Ummm...can I get back to ya tomorrow?
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Yes, we all know by now, Saddam Hussein was executed early Saturday morning in Baghdad. I was on the internet, chatting with some friends in a public chatroom, when the news hit. My friends were elated, exuberant, joyfully cackling that he was finally dead. Some noticed that I wasn't joining in on the giggling and celebration, and I was asked why I was being so quiet on the matter. So, I explained how I felt. It goes like this:
Saddam Hussein was a tyrant and an evil dictator, it has always seemed to me. He killed many, many people, including his own, in order to maintain his power and status. The blood of these lives covered his hands. And, it was all done in the name of his religion. He excused his actions by invoking the name of his God.
He was hunted down and captured, deservedly so. He was brought to a fair trial and judged guilty of his crimes against Humanity, again, deservedly so. And, yesterday, he was executed. Okay, I can deal with that.
However, I am not going to celebrate the killing of human life. This whole thing is a tragedy. Do I think it should have been handled another way? No. I am not going to second guess and judge what Iraq decided to do with him.
His execution does not bring those he ordered murdered back to life. His execution does not correct the cultural/political quagmire of the region. His execution does not mean that we get back our friends and family that are stationed over there now. What's to celebrate? An evil man is now a dead man?
I choose to think upon the loss of life, I mourn for the dead. I'm saddened that in this day and age, we still think killing each other is the answer - and putting Saddam to death was probably the right thing to do, right here, right now. Just don't ask me to laugh and party over it. I accept that he was executed and is now dead. I understand that he had it coming to him in spades. Karma is a bitch, for sure.
But, I pray for peace.
Life is sacred. All life is sacred. And that means, when we kill a killer, we should do so with a heavy heart. I saw a bumpersticker once that said "Why do we kill people to prove killing people is wrong?" or something like that.
I think I lost some friends on the internet yesterday.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
I swear to God, I don't feel this old. I'm very immature for my age. Have you noticed all the celebrities that have been dying lately? I've been thinking about them the past couple of nights, lying in bed, listening to my heart beat in my ears, listening to my breath rushing in and out of my chest. I suspect the older I get, the more I'll be aware of people dying around me, wondering when my time will come.
Some people get all partied up on their birthday. I get quiet. Like on holidays that I love, I turn inward on my birthday and get all introspective and shit. I'm not this way out of depression or anything negative. I'm not at all bummed that it's my birthday. I guess I'm just amazed. Time is ripping past me. Fact is: it's ripping past us all.
How old are you? Do you feel that old?
I open my arms to the Universe and acknowledge, with gratitude, the time I have spent on this planet. I'd like a little more, please. It feels like I'm just getting started.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Monday, December 25, 2006
I'm not big on Christmas cards and Hallmark moments, but my wish is for you and yours to have a peaceful and satisfying holiday season. Find comfort in your Faith, your Family, and your Friends.
Isn't it perfect? It is, for me.
This is the full length version of "Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown".
It'll take a while for the file to load.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Well, so much for spending more time blogging and being industrious and shit. I guess I needed time to be a slug, or whatever you want to call being completely lazy, but I'm checkin' in for my Sunday catch-up. If you don't hear from me until next week at this time, I'll just apologize now.
The Big, Gay Christmas Party
Went to Rich and Dave's for their Christmas party. Jim (meaning: me)was very excited. So excited, I ran out to the Clothing Store For The Portly And Piggly and bought a "festive" shirt for the occasion. The fucker looked great on the rack: a faux suede long sleeve shirt in a deep shade of burgundy. When I fingered the bitch, it was very lightweight and YUMMY to the touch. I took it to the dressing room and even tried it on. It looked good on me and felt FANTASTIC! The fuzzy, buttery texture of the fabric brushed across my pecs and turn my headlights on immediately. With any luck, I'd be passing by hairy, horned up Santas all night as I made my way back and forth across the house to the buffet table, and this shirt appeared to be the perfect invitation to get my attention with a simple tug. I could only hope. Sold!
So, that night, I get dressed and don the garment. Yay! Atta boy, Jimbo. I jump into my truck, and make a stop at the liquor store. I had been asked to bring some soda and ice. Some Diet Coke, a six of Budweiser, and a bottle of Crown Royal later, I'm at the check out stand asking for ice. Sorry, they don't sell ice. What the fuck? Okay, I'll make another stop at another store. I take my bag full of drink out to the truck and as I'm walking, I notice that, hey, I'm kinda warm in this shirt. I shrug, and blaze over to the nearest convenience store for some ice. The inside of that store was really hot, someone had the heat cranked up. My pits started to melt. The ice was at the back of the store. I grabbed a bag, heaved it up onto the checkout counter, pulled my debit card out, and found out there is a three dollar minimum for using plastic to pay. I went back to the back of the store and grabbed a second bag. I'm kinda cranky now.
I leave the furnace that is the store, lugging the ice and mumbling a curse or two, and hit the cool night air. It's about 60 degrees out and it feels great. This is Texas Winter. Don't hate. I walk with my elbows out, trying to avoid pit stains on my new, festive shirt. Fuzzy, warm, and inviting can turn into sweaty, sloppy, and stinky on the turn of a dime.
When I get to Dave and Rich's, the front door opens and I'm greeted with a hot blast of air. Uh oh. The house is full of friendly, furry fuckers and Jim (yes, meaning: me) is so excited and nervous and warm that the flop sweat POURS off of him. It drips off my forehead into my eyes, off the end of my nose. My pits are pouring funk down my sides and it's collecting at my belt. My burgundy shirt is becoming a burgundy sponge with each passing second.
Dave, God BLESS his soul, figured it out pretty quickly.
"Hey, nice shirt."
"Thanks" I replied.
"Looks kinda hot."
"Yes," I said in a low voice. "...I'm dying." I hoped no one else heard me.
"Let me go get you one of my t-shirts. We're about the same size. I'll be right back."
He comes back from the bedroom with a wonderful "vintage" Budweiser t-shirt in brown, gold and rust. All Hail Dave!!! I run into a back room, peel off the Saran Wrap sonuvabitch that was trying to suffocate me, towel off with it, and pull on the t-shirt. Every pore on my torso gasps in relief. I check my reflection in a picture on the wall. I was overdressed before, anyway. This looks good! My nips return to their fully up and locked position. Jim (meaning: ME!) is ready to party!
Yes, much kissing and hugging and groping and tugging was occurring. Not just me, people! The liquor flowed, fabulous food was everywhere, and very friendly men were being very friendly with each other.
Please don't misunderstand: nothing sexual was happening. A peck on the lips, a snuggle into the neck, a pinch of the nipple, a rub of the butt cheek, sure. But no sex. I know, 'cuz I was watching for it. At one point, Bubba dropped his pants to showoff the tan line across his ass, but he hiked them back up in two seconds. That was it for skin.
That's what I love so much about Rich and Dave parties: The focus is always about fellowship, NOT about hookups. These two guys know more sweet, wonderful people than can be believed. I happily wandered around the house, introducing myself to new faces and shaking hands like a politician. Not a bad apple in the bunch.
I got hit on by a very drunk guy who tagged along with another friend. One of those drunks who gets louder the drunker he gets. He was harmless, but I spent the better part of the end of the party wandering away from him and trying to hide. Still, it was good for my ego, to be chased around a bit.
I left just after midnight, alone, having met a handful of new friends, and swapping phone numbers and email addresses with a completely HAWT San Antonio daddy whom I had lost contact with several years ago. He kissed me and my knees buckled, I swear. We'll see where THAT leads...
I've been invited to a New Year's Eve party, hosted by the same couple that invited me to a birthday party last summer that I missed due to my attendance at Pukeapalooza 2006.
I seriously doubt that I'll be buying a special outfit for that occasion.
[Late Edition Addition: By the way, remind me to tell you the story sometime about going to the local leather bar on Sunday of last week and walking into "Lesbian Night". Very weird.]
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Just thought I'd post this if you are one of the three people left on the planet who hasn't heard it yet. It's the uncensored version of a video from SNL featuring Justin Timberlake.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Howdy, people! Welcome to my Sunday ritual of tanking up on coffee and puttering around Casa del Jimbo with a pitchfork, a fire extinguisher, and a bottle of Simple Green (learned about this stuff from my cleaning lady). And I kind of blog as I go. I call this my "Sunday Mop Up", and you're welcome to hang out, as long as you pick up after yourself. I'm workin way too hard to get my own shit organized, I can't be responsible for yours. Okay? Okay!
I couldn't put it off any longer, I had to start my Christmas shopping this week. Brutal. Found myself at "The Mall", because Uncle Jim is getting his youngest niece an iPod Shuffle. Yes, I rock. So, I made my way to The Apple Store located deep in the bowels of Clusterfuck Square Mall. Parking was a bitch; fighting the crowds was a bitch; finding where I was on the "You Are Here" map at the front door and then finding "Where The Hell You Need To Go" and plotting my course required a GPS (which I don't have, but I did price them at Sharper Image while I was there and, FUCK, I'll be staying lost for many years to come! Those buddies be 'SPENSIVE!) and was a bitch; and then dealing with my seriously rude and retarded fellow consumers - 9 out of 10 of whom were blathering non-stop into their precious cellphones and just clogging up the lanes of foot-traffic. I want a machete for Christmas, I swear to God.
But, beyond the general irritation of stupid people buying stupid things for the stupid people they love (yes, we've hit the point in the season where my 'Christmas Cheer' has dissolved into 'Christmas Rage', which turns my blood into acid and makes my heart cold as stone. By the way, I turn back into 'Sweetness And Light' on December 26th. Catch me then!), I saw indications of something that I have suspected for a while now and will, no doubt, generate some very negative feelings about me from some of you. I apologize ahead of time for the generalizations I am about to make, but I believe with all my heart that they are TRUE generalizations. And they are:
Young people suck. They are clueless. They are pathetic. They do not possess manners nor communication skills nor social skills. They are The Internet Generation, therefore they are seriously lacking in social development. Now, before you write me off as a square and un-hip old man, who is just jealous of Youth, and bitter that I don't understand the kids of today, let me assure you, I am not talking about how kids dismiss ME, or how I feel disrespected and ridiculed by these fetuses in tennis shoes. No, I'm referring to behavior I am witnessing as these Retarded Offspring struggle to talk to EACH OTHER. They can't do it, people! I wove in and around young person after young person, and what I was hearing was really alarming. Obliviousness. Teenage Wasteland. Sure, it's an old concept. But, I'm telling you, the future is GRIM.
See, back in the day, when WE were young and disinterested in anything beyond our genitals (which we had just discovered and were fascinated with), we had a support system of family and school that forced us to grow up. Kids today are left to their own devices, which happen to be broadband and wireless. Our schools are failing us. Parents, who used to be accused of letting television be a babysitter, can now rely on the internet as well. Our society sexualizes kids and rewards them for merely being young, because society wishes it were young again as well. We are producing an entire generation of idiots. And, one day, they will be running our world.
I know, I know. I'm an old, fat, bitter geezer. I'm as pathetic as you are, just in other ways, kid. But I'm OLD. What's your excuse? I sound just like every old man complaining about the young people of today. I'm the old caveman, grunting about the young cavemen and their folly they call "the wheel". At some point, someone younger and stronger will club me in the head and put me out of my misery.
Meanwhile, leave me alone. You are stupid and worthless (to me). Merry Fuckin' Christmas, morons.
Really? Jesus, we are FUCKED!
Vacation (all I ever wanted)...
Yup, jimmycity is on vacation from now until January 2nd, 2007. I had accrued a ton of hours that I needed to burn before the first of the year or lose all together. Not gonna let THAT happen. So, I busted ass last week and crammed three weeks of work into one, said "Adios, Mofos!" to the crew, and abandoned my cube for a while. The carnage that will greet me upon my return will be severe, to be sure. I'll deal with it then.
And, don't assume that just because I am vacationing from my day job, that I'll be a total slacker concerning my posting here. In fact, I may end up putting more time and energy into it than I usually do. 'Cuz I've got more time and energy now, see?
In other work related news, I was reviewed by my boss before I left and was given very positive marks. I'll be rewarded with a hefty raise in the new year and a bonus in February that could be quite substancial. Nice way to end a very hectic and stressful year.
So, with all this time on my hands, if any of you gentle readers would like to make holiday suggestions to me, I'm all ears. Invitations for sleazy hook-ups should be sent directly to my email address. Not that I would even consider such a thing! Good grief!
Take "The Book Quiz" 'cuz I just did*, and I'm...
You're Watership Down!
by Richard Adams
Though many think of you as a bit young, even childish, you're actually incredibly deep and complex. You show people the need to rethink their assumptions, and confront them on everything from how they think to where they build their houses. You might be one of the greatest people of all time. You'd be recognized as such if you weren't always talking about talking rabbits.
Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.
*snagged from Uncle Dirk who snagged it from someone else.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Friday, December 15, 2006
Since discovering the blogosphere, I have stumbled upon some pretty amazing writers. My initial expectations of bloggers were pretty low; I thought a blog was just an excuse to post a profile of yourself and collect pics of friends and swap inside jokes and, basically, treat the internet like a worldwide studyhall where everyone is passing notes and being as stupid as possible. You know: myspace.
Much to my surprise, I found many "out there" were using the opportunity to really flex their creative muscle, exercise their writing skills, and try to connect with the chaotic world around them. Whether trying to explain themselves and reveal their own, personal story, or feeling the need to comment on current events and editorialize on society at large, I was stunned to find a community of thoughtful, earnest souls who seemed hell-bent on finding their voice on the web. What I found made me want to participate as well. Within six months of wandering and reading around, I fired up my own blog and immediately felt overwhelmed with the job at hand.
Having tried my hand at it, I now appreciate even MORE the bloggers who can write daily and maintain a freshness and wit and keep me engaged and interested enough to come back day after day. So, in keeping with BlogCrush Day, I will now reveal mine.
(by the way, you can click on their pics to go right to their blogs to check them out for yourselves. You're welcome!)
Here we go:
Yours was the blog that I read that made me decide that I wanted to try my hand at writing as well. The way you talked about your mother (Johnny Cash) and sister (Martha Stewart) made me laugh and sucked me into your world immediately. Your sense of humor shines through without you ever trying to be funny. When you are sad or down, you break my big, gay heart. I seriously suspect that if we lived close to each other, I would be pestering you constantly to hang out, do things, and force you to call me your best friend. I swear to God, I'll make you love me. I just know it.
By the way, your "Smut Of The Month" always impresses me. Let's call each other and read romance novels to each other over the phone. You read the straight stuff to me, I'll read the gay stuff to you, and then we can have a question and answer session afterwards.
Maybe it's because I didn't come out until later in life and I can relate to what you are going through that your blog completely captivates me. On nearly a daily basis, your postings knock the wind out of me. Reading you is like getting hit in the solar plexus. The bravery that you display by writing so honestly is truly a gift to those of us who follow you. You so perfectly describe the angst, frustration, confusion, yet tenacity, of a man determined to deal with his issues of sexual orientation (and the ramifications therein) that I am rooting for you more and more strongly with each new post.
You are "Everyman", you are a symbol of a whole generation of middle-aged men who simply demand their Life back, and are finding a way out of their closet to find the Happiness that they deserve. That I find your attitude, demeanor, and physicality attractive is not the focus of my admiration of you. It's your Integrity, your Courage, and your Compassion and care of all those around you that makes me swoon. Thank you for sharing your struggles on this journey with us.
DirectorCrush (this blogcrush is about my love of a blog's concept and execution and is, therefore, gender neutral)
I know nothing about you personally, but I must tell everyone I can about your blog. It is nothing short of genius, in my humble opinion. That you have this skill to take politics, economics, religion, philosophy, psychology, sociology, and pop culture and distill everything down into simple charts, graphs, and mathematical equations jotted down onto index cards BLOWS MY MIND! If you held an IPO on your brain, I would invest in you with every cent in my bank account. Somehow, I think you have the power (and the equation) to change/save the world. I have never seen a blog that compares to yours in purity of concept and perfection of vision. I am in awe.
FemaleCrush: The Dresden Dolls Diary
MaleCrush: Too Disgusting to Contemplate, Too Compelling To Ignore
DirectorCrush: Post Secret
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
We are sleeping. I am in my usual position : on my left side, left arm stretched out under my head, being used to prop up my pillow, which is stuffed between my shoulder and my ear; my left hand dangling off into space; my body hanging onto the last 18 inches of mattress.
The rest of the queen-sized bed is his.
With all that room at his disposal, he is still pressed up against my back. I'm dozing in and out of consciousness, but he's out like a light, sawing logs. I feel his warm breath on the back of my neck, and his body spooned up against mine. This feels glorious, I think to myself. I am awake enough to realize that if he pushes forward on me, I'll topple off of the bed. So, I push back on him a bit. Not roughly or aggressively, I'm just trying to shift my center of gravity back towards the safety of the middle of the bed. I'm kind of "counter-snuggling", but I'm also trying to protect myself. Our feet are inter-twined under the heaps of blankets.
He grunts and leans into the pressure I exert and throws a leg over mine. The man is a total Bed Hog. I smile and turn my body so that I am on my back. I snake my right arm under his pillow and stretch it out along the length of the headboard. Instead of being burrowed into my back and neck, his face is now plowed into my armpit - a favorite position of his. I hear him breathe deeply and sigh a contented sigh, taking in my musk. He throws an arm across my chest and pulls himself even deeper into me. I nearly chuckle outloud.
I am now wide awake because I am on my back, but I am loving the moment. I bend my right arm and lightly stroke his back. He is warm and moist from sleep, and his hairiness across my arm and my palm always arouses me. I wouldn't dare wake him, but I squeeze him in my arm a bit, just a slight, one-armed hug.
He fights this and pushes my arm away. He turns away from me now and I catch a glimpse of his face: sound asleep yet smiling a little smile. He always looks like a little boy to me when he sleeps, all puffy-faced and hair-tossled. Instead of his nose in my pit, he has now pushed his ass up upon my right hip. He's using my shoulder as his pillow, and pulls the same arm down now onto his chest and holds onto it in an embrace. His hot breath is on my bicep, and I feel his lips brush the hair on my arm. I think I feel a kiss.
I look down and see that my cock is mere inches from his ass crack. That's all the visual I need, and I begin to get hard.
I have no intention of waking him for sex, but I can't help but reach for his buttocks with my left hand. Ever so lightly, I place my hand on a hairy cheek and feel the muscle in my palm. Glorious. The heat of his flesh is amazingly erotic. My dick twitches. I turn my head and kiss him on the back of the neck.
He flinches from being tickled by the beard on my face, and scrunches into a fetal position, pulling his ass away from my hand. He reaches for the covers and creates a barrier between our bodies. He finally speaks.
"Knock it off..." he croaks. And, just like that, he is back to sleep.
Shame on me! How could I be so selfish?
I roll back over onto my left side and find my place on the ledge in the darkness. I sigh heavily, feeling rejected and misunderstood. I should have known this would happen. It always does. I close my eyes to fall back asleep. As I'm drifting, the phone rings...
When I open my eyes, I see the clock says that's it's 6am. The phonecall is from work, calling to report a problem. I turn onto my back and look across the expanse of my bed. The far side is still undisturbed, as it usually is. The far pillow still sits neatly atop the comforter on that side. His side. He's been gone for nearly two years now, and yet I still dream of him sleeping next to me. Just every now and then. They are infrequent, these dreams, but intense.
I sit up and rub my eyes, wondering if the dreams will ever stop. It still feels so real.
And I still sleep on the edge of the bed.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
So, the fabulous Ms. Sizzle is hosting (well, co-hosting, along with her very perky and witty friend Sandra) a "BlogCrush" on December 15th. I LOVE this idea. I will be participating, meaning that on Friday you can check in here to find out who I have a crush on. I have decided to separate my crushes into 3 categories: MaleCrush, FemaleCrush, and Director. The first two will be personal diarist-type bloggers. The last is for a blog that is all about concept and construct, not about personality.
Here's an exerpt from The Divine Ms. S, from her post explaining the idea :
"So, I've been asked what technically IS a Blog Crush? It'd likely include some, if not all, of the following:A) You can't wait to read what they post next. B) You want to be friends with them. C) You think they are the cat's meow. Meow!D) You might find them attractive- physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, whatever floats your boat.E) If you met them in person, blushing might occur.If you have to really think hard about who your blog crush is, you probably don't have one.
THE RULES:1) You can have more than one crush (but please refrain from naming your entire blogroll in an effort to keep everyone happy).2) You must reveal it on December 15, 2006 on your own blog.3) Boys can crush on boys. Girls can crush on girls. Boys can crush on girls. Girls can crush on boys. This has little to do with our sexuality and more to do with being bloggeriffic."
If you would like to participate, be sure and click on the link above to post a comment on her blog that you'll be involved. Everyone will want to check out what your choice/choices are, ya know.
I think the thing I dig most about this is that it gives us all a chance to shine a spotlight on blogs we particularly enjoy with folks who may enjoy them, too. If you've found someone you think everyone should check out, here's a way to spout off about it. Ya know, the blogosphere is jammed with tons of stuff, some that is genius, some that is utter crap. I rely heavily on the blogrolls of bloggers I am impressed with to point me to other cool stuff. So, I look forward to seeing what/who others are groovin' to and following.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Holy shit! Woke up this morning with a headache that will NOT go away. Because of the cool weather here in Texas, my heater is coming on deep in the middle of the night. I think the dry, nasty heat has cooked my sinuses. This headache is, I suspect, baked mucous membranes in my noggin. Yuck! and Ow! Shall we proceed? Let's.
My Hypochondriac Tendencies
Back in the late summer/early fall, I went to see my doc for my regular bloodwork check-up. Because I'm a Type II Diabetic, this happens every 4 months. I sit down, and some brand new, green-behind-the-ears phlebotomist digs around inside my arm for a vein to tap. The vampire with skills can usually hit pay dirt with only a few jabs and minor flailing about. This is a rare occurrence. What happens more often than not is that I get someone who couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with a bazooka. One arm gets drilled, multiple times, followed by the other arm, also unsuccessfully, until it is determined that the first arm was the better candidate after all and we go back to playing Hide and Seek on it. The part that I hate is that I have a major, fatass vein that runs right across the top of my left kneecap. You could tap that buddy in a second and it would produce like a maple tree in winter. No, we can't do that. You don't draw blood from a Diabetic's legs. Too high a risk of throwing a bloodclot, they say. Okay, keep stabbing me, then, what the fuck.
Ummm...I got a little sidetracked there. Sorry.
So, the last time I got my bloodwork done, my doc announced that my cholesterol was a little high and he wrote me a script for Lipitor. I shrugged. High choloesterol is bad, right? Okay, give me the pills. He stressed that I needed to come back in 6 weeks for follow up bloodwork, 'cuz this stuff can fuck with liver function. I go back, my cholesterol is down from 218 to 184 and everyone is happy.
Yesterday I'm driving around in my truck, listening to talk radio (I officially turned into an 'Old Geezer' when I realized I prefer listening to AM talk radio to FM rock and roll. This happened about 5 years ago and I'm fucking SICK about it), when I happened upon a show about healthy lifestyles and alternative medicines. The host was busy explaining the advantages of incorporating goji berries into one's diet. It was interesting, and I made a mental note to Google it when I got home. Maybe someone makes goji berry preserves that would go nicely on toast in the morning, who knows?
Then, the host got a call from someone asking about chromium picolinate. This pleased me, because I know a little about the stuff. It's actually a trace mineral used as a supplement by some to help regulate blood sugar. I've always been told that it's not too effective. Then, the caller mentioned he was taking this as well as Lipitor and the host freaked out. Freaked out.
So, I learned that Lipitor is a statin, and although statins do, in fact, help lower cholesterol, they are suspected of causing memory loss, liver disfunction (which I figured), muscle wasting, and heart attacks! What? I turned up the volume and leaned forward as I drove. I started to sweat. The host stressed that there is a big debate in the medical arena right now as to whether higher cholesterol levels are truely an indicator of heart disease, or an indicator of OTHER issues that may be the determining factor in heart attacks and stroke. He begged the caller to talk to his doctor about finding other ways to deal with his cholesterol than using statins.
All the while, I'm gripping the steering wheel with one sweaty hand, which is starting to go numb, and holding my chest with my other, trying to 'feel" for signs of an impending heart attack. Then, I remind myself how my legs have felt so weak lately. I've got big, strong, tree trunk legs. They've got to be to hold this body up. Of course they have felt weak, they are WASTING AWAY! Fuck! I need to call the doctor's office! What's the clinic's number, again? OH MY GOD, I can't remember the phone number to the clinic! I've got ALL the symptoms!
In a panic, I switch the radio over to an FM classic rock station. "Don't Fear The Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult fills the cab of the truck. I can't listen to that song without flashing on the SNL skit with Will Ferrell and the cowbell. But, this time, I wasn't laughing. NOW, I won't be able to listen to it without thinking about the time I convinced myself I was about to have a heart attack.
I just turn the damned radio off.
I swear, I'm calling my doctor tomorrow and we're going to have a little talk.
Friday, December 08, 2006
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
Hi, just wanted to share something that happened here at work.
I have to interact with many different personality types in my job. I guess we all do, as we make our way through the world, come to think of it. But, I pride myself on being able to get along with people. As a PeoplePleaser, I strive to make whoever I come in contact with relax and connect with them, ya know? Yes, I want everyone to like me. It's a sickness. But, you probably know this about me already. No news for most of you reading this.
But, I've had to deal with a new client this fall. We have launched an "Education On Demand" channel on the cable system. This is a channel that offers programs about everything from being a smart shopper, to communicating effectively, to basic math and history courses. There is programming aimed at children and teenagers as well as adults. Lots of different kinds of stuff on this channel, and the idea is that, for 99 cents, a viewer can click on a program, watch it, and learn about stuff. How to take tests, how to buy a digital camera, the origin of Kawanzaa, that kinda stuff.
The person I have to deal with in getting this content onto the channel is a Ph.D. by the name of Amanda. I am her main contact with the company. Well, that's not completely true, she deals with the Director of Programming with things contractual. She calls me to have me explain how the Video On Demand system works, what the most efficient way to roll out content is, what I can do to make things easier for her, what she can do to make things easier for me, and how we can make her vision of Smarter Couch Potatoes a reality. If we can build a good model here locally, the plan is to roll this channel out to other divisions regionally.
I'm kind of intimidated that she's a Ph.D., okay?
Well, she calls today to ask me some questions, and I do my best to be helpful. In the middle of our conversation she stops me.
"Can I ask you a question?" she asks.
"Sure", I reply.
"Do you write? I mean, are you a writer?"
"A writer?" Suddenly I'm worried that she has found my blog and is about to scold me for my foul language when I post here, or ask me to be a little less gay on the internet, or something.
"Yes, you have such a wonderful way with words, I just figured you were a poet or wrote on the side."
See, I'm pretty insecure about the fact that I never finished college and got my degree. I don't have a bunch of regrets in my life, but I think that may be one of them.
Well, anyway, I've been kind of floating in air all day since.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Okay, I just jumped on to admit that I actually teared up tonight during "Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip". I swear, I don't get people who won't give this show a chance. It didn't hurt that it was an episode called "The Christmas Show" and featured one of my all-time favorite Christmas songs, "Oh, Holy Night". The "...Fall on your knees..." line in that song has put a lump in my throat ever since I was a kid. Combine that song with a tribute to the City of New Orleans in the wake of Hurricaine Katrina, and some heart-tugging character development between a couple of characters on the show and Jimmy got teary.
(I think the last time I got emotional watching tv was during the finale of "Six Feet Under" when Claire drove off into the horizon and we witness the collage of what happens to all the characters in the future. I fucking BLUBBERED during that.Not just "wept" mind you, I'm talking "snot-bubble BLUBBERED". Thank GOD I was alone at the time!)
"Heroes" continues to amaze me as well. For someone who detests "Prime Time Network Television", these two hours on Monday night on NBC are delighting me to no end. Who knew?
[Late Edition Addition: I'm also a sucker for "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas". I may be loading Jimmy's Jukebox up with some Christmas Crap through the end of the year, cuz I just love that kinda shit. We'll see...]
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Whoa! I wasn't sure I'd even get to the Mop Up this weekend. Things have been hectic. As it is, it is well after 7pm Sunday night and I'm just getting a handle on my laundry. While I await the next load to dry, how about I knock out the easy-to-relate stuff to you. Please notice this posting's Mountain Fresh Scent (thanks to Clorox)!
Ran out to Houston to visit My Favorite Margaret as she gets her blood thinned at Methodist Hospital. Man, what a place! Swank, swank, swank! Looked like the Hilton. A guy played Christmas songs on a baby grand piano in the lobby. Her room had tile floors, crown moulding, and cherrywood furniture. If and when I get the bariatric surgery, I wanna come here. Sa-weet!
She's doing great, and looks wonderful, by the way. Well, until she pulled the oxygen tube off of her face to talk with me. Thirty minutes after that, she was weak and breathless. Silly woman. She put the oxygen back on and she perked right back up.
Her clots are disolving slowly and she hopes to go home sometime next week. Have I told you people how much I love this woman? She's just the sweetest, gentlest soul I've ever known. I'm a better person from having known her.
Dear God! What a nightmare! It was like "The Road Warrior" but with pick-up trucks and small, japanese cars. If you live in Houston, I have a question: How have you managed to escape being killed on your highways? My balls are still lodged somewhere in my abdomen from the fright of it all. Austin drivers are bad, no doubt. But they just drive fast. In Houston, they try to kill each other at 80 mph. It's sport.
Beta Blogger Bullshit
Looks like I've screwed myself for upgrading to the "new" blogger. Suddenly, I can't switch back and forth from "compose" mode to "html" mode. There's no "compose" mode at all anymore, near as I can tell. Which means, if you're a bit of a moron as I am and aren't fluent in html, things like adding pics and changing font size and color are gonna be a chore. The good geeks at Blogger are pestering me to switch to some new-fangled template (which I did for a few minutes) and the whole structure of this page was flushed. I freaked and back-pedaled as quickly as I could.
I'm back to the old template for now, but posting aint as easy as it was just, like, the last time I posted. I'm pissed. If you blog here and are considering upgrading to the beta version...I'd think twice.
Comsumed By Christmas
The countdown is on and here's the part of the season that I dread. It's "Keeping Up With The Joneses" and "How To Be A Patriot" and "Save The Economy" all rolled into one big marketing burrito - with a side of "The Baby Jesus", just for good measure.
The pressure to spend, spend, spend is intense. I'm already hearing from friends and co-workers how relieved they are that they are done shopping. Done? Good grief, I haven't even started! The local news will remind you nightly how many days are left to fight the crowds. The hosts on the Home Shopping channels are twitching and barking at us like they are on crack.
What if we spent a Christmas just telling our friends and family how much we loved them, found a quiet ritual to express our spiritual beliefs, and decided not to bother blowing money we can't afford to spend by buying each other stuff we don't need?
I suppose The Economy would tank, we wouldn't be good Americans, and the nextdoor neighbors wouldn't think we were cool.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
A dear friend of mine called last night. She called from her hospital room to tell me that she has been admitted into the hospital with a pulmonary embolism. I'm pretty rattled by it. While putting her through a battery of tests, they have found another blotclot in her leg, and an unidentified spot on her lung. This is a woman who is a breast cancer survivor of 5 years now, I think. She says she's breathing fine now, that she may be released by the weekend. I hope so.
I've written about Peggy here in the past, and I now realize that I don't talk about her enough. She has been a true friend through many of my ups and downs. She's a person upon whom I can depend upon for love and support so completely that I think I take it for granted.
She's the woman who I left to come out of the closet. She's the heart I broke while trying to grow up. She's sick now and I just want to tell her and everybody else that I love her.
I'll be driving to Houston his weekend to be with her. I don't have much else to say right now.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Well, all right then! I hope you had a wonderful Turkey Day, and I trust that the carcass has been picked clean and thrown away (I'm referring to the bird here, not the relative you secretly wish to murder), as we all suffer through the turkey sandwiches, turkey tetrazini, turkey enchiladas, and/or turkey soup concoctions, trying to deal with leftovers. Enough already, say I. Pitch that bitch and let's go get a burger!
I survived my plane flights, as did the surrounding passengers, with minimal discomfort. The leg of the trip from Houston to Orlando turned out to be sold out, so I shared some time with a very cute and happy 14 year old girl who was flying to Ft. Lauderdale to be with her boyfriend and his family for the holiday. The boyfriend's mother works for Southwest, so the little girl was flying free, delighted there was even a seat available for her, and had a butt about the size of my kneecap, so I didn't squeeze her too terribly bad. I decided I loved her when I found out she was listening to Frank Sinatra on her iPod. Kids these days. Go figure.
Let's have a Meeting, shall we?
My back was a problem the whole trip. Worried that I would really be in pain from the plane ride, I accepted some help in the form of Darvocet from a dear friend who was trying to help me. I popped two upon waking up at 6am the morning I left, and felt no pain by the time we boarded. When I got to Dad's, a full 9 hours after taking the first two, I popped two more because the sharp stabbing had begun again. I crawled into bed at 7:30pm and slept like the dead until 10 am the next morning. Upon waking, I immediately popped two more because, I'm telling you, just getting out of the bed and sitting up was difficult. I felt fine within an hour. That evening, I reached for two more around dinner time.
Tuesday night I had a hard time falling asleep. Thrashed around quite a lot, and when I did finally sleep, it was fitful. I awoke in the middle of the night, feeling warm and uncomfortable. I noticed the back was a bit sore, so I reached for the pills, and popped just one. It seemed to do the trick, I was asleep within a half hour.
The next morning I knew I was headed over to my sister's house for the day, so I ate two before getting into the shower. I took a change of clothes and my pills when I went over. Had a great time checking my sister's house out. She is working hard to fix it up, while my brother-in-law is over in Iraq. we spent time laughing and catching up. Dad dropped by that evening to pick us up for a fancy dinner at one of those Japanese "watch the guy juggle the knives and whip up some stir fry for you" kinda places. My back, ever the nag, got another dose of Darvocet before we ate at about 6pm. I spent the night at my sister's and was out like a light by 9:30pm.
At 3am, I woke from another miserable sleep. But, this time, my eyes popped open when I realized that I was sweating, my heart was pounding in my chest, and I could not catch my breath. I swear to you, it felt like the bed was trying to swallow me. I pushed and kicked the covers off of me and still couldn't breathe. I sat up in the bed. Here's the weirdest part: my back did not hurt.
That's when I knew. You see, many years ago I had a brief, albeit intense relationship with a drug called cocaine. In six short months, I came perilously close to losing everything I had thanks to that shit. So, I checked myself into an outpatient rehab program, outed myself to friends, family, and boss at work - and cleaned myself up. I had to admit that I was a drug addict, and I did. I worked the 12 steps with fury and passion. I ended up finding a relationship with "God", or my "Higher Power", and I owe a great deal to The Friends of Bill for being there for me. I'm almost 4 years sober now. I still go to meetings now and then. Never felt better. No desire to get high. But that's not the point. I used a narcotic for three days straight, and my body REMEMBERED and REACTED to the fact that I was doping it again, AND WANTED MORE! The sweats, the heart palpitations, the hyperventilation, the discomfort, were all signs of me having little mini-withdrawals when the drug wore off deep in the middle of the night.
My name is Jim and I am a drug addict.
What a fool I was to think I could pop a narcotic like it was nothing. I fucking know from the program that I must be very, very careful with what kinds of drugs I put into my body. All I knew at the time was that I was in serious pain, and I wanted relief.
So, I stopped taking the pills immediately. It took me about an hour and a half to calm down that night and get back into bed and fall asleep. The next day, Thanksgiving Day, I stuck to ibuprofen. I walked like a cripple, but I didn't care. The pain reminded me that I was alive. I told my family about what had happened. I need for the people around me to be aware of my sensitivity as well. I talked with my sponsor when I got home and got my ass CHEWED, deservedly so. I'm heading to a meeting here in just a little while to share this story with others like me.
Bush Screws America
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Yes, I love this holiday. Not because of the food (but turkey and gravy is a definite bonus), but because of the concept of the day.The Intention of the day is so pure, so perfect.
We all have busy lives. We all slog through complicated and complex problems day after day, week after week. It's easy to forget how good we have it. It's easy to forget how we are blessed. It's easy to bitch and complain and moan and groan about our hardships. It's easy to be bitter, and ugly, and cruel, and resentful. It's easy to be consumed by self-pity, and insecurity, and paranoia, and rage, and envy.
The media is more than happy to show us glimpses into the lives of Those Who Have It Made - to taunt us when we need to be reminded how little we are. That same media is happy to show us those same people when things go badly for them - so that we can feel there is Justice in the world. This is the same media that pits us against each other, politically and socially.
Today, let it be easy to remember your blessings. Today, let it be easy to allow your heart to be filled with compassion, and Love, and joy. Well, it could be easy. If only you let it.
If only we could extend this spirit of thanks giving to our lives throughout the rest of the year. That is my goal. I strive to live in a place of Gratitude and Humility, of Compassion and Thanks, on more than just one day a year.
That's the hard part.
Warmest Wishes and Regards on My Favorite Day of the Year,
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Thanksgiving Plans (end of Act II)
So, I jump up this morning at 8 am to race to work. You see, it is vitally important to my plans that I be in front of a computer with a printer at exactly 8:30am because I don't have a printer here at the house and I must print out my boarding pass for my airplane ticket exactly 24 hours before the departure time of my flight. My flight departs at 8:30 am Monday. I need to be one of the first, so that I get the all important "A" designation on it, which will allow me to be in the first group to board, so I can get a seat next to no one right off the bat. I explained all this earlier. Point is, I didn't wake up til 8am, needed to be at the pc at work at 8:30, and I was flying around the house like a bat out of Hell.
I had to poop, and that slowed me down a bit as well.
Now, I only live about 10 minutes from work, and I found myself not quite halfway there at 8:25. I got a little leadfooted and drove more aggressively than normally. No, I didn't get a speeding ticket, thank you. I did see a motorcycle cop, and scolded myself for doing something stupid which, if I got busted, would make me even later.
I got to work and sat at my desk at 8:35am. Some traffic lights fucked with me. I'm logging onto my pc, digging out my paperwork with my reservation confirmation code printed on it, and swiveling around to my printer when I noticed there was no paper in it.
[What's the deal with computer printers, anyway? I find only being able to load about 100 sheets of paper a time into mine a complete pain in the ass. Why can't they make printers that will let you dump a ream of paper into them at once? Is that, like, too fucking hard to do? I've got a fancy copier/fax/scanner/Easy Bake Oven model 'cuz I pump out a TON of paperwork as part of my job, but I have to load that bitch a little dollop at a time. Irritating. Sorry, I'm just saying...]
I swiveled around behind me, where I have a couple of reams stashed, grabbed a handful and swiveled back to the printer. It was during this motion that I felt my back hitch.
Back at the keyboard, I log into Southwest.com, enter my code and my name and...voila!... Boarding Pass is printing out. Big Ass letter "A" right in the middle. Heavy sigh of relief. I head back home to begin the packing process. MUCH to do to get ready.
Getting out of my truck when I get home, I notice something. My back has seized up on me. A tightness along with some searing pain hit me when I open the truck door and unload my ass from the driver's seat. When I'm standing beside the truck, closing the door to the vehicle, I'm bent at a 45 degree angle. I can't straighten up.
Oh, fuck, NO!
As a fat guy, my back can be counted on to go out on me every couple of years. Once every two or three years, there's a disc that says "Everything else on you bulges. Me, too, moron!" and complicates my life for about two weeks. This is what this is. I immediately panic because I have mucho laundry to do, a trip back to the clothes store, and a stop at the Post Office to put in a request to have my mail saved for me. And, of course, I need to blog.
I toddle into the house, creep up the stairs, and head for the bed. I have a heating pad stashed in the nightstand for just such an emergency, plug that thing in and arrange myself over it. Just a half hour, I tell myself. Maybe this will help loosen me up. That was just before 10 am.
It's now 2:30pm. I awoke with a jolt, swearing like a sailor that I had passed out for so long, but pleased that my back felt really pretty good. Then, I sat up. It was like someone was sticking a knife into my kidney.
I've swallowed a handful of Advil (well, three) and am hoping that might help. Jimmy's Fun Fact Of The Day: I if you clutch a handful of Advil in your hand for long enough (because you're looking for a glass to pour some water into), the red dye bleeds off those little fuckers. I now have red paw marks all over my white bathroom sink where I was trying to steady my crippled ass with one hand while I chugged the pills down.
I need to be in bed and ASLEEP by 9pm, if I expect to be up by 6am. There's a spoiled brat inside of me that wants to call the whole trip off and just get into bed and sleep for a week. I can't do that and I know it. I do, however, worry about what a plane ride, cramped into a shitty seat in the back of a cattlecar for 5 hours, is going to do to me. Fuck!
[Late Edition Addition: It's 11pm, and I'm finally packed. I'm dosed up heavy on the Advil, so I'm pretty sure my liver is petrifying in my abdomen at this very instant. I called my sister and whined like a baby, and that made me feel better, somewhat. I got the bright idea to maybe buy a digital camera for myself when I get out there, so I might have pics to post at some point. You'll love my family. Not a retarded one in the lot, besides me, acourse.}
One last little note:
The TomKat Wedding
Jesus Christ! Shut the fuck UP already! I don't CARE! I don't understand why ANYBODY cares. The shit we focus on and obsess over, as a culture, infuriates me! I don't care what she wore, I don't care what he wore, I don't care who was there, I don't care how many candles were lit, I don't care how many italian women peed their pants, I don't care, I don't care, I don't care!
I hope they are happy, but I felt the same way about Ellen DeGeneres and Anne Heche and look how THAT turned out.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
I CANNOT believe my eyes. The sleaze factor, the utter tastelessness of THIS NEWS stuns, amazes, and terrifies the shit outta me. Seriously, I can't get beyond "what the fuck!?!"
“O.J. Simpson, in his own words, tells for the first time how he would have committed the murders if he were the one responsible for the crimes,” Fox said in a statement. “In the two-part event, Simpson describes how he would have carried out the murders he has vehemently denied committing for over a decade.”
- from a report by TV Critic Diane Holloway, Austin American Statesman (click the quote for more)
Who would watch this? Who would want to televise it? Oh, my God!
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Sunday Mop Up 11/12/06
Wow! It got chilly here in Texas overnight. Like, into the lower 40s or upper 30s or something. Whenever it gets cool down here, the first thing that always comes to mind when I wake up is: "Man, if it's this cold here, I wonder how cold it is up north?!?" -which sends me scurrying to The Weather Channel. Then, when I see that in some places in the north, lower 40s and upper 30's is, like, the HIGHS for the day, I get all goose-pimpley, my ass clenches a bit, and I dive for the comfort and safety of my bed's snuggley covers and blankets.
I think of Bigg, trying to survive the cold in a "garconniere (whatever the fuck that is) with no running water and inadequate heat" in the middle of East OverParka, Pennsylvania. I shudder like a sissy girl and send my warmest thoughts out to him. I'm sending visions of hot cocoa and blowjobs to that man. I'd FedEx them, if I could. If you've never checked out his blog, please do. While many of us in the blogosphere play hit or miss with social commentary and pop culture and just silly, inane ramblings, Bigg devotes his writing to dealing with the reality of a middle-aged man coming to grips with his sexuality and the consequences of that for himself, his lover, and his family in a rural, small-minded community. His story is compelling, heartbreaking, and beautiful.
Now, let me get to giving you the lowdown about what's been kicking around in my skull this week. Let the Mop Up begin:
Okay, the Dems had a good showing this week. Fine. I'm delighted that the Republican party is going to have to re-tool itself in order to overcome the hypocrisy, demagoguery, and corruption it has fostered within its ranks.
If you think for a second that the Democratic party is all Sweetness and Light, all Virtue and Integrity - kindly wake the fuck up! You don't think the Dems have their own hands in the pockets of the Special Interests? Do you really think that Back Room Politics and Corporate Influence has been affected in any way? Surely we are not so naive.
I voted for as many Independents and third party candidates as I possibly could this past election. I was told that I threw my vote away. I don't believe that I did. As I have said before, the system is BROKEN the way it stands now, no matter WHICH of the two parties is in control. So, if you are a hardcore Democrat, I implore you to watch what happens in Washington very closely between now and 2008. I suspect it will be "Business", as usual (pun completely intended).
The Continuing Saga Of Thanksgiving Plans
So, the pressure from the family on me now is: how long I will be able to stay with them in Florida during the upcoming visit? My email back to sister and father: two-three days, tops. Sister groans and complains immediately. Why so short? She demands an explanation. Look, I explain, I can't find airfare for under $400 and, with gas prices where they are, it will be cheaper for me to drive. It's 22 hours on the road one way, I'll need to break that up into two days. Two days to get there, three days to hang, and two days to get back. That's a week, baby.
[Other considerations: (1.) As a 6'3" fat man, I HATE to fly. You just don't know the awful feeling of boarding a plane and looking for your seat, as you pass row after row of fellow travelers who are all wearing "Oh, PLEASE GOD, don't let him sit next to me!" on their faces. Fact is: I don't blame them a bit for feeling that way. Can I afford to pay for two seats? Uh, sorry, no. Not at these prices. Please try to remember that it's the airplane manufacturers, at the behest of the airline industry, who treat passengers like inanimate cargo, or fucking livestock. (2.) I loves me a good roadtrip and Texas to Florida is a good one cuz New Orleans is practically on the way. Any opportunity to swing through that town and spend some time in the attic of The Phoenix makes Jim a happy camper.]
The next day, I get an email form Dad. In order to get as long a visit out of me as he can, he'd like to split the cost of my plane ticket with me. In fact, he has found a roundtrip ticket on Delta departing out of Houston on Tuesday and returning on the Friday after Thanksgiving for $382. He ends the email by saying that he hopes I take him up on the offer, that he loves me, and that if I still want to drive, he'll understand.
The problems with this scenario are multiple. Flying out of Houston, not Austin, means I have to drive 2 1/2 hours to get to my plane, pay for parking, and burn alot of gas. Flying instead of driving means that, once I get to Florida, I have no wheels of my own - and therefore, no means of escape if I need to get the fuck away from everyone due to weird family-isms. Renting a vehicle is problematic because I need a truck, not a car, and I HATE renting cars. Also, flying Delta assures me an assigned seat on the plane, which is NOT the best arrangement for me (and I'll explain why in a second). And, finally, at 47 years old, I'm not about to let my father pay for any part of my ticket. Grown-ass man here.
But, I can see the writing on the wall. I need to figure out how to fly and spend as much time as I can there. New Orleans will just have to wait.
So, I start my search on Southwest Airlines. This is the critical issue. See, Southwest does not assign seats. It's first come, first seated. They also let you print out your boarding pass online exactly 24 hours before your flight. The first to print their boarding passes out get assigned an "A", the next group a "B", the last passengers to get a boarding pass are assigned a "C". When it comes time to board a flight, the A's get boarded first, then the B's, then the C's. This is a big deal for this reason: If I can get my boarding pass as an "A", and get to the airport early enough to get a good place in line (People line up at the gates like they are camping out for U2 tickets. It's really a clusterfuck.), then I can board the plane before most of the other passengers. This allows me to grab a seat at the very back of the plane against a window. What this means, my friends, is if there is a single empty seat on this flight, I assure you that it will be the seat right next to me. NO ONE wants that seat. The only person who could possibly get screwed in the deal is the very last boarding passenger on a completely soldout flight - some poor schmo who is probably flying standby, or was too disorganized to get a decent boarding pass. This seems much more fair than ruining a trip for some sweet little old lady who had her trip planned for months and, thanks to seat assignments, has to sit wedged into my hairy, sweating armpit for 5 hours.
So, I find a flight in and out of Austin arriving Monday at noon and departing Friday at 2pm. I've stretched the visit to 5 days. Cost = $402.
Yes, I'll be trapped in familial situations with no escape hatch. Big deal. No, I'll not be playing homo games in New Orleans on the way there and/or on the way back. So what? I'll have a great time.
A Couple of Movie Trailers, Re-cut:
If you're a fan of the Mike Judge movie "Office Space", I think you will enjoy this.
and, "The Sixth Sense"
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
30-Second Bunny Theatre
Wanna see some of your favorite movies edited down to 30 seconds and re-enacted by bunnies?
Big thanks to Julia for pointing this out to me. Enjoy! (click the pic!)
[Late Edition Addition: Gay or Straight, be sure and check out "Brokeback Mountain". Better than the original.]
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Express Yourself !!!
We can't complain if we don't patricipate. I know it feels meaningless sometimes, but if everyone who thinks the two-party system is broken and needs fixing actually got out and pro-actively voted for third-party and independent candidates, I think a huge message would be sent to the Power Elites.
Take the time today to vote.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Hypocrite and Tweaker-twink Ted Haggard
Oh, wait! He didn't DO the drugs he bought! No way! He threw them away! And he didn't have sex with that male prostitute! He only wanted a massage.
A fine example of how NOT to deal with your sexual orientation issues. If nothing else, it assures me that I needed to get the fuck out of the closet before my life became any bigger of a mess.
I'm tempted to go into a rant about organized religion and the power we place in people to middle-man our relationship with our Creator, but I'll hold back.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Howdy Buddies and Buddettes! I hope your weekend is going well. Do yourself a favor and give your nipples a tug at some point today. ...just a suggestion...I'm only tryin' to help. Okay, let's get to it:
Tuesday is Election Day. I know most of the people who care about this kinda stuff have already gone out and voted early, which I commend. But if you haven't voted yet, I'd like to do what I can to motivate you to get your butt OFF the sofa on Tuesday and find your way to your precinct and cast your ballot. The fact that voter turnout in this country (ESPECIALLY in non-presidential elections) is as low as it is, should fill each and every one of us with Shame. If the system really IS broken, this is where the problem starts. So, with that in mind, I'd like to drop a video on you.
Technical Difficulty: There is nearly two minutes of black at the end of the video clip. This isn't my fault, and I can't seem to be able to edit it out. Sorry.
The Aflak Caffeine Scoreboard: Jim is on his 2nd bucket of coffee. Moving On:Pillow Talk
Okay, admittedly I am deep in the throes of housework today, but I have a question for you: How clean are the pillows on your bed?
I ask this because I was stripping my own bed this morning when I glanced at the pillows I had just de-nuded and tossed back on the mattresses and I realized that I hadn't seriously laundered those fuckers in several months. Oh, don't get me wrong, the pillowcases get bleached to Hell and back weekly, but the pillows themselves? I have two king size pillows that are in pillow covers, little zip-up bitches that protect the pillow (I suppose), but two regular pillows that are unprotected. Just my drooling, crusty, greasy face, a flimsy pillowcase, and a foam pillow that soaks up Jimmy Drippings like a sponge. And I think I'm being clean by washing the pathetic pillowcase?!? I bury my head into these things, and baste my face every night! What the hell am I thinking?The coffee is kicking in now at the same time that I am grossing myself the fuck OUT.
I remember seeing an Oprah show where Ms. Winfrey-Thang was interviewing a cleanliness expert. This guy, a scientist, maintained that we should all buy brand new pillows at least once a year. He scoffed at spending big bucks for fancy pillows. Keep them simple, cheap, and CLEAN, he said.
My pillows are being super-bleached at this very moment. I will get my ass to Bed, Bath, and Beyonce this week to replace the little incubators.
All right, that's it for now. I've managed to seriously creep myself out, so I'm headed to the shower to stand in scalding streams and scrub and scrub and fucking scrub.
Be well, and don't forget about your nipples.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Et Tu, Doogie?
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
I just needed a cheeseburger.
I had just spent a few hours visiting with my bear friends, Rich and Dave, yacking and then watching "V For Vendetta" - a favorite movie of 2006 for me, on their wide screen, high definition, surround-sound system, home theatre style television. Dave was all excited about seeing it because, I think, he was expecting a gore-fest. As much as I tried to assure him this movie wasn't that, I think he was still disappointed after. He was out like a light and snoring until the bloody knife fight at the end, which he loved. Rich seemed to appreciate the political stance the movie makes. I put them through "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" last month, and I'm wondering how many more nights they are gonna let me suggest the movie. We'll see.
But, I had missed dinner earlier and it was now approaching 11pm and I was HUNGRY. I pulled into the closest burger joint open. Jack In The Box. I should have known better.
Although I was just going to grab a Sourdough Jack (I'm a sucker for crunchy breads), I noticed that the side of the store had a big poster for the "New Sirloin Burger!". That didn't sound like a bad idea. When I pulled up to the menu board, right above the speaker, in the middle of the menu was another big-ass picture of the "New Sirloin Burger!" I noted that the picture showed red onion, big dill pickle slices, cheese and bacon, and some text about the savory sauce that accompanies the sandwich, on a bun that, although not sourdough, looked like it could be crunchy. I'm a sucker for red onions to begin with, and I thought it might not be a bad idea to upgrade the beef patty, so I decided to give it a go.
The intercom speaker crackled.
"Yes, I'd like a Sirloin Burger and a medium Diet Coke, please.
There was a pregnant pause.
"Que?" The drive-thru guy spoke Spanish. Okay. I don't. I took a deep breath.
"A Sirloin Burger. I'd like to try one. And a medium Diet Coke."
"Are you kidding me?"
"Sir-loin Bur-ger!" I thought breaking it down into syllables might help. I also said it loudly, in the event he was deaf.
"No no no..." was the response from the little box.
"What?" Okay, I was mad now.
"Oh, for Christsakes, I want a SIRLOIN BURGER!"
Well, it was a start.
"Yes! A Sirloin Burger with cheese and a Diet Coke!"
"Yes, sure. Okay!"
The little screen where you can verify what you have just ordered announced that he was ringing up a junior bacon cheeseburger.
"No!" I bellowed. "Not a Junior Bacon Cheeseburger. A Sirloin Burger!"
"Que?" This was a different voice now. Two Spanish-only speaking Mexicans and a fat, angry white boy. This is as ugly as it gets.
"You have GOT to be KIDDING me!!!" I could hear my pulse in my ears, my blood pressure was spiking.
"Drive up." Two words of English finally strung together to make a sentence I understood. Thank FUCKING God!
When I pulled around the corner of the building in my truck and approached the window, I could see two young, Hispanic guys standing at the register. Both of them were wearing the same, identical t-shirt, as a part of their uniform, that read:
Seriously. I thought I was gonna stroke out. One of them opened the window and said:
I pointed to his shirt. I couldn't talk.
"Oh, ok! Fries?"
I shook my head.
I shook my head. I just wanted out of this situation.
"Gracias!" The guy said, all smiles, when he brought me the sandwich.
I left with a burger and a migraine.
By the way, the burger tasted like dogfood topped with red onion on crunchy bread.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
It's a BEAUTIFUL Sunday here in Texas. The sun is shining brightly and, thanks to the cool front that passed through a few days ago, the humidity is almost non-existent. A lovely breeze is blowing from the North and I am in love with the world.
I'm hip-deep in domestic chores while all the windows to my townhouse are open and I have a load of whites working in the laundry room, so the whole downstairs has that Clorox scent going on. Although I'm still unshowered (cuz housework just gets me all sweaty anyways), I have a fresh pot of coffee made and I am savoring a huge mug of it now. A load of dishes are being dealt with in the dishwasher, and before all is said and done, the trash will be wrangled, a week's worth of shirts will be ironed, and I'm thinking the vacuum will make a cameo appearance. It is, after all, a cleaning lady week this week.
Man, I love my Sundays.
Daylight Savings Time
Maybe I'm extra chipper because we got an extra hour to burn as we saw fit last night. I had intended to sop that gravy up in deep slumber, because I LOVES me some sleep. Seriously. Sure, I can get by on 8 hours like the rest of humanity, but I'm most happy with a solid 10 hours under my belt. I know, I know, it's awful to waste time like that. However, last night, I ended up out on the town carousing, socializing, and being amongst "family", all without getting sucked into anything resembling a Halloween party anywhere. Yay! When my head hit the pillow at 4am, I smiled at the thought that it was really only 3am, and burrowed myself into my blankets and pillows and was out like a light until 11am this morning. That's not 10 hours, but it'll do!
I managed to commit myself to spending my favorite holiday of the entire year with my Dad in Florida this year. I hadn't really intended for this to happen, but I got an email from him a few weeks ago announcing that he and his wife wanted to come out for a visit before the end of this month. I am in no way prepared to host a visit with those two on such short notice.
My therapist was quick to point out that my Dad is trying to make up for lost time, and is motivated by guilt about not being involved with his family as a younger man. My therapist was also quick to point out that his children have all placed the man on a pedestal due to abandonment issues. I've had to wonder if this abandonment issue has come into play with my interest in mature, older men. Am I trying to heal some rift I've felt with my own father?]