Welcome To the Hotel Oklahomo!

I guess I should save this posting for Field Trip Friday, but I've never been good at following the lead of others.

Here's the gay resort/motel/compound I stayed a night at on my way back from Missouri. Click the pic to enter and take the tour.

Warning: Staring at the pictures too long and/or experiencing Resort Envy may mean you are "family", if ya know what I mean.

P.O.'d !

Oh, how sweet! I'm nowhere to be seen for over a week, and none other than that dear "Ravn" is the sole blogbuddy who asks where I am and what has happened! Thank you for your concern, Ravn, and trust me when I say that you are my FAVORITE (insert a nasty look here over to Dick Small's direction)!

I spent 45 minutes at the Post Office today trying to retrieve all the mail I had on hold while gone. Would someone explain to me again why we don't privatize the Post Office? Jesus, I've never seen so many rounded shoulders and dead eyes and lifeless shuffles and "fuck you" attitudes! I could feel my blood pressure spiking as I watched those governmental zombies stumble through the Hell they call "work". I wanted to scream "Lick a stamp and lick my fucking ass, for GOD'S sake!" I'm gonna buy stamp software at some point, so I don't ever have to set foot in that crypt again.

It kinda ruined my day, truth be told. Anyhoo...

Yes, I've been back home for several days now and have been very neglectful in posting. Let me catch you up:

Sister is doing very well. The hospital where the surgery was performed is a "teaching" hospital, so things went slowly as every med student who could get in on some of the action - did! I'm not kidding. The poor girl had three separate anaesthesiologists (I nearly slipped into a coma just trying to spell that friggin' word), three nursologists, a head surgologist and two -ologists that I still have no idea what their function was.

They had to drill a hole in her skull. Behind her right ear. It's where the wire goes that stimulates the nerves in the middle ear. A hole in her skull. Fuckola!

Her rough and tumble husband was kind of in a bewildered fog of anxiety during the surgery. I was glad I was there. He lost her bag of personal belongings at one point. I found them in the cafeteria. He couldn't get any staff to give him any progress reports. I flagged down a nurse and stood in her path until I got answers. When Sis got out of surgery and into Recovery, I could tell she was still in an inordinate amount of pain. I insisted she get more drugs. I did a lot of eye to eye contact with staff and spoke very measured and calmly and slowly. They responded to my requests quickly.

Look, I know this isn't about me, I'm just saying I think I helped, okay?

She was scheduled for surgery at 9:30AM...she didn't get into surgery until noon. We didn't get to see her until nearly 5PM. We finally got her packed up and into the car, bound for home, by 7pm. When we all got home, EVERYone was wiped out.

A day later, her husband had kicked into "caregiver" mode very well. Even my niece was being helpful. Sis, however, was distracted by my presence, and WAY too worried about how I was, whether I had enough to eat...did I sleep okay, and so on. I decided I needed to leave so that she would concentrate on herself and stop trying to be the good hostess.

So, my work was done and I bolted.

I check in on her online regularly. The hole in her middle ear has caused balance issues, but that was expected. She will spend the next four weeks healing before they get in and turn the implant on and program the chip. That's when we find out if it will help her hear again.

Remind me to tell you about the gay motel/resort that I stayed at on the way back to Texas. Yup, a gay resort. In Oklahomo City. Too funny.

I Curse, Therefore I Am Awake

Seriously, how do so many of you regularly get up at this time of day, and not KILL everyone you encounter?

Holy shit!

I'm Here and I'm Checking In

Man, Missouri is really in the middle of America and in the middle of nowhere. I'm a city boy, and this is really testing my patience.

My sister and her family are treating me like a king, I SO don't deserve it.

The operation is tomorrow, but they won't program the chip and plug her in for 4 weeks or so.

We're getting up at 6am tomorrow to make the 90 minute drive to Kansas City. I want a friggin' medal for voluntarily waking up at such a God-Awful hour. I'm asking nicely.

Great, I'm lying here naked on the bed, on my belly, with the bedroom door closed, typing away on my awesome laptop, and my sister just opened the door to see if I was okay. I don't mind being an exhibitionist when I am in control of the situation. This was not one of those situations.

I can still hear her laughing in the other room.



It's okay. Family rocks.

Okay, Here's What May Happen This Weekend

Okay, wait, before I tell you that, let me give you a little background:

I was born a middle-child. I have an older sister who is four years older than me, and two twin sisters, who are four years younger than me. I'm the only boy, and my Dad was a pilot in the Air Force and was gone all time time. Yes, I grew up surrounded by a mother who was trying to raise four kids (practically) by herself, and three strong-willed sisters. I turned out gay. Go figure.

Anyway- my "little" sisters, the twins, always fascinated me. In one family photo after another, you can see me focusing on The Twins and laughing my ass off. They were a hoot to watch grow up. My older sister was always a kind of surrogate parent to me. I loved her, but she was always telling me what to do - but my younger sisters were just a party. It didn't hurt that I was their "big brother", either.

The extra wrinkle to this is that one of the twins became deaf at about the age of two. The doctors were never really certain why, but it was nerve deafness and that was that.

This sister continues to just blow the doors off of me on a regular basis. When she was FOUR YEARS OLD she knew that she wanted to learn how to read lips and speak, not use sign language, to communicate. This is a big decision for the parents of a deaf child. Speech therapy is long and drawn out and frustrating. I remember quite clearly when she told my parents she wanted to lip read because she wanted to "talk to EVERYbody!"

My Dad was transferred to Lockbourne Air Force Base in Columbus, Ohio, because at the time it had the best school for the deaf in the country: The Alexander Graham Bell School for the Deaf. My sister enrolled in that school at the age of four.

After several years at this special schoool, she let it be known that she wanted to attend public school, with her sister, her twin. So, she started her school career over, starting in the first grade, and took accelerated classes to catch up with her sister. Somewhere around 6th grade she caught up, and began attending class with her twin.

Am I doing her justice here? Can you understand what a strong spirit this person has?

My family attended church every Sunday. The deaf twin was furious that her sister and I sang in the children's church choir. She wanted to sing, too! My mother tried to explain that in order to sing with the group, you had to make some very precisely pitched sounds together. Pffft! she countered, God would LOVE the way she sang!

And sing, she would. Not in the choir in church, but after church, when we were home. You could find her tucked away somewhere, softly singing a song of her own. I found her many a time like that. She would be staring up at the sky, singing in a monotone that probably made dogs in the neighborhood cock their heads.

She went on to graduate from high school, get a job in a beauty shop, and married a young man in her early 20's. She is still married to that man to this day, and has raised two wonderful girls, my nieces, who are not deaf.

So, that's the background. Now, to explain my upcoming weekend...

My deaf sister is getting a cochlear implant on Monday. The thing Rush Limbaugh has, I think. My mother was going to fly to Missouri to be with her, but has determined that she can't swing the finances. When I heard that news over the last weekend, I have been wrestling with the thought of going there to be with her myself. I think she'd like her "big brother" to be close.

[pause here as I get a lump in my throat]

See, the thing is, the chances of this procedure working for her aren't all that good. But that's not important. What is important is that I want to honor the spirit of that little girl who wants to know why SHE can't sing in the choir, why SHE shouldn't be able to talk to EVERYbody.

She is so amazing, she just might pull this off! She's cool like that. Seriously.

I'm struggling like hell to get two weeks worth of work done at my job by the day after tomorrow, so I can take a week and not be missed. I'm looking at my bank account daily and doing the math. I hate math. I hate sweating over money. I hate not being wealthy enough that this kind of thing is easy to accomplish. But, fuck it. Something tells me that I need to be there.

So, I'm going. I'm gonna jump in my truck after work on Friday and drive to Middle-of-Friggin'-NoWhere, Missouri over the weekend to be with my fucking fantastic little sister (and her fucking fantastic family) on Monday for the operation. No one knows I'm doing this. I'm just gonna show up... and tell her that I love her.



Wish her Luck, okay? Thanks.

Ummm, UNcastrate "Him"?



It's a link to the screaming twink/queen "Leave Britney ALONE!" kid. He calls himself Chris Crocker. If you haven't seen it, it'll make your eyes roll back in your head, whether you're gay or straight. The pathetic part is that this little piece of melodrama has had over 9 MILLION hits on YouTube in just over two weeks.

YouTube is the biggest internet phenomenon since Google. Equal parts Gong Show, American Idol, and America's Funniest Home Videos, it amazes me what people are willing to do to get a little recognition. Amost as bad as blogging, huh?

The last geek to catch our attention on YouTube was THIS GUY:



Does your gaydar go off with him, too? Mine sure does. Wretched freaking song. Seriously. Over 9 million hits for this trainwreck as well, but it's been around for about 5 months now.

But, back to Chris. Chris Crocker can bet his candy-ass that he's hit the Big Time when mainstream cable networks start making fun!



He was featured on Jimmy Kimmel, and Keith Olbermann, the Today Show (I think) and a slew of other media outlets. Here's another clip, from NationalLampoon.com:




If you haven't sniffed around YouTube, you really ought to try it some time. Just enter some wacked out topic, person, thought, or fantasy into the search field, and watch what pops up. I believe, and I'm completely disgusted to admit this, that we may be looking at the future of television here.

Castrate Him!
(deep breath here)

DETROIT (AP) — A grand jury has issued new charges against a U.S. prosecutor from Florida accused of soliciting sex with a 5-year-old girl on the Internet.
A U.S. magistrate today ordered John D.R. Atchison held without bond. At his lawyer's request, a suicide watch also was lifted for Atchison.
Atchison is from Gulf Breeze. He's an assistant U.S. Attorney in northern Florida, based in Pensacola.
Authorities say he was arrested Sunday at Detroit Metropolitan Airport after several weeks of Internet conversations between him and a detective posing as the mother of a 5-year-old girl.
He was charged with crossing state lines with intent to have sex with someone under 12; use of the Internet to seek illicit sex; and interstate travel to engage in illicit sexual contact.





I just want to puke. When are we going to wake up and start throwing the book at these monsters? Zero Tolerance for this scum. ZERO!

Portrait Of A Co-Worker

This is Paul. I've worked with him for over 10 years now, and I never knew he was a Superhero! A Japanese Superhero, at that! He's from New Jersey, for cryin' out loud. How could he have kept such a thing from me, his supervisor? Why wouldn't he tell me about who he really is?

Wait a minute, I didn't come out to him until earlier this year...

Okay, I guess we're even now. Except he obviously has better fashion sense.

Other fun facts about Paul:

*He drives a Miata and belongs to a Miata-owners car club. They go places and do things together. In their Miatas. That's how it works.

*Besides his love for cheesy (read: bad) sci-fi and monster movies of the '50s and '60s, Paul has also nearly memorized every line of dialogue from every episode of The Simpsons ever made. Maybe I'm exaggerating here, but it might be true!

* His job performance is the most consistent of anyone I have ever supervised. He is methodical and has a keen eye for detail. (Lifted from the last performance review I gave him)

*A notoriously cheap bastard, he only goes out to eat for lunch if he has a coupon from someplace and only gets a haircut if he has a coupon from someplace. It's really pretty funny.

*Because of his ability to squeeze a penny until it bleeds, Paul goes on a magnificent vacation once a year. A few years back it was Paris. Last year, I think it was Peru. He just got back last week from this year's amazing vacation to Mexico City. Now I'm beginning to wonder if he really goes to these places to vacation, or if he's fighting huge monsters and saving Mankind in his spare time!

* I used to call him "Coupon Boy". Little did I know he is "Ultraman"!

[Late Edition Addition - Lest you think I whipped that pic up, I want to assure you that I have no such graphics skills. He, in fact, emailed it to me earlier today. I guess everyone has secrets, huh?]

Hear It On Jimmy's Jukebox

The movie is called "Once". It's a story about two people who meet on the street and decide to make music together. Glen Hansard ("The Commitments") plays an Irish street performer, who meets Marketa Ingova, a Czech immigrant who likes his music.

It's such a little movie that you never learn either of their names. But you see into their hearts, and you root for them every step of the way. Rent it when it comes out and watch it with someone you love. Snuggle up, and tell them that you love them.

Man, I've been a sucker for Lonesome Music lately. It feels good. And this fits right in.

Falling Slowly

I don't know you

But I want you

All the more for that

Words fall through me

And always fool me

And I can't react

And games that never amount

To more than they're meant

Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home

We've still got time

Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice

You've made it now

Falling slowly, eyes that know me

And I can't go back

Moods that take me and erase me

And I'm painted black

You have suffered enough

And warred with yourself

It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home

We've still got time

Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice

You've made it now

Falling slowly

Sing your melody

I'll sing along

I've enabled a link on the bottom of the jukebox for you to see a music video of the song, with clips from the movie. You can also download the mp3, for a while.

A Sad Realization

I'm not a" bottom". Sure, I can "bottom", but it doesn't define me sexually. I have a friend who I'm kind of avoiding, because of the pressure I feel to try to please him by being what I know I'm not: a bottom.

It saddens me because it feels like one more way that I don't fit in. I'm not "straight". I'm not skinny. I'm not a "top", and now I know I'm not a "bottom", as well.

I'm Jim. That's the most important thing. I must be true to myself.

I need to make a phone call tomorrow. He deserves to be told the truth.

Nice Little Quote

"When I despair, I remember that all through history the ways of truth and love have always won. There have been tyrants, and murderers, and for a time they can seem invincible, but in the end they always fall. Think of it---ALWAYS." - Mahatma Gandhi

thanks to David!

Remember?

Of course you do. We all do. I dare say that any adult can remember what they were doing, and how it affected them on that day. No need for me to post a picture, No need for me to talk specifics. What a horror this day was!

Sit with the memory. Reflect on it. We'll be bombarded with the images by the media, it will be easy to want to filter it out. But, don't. Don't turn away.

Remember.

Dwell upon it, not for political reasons, but for Humanitarian reasons. Hold it in your thoughts for Spiritual purposes. Reconnect with those feelings of Empathy and Compassion and Fear and Love for your fellow Man that this nightmare first aroused. Be there, then. Be here, now.

We are One, sometimes. We are One, always.

So.

Remember.

I LOVE HAPPY BUNNY!

(see, being gay has its perks! A grown man who is a homo can admit such things.)

Don't worry, if you don't like Happy Bunny, you are just stupid. That's not YOUR fault!

An Open Letter To Men (Gay Or Straight)

Dear Dudes,

It's that time of the year again - Football Season. And there's a few things I'd like to cover before we get any deeper into it. A few pet peeves of mine that I need to get out in the open and discuss now, so that there won't be an ugly scene between us in a sports bar, or in front of someone's big screen tv. Please pay attention.

#1. You are not paid by the network to be the color man in the announcing booth. Stop analysing every friggin' play, and shut the hell up once in a while so I can hear what the PAID PROFESSIONALS have to say about the game I'm watching.

#2. I know that your world is all about you, but mine is not all about you. I don't want or need to hear about your high school career as a football player. I know how the story ends- you didn't go pro. End of story.

#3. I have no intention of competing with you on your rate of beer consumption. I can nurse a single beer for quite a while. No, I'm not ready for another. No, I'm not a pussy for not joining in on your chug fest. Feel free to guzzle 'til you pass out, maybe I can actually focus on the game if you are unconscious.

#4. Yes, Andy Reid is hot and, no, you'll never get the chance. (Gay Bear chasers only)

#5. When discussing your own, personal workout routine at the gym, refrain from referring to your arms as "guns". They are arms. You have arms. Call them that. The only people who have "guns" are quarterbacks and baseball players. If you can sling a football 50 yards, precisely hitting a moving target; or, if you can throw a baseball from deep right field to home plate, or throw a strike at 100 mph consistently, you have "guns". You? Arms. By the way, same goes for the term "cannon". Jesus!

#6. Please stop being so critical of professional athlete's mistakes while on the field, and ending the judgement with "ANYONE could have caught that!" (or "tackled him", or "not stepped out of bounds") Sports are HARD. It's why you aren't a professional player yourself. {Note: if you actually played college or professional ball, this one does not apply to you.]

#7. Don't expect the rest of us to want to push "pause" on the dvr/tivo while you take your thirtieth piss of the game.

#8. Yes, the cheerleaders are hot and, no, you'll never get the chance. (Straight guys only)

I'm The Decider

...and I've made a huge decision at my place of employ about me and my work environment. And The Decision is this:

No more blogging, either writing or reading, at work. Period.

This pains me, because I feel completely comfortable in assuring you, or anyone within my company, that I get things done at work. I can supervise and co-ordinate and facilitate like a champ, and still have my browser tucked in the background of my desktop, ready to spring open and catch whatever wonderment spills from my keyboard at any given time. Further, I can zip in and out of fellow blogger's lives adroitly while juggling the host of Real World duties assigned to me by The Man. Tasks that pay my mortgage and keep my refrigerator stocked. Multi-task like a multi-fucker, I can. But, that's not the point.

What IS important is that, when "on the clock" for Corporate America I should, and shall, give The Beast my UNDIVIDED attention. If I can truly juggle more balls, let them be company balls.

Truth is: I love my job. I love what I do (mostly), and I love the people I work with (generally). I am Grateful and Honored that I have been given some status and privilege, and feel I owe my employer my respect. So, no personal silliness during business hours.

And, let me tell you, people: this new rule is KILLIN' ME! Jesus, I'm addicted to my lifestyle of "drive-by blogging". I sit in front of my monitor, jumping between Access 2003 spreadsheets, Outlook email, and the user -interface for the metadata tool I use, and I'm seriously wondering how Bigg is doing, if Dick Small has posted another dumbass cartoon, and what silly shit is collecting on Overheard In New York today.

It's tough, but I'm restraining myself. Because it's the right thing to do.

Don't be surprised it you see a little less of me. I'll try to check-in before work, after work (like now), and on weekends.

Just know that I'm crazy missing being on all day, off and on.

[ insert Heavy Sigh here]

Meanwhile, here's a cartoon I lifted from Joe.My.God (who admits he got it from somewhere else) that, in light of all the Republican gay sex scandals, made me laugh.

Later!

Happy Labor Day!

...and God bless any of you who have ever gone through it. Life may be a miracle, but that is certainly a part of the process best left to only the strongest of our species. I may be gay, but MAD PROPS to you amazing females out there who have delivered babies!

The rest of us may work for a living, sure, we all rock. But "Mother's Day" just doesn't cut it for acknowledging how much we all owe the women of the world.

I'm Still Laughing At The Name "Butch Otter"...


Okay, with all the hoopty-do over Senator Craig's misguided attempt at entertaining the troops with a little "hand puppet" show under a bathroom stall, I can't seem to get away from stumbling into conversations with my gay brethren about what it all means. Everyone is talking about it, ad nauseum. Here are the main questions currently under debate, yet resolved byYours Truly:


Q: Does tapping your foot against someone else's and sticking your hand into a private space in a public restroom constitute solicitation for sex?
A: Yes, you silly bitches!


Q: Is it wrong to want to have sex in a public restroom?
A: Wrong to "want" to? Nah. Stupid to attempt? Certainly.


Q: If a "straight" man engages in sex with another man, does that make him "gay"?
A: Not in my book. Look, guys are biologically driven to have as much sex as they can get. It's what we, as a gender, do. There are straight men all over the world who get a little on the "dl"and go right back to their heterosexual lifestyle. They prefer women, but any port in a storm, if ya know what I mean. It cracks me up that we, as a collective conscious, can't wrap our brains around the concept of "bisexuality". Sexual Opportunism does not make you a fag. Do you think all the stories of prison sex are about converting straight men to homosexuals?


When Senator Craig pleads "I'm not gay!" - dude, I believe him. What he is, however, is a creepy, hypocritical troll. He's a guy who isn't getting enough kinky shit at home and, therefore, plays around on the side. The look on his wife's face at the press conferences just broke my heart. Maybe all she needed to do was fingerfuck him once in a while and none of this woulda happened. Who knows?


Q: Have you ever had sex in a public restroom yourself?
A: Almost none of those I've talked to have. Well, if you don't count the wild crap that happens in the men's room at any and EVERY gay bar on any given weekend. This question usually segues into someone talking about the time they went into the restroom of a gay bar on a Saturday night, only to find some freak stretched out in the urinal trough, inviting guys to piss on him. For the record, pissing on this guy does NOT constitute you having sex with him.


One friend, however, did tell this story:


Once, during a shopping spree at Home Depot, this friend went into the men's room, opened a stall door, and sat down. Once seated, a voice came from the stall next to his.


"Hi, how are you doing?" the voice asked.


"Fine, thanks" replied my friend.


"What are you doing?" was the next question from the voice.


"Well, I'm here to pick some things up for the house. Like you are, I'm sure."


"Can I come over there?"


"Uh, no. I'm a little busy at the moment..."


Then the voice's tone changed and said, "Look, can I call you back? There's a guy in the next stall who thinks I'm talking to him!"

Hear It On My JukeBox

The Part Where You Let Go - HEM

When the rain breaks the road

Are you holding on

Are you holding on

To your last good day

When the stone breaks the wheel

Are you holding on

Are you holding on
Til the stone rolls away

And I don't know

Is this the part where you let go

And tumbling out of a window

Is this the part where you find out I'm there for you?

When the sun leaves the field

Are you holding on

Are you holding on

To the last sweet light

When the flame leaves your eyes

I still see you there

I still see you there

On your darkest night

And I don't know

Is this the part where you let go

And sinking under a shadow

Is this the part where you find out I'm there for you now?

As your hand's breaking free

I am holding on

I am holding on

As you've held on to me

And I don't know

Is this the part where we let go

And tumbling out of a window

Is this the part you're there for me?

And I don't know

Is this the part where you let go

And sinking under a shadow

Is this the part where you find out I'm there for you

You find out I'm there for you

You find out I'm there for you

For Bigg

What Have I DONE?

...but blow a thousand bucks on a SA-WEET laptop! On an impulse during my lunch break today, no less. Why, dumbass, WHY?

I've got 14 days to come to my senses and return this, and only suffer a 15% re-stocking fee.

It's cool. You'd have wanted it, too. But, get your own, damn it. This one is MINE!

I'll explain more another time. Right now, I'm too busy licking the screen.

Hey, at least I won't be sniffing this in public!

Sad But True

When I was younger, I had a horrible ability to lose any and all things in my possession. I'm sure this had everything to do with the fact that I was, more or less, perpetually stoned from the ages of 18 to about 35.

"Braincells? I don't need any stinking braincells! Hey, where the fuck are my car keys? Have you seen my fucking car keys? Shit!"

Pretty much.

Point is, I spent a LOT of time replacing personal stuff that I had lost. Said car keys, drivers licences, sunglasses, underwear, cassette tapes, wallets, you name it. Wallets...

I went through so many wallets back in the day, that I stopped buying them. Instead, I would use the little cheap, plastic, checkbook covers that you get for free when you order new checks at the bank. I carried credit cards and my ID around in these pieces of shit for years. Years. They were bigger than a conventional wallet, so I could feel it better when I had it stashed in my back pocket. It seemed to help. I stopped losing my "wallet" so much.

When The X and I got together, he noticed what I was carrying around, and bought me a nice checkbook cover as a Christmas gift our first Christmas together. I loved it. It was a black Harley-Davidson embossed monster that I THOUGHT was leather. Now, I don't think so. That was, gee, 7 years ago? It finally fell apart last year cuz I can wear out a muthafuckin' wallet, ya know? It died shortly after our relationship died, The X and me, so I pitched the bitch. It also reminded me of him. Who wants THAT?

And, in keeping with Jim being Jim, I promptly went back to the cheapass, plastic freebie checkbook covers from the bank.

Well, two and a half years after the brutal breakup from The X, I am dating again. Weird science, people! Anyway, the guy I am now seeing has commented several times (actually EVERY time I pull it out) that my checkbook cover is hilarious. He can't believe I tote that shit around. Gay men are killer bitches, ya know? It has started to make me feel very self-conscious and started me thinking. Why DON'T I carry a real wallet now? It's been years since I've gotten stoned and lost anything (cuz it's been years since I've gotten stoned). Well, there was one incident last year but, c'mon, that was a fluke! He has even threatened to buy me a new, REAL, wallet.

That's all it took. I decided to go get myself one.

I went last week to Target (cuz this bear doesn't do Walmart!), and dropped a whopping 10 bucks on a simple black leather wallet. Amazingly easy to accomplish. I loaded it with all my shit, stashed it into my back pocket, and got on with Life.

Well folks, let me tell you, I have now found a completely NEW way of embarrassing myself in public.

See, this thing is genuine leather. And when real leather has been riding around in my fatass pants all day long, it gets, and stays...warm. And when new leather gets warm, it gets fragrant. You know, that "leather smell". Well, I love that smell. Always have. And it's not something sexual, you dirty pervs. I can remember being a kid, living out in the country, where we had horses. The smell of the saddles and the stuff in the tack room was all around me. So, now every friggin' time I have reached into my pocket to pull out my wallet in the past week, I have gotten a whiff of that awesome, wonderful, rugged, nostalgic smell. And, retard that I surely am, I canNOT help but raise the wallet to my nose and SNIFF IT!

Yes, I stand in front of whatever cashier is in front of me, waiting patiently to be paid, and I am smelling my wallet, eyes rolling back in my head, gurgling some kinda groan, totally spacing out on where I am and what I am doing. I can't help myself. I've tried all week to not do this and yet it happens every time!

I snap out of it within a very few seconds, but I assure you it's long enough to attract the attention of anyone anywhere near me. The looks I have gotten. Trust. This is unbelievably pathetic. It looks like I'm huffing my butt or something!

I was supposed to go out with my new friend this weekend, but have avoided calling him. He can't see this. I told myself to leave the wallet at home, just load the old checkbook up and go out. I can't do it. I LOVE my new wallet. I have to have it on me. I WANT to sniff it! Oh. My. GOD! I'm a freak!

I'm going to call him in just a minute and make up a lie about why we aren't getting together tonight. I'll figure out how to handle this, and see him later in the week. Wish me luck.