(sigh) I had just composed an insightful piece about my need to go back and give all my forgotten creative personalities a jolt. I love to write (hence this operation), I love to sing (and run a piano bar, go figure) and I love to compose really crappy poetry. Scroll down for an example. Anyway it was all rather witty and was predicated on my night out at this queer poetry/spoken word extravaganza that I loved, loved, loved! seeing at the Bowery Poetry Club. While I was writing my computer madly started asking for multiple permission access requests (as in filthy whore has a virus?) which was totally fucking with my concentration so I disabled the feature and my computer signed itself off but let me happily type away pithy commentary until I tried to post it and of course, not signed in, cannot find server, all info apparently lost into internet ether. And coincidentally at the same time Blogger was apparently getting it's dick sucked and was not available anyway. So maybe I'll try and recreate it tomorrow but I rarely go back to the well but you never know. But I did need to say this: Just when I decide I want to start to live again (again), I'm told there's a chance I could die (hellooooooo irony. So nice of you to dress!)

Next time: (If there's time) pictures from Neo's tea

Digesting Neo's tea....

This will take some doin. I'm awake and have been since 7am which always means something big is about to take place. Or is taking place. I think it's that one. I learned something huge yesterday but I don't know what it is yet. It was enough to wake me up and it was enough that I know I have something to sort out but I'm not sure what it is exactly, yet. Neo had his tea party yesterday. The surface impressions: it was nice to spend the day outside the city. I dislike suburban life as a lifestyle, to me, it means taking the car to the mailbox and the mall and an insular little world instead of getting all in the soup with the rest of the people. (the people, A sharp hold your water) But living in Manhattan you don't realize all the time that you're living life in a constant state of hit the gas always going to or coming from or getting ready for or work work thinking about work. So it was nice to be able to get out and see TREES! and GRASS! and A STREAM! and hear the crickets at nite instead of car alarms and bar patrons slurring goodbyes.
But still.....undeneath all that I learned something.....something ....what is it exactly? Is it about me? About Neo? About me and Neo. That's it, I think but it's going to take a while to sink in. I feel restless and unsettled but strangely at peace. Like it's not a bad thing just a thing but I need to see the whole thing from a distance. Does that make sense?
By way of explaining: I closed the bar on Thursday night and it must have been around 4:30 in the morning I was on the corner of 58th and 2nd saying goodbye to The Hellcat. (Full disclosure) I want to have sex with him even though I know he's fucked in the head and full on his sex life is nastier ( i.e. leather/fisting lots of crystal) than I wan't for myself. I also know that on a one-time basis he'd be a hot/fun fuck. Anyway I got a sudden, overwhelming sense that something was wrong. Not with him so much as around him. I felt it in my palms. A sense, a feeling of discord. I asked him if everything was all right and he said yeah. I woke up the next day and the feeling lingered. I decided that maybe I was feeling something in myself and somehow projecting it on to M___. Last night he told me that a good friend had killed himslef that night. There.
Something big happened yesterday.....I'm just not sure what yet.

I'd like to think

It was this past Thursday I was heading into work. My work week was just beginning and I'm on the late shift. It's 9:35pm and I'm walking into the subway station at 23rd/Park. (6 uptown. I take that one out of habit because when I was all phobic I took the 4/5 once and the 59th st 4/5 stop is below the #6 line. The only way to get out was by a long, looooooong escalator. I was afraid of escalators. I sooooo wish I was kidding about that) I need to get a new metrocard. I head for the machines. There are three and one is in use. The first machine is out of order. I hit start on the second and begin moving through the screens. When I get to the payment method screen is when the damn box decides to tell me it can't take bills. Piece of shit. Frustration builds. (I'm Sicilian, it don't take much) The third machine still in use I head to the token booth. (mutter mutter if I miss this train frogs will fall from the sky, Martha Stewart will go to jail, fire will rain down, BAD) I shove six dollars into the little slot thingy. My older than DIRT token attendant making 23 DOLLARS AN HOUR WITH FOUR WEEKS PAID VACATION AND 18 SICK DAYS A YEAR points me back to the machines. I find out later from friends this is a new shared experience among NYC residents. The token booth attendants don't sell metrocards and don't break bills so you can avoid getting those FUCKIN USELESS Susan B. dollars and of course they're out of maps and they do what exactly? And we care about them keeping their jobs why, exactly? Two dollars my shaved ass! Son of a bitch I say out loud and head back to the machines. Only because I have to get to work and it would take too much time to find a container, head to a gas station, fill the container, come back to the station, stick the container into the slot thingy, spray the gasoline on Moses and immolate the old lazy fuck, you get the picture.....
Back I go to the only machine working and still, the same guy is standing there. Come on! You fuckin freak just buy the fucking card how hard can it be?I'm at like 8.75 on the 10 point explosion meter when all of a sudden I hear this sound. Like a scared kid makes when they're afraid and frustrated. It's coming from the guy. I focus. His hands are shaking as he fumbles with the two dollar bills. I see the machine hasn't even asked him for the money yet. He doesn't know how. He really doesn't know how. I clock him. One pant leg is up too high and his hair is dirty. Not homeless. Obviously what.....slow? That's not pc.... disabled. He's a tard.... stop that. This is so sad. They make the system automated and forget that lots of people can't just come along into 2003. More mewling more shaking. Nope. That's not the way. Hey finally gives up and moves off to the side. I clear the screen and start my thing. I have to confess I had a brief impulse to get what I need and scoot but thank the spirits it's just an impulse and besides, I feel him looking at me breeze through the operation and while I don't know what he's thinking my empathic skills are on full throttle and I feel frustration and sadness and longing and really, I have no choice. I get my six dollar metrocard and turn and ask him if he needs help.
"I want a two dollar ride and can't get one" Yeah, no shit (it's only upon recounting this I add if the fucking overpaid useless tax dollar suckin bag of skin in the token booth would actually do something instead of sitting there shedding skin cells you wouldn't be having this problem) Let me help you. You want me to help you? I punch the screen start/get metrocard/single ride card. OK Shaky McShaky put your money in and pop! Here's your card. "That's it?" yep, that's it. "OK thank you" no problem.
Here's the thing. I was so angry, so frustrated myself but afterward, as I'm waiting for the train I'm thinking, what are the odds? That I would go to the subway at that time, stopping as I did for a sandwich and at the ATM. Then finding the first machine down then the second. Then encountering the token booth babysitter who literally justs sits in a booth. Then finding myself back at the only machine that's working behind a guy who can't work it and needs.....my help. The universe has conspired to make it so that I'm exactly where I need to be. And I am no longer frustrated and I'm no longer angry and I take an enourmous amount of comfort in the belief that sometimes, if you're paying attention, you end up exactly where you need to be even if you didn't know at the time you needed to be there. It's a beautiful thing to believe and so I do.

- added pictures of my beyootiful (but tiny) bathroom to go with (I quote) my "hilarious" bathroom story. Go see. And thanks, again, sexy.-

Whilst I sip a cocktail and ruminate

Nice day off. Made plans yesterday to meet Neo today and shop around the East Village looking for outfits for the upcoming tea party on Tuesday. No, it's not a gay T meaning we all get together and dance and get fucked up in the middle of the afternoon. My sister/love is throwing an old fashioned, finger sammich, croquet playin, big hat wearing summer tea party. And this, among many other things, is the reason I love her. But even though we had plans she can occasionally get side-tracked. A Dr.'s appointment that takes forever or the car dies. Hey shit drops. She also has an annoying habit of inviting half the world on to our big ideas when sometimes I need it to be a just you and me thing but I've never got the feeling that it was about not wanting to be alone with me as much as it was about "c'mon, this will be fun." Did that make sense?
Anyways, I hit the gym way early (around 2pm) and hooked up with her around 4. We skipped down to Ave A. (if you ain't from NYC it's the heart of funkification, although gentrified compared to when I first arrived- with the pilgrims- you can find herbalists and tatoo parlors and vintage clothes and vintage porn and 1960's vinyl furniture.) He took me to a thrift store on 7th st that I had never been to and hunny, she (me) loves her second hand clothes!. Again, if you're not from NYC this place is faaaaaaabulous and if you are stay away it's mine! Just kidding it's here.



We found all kinds of stuff and as usual, Neo spent way more than he should have on people who probably won't appreciate it. We giggled we tried on lots of stuff we had no bidness wearin'. I'm not going to try to make it more than it was or give it some kind of power or sign like "see, he does love me" nonsense. It was a lovely way to spend an afternoon with someone I care for and fer god's sake how often does that happen?

And oh yeah (not really) My dad had bypass surgery on his crappy heart today. It all went well and he's fine. I was worried in the sense of any time you have something like this done it can all go south and a hangnail can turn into a blood infection that enlarges your heart and kills you but thankfully, that's not what happened.

A good day indeed...

Several hours after I posted yesterday I got an e-mail message from Verizon.
Good News! DSLservice is ready on telephone line ###-###-####. You think they read my blog?

That's not important though. I need to get this out of me:

Message to Neo (why I can't sleep)

I hope you're happy.

I tried to medicate the despair
You don't love me like I need it, I know
And I'm pretty sure I've figured out that while I feel like I'm in love with you
I'm only in love with what you can be not what you are
I love future you.
But present me is still reeling
I know you know
I feel you feel me
I feel you too
I'm alone and you make me laugh
I want you to press yourself against me I want to feel your breath on my neck
I want to kiss you while you're inside me I want to make you moan
I want to touch your lips while you're talking to me when the sun comes up
How can you give that to another it's mine
I try to make myself into someone you would love and yet I can't I don't I won't
Turn myself inside out for you I've lived long enough to know
That won't work but still
I leave you drunken messages as I try to make sense and render senseless
my longing can you see me? I know what this is
What woke me what torments me what can I become for you with you beside you when it shouldn't have anything to do with you
After everything I've learned I know I think I feel after every secret I've unlocked every door I've opened every truth I've made my own
I find I'm back to the truth of longing the truth of laying my head against your chest and feeling the heat of your body confirming my own existence this is nonsense it's weakness
I'm not defined by you with you with you in me I'm not even with you
And yet, the thought of you with him any he
woke me up

So I finally broke down and ordered a DSL line. I was gonna go with Road Runner as I already have digital cable (All hail channel 1000- Movies on Demand rules!) But there's a price war that broke out between the cable companies and phone. Verizon made me an offer I couldn't refuse. 1 month free 2 months at 20 something and then $34.95 thereafter. I bit. I ordered it on Saturday which in business terms was Monday morning and by Monday night they E'd me a notice saying my line would be active by the 16th (Monday). A week! To (I presume) flip a switch somewhere. OK I got other fish to fry I can wait a week in anticipation of faster porn downloads and music thievery. This morning I awoke to 40 something E-Mails, all spam (nice filter MSN) except for one from Verison telling me they were behind (asses) hooking up DSL clients and my new activation date is the 23rd. Another week! Do I cancel the activation to try and teach these companies you can't fucking dangle a prize in front of consumers and then follow it up with for shit service and not expect them to go elsewhere? Helloooooooooo Verizon you're pissing me off!!!!!!!!

She's gonna start to whine.....

I don't mean to complain but, aw what the fuck, yes I do.This all started because I allowed The Ex to speak. And because I didn't instruct my building "super" (a looser term has never been used) to disregard any and all instructions from said room mate, I have endured two days of hell. Shortly after my ex moved back in with me (my idea, don't ask) he lodged a complaint/observation that the bathroom toilet was tilted. At first, I laughed but upon further inspection I'll be damned if the shit hole isn't listing a tad to the left! Apparently, our askew ass deposit taker was interfering with my room mate's ability to properly, well..... crap. I found this impossible to believe. I mean people can go in streams, behind bushes hell just last week I was lucky enough to come up in the dark on some homeless guy on 20th/1st pinchin a loaf right there on the sidewalk. You want fries with that? Speaking for myself I'm like clockwork in that department. Somewhere at the end of my third cup of coffee every morning and hello! Time to make the doughnuts. Too much information? Anyway, I figured he'd adapt. He did, but he never forgot. Now previously I always insisted on speaking to the "super" myself about home repairs. Meaning most things I left until I could fix them myself. It was a system I devolped after five or six experiences of something that was just "fixed" breaking again or breaking worse. Note to "handymen: Duct tape is not a universal repair tool. But I decided at some point to let my room mate appear to have a say in what happens around here. We had sort of evolved into one of those Gay-ex bf-not having sex-(except that once)-going out for drinks-sharing bills-buying furniture-just good friends but more than that kind of relationships. (all the fags nod their heads, they know). I figured since the "super" rarely actually showed up to fix things and I could always speak to him again to explain what I really needed done, I could have my cake and rule it too. So every once in a while my room mate would let the "super" know that a light fixture needed repair and about that toilet...all the while me standing behind him rolling my eyes so the "super" knows just the light fixture today useless and I'll see you in a month when it breaks again.
Flash forward to a couple months ago and I'm having a perfectly innocent conversation with the "super" ( he's Irish and so so cute he usually runs around in sweats doing "repairs" and every once in a while I think "how much trouble would I get in if I yanked down those sweats while he's up on a ladder and jammed my tongue up his butt?") All of a sudden he starts bringing up doing repairs in the bathroom! Apparently one of the many times my room mate brought up the tippy bowl had actually registered and he had a plumber take a look. The fear there was that at some point the 100 yr old building underneath my poo pot could completely rot away and assuming someone was on it the results could be hilarious err....... I mean disastrous. Got any sugar? Now this was doubly distressing because last years fall/winter project was a complete renovation of the bathroom. You see at some point a couple of years ago we got some new neighbors above us. Apparently, these new boys decided to attempt their own bathroom renovation by removing their bathtub intending to replace it with a shower stall. The landlord got wind of it and urged them to wait. 100 year old buildings can't be yanked you need to be gentle. At this point any long time tenant of this building knows the whole thing is held together with spit and tape and an ill concieved repair job can result in a floor or cieling collapse without warning. So it came to pass that one day I either came home from work or woke up from a drunk and lo and behold half the cieling in my bathroom has collapsed into the tub and the toilet and all over the place. Cleaned it all up, it was delightfully wet and moldy. Followed by another mini collapse the next day, cleaned that up as well, and now half my bathroom ceiling is gone. At the time, a repair project I didn't feel comfortable attempting. I'd do it now. so I dutifully call the "super" secure in the knowledge that within six months or so, a half assed repair job will be completed. Here is what it looked like after it had been fixed.



Finally at some point on last year's journey back from the land of Phobic Alcoholia I took a look at that depressing, dirty old bathroom with the crappy little mirror and the inadequate lighting and I thought "dammit, I suck cock I can fix this" So I did. I'm not going to go through the whole repair job except to say it was huge and involed chipping away 100 yrs of plaster and paint and lots and lots of spackle. It took about six months of me working days off and mornings and frequent bouts of me inhaling suspect building material dust but I did it. (I'll post pictures in a couple of days) Trust me when I say it was some of my best work. And now, when it's all done and everything is put back together and I've been able to enjoy my beautiful new bathroom for the first time in years, now you want to rip out the toilet and fix the floor? I wanted to cry. I almost did cry when it turned out they tore out the bath tub as well and tore out (and threw out- I paid for them) the shiny new vinyl tile floor that matched the wall and towels. And now a project I was assured would only take two days has already taken two and it's not over and my house is filthy because whatever plaster and dust I never quite cleaned up the last time has been stirred up again and we've been using a toilet in a vacant aprtment and peeing in the sink (OK maybe just me) and showering at the gym and it's just been hell I tell you, hell on earth. (I'm making a pouty face right now, just so you know). But I have to admit. The new ceramic tile floor makes my naughty parts tingle a bit...

Hyperlink key ain't werkin and she cain't write HTML code. I'm fucked

Oh my gawd, was I really this GAY at one point? I mean I'm really gay, and I someday hope to be elected leader of all that is gay in the land of Gayopolis, but was I really ohsoverygay? soverygay.jpg I truly was.

In case you can't tell, I'm currently going through all my possessions. Every scrap of paper every magazine every saved bill and every closet is being purged. I'm not throwing everything out but it's all being sorted and put together in one area or box or file and put away. The rest is garbage. When I'm done I will have matching furniture and organized closets. Of course two things are happening. I'm finding many things I'd rather I didn't. Like this picture:



I met him when I was right in the middle of my breakdown. I should have run when we met at a hotel on 24th st. He said he was staying there because he wasn't getting along with his family. Turns out, this was where Social Services had placed him for the weekend. My new man on de welfare! He must have sensed how vulnerable I was and I was just too damn fucked up in the head to mount any kind of defense. In spite of it all, he still managed to cause a response in my God complex to activate. I thought I could save him. I wanted to lift him up and in doing so, a part of me believed maybe I would find a way to save myself. And you know, you put up with a lot from a guy who still calls you after you've pissed the bed. More than once. We finally crashed and burned after another crack cocaine feuled disappearance (by him) and a passive/aggressive response (by me). Amazingly, we did somehow manage to get together one more time after an online argument and assurances by him that he really did love me (Dad/Dad/Dad). We met at the bar and kissed and held hands. I think I even sang for him. He stole $400 from me and I never heard from him again. If you see him tell him I said hi.

Due to lack of interest the sun has been cancelled this summer.

I spent about 3 hours last night cooking. I've taken to making three or more meals at a time and then storing them in Gladware. Then when I head out for the gym/work I just grab one and shove it in my bag. It saves money and time not to mention I'm assuming home made food is probably healthier. I tried two new things yesterday. I made sausage jumbalaya and shrimp fra diavlo. I was worried about the jumbalaya because the recipe I had seemed to say that you can put the uncooked sausage in with the rice mix and let the whole thing cook for a half hour. Cutting the sausage into bite size was really kind of gross and messy. Handling raw meat of any kind is kind of nasty if you really think about what you're doing. So I normally don't. But I'll be damned if it didn't cook right up in the pot. I've also taken to adding tobasco to a lot of my meals. I've heard as you get older you tend to not like spicy foods but so far I'm finding the opposite true. I love that hot little zing you get after you take a bite of something that only red pepper or hot sauce gives you. Enough. No recipe posts.

I spent the weekend sort of half heartedly cruising for sex on line. I wasn't really looking so much as seeing who was interested. I wasn't leading people on as I didn't initiate any conversations, nor did I lead anyone to believe I was actively looking. I did respond to chat and sort of threw my panties out to see who sniffed em. Lots of out of shape 45 yr olds apparently are seeing something they like and I'm apparently a hit with the Asian boys I don't know what's up with that. I don't dislike Asian guys at all but to really get me going they have to be half Asain half something else. Asian/Latin or Asian/American hello let's fuck. And oh those cute smooth butts. Lunch anyone? A smattering of people on Gay.com with no picture/no profile saying hello. Here's a hint: The reason a lot of guys don't respond to you if you try to chat anonymously is that it then takes endless amounts of time to say hello/get stats/trade likes/dislikes/hopefully excange pictures blah blah blah. Girls! Who has that kind of time? Post a picture and a brief profile and save a lot of rejection and aggravation.