Saturday, June 30, 2007

Baton Rouge

Baton Rouge, the capitol of Louisiana. The steps leading up to the capitol building have the names of the fifty states engraved one each on a step, until you get to the top and three states share one step, because no one saw the addition of Hawaii and

I'm atop Arkansas, as a tribute to my birth in the great state of Arkansas. And yes, my head is turned looking at the guys coming down the steps.

Friday, June 29, 2007

A gay bar, is a gay bar, is a gay bar.

After my best pal worked til 8 tonight, I was ready, to quote G, to chew the hind end off a horse. After showering and hoping his crazy maid didn't kill me, he finally got home and we went to a great little place, locally owned and operated. The menu wasn't very big, and not very "Louisiana-ish" but the food was good and the drinks didn't chintz on the vodka.

Afterwards, we walked over to a gay bar for "one more" which really was just, well, about one more. Both of us kind of tired, we commented on how the little divey versions of gay bars look, smell, and have the same atmosphere everywhere you go, anywhere you go. Pool table, small stage, full liquor bar, cigarette smoke. Oh, hey, that's just about like any bar anywhere, even sans the gay.

I am so sleepy, and so looking forward to tomorrow. . . . assuming thoughts of crazy maid with a key don't keep me up all night.

Calling Baton Rouge

Operator, won't you put her on the line, I gotta talk to the girl just one more time! I love that song, always have.

And I love even more that one of my best friends lives in Baton Rouge. I've never been here before, but the journey continued today with me driving to Baton Rouge. I'm at his house now, he's at work.

Leave it to him to find this fabulous house to rent. It looks like everything we see in movies of a New Orleans-esque house. All wood floors, a front yard overgrown with green life, an adorable neighborhood in which you can barely drive. . . . and his style of decorating anywhere inside.

I've met his maid. I think she may be crazy, but she's very nice. Before I leave, I'll get some snapshots of this house. Right now there's a picture of his Katrina cat. Komear. By all appearances, a full blooded Persian.

300 Miles from Home

and the journey continues. . . . I've spent another few days with my aunt & uncle, and have so enjoyed it. It is different down here, with the smell of wood mills and pine trees, the crunch of gravel, and everywhere we drive in town these odd snapshots of memories, they click in and out as we drive through town.

I spent the better part of yesterday with my aunt hanging pictures in her new home. Then last night, I went to dinner with an old friend with whom I worked 5 and 6 years ago. I remembered that she lived in a community somewhere near, so I decided to call every one in the phone book with that last name. My aunt said, "Their whole phone books not but about 5 pages long. It can't take much to find her." She was right, two listings, bingo on the either one.

Her mother said, "Are you a salesman?" to which I answered, "Well, yes, I've spent most of my life peddling stuff, but never to Cathy." "Are you a friend of hers?" to which I replied, "Well, I'm sure she's had better, but I'd like to think so."

So Cathy calls me back and we end up having dinner at a Cracker Barrel, and sitting there I asked her about Lisa, who also worked with us and lives somewhere here. There's some odd story about how Lisa's sister is married to a brother of about 5 siblings. The two oldest brothers are each married to two of my first cousins. So Lisa and I are not kin to each other, but we're almost kin to the same people. So we run up to the place where Lisa works, and I go in and she's not there, so I leave a card for her thinking, "That girl looks familiar, but I don't know anyone here. . . ." It was a fleeting thought, passed through my head almost without being a full thought.

So a bit later, we're at Lisa's house and the girl calls to tell her that I came by, Lisa hangs up and says, "That was Margie calling to tell me you came by." In that instant it dawned on me, Margie's a sister to all them brothers. I haven't seen her in probably 25 years.

So that was a catch-up night, all "Where is so-and-so" and "Did you hear about such-and-such." It was so good to see the both of them again. Cathy had not changed a day since I last saw her, and Lisa's daughter, now four, is just as cute as two buttons. Just adorable.

This is me & Cathy at Cracker Barrel. I told her the blog is sort of anonymous, so I couldn't have a face-shot and there's no risk of anyone calling her and saying, "I saw you on that gay guy's blog!" She said it's more likely someone will call her and say, "I recognized your backside!"

Monday, June 25, 2007

Road Trip Rituals, a P.S.

I talked to Mom this morning, and mentioned that I had been to visit her sister, and when I had stopped by Grandmother's, there were wasps in the urn. I said I was planning a trip to Baton Rouge, and would remember to take wasp spray. Mom said, "Well, if you don't go, don't worry about it. We're going down there soon, and always stop there on our way in." It's the things shared that make us family, not just a last name.

And of rituals, on our way through parts of Alabama today, My Fella mentioned that "I don't do all that stuff your daddy does. I don't map the trip out." Yea, that was about 3 minutes before he had to pull over at a gas station and ask for directions - and would you believe he looked at me like I was going to get out and go ask? Uh, no. Even without "the ritual" the concept of Mapquest is just too darned easy. You want to mock my daddy - you go into the gas station. Ugh. My eyes just rolled as far back as I could get 'em.

A hello to Buncha, who left a comment. And a hello to Walt, thank you for the suggestion. Spawn-in-law. I like it.

Point Mallard

With the end in sight to this "unfortunate period of unemployment", I have told myself, and My Fella, that I feel at ease now to use this time before I begin work to take short trips. If I don't, I'll regret it later. Five months of unemployement, I went nowhere because, well, I was unemployed.

So in the spirit of doing something before this time runs out and the job begins, he took today off and we rode over to Point Mallard in Decatur, Alabama. My Fella said that according to the website, it is city owned. Well, that's a pretty nice city then.

I'll give you the the tiny disclaimer first - I've been to bigger water parks. I've been to water parks with more slides and rides, etc. etc. So if you're looking for the really big kazoo, this isn't it. but, if you happen to be within an hour and a half of Decatur, and you like the water, it's well worth the time.

They have discount days during the week. We paid five bucks apiece. Five bucks. You can't even get a McDonald's meal for five bucks, much less all day entrance into a water park. Oh, yes, you can get all day entrance into a water park. It was clean, with employees steadily sweeping. The bathrooms were clean. There were plenty of life guards at each pool, and we just had a real nice time.

Jamie had a blast. He loves to bathe and loves to go places, so we knew he'd enjoy it, and he did. The wave pool took him by surprise, but like everything else I've seen him encounter, once he processed in his mind what it was, and what it was doing, he had a blast with it.

My Fella paid me no mind yesterday when I said, more than once, that I needed to run to the store and get a swimming suit, so today we're looking for one in Decatur. So that was a wee bit bothersome to me. But in the end, we ended up spending about 3 1/2 hours there and enjoyed every minute.

The plus to this place? They give you an arm band on your way in so you can back out to your car. If you've got a cooler full of lunch and such, they have picnic tables outside the water park proper, and you're welcome to have your lunch out there. Not many, mind you, but I saw families spread their lunch on a blanket. It looked like there were a couple of large pavillions to rent outside the water park too.

So Mr. I've Been Sunburned Before, I pick up some of that SP 50 stuff, and I spray Jamie down real good. I mean, how do you take home a 40something man with a mental handicap to his parents with a sunburn? Then I spread it out real good on myself and My Fella. About halfway through our visit, we went to potty and I re applied. . . . . . . guess who is sunburned? Go ahead, guess. That would be ME. The one who said, "Oh no, that SP 30 isn't near strong enough, I'm getting some 50." Yeah, I'm burned. So on the advice of my "G", I have soaked bath clothes and paper towels in apple cider vinegar (not white, apple cider) and am sitting here at the laptop looking like the most bizarre version of Karate Kid with paper towel tiaras and neck scarves, with bath clothes and hand towels laid across my shoulders and back. 30 minutes, she says.

But funny? Yeah, I'll tell you. I'm sitting on a stool at My Fella's house, and he's behind me applying some type of lotion to me. Jamie comes in, plops down on the couch, sticks his foot up on my lap and says, "Rub my feet."

Please understand, Jamie's . . . . . vocal skills . . . . aren't always real clear. His handicap has given him an enlarged tongue, and he has no teeth. So you have to listen real close. All I can ever really make out are very short things like, "Coke" "Damn" and "Paul." Paul, by the way, is not my name, but he insists on calling me Paul because one of his neices at some time in the past dated somebody named Paul. So I don't get my own name, I just get Paul's name. But you can understand "yea" and "no" and "stop it." He's as white as he was when we left this morning, I am getting more and more red and feeling the heat in my skin, and he plops down and says clear as a bell, "Rub my feet."

I wanted to hit him.
Photo: Just a phone snapshot taken, I was trying to get the large "Mallard Point" in the back of the wave pool, but it looks more like I wanted a picture of the backs of two kids in front of me. Sorry about that.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

Country Living

I feel oddly like the country, country like people with what was once a rural route, or the concept of living with a gravel driveway, seems to be taking hold of me. After my few days visit with my fave-or-ite aunt & uncle, I've returned to My Fella's. . . . . it's a paved road, a gravel driveway. I've spent the morning snapping peas. A respectable amount, I might add. They had 3 five gallon buckets. And somehow after breakfast (his daddy burned the biscuits while talking to me) we all just naturally sat down and snapped peas.

There's a storm moving in, and they say they need the rain. A good rain will help some of those vegetables in the garden go ahead and . . . . . do whatever vegetables do after a good rain.

Last night we went bowling. My Fella took (I wish there were a word for the plural, non-sexual concept of neices and nephews. Sort of like cousins means any cousin and spouse means wife or husband. But to say neices and nephews, you have to spell it out, and that irritates me.) two neices, one nephew, and of course his brother. We played one game, and all of us had fun. But the funniest thing was as we were checking out, the owner/manager told My Fella, well, he said, "Is that your brother?" a fair enough question. "Yea, he is." Here's the kicker - - - - "Well, he's a league bowler, so I can make this cheaper for you."

"He's a league bowler."

Jamie, over 40 years old with a handicap, he's a league bowler.

Apparently the ARC center to which he goes every day brings them over to bowl. Which isn't really a surprise to me. The surprise part is that he's considered a league bowler, and got us a discount. That fella is just full of surprises. That and out of the six of us, he had the second highest score.

They're out on the porch now, just waiting for the rain to blow in. I'm gonna go out. I've already checked my emails and

(Piper of love, this is for you - one item, one day, until it's gone. The item changes at midnight, regardless of when it sells out. When it sells out, they put up a little blurb that says 'SOLD OUT!' but they don't take the item down or change anything else. It just sits there, so you know what you missed out on. A few days ago I missed out on a great Bluetooth earpiece, and I have just about tore my Bluetooth up. Check it out. You'll like it."

Friday, June 22, 2007

Road Trips & Rituals

Road trips and journeys have a sort of ritual to them, an almost list of rules that make the journeys go in certain ways.

Like the story of the young bride, whose mother was telling her how to cook a potroast by slicing it at both ends before cooking it. The young bride asked her mother why, who said, "Well, that's the way my mother did it, and that's the way I've always done it." So the young bride and her mother, full of wedding excitement and wanting to make a happy home, asked the grandmother, "Why do we cut the sides off the pot roast before cooking it? Does it change the flavor? Make the meat more tender?" The grandmother said, "I don't know why you two do it, but I always did it because I had a small pot."

My dad knew the mileage to every place we would go, and if it was someplace new, he found maps to that state and mapped out the itinerary. For the vacations that were not our regular trip to see grandparents, he would call ahead to hotels, and he would have an entire time line.

For trips to our grandparents, most all of whom lived in the same area, he had a certain ritual. After about sixty miles, he pulled over at the first interstate rest area. It took us an hour to get from my hometown to the interstate, so he figured that was a fine time for boys to go pee, I guess.

In the days of my youth, when the speed limit was far less than 70 on the interstate, if we left late enough in the morning that we would be traveling during lunch, he pulled over at another interstate rest area for lunch. Mom pre packed ham sandwiches and Cokes (long before the days of different Coke options). She always carried Nabs in the car for the trip too. We usually stopped by at least one Stuckey's both ways, my brother and I peeing as fast as we could, so we could go see the souvenirs and toy guns, the wooden shellac plaques, and the rediculously rich peanut logs they sold.

He knew exactly how far it was to the halfway point (on a 300 mile trip, there does happen to be a town about 150 miles), and he would always comment when he saw the exit sign to that town that we were halfway. Not a comment even, more of a statement, less than a proclamation. But definitely an announcement.

Then as we come into a Southern city about an hour from our final destination, he would always tell us some story regarding one of the exits, how he once had to stop and ask for directions. He would imitate the man's Southern drawl and repeat the words ". . . to Fortification. . . . " I don't remember today much of the story, just daddy, who already has a fairly pronounced Southern drawl, dragging it out further.

Then we get to the town of our destination, the town of my forefathers. . . . . where my parents grew up, and their parents before them, and by all family reckoning, everyone before them. There are 3 exits to town, and we would always take the one that took us to our great grandmother's house. She had lived on then-farmland for many decades, and by some design, an interstate ran just a mile that way, and would create an exit road that ran right past her house. We took that exit, and she would always be our first stop into town. She would also be our last, whenever we left, we went by her house, regardless of how many visits we had made over the course of the time in that town. She was a great grandmother on my father's side, and we always stayed with my mother's family.

On this recent road trip, I knew the drill. I haven't returned to that town in over 8 years, and somehow when I was driving down the interstate, I watched for that first rest stop. Not needing it so close to my current home, I passed on by, but regretted it later in the trip.

I had filled up on gas, and reset the trip odometer, so I could measure my gas and know the exact miles I travelled. I watched for that halfway town, and looked at that odometer. By coincidence, it's about halfway from where I live now as well. I finally pulled over at a gas station to get a Coke (diet) and a package of Nabs. On this stretch of interstate, there are two buildings that appear to be in operation, each roof bearing the distinct blue with yellow writing of a Stuckeys. But their interstate signage is lacking, and I regretfully passed them both before I knew they were there.

As I came into the big city, I watched for that road sign. I don't know why, it's doubtful they had changed the name or moved the road. Sure enough, it was there. And a little while later, I made a different turn. . . . a few exits ahead of the original schedule, I made a right turn onto a winding country road that would lead me to a small Baptist church. My great grandmother is buried there, and has been for some time now. The stone is white marble with a vase, sharing her name and my great grandfather. To their left is a smaller stone of a child of theirs who died as an infant, in the very early 1900's. I stopped for a moment, because we always do. We always stop to see her first. And then I went on.

I take the next exit now, not wanting to pass that plot of land that is now covered in industrial machinery, a truck stop or a welding shop, I don't know, and I don't care. There's another exit to take, one that cuts through the heart of town, and I prefer this route now. A route to my mother's family, where I stayed for two nights. My mother's family, my family. A plot of land surrounded by the smell of gravel and pine and country side. It's a different fragrance in the air, a different sun that sets. My aunt takes me to the graves of my maternal grandparents. They have always been a part of our visits, that did not change when they died, it doesn't change even now. We don't dwell on death, don't stay but a few minutes. We fill the drive with talk of life and all the lives in the country side, with a highlight of a plot of land a cousin recently acquired.

And this morning, on my way out, I stopped in town at a cemetery where paternal grandparents are buried. A short visit, I suppose mostly to make sure there are no ant hills, no dark mold. If I don't look closely, if I squint my eyes in the morning sun, I can see a young boy crying. But that boy is long gone.

One more stop on the way out, that same winding country road. This time I have flowers in hand, but the wasp nest in the concrete urn is not interested in letting me place them. Next time I know to bring a wasp spray. It's the last stop on the trip, the last part of the ritual. First to visit on the way in, first to visit on the way out, and then her grandson's son winds his way back out of that road, points his car North, and drives home.

Road Trip Photos

A spot of land my first cousin recently acquired. I wanted a picture of the farm house, in which he lives, but there just wasn't a good spot for it.

The view from my aunt's front porch. Slightly skewed for the best angle, I said to her, "If you don't look to the left at your brother-in-law's or to the right at your daughter's, it looks like there's nothing but miles and miles of country."

Some weird monolith just off the interstate. If there is a sign telling it's significance, or lack thereof, I did not see it.

. . . . make an old queer fondly recall younger days . . . .

I took a road trip this week, just got in my car Wednesday morning, drove it to the interstate ramp, and got on. I knew where I was going when I left, but I wasn't sure that I'd actually go the whole way. It's been a long time since I've been to see my kith & kin, but about 90 miles from their house, I thought, "I might should call, and I need a Coke" so I took the next exit and bought a Diet Coke and a pack of nabs.

In one of the cleanest truck stops/gas stations/quick marts I've ever been in, was the nicest bit of eye candy. Heavens oh my. One hot young thing surrounded by two older (I say older, more like my age) cowboy types.

Hot young thing was early 20's, skin was tanned brown, standard tribal tattoo on his arm, and that lean torso had a wife beater thrown on it, laying tight across his pecs. Dark hair and in my imagination, dark attitude. I swear I said the word "GD!" on reflex, but no one heard. The two cowboys looked like the kind of guys that really wear the hat and shirt, though I wouldn't know if they really ride or not. Both nice pieces of beef, shoulders as broad as the young things was lean. Wearing the tight fitting wranglers and the western shirts. My oh my, what a nice cream filled cookie they made.

Later in my trip, I would be with my most favorite aunt when we pulled up on her grandson, not quite knee deep in a ditch with a weed eater, I haven't seen him in probably 8 years. I'd guess he's 21 to 22 now, maybe 23. A white t-shirt with the sleeves ripped out gave a sideways hint at his chest, and that damned mischevious little boy smile of his too grown up. I admit to being glad when we pulled off, before my mind wandered too far down a road it had no business going.

Later that night, I texted a friend of mine married to another cousin about the same age and said to her, "Your husbands first cousin is one nice looking bit of country boy." She replied, "Damn right."

Sights like that make an old queer fondly recall younger days.

*If you're not from the South, 'nabs' is a shortened word for "Nabisco" that refers to the pre packaged peanut butter & crackers. I don't know if the term is still widely in use, but was during my childhood.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007




It's ASIAN, Muthafuka! Oriental is furniture! S.O.


Tonight was the night, and it just . . . . . it was "the four of us" and it was "right" just the way it has been in the past, just the way it should have been.

S.O. looked gorgeous, and damn her but she looks that way just walking out of the house. A black top that accented her breasts and her waist, the black the perfect color for her skin tone.

Dounohuiam was the kitchen hostess, her kitchen get-togethers always the best.

My Ruby Haired Princess, matching them cigarette for cigarette.

We had a menu of cocktail shrimps, smoked sausage and italian sausage, with a platter of grapes, blackberries and rasberries, with a separate platter of crackers with bleu cheese, mozzarella and feta.

The night lasted well until after ten, with story after story. Each of us having to give the update on our lives, our loves, our losses, our families, etc. S.O. told the story for me about her mother at a funeral (that's my favorite, and she tells it like it's the first time, every time). And sometime after ten, it was time to start packing it up . . . .

I tried to shake it off at the end, in the driveway, just "making plans" like, "OK, you're leaving early Friday. Now I'll be da-da-da-da-da. . . . so you text me at this point and then we'll . . . " and I tried getting in my car, because I knew what would happen.

She hugged me and I busted out crying like a big ol' nellie fag. Soap opera style. I cried like a baby.

There's not much more to say. I cried.


I'm looking forward to tonight. My friend, S.O., is moving to San Fran this week, and tonight "the four of us" are getting together one last time. At her request, it's "just us" and some white wine in Dounohuiam's home.

My Ruby Haired Princess is picking up some champagne for herself, Dou is getting some Corona, and I've bought two bottles of chardonnay. I'm going a bit early, and Dou and I will run back up to the Kroger by her house and pick up supper. We're going to do a stove top version of the bbq joints little appetizer platters - sausages and such with cheese, and a skrimp platter.

S.O. and I met about six years back, when she was hired to work as a marketing manager at a casino where I was employed in player development. (To a non-casino person, the closest related job in the non-casino world is a hotel concierge, but with more emphasis on butt-kissing). S.O. is just beautiful, inside and out. Too funny for words, very intelligent and business-strong, with a beauty that can only come from mixed heritage. Half Korean, half black - they just don't make white girls like that.

S.O. got herself a fancy schmancy job out in Cali, and is following her boyfriend out there. They talked about it before he interviewed for his job, and so many things have fallen in place making the move easy, that it just seems right. Plus he's got the cutest butt, I just can't blame her for following him. Just this great bubble butt, just great. Her two chirren have been there and are looking forward to the move. She's called "my friend Vic" who is a local yard sale guy, he's come and bought up all the excess furniture, and the house is up for sale and she's pulling out in a few mornings.

So, since it is happening and nothing I can do to stop it anyway, I might as well look forward to tonight.

Monday, June 18, 2007

Swimmin # 2

just after that post, I finished my emails and walked out to find my nephew in the pool. "Boy, didn't I tell you NO . . . . " to which he replied, "I thought you said YOU weren't gonna swim."

In his defense, if I had stayed in the room, I could of asked my friend, the father in the house, to just hold off the swimming while we were there. But in my absence, all the kids jumped in the pool. The temptation was just more than his little self could withstand.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

Swimmin' and sleepin'

I made it to my home town this morning in time to go to church with M&D. That was my father's day gift to him, that and news of my new job, and a bag of fresh squash and farm fresh (brown) eggs, all courtesy of My Fella.

Mom cooked a pot roast in the crockpot, delicious as always. And I have pretty much gorged myself today.

I've spent the afternoon at the home of some good friends, swimming with them and eating (again way too much) snacks, and I'm back at their house tonight with my nephew. One of my nephews is the age of their youngest son, they attend the same school and play in the same ball league.

After a rain and with night falling, the kids want to swim. I've had to say no. His parents would have a fit.

I'm planning on spending the night at M&D's house, then stopping on the way back for the pre employment drug test. It's hair. But doesn't matter, I'm clean anyway.

Saturday, June 16, 2007

Highway Sights

The funniest thing I have seen in a long time, to me, was an SUV on the interstate today with shoe polish writing on the windows "Last Fling Before the Ring" and . . . . I think the other window was "Bridesmaids on Beale." I snapped a picture of it with a disposable camera, and whenever I get that photo back, I'll upload it to this blog. To me, it was just so funny to think of 3 or four blondes (that I could see through the window) advertising their intentions and prowess on their way across country.

I hope by now, they are living life large, full of all the alcohol and girly giggles their hearts desire.

But it made me think, as My Fella has been kidding his sister-in-law about her wanting "hotel sex" from her husband, why don't the married couple do that together? Why not, the husband wife, or whatever partner set, run off together before the wedding and have their free for all together?

If hanging out in a bar picking up a hot man or woman is fun to you, why not go and pick up that one you're about to commit your life to? Why not one last craaaazzzyyyy time - tell all your friends about it. "They say" once you're married, it's all over anyway. So have that one last time with the one yalovethamost.

That's what I think.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

since before your sun burned hot in space, i have awaited a job

Finally. As I'm clicking "post" on the last entry, the phone rang, and I recognized the trunk number of the casino.

I have a job offer. It is a salaried offer. Insurance starts day one. All the typical waiting periods for 401, etc.

Focusing on the positive, it is a nice salary. It's not fantastic, I've been paid higher. Knowing that the little gremlin would gnaw at me, I immediately called a close confidant in the industry who put it to me honestly. "You've been out of the work force six months, you've been out of that region for over a year. These people don't know you, but they want you, they need you. They're paying you a fine salary. Remember it, and if you forget it, call me and I'll tell you again."

So I'm quite happy. ish. The lady said she was going to ask for a variance on the waiting period to begin work, it's usually a 2 week delay with paperwork. She's going to try and rush it through so I start next week. I told her I'd be available.

So there we have it. No more boring posts about me needing a job.

Daily Ramble

The more I drink the green teas and stuff, the more my nails seem to grow. Not intentionally, of course, do I let them grow. I'm usually a biter and a peeler, but sometimes I'll look down and be like, "Wow. Those are like almost girly long." Drives My Fella nuts when it happens to my toe nails. But what I won't tell him is that, just because it annoys him, I don't trim them. It's funny to see how worked up he gets over it.

More importantly, much more importantly, my gal pal Red is blowing through town on her way to see her mother. I really think she only stops in town to see her Beauty Operator, who has been her fag for far longer than I. Oh, the stories I can tell about Red, but all with fear she'd tell stories about me. I tell her sometimes that I never would have realized my full potential as a fag, without her as my hag. But the Beauty Operator had her first, and I know when she goes to get her "hairuh did" that she's having one on one time with him.

Last night we went to our favorite joint, or favorite tex-mex Mexican joint. Had a nice tables worth of her friends to enjoy the conversation. Tonight we're rolling over to our favorite pizza joint. She's staying long enough in the morning to watch the last of Bob's episode on the telly.

Word on the sly is that I'm getting a job offer today, or possibly tomorrow. Someone was told that all they are waiting on is to tell an internal candidate she did not get the promotion. I wish that call would come on. I sure could use it. My Mom called last night and I didn't even take the call, there's just nothing to talk about right now. She's just going to ask about jobs, and I don't have anything to tell until I have something to tell.

Fingers crossed.

Monday, June 11, 2007


You can only do so much for the dieing. You can do a lot for the living. - My Fella

Sunday, June 10, 2007


Bunco is not my game, and Bunco's not my group. This group, started some years ago by my best Fag Hag and one of my best buddies, has continued on without them, and I asked to sub tonight by one of the members, a pal of mine who is out of town.

As somebody said today at lunch, "Bunco? That's the game old women play." Well, there were (including me) 3 gay guys, 1 pre-teen (subbing), probably 3 women under 50, and the rest were probably "old women." Active old women, everybody but me and the pre-teen had a job.

My total points was 388. I had 12 wins/12 losses and 1 Bunco. No prizes for me.

Saturday, June 9, 2007

Rice and Grandmothers

I've been wanting for a while to blog about grandmothers for a while, but again, just haven't.

Wednesday night I had a chance to share a memory about my Nanny with a friend's child. I was with SO's children, and the oldest was off at church, and the youngest and I went for a Sonic run to get a root beer float (ninety nine cents.)

This child's mother, SO, is half black and half korean. Her mother is Korean but acts black (don't ask me, I just tell it) and she loves to cook Korean for her chirren and grand chirren. I have not met the generation prior, but I hear wonderful mixed culture stories about them.

So, I told this adorable little boy how my Nanny would make "purple cows" for her grandchildren. She would buy the grape Shasta in a can, and make a coke float with it - hence the purple cow. I have an entire memory of it that includes the little storage room with the freezer, her kitchen, and just everything about that house.

So I asked this adorable kid about 10 or so (who knows, it's not like he's MY kid) if his grandmother does or makes anything special for him. He replies, immediately and very seriously, "rice."

I thought to myself, "I meant something a little more special than rice, but hey, it's your grandmother."

Daily Ramble

I've been at My Fella's since about six last night. It's an odd time to be here, with his family facing the impending loss of a family member, due to a an accident about two weeks ago. The family has received very bad news, and are preparing to pull the plug.

Tonight I pulled My Fella aside and told him I felt I was sort of in the way of their family, and I thought I should finish out the evening and head back home. These are not people I know well, or have known long. Several visits here, and their family atmosphere, have given me a sense of who they are collectively, but I am not naive enough to think it's anything more than that. But My Fella wants me to stay. So I stay. He's the one I worry about supporting.

Just a comment on them, I have certainly not felt that any of them have looked at or spoken about my presence. So it's more my thoughts than theirs. In fact, yesterday in front of the first sister I've met, and around whom I feel comfortable, I said to My Fella to let me skip dinner (with his family), and she made the comment for me to go.

So anyway, I plan on getting up at a decent time and heading back. My brother is coming to town to pick up his wife at the airport, so that's a shot at seeing my nephews.

No pics to ad to this. It's not like the farm land changed any in the last two weeks.

I do want to find time to sit down and blog specifically about this pseudo-closeted version of dating though. It's . . . . interesting.

On a slightly different note, my friend Little Bit called and apparently has some trouble in her (probably professional) life and I am (apparently) to blame. I'm going to take my due on it tomorrow.

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

Daily Ramble

Very general blog today.
Staying a few nights again with the children of my friend SO. They, I think, just may be taking advtanage of their "uncle" but really, there's nothing major going on here. But that phone does need to stop ringing.

I had the job interview today at the "well known restaurant in the touristy part of town." I think it went well, but again, I've thought the same before. She said she hoped to have second interviews for candidates next week. Fingers & toes crossed.

Just did a "so-best-friend" thing by "oh-went-to-the-bar-to-meet-him-didn't-you." You know the drill, a close friend meets a new guy and you coincidentally show up at a bar/restaurant which you never frequent just so you can act surprised to see your friend and have a beer with them. Anyway, she's already slept with him, more than once (that phone needs to stop ringing - I'm gonna HAVE to say something) but he seems to be a fun guy.

She's said more than once "he's not my usual type" and by that she means "drop dead gorgeous and a real azzhole." That's her usual type. This guy looks more like something to which I would be attracted, which means, not afraid to eat a burger and every fry on the plate. She said he rocks in bed. He's got a fun sense of humor, and there is every indication that he has a steady, professional job (also not her usual type of guy). So there I am at the yelling "WHATRYOUDOINHERE!" So gay. But I took notice of his tattoo, just in case he turns into some kind of stalker. I think I could identify him in a line up!

Monday, June 4, 2007

General Blog

There wasn’t much to blog today. Somedays are like that. I didn’t even go onto the patio tonight. I walked out there, and decided I just didn’t feel like a patio night.

I have a job interview tomorrow for a sales and marketing position at a well known restaurant and night club downtown. It’s in the touristy part of downtown, and I’m excited at least to have an interview. My friend SO went with me down there today to refresh myself on it and check it out. It was good of her to take the time. We walked it all over, but best of all, it reminded me of 3 contacts I have that were good resources to call and speak to about the job and networking, etc. This restaurant does a fair amount of tour & travel groups, and probably a fair amount of bachelor & bachelorette parties, as well as corporate retreats. So I called all 3 of my contacts today and found out what I could. Makes me a feel a little more prepared.

The interview is at ten, so I guess I’ll be ready, or as ready as I’ll ever be.

I should post a photo I took yesterday with my digital camera. I haven’t looked at it on screen, but I don’t think it came out well anyway. The guy at the table behind us had the hairiest arms, they were so hairy. They were the kind of hairy that scientists say should turn a woman on from some primal instinct. With that much body hair, he’s definitely descended from some hunter-gatherers. His legs were the same. My guess he was young, by somebody’s definition. Maybe close to 30, far enough past 20 that he’s got a career maybe. But not so far into his 30’s that he has to work at not getting old. But just so much hair. I swear, if I had that much, I’d trim it.

Wish me luck on my interview tomorrow. And congratulations to Walt. I saw on his blog that he & his partner are celebrating an anniversary. Yeah You!

Back on the patio

June 3, 2007

When I started this blog, I committed to a positive attitude on it. No extreme drama, no hateful blogs, etc. Today I had my first ‘caught myself’ preparing for negative vibes. And it may even sneak into the blog before it’s over.

Here’s the deal – there we were, back on the Sunday patio listening to the young lady playing her heart out on the guitar, with her gentleman friend strumming the mandolin. He reminds me a bit of John Coribtt from Northern Exposure and My Big Fat Greek Wedding, but I’m sure it’s the hair. Anyway, I understand that today’s society is full of cell phones – I have mine handy. I understand that we’re at a restaurant on a patio, not in a private music hall or amphitheatre. I understand that people are eating, and being served, and ordering, and enjoying their company at their table. But still, there’s a point when your phone conversation interrupts my day, and then you are rude. If I am two tables over and a good 20 feet from you, I shouldn’t be able to hear your words over the breeze and the singer. If you have to say, “I can’t hear you”, then your response should be to get up and leave the patio, not talk louder, so that I can hear you more clearly. If I am considering asking you to hand me the phone so I can give them directions, if they’re too dumb to understand yours, which I can hear, then you need to tell them to go on somewhere else. And I really hate that look people get on the cell phone – you know the look I’m talking about – the look like “ah! I have a cell phone! Everyone, look at me, I have a cell phone!” I admit it, I have one too. I admit to talking on it in public. I talk on it with my voice lowered and even occasionally the comment, “I’m on my cell in public right now, I can’t discuss that.” But this woman took several phone calls, raising her voice each time, to give directions. So anyway, she annoyed me so much that I took a picture of her with - - - - my cell phone! - - - and I’m tempted to put it on here. But that’s not a positive thing for me to do.

The positive thing is to focus on the afternoon. A full day with My Fella, we woke up in time to get him to the hospital to see his uncle in I.C.U. What a surprise, other relatives were there. They had a least a two hour drive to get here by 9a.m., and left right after. We really didn’t think anyone else would be there that early. Made it home in time to go to church, which was, as always a lovely service. Afterwards, we skeedaddled back to the hospital for the 1p.m. visit. My Fella was the only one there this time. Starting to get a bit hungry, I suggested we go to the patio. Her singing was lovely again, so glad it was not a fluke. I look forward to having a job so I can tip her a decent dollar amount, not the grubby one and two dollars I’ve had to do. For lunch, I ordered a chicken sandwich on Ciabatta bread, with a nice slice of roasted red pepper, and a slather of Boursin cheese. It was very yummy. After about an hour and a half, we were both feeling a little nappy and came home, promptly falling asleep on the futon in front of the telly.

Waking up from a good nap with him is a perfect way to end our visit. He did not rush or make me feel rushed, nor was I rushed. I prefer it when our visits end softly like that, with no quick kiss goodbye. Sometimes it’s me, sometimes it’s him. Life gets in the way. But today was very nice.

Now, let’s see, where’s the picture of that woman with such poor manners . . . . . . .

P.S. Serves me right – the photo did not email through correctly. It’s garbage in the attachment. Sigh.

Saturday, June 2, 2007

Night at the Movie

Spyder & Sass needed to get out of their parents house, a deep cleaning required a call from Sissy. I think she bribed me with the money to go see Night at the Museum, but I would of done it for her anyway. Honestly, yes, a movie makes it easier for me to child sit. But it's slightly suspicious that it's a movie I wanted to see, and they already own on dvd. That's why I love the bargain theatre - all the big screen special effects, but so low cost there's no guilt.

Keeping Spyder & Sass is good for me. Gets me out of my box. Shakes me up a little. Reminds me how to watch over others. Doing it at the movie or a museum is even better, because they don't realize they have a baby sitter.

Sissy knows how I love to sneak food into the movie, so she had bought 3 packages of M&M's. I just love the concept of sneaking food in. It's like the tiniest crime imagineable. I love it for the thrill of it. So we put the M&M's in Sass's little purse. As we're walking up to the ticket line, Sass says, "I have M&M's in my purse." Not sure how to explain the moral situation here, I say, "A lady never tells what's in her purse."

I get distracted though, with kids, and in hindsight it's kind of funny. I'm standing in line getting the popcorn and Cokes, I look at Spyder and ask him if he wants a hotdog and he tells me he doesn't like them, so I go back to ordering, completely oblivious that he's hanging upside down from the railing. Only a moment later did I realize what he's doing, and turn my head to tell him to get down. Today it's funny - I had a conversation with him never realizing that he's playing on their equipment like a jungle gym.

In the movie, I had to quietly whisper to him twice, "I haven't seen the movie" because he kept wanting to tell give hints. "I bet nothings going to happen!" and I'm like, aaagggh! lol. We spilled half a bucket of popcorn on him, and tried brushing it all off when I thought, "Oh, stand up." That's the perfect answer, the popcorn falls off him and his seat pops up and gets rid of the rest. Sass is completely leaned up glued to the movie, as if she's never seen it before, when I know she's seen it 3 times and owns it. We ate a rediculous amount of popcorn.

I lost Sass's purse. The kept the lights down low a long time after the movie, and we all got up and walked out without it. That little purse had smuggled in 3 bags of M&M's, and we just left it behind. I tried calling the theatre but only got recordings. Maybe they will put it in a Lost & Found.

Friday, June 1, 2007

West and Fast

You know how sights and smells and sounds trigger memories? For me, sour milk is always first and second grade. A road kill skunk reminds me of church trips in high schooleve. Pound cake of my great grandmother.

Twenty some odd years ago, I drove a friend from my hometown to this city I live in now, to the airport. She was going home. Her name is Kelli. I remember going with me was another friend we called Strick. I'm sure some people still do.

If I remember correctly, I had a two door red Nissan, basicly a box on wheels. But it was mine. Strick rode with us because, while I had the wheels, I had no idea how or where to drive in the big city.

The flight was at night, and on the way home we took what I would years later know is called "the loop." You know, the loop of interstate that circles the heart of the city. Late at night with few cars, but with green street lights lining it like so many uniformed soldiers.

I seldom am on that part of the loop, even though I live in this city now, foregoing it's well known traffic for city streets that cut under or around it. They say the Friday afternoon traffic starts on Thursdays, it can be just that bad. But every now and then, every now and then, I find myself on the loop at night.

Last night was one of those nights. Two children in the car with me I had taken to the movies, Nascar style traffic all around me - to the left, to the right, in front of and behind. No time to reminisce with headlights in my mirrors and Spyder & Sass my charges in the back.

But sometimes, sometimes. . . . . . sometimes My Fella and I will go out for a late night Sonic snack and I will not want to go home. . . . . sometimes the darkness calls or the hint of a memory wanting to be remembered. . . . . sometimes I'll take the long way home, driving out East, just to come back West, just to get on the loop late at night.

The lights stand in formation, row after row of green soldier, almost twenty years have passed but that stretch of interstate remains the same late at night, dark and wide open. The windows roll down and the wind rolls in and the green dots roll by, and for just a minute, just a brief minute I can tell myself that I am younger . . . a young man on the verge of adulthood, not the man burdened by it. I think that's what that night really represents - the youth, excitement, driving to the big city and driving home. Young and so sure I could conquer the world on the interstate. West and Fast, west and fast.