"Arguing on the internet is like running in the Special Olympics: Even if you win you're still retarded." --- Jesse Dane
The Ex Can't Make Ice Cubes
Saturday, 2:00 am
By can't, I of course don't mean lack of ability to, but rather lacks the patience for. Successfully making ice cubes involves standing at the sink and making sure that each compartment of the ice cube tray fills fully and completely with water, then returning said tray to an even resting position inside the freezer resulting in 16 or 20 (depends on the tray) plump, full, drink chilling cubes. He will have none of it. From the visual evidence I have observed he gets tired or bored toward the left hand side of the tray as those compartments are frequently left empty or filled with enough water so that upon freezing it becomes not so much a cube as an ice wafer, with no discernible use except as an instrument of torture for me. And it's not that he is unaware of this habit. He will frequently make his caffeine free sugar free diet cranberry ginger ale drinks utilizing acceptable ice from multiple trays, leaving me to face 2am armed only with ice wafers to skip across the top of my warm Stoli/soda w/lemon.
As you can see, while I'm not posting for the holiday weekend, I am in fact writing. The lack of posts is due to the fact that nobody, well hardly anybody, will be reading, as the first big summer holiday finds people compelled to do something. I have no such compulsion as I do not get a holiday. Because you do. If you're off, I'm busy. Which means I'm working. A fact I've gotten used to. The only time I resent it is when you're off and it results in extra work for me. Then I'm vaguely more aggressive in dealing with you and much more likely to get drunk and insult you. Because I can.
I have $28 dollars in my pocket. It's Saturday night and I don't pay me until Monday. I've already advanced myself $200 of that pay. Life is a giant hamster wheel. Can't imagine why I'm interviewing for a new job.
Some new links: People I've been reading for a while now and added.
Hello.
Hello.
Hello.
Hello.
Hello.
I also cleaned up all the dead links in my bookmark section, almost completed purchasing a full set of dinnerware for six, and bought two replacement watch bands at a street fair for $5.00. I now have a dress watch in black, a sport watch in brown and a clip on belt watch for casual wear. This makes me feel complete. Because I'm gay.
Found out via Engadget.com that I do not (as I suspected) need to maintain a basic phone line with Verizon to receive DSL service. They are lying to customers. It's a big fat lie. They are stinky liar-doody-heads. I can in fact have DSL service and use my Vonage phone as my primary phone. They (Verizon) still jam a hand in your pocket by insisting that you open a wireless account, which actually fits more in to what I was trying to accomplish, but I question the legality of that policy as well. Anyway, I will be aggressively and smugly calling my Verizon "customer support" (gag) representative on Tuesday.
Sunday, 12:30 pm
As befits the holiday, one of my neighbors has decided that city life be damned, traditionally you barbecue during Memorial Day weekend. So in the alley below my apartment they are doing just that. The smell of the grill has wafted up and filled the apartment. In Manhattan, this is an unusual odor. It stinks good.
The Ex coughed up his share of the bills (late) and the rent (early) so cash crisis averted. Of course, in service to the elaborate Ponzi Scam that is my life, this money will most definitely not be going towards rent or bills. Leaving me to scramble to cover same all month. But for now, this faggot is flush!
Sunday, 5:20 pm
I'm an hour and twenty minutes late for work. Bad attitude much? The Hellcat is asleep on my couch. He called me around 12:30 to invite me to brunch with some Cali friends I've never met before. A couple of months ago I would have been horrified at the prospect, and would have manufactured an excuse not to go. Not so now. They were Uber-gay and wicked cute and very good company. I laughed, I drank a couple (OK four) bloodys, and now I have to try and roust M--- from his nap and see if he can rally and pull a bar shift out his ass. I'm not hopeful.
I managed to wake The Hellcat but he didn't look good at all. Flushed and logey was my visual diagnosis. He claims this is the result of a mimosa and two bloodys, plus the after effects of two weeks of mega antibiotics. I have no choice but to believe him. In a last ditch effort I try to bring him out of it with some directed healing. It really just involves me trying to open myself up to whatever his system is sending out and moving positive energy towards the area that feels "damaged". I laid his head on me and ran my hands down his arms, over his shoulders and finally across his head. That's where I felt the problem was so I lightly and repeatedly stroked his head while concentrating on healing. It seemed to work. Perhaps it was the hot shower. Don't care. I just wanted him to feel better. Maybe I should take a crack at Neo's injured back.
Sunday, 12:45 am
The holiday rush is over. We got stupid busy from around 10:30 'till now. I actually had to do things! The Hellcat was blessedly far too swamped to even think about feeling like shit, and T---- finally jumped behind the stick to help without me asking him to. I even saw him check a bathroom to make sure it was tidy. *sniff* Makes a Duchess so proud! I cleared glasses and ran cases of beer. Managed to get the payroll finished and sent to corporate as well. Stood around and looked pretty, mostly. If we stay busy, I'll keep the place open until 4 am instead of 3. So that my multimillionaire bosses can take in an extra $200.00 or so. Of...which...I...get...squat.
Monday, 12:30 pm
Turn your speakers up and click on this:
Ended up closing The Bar at 3:30 since it was empty by then. Had a cocktail at home by candlelight and off to bed. Going to protein up with some steak n' eggs and hit the gym before heading back to work. I should be more tired than I feel but I'm going with it.
Monday, 9:10 pm
Between the rain and this being the last night of a holiday weekend, you could fire a gun in this dump and not hit a soul. And where's the fun in that? In spite of that I have much work to do. I need to give my doorman a dinner break, that'll take a half hour. I need to fill out pay slips and pay these little piglets their weekly wages and complimentary bowl of gruel. Another half hour there. Plus it's inventory night and as luck would have it, not only do I have to inventory all of storage but I have to inventory the downstairs bar as it's closed today so there's no mewling hunchbacked underling for me to assign this task to. That will time out at a solid hour and a half. Then I have regular closing work plus inventory for the upstairs. A girl barely has time to surf for porn. Still as arduous as all that sounds, you notice I had time to complain in writing. And how stressed am I? Not very I also went shopping on company time. I bought the last place setting for my new dishes. I am now the proud owner of an entire matching six piece dinner set. I wish that I could accurately describe how excited I am. Yes, I know it's stupid. Simple pleasures, folks. Don't underestimate them. Oh, and I bought the new South Beach Diet cookbook as well. For $20, if I get half a dozen new recipes out of it I'll be happy.
Monday, 10:41 pm
Finished doling out the substandard wages (mine most definitely included). Just wanted to share this with you. I keep two enormous CD briefcases in my office. One has CD's that I consider "playable" and is almost full and divided up into neatly organized sub-headings of "new, dance" "Broadway" "Happy Hour" (read: oldies) and classic (early Cher, Duran Duran, Pet Shop Boys etc.) The other briefcase is filed under a general sub-heading of "crap" that by all rights I should just toss but I also keep some comedy CD's and holiday music, Christmas, St Patrick's day etc in there. The opening bartender will frequently load the CD player before I get there, and one of them has what I consider to be the absolute worst taste in music of almost anyone short of The Ex. So how surprised should I be that he decided to pull CD's from the "crap" case and came up with this gem. The CD label says Madonna - ray of light so you can sort of understanding where he was heading but here's the entire song selection clearly written on the label as well:
1. Ray of light- album version (5:19)
2. Ray of light- ultra violet mix (10:43)
3. Ray of light- liquid mix (8:03)
4. Ray of light- calderone club mix (9:29)
35 minutes of re-mixes of the exact same song! Needless to say, that CD is now landfill.
Monday, 1:34 am
Inventory is almost done. The back bar is closed. Now there's just a smattering of alcoholics in the front waiting to be pushed out onto 58th St. and into a cab. Whereupon they will return to an apartment they can't really afford and most likely throw up before bed. Marry me! I'm kidding (mostly). All that's left is to set the alarm at The Restaurant and close down the front. Finish inventory and then a five minute (green lights all the way) cab ride back to my castle high atop Second Avenue.
So, that's what I did this holiday weekend. How was your barbecue, muthafuckah? Now that you bitches are all back at work, I'm finally off.
Saturday, 2:00 am
By can't, I of course don't mean lack of ability to, but rather lacks the patience for. Successfully making ice cubes involves standing at the sink and making sure that each compartment of the ice cube tray fills fully and completely with water, then returning said tray to an even resting position inside the freezer resulting in 16 or 20 (depends on the tray) plump, full, drink chilling cubes. He will have none of it. From the visual evidence I have observed he gets tired or bored toward the left hand side of the tray as those compartments are frequently left empty or filled with enough water so that upon freezing it becomes not so much a cube as an ice wafer, with no discernible use except as an instrument of torture for me. And it's not that he is unaware of this habit. He will frequently make his caffeine free sugar free diet cranberry ginger ale drinks utilizing acceptable ice from multiple trays, leaving me to face 2am armed only with ice wafers to skip across the top of my warm Stoli/soda w/lemon.
As you can see, while I'm not posting for the holiday weekend, I am in fact writing. The lack of posts is due to the fact that nobody, well hardly anybody, will be reading, as the first big summer holiday finds people compelled to do something. I have no such compulsion as I do not get a holiday. Because you do. If you're off, I'm busy. Which means I'm working. A fact I've gotten used to. The only time I resent it is when you're off and it results in extra work for me. Then I'm vaguely more aggressive in dealing with you and much more likely to get drunk and insult you. Because I can.
I have $28 dollars in my pocket. It's Saturday night and I don't pay me until Monday. I've already advanced myself $200 of that pay. Life is a giant hamster wheel. Can't imagine why I'm interviewing for a new job.
Some new links: People I've been reading for a while now and added.
Hello.
Hello.
Hello.
Hello.
Hello.
I also cleaned up all the dead links in my bookmark section, almost completed purchasing a full set of dinnerware for six, and bought two replacement watch bands at a street fair for $5.00. I now have a dress watch in black, a sport watch in brown and a clip on belt watch for casual wear. This makes me feel complete. Because I'm gay.
Found out via Engadget.com that I do not (as I suspected) need to maintain a basic phone line with Verizon to receive DSL service. They are lying to customers. It's a big fat lie. They are stinky liar-doody-heads. I can in fact have DSL service and use my Vonage phone as my primary phone. They (Verizon) still jam a hand in your pocket by insisting that you open a wireless account, which actually fits more in to what I was trying to accomplish, but I question the legality of that policy as well. Anyway, I will be aggressively and smugly calling my Verizon "customer support" (gag) representative on Tuesday.
Sunday, 12:30 pm
As befits the holiday, one of my neighbors has decided that city life be damned, traditionally you barbecue during Memorial Day weekend. So in the alley below my apartment they are doing just that. The smell of the grill has wafted up and filled the apartment. In Manhattan, this is an unusual odor. It stinks good.
The Ex coughed up his share of the bills (late) and the rent (early) so cash crisis averted. Of course, in service to the elaborate Ponzi Scam that is my life, this money will most definitely not be going towards rent or bills. Leaving me to scramble to cover same all month. But for now, this faggot is flush!
Sunday, 5:20 pm
I'm an hour and twenty minutes late for work. Bad attitude much? The Hellcat is asleep on my couch. He called me around 12:30 to invite me to brunch with some Cali friends I've never met before. A couple of months ago I would have been horrified at the prospect, and would have manufactured an excuse not to go. Not so now. They were Uber-gay and wicked cute and very good company. I laughed, I drank a couple (OK four) bloodys, and now I have to try and roust M--- from his nap and see if he can rally and pull a bar shift out his ass. I'm not hopeful.
I managed to wake The Hellcat but he didn't look good at all. Flushed and logey was my visual diagnosis. He claims this is the result of a mimosa and two bloodys, plus the after effects of two weeks of mega antibiotics. I have no choice but to believe him. In a last ditch effort I try to bring him out of it with some directed healing. It really just involves me trying to open myself up to whatever his system is sending out and moving positive energy towards the area that feels "damaged". I laid his head on me and ran my hands down his arms, over his shoulders and finally across his head. That's where I felt the problem was so I lightly and repeatedly stroked his head while concentrating on healing. It seemed to work. Perhaps it was the hot shower. Don't care. I just wanted him to feel better. Maybe I should take a crack at Neo's injured back.
Sunday, 12:45 am
The holiday rush is over. We got stupid busy from around 10:30 'till now. I actually had to do things! The Hellcat was blessedly far too swamped to even think about feeling like shit, and T---- finally jumped behind the stick to help without me asking him to. I even saw him check a bathroom to make sure it was tidy. *sniff* Makes a Duchess so proud! I cleared glasses and ran cases of beer. Managed to get the payroll finished and sent to corporate as well. Stood around and looked pretty, mostly. If we stay busy, I'll keep the place open until 4 am instead of 3. So that my multimillionaire bosses can take in an extra $200.00 or so. Of...which...I...get...squat.
Monday, 12:30 pm
Turn your speakers up and click on this:
Ended up closing The Bar at 3:30 since it was empty by then. Had a cocktail at home by candlelight and off to bed. Going to protein up with some steak n' eggs and hit the gym before heading back to work. I should be more tired than I feel but I'm going with it.
Monday, 9:10 pm
Between the rain and this being the last night of a holiday weekend, you could fire a gun in this dump and not hit a soul. And where's the fun in that? In spite of that I have much work to do. I need to give my doorman a dinner break, that'll take a half hour. I need to fill out pay slips and pay these little piglets their weekly wages and complimentary bowl of gruel. Another half hour there. Plus it's inventory night and as luck would have it, not only do I have to inventory all of storage but I have to inventory the downstairs bar as it's closed today so there's no mewling hunchbacked underling for me to assign this task to. That will time out at a solid hour and a half. Then I have regular closing work plus inventory for the upstairs. A girl barely has time to surf for porn. Still as arduous as all that sounds, you notice I had time to complain in writing. And how stressed am I? Not very I also went shopping on company time. I bought the last place setting for my new dishes. I am now the proud owner of an entire matching six piece dinner set. I wish that I could accurately describe how excited I am. Yes, I know it's stupid. Simple pleasures, folks. Don't underestimate them. Oh, and I bought the new South Beach Diet cookbook as well. For $20, if I get half a dozen new recipes out of it I'll be happy.
Monday, 10:41 pm
Finished doling out the substandard wages (mine most definitely included). Just wanted to share this with you. I keep two enormous CD briefcases in my office. One has CD's that I consider "playable" and is almost full and divided up into neatly organized sub-headings of "new, dance" "Broadway" "Happy Hour" (read: oldies) and classic (early Cher, Duran Duran, Pet Shop Boys etc.) The other briefcase is filed under a general sub-heading of "crap" that by all rights I should just toss but I also keep some comedy CD's and holiday music, Christmas, St Patrick's day etc in there. The opening bartender will frequently load the CD player before I get there, and one of them has what I consider to be the absolute worst taste in music of almost anyone short of The Ex. So how surprised should I be that he decided to pull CD's from the "crap" case and came up with this gem. The CD label says Madonna - ray of light so you can sort of understanding where he was heading but here's the entire song selection clearly written on the label as well:
1. Ray of light- album version (5:19)
2. Ray of light- ultra violet mix (10:43)
3. Ray of light- liquid mix (8:03)
4. Ray of light- calderone club mix (9:29)
35 minutes of re-mixes of the exact same song! Needless to say, that CD is now landfill.
Monday, 1:34 am
Inventory is almost done. The back bar is closed. Now there's just a smattering of alcoholics in the front waiting to be pushed out onto 58th St. and into a cab. Whereupon they will return to an apartment they can't really afford and most likely throw up before bed. Marry me! I'm kidding (mostly). All that's left is to set the alarm at The Restaurant and close down the front. Finish inventory and then a five minute (green lights all the way) cab ride back to my castle high atop Second Avenue.
So, that's what I did this holiday weekend. How was your barbecue, muthafuckah? Now that you bitches are all back at work, I'm finally off.
Clean-up, Aisle #6!
The Holiday weekend is upon us. Please remember that although technically you can wear white, that doesn't necessarily mean you should. I'll be taking the weekend off from posting (although maybe not from writing) but plans so far include movies and food and possibly a long overdue trip to the newly restored subway stop at Coney Island. 17 years in NYC and never been. Here's some links and pics to some stuff clogging my "Favorites" area. Stuff I bookmarked that I doubt I'll ever write about. Have a good weekend. Kiss a stranger.
Bad Scrabble Hands
The Male Body In Comic Book Art...... I don't know why I saved this.
Eminem's a lousy lay!
Something to look at if the weekend turns rainy.
Your Online Source For Everything Evil
Eye Candy from my "cuties" file....
The Holiday weekend is upon us. Please remember that although technically you can wear white, that doesn't necessarily mean you should. I'll be taking the weekend off from posting (although maybe not from writing) but plans so far include movies and food and possibly a long overdue trip to the newly restored subway stop at Coney Island. 17 years in NYC and never been. Here's some links and pics to some stuff clogging my "Favorites" area. Stuff I bookmarked that I doubt I'll ever write about. Have a good weekend. Kiss a stranger.
Bad Scrabble Hands
The Male Body In Comic Book Art...... I don't know why I saved this.
Eminem's a lousy lay!
Something to look at if the weekend turns rainy.
Your Online Source For Everything Evil
Eye Candy from my "cuties" file....
MTV plans gay network
Obviously this is big news. Not so obviously, I see a HUGE job opportunity for me. Of course, I'll be checking out Human Resources for MTV, but if anyone can e-mail any inside info i.e. who I might try and get a resume/writing samples, etc. to I will suck you off as a reward.
Obviously this is big news. Not so obviously, I see a HUGE job opportunity for me. Of course, I'll be checking out Human Resources for MTV, but if anyone can e-mail any inside info i.e. who I might try and get a resume/writing samples, etc. to I will suck you off as a reward.
Social Butterfly (NOT)
Yes, I did attend the GBNY (gay bloggers NY)event held Thursday night at Barrage. Well, by attend they were there and I was there so attend I did but of course we didn't meet up. You see my curiosity got the better of me and I simply had to see who would show up and how many would show up and what they looked like and would I recognize anyone from their pictures. But my social shyness is such that I could never just go up and introduce myself to someone and just, you know, talk.I wouldn't even know how to start that conversation:
"Hi, you don't know me and you've probably never heard of me and you've never read a single word I've written, nice to meet you?"
And this, my friends, is exactly the reason why god invented alcohol. Cocktail parties. The bane of the socially shy person's existence. Unfortunately, I couldn't employ that all -important weapon in my arsenal. I was due in at work at 10pm and was closing (5am), so getting liquored up at 7pm would have left me in a serious deficit in basic comprehension come work time. And while I definitely would not be the first gay bar manager to arrive for his shift drunk from a cocktail party, if you know me you know that's just not me. So I sipped my club soda w/lemon and quietly scoped out the scene. Apparently, others had no such alcohol restrictions.
As expected, they appeared to be a pretty diverse and animated bunch . Age range looked anywhere from late 20's to late 40's. Maybe not as geeky as I expected but if geeky looks like this, sign me up.
Anyway, Barrage is under a renovation, with yellow construction tape wrapped around all the fixtures/walls. Cute(ish) danger and hard hat area signs scrawled on the walls. You can't tell where they're going with it yet. It's really hard to keep a bar open and running while you renovate it but the lost income if you close is way more than most bar owners are willing to suffer. That's understandable. We did it (badly, in hindsight) a couple of years ago so I know of which I speak.
All in all I lasted 'till around 7:30 or so, before I grabbed my knapsack and headed back home. I understand from the post party blogs around town that the blogfest went far into the night with many smaller groups meeting up again on Saturday.(I also discovered that name tags were broken out at some point, which might have been helpful to me as I probably would have summoned the balls to speak to people I had read.) At any rate, I needed to fix some food for lunch which I ate while I fixed my dinner. Ironed a shirt and then high-tailed it up to The Bar. Speaking of which, if any NYGB want to do something like this again or if you have a cool idea for another Blogger party gimme a shoutout. I happen to know a certain Midtown East bar manager that's receptive to the idea. I promise to talk this time.
Oh, and on a side note, I did manage to discover a whole host of (mostly) New York City Bloggers that I haven't been reading. Seriously, my blog "favorites" column on my home computer has gotten wicked out of control. It takes me a good hour and a half to check them on a daily basis all at once.Sometimes I do it in sections over the course of a day. And a lot of them I haven't even linked to yet. But I like my periodic link updates. I think it keeps things interesting. What say you? Leave it alone? Show you everything I'm reading? Or the dreaded third option: Who the fuck gives a shit? ..... That's what I thought.
And for the record, I am fully aware of the ironic situation of describing myself stripping naked, having full out filthy buttsex in a room full of other naked men, only to be in a situation the next day fully clothed but unable to bridge a three foot gap across a room to speak to people I obviously have so much in common with. And yes, I know it speaks to my sexual compulsion overriding my social shyness, or it may have something to do with my confidence in my abilities as a writer. I find it highly amusing in a you-are-so-fucked-up-in-the-head sort of way.
Yes, I did attend the GBNY (gay bloggers NY)event held Thursday night at Barrage. Well, by attend they were there and I was there so attend I did but of course we didn't meet up. You see my curiosity got the better of me and I simply had to see who would show up and how many would show up and what they looked like and would I recognize anyone from their pictures. But my social shyness is such that I could never just go up and introduce myself to someone and just, you know, talk.I wouldn't even know how to start that conversation:
"Hi, you don't know me and you've probably never heard of me and you've never read a single word I've written, nice to meet you?"
And this, my friends, is exactly the reason why god invented alcohol. Cocktail parties. The bane of the socially shy person's existence. Unfortunately, I couldn't employ that all -important weapon in my arsenal. I was due in at work at 10pm and was closing (5am), so getting liquored up at 7pm would have left me in a serious deficit in basic comprehension come work time. And while I definitely would not be the first gay bar manager to arrive for his shift drunk from a cocktail party, if you know me you know that's just not me. So I sipped my club soda w/lemon and quietly scoped out the scene. Apparently, others had no such alcohol restrictions.
As expected, they appeared to be a pretty diverse and animated bunch . Age range looked anywhere from late 20's to late 40's. Maybe not as geeky as I expected but if geeky looks like this, sign me up.
Anyway, Barrage is under a renovation, with yellow construction tape wrapped around all the fixtures/walls. Cute(ish) danger and hard hat area signs scrawled on the walls. You can't tell where they're going with it yet. It's really hard to keep a bar open and running while you renovate it but the lost income if you close is way more than most bar owners are willing to suffer. That's understandable. We did it (badly, in hindsight) a couple of years ago so I know of which I speak.
All in all I lasted 'till around 7:30 or so, before I grabbed my knapsack and headed back home. I understand from the post party blogs around town that the blogfest went far into the night with many smaller groups meeting up again on Saturday.(I also discovered that name tags were broken out at some point, which might have been helpful to me as I probably would have summoned the balls to speak to people I had read.) At any rate, I needed to fix some food for lunch which I ate while I fixed my dinner. Ironed a shirt and then high-tailed it up to The Bar. Speaking of which, if any NYGB want to do something like this again or if you have a cool idea for another Blogger party gimme a shoutout. I happen to know a certain Midtown East bar manager that's receptive to the idea. I promise to talk this time.
Oh, and on a side note, I did manage to discover a whole host of (mostly) New York City Bloggers that I haven't been reading. Seriously, my blog "favorites" column on my home computer has gotten wicked out of control. It takes me a good hour and a half to check them on a daily basis all at once.Sometimes I do it in sections over the course of a day. And a lot of them I haven't even linked to yet. But I like my periodic link updates. I think it keeps things interesting. What say you? Leave it alone? Show you everything I'm reading? Or the dreaded third option: Who the fuck gives a shit? ..... That's what I thought.
And for the record, I am fully aware of the ironic situation of describing myself stripping naked, having full out filthy buttsex in a room full of other naked men, only to be in a situation the next day fully clothed but unable to bridge a three foot gap across a room to speak to people I obviously have so much in common with. And yes, I know it speaks to my sexual compulsion overriding my social shyness, or it may have something to do with my confidence in my abilities as a writer. I find it highly amusing in a you-are-so-fucked-up-in-the-head sort of way.
From My Mailbag... (feel free to steal it)
REPUBLICAN NATIONAL COMMITTEE
CONVENTION SCHEDULE
New York, NY
>
>
>06:00 PM Opening Prayer led by the Reverend Jerry Falwell
>06:30 PM Pledge of Allegiance
>06:35 PM Burning of Bill of Rights (excluding 2nd amendment)
>06:45 PM Salute to the Coalition of the Willing
>06:46 PM Seminar #1 "Getting your kid a military deferment"
>07:30 PM First Presidential Beer Bash for Bush
>07:35 PM Serve Freedom Fries
>07:40 PM EPA Address #1: Mercury, it's what's for dinner.
>08:00 PM Vote on which country to invade next
>08:10 PM Call EMTs to revive Rush Limbaugh
>08:15 PM John Ashcroft Lecture: The Homos are after your children
>08:30 PM Round table discussion on reproductive rights (MEN only)
>08:50 PM Seminar #2 Corporations: The government of the future
>09:00 PM Condi Rice sings "Can't Help Lovin' Dat Man"
>09:05 PM Second Presidential Beer Bash for Bush
>09:10 PM EPA Address #2 Trees: The real cause of forest fires
>09:30 PM Break for secret meetings
>10:00 PM Second prayer led by Pat Robertson
>10:15 PM Lecture by Carl Rove: Doublespeak made easy
>10:30 PM Rumsfeld demonstration of how to squint and talk macho
>10:35 PM Bush demonstration of trademark "deer in headlights" stare.
>10:40 PM John Ashcroft demonstrates new mandatory kevlar chastity belt
>10:45 PM Clarence Thomas reads list of black republicans
>10:46 PM Third Presidential Beer Bash for Bush
>10:50 PM Seminar #3 Education: a drain on our nation's economy.
>11:10 PM Hilary Clinton Piñata
>11:20 PM Second Lecture by John Ashcroft: "Evolutionists--The dangerous new
>cult"
>11:30 PM Call EMTs to revive Rush Limbaugh again.
>11:35 PM Blame Clinton
>11:40 PM Laura serves milk and cookies
>11:50 PM Closing Prayer led by Jesus Himself
>12:00 PM Nomination of George W. Bush as Holy Supreme Planetary Leader
NOTE: THIS IS A CONFIDENTIAL COMMUNICATION. This transmission is intended only for the use of the individual or entity to which it is addressed. If you are not the intended recipient, or the person responsible for delivering the message to the intended recipient, please return it immediately. Although this e-mail and any attachments are believed to be free of any virus or other defect, it is the responsibility of the recipient to ensure that it is virus free and no responsibility is accepted by us for any loss or damage arising in any way from its unauthorized modification or use.
My Weekend (Part 2, The Filthy Stuff)
Warning: This post contains sexually explicit material. If you are not comfortable reading that please feel free to skip this section. If you are a good friend who doesn't need to know this information, feel free to skip it. If you're a pervy piggy, enjoy.
So Tuesday was all about hitting some bars. Wednesday was upon me and half a weekend to go. Laundry or any housekeeping was out of the question although I did re-pot some house plants so I guess that counts as keeping house. (yawn) I'm idly surfin' and jerkin' when suddenly, an e-mail comes in. Would I be interested in attending a sex party scheduled for this very night? It's in a private space downtown with a discretionary but not restrictive door, everyone invited is HIV+ (look at me, in an exclusive club I could have done without) and the party starts early in the evening and goes 'till 4am. Would eye? Would eye? Peg leg! Peg leg! So I dutifuly answer in the affirmative and just like that, my night's planned. If they could only all be this simple.
The rest of the night was spent ...... I know .... sex please.
I will say that I put on my rarely used jockstrap since this was a special occasion and because while I'm totally comfortable naked many times you arrive at a party like this and jocks and underware are the norm, at least at first, so it pays to be prepared. I set out about 11pm for the lower east side address. That was a guesstimate as the party had "started" at 6 and the door would close at 1am. Start being a relative term with gay men. I once made the mistake of going to a party like this once a few years ago. I arrived on time, only to find the hosts still running to the store for supplies and clearing furniture and making refreshments, etc. The party didn't actually "start" for over two hours at which point I was ready to leave from the crushing boredom. On this night I arrived about 11:30 and after confirming I was "on the list" *snicker* I was invited to check my clothes. I'm so happy I have no hang-ups about getting naked. I imagine that is an uncomfortable moment for some people. I just strip. You know what? If you see anything you haven't before, shoot it.
Once inside, it was a fairly large space, lots of wrestling mats (padding is key) strewn about. Some furniture, fencing, a sling (yahoo!), a couple of other play spaces. There seemed to be about 20-25 men total wandering about. There was a cute little Latin up in the sling. A guy had worked half his hand up his ass, but it didn't look like the whole thing was going to make it. I worked my way into one of the play areas where a hot light-skinned bald black man was being swarmed. I got behind him and pulled my jock down. I was intending to just start playing around, get the ball rolling so to speak. Next thing I know one of the guys working the black guy's nipple jumped on my candy and hoovered it into his mouth. Cool. I let him suck me till I was hard while another guy eventually started licking my balls. Hey whatever's clever, huh? Anyway while the guy that was sucking my cock was working me, another guy had walked up behind him and started a half-hearted (it seemed) fuck. All the while looking at me like "See, I'm fucking him ya see?" I just closed my eyes and let it go. Eventually I was ready to move on and had to physically pull this guy off my dick. Twice, as he wasn't reading my signal. I had another nice looking (I guess) guy suck me off for a while. What he lacked in technique he made up for in enthusiasm but after about 10 minutes I could tell I wouldn't be able to get off with this one. Not that I was ready to anyway. It was then I spotted a hot blond with a gorgeous round butt bent over a chair getting fucked. And while I usually avoid the white boys as a rule I had one thought when I spotted that ass. Gimme! Once bachelor number one was finished I lubed up a tad and pushed in for glory. Sweet jesus his ass felt good. I must have been feelin ok to him as well as I got a nice moan on the all the way in spot. I held it there. Pressed up against him I felt the union of two bodies and the primal feeling it unlocks. I bent over his back and bit him on the shoulder. Then I started to fuck him. Slowly, then faster, than harder. I pulled all the way out only to plunge back in two, three, four times. I buried myself all the way in and then humped up against him, making him feel me deep inside repeatedly. It was hot. But I wasn't ready to cum just yet so eventually I disengaged, patting his ass as I walked away. There was another guy lining up right behind me. I repeated that scenario with four other men. Three other guys sucked my cock in between fucking. I was pretty popular this night I must admit. I figured out why pretty quickly. I wasn't drunk or high. The only chemicals in me were the anxiety meds, vitamins, viagra and aspirin for the viagra headache. This left me in the moment with a great big stiffy that a lot of the guys there couldn't manage. One guy literally sat down on a couch, so drunk he wasn't even bothering to hold in his white bread and pasta gut and passed out, naked at a sex party sitting up. Why bother? Either I'm getting liquored up and useless or naked and shooting. So me and my viagra cock where a coveted prize. A fact I used to my full advantage. Eventually, I found that little Latino from the sling, now on a couch getting fucked. I waited off to the side till the guy fucking him had finished at which point my new friend flipped over onto all fours and wiggled that cute brown butt at me. You don't have to tell me twice. Eventually I had him back on his back and was fucking him while the other guy jerked off and blew a hot load in his face. So, so dirty. That was fun. The only "bad" experience of the whole night was the one time this skinny brown haired man started sucking me till I got hard again at which point he pulled the "doggie flip" as well. I climbed on and went in. Only this time I felt absolutely nothing. This man's ass was so loose that my cock barely registered. And while I never have claimed to be huge there's plenty of "there" there so for me to feel nothing. Egads! I wanted out as soon as I was in and fucked him half heartedly for a few minutes before I moved on. The other was the aforementioned hoover. Somehow he had managed to get a mouthful of me again until he decided for his next trick he was gonna shove me up his ass as if I'd be like, "how'd this middle-aged bottom get here? Oh well, I guess I'll fuck him." I literally had to pull my cock away from his hole. I wandered around here and there. Three of the "hottest" guys went off by themselves. Fuck it, though. I don't worry about such things. I can key into another guy in a roomful of guys. You wanna watch, no skin off my ass. I watched another guy jerk a guy off. No sucking or fucking just lube and stroking. It was totally hot when the guy getting jerked off threw his head back and shot. It was then I saw one of our patrons. I guess he's around my age but he's shorter and much more muscular then me. I wondered what he looked like naked and as it turns out he's got a hot bod and a respectable though not huge dick. Filed under things to remember. I was thinking about leaving when I wandered back to the sling. I hadn't seen the guy that was in it before, he must have been a late arrival. 6'2 short, dark, military haircut, a couple of tatts. Nice bod and not real hairy with a shaved hole craving some attention. Yeesssssss. This was the one. Like the Three Bear's Porridge of asses. Not too hot, not too cold, this ass was just right. I fucked deep and slow. I grabbed the chains on the sling and rocked him back and forth on my dick. At one point my feet were off the ground with both of us in the air. Me grinding my cock deep up his ass. I looked in his eyes. He smiled. That did it. I pulled out and gave my cock four or five fast strokes then damn, I brought one up from my toes as all the muscles in my abdomen tensed and I shot for what felt like two full minutes. Mini spasms that followed felt fucking fantastic. I was vaguely aware that off to my left someone had cum at the same time I did. I love that. When I finally came back to Earth, I plodded over to the bathroom, cleaned up in the sink and headed to collect my clothes. My final fuck came out to buy a soda and he looked as good standing up. I think a little smile played across my face as I thought, "Yeah, I just tore me off a piece of that." I said my goodnites and headed for home. The next night at work I was dragging my ass the entire time. "She's all fucked out." I said to no one in particular.
Warning: This post contains sexually explicit material. If you are not comfortable reading that please feel free to skip this section. If you are a good friend who doesn't need to know this information, feel free to skip it. If you're a pervy piggy, enjoy.
So Tuesday was all about hitting some bars. Wednesday was upon me and half a weekend to go. Laundry or any housekeeping was out of the question although I did re-pot some house plants so I guess that counts as keeping house. (yawn) I'm idly surfin' and jerkin' when suddenly, an e-mail comes in. Would I be interested in attending a sex party scheduled for this very night? It's in a private space downtown with a discretionary but not restrictive door, everyone invited is HIV+ (look at me, in an exclusive club I could have done without) and the party starts early in the evening and goes 'till 4am. Would eye? Would eye? Peg leg! Peg leg! So I dutifuly answer in the affirmative and just like that, my night's planned. If they could only all be this simple.
The rest of the night was spent ...... I know .... sex please.
I will say that I put on my rarely used jockstrap since this was a special occasion and because while I'm totally comfortable naked many times you arrive at a party like this and jocks and underware are the norm, at least at first, so it pays to be prepared. I set out about 11pm for the lower east side address. That was a guesstimate as the party had "started" at 6 and the door would close at 1am. Start being a relative term with gay men. I once made the mistake of going to a party like this once a few years ago. I arrived on time, only to find the hosts still running to the store for supplies and clearing furniture and making refreshments, etc. The party didn't actually "start" for over two hours at which point I was ready to leave from the crushing boredom. On this night I arrived about 11:30 and after confirming I was "on the list" *snicker* I was invited to check my clothes. I'm so happy I have no hang-ups about getting naked. I imagine that is an uncomfortable moment for some people. I just strip. You know what? If you see anything you haven't before, shoot it.
Once inside, it was a fairly large space, lots of wrestling mats (padding is key) strewn about. Some furniture, fencing, a sling (yahoo!), a couple of other play spaces. There seemed to be about 20-25 men total wandering about. There was a cute little Latin up in the sling. A guy had worked half his hand up his ass, but it didn't look like the whole thing was going to make it. I worked my way into one of the play areas where a hot light-skinned bald black man was being swarmed. I got behind him and pulled my jock down. I was intending to just start playing around, get the ball rolling so to speak. Next thing I know one of the guys working the black guy's nipple jumped on my candy and hoovered it into his mouth. Cool. I let him suck me till I was hard while another guy eventually started licking my balls. Hey whatever's clever, huh? Anyway while the guy that was sucking my cock was working me, another guy had walked up behind him and started a half-hearted (it seemed) fuck. All the while looking at me like "See, I'm fucking him ya see?" I just closed my eyes and let it go. Eventually I was ready to move on and had to physically pull this guy off my dick. Twice, as he wasn't reading my signal. I had another nice looking (I guess) guy suck me off for a while. What he lacked in technique he made up for in enthusiasm but after about 10 minutes I could tell I wouldn't be able to get off with this one. Not that I was ready to anyway. It was then I spotted a hot blond with a gorgeous round butt bent over a chair getting fucked. And while I usually avoid the white boys as a rule I had one thought when I spotted that ass. Gimme! Once bachelor number one was finished I lubed up a tad and pushed in for glory. Sweet jesus his ass felt good. I must have been feelin ok to him as well as I got a nice moan on the all the way in spot. I held it there. Pressed up against him I felt the union of two bodies and the primal feeling it unlocks. I bent over his back and bit him on the shoulder. Then I started to fuck him. Slowly, then faster, than harder. I pulled all the way out only to plunge back in two, three, four times. I buried myself all the way in and then humped up against him, making him feel me deep inside repeatedly. It was hot. But I wasn't ready to cum just yet so eventually I disengaged, patting his ass as I walked away. There was another guy lining up right behind me. I repeated that scenario with four other men. Three other guys sucked my cock in between fucking. I was pretty popular this night I must admit. I figured out why pretty quickly. I wasn't drunk or high. The only chemicals in me were the anxiety meds, vitamins, viagra and aspirin for the viagra headache. This left me in the moment with a great big stiffy that a lot of the guys there couldn't manage. One guy literally sat down on a couch, so drunk he wasn't even bothering to hold in his white bread and pasta gut and passed out, naked at a sex party sitting up. Why bother? Either I'm getting liquored up and useless or naked and shooting. So me and my viagra cock where a coveted prize. A fact I used to my full advantage. Eventually, I found that little Latino from the sling, now on a couch getting fucked. I waited off to the side till the guy fucking him had finished at which point my new friend flipped over onto all fours and wiggled that cute brown butt at me. You don't have to tell me twice. Eventually I had him back on his back and was fucking him while the other guy jerked off and blew a hot load in his face. So, so dirty. That was fun. The only "bad" experience of the whole night was the one time this skinny brown haired man started sucking me till I got hard again at which point he pulled the "doggie flip" as well. I climbed on and went in. Only this time I felt absolutely nothing. This man's ass was so loose that my cock barely registered. And while I never have claimed to be huge there's plenty of "there" there so for me to feel nothing. Egads! I wanted out as soon as I was in and fucked him half heartedly for a few minutes before I moved on. The other was the aforementioned hoover. Somehow he had managed to get a mouthful of me again until he decided for his next trick he was gonna shove me up his ass as if I'd be like, "how'd this middle-aged bottom get here? Oh well, I guess I'll fuck him." I literally had to pull my cock away from his hole. I wandered around here and there. Three of the "hottest" guys went off by themselves. Fuck it, though. I don't worry about such things. I can key into another guy in a roomful of guys. You wanna watch, no skin off my ass. I watched another guy jerk a guy off. No sucking or fucking just lube and stroking. It was totally hot when the guy getting jerked off threw his head back and shot. It was then I saw one of our patrons. I guess he's around my age but he's shorter and much more muscular then me. I wondered what he looked like naked and as it turns out he's got a hot bod and a respectable though not huge dick. Filed under things to remember. I was thinking about leaving when I wandered back to the sling. I hadn't seen the guy that was in it before, he must have been a late arrival. 6'2 short, dark, military haircut, a couple of tatts. Nice bod and not real hairy with a shaved hole craving some attention. Yeesssssss. This was the one. Like the Three Bear's Porridge of asses. Not too hot, not too cold, this ass was just right. I fucked deep and slow. I grabbed the chains on the sling and rocked him back and forth on my dick. At one point my feet were off the ground with both of us in the air. Me grinding my cock deep up his ass. I looked in his eyes. He smiled. That did it. I pulled out and gave my cock four or five fast strokes then damn, I brought one up from my toes as all the muscles in my abdomen tensed and I shot for what felt like two full minutes. Mini spasms that followed felt fucking fantastic. I was vaguely aware that off to my left someone had cum at the same time I did. I love that. When I finally came back to Earth, I plodded over to the bathroom, cleaned up in the sink and headed to collect my clothes. My final fuck came out to buy a soda and he looked as good standing up. I think a little smile played across my face as I thought, "Yeah, I just tore me off a piece of that." I said my goodnites and headed for home. The next night at work I was dragging my ass the entire time. "She's all fucked out." I said to no one in particular.
My Weekend (Part 1, The clean stuff)
Weekend being a relative term as mine falls on Tuesday/Wednesday. I decided to honor my New Year's pledge and actually go out into the world for a bit. Tuesday night I ventured down to the lower east side to check out a new bar that opened this weekend called Boysroom. Sounds promising, no? It's down on Ave. A just before Houston St. Not necessarily the safest area for general faggotry but an up and coming neighborhood that is getting it's share of "hip" new bars both gay and straight. The walk from my castle high atop Second Avenue is about 20 minutes. I decided to not worry about what to wear,opting for jeans and a smart-ass T-shirt. I arrived around midnight and found the door staff to be very friendly. That's always a welcome surprise. It always amazes me when you show up at a club and the door staff acts like letting you in is some huge imposition that they can barely tolerate. Hello, when you're in the business of selling drinks it would be helpful to have people to sell the drinks to, attitudinous fuckhead.
At any rate the bar itself on a Tuesday night was pretty average. Centrally located decent size bar in the middle of the room. Raised platform/stage in the back near the dj booth. The wait for a drink was not at all, mostly because there weren't a lot of people there. Ominously, at the same time I went in they ushered in six straight white 30-something women. They had obviously wandered off the Houston St. straight circuit (by way of Long Island if I judged the clothing right) After loading up on cosmos (Carrie Bradshaw, much?) they proceeded to lurch about the dance floor doing that white woman finger point dance that just sends a shudder up my spine, I don't know why. But for a new club to be already attracting it's "used to be hot but now attracting it's second generation" crowd means this place could be ovah before it becomes evah.
As to the rest of the crowd there was a smattering of East Village boys (read skinny and slightly scruffy/ yummy), and a few twinky, overdressed, hair dyed lady-boys, and some people obviously hired to be "atmosphere" because they were, well, obviously atmospheric. Note to whoever: wrapping yourself up in 3 dollars worth of crinoline and parading endlessly back and forth across the room does not make you Naomi Campbell. It does make you look ridiculous and annoying. As to the obligatory gogo boys make that boy (singular), a slightly muscly blond man who seemed to have no physical relationship to the music being played as his "dancing" seemed to involve standing near/at the gogo pole (a de rigeur piece of bar equipment it appears these days) and twitching and jerking about like the bar was a giant defibrillator or something. And totally a turn off. It's like I've always said, if you can't dance, you can't fuck. Rhythm being the key to both activities. It was kind of sad really, Sweet ass, though.
I didn't like the music. Hate being a much too strong word. My verbal review to a friend went something like this:
Friend: "How'd you like the music?"
Me: "feh."
Now to be fair, The Hellcat went this (real) weekend the night before they were having their official grand opening and he said he had a filthy fun time, so you should by no means take this as my last word. I will be back for sure it's a cute space and there were so few people there that the downstairs wasn't being used this night so I haven't even seen it yet. Also, in consulting one of the local fag rags that did a feature on the club last week. I see that the (mystifyingly) crowd pleasing Jonny McGovern and DJ Nita will be taking over Tuesday's so at least the crowd should swell, if not my enthusiasm.
After that, it was just a hop over to Urge Lounge on 2n/2nd. It's on the way home after all. I like Urge and the manager/owner is a "friend of the family". I have to say, even though he's closer to The Ex than to me, it seems he's picking his gogo boys just for my benefit. Copper latin skin, big dicks and tasty phat asses. Anyway, the only really remarkable things that took place were when I was entering and just before leaving. Right after exiting the hallway entrance into the main bar I was bumped into (slightly) by a rather large black man. No bigee. But he excused himself like this:
"Oh excuse me, Daddy. I'm sorry"
Daddy now is it? Hmmmmmm. Happy, sad or amused. I can't say...
And just before I left, again standing in the front of the bar. Several men walk past me. The last of which markedly and with no mistaking it for accidental brushes his hand and arm right across my crotch. Some strange man felt my candy! Just before he walked out the door he turned completey around and looked at me. I smiled and laughed. He smiled. He left. 10 minutes later I was walking home.
Also:
Two New Words To Add To Your Lexicon (courtesy of GQ/uk)
Sarchasm n. the gaping abyss of humor and understanding that is created when someone is oblivious to anothers' use of irony. Prevalent in New York and Los Angeles: Sasha was completely unaware of Nick's use of sarchasm when he said he'd never even heard of her video.
Teenile adj. refers to a man or woman, usually in his/her late thirties or forties, who has a propensity to wear clothes suited to someone at least 20 years his/her junior: Did you see that 40-year-old wearing a trucker's cap with his jeans around his knees? Was he crazy or simply teenile?
That second one should come in handy at The Bar. Always some teenile patrons on the weekends.
Weekend being a relative term as mine falls on Tuesday/Wednesday. I decided to honor my New Year's pledge and actually go out into the world for a bit. Tuesday night I ventured down to the lower east side to check out a new bar that opened this weekend called Boysroom. Sounds promising, no? It's down on Ave. A just before Houston St. Not necessarily the safest area for general faggotry but an up and coming neighborhood that is getting it's share of "hip" new bars both gay and straight. The walk from my castle high atop Second Avenue is about 20 minutes. I decided to not worry about what to wear,opting for jeans and a smart-ass T-shirt. I arrived around midnight and found the door staff to be very friendly. That's always a welcome surprise. It always amazes me when you show up at a club and the door staff acts like letting you in is some huge imposition that they can barely tolerate. Hello, when you're in the business of selling drinks it would be helpful to have people to sell the drinks to, attitudinous fuckhead.
At any rate the bar itself on a Tuesday night was pretty average. Centrally located decent size bar in the middle of the room. Raised platform/stage in the back near the dj booth. The wait for a drink was not at all, mostly because there weren't a lot of people there. Ominously, at the same time I went in they ushered in six straight white 30-something women. They had obviously wandered off the Houston St. straight circuit (by way of Long Island if I judged the clothing right) After loading up on cosmos (Carrie Bradshaw, much?) they proceeded to lurch about the dance floor doing that white woman finger point dance that just sends a shudder up my spine, I don't know why. But for a new club to be already attracting it's "used to be hot but now attracting it's second generation" crowd means this place could be ovah before it becomes evah.
As to the rest of the crowd there was a smattering of East Village boys (read skinny and slightly scruffy/ yummy), and a few twinky, overdressed, hair dyed lady-boys, and some people obviously hired to be "atmosphere" because they were, well, obviously atmospheric. Note to whoever: wrapping yourself up in 3 dollars worth of crinoline and parading endlessly back and forth across the room does not make you Naomi Campbell. It does make you look ridiculous and annoying. As to the obligatory gogo boys make that boy (singular), a slightly muscly blond man who seemed to have no physical relationship to the music being played as his "dancing" seemed to involve standing near/at the gogo pole (a de rigeur piece of bar equipment it appears these days) and twitching and jerking about like the bar was a giant defibrillator or something. And totally a turn off. It's like I've always said, if you can't dance, you can't fuck. Rhythm being the key to both activities. It was kind of sad really, Sweet ass, though.
I didn't like the music. Hate being a much too strong word. My verbal review to a friend went something like this:
Friend: "How'd you like the music?"
Me: "feh."
Now to be fair, The Hellcat went this (real) weekend the night before they were having their official grand opening and he said he had a filthy fun time, so you should by no means take this as my last word. I will be back for sure it's a cute space and there were so few people there that the downstairs wasn't being used this night so I haven't even seen it yet. Also, in consulting one of the local fag rags that did a feature on the club last week. I see that the (mystifyingly) crowd pleasing Jonny McGovern and DJ Nita will be taking over Tuesday's so at least the crowd should swell, if not my enthusiasm.
After that, it was just a hop over to Urge Lounge on 2n/2nd. It's on the way home after all. I like Urge and the manager/owner is a "friend of the family". I have to say, even though he's closer to The Ex than to me, it seems he's picking his gogo boys just for my benefit. Copper latin skin, big dicks and tasty phat asses. Anyway, the only really remarkable things that took place were when I was entering and just before leaving. Right after exiting the hallway entrance into the main bar I was bumped into (slightly) by a rather large black man. No bigee. But he excused himself like this:
"Oh excuse me, Daddy. I'm sorry"
Daddy now is it? Hmmmmmm. Happy, sad or amused. I can't say...
And just before I left, again standing in the front of the bar. Several men walk past me. The last of which markedly and with no mistaking it for accidental brushes his hand and arm right across my crotch. Some strange man felt my candy! Just before he walked out the door he turned completey around and looked at me. I smiled and laughed. He smiled. He left. 10 minutes later I was walking home.
Also:
Two New Words To Add To Your Lexicon (courtesy of GQ/uk)
Sarchasm n. the gaping abyss of humor and understanding that is created when someone is oblivious to anothers' use of irony. Prevalent in New York and Los Angeles: Sasha was completely unaware of Nick's use of sarchasm when he said he'd never even heard of her video.
Teenile adj. refers to a man or woman, usually in his/her late thirties or forties, who has a propensity to wear clothes suited to someone at least 20 years his/her junior: Did you see that 40-year-old wearing a trucker's cap with his jeans around his knees? Was he crazy or simply teenile?
That second one should come in handy at The Bar. Always some teenile patrons on the weekends.
It's Not Fair
Bradford gets a cute little tormenter like Toby. I'm stuck with this loser freak.
So a couple of weeks ago The Deaf Cocksucker
sent me what seemed to be some sort of conciliatory (in his mind) e-mail. Of course, I would have none of it and rightly told him so. This set off a wave of nastier and offensive messages by The Deaf Cocksucker, and I responded to every one. Over and over trying (and failing) to get him to never contact me again. I saved them, but had more or less decided not to use them as I really want nothing to do with this turd.
Besides it seems he was busy being an obnoxious asshole over on the Captain-Obvious site where they aptly store him in The Tard Farm.
Anyway, the following is a verbatim display of the e-mail exchange that took place. So you don't get confused. I'll let The Deaf Cocksucker be in bold face and my responses in italics:
It is sad that we are fighting against each other -- instead of trying
to talk it out -- you seem to accuse me a lot of things and I had to
defend myself.
Read my blog. I'm willing to put it aside and talk. I do not want to
make an enemy at all. But you seem to be all that.
Dick,
I saw it. Wherever did you get such a creative idea? So original! God, you're lame.
I have no interest in speaking to you at all ...ever ...about any subject. I don't like you. And I never will.
whatever you say -- just leave me alone and i'll leave you alone --
stop harassing me. you have ur lame opinions that nobody cared. so
does mine but guess what?
be a bitter queen for all i care.
have a nice life,
r-
Dick,
You're fat and stupid. Go fuck yourself. Loser.
Tom
You are ugly and bitter. Your comments reflect who you are. I feel
sorry for you. I may be fat but I am losing weight. You are just
dying. That is my final email to you, dumbfuck.
R-
Dick,
I pray that I will never receive another juvenile, insipid, mean spirited, ugly e-mail from you ever, as long as I live. But I know that's not true. There is poison in your soul, and you cannot resist venting the evil that will consume you. And you're fat.
Tom
Is that all you can say, aids boy?
R-
Dick,
See? Pure evil. I knew you couldn't resist.
(ed. note: In the putrid obsessive rantings in his "weblog" The Deaf Cocksucker repeatedly refers to me by my full name.)
Thank you, by the way. Now I show up when you Google search my name I always wanted that.
I find it fascinating that you think showing the world that you are a nasty little prick will somehow hurt me. When in reality all it does is show everyone that just because you're gay and deaf, it doesn't mean that you will turn out to be anything other than a vicious bigoted name calling piece of trash. But thanks, as well for proving my point.
Charming, Huh?
But I thought I was well rid of the steaming pile of elephant poo. Alas, it was not to be. Much to my horror I opened up a comment on the previous post regarding my fondness for the WB show Angel. It was from The Deaf Cocksucker. And it was practically conversational! The unmitigated gaul! I guess I shouldn't be surprised as he seems to have no idea what the boundaries regarding civilized discourse are or should be, but did this asshole have a complete break with reality? The very idea that I had any intent of allowing him additional space on my site made me gag. And prompted this e-mail exchange from today:
Dick,
Your comment was deleted from my weblog. I thought I made it clear that I want nothing to do with you, nor do I intend to allow my weblog to reflect your disgusting and heinous worldview. Please refrain from posting anything to my weblog in the future as I will summarily delete anything you might have to say. I am not interested you nasty, dumb dickhead.
Tom
Childish, immature and pitiful response but I respect your wishes.
You are all that what I expected -- a bitter hiv queen. LOL. Good
riddance and btw, your comments are full of bad sentences. I had it
printed and handed it to my friend who is the professor -- (ed. note: In the future, I prefer all my correspondence to be vetted by either Ginger or Mrs. Howell) he corrected a lot of it. says a lot about yourself, though. But again, I respect your request, dumbfuck.
Dick,
If the lack of basic education you've shown is any indication I'll assume your "professor" is as mentally handicapped as you are. I'm actually a quite happy individual these days, I JUST DON'T LIKE YOU AT ALL. You are twisted and ugly. PLEASE DON'T CONTACT ME I WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU
Speak for yourself. You're full of hatred and pea-brained misfit who
has nothing to live for. that is my last email, dumbfuck
r-
Dick,
Why is your last e-mail never your last e-mail? I wish that I would never hear from you again. But you can't do that can you? .... Have I mentioned you're fat?
Tom
Yeah, you mentioned that I'm ugly, hideous and fat? Have I mentioned
that you're having crix body? Facial wasting, too? And yeah, that
HIV/AIDS thing.
You knew that if you call me something, you'd get a response no matter
what. You're shallow for calling people fat ... just read your
comments, for god's sake!
and yeah, u're dumbfuck to realize that, too.
R-
As I said, I was hoping that if I just didn't mention or communicate with The Deaf Cocksucker he would just get bored and go bother some other "hearie". Since he can't seem to stop talking about me and he can't seem to stop communicating with me despite repeated attempts to get him to stay the fuck off my site if anyone has any good suggestions for how to totally fuck up this asshole's world, send them my way. The gloves are off.
Bradford gets a cute little tormenter like Toby. I'm stuck with this loser freak.
So a couple of weeks ago The Deaf Cocksucker
sent me what seemed to be some sort of conciliatory (in his mind) e-mail. Of course, I would have none of it and rightly told him so. This set off a wave of nastier and offensive messages by The Deaf Cocksucker, and I responded to every one. Over and over trying (and failing) to get him to never contact me again. I saved them, but had more or less decided not to use them as I really want nothing to do with this turd.
Besides it seems he was busy being an obnoxious asshole over on the Captain-Obvious site where they aptly store him in The Tard Farm.
Anyway, the following is a verbatim display of the e-mail exchange that took place. So you don't get confused. I'll let The Deaf Cocksucker be in bold face and my responses in italics:
It is sad that we are fighting against each other -- instead of trying
to talk it out -- you seem to accuse me a lot of things and I had to
defend myself.
Read my blog. I'm willing to put it aside and talk. I do not want to
make an enemy at all. But you seem to be all that.
Dick,
I saw it. Wherever did you get such a creative idea? So original! God, you're lame.
I have no interest in speaking to you at all ...ever ...about any subject. I don't like you. And I never will.
whatever you say -- just leave me alone and i'll leave you alone --
stop harassing me. you have ur lame opinions that nobody cared. so
does mine but guess what?
be a bitter queen for all i care.
have a nice life,
r-
Dick,
You're fat and stupid. Go fuck yourself. Loser.
Tom
You are ugly and bitter. Your comments reflect who you are. I feel
sorry for you. I may be fat but I am losing weight. You are just
dying. That is my final email to you, dumbfuck.
R-
Dick,
I pray that I will never receive another juvenile, insipid, mean spirited, ugly e-mail from you ever, as long as I live. But I know that's not true. There is poison in your soul, and you cannot resist venting the evil that will consume you. And you're fat.
Tom
Is that all you can say, aids boy?
R-
Dick,
See? Pure evil. I knew you couldn't resist.
(ed. note: In the putrid obsessive rantings in his "weblog" The Deaf Cocksucker repeatedly refers to me by my full name.)
Thank you, by the way. Now I show up when you Google search my name I always wanted that.
I find it fascinating that you think showing the world that you are a nasty little prick will somehow hurt me. When in reality all it does is show everyone that just because you're gay and deaf, it doesn't mean that you will turn out to be anything other than a vicious bigoted name calling piece of trash. But thanks, as well for proving my point.
Charming, Huh?
But I thought I was well rid of the steaming pile of elephant poo. Alas, it was not to be. Much to my horror I opened up a comment on the previous post regarding my fondness for the WB show Angel. It was from The Deaf Cocksucker. And it was practically conversational! The unmitigated gaul! I guess I shouldn't be surprised as he seems to have no idea what the boundaries regarding civilized discourse are or should be, but did this asshole have a complete break with reality? The very idea that I had any intent of allowing him additional space on my site made me gag. And prompted this e-mail exchange from today:
Dick,
Your comment was deleted from my weblog. I thought I made it clear that I want nothing to do with you, nor do I intend to allow my weblog to reflect your disgusting and heinous worldview. Please refrain from posting anything to my weblog in the future as I will summarily delete anything you might have to say. I am not interested you nasty, dumb dickhead.
Tom
Childish, immature and pitiful response but I respect your wishes.
You are all that what I expected -- a bitter hiv queen. LOL. Good
riddance and btw, your comments are full of bad sentences. I had it
printed and handed it to my friend who is the professor -- (ed. note: In the future, I prefer all my correspondence to be vetted by either Ginger or Mrs. Howell) he corrected a lot of it. says a lot about yourself, though. But again, I respect your request, dumbfuck.
Dick,
If the lack of basic education you've shown is any indication I'll assume your "professor" is as mentally handicapped as you are. I'm actually a quite happy individual these days, I JUST DON'T LIKE YOU AT ALL. You are twisted and ugly. PLEASE DON'T CONTACT ME I WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU
Speak for yourself. You're full of hatred and pea-brained misfit who
has nothing to live for. that is my last email, dumbfuck
r-
Dick,
Why is your last e-mail never your last e-mail? I wish that I would never hear from you again. But you can't do that can you? .... Have I mentioned you're fat?
Tom
Yeah, you mentioned that I'm ugly, hideous and fat? Have I mentioned
that you're having crix body? Facial wasting, too? And yeah, that
HIV/AIDS thing.
You knew that if you call me something, you'd get a response no matter
what. You're shallow for calling people fat ... just read your
comments, for god's sake!
and yeah, u're dumbfuck to realize that, too.
R-
As I said, I was hoping that if I just didn't mention or communicate with The Deaf Cocksucker he would just get bored and go bother some other "hearie". Since he can't seem to stop talking about me and he can't seem to stop communicating with me despite repeated attempts to get him to stay the fuck off my site if anyone has any good suggestions for how to totally fuck up this asshole's world, send them my way. The gloves are off.
I'm Backed Up!
In a good way. I have tons of content waiting to spill out. Some good, some not so good. I'm a little afraid I'm going to forget to get to something so even though I'm totally agin' it, multiple posts may be in order. A serious re-direction of this chronicle may be looming. Or not. For now, you can enjoy this comedy gem I stumbled on the other day. Hilarious, baby! (I didn't get permission, but I think linking to it is OK, I don't really care 'cause it's fuckin funny.)
The Secret Diaries Of Liza Minelli
It's 1p.m. Time for breakfast at Cosmo's.
In a good way. I have tons of content waiting to spill out. Some good, some not so good. I'm a little afraid I'm going to forget to get to something so even though I'm totally agin' it, multiple posts may be in order. A serious re-direction of this chronicle may be looming. Or not. For now, you can enjoy this comedy gem I stumbled on the other day. Hilarious, baby! (I didn't get permission, but I think linking to it is OK, I don't really care 'cause it's fuckin funny.)
The Secret Diaries Of Liza Minelli
It's 1p.m. Time for breakfast at Cosmo's.
What Did You Do Sunday?
The AIDSwalk went off with a modicum of hitches on Sunday. Typically of me, I spent most of the day previous screwing around on-line and gabbing on the phone. So of course that left me the night before scrambling for batteries for the camera and having to accomplish some personal ... um... grooming late into the evening. Not too bad I believe I was curling up for a snooze by about 2 am. Early for a bar person. And I'm pretty functional on 5 hours sleep. Indeed I woke up 1/2 hour before my alarm set for 7:30. I had promised to call The Hellcat at 8 am, he claimed he'd be up by then but I knew this would be a wake-up call instead. It was. That was fine. According to M--- we would all be meeting up at the bar as we did last year and making our way to the park. I was not hopeful as I hadn't made any of these arrangements and it didn't appear anyone from my well meaning staff had taken a leadership role in organizing the operation. But I managed to arrive at the bar promptly at 9 am with 2 nutritious Micky D's eggamuffin and double order of home-fries.Of course, I packed a fat-free yogurt in with that. A girl has to watch her weight. The Hellcat and his boyfriend pulled up around 9:30 or so and we went inside to pee, pick out shades, wrap and un-wrap an extra shirt, change from jeans to shorts and back again. You know, be gay.
We finally arrived in the park at the sign in area around 10:30 sans the rest of our group. A quick cell phone call later placed them squarely 45 minutes to an hour ahead of us already walking. They would remain separated by that approximate distance for the remainder of the day. The weather forecast for the day called for partly cloudy skies with a chance of a shower and a high temp. of around 75. By the time we were into the walk the sun was shining, a shower was clearly not imminent and 75 felt reached and surpassed. Technology. Go figure. They had it so delightfully wrong weather-wize that by 12:30 or so it had cooked up enough that shirts started peeling off left and right. Is there anything sexier than a tattoo of some sort just at the small of a man's back right where his jeans rest at the top of his ass? I don't think so.(I need a moment, hang on.) So it was me, The Hellcat and his boyfriend for the day, an unexpected development as I didn't really know the boyfriend well beyond saying hello. Turns out he's a pretty nice guy. I got a fairly decent vibe off him. We stopped at a bodega (convenience store) in Harlem where M--- made fast friends with the cashier and purchased a dozen Bud "ponies" (little Budweiser half-beers) and some Tylenol. I thought it was a little odd, turns out, he had a reason. (explanation later)
The walk itself was pretty mundane, the usual sights as the rout through the park never changes. Celebrity sightings included John Lithgow, cooling out listening to a Jamaican drum corps, and Carson Kressley, signing autographs along the route. Talk about mainstream, was he surrounded by adoring fags? Try giddy Latin girls. That's mainstream. We finished in pretty good time by around 2 and another cell phone hook up had us heading over to The Restaurant to meet the girls for brunch. By the time we arrived the front room was still pretty full, mostly men in semi casual Sunday gentleman attire. Needless to say, I felt my T-shirt reading "HIV Inside" while clearly appropriate for the walk, was now bordering on a little too in your face for the Sunday brunch crowd. Thankfully, our table was set up all alone in the back room. I have an inkling for the very reasons I just cited. We ordered a round of cocktails and swapped stories. It was pleasant enough but I have to confess, I was wildly uncomfortable for some reason and I really don't care for the food at The Restaurant so much, and since The Hellcat mentioned wanting to head down to the village for a spell I craftily reminded him that we wouldn't have time for that if we stayed as we had a time limit brought about by the fact that we were both due to work in the evening. He bit. We knocked back our drinks, popped over to the bar to drop off bags and rinse off, and hopped in a cab for a ride down to Christopher St..
I'll skip some of the details of our afternoon in the village, as it's getting a whole post of it's own later in the week. But I will tell you it included my first visit to "The Dugout". A legendary Christopher St. watering hole that has a summer Sunday scene that I had yet to experience. It was cool. Men of all ages, sizes, types just hanging out on a Sunday afternoon. We met a couple of older men (by older I mean 75 and 79) who seemed truly happy to be making the scene and as an added bonus, one of them guessed my age as 32. I kissed him full -on on the mouth. Eventually, The Hellcat said goodbye to the boyfriend and we made our way back uptown. We stopped at the Food Emporium for some much needed dinner. We ate, and got the back bar ready for the night. We were both six kinds of tired by then and the rest of the night consisted of me struggling to stay alert and alternately trying to buck up M--- and keep him going. It worked and we got through the night relatively unscathed. I didn't fall ill like last year, and while I personally only managed to raise about $250.00 for the cause, by not interfering in my employee's fundraising collectively we managed to raise about $5,300.00. Far and away beating last year's total. All together, over 5 million dollars was raised on a beautiful summer Sunday afternoon. And all we had to do was spend the day with friends walking in the park. Pretty nice.
Ed Note: Not everyone was able to participate as planned and not everyone escaped the day unscathed. All is not well amongst my employees. Poor Neo is currently recuperating at home. He developed a bad case of sciatica that he didn't tend to quickly enough. The muscles in his lower back and leg are completely in spasm and he's unable to walk. Unfortunately, the only real treatment is anti-inflammatory drugs, time and bed rest. He's hoping to be back by this Friday but after speaking to him recently and having been through the very same thing about 10 years ago I'm doubtful.
Two cocktail waiters have been out for the better part of the week. Both with bad colds, high fever and laryngitis.
As mentioned above, The Hellcat's purchase of "emergency Budweiser" and aspirin puzzled me. As it turns out, the staph infection he thought he'd cleared from his system months ago had flared up again that morning. He was already in quite a bit of pain and worried about spending the night in the emergency room after his shift. That didn't happen but he is currently back on a broad spectrum of antibiotics and unable to work for now. Hopefully it was caught in time and he won't have to lose shifts and money due to this.
On an up note, everyone seems to be on the mend. Nothing that time, rest and the wonders of pharmacology won't take care of. I swear, sometimes I don't feel like I'm running a bar so much as a wing at St. Vincent's.
The AIDSwalk went off with a modicum of hitches on Sunday. Typically of me, I spent most of the day previous screwing around on-line and gabbing on the phone. So of course that left me the night before scrambling for batteries for the camera and having to accomplish some personal ... um... grooming late into the evening. Not too bad I believe I was curling up for a snooze by about 2 am. Early for a bar person. And I'm pretty functional on 5 hours sleep. Indeed I woke up 1/2 hour before my alarm set for 7:30. I had promised to call The Hellcat at 8 am, he claimed he'd be up by then but I knew this would be a wake-up call instead. It was. That was fine. According to M--- we would all be meeting up at the bar as we did last year and making our way to the park. I was not hopeful as I hadn't made any of these arrangements and it didn't appear anyone from my well meaning staff had taken a leadership role in organizing the operation. But I managed to arrive at the bar promptly at 9 am with 2 nutritious Micky D's eggamuffin and double order of home-fries.Of course, I packed a fat-free yogurt in with that. A girl has to watch her weight. The Hellcat and his boyfriend pulled up around 9:30 or so and we went inside to pee, pick out shades, wrap and un-wrap an extra shirt, change from jeans to shorts and back again. You know, be gay.
We finally arrived in the park at the sign in area around 10:30 sans the rest of our group. A quick cell phone call later placed them squarely 45 minutes to an hour ahead of us already walking. They would remain separated by that approximate distance for the remainder of the day. The weather forecast for the day called for partly cloudy skies with a chance of a shower and a high temp. of around 75. By the time we were into the walk the sun was shining, a shower was clearly not imminent and 75 felt reached and surpassed. Technology. Go figure. They had it so delightfully wrong weather-wize that by 12:30 or so it had cooked up enough that shirts started peeling off left and right. Is there anything sexier than a tattoo of some sort just at the small of a man's back right where his jeans rest at the top of his ass? I don't think so.(I need a moment, hang on.) So it was me, The Hellcat and his boyfriend for the day, an unexpected development as I didn't really know the boyfriend well beyond saying hello. Turns out he's a pretty nice guy. I got a fairly decent vibe off him. We stopped at a bodega (convenience store) in Harlem where M--- made fast friends with the cashier and purchased a dozen Bud "ponies" (little Budweiser half-beers) and some Tylenol. I thought it was a little odd, turns out, he had a reason. (explanation later)
The walk itself was pretty mundane, the usual sights as the rout through the park never changes. Celebrity sightings included John Lithgow, cooling out listening to a Jamaican drum corps, and Carson Kressley, signing autographs along the route. Talk about mainstream, was he surrounded by adoring fags? Try giddy Latin girls. That's mainstream. We finished in pretty good time by around 2 and another cell phone hook up had us heading over to The Restaurant to meet the girls for brunch. By the time we arrived the front room was still pretty full, mostly men in semi casual Sunday gentleman attire. Needless to say, I felt my T-shirt reading "HIV Inside" while clearly appropriate for the walk, was now bordering on a little too in your face for the Sunday brunch crowd. Thankfully, our table was set up all alone in the back room. I have an inkling for the very reasons I just cited. We ordered a round of cocktails and swapped stories. It was pleasant enough but I have to confess, I was wildly uncomfortable for some reason and I really don't care for the food at The Restaurant so much, and since The Hellcat mentioned wanting to head down to the village for a spell I craftily reminded him that we wouldn't have time for that if we stayed as we had a time limit brought about by the fact that we were both due to work in the evening. He bit. We knocked back our drinks, popped over to the bar to drop off bags and rinse off, and hopped in a cab for a ride down to Christopher St..
I'll skip some of the details of our afternoon in the village, as it's getting a whole post of it's own later in the week. But I will tell you it included my first visit to "The Dugout". A legendary Christopher St. watering hole that has a summer Sunday scene that I had yet to experience. It was cool. Men of all ages, sizes, types just hanging out on a Sunday afternoon. We met a couple of older men (by older I mean 75 and 79) who seemed truly happy to be making the scene and as an added bonus, one of them guessed my age as 32. I kissed him full -on on the mouth. Eventually, The Hellcat said goodbye to the boyfriend and we made our way back uptown. We stopped at the Food Emporium for some much needed dinner. We ate, and got the back bar ready for the night. We were both six kinds of tired by then and the rest of the night consisted of me struggling to stay alert and alternately trying to buck up M--- and keep him going. It worked and we got through the night relatively unscathed. I didn't fall ill like last year, and while I personally only managed to raise about $250.00 for the cause, by not interfering in my employee's fundraising collectively we managed to raise about $5,300.00. Far and away beating last year's total. All together, over 5 million dollars was raised on a beautiful summer Sunday afternoon. And all we had to do was spend the day with friends walking in the park. Pretty nice.
Ed Note: Not everyone was able to participate as planned and not everyone escaped the day unscathed. All is not well amongst my employees. Poor Neo is currently recuperating at home. He developed a bad case of sciatica that he didn't tend to quickly enough. The muscles in his lower back and leg are completely in spasm and he's unable to walk. Unfortunately, the only real treatment is anti-inflammatory drugs, time and bed rest. He's hoping to be back by this Friday but after speaking to him recently and having been through the very same thing about 10 years ago I'm doubtful.
Two cocktail waiters have been out for the better part of the week. Both with bad colds, high fever and laryngitis.
As mentioned above, The Hellcat's purchase of "emergency Budweiser" and aspirin puzzled me. As it turns out, the staph infection he thought he'd cleared from his system months ago had flared up again that morning. He was already in quite a bit of pain and worried about spending the night in the emergency room after his shift. That didn't happen but he is currently back on a broad spectrum of antibiotics and unable to work for now. Hopefully it was caught in time and he won't have to lose shifts and money due to this.
On an up note, everyone seems to be on the mend. Nothing that time, rest and the wonders of pharmacology won't take care of. I swear, sometimes I don't feel like I'm running a bar so much as a wing at St. Vincent's.
Today In History
Congratulations go out to all the happy couples granted marriage licenses today. While I'm on record as saying I think it's a silly idea (for me), I understand that many gays and lesbians care passionately about this issue. Our victories should be celebrated.
The AIDSwalk is over and I'll give you a rundown later. Unfortunately my digital camera is malfunctioning so "a lot" of pictures translates to a couple. Something truly disappointing and outrageous happened as well. I'm preparing a piece and a plan so check back later in the week.
Congratulations go out to all the happy couples granted marriage licenses today. While I'm on record as saying I think it's a silly idea (for me), I understand that many gays and lesbians care passionately about this issue. Our victories should be celebrated.
The AIDSwalk is over and I'll give you a rundown later. Unfortunately my digital camera is malfunctioning so "a lot" of pictures translates to a couple. Something truly disappointing and outrageous happened as well. I'm preparing a piece and a plan so check back later in the week.
Choose Wisely...
I found a link to the Nick Berg video the day the story broke. I pulled the link up and hovered my cursor over it, my index finger poised to click on it. I thought of his family, and of the reports that they had collapsed on their lawn, not so much at learning of his murder but at the knowledge that the video was available worldwide for viewing. In that instant, my choice was clear. I opted to skip it. I already know the horrific lengths men can go to in the name of religion or fanaticism. And now I'm really glad.
I'm not going to bore you with requests for donations for the AIDSWalk tomorrow. It seems only a couple of well-meaning souls are interested.
I found a link to the Nick Berg video the day the story broke. I pulled the link up and hovered my cursor over it, my index finger poised to click on it. I thought of his family, and of the reports that they had collapsed on their lawn, not so much at learning of his murder but at the knowledge that the video was available worldwide for viewing. In that instant, my choice was clear. I opted to skip it. I already know the horrific lengths men can go to in the name of religion or fanaticism. And now I'm really glad.
I'm not going to bore you with requests for donations for the AIDSWalk tomorrow. It seems only a couple of well-meaning souls are interested.
Saturday In The Park With The Poz Men ....
So last Saturday I got my shaved white ass up after 5 hours sleep to attend what was being called New York Poz Picnic 2004. It was being put together I found out later by people involved with a group called The HIVE. They're a group of HIV+ people and their friends/boyfriends that meet informally once a month or so at various bars and restaurants or to celebrate holidays. The idea being that meeting in social settings with other HIV+ men eliminates the need (in theory) to be concerned with disclosing your HIV status or getting a negative reaction to that information. And while I don't intend to surround myself with HIV+ men exclusively I thought it would be nice to make some new friends outside the bar where I can just be me and not Boss-me or Manager-me. So I posted a notice about the picnic downstairs in the employee area (thereby effectively outing myself as HIV+ to the rest of the staff that didn't already know) and tried to make plans to attend with Neo. I had no illusions that anyone else would be joining us as my staff rarely attends anything during the day and especially if alcohol isn't the focus.
Neo ended up begging off but I was determined to attend myself. The way it was built up on the website it seemed to be a big event. They provided directions to the city from the airport, tips about the new non-smoking laws as well as hotel and other travel information. It seemed that people would be attending from up and down the east coast at least and I was excited at the possibility of meeting a bunch of HIV+ men. On a picnic no less! So, after closing at 4am and then finishing up at 5 I cabbed it home and got 5 furious hours of sleep only to get up, hit the Food Emporium for supplies and head up to the meeting place by Tavern On The Green. I felt like someone had bashed my head in with a shovel, but I was there.
Upon arriving at the designated meeting place, I was greeted right away. I guess the new "Pink Posse" buzzcut and the over groomed goatee are a dead giveaway. The guy doing the greeting as it turns out was one of the organizers of the group and in fact, put up the website I had responded to. It was then that I found out it was a HIVE affiliated event. It should have thrown up a flag but I guess I was too tired. I had been to one other HIVE associated "event". Sometime in the fall/winter of last year they had announced an outing on a Friday night at a club in the West 30's called Escualita's. Now normally, Escualita's draws a heavily Latino crowd and they love the drag show there. In theory,this was a triple base hit for me: I like the drag show, I would like meeting other HIV+ men and my love of the browned skin men knows no bounds. Perfect, no? Well, no. While it seems there was a HIVE event taking place and a small cover charge was collected and there was a bar open playing videos of nights from Escualita that looked like a lot of fun, this particular night didn't look as if the light from fun would reach it in a thousand years. Maybe 15 people in a dimly lit nightclub doing ....nothing. Not talking, not dancing, certainly not mingling. I know mingling I've been mingled, a mingle was not imminent.
So when myself and three men were introduced and given vague verbal directions of where the actual picnic was taking place doubt had already begun to creep in. We wandered through the park until we came upon a grassy ridge where about 12-15 men in lesbian picnic attire seemed to be gathering like a rag-tag gay militia.
"I think that's them," I said.
"No, it can't be," one of my new companions offered. But I think he was in denial.
"It most assuredly can, come on."
As we approached we were greeted by some of the men and invited to set up shop anywhere. I began to scope out the crowd. How do I put this? Oh well, out with it. I was almost the youngest man there. I know! The new face of HIV is middle aged with a pot belly! Why isn't this being covered? I mean, if you think of it it does make perfect sense. The epidemic in this country is 30 yrs. old by now and everybody didn't die and some of them are getting on now. I guess along with getting older and being HIV+ comes a desire to meet and talk with other HIV+ men which I guess explains the turnout and the type of turnout they got. Younger HIV+ guys were still on the dance floor at Roxy. Because they can.
So I unpacked my knapsack and took a sip of water and watched as men straggled up and set their things out, or didn't. Some of them pulled up a piece of rock and just sat there. It became apparent to me rather quickly that absolutely nothing was about to happen and I was fucking freezing. I had worn my own lesbian picnic attire and while flannel, it was pretty flimsy and a very chilly wind was blowing pretty steadily through the park. As I hadn't eaten yet I decided to have a nosh and see if it "warmed up" in any sense of that expression. I chowed down half a roast beef sammich and some seafood salad and tried to stay in the sun. After a half hour or so, a thought began forming in my mind. The one place in all the land I wish to be right now is NOT HERE! You don't ignore a thought that forms that clearly. I gathered my things and threw a smoke pellet to cover my escape. I set off through the park, headed for anywhere but where I was. I snapped a few pix near the fountain made my way to a #6 train and high-tailed it back to Gramercy Park. The rest of the afternoon spent thrift shopping for artwork and at the Union Square Market for plants and veggies.
So apparently, this HIVE group, while clearly a well meaning bunch of people, have left a crucial component of the fun equation out. Whereby people + X = FUN, with X being something to do. Anybody can host "an event" at a bar. But something has to happen, some entertainment, something to spark conversation something to get people involved. You can say you're "hosting a picnic" but if you're not providing any food, and you're not coming up with any stupid/fun games and you don't even bring a freakin ' frisbee then all you're hosting is a bunch of middle aged HIV+ guys who eat lunch on a rock. And that's no fun at all.
Give It To Me Till I Get Rugburns.....
In case you haven't figured it out yet, every one of my messages this week relate to an aspect of being HIV+ and what that means (for me at least).It's all in an effort to get you to sponsor me for this Sunday's AIDSWalk NY hopefully, a much more successful day in Central Park. I will be writing a personal thank you (if that's an attraction) to all who take the time to make a donation. Since you have already generously surpassed my original $100.00 pledge goal, I decided to boldly push it to $300, and I thank you already. If it stops now I am humbled and joyful. I'll have my trusty digicam to take lots of pictures of me and mine ruining our pedicures for a good cause.
You can follow the link: Sponsor A Walker on the AIDSWalk menu bar or just click here.Participant's First Name: Tom ... Last Name T. I'll be reminding you every day until the walk so I apologize in advance.
So last Saturday I got my shaved white ass up after 5 hours sleep to attend what was being called New York Poz Picnic 2004. It was being put together I found out later by people involved with a group called The HIVE. They're a group of HIV+ people and their friends/boyfriends that meet informally once a month or so at various bars and restaurants or to celebrate holidays. The idea being that meeting in social settings with other HIV+ men eliminates the need (in theory) to be concerned with disclosing your HIV status or getting a negative reaction to that information. And while I don't intend to surround myself with HIV+ men exclusively I thought it would be nice to make some new friends outside the bar where I can just be me and not Boss-me or Manager-me. So I posted a notice about the picnic downstairs in the employee area (thereby effectively outing myself as HIV+ to the rest of the staff that didn't already know) and tried to make plans to attend with Neo. I had no illusions that anyone else would be joining us as my staff rarely attends anything during the day and especially if alcohol isn't the focus.
Neo ended up begging off but I was determined to attend myself. The way it was built up on the website it seemed to be a big event. They provided directions to the city from the airport, tips about the new non-smoking laws as well as hotel and other travel information. It seemed that people would be attending from up and down the east coast at least and I was excited at the possibility of meeting a bunch of HIV+ men. On a picnic no less! So, after closing at 4am and then finishing up at 5 I cabbed it home and got 5 furious hours of sleep only to get up, hit the Food Emporium for supplies and head up to the meeting place by Tavern On The Green. I felt like someone had bashed my head in with a shovel, but I was there.
Upon arriving at the designated meeting place, I was greeted right away. I guess the new "Pink Posse" buzzcut and the over groomed goatee are a dead giveaway. The guy doing the greeting as it turns out was one of the organizers of the group and in fact, put up the website I had responded to. It was then that I found out it was a HIVE affiliated event. It should have thrown up a flag but I guess I was too tired. I had been to one other HIVE associated "event". Sometime in the fall/winter of last year they had announced an outing on a Friday night at a club in the West 30's called Escualita's. Now normally, Escualita's draws a heavily Latino crowd and they love the drag show there. In theory,this was a triple base hit for me: I like the drag show, I would like meeting other HIV+ men and my love of the browned skin men knows no bounds. Perfect, no? Well, no. While it seems there was a HIVE event taking place and a small cover charge was collected and there was a bar open playing videos of nights from Escualita that looked like a lot of fun, this particular night didn't look as if the light from fun would reach it in a thousand years. Maybe 15 people in a dimly lit nightclub doing ....nothing. Not talking, not dancing, certainly not mingling. I know mingling I've been mingled, a mingle was not imminent.
So when myself and three men were introduced and given vague verbal directions of where the actual picnic was taking place doubt had already begun to creep in. We wandered through the park until we came upon a grassy ridge where about 12-15 men in lesbian picnic attire seemed to be gathering like a rag-tag gay militia.
"I think that's them," I said.
"No, it can't be," one of my new companions offered. But I think he was in denial.
"It most assuredly can, come on."
As we approached we were greeted by some of the men and invited to set up shop anywhere. I began to scope out the crowd. How do I put this? Oh well, out with it. I was almost the youngest man there. I know! The new face of HIV is middle aged with a pot belly! Why isn't this being covered? I mean, if you think of it it does make perfect sense. The epidemic in this country is 30 yrs. old by now and everybody didn't die and some of them are getting on now. I guess along with getting older and being HIV+ comes a desire to meet and talk with other HIV+ men which I guess explains the turnout and the type of turnout they got. Younger HIV+ guys were still on the dance floor at Roxy. Because they can.
So I unpacked my knapsack and took a sip of water and watched as men straggled up and set their things out, or didn't. Some of them pulled up a piece of rock and just sat there. It became apparent to me rather quickly that absolutely nothing was about to happen and I was fucking freezing. I had worn my own lesbian picnic attire and while flannel, it was pretty flimsy and a very chilly wind was blowing pretty steadily through the park. As I hadn't eaten yet I decided to have a nosh and see if it "warmed up" in any sense of that expression. I chowed down half a roast beef sammich and some seafood salad and tried to stay in the sun. After a half hour or so, a thought began forming in my mind. The one place in all the land I wish to be right now is NOT HERE! You don't ignore a thought that forms that clearly. I gathered my things and threw a smoke pellet to cover my escape. I set off through the park, headed for anywhere but where I was. I snapped a few pix near the fountain made my way to a #6 train and high-tailed it back to Gramercy Park. The rest of the afternoon spent thrift shopping for artwork and at the Union Square Market for plants and veggies.
So apparently, this HIVE group, while clearly a well meaning bunch of people, have left a crucial component of the fun equation out. Whereby people + X = FUN, with X being something to do. Anybody can host "an event" at a bar. But something has to happen, some entertainment, something to spark conversation something to get people involved. You can say you're "hosting a picnic" but if you're not providing any food, and you're not coming up with any stupid/fun games and you don't even bring a freakin ' frisbee then all you're hosting is a bunch of middle aged HIV+ guys who eat lunch on a rock. And that's no fun at all.
Give It To Me Till I Get Rugburns.....
In case you haven't figured it out yet, every one of my messages this week relate to an aspect of being HIV+ and what that means (for me at least).It's all in an effort to get you to sponsor me for this Sunday's AIDSWalk NY hopefully, a much more successful day in Central Park. I will be writing a personal thank you (if that's an attraction) to all who take the time to make a donation. Since you have already generously surpassed my original $100.00 pledge goal, I decided to boldly push it to $300, and I thank you already. If it stops now I am humbled and joyful. I'll have my trusty digicam to take lots of pictures of me and mine ruining our pedicures for a good cause.
You can follow the link: Sponsor A Walker on the AIDSWalk menu bar or just click here.Participant's First Name: Tom ... Last Name T. I'll be reminding you every day until the walk so I apologize in advance.
Wealthy, Educated White Straight Guy Contracts HIV - Cure Is Announced Immediately
Ed. Note: Sorry I couldn't resist.This was posted at The Body.com. While I don't agree with every little detail of what the author said, I thought he expressed himself well, with enormous hope and strength and a "fight the good fight" rallying cry I thought deserved to be seen:
I wanted to express my gratitude to the operators of this site and the practitioners of the forums. You have touched my life in a very good way. Since my infection and diagnosis last Fall, this site, its compassionate physicians and its wonderful educational resources has held me together through a personal trauma unmatched in the course of my life. Like many in small communities, there are limited support systems for assistance for someone initiated to this harsh new world through a single act of stupidity. Faced with questions of my own mortality and reasons for living, this site has encouraged, supported, and educated this guy about life as I now accept it. As many in your clinics, I am anything but your typical media demographic for this disease, yet here I am. For me, I always had compassion, but never "connection" to the world of HIV/AIDS. It was never the "feigned grief" of the sleeping village destroyed by the volcano metaphor, but this disease does not affect the lives of highly educated, professional, heterosexual, family guys like me until it crosses your personal threshold. Unfortunately, it has had its greatest impact with the poor, the addicted, and the gay and other communities that are more easily marginalized in our society. This marginalization allows a variety of effects including chronic under funding of research and support programs as well as stigmatization of those unfortunate enough to have contracted this disease.
With great compassion and understanding for those who have struggled long with this virus, with those who are faced with diminishing options and increasing health challenges, and for the twenty-somethings logging in as newly diagnosed, I can tell you that my outlook is a hopeful one and I am encouraged by what the future holds. New to this world as patient, I can tell you my observations. I apologize in advance for my bias as a first worlder, as I can claim very little understanding of the third world challenges of HIV/AIDS beyond the tragic accounts, media reports and staggering statistics I read.
1) Medical science has and is making great strides in the treatment and management of this disease. With a bit of luck and good attention to personal health (take your viral birth control pills!), the outlook for most is promising. There are no sure things in life, and good health and longevity are not assured for anybody, regardless of HIV status.
2) The lack of urgency in US government concerning this worldwide epidemic is astounding. I do not think we get it. As the strongest and smartest economy on the planet, we should be leading with our compassion, mobilizing resources at level consistent with the challenge. That even some of our own citizens in need go without medical treatment for what is now a treatable chronic condition is unconscionable.
3) You can survive this diagnosis. Make no mistake - its serious stuff. Nevertheless, the good life can go on - largely if you are willing to work at it. It is easy to give up, but a future belongs to those who can step into the ring with this stupid monkey virus and go the full 10 rounds. Expect to be beat up, but not beaten. You have support in your corner and oftentimes you have to find it and accept it. You are better than this virus; make a testament of this fact.
4) The images and circumstances of the early advent of this disease have encouraged discrimination in today's attitudes about those unfortunate enough to be infected. I follow my physician's coaching and his own actions on my behalf: there is discrimination, pettiness, and too often, ill will out there. There are not many who you cross paths with in life, including friends, family, work, and even some in the medical profession who "need" to know of your diagnosis. Choose wisely, follow your heart and protect yourself and your loved ones from people who may use this information against you. In a perfect world, honesty and openness is the desired course, but then this world is far from perfect. The courage of those who are open and honest about their status should never be underestimated.
5) Never loose your hope. In the darkest of times, remember the millions who have gone before you and sadly for now, the millions who will come after you. You are not alone in this unless you choose to be alone. Some of the brightest minds ever to walk the planet are working tirelessly on your behalf - take comfort in this. The incredible voyage now underway has taken our medical knowledge to levels unimaginable only a few short decades ago. You are today a beneficiary of this creativity and passion in the search for science truth, good therapies, and ultimately, a cure.
6) Be pro vita! Above all, live your life. Do not let your diagnosis define your life. Manage your hopes, your dreams and your aspirations, your loves and passions as you did before the word retrovirus was a part of your vocabulary. Celebrate the good and the bad about life and your ability to know the difference. At any level of life, only a competitor can earn the distinction of champion.
My warmest regards, M
Give It To Me Till I Get Rugburns.....
In case you haven't figured it out yet, every one of my messages this week relate to an aspect of being HIV+ and what that means (for me at least).It's all in an effort to get you to sponsor me for this Sunday's AIDSWalk NY in Central Park. I will be writing a personal thank you (if that's an attraction) to all who take the time to make a donation. Since you have already generously surpassed my original $100.00 pledge goal, I decided to boldly push it to $300, and I thank you already. If it stops now I am humbled and joyful. I'll have my trusty digicam to take lots of pictures of me and mine ruining our pedicures for a good cause.
You can follow the link: Sponsor A Walker on the AIDSWalk menu bar or just click here.Participant's First Name: Tom ... Last Name T. I'll be reminding you every day until the walk so I apologize in advance.
Ed. Note: Sorry I couldn't resist.This was posted at The Body.com. While I don't agree with every little detail of what the author said, I thought he expressed himself well, with enormous hope and strength and a "fight the good fight" rallying cry I thought deserved to be seen:
I wanted to express my gratitude to the operators of this site and the practitioners of the forums. You have touched my life in a very good way. Since my infection and diagnosis last Fall, this site, its compassionate physicians and its wonderful educational resources has held me together through a personal trauma unmatched in the course of my life. Like many in small communities, there are limited support systems for assistance for someone initiated to this harsh new world through a single act of stupidity. Faced with questions of my own mortality and reasons for living, this site has encouraged, supported, and educated this guy about life as I now accept it. As many in your clinics, I am anything but your typical media demographic for this disease, yet here I am. For me, I always had compassion, but never "connection" to the world of HIV/AIDS. It was never the "feigned grief" of the sleeping village destroyed by the volcano metaphor, but this disease does not affect the lives of highly educated, professional, heterosexual, family guys like me until it crosses your personal threshold. Unfortunately, it has had its greatest impact with the poor, the addicted, and the gay and other communities that are more easily marginalized in our society. This marginalization allows a variety of effects including chronic under funding of research and support programs as well as stigmatization of those unfortunate enough to have contracted this disease.
With great compassion and understanding for those who have struggled long with this virus, with those who are faced with diminishing options and increasing health challenges, and for the twenty-somethings logging in as newly diagnosed, I can tell you that my outlook is a hopeful one and I am encouraged by what the future holds. New to this world as patient, I can tell you my observations. I apologize in advance for my bias as a first worlder, as I can claim very little understanding of the third world challenges of HIV/AIDS beyond the tragic accounts, media reports and staggering statistics I read.
1) Medical science has and is making great strides in the treatment and management of this disease. With a bit of luck and good attention to personal health (take your viral birth control pills!), the outlook for most is promising. There are no sure things in life, and good health and longevity are not assured for anybody, regardless of HIV status.
2) The lack of urgency in US government concerning this worldwide epidemic is astounding. I do not think we get it. As the strongest and smartest economy on the planet, we should be leading with our compassion, mobilizing resources at level consistent with the challenge. That even some of our own citizens in need go without medical treatment for what is now a treatable chronic condition is unconscionable.
3) You can survive this diagnosis. Make no mistake - its serious stuff. Nevertheless, the good life can go on - largely if you are willing to work at it. It is easy to give up, but a future belongs to those who can step into the ring with this stupid monkey virus and go the full 10 rounds. Expect to be beat up, but not beaten. You have support in your corner and oftentimes you have to find it and accept it. You are better than this virus; make a testament of this fact.
4) The images and circumstances of the early advent of this disease have encouraged discrimination in today's attitudes about those unfortunate enough to be infected. I follow my physician's coaching and his own actions on my behalf: there is discrimination, pettiness, and too often, ill will out there. There are not many who you cross paths with in life, including friends, family, work, and even some in the medical profession who "need" to know of your diagnosis. Choose wisely, follow your heart and protect yourself and your loved ones from people who may use this information against you. In a perfect world, honesty and openness is the desired course, but then this world is far from perfect. The courage of those who are open and honest about their status should never be underestimated.
5) Never loose your hope. In the darkest of times, remember the millions who have gone before you and sadly for now, the millions who will come after you. You are not alone in this unless you choose to be alone. Some of the brightest minds ever to walk the planet are working tirelessly on your behalf - take comfort in this. The incredible voyage now underway has taken our medical knowledge to levels unimaginable only a few short decades ago. You are today a beneficiary of this creativity and passion in the search for science truth, good therapies, and ultimately, a cure.
6) Be pro vita! Above all, live your life. Do not let your diagnosis define your life. Manage your hopes, your dreams and your aspirations, your loves and passions as you did before the word retrovirus was a part of your vocabulary. Celebrate the good and the bad about life and your ability to know the difference. At any level of life, only a competitor can earn the distinction of champion.
My warmest regards, M
Give It To Me Till I Get Rugburns.....
In case you haven't figured it out yet, every one of my messages this week relate to an aspect of being HIV+ and what that means (for me at least).It's all in an effort to get you to sponsor me for this Sunday's AIDSWalk NY in Central Park. I will be writing a personal thank you (if that's an attraction) to all who take the time to make a donation. Since you have already generously surpassed my original $100.00 pledge goal, I decided to boldly push it to $300, and I thank you already. If it stops now I am humbled and joyful. I'll have my trusty digicam to take lots of pictures of me and mine ruining our pedicures for a good cause.
You can follow the link: Sponsor A Walker on the AIDSWalk menu bar or just click here.Participant's First Name: Tom ... Last Name T. I'll be reminding you every day until the walk so I apologize in advance.
In The Beginning ...
I got my HIV+ diagnosis on March 7, 2003. I was disappointed more than shocked and resigned rather than despaired. But I had made a mistake. I had told The Ex that I was having an HIV test along with a physical. I'm not sure if I told him it was my first. (Typically, being an overachiever I tested positive right on the first try.) I went home to my empty apartment. I think I cleaned. I know I straightened the place up. It helps me think. I kept looking at the sheet with my diagnosis on it, hoping against hope I would find some loophole to get me out of this. I'm still looking. I absentmindedly shuffled and re-shuffled the appointment cards for blood work and doctor visits I had collected in just one day. It was more than the last five years combined.
The Ex got home from work that evening on time. I heard him moving around on his side of the apartment. I knew he was changing clothes and maybe checking mail.. My face felt hot and my heart was beating faster. I was hoping maybe he had forgotten my test results were due and wouldn't think to ask. As he was entering the living room the words were already coming out of his mouth:
"So, did you get your test results back?"
Fuck! All I said was,
"hmmmm."
"What does that mean?"
(pause)
"I tested positive."
I thought I was ready for any number of responses to this information. He surprised even me.
"Well let's see, the last time we had sex was over two years ago, and I think I've tested negative since then, so I.."
I cut him off.
"Don't! Don't you dare make this about you right now. How could you? I have a lot to take in.
Shock. Tears. Anger. Disappointment. A promise to help. A hug. Comfort. Those were all the emotions I was prepared to deal with. Not this selfish bastard standing in front of me. I can' t remember the last time I was so hurt. It makes me want to cry just remembering it here. Today it also makes me feel very alone. It was then that I realized I couldn't count on him if things got really bad.
We continue to live together, we split the bills, buy furniture, occasionally go out or travel together. I pretend to give him a say in the general decor of our apartment. But some of our history died that day. Or maybe that was the day our future was rewritten. A part of me knows that I shouldn't carry this around with me. I should find a way to get past it. To express it expel it and move on. I know his response, while inappropriate, was at leat understandable. I want to forgive him. But I'm not sure if I ever will.
Give It To Me Till It Hurts...
If I may be so bold as to ask for your help. Even after experiencing it, as I called it last year, "more like the death march to Battan." I am once again pushing my stilletos to the back of the closet and dragging out my Nike power walkers and taking part in this year's AIDSWalk NY held every May right here in Central Park. I anticipate a much more pleasant experience this year as I'll be traveling much lighter and getting to bed the night before much earlier. But seeing as how I don't like to bother my customers, OK I don't like to speak to them, and also because I let the rest of my staff shake those rich wrinkled bitches down, I'm appealing to you, my loyal readers. All 50 of you. I've set a modest $100.00 fundraising goal so how hard can this be?
You can follow the link: Sponsor a Walker on the AIDSWalk menu bar or just click here.
Participant's First Name: Tom ... Last Name T. I'll probably remind you every day this week so I apologize in advance.
I got my HIV+ diagnosis on March 7, 2003. I was disappointed more than shocked and resigned rather than despaired. But I had made a mistake. I had told The Ex that I was having an HIV test along with a physical. I'm not sure if I told him it was my first. (Typically, being an overachiever I tested positive right on the first try.) I went home to my empty apartment. I think I cleaned. I know I straightened the place up. It helps me think. I kept looking at the sheet with my diagnosis on it, hoping against hope I would find some loophole to get me out of this. I'm still looking. I absentmindedly shuffled and re-shuffled the appointment cards for blood work and doctor visits I had collected in just one day. It was more than the last five years combined.
The Ex got home from work that evening on time. I heard him moving around on his side of the apartment. I knew he was changing clothes and maybe checking mail.. My face felt hot and my heart was beating faster. I was hoping maybe he had forgotten my test results were due and wouldn't think to ask. As he was entering the living room the words were already coming out of his mouth:
"So, did you get your test results back?"
Fuck! All I said was,
"hmmmm."
"What does that mean?"
(pause)
"I tested positive."
I thought I was ready for any number of responses to this information. He surprised even me.
"Well let's see, the last time we had sex was over two years ago, and I think I've tested negative since then, so I.."
I cut him off.
"Don't! Don't you dare make this about you right now. How could you? I have a lot to take in.
Shock. Tears. Anger. Disappointment. A promise to help. A hug. Comfort. Those were all the emotions I was prepared to deal with. Not this selfish bastard standing in front of me. I can' t remember the last time I was so hurt. It makes me want to cry just remembering it here. Today it also makes me feel very alone. It was then that I realized I couldn't count on him if things got really bad.
We continue to live together, we split the bills, buy furniture, occasionally go out or travel together. I pretend to give him a say in the general decor of our apartment. But some of our history died that day. Or maybe that was the day our future was rewritten. A part of me knows that I shouldn't carry this around with me. I should find a way to get past it. To express it expel it and move on. I know his response, while inappropriate, was at leat understandable. I want to forgive him. But I'm not sure if I ever will.
Give It To Me Till It Hurts...
If I may be so bold as to ask for your help. Even after experiencing it, as I called it last year, "more like the death march to Battan." I am once again pushing my stilletos to the back of the closet and dragging out my Nike power walkers and taking part in this year's AIDSWalk NY held every May right here in Central Park. I anticipate a much more pleasant experience this year as I'll be traveling much lighter and getting to bed the night before much earlier. But seeing as how I don't like to bother my customers, OK I don't like to speak to them, and also because I let the rest of my staff shake those rich wrinkled bitches down, I'm appealing to you, my loyal readers. All 50 of you. I've set a modest $100.00 fundraising goal so how hard can this be?
You can follow the link: Sponsor a Walker on the AIDSWalk menu bar or just click here.
Participant's First Name: Tom ... Last Name T. I'll probably remind you every day this week so I apologize in advance.
Last night at the bar.
Things had begun to skid out of control. Nothing too bad, really, for a busy night. A pair of shoes spotted under the bathroom stall, somebody obviously sitting on the toilet. Trouble was another pair of shoes were clearly visible in that same stall pointing in the opposite direction. A blowjob had broken out. Security was hastily called. Too mundane for my talents. Time was, people were summarily ejected for this transgression. I put a stop to that though. While I don't and legally can't encourage bathroom suckjobs (except to treat snakebite) how worked up can you get about such things. They're gay, we sell alcohol to them, dicks come out. (Don't they, Dan?) Zip up and separate, go forth, and suck no more. As penance, you must buy a Grey Goose and tonic. The only other issue is who is sucking who and why. If it's a couple of liquored up fifty-year-olds, blessed be. If I get the sense this was a paid for transaction then a hooker just called undue attention to herself. Those that provide their services with a fee face many tedious nights (for both of us) of me playing "Let's fuck with the hooker" as that kind of behavior is a big NOT.
Some sort of a shoving match had broken out in the back bar. It seems there was a jostling for bar space between a patron (gay) and another patron (straight woman) I have no idea if gay had the right of space or straight woman did. I do know that gay allegedly shoved straight woman and said something along the lines of "fuck you, what are you doing here anyway this is a men's bar." And while I don't agree with this whole our bar your bar mentality when it comes to gays and straights trying to coexist, many of our clientele remember when we had no choice when it came to the precious few places we were allowed to congregate, and so a little vestigial territorial behavior is understandable. Straight people: what a pain in my ass. (Yawn)
On one of my trips through the front bar I pass E----, away from the door and holding on to someone. As I'm preparing to pass E---- reaches out with his free hand and gives me the "help a sistah out, signal." Either that, or maybe it was the death grip he had on my wrist. Finally someone deserving of my attention. I look to see who E---- is holding on to, actually, look down is a better description. It was then I spot the South Carolina Sistah. Missy Girl is 5'4 and 180 if she's a pound. 40 something years old. I'd say more something than not. She's been breezing into town a few times a year from S.C. causing a drunken havoc every time. Mostly she's southern, boisterous, drunken, loud, southern, and occasionally a scream. She will freely admit to being a huge bottom, to have inherited all her money, to work just for something to do and any other outrageous fact that nobody in their right minds reveals in public. In short, a short, loud, wealthy fag. Sussing the situation right quick I figure Sistah Missy Girl has had enough and E---- is having problems getting her that all important last mile to the front door. Her free hand has a death grip on the back of a barstool. Grabbing on to the furniture to keep from getting ejected. Yeah, that always works.
*click* I switch it on...
"Girl! What the hell are you up to now?"
SMG: "I'm jus' havin a little fun, is awll."
" A little fun? We started the party kind of early didn't we sugar?"
SMG: "Well you know me ..."
"Only too well you drunken little mess (you had to be there, I was smiling and hugging him).
Then he says something unexpected.
SMG: "Oh well, it doesn't matter I'm HIV I'll be gone soon."
Wow (I thought), but said:
"Oh no, girl, I expect you're gonna be around to terrorize us for a long time."
SMG: "He's puttin me out."
"Just for the night, kitten. It's OK. You can come back tomorrow, OK? Now cooperate with E----, please?"
She let's go of the barstool and E---- begins to slowly move her towards the front door. As he passes me he touches my hand softly. That's the signal for "thanks, nice job."
I retreat to my office, but that one thought haunts me. I'm HIV I'll be gone soon. Not I have a virus. I am one. It reminds me of an HX article I read recently. I meant to save it but forgot. The pointiest point I remember from it was the author's recollection to one dates (over coffee) reaction to the revelation of the author's status. "You're HIV?" And a hastily ended date. His point, and I guess mine, is how many others of us are defining our lives outside, (or allowing others to do so) by the virus we carry within. How many of us believe death is lurking around the corner even when the evidence points to the contrary? Let me tell you, some serious physical wasting would have to take place for Sistah Missy Girl before a dangerous level was reached. She's practically round. And while I hardly feel the hot breath of death breathing down my neck, what does it say about me that I totally reject the notion that HIV+ = Death. Is it false bravado masking fear? Or am I the voice of reason not being heard? I'm aware that many people can and do seroconvert, get very ill and die quickly. But many people is not most people. And it seems that it's also not me. So if I'm going to experience "statistically typical" HIV infection I'm looking to live in excess of 20 years at least, certainly more is extremely possible. Now factor in 20 more years of medical advances. I like my chances at achieving Dirty Old Queen status. And that, above everything else, is the future I find extremely scary. I'm HIV+. And I'm gonna be here a while.
Give It To Me Till It Hurts...
If I may be so bold as to ask for your help. Even after experiencing it, as I called it last year, "more like the death march to Battan." I am once again pushing my stilletos to the back of the closet and dragging out my Nike power walkers and taking part in this year's AIDSWalk NY held every May right here in Central Park. I anticipate a much more pleasant experience this year as I'll be traveling much lighter and getting to bed the night before much earlier. But seeing as how I don't like to bother my customers, OK I don't like to speak to them, and also because I let the rest of my staff shake those rich wrinkled bitches down, I'm appealing to you, my loyal readers. All 50 of you. I've set a modest $100.00 fundraising goal so how hard can this be?
You can follow the link: Sponsor a Walker on the AIDSWalk menu bar or just click here.
Participant's First Name: Tom ... Last Name T. I'll probably remind you every day this week so I apologize in advance.
Things had begun to skid out of control. Nothing too bad, really, for a busy night. A pair of shoes spotted under the bathroom stall, somebody obviously sitting on the toilet. Trouble was another pair of shoes were clearly visible in that same stall pointing in the opposite direction. A blowjob had broken out. Security was hastily called. Too mundane for my talents. Time was, people were summarily ejected for this transgression. I put a stop to that though. While I don't and legally can't encourage bathroom suckjobs (except to treat snakebite) how worked up can you get about such things. They're gay, we sell alcohol to them, dicks come out. (Don't they, Dan?) Zip up and separate, go forth, and suck no more. As penance, you must buy a Grey Goose and tonic. The only other issue is who is sucking who and why. If it's a couple of liquored up fifty-year-olds, blessed be. If I get the sense this was a paid for transaction then a hooker just called undue attention to herself. Those that provide their services with a fee face many tedious nights (for both of us) of me playing "Let's fuck with the hooker" as that kind of behavior is a big NOT.
Some sort of a shoving match had broken out in the back bar. It seems there was a jostling for bar space between a patron (gay) and another patron (straight woman) I have no idea if gay had the right of space or straight woman did. I do know that gay allegedly shoved straight woman and said something along the lines of "fuck you, what are you doing here anyway this is a men's bar." And while I don't agree with this whole our bar your bar mentality when it comes to gays and straights trying to coexist, many of our clientele remember when we had no choice when it came to the precious few places we were allowed to congregate, and so a little vestigial territorial behavior is understandable. Straight people: what a pain in my ass. (Yawn)
On one of my trips through the front bar I pass E----, away from the door and holding on to someone. As I'm preparing to pass E---- reaches out with his free hand and gives me the "help a sistah out, signal." Either that, or maybe it was the death grip he had on my wrist. Finally someone deserving of my attention. I look to see who E---- is holding on to, actually, look down is a better description. It was then I spot the South Carolina Sistah. Missy Girl is 5'4 and 180 if she's a pound. 40 something years old. I'd say more something than not. She's been breezing into town a few times a year from S.C. causing a drunken havoc every time. Mostly she's southern, boisterous, drunken, loud, southern, and occasionally a scream. She will freely admit to being a huge bottom, to have inherited all her money, to work just for something to do and any other outrageous fact that nobody in their right minds reveals in public. In short, a short, loud, wealthy fag. Sussing the situation right quick I figure Sistah Missy Girl has had enough and E---- is having problems getting her that all important last mile to the front door. Her free hand has a death grip on the back of a barstool. Grabbing on to the furniture to keep from getting ejected. Yeah, that always works.
*click* I switch it on...
"Girl! What the hell are you up to now?"
SMG: "I'm jus' havin a little fun, is awll."
" A little fun? We started the party kind of early didn't we sugar?"
SMG: "Well you know me ..."
"Only too well you drunken little mess (you had to be there, I was smiling and hugging him).
Then he says something unexpected.
SMG: "Oh well, it doesn't matter I'm HIV I'll be gone soon."
Wow (I thought), but said:
"Oh no, girl, I expect you're gonna be around to terrorize us for a long time."
SMG: "He's puttin me out."
"Just for the night, kitten. It's OK. You can come back tomorrow, OK? Now cooperate with E----, please?"
She let's go of the barstool and E---- begins to slowly move her towards the front door. As he passes me he touches my hand softly. That's the signal for "thanks, nice job."
I retreat to my office, but that one thought haunts me. I'm HIV I'll be gone soon. Not I have a virus. I am one. It reminds me of an HX article I read recently. I meant to save it but forgot. The pointiest point I remember from it was the author's recollection to one dates (over coffee) reaction to the revelation of the author's status. "You're HIV?" And a hastily ended date. His point, and I guess mine, is how many others of us are defining our lives outside, (or allowing others to do so) by the virus we carry within. How many of us believe death is lurking around the corner even when the evidence points to the contrary? Let me tell you, some serious physical wasting would have to take place for Sistah Missy Girl before a dangerous level was reached. She's practically round. And while I hardly feel the hot breath of death breathing down my neck, what does it say about me that I totally reject the notion that HIV+ = Death. Is it false bravado masking fear? Or am I the voice of reason not being heard? I'm aware that many people can and do seroconvert, get very ill and die quickly. But many people is not most people. And it seems that it's also not me. So if I'm going to experience "statistically typical" HIV infection I'm looking to live in excess of 20 years at least, certainly more is extremely possible. Now factor in 20 more years of medical advances. I like my chances at achieving Dirty Old Queen status. And that, above everything else, is the future I find extremely scary. I'm HIV+. And I'm gonna be here a while.
Give It To Me Till It Hurts...
If I may be so bold as to ask for your help. Even after experiencing it, as I called it last year, "more like the death march to Battan." I am once again pushing my stilletos to the back of the closet and dragging out my Nike power walkers and taking part in this year's AIDSWalk NY held every May right here in Central Park. I anticipate a much more pleasant experience this year as I'll be traveling much lighter and getting to bed the night before much earlier. But seeing as how I don't like to bother my customers, OK I don't like to speak to them, and also because I let the rest of my staff shake those rich wrinkled bitches down, I'm appealing to you, my loyal readers. All 50 of you. I've set a modest $100.00 fundraising goal so how hard can this be?
You can follow the link: Sponsor a Walker on the AIDSWalk menu bar or just click here.
Participant's First Name: Tom ... Last Name T. I'll probably remind you every day this week so I apologize in advance.
Give It To Me Till It Hurts...
All bold on this important post. Even after experiencing it, as I called it last year, "more like the death march to Battan." I am once again pushing my stilletos to the back of the closet and dragging out my Nike power walkers and taking part in this year's AIDSWalk NY held every May right here in Central Park. I anticipate a much more pleasant experience this year as I'll be traveling much lighter and getting to bed the night before much earlier. But seeing as how I don't like to bother my customers, OK I don't like to speak to them, and also because I let the rest of my staff shake those rich wrinkled bitches down, I'm appealing to you, my loyal readers. All 50 of you. I've set a modest $100.00 fundraising goal so how hard can this be?
You can follow the link: Sponsor a Walker on the AIDSWalk menu bar or just click here.
Participant's First Name: Tom ... Last Name T. I'll probably remind you every day this week so I apologize in advance.
All bold on this important post. Even after experiencing it, as I called it last year, "more like the death march to Battan." I am once again pushing my stilletos to the back of the closet and dragging out my Nike power walkers and taking part in this year's AIDSWalk NY held every May right here in Central Park. I anticipate a much more pleasant experience this year as I'll be traveling much lighter and getting to bed the night before much earlier. But seeing as how I don't like to bother my customers, OK I don't like to speak to them, and also because I let the rest of my staff shake those rich wrinkled bitches down, I'm appealing to you, my loyal readers. All 50 of you. I've set a modest $100.00 fundraising goal so how hard can this be?
You can follow the link: Sponsor a Walker on the AIDSWalk menu bar or just click here.
Participant's First Name: Tom ... Last Name T. I'll probably remind you every day this week so I apologize in advance.
*Snicker*
Former Real World cast member and current ..... err .... what the fuck exactly does he do to make a living? (blog fluffer) Dan Renzi gets busted for whipping out his wang in a (presumably) gay porn theater. In his own words, read the story here. Be sure to check out his comments section. And I thought I had readers who were freaks ...
Oh, and I almost forgot! .....
I'll be here tomorrow at noon (unless it rains hard). I'll be the skinny fag with the "Pink Posse" buzzcut taking lots of pictures.
Former Real World cast member and current ..... err .... what the fuck exactly does he do to make a living? (blog fluffer) Dan Renzi gets busted for whipping out his wang in a (presumably) gay porn theater. In his own words, read the story here. Be sure to check out his comments section. And I thought I had readers who were freaks ...
Oh, and I almost forgot! .....
I'll be here tomorrow at noon (unless it rains hard). I'll be the skinny fag with the "Pink Posse" buzzcut taking lots of pictures.
Oh Ricky You’re So Fucked, You’re So Fucked It Blows My Mind, Hey Ricky … Hey Ricky …
I thought last week I had run “afowl” of some real life PETA Nazis. I was actually quite excited because it’s been a dream of mine to take that pretentious, time wasting, money diverting, ego-trip of an organization on for years. Alas, it has not come to pass after all. After a few hours of some basic internet sleuthing, it turns out that the series of anonymous hate filled comments being posted on my weblog from a “supposed” animal lover came from none other than our dear friend Ricky.
If you recall, Ricky is the deaf, self hating cocksucker that thought there was something funny about the way he taunted my buddy Ryan, wishing for his death and other amusing bon mots. I thought Ricky understood that having an opinion is very different from celebrating someone having an illness or wishing publicly for someone’s death. Apparently, the passage of time has emboldened Ricky enough that he decided to try the same tactic on me both anonymously, and in disguise (NYCAttitude Lady? Honestly, Ricky…..). It seems that Ricky hasn’t learned that there will be consequences for his actions and he may not get the response he was hoping for. So, have a seat class. School’s back in.
Ricky complained on another comment board that “he deleted the comments when I pointed out his faults -- he got pissed off or was flabbergasted by that so he decided to delete it and make it sound like he won the argument.”
No Ricky, I deleted the comments when you repeatedly left anonymous posts on my comment page. I have a rule; I may allow you to post one anonymous comment if I feel like it or want to respond. After that, I insist you post it with an e-mail link or a real link to a real homepage. My weblog, my rules. (Rules subject to change by me at whim) It’s good to be Queen. After all, Ricky, if you think whatever offensive comment or stupid misspelled remark you’re going to make is that important, I think you should grow a set of balls and put your name to it. Don’t you want the world to know that you are a person who would publicly wish for an HIV+ person to “be consummated with AIDS. Then die.” Or that you will “buy fireworks when I am finished.” You can’t be ashamed of making such vile statements can you, Ricky? But that’s OK, Ricky. Cause I’m going to make sure that everyone knows you. Let’s have another look at what Ricky looks like, shall we?
And for the record there was no “argument.” An argument is when two human beings are discussing a subject. There is nothing even remotely human about you Ricky. You are just a sad small man with a severe case of arrested development who occasionally lashes out at this person or that out of frustration at how pathetic your life has turned out. The fact that you seem to take delight in wishing AIDS on people just makes you more reprehensible than others.
I see by running through your weblog) for the month that I’ve been on your mind a lot lately. (No link has been provided because it’s full of the same kind of negative energy and the lack of command of English or basic punctuation makes it a horrendous read.) Strange, because until I discovered you were the one trying to spread your poison on to my little corner of the internet I hadn’t thought of you at all. Not once. You know why? Because in my world, where the cooler kids hang out, you don’t matter. So I guess that explains why you couldn’t help yourself, why you had to anonymously threaten to “kill my balls” (ed. note: I actually love that one, I’ve used it to threaten people since) but really Ricky, is this the sort of attention you were hoping for? You wanted me to let people know that the IP address for your computer is:
68.173.42.165
A couple of times he was on this machine:
66.193.92.29
See what happens when you get sloppy and leave a trail for me to follow? Really Ricky, for a supposed college graduate you’d think that a: You wouldn’t see a video of a car commercial where a cat gets killed and think it’s a real cat and b: You’d think you would be better at covering all your tracks on-line. Of course I would never do it, but there’s a chance now that your IP has been made public that some HIV+ fag with a free afternoon might hack your box and frag your system. Oh well, these things happen when you’re an evil little fuck. Hopefully, you weren’t using a friends PC or they may be fucked just from knowing you. Although I suspect they already are. I guess now would be a good time to publish your e-mail address in case other people want to drop in and say how much they appreciate the love you’re spreading all over the ‘net. If you want to reach Ricky you can e-mail him at this address:
Ridor@hotmail.com
Or
Ridor9th@gmail.com
Originally, I was going to invite a response from you Ricky but the truth is, I really don’t care what you think or how you feel about anything. I have no intention of giving you a forum to spew your venom or lash out at the world because you’re being consumed by anger at the life you’ve been dealt. I intend to ignore whatever you have to say about this or any subject, however, I must warn you, if I discover that you are sending threatening or insulting messages to me again I will take further steps to ensure you pay the price. If I can offer some advice, maybe you don’t need to focus on your pathetic little life. Not when you can focus on the fact that you’re fat, you’re covered in unmanageable back hair, you live in a fantasy world where you seriously repeatedly overestimate your importance in this one, and you present yourself as a bitter evil loathsome creature …. did I mention you were fat?
See you at The Cock... Suckah…..
Have a nice day, Ricky.
I thought last week I had run “afowl” of some real life PETA Nazis. I was actually quite excited because it’s been a dream of mine to take that pretentious, time wasting, money diverting, ego-trip of an organization on for years. Alas, it has not come to pass after all. After a few hours of some basic internet sleuthing, it turns out that the series of anonymous hate filled comments being posted on my weblog from a “supposed” animal lover came from none other than our dear friend Ricky.
If you recall, Ricky is the deaf, self hating cocksucker that thought there was something funny about the way he taunted my buddy Ryan, wishing for his death and other amusing bon mots. I thought Ricky understood that having an opinion is very different from celebrating someone having an illness or wishing publicly for someone’s death. Apparently, the passage of time has emboldened Ricky enough that he decided to try the same tactic on me both anonymously, and in disguise (NYCAttitude Lady? Honestly, Ricky…..). It seems that Ricky hasn’t learned that there will be consequences for his actions and he may not get the response he was hoping for. So, have a seat class. School’s back in.
Ricky complained on another comment board that “he deleted the comments when I pointed out his faults -- he got pissed off or was flabbergasted by that so he decided to delete it and make it sound like he won the argument.”
No Ricky, I deleted the comments when you repeatedly left anonymous posts on my comment page. I have a rule; I may allow you to post one anonymous comment if I feel like it or want to respond. After that, I insist you post it with an e-mail link or a real link to a real homepage. My weblog, my rules. (Rules subject to change by me at whim) It’s good to be Queen. After all, Ricky, if you think whatever offensive comment or stupid misspelled remark you’re going to make is that important, I think you should grow a set of balls and put your name to it. Don’t you want the world to know that you are a person who would publicly wish for an HIV+ person to “be consummated with AIDS. Then die.” Or that you will “buy fireworks when I am finished.” You can’t be ashamed of making such vile statements can you, Ricky? But that’s OK, Ricky. Cause I’m going to make sure that everyone knows you. Let’s have another look at what Ricky looks like, shall we?
And for the record there was no “argument.” An argument is when two human beings are discussing a subject. There is nothing even remotely human about you Ricky. You are just a sad small man with a severe case of arrested development who occasionally lashes out at this person or that out of frustration at how pathetic your life has turned out. The fact that you seem to take delight in wishing AIDS on people just makes you more reprehensible than others.
I see by running through your weblog) for the month that I’ve been on your mind a lot lately. (No link has been provided because it’s full of the same kind of negative energy and the lack of command of English or basic punctuation makes it a horrendous read.) Strange, because until I discovered you were the one trying to spread your poison on to my little corner of the internet I hadn’t thought of you at all. Not once. You know why? Because in my world, where the cooler kids hang out, you don’t matter. So I guess that explains why you couldn’t help yourself, why you had to anonymously threaten to “kill my balls” (ed. note: I actually love that one, I’ve used it to threaten people since) but really Ricky, is this the sort of attention you were hoping for? You wanted me to let people know that the IP address for your computer is:
68.173.42.165
A couple of times he was on this machine:
66.193.92.29
See what happens when you get sloppy and leave a trail for me to follow? Really Ricky, for a supposed college graduate you’d think that a: You wouldn’t see a video of a car commercial where a cat gets killed and think it’s a real cat and b: You’d think you would be better at covering all your tracks on-line. Of course I would never do it, but there’s a chance now that your IP has been made public that some HIV+ fag with a free afternoon might hack your box and frag your system. Oh well, these things happen when you’re an evil little fuck. Hopefully, you weren’t using a friends PC or they may be fucked just from knowing you. Although I suspect they already are. I guess now would be a good time to publish your e-mail address in case other people want to drop in and say how much they appreciate the love you’re spreading all over the ‘net. If you want to reach Ricky you can e-mail him at this address:
Ridor@hotmail.com
Or
Ridor9th@gmail.com
Originally, I was going to invite a response from you Ricky but the truth is, I really don’t care what you think or how you feel about anything. I have no intention of giving you a forum to spew your venom or lash out at the world because you’re being consumed by anger at the life you’ve been dealt. I intend to ignore whatever you have to say about this or any subject, however, I must warn you, if I discover that you are sending threatening or insulting messages to me again I will take further steps to ensure you pay the price. If I can offer some advice, maybe you don’t need to focus on your pathetic little life. Not when you can focus on the fact that you’re fat, you’re covered in unmanageable back hair, you live in a fantasy world where you seriously repeatedly overestimate your importance in this one, and you present yourself as a bitter evil loathsome creature …. did I mention you were fat?
See you at The Cock... Suckah…..
Have a nice day, Ricky.
About the anxiety meds.
Go figure, Word doesn't think meds is a word. Memo to Microsoft...... Ah screw it, they don't think motherfucker is a word either but we all know better. I started on the Buspar on a Tuesday night so for arguments sake let's say my first day was Wednesday. My doctor informed me it would take about two weeks for me to feel anything. Personally, I felt better just knowing I would feel better. It actually took just over a week. I'm quick like that. It was Thursday afternoon, and I had been up for a few hours so it was probably around 3:00 when I first noticed it. Something was different. But what? It took me a few minutes to figure it out. It was quiet. Inside my coconut. Nothing. No irrational fear. No shuffling and re-shuffling of plans. No voices telling me to kill (that's a joke). But seriously, the "other me"-s had stopped there incessant chattering. I had grown used to this background buzz coming from inside my melon for so long that it's absence I now found quite remarkable. And peaceful. I haven't noticed any major or minor side effects. I was getting a slight headache usually an hour or so after taking a dose but they were tiny and didn't last. I'm also not in the least bit drowsy or sluggish, well, I was but I decided to severely curtail my caffeine intake as an added effort to prevent getting all nuts every afternoon. That sucked at first but I adjusted. Now two cups in the morning clears my head just fine. Go figure, an entire pot of coffee in the morning isn't necessary. At times I get discouraged because it seems sometimes that in order for me to "feel well" I keep having to eliminate things I just took for granted as normal, or at least not that harmful. I have to remind myself that these changes will be good for me ultimately and tell myself it took me 20 years or so to get it absolutely wrong and it will take some time to find the right combination that works, but that I can enjoy as well.
It's amazing to me how deeply I had let something like "anxiety" creep into every facet of my life. One day last week I found myself traipsing across town in my (now) weekly pilgrimage to Fish's Eddy. It's a fabulous kitchen ware (plates, glasses, cups, serving trays, etc.) store on 19th/Broadway, if you haven't been there yet, you must. You can buy an entire service or mix and match. Plus, they have monster value bins that are absolutely filled with plates at $1.00 each. It's a scavengers paradise. So even though I pretty much have my eye on a service for four from BB&Beyonce, I drop in to Fish's Eddy once a week or so just to say hi to the shiny pretties. Anyway, on this particular day I was just crossing Broadway when the strangest thing happened. I was singing. Not real loud (I'm crazy not crazy) more to myself but softly. I can't remember the song but that's not important. In that moment I realized I didn't walk down the street singing anymore. Or I hadn't in forever. What was I doing instead to pass the time? Talking myself in to things. Or out of them. Soothing my fears in anticipation of an event that hadn't happened yet. Making deals with my subconscious (The other me-s) that would allow me to walk into that store or hop on that escalator or ride that elevator. You know, nutty stuff. There was no room for singing in this war for control of my actions. But here I was on this day last week, no noise. So I fill the space with a song. Delightful.
I have an irrational fear of fainting in public. More specifically at the gym. The origin of this phobia is rather complicated and it really does make me sound crazy, so I'll skip it for now. (aw, shut it) The important part is it's true and there have been times I have been so overwhelmed by this phobia that I have cut a workout short and left,even though I didn't feel light-headed and despite the fact that logically, there was no earthly reason a fainting spell was imminent.. Neo gave that particular anxiety the term "locking up" and it's about as apt a description as I can give. It's almost like my brain goes into an anxiety "feedback loop" where thought becomes possibility becomes obsession becomes anxiety and back around again and again. So eventually I feel I have no choice but to give in to the impulse and get out of where I am. Thereby unlocking the problem. Curiously, it starts to feel normal. Or at least not, not normal. So a few days ago during a strenuous part of my usual routine, imagine my surprise when the old trigger hit. And I thought about my fear of fainting in the gym. And I thought, "That's stupid, I don't feel faint." I finished my workout.
Has it been absolutely perfect? Problem solved? Well no. I had a couple of bad afternoons the last two weeks. What it hasn't fixed and doesn't claim to treat is my tendency to "live in my head" all the time. Half the time I'm causing my own problems by projecting myself into situations that don't yet exist. Or imagining having to deal with a possible difficult outcome of a theoretical situation. I know, it sounds like a recipe for full goose Bozo. But I'm convinced that part of the problem is simply being a single gay man. Most straight men my age have a boss they hate, a couple of 10 and 12 yr old kids, a mortgage payment they don't want to pay for and a big screen TV they do. A wife they're cheating on or trying to and in-laws and family members to despise. I have me. Me me me. How do I feel ? Is that a freckle on my face or cancer? Why am I thirsty all the time? Why am I sleeping so much, why can't I sleep? Am I an alcoholic? Should I be? I'm gay and totally self involved. And the only time the anxiety disappears completely is when someone or something distracts me from me. The nice part of this experience so far has been that the quiet times in my internal circus have lasted longer and longer. The times that I started to empty the clown car, I was able to cope, and ultimately distract myself. Baby steps, baby.
Two more things:
If (like me) your laptop or desktop is missing a decent word processing feature and you find the entire full featured Word too much for say, a simple weblog entry but don't feel like paying for Microsoft Works either, try this. It's called Abiword and it's free (I said free) word processing software that I've been using all week and I think it's faboo. I was going to link to their site, but of course, since I need it, the site's down. Oh well, trust me once the site's back up it's good stuff.
Finally (I swear), and in an effort to prove that anxiety free doesn't mean I've been de-clawed, I worked on a piece (of writing, pigs) all weekend. I felt that it was mean but deservedly so. I put it away for a few days rather than post it to think on it. Yesterday, I had pretty much decided to opt for a strongly worded e-mail to the party involved, which I would publish here. That way, if I got a negative response I could always unfurl the fury as I had planned. What can I say, I had a Deprak Chopra moment. It didn't last. So tomorrow afternoon or Wednesday morning at the latest, check back here as I unleash a New York Style throwdown on a certain (no longer) anonymous faggot.
Somebody hold mah weave ..... and here, hold mah shorty.
Go figure, Word doesn't think meds is a word. Memo to Microsoft...... Ah screw it, they don't think motherfucker is a word either but we all know better. I started on the Buspar on a Tuesday night so for arguments sake let's say my first day was Wednesday. My doctor informed me it would take about two weeks for me to feel anything. Personally, I felt better just knowing I would feel better. It actually took just over a week. I'm quick like that. It was Thursday afternoon, and I had been up for a few hours so it was probably around 3:00 when I first noticed it. Something was different. But what? It took me a few minutes to figure it out. It was quiet. Inside my coconut. Nothing. No irrational fear. No shuffling and re-shuffling of plans. No voices telling me to kill (that's a joke). But seriously, the "other me"-s had stopped there incessant chattering. I had grown used to this background buzz coming from inside my melon for so long that it's absence I now found quite remarkable. And peaceful. I haven't noticed any major or minor side effects. I was getting a slight headache usually an hour or so after taking a dose but they were tiny and didn't last. I'm also not in the least bit drowsy or sluggish, well, I was but I decided to severely curtail my caffeine intake as an added effort to prevent getting all nuts every afternoon. That sucked at first but I adjusted. Now two cups in the morning clears my head just fine. Go figure, an entire pot of coffee in the morning isn't necessary. At times I get discouraged because it seems sometimes that in order for me to "feel well" I keep having to eliminate things I just took for granted as normal, or at least not that harmful. I have to remind myself that these changes will be good for me ultimately and tell myself it took me 20 years or so to get it absolutely wrong and it will take some time to find the right combination that works, but that I can enjoy as well.
It's amazing to me how deeply I had let something like "anxiety" creep into every facet of my life. One day last week I found myself traipsing across town in my (now) weekly pilgrimage to Fish's Eddy. It's a fabulous kitchen ware (plates, glasses, cups, serving trays, etc.) store on 19th/Broadway, if you haven't been there yet, you must. You can buy an entire service or mix and match. Plus, they have monster value bins that are absolutely filled with plates at $1.00 each. It's a scavengers paradise. So even though I pretty much have my eye on a service for four from BB&Beyonce, I drop in to Fish's Eddy once a week or so just to say hi to the shiny pretties. Anyway, on this particular day I was just crossing Broadway when the strangest thing happened. I was singing. Not real loud (I'm crazy not crazy) more to myself but softly. I can't remember the song but that's not important. In that moment I realized I didn't walk down the street singing anymore. Or I hadn't in forever. What was I doing instead to pass the time? Talking myself in to things. Or out of them. Soothing my fears in anticipation of an event that hadn't happened yet. Making deals with my subconscious (The other me-s) that would allow me to walk into that store or hop on that escalator or ride that elevator. You know, nutty stuff. There was no room for singing in this war for control of my actions. But here I was on this day last week, no noise. So I fill the space with a song. Delightful.
I have an irrational fear of fainting in public. More specifically at the gym. The origin of this phobia is rather complicated and it really does make me sound crazy, so I'll skip it for now. (aw, shut it) The important part is it's true and there have been times I have been so overwhelmed by this phobia that I have cut a workout short and left,even though I didn't feel light-headed and despite the fact that logically, there was no earthly reason a fainting spell was imminent.. Neo gave that particular anxiety the term "locking up" and it's about as apt a description as I can give. It's almost like my brain goes into an anxiety "feedback loop" where thought becomes possibility becomes obsession becomes anxiety and back around again and again. So eventually I feel I have no choice but to give in to the impulse and get out of where I am. Thereby unlocking the problem. Curiously, it starts to feel normal. Or at least not, not normal. So a few days ago during a strenuous part of my usual routine, imagine my surprise when the old trigger hit. And I thought about my fear of fainting in the gym. And I thought, "That's stupid, I don't feel faint." I finished my workout.
Has it been absolutely perfect? Problem solved? Well no. I had a couple of bad afternoons the last two weeks. What it hasn't fixed and doesn't claim to treat is my tendency to "live in my head" all the time. Half the time I'm causing my own problems by projecting myself into situations that don't yet exist. Or imagining having to deal with a possible difficult outcome of a theoretical situation. I know, it sounds like a recipe for full goose Bozo. But I'm convinced that part of the problem is simply being a single gay man. Most straight men my age have a boss they hate, a couple of 10 and 12 yr old kids, a mortgage payment they don't want to pay for and a big screen TV they do. A wife they're cheating on or trying to and in-laws and family members to despise. I have me. Me me me. How do I feel ? Is that a freckle on my face or cancer? Why am I thirsty all the time? Why am I sleeping so much, why can't I sleep? Am I an alcoholic? Should I be? I'm gay and totally self involved. And the only time the anxiety disappears completely is when someone or something distracts me from me. The nice part of this experience so far has been that the quiet times in my internal circus have lasted longer and longer. The times that I started to empty the clown car, I was able to cope, and ultimately distract myself. Baby steps, baby.
Two more things:
If (like me) your laptop or desktop is missing a decent word processing feature and you find the entire full featured Word too much for say, a simple weblog entry but don't feel like paying for Microsoft Works either, try this. It's called Abiword and it's free (I said free) word processing software that I've been using all week and I think it's faboo. I was going to link to their site, but of course, since I need it, the site's down. Oh well, trust me once the site's back up it's good stuff.
Finally (I swear), and in an effort to prove that anxiety free doesn't mean I've been de-clawed, I worked on a piece (of writing, pigs) all weekend. I felt that it was mean but deservedly so. I put it away for a few days rather than post it to think on it. Yesterday, I had pretty much decided to opt for a strongly worded e-mail to the party involved, which I would publish here. That way, if I got a negative response I could always unfurl the fury as I had planned. What can I say, I had a Deprak Chopra moment. It didn't last. So tomorrow afternoon or Wednesday morning at the latest, check back here as I unleash a New York Style throwdown on a certain (no longer) anonymous faggot.
Somebody hold mah weave ..... and here, hold mah shorty.
About me
- I'm Tom
- From New York, New York, United States
- I've recently come to the conclusion that I'm no crazier than most people. It was a relief. I've spent the better part of 40 years twisting my life into a giant ball of anxiety and character flaws. I intend to spend the next forty unraveling it. And then dropping dead.
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