Monday, June 30, 2008

because he heard me say I missed the patio at the old place

this was waiting for me one weekend at his house. It's getting more and more pretty every weekend. he's been dragging flowers out there. we've been looking for patio furniture, a matching set. and i eyeballed a spot for a hammock between two pine trees. the area between them needs to be cleaned out a little.

but he is my man, and he's a keeper.

Sunday, June 29, 2008

books by Mary Janice Davidson

from Undead and Unappreciated. . . with high recommendations for summer fluff reading

Suddenly, there she was, sitting across from me. The devil. Satan. The lord of lies. And it wasn't any big shock-I'd known it would be coming. And I instantly knew who she was. Some things you just know, the way you just know you shouldn't wear true black mascara because it makes your eyes look small and squinty.

The devil, in case you ever wanted to know, is a woman in her late forties. Today, she was wearing a dark gray suit that buttoned up the front and looked almost military, black panty hose, and plain black pumps. Her hair was a rich chocolate brown, with streaks of silver at the temples, and done up in an elegant bun. Her eyes were very black. Her ears weren't pierced; in fact, the devil wore no jewelry at all.

She studied me from across the table for a few moments. Finally she said, "You are the vampire queen."

It wasn't a question, so I guessed she wasn't taking a poll. I wiped my mouth. "Uh. . . yeah."
"Elizabeth Taylor."

"Yes." From pure force of habit, I checked out her shoes again . . . then looked one more time. What I had first taken for plain black pumps were in fact Roger Vivier comma heels. Vivier customized footwear for celebrities; his shoes were literally one of a kind. Queen Elizabeth had worn a pair to her coronation. I was looking at hand-tooled shoes with garnets in the heels.

Circa 1962. Only sixteen pairs were made.
They were the holy grail of footgear.
"Wh-where did you get those?"
The devil gave me a wintry smile. "Would you like them?"

Friday, June 27, 2008


I am totally stoked about the new Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor movie, and totally bummed over Rachel Wiesz's decision not to be in it.

I am totally stoked about figuring out how to stick myself, even though I hate I should do it, to get a handle on this 'pre diabetes.' Even worse, this morning's fasting sugar is 109. It really should have been lower for someone whose been asleep all night, sorta

Wrong number woke me up at 1a.m. and I stayed up til 3. Oh well.

Oh, yeah, it took 13 days of my petting and cooing and supporting, but I finally "got over" my friends divorce. She said something that finally made me think, "Oh yea. I bet you ain't easy to live with." Not that I think he's perfect. Not that I don't think it's a shame they're divorcing. More like, "oh, I'm so over it now."

I am totally excited slash bummed after reading Walt's blog and finding out there was a way to get this season's episodes of Dr. Who off the internet, and it just disappered. And that they're great! aaagh! Dr. Who is one of the few reasons I miss cable.


Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Outlaws & Elvis

Goner Records, on the corner of Young & Cooper in Midtown Memphis, is a treasure trove of REAL records. And the Elvis tribute is out of this world. Handmade by the father of a young man who works there, it is insanity gone genius. On the right side is a box to drop in a quarter. Who would think something would really happen? It lights up, the fake record on the bottom begins to move, an Elvis song starts to play. It's hysterical. Genius gone insane.

Sunday, June 22, 2008

Drats! Curses!

I'm about one life-decision away from looking up curses to get the air conditioner man. Yes, it's out - Again! Blowing good and cold last night, woke up this morning to warm air. And that's harder to do when you're sleeping next to someone!

I've been mostly out of the house all day and it's not miserable tonight. In fact the forecast tomorrow is kind of cool due to rain. But, uh, that's not the point. We'll see what Peter has to say.

It was a LOVELY day. We had a coffee date with J&Bubbles and his mother is so entertaining. I just love her. She's kind of like the rich aunt I never had. Today's story was about her dinner years back with Cary Grant. And she tells it so, not bragging at all. Conversation came up about someone else who was at that dinner, and J said, "Tell them about your dinner with Cary Grant." So she did. MyFella said, "You forget you don't know them, when she talks about them!"

A late afternoon drink with S.O. and her FIANCE. Oh, such a shiny thing. Emerald cut, platinum band. Beyond fabulous. Simply beautiful. And when I download it, I have this FABULOUS picture of her in front of . . . it only be described as an homage. . . to Elvis. But it's pretty much unlike anything I had ever seen. I should post it tonight, but I'm not.

Good Sunday to you!

Saturday, June 21, 2008


Whew! What a day. What a day. We got her moved. Thankfully her daughter has a big ol' beefy bear cub of a boyfriend with a pick up truck that gave me a hard-on just looking at it! He came with a cute and skinny friend and a flat bed trailer. It took til maybe 1, 1:30. Not too bad, I suppose. Pulling out of that house, I was amazed at just how dirty a smoker's house can be. It's not really noticeable when you're in it with a house full of things - but when you leave it empty, WOW! The nicotine really shows up.

We've spent the day together, and I treated MyFella and his brother to supper tonight at a place that is just local cooking. I had a cheeseburger. We met our friends T&M and Mary had a veggie plate. Most of us just had a sandwich. My burger was just kind of like Mom makes them. Which was just fine with me.

MyFella's reading the labels on boxes of cereal to me. Organic store brand over Kashi. It's just so darned hard being good!

Oh well. Good night.


Well, it was not quite 7:30a.m. when MyFella texted me that he's on his way, which means it will be not quite 9:30 when he gets here. The text at least roused me from an odd almost-waking dream where I was a vampire getting lessons in flying - an airplane! - at some kind of quick stop. That'll teach me to read the "Undead & Unwed" series at bedtime!

He was in quite a mood last night. Some combination of having set near some high school aged homophobe at supper and some on-going issue with his mother. But don't we all have one? (Take your pick here - problem homophobes or issues with our mother?!)

That'll give me time now that I'm up to run 'round to the post and drop off a package to someone I really don't know (childhood friend found me on Myspace) and pick up donuts for the day.

Happy weekend to you!

Friday, June 20, 2008

Friday morning

and the week is going fine. I'm taking advantage of the blue jean rule to not worry about laundry this morning.

LittleBit, making her way day by day through this separation-come-a-divorce, has signed a lease on an apartment and gathered up a motley crew to move her out tomorrow. MyFella has consented to come, and he's told me to quit keep score. But I can't help but feel that he's done way more than his share of driving lately. He'll be here in the morning. I've told LittleBit and others over at the house they really need to impress upon young son that, uh, he's got some healthy friends. That heavy bedroom suit upstairs - yeah, that's his burden to bear. I really can't be hauling that around.
I had to go over to soon-to-be-ex-husband's work place yesterday and worried and worried I might run into him. I kept imagining myself shaking his hand and saying, "Hey. How ya doin?" like I always do. You know, thinking that if I ran it through my head enough I wouldn't blurt out, "YOUHAVINAFRUCKINAFFAIR?!" Nelly me. But I never saw him. Crisis averted.

If rain comes, MyFella may come on tonight after work. He's wanting to go to a horse show tonight and I have told him to go. But he said if it rains, he'd just as soon come on than go to the horse show, even if it is just once a year.

Yes, like everybody else, the price of gas is just killin'me! I fill up probably 3 times a week, and this last time it took over $60. My car is paid for, and I sure do hope it keeps on running because I can't afford a new one. But if I could, I swear I'd downsize as low as I can go!

I saw a new Cadillac yesterday. I tried hard hard hard to get a pic of one just like it off their website and post on here with the caption "Batmobile?" I swear, the front of it looked a whole lot like the Batmobile to me. Body shape, fancy grill, lights, etc. There was a total hottie driving it too. Seemed young to me to be driving a Caddy. But if you got it, flaunt it.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

High Fructose Corn Syurp!

Is EVEN in RAISIN BRAN! What's up with that stuff? As a last resort, I bought a box of Kashi cereal. You know what, it's pretty good. But I won't admit it.

MyFella is coming this weekend to help move my friend-girl. He's been so good to me of late. It's crazy. I don't deserve him. And seeing how quickly this marriage fell apart, I just feel a little insecure right now.

She's getting by. She's taken vacation from work to pack. She found an apartment today and we'll have her out of the house this weekend. It's awfully . . . sudden. . . and surreal. I looked at her today and said, "I never liked him anyway." We both laughed because we both know it's a lie.



One of my best friends just told me he's probably going to accept a job offer and move to Phoenix. All I can say is . . . .

Alice Lyrics

("There's a New Girl in Town" by Alan and Marilyn Bergman & David Shire) - Alice Lyrics

Season 1 &2

Early to rise, early to bed.
In and between I cooked and cleaned and went out of my head.
Going through life with blinders on, it's tough to see.
I had to get up, get out from under and look for me.
*There's a new girl in town and she's looking good.
*There's a fresh freckled face, in the neighborhoood.
There's a new girl in town, with a brand new style.
She was just passing through,
but if things work out she's gonna stay ba bum bum bummmm
(the two short versions omitted the lines marked with a *)

Season 3 & 5
Used to be sad, used to be shy
Funniest thing, the saddest part is I never knew why...
Kickin' myself for nothin' was my favorite sport
I had to get out and start enjoyin' 'cause life's too short
There's a new girl in town, 'cause I'm feelin good.
Get a smile, get a song, for the neighborhood
there's a new girl in town on her own two feet
and this girl's here to say
with some luck and love life's gonna be
so sweeeeeeeeeet!

Season 4
I used to be sad, I used to be shy
Funniest thing, the saddest part is I never knew why...
Kickin' myself for nothin' was my favorite sport
I had to take off, start enjoyin' 'cause life's too short
There's a new girl in town, 'cause I'm feelin good.
Get a smile, get a song, for the neighborhood
Things are great when you stand on your own two feet
and this girl's here to say
with some luck and love life's gonna be
so sweeeeeeeeeet!

Season 6-9
I used to be sad, I used to be shy
Funniest thing, the saddest part is I never knew why...
Kickin' myself for nothin' was my favorite sport
I had to take off, start enjoyin' 'cause life's too short
There's a new girl in town, 'cause I'm feelin good.
Get a smile, get a song, for the neighborhood
Things are great when you stand on your own two feet
and this girl's here to say
with some luck and love life's gonna be
so sweeeeeeeeeet!

Saturday, June 14, 2008


Did I tell you I had a blister on my toe? Bizzare. Looking back, that was a pain that should have been recognizable as a blister. But my mind was just identifying it as 'pain, pain, pain' so I spent the last week or more hobbling around, sneaking sandals in to slip into at work, etc. I finally took a good looking at it, and I guess the blister had finally showed up. I missed my Moma. Moma's are good for blisters, you know. "Hush now." and then they blow on it after lighting a fire to straight pin to sterilize it. I didn't have a match nor alcohol. So if gangrene sets in, it's all my fault. But I've since added the walgreens brand of neosporin to my medicine cabinet. Anyway, it's kept me from walking for over a week ~~ just after I got my good check up! So my plan is to go buy new shoes Monday and start anew!

I'm popping over to my hometown for Father's Day tomorrow. I've packed the car, and at my brother's request bought a watermelon for nephew number 1. "All they have here are those round melon sized ones and they want $8!" 5 minutes later I was at Easy Way, known for it's locally grown stuff, buying a big ol' melon for $6.99. I started to buy a yellow meat one. But now that I know they have them, I may just save that for later. But anyway, I'm gonna try to get home in time for church, even if I drive right up to the church on the way in. Sometimes I make it, sometimes I don't. But I know Dad likes it when I do. And it is Father's Day.

I got her through the party today as best I could, then left her to her mother and sister. I slipped a house key in sister's pocket, told her to find the purse and drop it in later. There were signs the husband had come home (can you even use that word anymore, with a shattered marriage?!) late at night, grabbed a bag of stuff and left. She said again today that "I can't make him want to be with me" and she's right. It's just hard to believe that he doesn't. Or that his explanation is "We're in different places." WTF does that even MEAN?

Gay Pride was today, and I was very proud of the festival and the parade. Chicago, we're not. Atlanta, we're not. But we are we, and somebody did real good. I'll have to remember to send a little donation check to the organization.

My favorite thing from pride? A gentleman older than me sat down from me on a bench to take a breather. It was hot out there. I guess someone with a baby walked by - you know, the gay couples with their Asian babies, etc. He said, unprompted, "I don't know why gays want to go and adopt children. I had three of my own I didn't even like!" It was funny as 'ell. Looking back, it's kind of sad. But it's also the reason I think I make a great uncle. Like the coach said, "If they wanted him here on time, they should have brought him themselves!" Damnedskippy! Because I needed a Diet Coke from Sonic! But still, I loved that "I had three of my own I didn't even like!"

I'm missing my man more and more. The Monday trip doesn't count, all surrounded by the hospital. But it'll be three solid work weeks sine we've seen each other last by the time we get to this next weekend.

Oh well, off to bed. Happy days to you!

Friday, June 13, 2008

D.I.V.O.R.C.E. part 2

My problem is, this time, it really hurts my heart.

I've known for weeks there was a problem. I got the phone calls. I love him as much as I do her. Or I love her as much as I do him. In my gay foppish way, I fancy myself married to him. She's the one that introduced us.

I told her long ago that I do not, would not, believe that he had cheated on her. Not in the physical sense. I can believe he's not perfect, I don't believe she is. I can believe that his actions represented something. . . going on. His changing attitude. His changing idea about . . . something yet unstated. But I would not believe he had physically cheated on her. Doesn't seem the type. But he knows his wife. She is what she is, and has been for many a year. It can't be a surprise that she's been surprised by his actions of late.

And so, in a wonderful choice of bad timing, with a house full of family and a party this weekend, she just asked last night. And her marriage ended.

I got the call at 7a.m., which was (subtle laugh) about as long as she could wait before calling. I got there at 8, and by 8:30 I pretty much knew everything. Not that there's much to know. Funny. You have years of marriage, but can describe the end of it over coffee in a few minutes. The waitress was a sweetheart. 'Take your time. The longer you wait, the less I have to work.' I tipped her extra for that. She had to have noticed my breakfast partner had been there an hour waiting. We're probably not the first to discuss divorce in that booth.

There's not much to fight about. There aren't any children. The bills are minimal. They'll have to dump a house and separate the cars and figure out how much cash goes to who. They finally will be forced to clean out the attic.

She was matter of fact. 'I can't drag him to the 'same place'.' I know she had expected to spend her life with him. I think he had probably expected the same thing, for a long time.

I wanted to cry. For the first time in a long time, I wanted cry.


The word is ugly, whether spoken, whispered, yelled, sighed out or sung. It only seems to be inert, benign, in it's written form. But that's misleading. It's still the word that Tammy sang about.

In the past, when friends have gotten divorced, it bothered me mainly from a selfish point of view. Sure, sure, I hate for anybody's marriage to break up. You start out with hopes and dreams, and then 'forever' seems like it's taking such a damned long time. Usually I think they're pretty stupid for not realizing that exactly what they're complaining about is exactly what they wanted ~ 'It's monotonous' or 'It's not exciting' or 'You never. . . . ' Well, duh. What did you think would happen when you got married, got a mortgage, got kids and pets and bills? THAT'S exactly the stuff you wanted to happen, here it is. And really, can anyone be blamed if there's jobs and bills and mortgages and kids to feed and clothes to wash? Did you really think that you'd still go out on weekends, or have money for yourself to have fun? And what about your friends? Guess what, they probably did the same thing you do. That's why bridge and bunko groups are so popular. That's why people know the first day of deer season. It gives you an excuse to spend time with other adults who found themselves in the same spot you are in - and they go to escape it for a while. Always forgetting that this is exactly what happens. It's what you asked for, it's what you wanted.

So you think it'll change, huh, if you get a divorce? Sure. Believe that. You'll get courted again, or do the courting. You'll juggle the kids to have a night out and somebody will buy you a drink or vice versa. Maybe fall in love all over again. Then what will you do? You'll get a mortgage, a car note, have another kid. Whatever. And find yourself right back where you tried to get away from.

But you know, I don't pay their bills and they don't pay mine and I really seldom cared a whole lot. It would more likely bother me, the gay man, that they wouldn't fight for, they wouldn't work for, something they were given that I can't have. Sure, just go get a divorce. No big deal. Never mind that me and millions like me can not get that basic civil function. You know the one that gives spouses certain rights above and beyond all others? The one we are denied, so instead we have to get lawyers to write up lots of papers to protect us and our interests in the worst case scenarios. Powers of attorney, medical directives, etc. Things to keep 'family' from throwing us out should you become hurt or disabled. Things to keep your loved one in control, abiding by your wishes, should you become hurt or disabled. You get that for free, with a 15 minute ceremony and a ring you can buy for $100 at Wal-Mart. Go ahead, throw it away. One man's trash is another man's treasure.

But I understand, yes, I know, that's a very narrow minded view of the concept of marriage and the concept of divorce. I know there are plenty of good reasons to divorce. And quite frankly, I think "staying together for the children" is stupid. You can't play it that long. They figure it out. But then again, it's kind of like abortion. I have an opinion, but I'm certainly not ever going to be faced with the problem. So like I said, it usually just doesn't bother me much. usually

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Wednesday, June 11, 2008

not Southern by osmosis

It was interesting. Eye opening. I'm not sure how or why it touched me like it did. Funny thing was, it really wasn't relevant to my job, but it's left me with a feeling that I'm somehow less, or maybe more, than I thought I was, without really knowing what is missing.

The tour was offered by a resource in the area, to different sales people. The premise was to familiarize ourselves with more of the Delta and what is part of the bigger picture in the area. I went thinking I'd just sort of a get a day off from work. I came home thinking I'd missed something for a long time.

It's odd, you know. I can give you the itinerary. Tell you about the sites and locations we saw. They're able to be found on websites and the internet. I looked a few of them up when I got home last night. But to get on the bus thinking that I am "Southern" and to get off realizing there's so much I really did not understand.

Did you know there is a town in Mississippi that was founded by former slaves. It continues to be, proudly, a black only community. Did you know that in this town is a building that was a hospital built for the purpose of providing black healthcare? It was run like an HMO, sort of. You bought into a fraternal organization, and with that membership came up to 30 days of hospitalization if you needed it. They had an all black staff of doctors and nurses and an x-ray machine. It was brick and mortar. In a railroad town built for blacks and by blacks.

The hospital still stands, boarded up. Even the plywood is appears to be rotting. The design of the entrance seems to be Art Deco. Sitting on the bus in the parking lot, I felt I could see in my mind's eye the invisible landscape, the hustle and bustle of a hospital once so busy in a community once thriving. It's a romantic notion to imagine the doctors and nurses who faced discrimination anywhere else standing tall there and taking care of those who would not be seen anywhere else. In a world where blacks were let in through the back door, if at all, this was a place within a place, built just for them, by them, made alive by them. A place where someone seemed to have said, "The back door is not good enough." It was once a hustle and bustle community where blacks came to succeed and be treated like equals. But the highway moved and depression hit and it's drying up like so many other small towns in the South.

We went to the gravesite of a woman who, after having been fired from her job, beaten, threatened, all for registering to vote in the state of Mississippi, went to the National Democratic Convention and faced down white men who said "Blacks just don't want to vote. That's why there are so few registered black voters." And she said, on national television, her full name and address. She dared them. She dared them. And what did she get in return for her courage? Lyndon Johnson interrupted the broadcast to talk about Vietnam. Because he just couldn't have blacks on national television saying they were kept from voting by fear, intimidation and threats. And now she lies in a grave in the town where she went to live when she lost her job because her boss told her to pull her registration card. (At the next Democratic Convention, the convention refused to seat segregated state delegates, thereby forcing the integration of the convention. She lost her battle the year she went, but it would seem she was a force that helped win that particular war.)

We went past farm land where, once upon a time, the farm was managed and run almost entirely by blacks, slaves. They kept the books, graded the cotton, and did all the management tasks. Yes, they were still the farm hands picking the cotton. But they did so much more and were paid for it. Paid for it. Sometimes saving enough money to buy their freedom, and choosing to stay where they lived.

We went to markers and crossroads where people claim that "blues was born" and lives were changed. Though they didn't know it at the time. By day they were poor farm hands. By night, they sang the blues. Or even worse socially, they were just blues singers. They would earn the same in one night as a farm hand did in a week. $5 was a lot for a week's work at the time. They said that only a preacher or a blues man wore a suit during the day.

Preachers and blues singers were, at their very nature, competitors. They were competing for the same congregation and the same donation. One wanted the money on Friday night and the other on Sunday morning. I learned the true definition of a jook joint. How many times have I called a bar "Just a juke joint" and not realized that no, it's many things, but not a jook joint. They believe the word 'jook' is derived from an African word that meant sin or evil. On the farms, so far from town, with all the share cropper houses lined up, one person or one family would decide their house could be the 'jook house.' The house of sin – of whiskey and music. And on weekends, that's where the others would come to play and to party. Just down the road. How could I think that I've been in juke joints all my life, and not really know that I had no idea what a jook joint really was?

I found one on the tour. They say it has been a jook joint for "about 50 years." The man who lives there works for a farmer by day and the farmer owns the house. They say the farmer "looks the other way" at night when the blues d.j. comes in or the live musicians come over. 3 nights a week minimum. $5 at the door. Quart beer is $5. It's appropriate to bring your own hard liquor in, but buy your beer and sodas from him. He lives in one room of the tiny place. There is a sign with a lock bock for donations if you want to take pictures. It almost seemed like the catch phrase "poor-ism." Take a photo of the man's home and leave him a dollar. Marvel at how he lives. While we sat in an air conditioned motorcoach and contemplated future trips to the jook joint. They say all are welcome. I want to go and see. But do I want to go and see because I want to hear live blues? Or because I want a peek, like a voyeur, at the inside of his home? See how he lives? Look at it and compare the appearance of squalor on the outside to the lively bar on the inside? Will I even appreciate the sounds and emotions that fill the air? Will I appreciate the small corner in which he lives? They said the room is just big enough for his bed, and with nails to hold his hangers with his shiny blues suits.

Will I understand why it bothered me so? That a woman should be buried in a town where she had to go when she lost her job, just because she wanted to vote? Will I understand why I wanted to tear down plywood and walk through the halls of a long abandoned hospital? Or why I want to put a dollar in a lock box and take a picture of a man's home? I feel like I somehow just missed something. Misunderstood it. Never saw it or the value of it. I'm not sure what it is. But it's out there. I got a glimpse of it yesterday.

Monday, June 9, 2008

DeSoto County Plates

This past weekend. DeSoto county plates. Going South on Cooper. Actually 'going' is not exactly accurate, as you had slowed to a crawl in order to dial your cell phone. See the pavement? Use it or pull over, Dork.

I have never cared for her.

We'll just call her 'Perky.' Perky is one of those gals in the South that. . . well, puts on airs. Or as some would say, 'She's not pretty on the inside.' About 15 years ago when we worked together, she was that gal that was pretty, yes, but not near as pretty as she thought. The kind that pretended to be extra-Southern. Who talked about 'Daddy' a lot, and had plenty of mascara. The kind that things her mole is a beauty mark, instead of being something she should have taken off. The kind who thinks, 'He must be gay, he hasn't asked me out.'

She was pretty, yes, and Daddy paid for the hair, the nails, etc. Her boyfriend was a local good ol' boy, drove a big truck and was cute in that way that local boys often are, with Wolverine work boots. That sort. You either know what I'm talking about, or you don't.

The is the kind of couple that had the girlfriend trying to whisper into her cell phone that the guy she is going to the work convention with is gay, but eventually made up a lie so I would pull over on the side of the interstate so he could meet me.

I've tried to like her, but it's just hard.

Slip forward 12 years or so and a mutual friend is getting married. One of the brides maids tells me, 'Perky picked out our dresses, and she is the ONLY one who will look good in them.' In her defense, apparently the bride and the maids all took multiple bottles of wine with them to the dress shop and their purchase was unanimously approved through the haze of white wine. Sobriety some hours later showed them the error of their ways, but it was too late. The deed was done.

The wedding comes, and I'm looking down the aisle, and for each bridesmaid I thought, 'You should all drag Perky out back when this is over and stab her with your high heeled sandals.'

And then comes Perky. Unescorted, the matron of honor, walking as if she herself were the bride. You could tell she planned this, thought about this, perhaps even rehearsed her walk to the Spanish tune. And I am happy to say, truly happy, that Perky is finally, truly, on the outside, as pretty as she has always thought she was anyway. She has lost all her chubby fat, letting the satin dress to slide over her curvaceous body. Her legs were tone and looked sexy in the heels. Her bronze tan contrasted nicely with the burnt orange satin of the dress. Her hair was perfect, and perfectly highlighted for the summer. And the beauty mark is still in place.

And her husband? The local boy turned state trooper? His face looks haggard now. His crew cut looked more cheap than military. His white shirt appeared to be common variety broadcloth. And when he stood up, I saw the beginnings of a belly. When he sat near his bride at the reception, I overheard them arguing. 'I'm ready to go' with the emotion of it clearly on his face. Her reply 'Go whenever you want to' left no doubt of her sincerity.

Yes. Perky is as lovely now as she always thought she was anyway. And her husband is not. And though I probably moved ahead one row on the bus to hell for feeling this way ~ it truly makes me happy.

Sunday, June 8, 2008

90 Days Update

It was about 90 days ago when the nurse practicioner said, "Were you fasting?" and I said "Yes. And I have a peanut butter sandwich waiting for me in the car." She said, "Oooh then." Blood pressure was high, cholesterol was high, sugar was high and body weight was . . . ahem . . . high.

So I got ten milligrams of blood pressure meds a day, twenty of cholesterol, and marching orders to change my diet and get my butt to exercising.

Ninety days later, I've got blood pressure and cholesterol under control. Sugar came down two tenths of a point and weight dropped fifteen pounds.

The nurse practicioner said the meds could not have done it alone. The walking had to help. I'm staying on the meds 90 more days, and if I can't do something with the blood sugar in 90 days, she's liable to slap the word 'diabetic' on my butt and give me another pill. But she was highly encouraged by my ability to drop it some on my own.

I've decided to rev my walking up to 30 minutes from 20, and try hard to keep averaging 4 days a week. My feet are starting to hurt, so I'm going to look for new athletic shoes tomorrow. We'll just see how it goes. One day at a time.

G Time

My one real habit of being drunk or buzzed is to call G. It's a favorite of mine, and I feel like it's a favorite of hers. So scant few minutes after stumbling through my door, I rang her, she answered, and I let loose with a torrent of whatever pent up drunk ideas were swimming through my head. They all made perfectly good sense to me at the moment. And could I recall them later, may even make sense later. Or not. But out of it often comes some good.

Her significant other/spouse/wife/partner is out of town with the children and G & I had missed out on any time together! THAT is a shame. I do so love G time. So she said she'd come 'round in an hour (you know, I clearly wasn't in a shape to drive) and we'd have dinner. We went to a mutual favorite place then had a jaunt through Walgreens.

I think sometimes I dominate conversation when I'm with G. I tend to take a deep breath and just spit out everything I can think in a minute. Leaving her to laugh and say, "well, ok." But she's not one whose never had her say either. So it works out. And she always has some great fun stories to tell.

It was a good supper and good G time.


This is my favorite animal in the whole world. Her name is Princess, and she was born more years ago than I care to remember. When she first came to my brother and his wife, I could hold Princess in the palm of my hand. Literally. Who would think puppies are that tiny? But it's true. Hold her in the palm of my hand. She has been a joy and a delight. A neice when I had none. A wonderful temperment. A playful attitude. She loved to run and jump and play, and I love her.

I have found her, on my trips home, growing more and more tired and old. She has bouts with incontinence, doesn't seem to hear you all the time, and tends to lay in the sun more than play in the sun.

It saddens me. Deeply. I know there is a clock ticking for all of us. But watching the clock wind down is a painful, intimate kind of hurt. People hurt. They tell you so. Animals hurt. You can see it. Oh how I love her. I tell her so. I tell her that I love her and that she is my favorite. She is, you know. She really is.

Gay and drunk; drunk and gay

I forget that I miss the days when I had discretionary income, and would spend limitless (almost) hours on patio's with waitresses and 'friends' who would all pretend that I was just as skinny as they were, while we all acted foppish and discussed the merits of classic Cher versus new Cher or Madonna. I miss the days when my debit card went through without hesitation, and I did not have to wonder if I should use a credit card, just in case. I miss the days when I would say 'she' in reference to a 'he' and go out at midnight, coming home hours later. I do miss it. I forget that I miss it, because I am, to be honest, quite happy with my relationship and I know that there's no real desire by him to go to a bar. And I know that bars are often meat markets (thankfully!) and I have no business there. But still, I love a twelve minute extended dance remix of a song that didn't sound worth a damn at three and a half minutes ~ funny how it sounds so much better when sped up to a dance tune with nine extra minutes!

Today my friend Jason sent me a text. Jason and I used to be friends, we used to be gay, foppish friends. We have (or had) mutual friends and we learned that we could have great fun together, if we kept the time to a minimum. (Don't we all have friends like that?!) Jason wanted to go to lunch, and when he picked me up (leather seats so soft, dash board recently set to shine, dance c.d. in the changer) I thought, "hhhhmmmm." We went to lunch at a patio restaurant to meet a friend of his and I thought, "oh boy, here we go. I can't afford this anymore." And yet, true as it was that I did not need to spend the money, when he dropped me off two hours later and my buzz from sangria and margaritas was deep set, and I had been foppish and foolish and saying all the superficial gay things, I knew that I missed it. Missed it! So much.

Oh how I missed it. Afternoons with gay guys in cute, matching clothes. Sunglasses. When we laugh at how the warm weather makes them sweat and we 'glisten' and we order another round.
I found out that I really like his friend and probably would even sober. We hold similar jobs and know several mutual people through work. (He's in a much higher position and way more paid than am I, but still, it's the same industry.) And I enjoyed my time again with my old friend. So much so that I said what I have known I would say all along. . . . "If you can't find a place quite fast enough, you can come stay here for 30 days. I won't let you go homeless."

Lunch had centered around his need to drop his standards some. His roommate of several years just left town and the roommate owned a beautiful home. So really, Gay Friend was just living in the lap of luxury. And honey, that ain't tha real world. Which both of us told him. But still, he's had little luck finding a place, and I can understand it. I jumped on this place maybe all too quick. His contigency, to go stay with a mutual friend for a brief while, I think is probably ill advised. While he's a nice guy, I think the plan has some serious short comings. Oh well.

I told him on the way home how seldom I splurge like this anymore, because I've had a serious decrease in income. But I told him if he needed to stay here, rent could be evenings just riding in his car, leather seats, windows down, with gay music playing. I want to watch the lights fly by on the interstate while wind and Cher fly through my hair.

It would be fun ~ for just 30 days.

Tuesday, June 3, 2008


The whole weekend must have completely wore me out. After slipping into bed, I remember nothing until the birds chirping this morning started to wake me up. at 5a.m. Great. Oh well.

I'm up and shaved. Just have to shower and get on to work.

Not a bad 3 day weekend.

Monday, June 2, 2008


Anyone know anything about television antennae and bunny rabbit ears, etc. etc.? My plan to give up cable was fine, but the problem is, I can't get decent reception. I have two different sets of ears I've used, and reception goes from bad to worse. I have the new box for the digital reception, and that makes it even worse. According to the list, there are several stations broadcasting in digital already here. Most days I can get only one.

I just don't know what to do. I live in an apartment and don't have access to a roof top antennae. I'm limited to inside ones. I found one at W-M that looks like a small plane propeller and claims it can pick up all kinds of signals. I found another one on the W-M website that claims great reception indoors and out, but seems to be mainly for high-def stations.

I have a station that is, quite literally, no more than 3 blocks from me. I pass it on my 20 minute walk. I pass it on the way home. I can't pick up their stations.

Surely this is not normal.

The Golden Compass

also titled "over hyped and under done."
I read the books as an adult. I did not catch or did not remember the Atheist themes. When all the broo-ha-ha came out, I went back and did a little research and was reminded of much of the story which I found uncomfortable reading at the time, (the intercision and it's effect on the children) but did not have the smarts to realize was a sort of Atheist hidden plot.

So anyway, I found the internet references where the author freely admits he is an atheist and the book is written for that reason.

So when it came out at Christmas, I was somewhat dismayed. It's admitted by the author to be atheist in design, and even in our material culture, isn't it pushing it to put it out at Christmas time? So I wanted nothing to do with it.

Then I decided that, by ordering it on Netflix, there was zero profit to it and I could decide what I thought about it.

Well, duh. If I had been paying, I would have been mightily disappointd. I mentioned to MyFella that we could turn it off, but he wanted to get through to the end. I guess in the hopes that something, anything, would happen. For me, it did not. Even the James Bond hottie wasn't enough to make this happen. Nor Nicole. It was all rather. . . pointless.

You have fabulous CGI graphics. You have handsome Daniel Craig, you have Nicole Kidman, you have that kid putting on a fine performance. And you have it all tied together with . . . ?

OK, OK. From my point of view, where in the world was it? If you wanted to push through some Orphan Annie child, sure, they did that. If you wanted to push through a subtle but distinct Atheist point of view, well, they must have yanked most of that out. The daemons come across as much more like pets than your soul or spirit. The Nicole character, so ruthless? Nah. I've seen her better. Though two thumbs up for that behind-her-watching-her-walk-in-the-slinky-dress. That was cool. But that was the best part of her performance. Daniel? Nah. Sort of missing from the movie. I'm sorry. It was not a particularly good Christmas movie, family movie, childlike fantasy movie. It wasn't a particularly good Atheist message movie. It just wasn't a particularly good movie.

Done is better than perfect

I've decided that MyFella should have his own label for postings, since some of them are purely about him or some facet of our relationship. Yay!him!

On another note: MyFella came this weekend, brought Jamie, and did a world of good helping G&D lay a brick patio. I had no idea the amount of work it entailed when I asked of him this favor. I somehow thought it was similar to throwing bricks down and voila! you have a patio. No, it doesn't work quite that way.

D had measured out the 10X10 space to G's request. (Not where I would have wanted it, but it's not my house.) After making me help clean the drive, we waited for G's return with sand. (Did you know you can get a half ton of red sand in the back of your truck for $11? Or white sand for $22?) She pulled in with the timbers and the sand (I still think Bev could of backed the truck up closer, but whatever ~ or at least I tried to get G riled up enough to try it with references to Bev, but they didn't work.) So we had to shovel sand and walk over, to "float" or "level out" the area. Then we (I say we like I did a whole lot of work - just know that "we" references in this posting don't necessarily include me) cut rebarb and used it to nail down the landscape timbers. Then MyFella just started. That's how he handles a project. He just starts.

G came up with a good way to haul bricks over using a sled, and I just did my best at bringing them over 2 by 2 at a time. 10X10 grew to 10X11, I think, because of the quantity of bricks we had, then their youngest son took over sweeping sand into the cracks. Somewhere over halfway of laying bricks, we took a lunch break of pizza. MyFella just about passed out from exhaustion. The oldest son disappeared (like I wished I could have) and the dogs decided to lay in the cool sand. It seemed like days passed. Somewhere around 2:30 to 3, it was all over. And to quote G&D, "Done is better than perfect."

We went out to R&S's who have an above ground pool which made for a perfect cool off. (This was negotiated in as part of the deal.) Then G&D treated us to pulled pork sandwiches, which came from a pork roast that had been slow roasting on the grill outside. It was delish. Certainly not Kosher (D - if you're reading this, it still counts as pork even if you are in Memphis) but certainly delish.

We came home exhausted. Jamie fell asleep in the chair (which would mean he would wake up at 3a.m., bright eyed and bushy tailed). We sat through The Golden Compass and tried to watch an anime for which I had high hopes but turned out to be super yukky (thanks to Netflix, there's no extra charge if it's good or bad). Then exhausted we all finally went to bed.

That day, all completely devoted to my friends, is probably part of the reason that I took PTO today and surprised MyFella. I felt like I needed a way to give back to him. And somehow I knew, I just felt it, that, even though it wasn't a life threatening surgery, that having me walk through those doors would symbolize something.

So of course I walked in and ignored him~ went straight to Jamie holding a Coke Zero, who took it from me. I heard MyFella laugh behind me. I'm sure he caught the fact that I stopped to shake hands with the brother I think is cute, then ignored him as I walked by. Then I went over to his mom and sat down, which I'm sure scored me some points there. She was also my lunch date. We sat next to each other and ordered the same item and I picked up her tab.

One would think with ten of her children and in-laws there, somebody would think to get her ticket. But oh well. It probably scored me a point there too. And I enjoyed her company and would like to think she enjoyed mine.

Power of Attorney

I've been telling MyFella that I wanted his p.o.a. I am mostly kidding, we just are not yet in that stage of a relationship. We don't live together and haven't mingled finances. We're really just boyfriends.

The joke first came up after I went to a funeral and saw the "beautiful flowers" that his cousin made . . . . everywhere . . . like a w-m silk flower explosion in the country cemetery. After that, I told him matter of factly that I had to have power of attorney over his after-death business because, quite frankly, I just couldn't allow that crap anywhere near his funeral.

I've reiterated it jokingly several times, especially if we're in any way reminded of w-m silk flowers, purple silk flowers, or the one time we were driving through the country and wound up near another cemetery that clearly had been visited upon by the w-m silk flower fairy in all her purple majesty. Ugh!

Today I experienced just another reason to demand multiple levels of p.o.a. Let me first admit that I don't have a huge family. Never did. Nuclear family of four plus a dog, so with an in-law and nephews it's still just 7 people. I love extended family and know we can call upon them, but they're someone you have to go see, or someone who makes plans to come see you. They're not just there, down the street, around the corner, in restauants when you go out, etc.

Which is very different from the way he grew up. He is one of 8 siblings. His father is one of six siblings, most of whom still live within a 30 minute distance. So when his father went in this morning to have a stint surgery to eliminate blockage, an entire family showed up. All over in one corner of the waiting room.

I had taken the day off to surprise MyFella and offer support to distract Jamie in case he got upset at the hospital. Hospitals sometimes bother him, and I have the PTO time, and the hospital is only 80 miles away, all interstate. I barely got my Diet Coke finished before I pulled up. And walked into that nonsense of retirees and off spring alike all huddled up.

I've decided that, for the old people, it was probably due to being a retiree. They've got nothing better to do, this is an event and they can justify it in their minds by "being there" for the wife. Yeah, right. Even though the surgery is as common place as a a pedicure these days, I get that the man is in his 70's and every surgery has it's risks. But come on, nobody needs that many kin for support. I can even understand all the off spring (siblings such as MyFella). It is, after all, their dad. But the sheer volume of people I found absolutely ridiculous. If you need a table of 12 at Chilli's for lunch, and 5 or 6 people stayed behind at the hospital, then that's too many people.

But anyway, right off the bat, I told MyFella that I would be getting the "in the hospital" power of attorney in addition to the "you're dead" power of attorney, because, quite frankly, I'm shoo'ing them all on home. They're not all sitting up there and annoying me if I'm already worrying about him.

Second, I have found that MyFella's dislike for one uncle/aunt have rubbed off on me and I dislike them. Her in her Pentecostal bun and his "poor me walking cane" I just don't care to put up with 'em. I have no idea who managed to hide their cell phone number and call this aunt well over two dozen times, but I could kick them in their shins. And since this old uncle is a confirmed adulterer, having ruined his first marriage for an affair with a girl half his age, I thought his joke "It's my girlfriend calling" to be really tasteless. I think the adultery is at the heart of MyFella's dislike for him. He's told me clearly that the first wife is his aunt, not this lady, and the young lady with whom he had the affair was someone MyFella knew socially and is closer to our age. But not my family and not my problem.

But it is further reason for me to tell MyFella that, when we advance our relationship, he'd just be ready to sign the papers. Because in a hospital environment, I will shoosh them up and send them all out the door. All those extra ones anyway. Ugh.

Now, on a funny note, and just my luck to miss the good part, MyFella and that same uncle (just one of several there today), got into it. They get into it all the time. Lots of little one-liner snippets back and forth at each other. MyFella threatens to have the water meter pulled, the uncle threatens to call the city council about something, blah blah blah blah blah. (MyFella thinks the uncle got away without some building permits by using MyFella's name, at least in conversation and references to 'his nephew' so city related stuff really gets his nerve.) Then the uncle switched to suggesting that meter readers ride bikes instead of drive trucks. That's how it was when I walked out to take a call, much to my relief.

Upon my return, the entire patio was vacated, MyFella was steaming mad, two of MyFella's brothers were laughing in the hallway, and apparently the old uncle had thrown down the "I fought in a war" card which caused MyFella to call him a "wore out." I think what MyFella really wanted to call him was an old adulterer, but as much as he dislikes the current wife, she had not done anything overtly ugly to him so he could not throw it out with her sitting right there. The comment, laughed the younger generation, caused the old uncle to have a flare up of Post Traumatic Stress and went running to the other waiting room to tell all the older relatives how mean MyFella is to him.

And somehow I missed all that while on the cell phone.

I've got to get those power of attorney papers written up.