Quick Update
Just back from Houston for another freaking fill of the lapband. Half a cc this time, I shit you not. I go back in four weeks for another half.
The great news is that I've dropped 5 pounds in the last two weeks. That takes me to 55 pounds since this process began. It's been slow-going after the initial loss from the liquid diet, but I appear to be picking up some momentum. All credit goes to the treadmill, that Machine Of Death, of course.
Speaking of which, my surgeon noticed my blistered toes on my left foot, while I was up on the exam table. He admonished me when I told him I hadn't seen my primary care physician about the condition of the foot. See, I kinda ripped it the fuck up when I forgot to bring a pair of socks with me to the gym last week and I worked out in shoes without socks. Yes, I am a Dumbass.
I've got some seriously blistered areas that need to heal. Not a good thing for a diabetic! So, I called and made an appt to see the doc while stuck in Houston traffic on my way home to Austin this afternoon. I'll see him tomorrow morning at 10:30AM.
But, back to my success, please: FIVE MORE POUNDS! YAY!
I love you all, both individually and collectively, and not in a sexual way (unless you want me to).
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Sunday MopUp 05/25/08
I Gots Company!
Can't really talk this week, as I have a houseguest. The Chubby Avenger is down from Dallas and hanging out at Casa Del Jimbo for a few days. He hasn't ever really spent any time in Austin, I am being a tour guide. We're having fun. But, there is ONE thing I wanted to mention...
WTF, Dudettes?
Was working out yesterday at the YMCA, and a woman got on a treadmill a few machines down from me. We could see each other in the mirrored wall in front of us. The woman was very fit, obviously an accomplished runner, cuz she was WORKIN that treadmill, but I was completely distracted because she was working out IN A MINISKIRT!
Ladies, seriously, what in the hell is up with this? Surely it is inappropriate workout attire, yes? Is this a person who WANTS to attract attention, sexually, to herself? I have to tell you, I was transfixed, staring at her large muscular thighs, striding relentlessly. I could not help but watch as the little flap of material that she was trying to pass off as a skirt bounced and danced about her crotch. Yes, I'm gay, but I sincerely wanted to bend her over the arm rails of that treadmill and lick her sweaty parts. She caught me staring, and beamed at me with pride.
Bitch gets off to turning on old, fat fucks in the workout room? Good grief! Seems pretty desperate to me, a hot woman like that needing to show off in such a way.
And, it reminded me how much I miss cunnilingus.
Who knew?
I Gots Company!
Can't really talk this week, as I have a houseguest. The Chubby Avenger is down from Dallas and hanging out at Casa Del Jimbo for a few days. He hasn't ever really spent any time in Austin, I am being a tour guide. We're having fun. But, there is ONE thing I wanted to mention...
WTF, Dudettes?
Was working out yesterday at the YMCA, and a woman got on a treadmill a few machines down from me. We could see each other in the mirrored wall in front of us. The woman was very fit, obviously an accomplished runner, cuz she was WORKIN that treadmill, but I was completely distracted because she was working out IN A MINISKIRT!
Ladies, seriously, what in the hell is up with this? Surely it is inappropriate workout attire, yes? Is this a person who WANTS to attract attention, sexually, to herself? I have to tell you, I was transfixed, staring at her large muscular thighs, striding relentlessly. I could not help but watch as the little flap of material that she was trying to pass off as a skirt bounced and danced about her crotch. Yes, I'm gay, but I sincerely wanted to bend her over the arm rails of that treadmill and lick her sweaty parts. She caught me staring, and beamed at me with pride.
Bitch gets off to turning on old, fat fucks in the workout room? Good grief! Seems pretty desperate to me, a hot woman like that needing to show off in such a way.
And, it reminded me how much I miss cunnilingus.
Who knew?
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Dick-less Video
(entitled such onna counta Dick Small not being able to watch and all...)
Meet Travis and Jonathon and view their latest "Red State Update" on the California GayMarriage issue:
These guys are a HOOT! Check out this one...if the above wasn't gay enough for ya:
I'm gonna see if I can subscribe to them, because this stuff just makes me roar.
Okay, one last one. Since it's about Bears and all:
(entitled such onna counta Dick Small not being able to watch and all...)
Meet Travis and Jonathon and view their latest "Red State Update" on the California GayMarriage issue:
These guys are a HOOT! Check out this one...if the above wasn't gay enough for ya:
I'm gonna see if I can subscribe to them, because this stuff just makes me roar.
Okay, one last one. Since it's about Bears and all:
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Sunday MopUp 05/18/08
Can't spend too much time yapping today, friends. I got places to go, people to do. Let me try to spit out what has been going on in Jamesville this past week. I call it my Sunday MopUp, and it's sanitized for your protection (language excluded).
Jim-Nastics
I am becoming more confident on the treadmill. That's not to say that I don't have to COMPLETELY pay attention when on the bitch, but there have been no further accidents and I am enjoying myself.
I have pushed my time to a full hour - that's SIXTY minutes, people - on it, at the lumbering and pathetic speed of 2.5 mph. And I am doing this 5 times a week. I sweat like a whore in church, but it's not too much for me to handle. I'm pretty proud of myself at this point. After a full hour on the treadmill, I rinse off in the shower and then crawl into the hot tub for about 20 minutes. Seems like a good idea to soak my chaffed thighs for a bit. Oh, tmi? Sorry.
Back To Houston
Had my second fill of the lapband on Thursday. Drove three hours to Houston, waited an hour to see the doctor, only to get the whopping sum of 1cc of saline added into the band. I'm frustrated. I have to go back the Thursday after Memorial Day weekend to get another cc. Let's remember that each trip requires that I take a day off of work, drive three hours there, three hours back, and about 70 bucks in gasoline.
I still am not feeling that "full feeling" after eating, which means I have to keep going back until I hit that point. I'm trying to use this time to ratchet up my exercise routine and keep my focus there, but I'm pretty pissy about this process. I want what I want when I want it. Think that attitude is why I am in the condition I am in, in the first place? Yeah, me too.
The Return Of DQ
I haven't seen the young man since our "date" just over two weeks ago. I've been busy at work and, I have to admit, I needed some space. But, after these weeks, I am ready to see him again, and he is on his way over right about now. We'll spend some time messing up the bed and then, when he goes home, I'll strip it and start the new week with fresh sheets. I might even take him out for a bit of dinner after our romp. We'll see.
Here It Goes Again
In telling my story about falling off the treadmill, a coworker reminded me of the OK GO video from last year. I know everyone has seen it by now, but it was fun to look at it again, now that I am so aware of how treacherous the fuckers are. So, I thought I'd post it again. Enjoy!
Can't spend too much time yapping today, friends. I got places to go, people to do. Let me try to spit out what has been going on in Jamesville this past week. I call it my Sunday MopUp, and it's sanitized for your protection (language excluded).
Jim-Nastics
I am becoming more confident on the treadmill. That's not to say that I don't have to COMPLETELY pay attention when on the bitch, but there have been no further accidents and I am enjoying myself.
I have pushed my time to a full hour - that's SIXTY minutes, people - on it, at the lumbering and pathetic speed of 2.5 mph. And I am doing this 5 times a week. I sweat like a whore in church, but it's not too much for me to handle. I'm pretty proud of myself at this point. After a full hour on the treadmill, I rinse off in the shower and then crawl into the hot tub for about 20 minutes. Seems like a good idea to soak my chaffed thighs for a bit. Oh, tmi? Sorry.
Back To Houston
Had my second fill of the lapband on Thursday. Drove three hours to Houston, waited an hour to see the doctor, only to get the whopping sum of 1cc of saline added into the band. I'm frustrated. I have to go back the Thursday after Memorial Day weekend to get another cc. Let's remember that each trip requires that I take a day off of work, drive three hours there, three hours back, and about 70 bucks in gasoline.
I still am not feeling that "full feeling" after eating, which means I have to keep going back until I hit that point. I'm trying to use this time to ratchet up my exercise routine and keep my focus there, but I'm pretty pissy about this process. I want what I want when I want it. Think that attitude is why I am in the condition I am in, in the first place? Yeah, me too.
The Return Of DQ
I haven't seen the young man since our "date" just over two weeks ago. I've been busy at work and, I have to admit, I needed some space. But, after these weeks, I am ready to see him again, and he is on his way over right about now. We'll spend some time messing up the bed and then, when he goes home, I'll strip it and start the new week with fresh sheets. I might even take him out for a bit of dinner after our romp. We'll see.
Here It Goes Again
In telling my story about falling off the treadmill, a coworker reminded me of the OK GO video from last year. I know everyone has seen it by now, but it was fun to look at it again, now that I am so aware of how treacherous the fuckers are. So, I thought I'd post it again. Enjoy!
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Sunday MopUp 05/11/08
YAY! It's Sunday! The coffee is kicking in, the laundry is washing away, my iPod is syncing up, and I feel a productive poop looming in my future! Welcome to my Sunday MopUp. Be sure and ask your server about the Hard Nipple Discount. No coupon required!
Gym-y City
When last I left off, I had taken a swan dive off the ass end of a treadmill at the YMCA and twisted my back, an ankle, banged up my shin in about three places, and probably screamed like a little girl as I thought I was falling to my death (can't really be sure about that last part - just a hunch).
Well, the next day I was back up on that horse and was determined to conquer any further fear of the thing. My lesson from the fall was to not allow anything to distract me from focusing on what I was doing: left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot... always being aware of where they are falling upon the tread, making sure I don't slow down and creep to the back of the machine. If the iPod offers a tune that is not to my liking at that particular moment: tough tits, mister! I vowed to never attempt to DJ and exercise at the same time. Cuz, let's face it, walking and chewing gum is a trick I never really mastered.
YAY! It's Sunday! The coffee is kicking in, the laundry is washing away, my iPod is syncing up, and I feel a productive poop looming in my future! Welcome to my Sunday MopUp. Be sure and ask your server about the Hard Nipple Discount. No coupon required!
Gym-y City
When last I left off, I had taken a swan dive off the ass end of a treadmill at the YMCA and twisted my back, an ankle, banged up my shin in about three places, and probably screamed like a little girl as I thought I was falling to my death (can't really be sure about that last part - just a hunch).
Well, the next day I was back up on that horse and was determined to conquer any further fear of the thing. My lesson from the fall was to not allow anything to distract me from focusing on what I was doing: left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot... always being aware of where they are falling upon the tread, making sure I don't slow down and creep to the back of the machine. If the iPod offers a tune that is not to my liking at that particular moment: tough tits, mister! I vowed to never attempt to DJ and exercise at the same time. Cuz, let's face it, walking and chewing gum is a trick I never really mastered.
I did fine the next day. And the next.
[deep sigh of relief]
So, Friday night I head to the gym right after work. If there is a "slow" night at the Y, it's on Friday night. I guess everyone goes out and parties that night, drinking up all those calories that they spend the entire previous week burning up. To each his/her own. Point is, I nearly had the place to myself.
When I went into the locker room it was empty, but I heard a shower running in the communal shower room, just off the locker room. The shower area is separated from the locker area by a big, tiled area (for drying off), and a glass door. The intention is for you to shower and dry off in these areas, so that the locker area (carpeted) remains mostly dry. Through this glass door you can see into the shower area from the locker area and vice-versa, however the door in between tends to fog up pretty well from all the hot water being used to scrub those sweaty bodies down. As I passed by this glass door, I glanced into the showers. All I could see was a hairy, beefy butt through the foggy door, as someone was standing under a shower head and was largely out of view.
Nice ass! I said to myself. And this informed my decision as to where to choose my locker for that day. I picked a locker that afforded me the opportunity to stand and dress in front of it and still be in the line of sight of the shower door.
Now look, I want it understood that I do NOT go to the gym to hook-up. In fact, I chose to get a membership at the YMCA because it is so UNcruisable. The gym of today is the gay bar of the 80s. It is where the hot, gay guys go to meet and hook up. I have had many conversations with homos who tell stories of hot man-sex in the steam room and the shower and the locker room and the handball court and the swimming pool of nearly all the franchised gyms in this town. Those fitness clubs that are open 24 hours? Wanna guess what is going on in there in the middle of the night?
Me, I'd rather work out with the blue-haired women and the Mexican families and keep my mind on what I am there for: the Work Out. Who needs the rejection and the judgement from a bunch of perfectly sculpted bodies with elitist attitudes? No thanks.
That being said, however, let's face it: I'm a gay man and one of the motivating factors in getting my fat ass to the gym is the opportunity to lay eyes upon naked men. I admit it, okay? Trust me here, I don't stare or even make much eye contact, I'm not overly friendly. I am careful not to be inappropriate in ANY way, but in any and all events, I am completely aware that I am surrounded by naked flesh, and I LIKE it. If you think I've never had the fantasy of a hot locker room sex scene, you are friggin' nuts. But it's just a fantasy.
So, positioning myself in the locker area so that I can get a fleeting glimpse, here and there, of a hairy butt getting soaped up is about as cruisey as I would ever get at the YMCA. Never a look long enough to arouse me (God forbid!), but certainly a little visual reminder of why going to the gym aint that bad an idea can't be a horrible thing. Right?
Well, I find a good place to set up shop and begin undressing. As I am taking off my street shoes, I glance in the direction of the shower again. This time, the hairy buns have changed into a full man. The guy had stepped into the center of the shower area and was facing out. The Full Monty.
I immediately averted my eyes, but in that nano-second my Gay Terminator brain could determine the following:
*Young guy, mid-to-late twenties
*5'7" to 5'8"
*Tiniest paunch of a belly. Weight guesstimate: 170 pounds.
*Full head of jet black hair, longish by today's standards. Thick eyebrows, bordering on uni-brow. Coarse chest hair on his pecs, hair around his navel. Treasure trail leading to his crotch. Cock that looked like the faucet of my bathtub. Nice!
* Thick, tree trunk legs, covered in dark, wet fur.
As I was running and compiling this analysis, I was back to undressing myself.
As my work shirt came off, I looked up momentarily again. To my shock and amazement, he was still standing in the middle of the area, still looking out in my direction. But this time, he had begun soaping and lathering up his crotch. He was making big, deliberate circles in and around his crotch. Things swung and flopped as he worked.
I looked away within two seconds. My mind began racing.
Holy SHIT! This guy is showing off for me! He is looking out into the locker area, he MUST see me here, and he is posing and displaying his cock to me!
The speed at which I was undressing/dressing slowed down considerably. Hey, I told you that I can't do two things at once! I needed to think this through! Instead of pulling clothes off and cramming them into the locker, I began folding my clothes and placing them into the gym bag. I needed time here. Was what I thought was going on REALLY happening?
I looked up again. Still, with the cock washing! His legs were spread a bit and he was getting WAY back there, from the looks of it. The fucker was ALL frothed up. Soapy, bubbly goodness!He was still in the center of the room, away from the shower head, and facing directly into the locker area. Directly at me. I gulped hard, began to perspire, and looked back at my locker.
Holy SHIT! This can't be an accident. I can't be reading this wrong! Look, it's Friday night, the place is a morgue. Maybe this kid knows that the best time for hot GymSex Fantasy Fullfillment for Fat Fuckers is Friday night at the YMCA. What should I do? Maybe I should make eye contact, just to let him know that I know he knows that I know!
I looked up again, and he was still there, the soaping exercise had moved up his chest and he was lathering his pecs. He seemed to be swirling lather around his nipples, staring out at me.
I looked at him, fully. I held his gaze for ten, maybe fifteen seconds. I nodded at him, smiling.
He didn't respond in any way whatsoever. He just kept rhythmically soaping up in a circular fashion and staring out at me. It seemed to me that his cock was engorging a bit. Dude, it was impressive, his cock.
What the FUCK? Maybe this guy is just a tease and he wants to freak me out or show me what I can't have.
-(Gay guys can be like that. Look at me! Look at what YOU'LL never get!)-
Or, maybe this is some kinda sting operation! Yeah! Maybe he's trying to get me to make some kind of move, and then arrest me, or have me thrown out of the facility! He's just taking a shower, for cryin' out loud. Maybe he's an undercover cop on Shower Patrol! What should I DO?!?
I looked up again and this time he had his back to me, still in the center of the shower area, and he had begun soaping up his ass crack. Up and down, he scrubbed into that crack. Deep into that crack. Slowly, methodically. I was HYPnotized.
This time I had to look away for fear of getting hard. I looked around the locker room, I was still in there all by myself. Not a single other soul was around. How easy would it be to just strip down and walk into the shower? Pretty easy. I could just soap up and get next to him and see if he starts talking to me. Chatting while showering is something straight men rarely do with each other. Strictly business, the communal shower, ya know...
Jim, I reminded myself, you are here to work out. Exercise. You are not here to hook up, or have Hot Gay Sex in the shower with a stud with a cock the size of a kitchen appliance! Knock it off and get into the gym!
I looked again. He had vanished off to one side of the room. Obviously, it was time to finally rinse off. Maybe he had given up on luring me into the shower and had lost interest. I finally pulled my work out shorts on and looked into the shower one last time. No sign of any part of him.
Fine.
I fired up the iPod and headed to the Equipment room. Completely deserted. Just me and four treadmills, five stationary bikes, a rowing machine, some ellipticals, and a bunch of weight stations. I turned on a treadmill and started walking.
As I walked, I kept wondering about that guy.
He took forever to soap up, maybe he needed to rinse off longer. Maybe he stepped back after rinsing off and was disappointed to see that I had left. Maybe he thinks I wasn't interested. Sure, I smiled and nodded at him, but maybe that wasn't enough of an acknowledgement. He had, after all, been helicoptering his genitals in my direction, maybe I didn't respond strongly enough...
Yes, folks, this is life in my head. Aint it pathetic?
I decided the thing to do was to give him a few minutes. Give him enough time so that he simply MUST be out of the shower, dried off, and in the locker area. Then I would just act like I needed something out of my gym bag, return to the locker room, and see if he says anything to me. If he doesn't, I just fumble in the bag for a second, then come back out here and get on with my work out. No harm, no foul. Let's give this fantasy one last chance.
So, twelve minutes on the treadmill later, and I bolt off of it and head back to the locker room, patting and fumbling with the pockets of my shorts, like I was missing something.
As I approached the entrance to the locker room, I noticed a guy sitting on the bench, just outside the entryway. He hadn't been there earlier, But immediately my gaydar went off. This guy had the total gay gym rat look of the type that you find in the 24 hour facilities during the off-hours. You know the look: perfect haircut, product in place, Nautica t-shirt, ripped off sleeves, showing a tribal tattoo in a band around a bicep, five day growth of beard, perfectly trimmed and framing his chiseled jaw. This guy was checking his watch and looking up and toward the locker room. In other words, he was the boyfriend of the Shower Stud and he was waiting for his man to get dressed so that they could get to the disco before the drink specials ended for the night.
I was disappointed to be sure, but still wanted to know if I was reading Shower Stud correctly or not, so I continued into the locker room to see what would happen. When I stepped in, I found the Stud standing at the row of sinks along one wall within the locker area. He face was lathered with shaving soap and he had about half of his face done. When I walk in, he smiled big a me.
I walked to my locker and opened it up, jubilant.
He smiled at me! I KNEW it! This guy was flirting and showing off to me! I wonder if he knows the boyfriend is waiting just outside...
I heard the other guy come into the locker room and say, loudly:
"Charlie, are you okay? Is everything all right? We have to get going pretty soon. Everyone is waiting for us at the Wing Stop. you don't want to miss your CHICKEN WINGS, now do you?"
And Charlie, the Shower Stud, replied:
"Look, Robbie! I am SHAVING all by myself! I TOLD you I could shower and shave all by myself now! I am doing a GOOD job!"
Uh huh.
Robbie said "Yes, Charlie, you are doing a VERY good job! But hurry up now, we've got to get going! We have to have some dinner before the bus takes us back to the school. Remember to shave WITH the grain of your beard. Yes, just like that! Can you even see what you are doing? You can't see ten feet in front of you without your glasses. Where are your glasses, Charlie? Did you lose your glasses?"
"I see Charlie and I see Robbie!" the Shower Stud pronounced loudly and gleefully. And then he fell silent again as he concentrated on shaving WITH the grain of his beard.
I closed my locker and headed back to the treadmill, shaking my head. I had been trying to cruise someone who was mentally retarded.
I got back on the treadmill and began to walk. I was scolding myself.
That what you get for trying to turn the gym into a sex club, you idiot! What is the rule? NEVER cruise at the gym! Never. Ever!
And that was my mantra with each step :
Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never...
And I walked for 45 minutes before I stopped for the night.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Workout Update
I've added treadmill to my routine now. Just a little walking in place, right? What's the big fucking deal, huh?
Tonight I pulled a "George Jetson" and fell off the back end of it. Yes, backwards and into a rowing machine that was behind me, minding its own bidness. I ended up on my face six feet behind the treadmill.
Thank God no one was directly behind me. I would have killed them.
My left knee is a little twisted, my left shin is slightly swollen, and I think I wrenched my lower back.
Good times!
I've added treadmill to my routine now. Just a little walking in place, right? What's the big fucking deal, huh?
Tonight I pulled a "George Jetson" and fell off the back end of it. Yes, backwards and into a rowing machine that was behind me, minding its own bidness. I ended up on my face six feet behind the treadmill.
Thank God no one was directly behind me. I would have killed them.
My left knee is a little twisted, my left shin is slightly swollen, and I think I wrenched my lower back.
Good times!
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Sunday MopUp 05/04/08
The coffee is already coursing through my veins, the laundry is well past the unmanageable stage, and I'm pretty much dressed for jumping into the truck and heading to the YMCA for my dose of "I Fucking Hate To Exercise!" for the day. But first, I must get past the weekly recounting of the banal dribble that makes up my existence - otherwise known as my Sunday MopUp.
Date With DQ On Friday
We met here at my place, where he brought an overnight bag with him (seems drag queens go NOWHERE without several change of clothes. Just in case{insert eyeroll here}).
When he arrived, I was upstairs in the shower. He came in and pulled the shower curtain back and watched me clean up, which was kinda hot. I invited him in, but he refused, having just gotten out of his own shower at his house. After I toweled off, I asked him if he would do me a big favor and give me a little "trim" in my nether regions. A bit of manscaping, if you will.
Now, I'm all about hairiness on men, but keeping your bush under control is all about hygiene, in my book. The less hair there, the less opportunity for stinkage to accrue. Uh oh, look who has gone and gotten all gross right off the bat. Sorry.
Anyways, who better to attend to a little sculpting of my topiary than a guy whose expertise is the shaving of body hair? Isn't this me embracing who DQ is, and trying to integrate our lifestyles a bit? Also, I thought it would be a great way to have an intimate moment without it turning completely sexual. And, my friends, it worked.
He happily took my clippers and buzzed me, fondling and caressing me as he worked. Okay, he kissed it here and there as he focused on the job at hand, but it never disintegrated into actual sex.
It was fun. It was sexy. It never turned into sex, but I DID insist that he be naked as he did it. Just to up the Tease Factor. I think it was a nice way to start off the evening. It made him fidget, it made me laugh, and I've got a better looking crotch for it. A win-win situation. I jumped back into the shower for a quick rinse afterwards, while he put his clothes back on.
He announced he was hungry and we decided to hit a restaurant. I wanted steak, but the steakhouse was PACKED, so we drove into the countryside in the direction of where I planned to spend some time with him for the evening and looked for options. We came across a Chili's and decided to stop.
Now, all during the drive, the conversation was about his performing as a drag queen. Kids, I shit you not, I was not the one continually bringing the subject up. It's like it's the only thing he wants to talk about. Now, I ask you: why would he do this if he KNOWS that I am uncomfortable with the topic? Does he enjoy watching me squirm? Is this some kind of test?
I have a dear friend, The Chubby Avenger, who thinks not. He thinks this is DQ just doing what he does: obsessing about his fetish. The Avenger calls it a neurosis. There is a psychological term for it. The Avenger has dropped it on me several times, but I think I am mentally blocking it out, so I don't Google it and actually LEARN something. I suck.
So, we had some dinner: we shared some lettuce wraps of grilled chicken and water chestnuts and carrots with peanut sauce and sesame oil sauce. Then we both had a burger. I drank water, and he ordered a margarita. As he sipped his drink, the conversation turned to how he thinks he might have alcoholic tendencies. Very attractive. I hate drunks. Then, somehow he managed to tell me that his apartment is covered in pictures of himself. All dressed up. He made it a point to stress that the photos were EVERYwhere. He seemed very proud.
Yes. Great.
After dinner, we got back in my truck and I took him out to Sex Mountain, a favorite spot of mine out in the country where it is quiet, and secluded, and beautiful. In the Texas Spring, it is cool, and there are no bugs, and the stars are just brilliant. I love it there, and sometimes go out just to sit and meditate.
We sat up there and talked for about a while, and necked and, since we were the only ones up there, we had sex under the stars, in the night breeze. This was me trying to be romantic, but it might have just come off as me acting like a teenage horndawg. He seemed to enjoy it, but spent a LOT of time freaking out that we were outside. He kept commenting on dark it was. I got the hint, and we left in about an hour. I also was completely aware by now that, other than talking about how great a drag queen he is (he has won many, many trophies), and besides talking about our jobs, we don't have much to talk about. I swear, when I try to talk about other things with him, his eyes start to glaze over. I played some music that I am listening to on the stereo as we drove. He couldn't have cared less.
The sexual chemistry is there. I really enjoy sex with this guy. It's everything else that seems to be the problem.
The drive back to town was uncomfortable, because he kept yawning and talking about how tired he was. Now, granted, he had been awake since the crack of dawn on Friday morning, but this is a guy who goes out drinking until all hours on a usual Friday night. What was different about this Friday night? For one, he wasn't drinking. And, secondly, he wasn't dressed up in public. In short - he was bored.
That's my guess, anyway.
So, I HAD intended to go out to a club with him after Sex Mountain, but he kept saying how tired he was, so we went back to my place. We crawled into bed and fooled around for about an hour and fell asleep. Good news there: he doesn't snore (much) and isn't a bed hog. Big relief.
We were up at 9AM Saturday and out the door by 9:45. He drove off in one direction, while I drove in another, meeting my best friend, his wife, and my best friend's teenage daughter to catch "Ironman" at the matinee. DQ showed no interest in seeing it, although I didn't really invite him. At this point, I had had enough and needed my life back. Besides, he had "rehearsal" to go to at noon [insert another eyeroll here]. [Sorry. I said I suck, okay?]
Ironman
Okay, Robert Downey, Jr. totally made this a fun movie. His snarkiness was used to maximum benefit and I giggled all the way through it. It was worth the price of admission alone just to see the scenes where he is trying to figure out how to fly in the suit. I'm not a Gwenyth Paltrow fan, but Jeff Bridges was really very good in it as well. He's an actor I can watch in just about anything.
I canNOT wait for "The Dark Knight"!
Next weekend, we will get together for a Saturday matinee of "Speed Racer". Also on tap this summer will be the Batman movie, "The Incredible Hulk", "Indiana Jones", and about 4 others that I can't remember right now. It's Will's call as to what we'll see.
Stay tuned!
The coffee is already coursing through my veins, the laundry is well past the unmanageable stage, and I'm pretty much dressed for jumping into the truck and heading to the YMCA for my dose of "I Fucking Hate To Exercise!" for the day. But first, I must get past the weekly recounting of the banal dribble that makes up my existence - otherwise known as my Sunday MopUp.
Date With DQ On Friday
We met here at my place, where he brought an overnight bag with him (seems drag queens go NOWHERE without several change of clothes. Just in case{insert eyeroll here}).
When he arrived, I was upstairs in the shower. He came in and pulled the shower curtain back and watched me clean up, which was kinda hot. I invited him in, but he refused, having just gotten out of his own shower at his house. After I toweled off, I asked him if he would do me a big favor and give me a little "trim" in my nether regions. A bit of manscaping, if you will.
Now, I'm all about hairiness on men, but keeping your bush under control is all about hygiene, in my book. The less hair there, the less opportunity for stinkage to accrue. Uh oh, look who has gone and gotten all gross right off the bat. Sorry.
Anyways, who better to attend to a little sculpting of my topiary than a guy whose expertise is the shaving of body hair? Isn't this me embracing who DQ is, and trying to integrate our lifestyles a bit? Also, I thought it would be a great way to have an intimate moment without it turning completely sexual. And, my friends, it worked.
He happily took my clippers and buzzed me, fondling and caressing me as he worked. Okay, he kissed it here and there as he focused on the job at hand, but it never disintegrated into actual sex.
It was fun. It was sexy. It never turned into sex, but I DID insist that he be naked as he did it. Just to up the Tease Factor. I think it was a nice way to start off the evening. It made him fidget, it made me laugh, and I've got a better looking crotch for it. A win-win situation. I jumped back into the shower for a quick rinse afterwards, while he put his clothes back on.
He announced he was hungry and we decided to hit a restaurant. I wanted steak, but the steakhouse was PACKED, so we drove into the countryside in the direction of where I planned to spend some time with him for the evening and looked for options. We came across a Chili's and decided to stop.
Now, all during the drive, the conversation was about his performing as a drag queen. Kids, I shit you not, I was not the one continually bringing the subject up. It's like it's the only thing he wants to talk about. Now, I ask you: why would he do this if he KNOWS that I am uncomfortable with the topic? Does he enjoy watching me squirm? Is this some kind of test?
I have a dear friend, The Chubby Avenger, who thinks not. He thinks this is DQ just doing what he does: obsessing about his fetish. The Avenger calls it a neurosis. There is a psychological term for it. The Avenger has dropped it on me several times, but I think I am mentally blocking it out, so I don't Google it and actually LEARN something. I suck.
So, we had some dinner: we shared some lettuce wraps of grilled chicken and water chestnuts and carrots with peanut sauce and sesame oil sauce. Then we both had a burger. I drank water, and he ordered a margarita. As he sipped his drink, the conversation turned to how he thinks he might have alcoholic tendencies. Very attractive. I hate drunks. Then, somehow he managed to tell me that his apartment is covered in pictures of himself. All dressed up. He made it a point to stress that the photos were EVERYwhere. He seemed very proud.
Yes. Great.
After dinner, we got back in my truck and I took him out to Sex Mountain, a favorite spot of mine out in the country where it is quiet, and secluded, and beautiful. In the Texas Spring, it is cool, and there are no bugs, and the stars are just brilliant. I love it there, and sometimes go out just to sit and meditate.
We sat up there and talked for about a while, and necked and, since we were the only ones up there, we had sex under the stars, in the night breeze. This was me trying to be romantic, but it might have just come off as me acting like a teenage horndawg. He seemed to enjoy it, but spent a LOT of time freaking out that we were outside. He kept commenting on dark it was. I got the hint, and we left in about an hour. I also was completely aware by now that, other than talking about how great a drag queen he is (he has won many, many trophies), and besides talking about our jobs, we don't have much to talk about. I swear, when I try to talk about other things with him, his eyes start to glaze over. I played some music that I am listening to on the stereo as we drove. He couldn't have cared less.
The sexual chemistry is there. I really enjoy sex with this guy. It's everything else that seems to be the problem.
The drive back to town was uncomfortable, because he kept yawning and talking about how tired he was. Now, granted, he had been awake since the crack of dawn on Friday morning, but this is a guy who goes out drinking until all hours on a usual Friday night. What was different about this Friday night? For one, he wasn't drinking. And, secondly, he wasn't dressed up in public. In short - he was bored.
That's my guess, anyway.
So, I HAD intended to go out to a club with him after Sex Mountain, but he kept saying how tired he was, so we went back to my place. We crawled into bed and fooled around for about an hour and fell asleep. Good news there: he doesn't snore (much) and isn't a bed hog. Big relief.
We were up at 9AM Saturday and out the door by 9:45. He drove off in one direction, while I drove in another, meeting my best friend, his wife, and my best friend's teenage daughter to catch "Ironman" at the matinee. DQ showed no interest in seeing it, although I didn't really invite him. At this point, I had had enough and needed my life back. Besides, he had "rehearsal" to go to at noon [insert another eyeroll here]. [Sorry. I said I suck, okay?]
Ironman
Okay, Robert Downey, Jr. totally made this a fun movie. His snarkiness was used to maximum benefit and I giggled all the way through it. It was worth the price of admission alone just to see the scenes where he is trying to figure out how to fly in the suit. I'm not a Gwenyth Paltrow fan, but Jeff Bridges was really very good in it as well. He's an actor I can watch in just about anything.
I canNOT wait for "The Dark Knight"!
Next weekend, we will get together for a Saturday matinee of "Speed Racer". Also on tap this summer will be the Batman movie, "The Incredible Hulk", "Indiana Jones", and about 4 others that I can't remember right now. It's Will's call as to what we'll see.
Stay tuned!
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
What Did YOU Do Last Night?
Me? I went out to dinner with DQ, where we actually sat and talked and got to know each other instead of moving directly into sex.
He's such a sweet kid. By "kid", I mean he's 32. Compared to how old I am, that makes him a freaking fetus. In fishnets.
We're going to go out on Friday night. He keeps talking about wanting to see the leather bar that is the ONLY gay bar I go to in this town. I'm not sure I can do that yet: mingle with him amongst the guys I know there. He also wants me to see his drag show on Sunday night. REALLY not sure if I can handle THAT yet.
I am fully aware that I am coming off here as a judgemental, holier-than-thou prick. Trust me, I am conflicted to Hell and back about this stuff, and I am not proud of my prejudices.
We had dinner, and we spent two hours with our clothes on, talking about ourselves. It was nice. When we left, he got into his car, and I got into my truck, and we went our separate ways.
Me? I went out to dinner with DQ, where we actually sat and talked and got to know each other instead of moving directly into sex.
He's such a sweet kid. By "kid", I mean he's 32. Compared to how old I am, that makes him a freaking fetus. In fishnets.
We're going to go out on Friday night. He keeps talking about wanting to see the leather bar that is the ONLY gay bar I go to in this town. I'm not sure I can do that yet: mingle with him amongst the guys I know there. He also wants me to see his drag show on Sunday night. REALLY not sure if I can handle THAT yet.
I am fully aware that I am coming off here as a judgemental, holier-than-thou prick. Trust me, I am conflicted to Hell and back about this stuff, and I am not proud of my prejudices.
We had dinner, and we spent two hours with our clothes on, talking about ourselves. It was nice. When we left, he got into his car, and I got into my truck, and we went our separate ways.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Sunday MopUp 04/27/08
It's a rainy, windy, and cool day here in Central Texas, so I have windows and doors open, I am laundering a week's worth of socks, shirts, sheets, towels, and grundersnorts in preparation for another week of Corporate Enslavement while I ingest massive quantities of Starbuck's coffee (Pike's Place beans this week, by the way), and compose run-on sentences like this one.
I call it my Sunday MopUp. If you notice any bio hazard sitting around that I might be overlooking, feel free to pitch it in the trash over there. Thanks!
The "Productive Belch"
I mentioned last week that I have now experienced the phenomena of regurgitating food due to my half-assed, only partially inflated, lap band. I promised to tell you more about it, which is sure to disgust most, if not all, of you (well, except for Sue, who apparently digs this kinda information). So, feel free to skip this part if you are prone to squeamishness about bodily functions. The good news is that this will have nothing to do with Butt Sex or homosexual frottage. I hope that is a comfort, at least.
Okay, so the whole point of the lap-band is to constrict the stomach just below the esophagus, creating a little pouch that holds about a half cup of food at any one time. You fill this pouch, get the "full" sensation, which reminds you to stop eating, and you spend several hours after eating waiting for the food to pass through the passageway that the band has created. If you overeat and fill the pouch too full, you will puke up whatever the pouch cannot hold. This vomiting is referred to as a "productive belch", which makes me laugh every time someone uses the term. Putting lipstick on a pig, if ya ask me. Ya hurl. Upchuck. Spew. Simple enough concept.
Another reason to retch is due to the fact that you have not chewed the food you are eating to the point that it can pass the band, and it gets stuck in the pouch, creating blockage. Food trapped in the pouch which cannot pass into the lower stomach can be expected to come back up. This is why, although my band isn't filled enough to really give me the pouch yet, I have to practice how I chew and eat now. I have a little time to get used to how THOROUGHLY I must now chew when I eat. And, after nearly fifty years of inhaling and barely tasting food as I stuff it down my gullet, this is proving to be a bit of a challenge.
The Monday after my first fill, I was back at work, and went out with my co-workers to lunch. They wanted to do a buffet, which annoys me, but they chose a buffet that had a pretty big salad bar, so I agreed to go. I piled a huge mound of salady stuff on my plate: lettuce, spinach, chopped egg, red onion, mushrooms, cucumber, shaved carrot, a little cauliflower, some bell pepper...that kinda stuff. Low fat dressing topped it. I then went to the grill area and got myself a piece of chicken. Skinless breast. Hot off the grill. Yay, me!
As I was eating the salad, I was careful to chew well, and focus on what I was doing. Everything was going smoothly. After all, I don't have an actual pouch yet, I don't have much to worry about. This is PRACTICE, right?
Well, as I'm eating and building up steam and relaxing about the process, I decide to try some of the chicken. I cut into the breast and pop a big forkful into my mouth. When it hit my tongue, I realized that the meat was, indeed, hot off the grill. I chewed a few times, but suddenly was worried that I was burning the inside of my mouth. Without thinking, I just swallowed.
I knew it was a mistake the moment AFTER I did it.
It went down into my stomach easily enough. But once there, it just stayed there. Was it big enough to block a passage that isn't even small enough to create a pouch yet? Well, if it WAS blocking, then I DID have a pouch, at this particular minute, didn't I?
I panicked a bit and drank some water, which filled the pouch, but didn't push the chicken down. It only made things worse. I stood up from the table and raised my arms high, lacing my hands behind my head, in a kind of stretching motion. Didn't help.
By the way, I'd like to address this concept of "feeling full", which is what this band is supposed to make you feel. Now, up to this point, I had not experienced what "feeling full" meant, because everything I ate was falling into my lower stomach. Well, I certainly was feeling it now, and it isn't anything like the full feeling a normal person gets when eating a satisfying meal.
See, for YOU folks, "feeling full" can be a pleasant, satisfying feeling in the lower stomach. You have a full belly: it might make you sleepy, it might make you a little inflexible, but beyond a little "bloated", it isn't that big of a deal. Right?
Well, "feeling full" to a person with a lap-band is different. To begin with, the feeling occurs UP HIGH, like just under your solar plexus, and it is a very UNcomfortable feeling. Like heartburn, or nausea.
At this point, the "feel feeling" was a warning to me that I was going to be sick. I went to the men's room and positioned myself over the toilet. Thank God it was a clean restroom. Nothing worse that having to puke into...nevermind...
I puked. Well, I "productively belched".
Here's the thing. When a regular person pukes, they are bringing up acids from the lower part of the stomach. It stinks, it burns, it HURTS to get that stuff up from way down there. When a lap band patient pukes, only the pouch retches, NOT the whole stomach, and you only bring up whatever the problem was. If you overate by a few bites, you will only puke those extra bites up. If you are puking because something is stuck, once the blockage is expelled, you are fine.
And that's what I did. I puked up a chunk of chicken.
And then I was all better. But, boy, I was done with lunch, let me tell you!
It has happened to me twice now. Once at the buffet, and once at home, when I wasn't paying close attention to how well I was chewing. I suspect that when I go back to the doctor to get my second fill, on May 15th, I may have enough of a pouch effect that I will need to pay VERY strict attention to how I eat.
Other Things
* Went to the local leather bar last night. Received attention from three different guys and I am simply amazed. Really motivates me to keep losing. Met one guy who kept calling me "sir". Not a turn-on for me. But he WAS all over my nipples, which I didn't mind at all.
* Saw the drag queen again last week. Told him that we needed to slow down, that his lifestyle is an issue for me, and that I was conflicted about what to do about it. He said he understood, and then we had sex. Good grief!
* I have begun watching the Oprah and Eckhart Tolle podcasts of the webinar for "A New Earth" on iTunes and I am enjoying them. Lots of this stuff is Psychology 101 and not new, but I am appreciating Oprah's intent on reaching out to her following. I completely believe in the concepts being discussed and, although I have adopted many of them already in my life through the years, it's great to consider stepping the process up and strive to be more Spiritual in everyday life.
There are 8 episodes so far. There will be 15 in total. I'm just on Episode 3, and it will take a few weeks to catch up. Anybody else out there watching this?
It's a rainy, windy, and cool day here in Central Texas, so I have windows and doors open, I am laundering a week's worth of socks, shirts, sheets, towels, and grundersnorts in preparation for another week of Corporate Enslavement while I ingest massive quantities of Starbuck's coffee (Pike's Place beans this week, by the way), and compose run-on sentences like this one.
I call it my Sunday MopUp. If you notice any bio hazard sitting around that I might be overlooking, feel free to pitch it in the trash over there. Thanks!
The "Productive Belch"
I mentioned last week that I have now experienced the phenomena of regurgitating food due to my half-assed, only partially inflated, lap band. I promised to tell you more about it, which is sure to disgust most, if not all, of you (well, except for Sue, who apparently digs this kinda information). So, feel free to skip this part if you are prone to squeamishness about bodily functions. The good news is that this will have nothing to do with Butt Sex or homosexual frottage. I hope that is a comfort, at least.
Okay, so the whole point of the lap-band is to constrict the stomach just below the esophagus, creating a little pouch that holds about a half cup of food at any one time. You fill this pouch, get the "full" sensation, which reminds you to stop eating, and you spend several hours after eating waiting for the food to pass through the passageway that the band has created. If you overeat and fill the pouch too full, you will puke up whatever the pouch cannot hold. This vomiting is referred to as a "productive belch", which makes me laugh every time someone uses the term. Putting lipstick on a pig, if ya ask me. Ya hurl. Upchuck. Spew. Simple enough concept.
Another reason to retch is due to the fact that you have not chewed the food you are eating to the point that it can pass the band, and it gets stuck in the pouch, creating blockage. Food trapped in the pouch which cannot pass into the lower stomach can be expected to come back up. This is why, although my band isn't filled enough to really give me the pouch yet, I have to practice how I chew and eat now. I have a little time to get used to how THOROUGHLY I must now chew when I eat. And, after nearly fifty years of inhaling and barely tasting food as I stuff it down my gullet, this is proving to be a bit of a challenge.
The Monday after my first fill, I was back at work, and went out with my co-workers to lunch. They wanted to do a buffet, which annoys me, but they chose a buffet that had a pretty big salad bar, so I agreed to go. I piled a huge mound of salady stuff on my plate: lettuce, spinach, chopped egg, red onion, mushrooms, cucumber, shaved carrot, a little cauliflower, some bell pepper...that kinda stuff. Low fat dressing topped it. I then went to the grill area and got myself a piece of chicken. Skinless breast. Hot off the grill. Yay, me!
As I was eating the salad, I was careful to chew well, and focus on what I was doing. Everything was going smoothly. After all, I don't have an actual pouch yet, I don't have much to worry about. This is PRACTICE, right?
Well, as I'm eating and building up steam and relaxing about the process, I decide to try some of the chicken. I cut into the breast and pop a big forkful into my mouth. When it hit my tongue, I realized that the meat was, indeed, hot off the grill. I chewed a few times, but suddenly was worried that I was burning the inside of my mouth. Without thinking, I just swallowed.
I knew it was a mistake the moment AFTER I did it.
It went down into my stomach easily enough. But once there, it just stayed there. Was it big enough to block a passage that isn't even small enough to create a pouch yet? Well, if it WAS blocking, then I DID have a pouch, at this particular minute, didn't I?
I panicked a bit and drank some water, which filled the pouch, but didn't push the chicken down. It only made things worse. I stood up from the table and raised my arms high, lacing my hands behind my head, in a kind of stretching motion. Didn't help.
By the way, I'd like to address this concept of "feeling full", which is what this band is supposed to make you feel. Now, up to this point, I had not experienced what "feeling full" meant, because everything I ate was falling into my lower stomach. Well, I certainly was feeling it now, and it isn't anything like the full feeling a normal person gets when eating a satisfying meal.
See, for YOU folks, "feeling full" can be a pleasant, satisfying feeling in the lower stomach. You have a full belly: it might make you sleepy, it might make you a little inflexible, but beyond a little "bloated", it isn't that big of a deal. Right?
Well, "feeling full" to a person with a lap-band is different. To begin with, the feeling occurs UP HIGH, like just under your solar plexus, and it is a very UNcomfortable feeling. Like heartburn, or nausea.
At this point, the "feel feeling" was a warning to me that I was going to be sick. I went to the men's room and positioned myself over the toilet. Thank God it was a clean restroom. Nothing worse that having to puke into...nevermind...
I puked. Well, I "productively belched".
Here's the thing. When a regular person pukes, they are bringing up acids from the lower part of the stomach. It stinks, it burns, it HURTS to get that stuff up from way down there. When a lap band patient pukes, only the pouch retches, NOT the whole stomach, and you only bring up whatever the problem was. If you overate by a few bites, you will only puke those extra bites up. If you are puking because something is stuck, once the blockage is expelled, you are fine.
And that's what I did. I puked up a chunk of chicken.
And then I was all better. But, boy, I was done with lunch, let me tell you!
It has happened to me twice now. Once at the buffet, and once at home, when I wasn't paying close attention to how well I was chewing. I suspect that when I go back to the doctor to get my second fill, on May 15th, I may have enough of a pouch effect that I will need to pay VERY strict attention to how I eat.
Other Things
* Went to the local leather bar last night. Received attention from three different guys and I am simply amazed. Really motivates me to keep losing. Met one guy who kept calling me "sir". Not a turn-on for me. But he WAS all over my nipples, which I didn't mind at all.
* Saw the drag queen again last week. Told him that we needed to slow down, that his lifestyle is an issue for me, and that I was conflicted about what to do about it. He said he understood, and then we had sex. Good grief!
* I have begun watching the Oprah and Eckhart Tolle podcasts of the webinar for "A New Earth" on iTunes and I am enjoying them. Lots of this stuff is Psychology 101 and not new, but I am appreciating Oprah's intent on reaching out to her following. I completely believe in the concepts being discussed and, although I have adopted many of them already in my life through the years, it's great to consider stepping the process up and strive to be more Spiritual in everyday life.
There are 8 episodes so far. There will be 15 in total. I'm just on Episode 3, and it will take a few weeks to catch up. Anybody else out there watching this?
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Why I Haven't Mentioned The Lap-Band Lately
I was all stoked to go to Houston on April 11th and get my first " fill" in my lap-band, right? I was pretty excited, because I was under the impression that I would go, the band would be filled, therefore the pouch would be created, and I would be on my way to a highly restrictive diet.
Well, it doesn't work that way.
Turns out I took the entire day off of work, drove 3 hours to Houston (using about 75 bucks of gasoline there and back), paid for parking, paid for an office visit, only to find out that this "first fill" was just that: the initial INCREMENTAL injection of saline into the band. My band holds 14cc's of saline, people. Care to guess how much they filled the band?
3 cc's.
I have to go BACK to Houston on May 15th and get another "fill" of a few more cc's. This process could take anothe couple of MONTHS!
Argh!
See, since no one can actually SEE into my stomach to see what is going on, the doctor fills the band little by little. With each fill, the stomach swells a little bit in response, and they don't want to over-inflate the thing and accidentally cut off any chance of ANYthing from passing.
So, right now, I don't even HAVE the "pouch" yet. I've got a shelf. When I eat, I can feel the food hit the backboard and drop into the bucket (it's a basketball metaphor, kids). Which, by the way, feels freaky. But, look, I'm not getting the sensation of feeling "full" when I eat a half cup of stuff. My appetite is not being supressed at ALL right now.
So, I'm not happy about it, and I feel like I've put on a bunch of weight (which I haven't). So, I've decided to go BACK on the liquid diet, and maybe have a little bit of real food now and then, until the next fill.
And THAT'S why I haven't been writing about it. I'm annoyed with the process.
Remind me to tell you about what puking up food is like with this thing sometime. Yes, it has happened.
I was all stoked to go to Houston on April 11th and get my first " fill" in my lap-band, right? I was pretty excited, because I was under the impression that I would go, the band would be filled, therefore the pouch would be created, and I would be on my way to a highly restrictive diet.
Well, it doesn't work that way.
Turns out I took the entire day off of work, drove 3 hours to Houston (using about 75 bucks of gasoline there and back), paid for parking, paid for an office visit, only to find out that this "first fill" was just that: the initial INCREMENTAL injection of saline into the band. My band holds 14cc's of saline, people. Care to guess how much they filled the band?
3 cc's.
I have to go BACK to Houston on May 15th and get another "fill" of a few more cc's. This process could take anothe couple of MONTHS!
Argh!
See, since no one can actually SEE into my stomach to see what is going on, the doctor fills the band little by little. With each fill, the stomach swells a little bit in response, and they don't want to over-inflate the thing and accidentally cut off any chance of ANYthing from passing.
So, right now, I don't even HAVE the "pouch" yet. I've got a shelf. When I eat, I can feel the food hit the backboard and drop into the bucket (it's a basketball metaphor, kids). Which, by the way, feels freaky. But, look, I'm not getting the sensation of feeling "full" when I eat a half cup of stuff. My appetite is not being supressed at ALL right now.
So, I'm not happy about it, and I feel like I've put on a bunch of weight (which I haven't). So, I've decided to go BACK on the liquid diet, and maybe have a little bit of real food now and then, until the next fill.
And THAT'S why I haven't been writing about it. I'm annoyed with the process.
Remind me to tell you about what puking up food is like with this thing sometime. Yes, it has happened.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Sunday MopUp 04/20/08
It's late. I'm cranky. I'm confused. Welcome to my Sunday MopUp. It'll all be over in a minute.
My Screwed Up Social Life
I got all excited about a new friend two weeks ago, which isn't working out. Last week I went out twice with another new friend who I realized is a professional drag queen. When I freaked about what he does, he assured me that it is "just a job". Well, on Friday, I was told that he and his friends were going out "partying" because they all had the night off (from the drag show) . And, they were going to "dress up".
Does that sound like "just a job" to you?
Don't you hate people who type "in quotations" all the time?
Look, I have a hard time dealing with guys who shave their legs (okay, almost their whole fucking bodies), pluck their eyebrows, wear pancake makeup, and pretend they are women. I admit it. But, I am trying to look beyond my prejudice and accept people for who they are. When I met this guy, I knew it was going to be a challenge. He is a super sweet man, who is generous and fun.
But, I'm not sure I can do this. "Just a job" my ass. Don't lie to me.
I avoided the drag queen, I avoided the new friend, and I avoided Sexual Chocolate. I wanted to be left alone. So, I hid.
And I feel creepy about it.
The Pope
was a pain in my ass all week. My department is responsible for capturing the news feed of His Holy Rectum, recording every event that he breathed at in New York City, encoding it into a digital file, packaging it, and distributing it to cable divisions in Dallas, Waco, San Antonio, and El Paso (as well as here locally) so that good little Catholics all across the state can witness, on Video On Demand, the historic (yawn!) event.
His butt is finally back on a plane to Italy tonight. Organized religion kills, people. Organized Religion kills people, people! Here's my "news feed" for ya. Listen up:
Attention! You DO NOT NEED a middleman in order to have a relationship with your Higher Power.
If Jesus were here today, he wouldn't be a "Christian".
...just sayin'...
Good Grief, Jim, Just Play A Video!
Here's a little something for everyone but Dick Small.
Here's a little trivia: The female voice on this track is the singer from the video posted below. Cool, huh?
It's late. I'm cranky. I'm confused. Welcome to my Sunday MopUp. It'll all be over in a minute.
My Screwed Up Social Life
I got all excited about a new friend two weeks ago, which isn't working out. Last week I went out twice with another new friend who I realized is a professional drag queen. When I freaked about what he does, he assured me that it is "just a job". Well, on Friday, I was told that he and his friends were going out "partying" because they all had the night off (from the drag show) . And, they were going to "dress up".
Does that sound like "just a job" to you?
Don't you hate people who type "in quotations" all the time?
Look, I have a hard time dealing with guys who shave their legs (okay, almost their whole fucking bodies), pluck their eyebrows, wear pancake makeup, and pretend they are women. I admit it. But, I am trying to look beyond my prejudice and accept people for who they are. When I met this guy, I knew it was going to be a challenge. He is a super sweet man, who is generous and fun.
But, I'm not sure I can do this. "Just a job" my ass. Don't lie to me.
I avoided the drag queen, I avoided the new friend, and I avoided Sexual Chocolate. I wanted to be left alone. So, I hid.
And I feel creepy about it.
The Pope
was a pain in my ass all week. My department is responsible for capturing the news feed of His Holy Rectum, recording every event that he breathed at in New York City, encoding it into a digital file, packaging it, and distributing it to cable divisions in Dallas, Waco, San Antonio, and El Paso (as well as here locally) so that good little Catholics all across the state can witness, on Video On Demand, the historic (yawn!) event.
His butt is finally back on a plane to Italy tonight. Organized religion kills, people. Organized Religion kills people, people! Here's my "news feed" for ya. Listen up:
Attention! You DO NOT NEED a middleman in order to have a relationship with your Higher Power.
If Jesus were here today, he wouldn't be a "Christian".
...just sayin'...
Good Grief, Jim, Just Play A Video!
Here's a little something for everyone but Dick Small.
Here's a little trivia: The female voice on this track is the singer from the video posted below. Cool, huh?
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
"Say"
John Mayer
Take all of your wasted honor
Every little past frustration
Take all of your so called problems
Better put 'em in quotations.
Say what you need to say
Walkin' like a one man army
Fightin' with the shadows in your head
Livin' up the same old moment
Knowin' you'd be better off instead
If you could only...
Say what you need to say
Have no fear for givin' in
Have no fear for giving over
You better know that in the end
It's better to say too much
than never to say what you need to say again
Even if your hands are shaking
And your faith is broken
Even as the eyes are closin'
Do it with a heart wide open
Say what you need to say
[It's the last stanza that hits me in the gut. Powerful. Beautiful.]
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Sunday MopUp 04/13/08
The bed linens are in the laundry, getting all bleached and freshened. I'm tanked on coffee and have all the windows and doors to the house wide open, soaking up the crisp, Spring air. I'm happy to be alive; I love the world and the Weirdness in which it entangles me. This aint Breakfast at Tiffany's (even though I feel like a million bucks), it's just my "Sunday MopUp".
Snap, Crackle, Pop
When we last spoke, I was headed over to watch Sexual Chocolate play in a gay volleyball tournament last week. I had made a new friend earlier in the weekend, who expressed interest in going as well. As I got my shit together here at Casa Del Jimbo, I called The New Friend to see if he still wanted to attend:
"Hello?" he answered his cell phone, in the middle of a loud racket in the background.
"Hi, it's me, Jim! Just checking to see if you still wanted to go to the volleyball tourny to watch SC?"
"Ummm...sure." Bang, bang, clatter, clatter, clatter.
"Oookay, well the first game is at 2:30. Do you want to just meet up there then?"
"Well," he said "I was just talking to Sexual Chocolate and he told me that the first game isn't until 4:30." In the background, someone was talking over an intercom. Wait, he said he had talked to Sexual Chocolate today? What?
"Oh. You talked to him? Okay, then, how about we meet there at about quarter after four?"
"Yeah," Bang, clatter, shuffle, crunch "We were just on the phone."
"Oh. I see." I replied "I guess I didn't know you two were close friends."
"Well, I'm at the car wash with his car right now."
"You are at the car wash with HIS car?"
"Yeah. It's a long story."
(pregnant pause)"So, I'll see you at the bar at abour 4:15 then?"
"Sure."
And we hung up.
I get to the bar just before the game begins, and I see SC warming up with his teammates. Folks, gay volleyball is quite a sight. Butch looking men, butch looking women, and some serious queens sporting serious bling as they grunt and swear and giggle and cackle at each other. I bought a beer ($3.75 for a bottle of domestic!), and settled under an awning to watch the circus. Sexual Chocolate didn't know I was there, and there was no sign of The New Friend.
The match hadn't been underway more than 10 minutes when SC made a move to one side too quickly and a loud POP! was heard all the way over into the sidelines. SC fell into the sand, grasping his left knee. Lesbians descended upon him with ice packs and a medical kit immediately. Everyone watching turned to each other and mumbled things like "Did you hear it snap? I heard it snap!", and "That's a ligament!", and "Holy shit, that must hurt!"
The lesbians scooped him up and propped him up on the far side of the field in a lawn chair with ice packs and play resumed. I used this opportunity to make my way around the edge of the field to get to him. He seemed pleased that I had made it.
"Did you just get here?" he asked.
"A few minutes before your bowl of Rice Krispies," I replied.
"Huh?"
"Snap, Crackle, Pop!"
"Oh, yeah. Well, it happens."
"We need to get you to an Emergency Room."
"No way. I don't have medical insurance. I need to get home, but my car isn't here yet."
"I called TNF (the new friend) and he said he was coming, but I don't see him." I said.
"Yeah, well, he's probably still at the car wash."
"Right. And, WHY is he at the car wash with your Jeep?"
"Because we went out drinking last night and he vomitted all over the inside of it on the way home."
Okay. Sexual Chocolate, the aggressive top chaser who is always trying to get into MY pants, went out drinking with a new friend of mine who seemed really into ME just on Friday night.
"You asked TNF to go out drinking with you last night?"
"No." He said, matter-of-factly, "HE called ME."
It's Sunday afternoon and things seem to have changed pretty quickly.
I went to my truck, got my cellphone and called TNF. He was still at the car wash.
"Still there?" I asked.
"Yep..."
"SC told me what happened."
"Oh, God! I'm so embarrassed."
"Don't be. These things happen. But, the news is that SC has turned his knee. People here seem to think it's his ACL and he needs to get home."
"I don't know how much longer this will take. I'm having the entire interior detailed."
"Well, how about I come by and wait with you? When the Jeep is finished you can follow me back here to the bar."
"That would be great!"
I checked in with SC, who wanted to watch more of the tourny, and I left for the car wash. When I got there, I found TNF in the lobby with a sheepish look on his face.
"So, when you want to go out drinking Sexual Chocolate is your go-to guy?" I asked. I'll admit it, my feelings were hurt that he hadn't at least ASKED me if I wanted to go out.
"I guess so. Man, I feel bad about all of this."
"Well," I said, "This is why I stopped drinking. I don't miss those years."
And then he looked me right in the eye and said:
"Well, I have a few more of "those years" left in me."
We got the Jeep back to the bar, loaded SC into my truck, and TNF followed us back to SC's place in the Jeep. We got SC comfortable on the livingroom sofa, with his leg propped up and iced down. I checked the freezer to make sure there was plenty of ice for future use. We put his laptop close so that he could cruise the internet.
TNF wanted to catch some dinner together, so I took him to a favorite Mexican joint and we ate. I took him back to get his car at the bar and we went our separate ways.
This was all last Sunday, a week ago, mind you. I checked in with SC last night and found out that the two of them went out again on Friday night. Things got chaotic then as well. I'll spare you the details.
SC's knee is doing better. He has a brace for it, never went to the hospital, and is hoping it will just get better on its own. There was a big pool party last night at the home of someone I have never met, so although I was invited by friends, I didn't go. It's just a rule I have. I have to be invited by the person hosting the party. I don't just show up.
When I found out Sexual Chocolate wasn't going to the party either, I made a batch of mac and cheese and sausages wrapped in cresent rolls and took them over to him. We sat on his sofa and watched a Harry Potter movie on network TV. It was a quiet evening. SC tells me that he and TNF have not had ANY sexual encounters. They are just drinking buddies now. No one thought to call me, because everyone knows I don't drink (much).
SC tried to seduce me as we sat there last night, which was actually funny with him being a gimp right now and all. I pushed him away and we laughed each time he came at me. I tried, once again, to tell SC that I'm not comfortable being a bottom. He's not buying it.
I'm not sure I'm ever going to fit in. This is WAY too hard for me to figure out.
The bed linens are in the laundry, getting all bleached and freshened. I'm tanked on coffee and have all the windows and doors to the house wide open, soaking up the crisp, Spring air. I'm happy to be alive; I love the world and the Weirdness in which it entangles me. This aint Breakfast at Tiffany's (even though I feel like a million bucks), it's just my "Sunday MopUp".
Snap, Crackle, Pop
When we last spoke, I was headed over to watch Sexual Chocolate play in a gay volleyball tournament last week. I had made a new friend earlier in the weekend, who expressed interest in going as well. As I got my shit together here at Casa Del Jimbo, I called The New Friend to see if he still wanted to attend:
"Hello?" he answered his cell phone, in the middle of a loud racket in the background.
"Hi, it's me, Jim! Just checking to see if you still wanted to go to the volleyball tourny to watch SC?"
"Ummm...sure." Bang, bang, clatter, clatter, clatter.
"Oookay, well the first game is at 2:30. Do you want to just meet up there then?"
"Well," he said "I was just talking to Sexual Chocolate and he told me that the first game isn't until 4:30." In the background, someone was talking over an intercom. Wait, he said he had talked to Sexual Chocolate today? What?
"Oh. You talked to him? Okay, then, how about we meet there at about quarter after four?"
"Yeah," Bang, clatter, shuffle, crunch "We were just on the phone."
"Oh. I see." I replied "I guess I didn't know you two were close friends."
"Well, I'm at the car wash with his car right now."
"You are at the car wash with HIS car?"
"Yeah. It's a long story."
(pregnant pause)"So, I'll see you at the bar at abour 4:15 then?"
"Sure."
And we hung up.
I get to the bar just before the game begins, and I see SC warming up with his teammates. Folks, gay volleyball is quite a sight. Butch looking men, butch looking women, and some serious queens sporting serious bling as they grunt and swear and giggle and cackle at each other. I bought a beer ($3.75 for a bottle of domestic!), and settled under an awning to watch the circus. Sexual Chocolate didn't know I was there, and there was no sign of The New Friend.
The match hadn't been underway more than 10 minutes when SC made a move to one side too quickly and a loud POP! was heard all the way over into the sidelines. SC fell into the sand, grasping his left knee. Lesbians descended upon him with ice packs and a medical kit immediately. Everyone watching turned to each other and mumbled things like "Did you hear it snap? I heard it snap!", and "That's a ligament!", and "Holy shit, that must hurt!"
The lesbians scooped him up and propped him up on the far side of the field in a lawn chair with ice packs and play resumed. I used this opportunity to make my way around the edge of the field to get to him. He seemed pleased that I had made it.
"Did you just get here?" he asked.
"A few minutes before your bowl of Rice Krispies," I replied.
"Huh?"
"Snap, Crackle, Pop!"
"Oh, yeah. Well, it happens."
"We need to get you to an Emergency Room."
"No way. I don't have medical insurance. I need to get home, but my car isn't here yet."
"I called TNF (the new friend) and he said he was coming, but I don't see him." I said.
"Yeah, well, he's probably still at the car wash."
"Right. And, WHY is he at the car wash with your Jeep?"
"Because we went out drinking last night and he vomitted all over the inside of it on the way home."
Okay. Sexual Chocolate, the aggressive top chaser who is always trying to get into MY pants, went out drinking with a new friend of mine who seemed really into ME just on Friday night.
"You asked TNF to go out drinking with you last night?"
"No." He said, matter-of-factly, "HE called ME."
It's Sunday afternoon and things seem to have changed pretty quickly.
I went to my truck, got my cellphone and called TNF. He was still at the car wash.
"Still there?" I asked.
"Yep..."
"SC told me what happened."
"Oh, God! I'm so embarrassed."
"Don't be. These things happen. But, the news is that SC has turned his knee. People here seem to think it's his ACL and he needs to get home."
"I don't know how much longer this will take. I'm having the entire interior detailed."
"Well, how about I come by and wait with you? When the Jeep is finished you can follow me back here to the bar."
"That would be great!"
I checked in with SC, who wanted to watch more of the tourny, and I left for the car wash. When I got there, I found TNF in the lobby with a sheepish look on his face.
"So, when you want to go out drinking Sexual Chocolate is your go-to guy?" I asked. I'll admit it, my feelings were hurt that he hadn't at least ASKED me if I wanted to go out.
"I guess so. Man, I feel bad about all of this."
"Well," I said, "This is why I stopped drinking. I don't miss those years."
And then he looked me right in the eye and said:
"Well, I have a few more of "those years" left in me."
We got the Jeep back to the bar, loaded SC into my truck, and TNF followed us back to SC's place in the Jeep. We got SC comfortable on the livingroom sofa, with his leg propped up and iced down. I checked the freezer to make sure there was plenty of ice for future use. We put his laptop close so that he could cruise the internet.
TNF wanted to catch some dinner together, so I took him to a favorite Mexican joint and we ate. I took him back to get his car at the bar and we went our separate ways.
This was all last Sunday, a week ago, mind you. I checked in with SC last night and found out that the two of them went out again on Friday night. Things got chaotic then as well. I'll spare you the details.
SC's knee is doing better. He has a brace for it, never went to the hospital, and is hoping it will just get better on its own. There was a big pool party last night at the home of someone I have never met, so although I was invited by friends, I didn't go. It's just a rule I have. I have to be invited by the person hosting the party. I don't just show up.
When I found out Sexual Chocolate wasn't going to the party either, I made a batch of mac and cheese and sausages wrapped in cresent rolls and took them over to him. We sat on his sofa and watched a Harry Potter movie on network TV. It was a quiet evening. SC tells me that he and TNF have not had ANY sexual encounters. They are just drinking buddies now. No one thought to call me, because everyone knows I don't drink (much).
SC tried to seduce me as we sat there last night, which was actually funny with him being a gimp right now and all. I pushed him away and we laughed each time he came at me. I tried, once again, to tell SC that I'm not comfortable being a bottom. He's not buying it.
I'm not sure I'm ever going to fit in. This is WAY too hard for me to figure out.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Sunday MopUp 04/06/08
Friday Night Lights
Wow! What an incredible Friday night I just had! I put in a full day at the office, and then arranged a little get together with 5 friends at a favorite pizzeria that I used to frequent regularly. I've been unable to go back to this place since my liquid diet, and following the lap-band surgery, so I took advantage of being in the small window of opportunity before I get the band filled on Thursday, and invited some friends to check the place out. Everyone seemed to agree that the pizza is awesome, and I really enjoyed the company of these guys, some of whom I have not had any contact with in months and months. I hope they enjoyed themselves as well, and that we can find ways of socializing more in the future. It's kind of up to them; I'm certainly eager to rekindle the friendship.
After the Starchfest, three of us went to the movies. Finally saw "21", and was a tad bit disappointed. Kevin Spacey was the producer, as well as a star in this. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't a bad movie, it just was a bit formulaic and superficial. There were some soundtrack surprises in it, though. An LCD Soundsystem track in the middle of the movie, and a killer remix of "You Can't Always Get What You Want" by Soulwax during the end credits really rocked. Is Kevin Spacey gay? My gaydar always goes off when he is on screen.
After the movie, the three of us dropped in at the local gay bear/leather bar in town. As the designated driver, I didn't drink. Lots of hot guys, but also lots of fem twinks sporting moustaches and boots trying to look butch. When did being a "bear" turn into a costume change?
I happened upon a few instances of sex occurring in dark corners and it made me laugh. As a counterculture, we have our priorities, huh?
I was able to spend some time with a new friend and am hoping that we get to know each other better. Really sweet man. I am happy to report that I did not try to lure him home, but it was a real inner battle to keep from doing so. I am interested in making friends, not hooking up. I kept repeating this to myself as we talked (and necked).
I didn't get home until nearly 4AM. I slept until 1PM Saturday afternoon. Jimmy can't party like a Rockstar anymore.
Volleyball
Sexual Chocolate is playing in a volleyball tournament at another gay/lesbian bar up the street today. I'm leaving here in just a few minutes to join a friend there and watch a group of gay men get their asses handed to them by a group of lesbians. We'll have a few beers and laugh like schoolgirls and root for anyone and everyone. It's beautiful weather outside today. This will be a blast.
Friday Night Lights
Wow! What an incredible Friday night I just had! I put in a full day at the office, and then arranged a little get together with 5 friends at a favorite pizzeria that I used to frequent regularly. I've been unable to go back to this place since my liquid diet, and following the lap-band surgery, so I took advantage of being in the small window of opportunity before I get the band filled on Thursday, and invited some friends to check the place out. Everyone seemed to agree that the pizza is awesome, and I really enjoyed the company of these guys, some of whom I have not had any contact with in months and months. I hope they enjoyed themselves as well, and that we can find ways of socializing more in the future. It's kind of up to them; I'm certainly eager to rekindle the friendship.
After the Starchfest, three of us went to the movies. Finally saw "21", and was a tad bit disappointed. Kevin Spacey was the producer, as well as a star in this. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't a bad movie, it just was a bit formulaic and superficial. There were some soundtrack surprises in it, though. An LCD Soundsystem track in the middle of the movie, and a killer remix of "You Can't Always Get What You Want" by Soulwax during the end credits really rocked. Is Kevin Spacey gay? My gaydar always goes off when he is on screen.
After the movie, the three of us dropped in at the local gay bear/leather bar in town. As the designated driver, I didn't drink. Lots of hot guys, but also lots of fem twinks sporting moustaches and boots trying to look butch. When did being a "bear" turn into a costume change?
I happened upon a few instances of sex occurring in dark corners and it made me laugh. As a counterculture, we have our priorities, huh?
I was able to spend some time with a new friend and am hoping that we get to know each other better. Really sweet man. I am happy to report that I did not try to lure him home, but it was a real inner battle to keep from doing so. I am interested in making friends, not hooking up. I kept repeating this to myself as we talked (and necked).
I didn't get home until nearly 4AM. I slept until 1PM Saturday afternoon. Jimmy can't party like a Rockstar anymore.
Volleyball
Sexual Chocolate is playing in a volleyball tournament at another gay/lesbian bar up the street today. I'm leaving here in just a few minutes to join a friend there and watch a group of gay men get their asses handed to them by a group of lesbians. We'll have a few beers and laugh like schoolgirls and root for anyone and everyone. It's beautiful weather outside today. This will be a blast.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Sunday MopUp 03/30/08
As I sit here, Texas is getting the snot beat out of them in the NCAA tournament. I've got a date tonight, and I'm playing Susie Hairy Homemaker while I throw together a post and call it my Sunday MopUp. Feel free to dust while you read.
The Date
...is with Sexual Chocolate. I love this guy, but I've been keeping him at arm's length as of late. And he has called me on it. I was supposed to see him last night, and I cancelled on him. It hasn't been the first time. He reminded me that what I was doing was "lame". I've gotta agree. I think we'll see a movie tonight, I'd like to see "21". Not much else out there, movie-wise.
I KNOW what my hesitancy is about, by the way. This is about my realization that being a bottom doesn't really work for me. And SC is a hardcore top. I'm afraid that if I turn him down, I'll lose a friend. I've been losing friends lately, and it doesn't make me feel good. Ya know?
Oh, remember the hot sex I had with the guy who turned out to be a powerbottom? Not a word from him. Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zilch.
[heavy sigh]
Called My Mother
this weekend. She kept me on the phone for two solid hours, and I don't think I got a word in edgewise. She's lonely. It's still freezing in Michigan. She has been depressed lately. So, I let her talk. And talk. I hope it helped. My ear is still sore.
The Antique Mantle Clock
My older sister, Rebel, was a collector. She spent weekends searching for shit at local flea markets, and was quite good at spotting, and buying, neat stuff. Stuff I would never spend a penny on, by the way.
Well, when I moved into this townhouse 8 years ago, she gave me a mantle clock. I dont have a mantle to put it on, but that didn't matter. It is a wind-up chime time piece and it is an antique. Along with the clock came they key that you use to wind it. Rebecca made it a point to tell me not to lose the key.
I lost it within a month.
I never told her this, and she would ask me on the phone, now and then, if I still enjoyed the clock. I assured her that I did, although all it was doing was sitting silently on my china buffet in the livingroom. It hasn't ticked, let alone chimed, in years and years.
And now my older sister is gone.
Well, I recently found the key, stuffed at the back of a drawer in my rolltop desk. I wound the clock back up, and it is ticking and chiming right along now. And, with every BONG I hear in the middle of the night, I think of my sister. I think she'd be pleased that the clock is functioning again.
I miss her. That clock is very important to me now.
Ummm...I'm gonna go now. I appreciate that you looked in on me. Hope you are well.
As I sit here, Texas is getting the snot beat out of them in the NCAA tournament. I've got a date tonight, and I'm playing Susie Hairy Homemaker while I throw together a post and call it my Sunday MopUp. Feel free to dust while you read.
The Date
...is with Sexual Chocolate. I love this guy, but I've been keeping him at arm's length as of late. And he has called me on it. I was supposed to see him last night, and I cancelled on him. It hasn't been the first time. He reminded me that what I was doing was "lame". I've gotta agree. I think we'll see a movie tonight, I'd like to see "21". Not much else out there, movie-wise.
I KNOW what my hesitancy is about, by the way. This is about my realization that being a bottom doesn't really work for me. And SC is a hardcore top. I'm afraid that if I turn him down, I'll lose a friend. I've been losing friends lately, and it doesn't make me feel good. Ya know?
Oh, remember the hot sex I had with the guy who turned out to be a powerbottom? Not a word from him. Nothing. Nada. Zero. Zilch.
[heavy sigh]
Called My Mother
this weekend. She kept me on the phone for two solid hours, and I don't think I got a word in edgewise. She's lonely. It's still freezing in Michigan. She has been depressed lately. So, I let her talk. And talk. I hope it helped. My ear is still sore.
The Antique Mantle Clock
My older sister, Rebel, was a collector. She spent weekends searching for shit at local flea markets, and was quite good at spotting, and buying, neat stuff. Stuff I would never spend a penny on, by the way.
Well, when I moved into this townhouse 8 years ago, she gave me a mantle clock. I dont have a mantle to put it on, but that didn't matter. It is a wind-up chime time piece and it is an antique. Along with the clock came they key that you use to wind it. Rebecca made it a point to tell me not to lose the key.
I lost it within a month.
I never told her this, and she would ask me on the phone, now and then, if I still enjoyed the clock. I assured her that I did, although all it was doing was sitting silently on my china buffet in the livingroom. It hasn't ticked, let alone chimed, in years and years.
And now my older sister is gone.
Well, I recently found the key, stuffed at the back of a drawer in my rolltop desk. I wound the clock back up, and it is ticking and chiming right along now. And, with every BONG I hear in the middle of the night, I think of my sister. I think she'd be pleased that the clock is functioning again.
I miss her. That clock is very important to me now.
Ummm...I'm gonna go now. I appreciate that you looked in on me. Hope you are well.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Sunday MopUp 03/23/08
For the love of God! It's after 4PM and I have not even STARTED thinking about what crap to re-hash here on my semi-regular news roundup that I have the arrogance to refer to as my "Sunday MopUp". Stand by, and let's see what I pull outta my ass, 'k?
Food, Glorious Food!
As of last Friday, I am allowed to have solid food again. Well, truth be told, I have had little bits and pieces of things prior to that date, but Friday was the day I could eat and not feel like I was disobeying the Doctor. I took the day off from work on Friday (no, not to EAT! ...to celebrate the First Day Of Spring, ya smartasses!) and had a great day. I ran to the track and lost some serious money, I went to the clothes store and fantasized about being able, one day, to wear clothes several sizes smaller than I currently am, and I stopped at a little Mom & Pop diner for lunch.
I'm ALL ABOUT little, non-chained restaurants. Owner operated little places are the only place to find real food, in my humble opinion. Ritzy steakhouses may be my exception to my rule.
I ordered a chopped steak with mushrooms and cheese, a side of green beans, and a side of carrots. Jesus, there was food everywhere! Must have taken me 45 minutes to eat, and I still left stuff on my plate. It was okay, but it wasn't what I was searching for.
Here's the main thing: I realized that what I was REALLY missing wasn't the "eating" as much as the "cooking". In bed that night, I made a grocery list (cuz, dudes, there was NOTHING in my kitchen to eat) and began the plans to cook for myself Saturday.
On Saturday, I blasted to the store and was drunk with power as I wandered the aisles, realizing that grocery shopping is really kinda cool. All the choices, all the options. YAY! And, is it me, or have food costs really gone up in the mere six weeks since I last bought anything? Fuckaroo!
Returning home, I got right to work. I made a casserole, so that I could eat off of it all week long. It was a chicken and rice dish, spiced up with southwestern flavors. Fresh mushrooms and onions were cooked in a mushroom sauce that also had diced tomatoes and mild green chilis in it. In the casserole dish, I put the rice on the bottom, then a layer of Mexican corn (sweet corn with red and green peppers in it), and arranged the boneless, skinless white and dark chicken pieces, which were seasoned and browned with salt, pepper, garlic, paprika, and cumin over that, and then poured the sauce over everything and baked for 45 minutes. Oh, did I mention that there was a layer of cheese on top of that? Yes. I know. I'm a pig.
Now, when I had a little dish of THIS that night, I was in HEAVEN! I had better like it, because I made enough to feed an army. I can't eat much at any given time, my stomach just aches and I know it is time to stop, But I am LOVING that the portions it takes to fill me up are so small - and I haven't even had the band "filled" yet. Once that happens (April 10th) I will not be able to eat more than a half a cup of anything, lest I barf it all up. Exciting, no? You KNOW I was dying to get gross for a second...
I also purchased a bag of salad and a beautiful piece of salmon for later in the week when the sight of that casserole makes me gag.
Oh, by the way, for those of you out there that care about calories and sugar an' stuff: have you found the Slim-a-Bear (no kidding!) ice cream bars in the grocery freezer? Yup, they are made by the Klondike ice cream people, and these ice cream bars are only 100 calories, and there is no sugar added. Does it taste like Haagan -Daz? Ummm...hell, no. Is it a good substitute when you are jonesing for an ice cream fix? Holy Fuck, YES! Check them out and thank me (blowjobs accepted) later!
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