It's Always Darkest ...

I ended up heading across town for my therapy appointment with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Anticipation because I will be glad to have someone to talk with and it is long overdue that I get to work on some of my "issues". Dread because I hate meeting new people. I constantly worry about what I'm saying, how they might react to what I'm about to say, what they actually meant by the things they said. I frequently have several conversations going besides the one I'm actually having.

As it turns out, I found my therapist to be a little odd. And that's a good thing. I like odd. Odd makes me more comfortable. And by odd I mean kind of nerdy. With a whiff of freaky. Like I wouldn't find it the least bit unexpected to discover him some night at a bondage club, tied up with jump ropes and having his completely hairless body flogged and pinched with clothespins. Which is cool. So I was remarkably comfortable pretty quickly. As it turns out, my insurance covers 24 weeks of sessions, so we can look forward to over half a year of ME talking about ME which, as a gay man is pretty much MY favorite subject.

As the weekend unfolded I got a series of phone calls adding days to my work schedule, and while the first two were profitable from an hourly wage standpoint, last nights shift was a holiday party for a financial firm, and they were appropriately generous with their tipping. I made some much needed extra cash, and I have another two days of work ahead of me. I should get a paycheck next Friday that will cover the cost of Riley's kennel stay while I am away for Christmas. There's another looming worry solved. I also had two job interviews on Thursday, and while nothing has come of either of them right away, they were encouraging in that both of the managers I spoke to were suitably enthusiastic about my qualifications.

And well they should be. With the exception of some experience with cost analysis and P&L projections, which I have never done but I have no doubt I could, there's really nothing I haven't done at one time or another when it comes to running a restaurant and nightclub. Scheduling, inventory, payroll, cash management, ordering, event management, interviews, human resources, press releases, menu creation, bar management, POS (point of sale) maintenance. The list goes on and on. In other words, the first person who is smart enough to snap me up and put me back to work full time will be one lucky fucker. I have another interview this afternoon before going in to work, and while I don't necessarily think it is the right job for me, you never know. I am also kind of surprised that I'm getting such a big response all of the sudden from sending out resumes. My phone hasn't rung for a couple of months now and suddenly I'm getting quite a few calls. Maybe the economy is improving after all.

Yesterday I reported to the Health Academy at the NYC Dept. of Health. After reflexively getting in to the line for syphilis testing, I quickly righted myself and lined up for what I actually was there for. I have spent the last couple of weeks taking a Food Protection Course. Yesterday I took the live test, which I passed with a respectable 84%, and I am now a Certified Food Protection supervisor. Not too exciting I will grant you, but a Certified Supervisor is supposed to be on the premises of any restaurant or bar serving food, whenever the business is open. Usually this would be the chef, as well as at least one sous chef, and more than likely the receiving supervisor. But many businesses in NYC also insist that at least the general manager and assistants are certified as well. This lessens the chances that a Health Inspector would show up and find no one on the premises with a certification. It's a Health Department violation and the fine can be hundreds of dollars. Many restaurant owners will ask you if you have your certification during the interview process, and a few of the on-line ads won't even see you unless you are certified. It's a leg up, and quite frankly, at my advanced age anything that helps me get even one leg over my head is a blessing.

I also took some steps to alleviate my financial crisis, and while it was akin to re-arranging the deck chairs on the Titanic, I did manage to shore up the operation at least until the new year. Which means Christmas will come to Whoville after all, and I can take things down from Defcon 2: Panic to Defcon 3: Mild Anxiety.

Shrink My Head

Up early as my calendar is rapidly filling up for December. I frequently have multiple appointments that end with me having to work a shift at my low-wage part-time job.

Today I am starting with a lunchtime appointment to start a new round of therapy. You get a certain amount of counseling paid for (thanks ADAP!) as part of all the great stuff you get for free after you become HIV+. I did tell you about the big screen TV and the 200 free Netflix rentals didn't I? It's true, you get them both delivered to your house right after your T-Cell count drops below 300.

This round of therapy will be (I think) 16 weeks. I'm not going because I have fallen in to some kind of crisis. Far from it. Things are much improved since the last time I saw a therapist over three years ago.

The hated roommates have been replaced by two messy straight boys that don't give me a lick of trouble.
I no longer suffer from panic attacks, and the anxiety disorder I was taking medication for? I stopped the pills for that last month.
I got a dog and he died. I got another dog and he ate my bed, but was nice enough to continue living.
I got (and stayed) sober, attended regular AA meetings but so far have failed to find a sponsor.
I got a job and then lost it when one of my employees murdered a customer.
I entered a photography contest and got serious about art.
I sold 4000 comic books for pennies on the dollar as I slowly went broke. Again.
I joined a community advisory board at the local health center, and am now heading up the committee that publishes our newsletter.
I became a licensed foster parent, but still have no kid to show for it (that's another post).
And I am generally and overall a much happier, profoundly more peaceful person.

So why go in to therapy? Well, first of all, why not? I am a firm believer in taking the time to pick up the box and give it a good shake now and then. You need to find out what's inside. And as good as things have become, I am still feeling like a lot of things from my past, and a lot of the choices I made as an adult, are unresolved and unexplained. While I have no trouble (now) making conversation and casual connections, I still can't seem to figure out how to make and keep some real friends. And I have pretty much given up on ever having a boyfriend or babydaddy. I'm still a pretty solitary figure. Don't get me wrong, I'm not walking around all tortured by that. I'm not bemoaning the fact that I buy a half-carton of eggs and prefer to sit in the single (handicap) seats at the movies. But if I am the type of person who feels better, or at least more comfortable as a party of one, I would at least like to know how that happened.

There's more, and the therapy will most likely dredge some stuff up I may or may not enjoy dealing with, but I am confident the outcome will be positive. My last round of therapy pretty much got me sober.

On another note, I am BROKE BROKE BROKE!! The plane ticket home is paid for and I will have enough money and available credit to get a few Christmas presents to bring with me, but beyond that, we will be starting the New Year with maxed out credit cards and a woefully depleted checking account. I absolutely need to find a better (better paying) job, either part time as a bartender where I can make real tips, or as a manager where they need someone who is pretty good with numbers and computers, and can be trusted not to get drunk on duty and always balance the safe.

That's it. Gotta go. Busy busy!!

Holy Matrimony!

Not many people in the world can say this anymore, but my mom and dad are "celebrating" their 55th wedding anniversary today. I put celebrating in quotes only because I'm not picturing a candel-lit dinner in a romantic spot. More likely the early bird special at Denny's. And I'm sure they'll bicker all the way through the meal. Not sure if they are in "love" so much as used to each other by now. Comfortable. Like a ratty sweatshirt you can't bear to part with. Best to dance with the devil you know, as I'm fond of saying.

Also, not that I'm complaining but there's an extra $820.00 in my checking account. And I don't know where it came from or why. I'd love to close out a credit card with the money but I'm afraid someone will figure out it's not mine and take it back.

I'm Rich, I'm Wealthy, I'm A Happy Miser

I've caught a little chest cold, and I now sound very much like the late Brenda Vaccaro. Only without the emphysema. It's kind of sexy.Tons of stuff happening on all fronts, so I'll update you in bits n' pieces as there's time.

Monday's mail brought me a timely gift courtesy of Ye Olde Gummint in the form of my federal tax return. It wasn't a huge amount of money, about 1 1/2 times a week's pay, seeing as how I don't get bogged down with all that deduction nonsense. I don't save records or receipts. Just give me back what you're gonna give and make it snappy. I file immediately, as soon as I get my W2, so I beat the rush and get a quick payday. So I tucked the check into my back pocket and set out into the East Village. After stopping at the pharmacy to get more meds for My AIDS, I went to the gym to do a little cardio and shower/shave. Then I popped in the see my hot Croatian barber with the sexy DSL, after which I took in an afternoon Gay-A meeting. I finally returned home and promptly realized that somewhere in my travels I had lost my refund check. How much does that suck? After grabbing the dog I took him out and re-traced every block I had been on, in the hope it had dropped out of my pocket folded up, and no one was the wiser. Alas, that was not to be. I was crestfallen. Of course, I quickly dialed up the IRS web site and found a number to call for a replacement. But now I have to wait another 45 days. Assuming no one found the check and successfully managed to cash it. If that happened I'll have to file a fraud claim and that will hold my refunded refund up even longer. All of which really just adds up to a colossal inconvenience and means my plans to get my finances really back on track will have to wait another month or so. I'll live. The really annoying part is I hardly ever lose or misplace anything. It's so not me. And I'm not entirely convinced I wasn't pick pocketed or robbed. My gym is notorious for that. To console myself I ate half an order of Chicken Parmesan and spaghetti and an entire loaf of garlic bread.

Very Funny, Universe

I was just about to post a quick blurb letting you know I was around and fine. I had the day off yesterday and spent the time cleaning, watching internet porn and putting out Christmas decorations and putting up the tree.

Then just before I logged on here I pulled up my checking account on-line. My roommate's rent check bounced. Which means my rent check will bounce as well unless I figure something out right quick. Not good people. Soooo not good.

Thanks Universe!

So a couple of days after I wrote about the sad tale of my jacked up finances and my landlord's demands to, literally, get my house in order, I had set about advancing cash into my checking accounts and looking under every financial seat cushion I could find hoping to discover some hidden change that would make things better.

I also took the time to update my resumé and began answering Help Wanted ads. Although I pretty much love my job, I haven't been happy with my salary for quite some time, and I really have been pretty vocal the last couple of months about that very thing. My financial meltdown simply spurred me on to take the bull by the horns and launch my rapidly aging ass back in to the marketplace and see if I could find another company willing to pay a little better for my multi-faceted skill set. My intent was to possibly parlay a better offer into a raise. Unless I managed to stumble into an obscene compensation offer for my services in which case I would disappear faster than a diaper changer at Britney's house.

So imagine my surprise when I found myself alone one morning with my boss, who initiated a conversation about some future plans at work. One of the original managers is leaving, opting to return to Las Vegas and escape the cramped and depressing housing she found herself in here in NYC. There's a bit of a churn at work in general now, and it wasn't lost on me that people had begun jockeying for position. In any case, my boss inquired about whether I was willing to accept some increased responsibility in the new hands being dealt, and offered a salary increase to go along with it. I quickly agreed to an increase in both my responsibilities and my paycheck. Although quite honestly, I already have quite a bit more responsibility than even he seems to be aware. But that's a discussion for another day.

I decided not to ask about the size of the raise at the time. I didn't want to appear greedy. I did however mention that I had begun looking for another position, explaining that money, or rather my lack thereof, had been a serious consideration and I was prepared to leave if my financial compensation didn't improve. If I do say so myself, I think I lobbed that one exceptionally well, placing it directly between my offered raise and the actual figure. I said I'm not greedy, but she's a crafty one.

The upshot: Today I was given a 10% pay increase effective January 1st. It was exactly what I was hoping for. It's what I should have been making all this year. Again, that's another discussion. And while 10% won't translate into any kind of sea change in my quality of life, it will help. More importantly it makes me feel better.

And feeling better is half the battle isn't it?

And while I'm thanking the universe anyway, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention stumbling on to a repeat marathon of the Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency, or as I prefer to call it, the Asses I'd Jam A Stick In My Eye To Eat show. It was during said marathon that they ran promos for the new season that began airing tonight. In the opening episode, La Dickmesoon brilliantly (in my opinion) decides to open a Latin division of her "agency". The result? An hour enjoying some Ben & Jerry's Vanilla Caramel Fudge watching a coke-addled, collagen-lipped, white trash harpy screech in borderline racist Spanglish at some hot Latin male models in their underwear. Heaven! I can't think of a better way to celebrate. And that's a pretty amazing statement to close on.

Spare Any Change?

That sound you hear? That's the wheels falling off my financial wagon.

I racked up a huge amount of credit card debt when I was drinking. For most of the last 10 years I've managed to juggle it pretty well. But I was always robbing one account to pay off another, I would open new cards and charge off the balance, believing I had saved money somehow. Don't get me wrong. I absolutely knew that wasn't true. I was delusional not stupid. And as hard as I've been trying to pay down my debts, I'll never pay it all off. I feel it's my god-given right as a gay man to die with massive credit card debt. It's the trade off for not being able to catch anything thrown to us.

But as my drinking and all the accompanying mental impairment began to really take over, the amount of money I borrowed and spent increased. Meanwhile my ability to earn a living and hold down a decent job decreased. The result was tens of thousands in credit debt. I can't bear to really add it up. But I've been trying to chip away at it ever since I started my new job. And I was doing all right. I had paid off a $500 VISA card and was almost finished paying down another $1000.00. I slowly reduced other cards enough that the payments began to drop ever so slowly. I was always broke, but it started to feel like I had a little breathing room. Of course, that was a bit of a delusion as well.

For the past year, I've been behind on my rent. Right towards the end of my spiral, I wasn't working and wasn't really earning much. I was on food stamps and working a part time job in retail. The income in no way matched the outflow. The last couple of months before I quit drinking I basically used credit and my roommate's share of the rent to live on. I was a month behind, and then two months. And while I've been working and paying the rest of my bills more or less on time, I never got that back rent paid off or caught up. My landlord has been a saint, but apparently even he has his limits. The last couple of months, he has been sending me letters reminding me that my rent was due. He mentioned the 2 months as well but basically only insisted I not fall further behind. I didn't.

This month, I got another letter. He wants me to pay off the two months I'm behind. I'm confident he won't renew my lease in February unless I get this paid off soon. And he's as non-threateningly as possible threatening eviction proceedings. At first, the alcoholic in me kicked in and I got angry. At him. I've been doing so well and trying so hard, and now the fucking landlord wants the rent.

His rent. Of course, that's when it hit me. Well, not then but soon enough. How that kind of thinking was the result of my alcohol use. How I managed to view someone asserting that I behave responsibly as somehow the one who's at fault. I am so comfortable in the role as victim that I automatically cast myself in the part even when the facts don't bear it out. You see, that's the first step on the road to the liquor store. And if someone was going to come along and fuck up my life, well then I could do a much better job of that. Fuck it. Who cares?

But all the man wants is the rent he is due. The rent I owe. The money I've agreed in writing to pay. He's not doing anything to me. And up 'till now he's been beyond patient.

So I got over it. And set about figuring out how the fuck I would pay this off. I made a list. Between the back rent and the bills that would be due I will need about $4100.00. He wants it now but I'm sure I can stretch that until a week from Friday. It took me an entire afternoon to figure it out. And I'll have to almost max out every bit of credit I've built back up. I also have no idea what I'll do for spending money the next two weeks. There's nothing left.

But this isn't a complaint or a thinly veiled solicitation. If I was gonna hit you up for money I'd be much more pathetic sounding and blatant. And I'd find a way to work in a small tumor. And really, if I was about to be tossed out on the street I would swallow my pride and contact my parents or my brother, neither of whom is rich but they could certainly bail me out. I would be completely and totally mortified but I would do it.

This is me just trying to live in the truth. I haven't been writing as much and I haven't been talking in detail about my life since getting sober. And for the most part it has been wonderful. But one of the things they talk about in Gay-A is the consequences you have to face in your life when you get sober. And how just getting sober doesn't automatically solve all your problems. I think maybe this is one reason why some people get sober and then falter. They don't seem to realize that things will most assuredly not always go your way in the future. And that the past will still have to be dealt with and cleaned up. It's hard. And it's hard work.

I'm thankful I have the brains and resources to figure out what to do. I am absolutely blessed that when I needed to find $4100.00, I had managed to build up enough credit and earn enough money to cover it. I am completely aware that many people in this country wouldn't be able, and that still many, many more are much more worried about whether or not they will get a meal today at all. This turn of events ruined my weekend and stressed me out. I'll get through it.

The story goes on.

Time and Money

Thanks Universe! Sort of. As requested, I've been offered more money in compensation for my time on the late shift Saturday. And while they were at it they threw in an offer for this Saturday, another club promotion, as well. And while I greatfully accepted what amounts to a bribe, upon reflection I've decided that I'm going to be unavailable for future bookings. At least as far as these all night club promotions go. Not that I'm unable to work them. The issue is two-fold: One, I have never been compensated at a rate I thought was fair for the amount of hours I've been working. Two, adding an entire 6th shift on to my already busy work week would push me well into an 80 hr. work week on a consistent basis. And there's no way they would offer me enough in compensation and bonuses to make that kind of a schedule worth while. In my old age and sobriety, I'm finding that my quality of life becomes an important factor in my decisions. I need time for other things. I need other creative outlets. I need a little time every few days to take a long walk with my dog and think. You can't always translate those things in to a paycheck. Don't get me wrong, if I was offered a ridiculous amount of money to put my life on hold for a while I'd probably sell out. But I'm being offered a little extra money for a whole lot of work, and quite frankly, it's just not worth it.

So for now I'll help run the restaurant. I'll try to make some sense out of the mess that the events department creates. I'll do Human Resources. I'll do payroll. I'll sort out their calendar and party planning system. I just won't have anything to do with the nightclub work. At least until someone pays me to.

It's Been A While Since I Put It In

That's right. I got a paycheck. I hadn't had the chance to piss and moan about the bad news I got during my ill-fated trip to New Jersey. My boss went with us for computer training and it was there I was told that managers were on a bi-weekly pay schedule. Which meant the $130 I had barely budgeted to get me through one week would have to get me through two. Impossible you say? You have no faith. I actually had figured out how I was going to accomplish this with many cans of tuna, ramen and mac and cheese in my immediate future. Unfortunately, it meant going further in to debt and being late on several payments this month. The only thing I had to look forward to was the fact that I would get a fat paycheck and my roommate's share of the rent all in the same weekend. Eventually, if I could hold on I'd be flush.

But this evening Allah smiled on my homosexual soul, as it was revealed that my boss was in error. He is considered administrative and thus he falls in to the bi-weekly category. I am fortunately still lumped in with the restaurant employees and as such, I'm paid weekly. Halle-fucking-lujah! The casual way he handed me my first paycheck was totally offset by the way I waved my arms in the air and did a "I got some ice cream, and you can't have none" dance. After depositing the check in the bank and remarking to myself how long its been since I filled out a deposit ticket and how very long it has been since I earned a solid week's pay. I took off for home and pulled out .... an ever growing pile of bills. I proceeded to pay four of the most immediate and glaringly outsized bills at once. Next is the Amex card I've been living on all month. The thing most people hate about Amex is my favorite feature. The whole bill is due every month, which is a drag, but there's no interest and once you pay it, that debt is gone. I always feel like I've taken a satisfying poo when I pay that bill. Happy and noticeably lighter.

Fully Funded

Hurrah! I picked up my first full paycheck yesterday. It's hookers and beer all weekend. Or dog food and chew sticks. Maybe hookers and dog food. I'll decide later.

I Spent 50 Cents

Yesterday. The whole day. No, I wasn't sequestered. I woke up a little late, and had a breakfast of leftovers from cooking during the week. I popped in to the gym to SSS, because the storm that blew in made the apartment really cold and drafty. A hot shower and some time in the steamroom warmed my bones and made me feel better. By then it was time for work. That's when I spent 50 cents for a newspaper. I read it quickly on the slow cross-town bus ride. My dinner was covered at work as were my after work drinks. I had two. I headed for home in the unending rain around 3 am. I did have another drink at home, but that was obviously already paid for. I fell asleep lounging on the couch for a bit and woke up around 5:30, scooting off to bed.

Total monetary cost for the day: .50