. food is Blue Crabs 17. Preffered drink is a Manhattan 18. Fav. beer is Newcastle 19. Fav. wine is Pinot Grigio (Summer) and Shiraz (winter) 20. coffee drinker 21. came out to parents this past year 22. have taught EC Algebra for 8 years 23. Fav. morning show is Today 24. Best daytime show is Ellen 25. Fav. reality show is extremem home makeover 26. am currently in the worst shape of my life 27. my worst personality trait is being disorganized/ lack of confidence 28. my best personality trait is creativity 29. I'm a Capricorn 30. I have one sibling 31. Best moment of my life was floating nude in the mediterranean sea under a full moon 32. Worst moment: getting the call that dad had a heart attack 33. I'd like to visit Chicago soon 34. I don't want to visit miami 35. worst daytime tv: regis and kelly 36. my best body feature: eyes 37. worst: chin 38. of seven deadly sins, am most guilty of: sloth 39. favorite soudtrack: avenue Q 40. my fav. part of a man's body: lower abs, b/w the tummy and pubes 41. fav. city to live in: DC 42. fav. city to visit for a week: NY 43. Fav. city to stay only three days: New Orleans 44. weakness for peanut butter 45. love live theatre 46. fav. color (changes often) is olive green 47. favorite nut is macadamia 48. fav. hotty actor is Ed Norton 49. Most anticipated albums: Coldplay and White Stripes (both out today) 50. I'm glad this is done now.

The Cycle of the Dogwood

I love this story of the Dogwood tree. When I was a child a friend of mine (using the term "friend" as loosely as I use "father" to describe the monster that paid their bills) lived down the street on a lot with plenty of grass (he had to hand pick the dandelions "every day, god damnit."), fairly dense perimeter woods and Dogwood trees. I remember the small twisted trees that spotted the plush green lawn and the beautiful oversized white flowers that marked the coming of Spring every year.

I wish I could remember this boy's name. He was an abrupt kid who, I now have no doubt, was living in an abusive household. He carried these violations over unto others in the neighborhood, and I'd sincerely be interested to know what became of him after they shipped him off to military school. (I believe he is the young man who told me the about the birds and bees: "One person lays on the other person's butt for an hour and then they have a baby.")

The young man's father taught me about the cycle of the Dogwood. That a long time ago the Dogwood was a tall majestic tree that filled forests with grand flowers that could not be seen elsewhere. The tree was so abundant and strong that it was frequently used in construction and was actually used to build the crosses used by the Romans to crucify criminals. After Jesus had his day in the sun God got pissed and told (?) someone, the person that started spreading this story no doubt, that in remembrance of this day the Dogwood would never again be capable of growing to it's full form again. Now we have the dwarfish twisted and feeble Dogwood seen in my young acquaintance's yard.

What's the moral of this story? I don't know. For my friend's wicked father it was to teach us that if we touched this sacred relic of Jesus' last day he'd, "break your god damned arms." I think he might have done just that, or at least laid on someone's butt for a while.

Stankover

Dining For Friends last night and my head hurts. It's as if my head was terrified at the thought of me forgetting that we were the oldest guys in the bar by at least five (me) to fifteen (him) years. "It must be emphasized. You are old. Four drinks over the span of five hours is too much for you anymore and you will pay." It's the cigarettes too. "Not a hangover, I don't think," desperately trying to convince my head this aging thing is all a farce. "Just a dull reminder." Stubborn reminder at that.

Bloody Right.

Well that didn't work out too well did it now? Seems it was JUST February... Here it June... goodness me, as my Aunt Whatsename might've said. First day of summer and I'm already feeling fat lazy and increasingly unmotivated. Time to set some goals:

1. Get your fat ass to the gym. It's there for a reason and it's NOT meant to function as a kick-stand.

2. Just read an intro by Ray Bradbury in which he lays out the formula he used to write. I love to write and have plenty of material but, the motivation thing. The way ol' Ray wrote initially was to sit first thing every morning and write the first thing that came into his head (no wonder he wrote so many short stories). I vow to myself (and myself only so that no one else knows when I fail) to write every morning, even if it's only a word. Some days, hell, I may be able to write for hours if it allows me to put off the vaccum or a shower.

3. This past year was shite. Pure and simple. Spend some quality time planning for next year. This can work it's way into daily writings. (Why am I thinking of this all in a British accent? ay?)

4. Paint your friggin house. Your friends and parents dont want to hear anymore about what's "going to be." Do it.

5. Lastly: hmmmm.. seems like I should have five, such a fine number. "Goal 5: Come up with a new goal five later and replace."

Cheers!

Land of the Spider-People

I swear, if I hadn't spent so much of my life obsessing over the infinite possibilities of places to put my dick I'd be a millionaire. I mean, as far back as I can remember, potatoes, water jugs, the tiny space between my matress and box-spring, holes in the wall, humans (and some only purporting to be so).... Practically anything was fair game. (I speak in past-tense out of a false dignity, not honesty...) THIS is where I spent my think time, not mathematics or (as you can no doubt tell) English classes.

It seems there is a drug for everything these days. Might I have benefitted more from Ritalin or Valium. I've got one for ya.... Find me a pill that specifically quells a 14 year-old boy's urge to come into his window sill to see if he can fertilize spider eggs.... (Don't worry, I think they drowned).

Poorly Trained Monkey

I keep thinking about those monkeys on the city streets attached by a leash to the organ grinder. It's amazing to me how well trained those little fuzzballs must have been, to dance on cue and all... but even the best get nowhere. This is me. Maybe it's a phase, maybe my life took a wrong turn somewhere down the line, dunno... Just know that I can feel the tug of the leash and as hard as I dance, even with my cutest face, I fall back upon it endless paradigm," all I can do is my best." Is that enough? It sure feels like I'm cumin up short and tomorrow, or the next day, I expect to see a younger fresher monkey on my chain. And right now I think they can have it.