Quiet Desperation
My college friend, Buttercup, just called me to tell me she got a traffic ticket. Nothing is ever routine with her, so I was not surprised that, by the end of the phone call, I was laughing heartily at her plight.
Buttercup was speeding across town to pick up her son from softball practice. She was weaving in and out of traffic and was pulled over by a policeman. She had actually attempted to outrun the cop, but changed her mind and surrendered to the authorities.
"Why are you trembling?" the cop asked her.
"Because I'm in big trouble," she replied, her voice quavering.
He asked to see her license and proof of insurance. She had no license due to some oversight in renewal or somesuch nonsense. When Buttercup pulled down her visor to show her insurance documents, another traffic ticket fell out of it and into her lap.
"What's that one for?" the cop asked.
"Driving without a license," she answered.
Somehow she talked her way out of trouble. Just like she always did in college. We went to a Christian college in Kentucky, and Buttercup often had some personal challenges in adhering to the many rules. She had a particular problem with curfew, which was 11 p.m. After smoking some pot one night, she climbed through the window into the lobby of her dorm after curfew. She picked the wrong window to enter. It was the window right behind the television set, which several curfew-observing Christian girls were watching at the time. She climbed through and addressed the righteous ladies. "Whatcha watching?" I swear that Jennifer Saunders must have modeled Edina Monsoon after my friend Buttercup.
I remember when Buttercup avoided some tickets in college by speaking only French to the cop when he stopped her. I asked if that is how she dealt with the situation this time.
"No, I still had to go down to the police station and get my driver's license renewed, but they wouldn't renew it because I had, like a hundred outstanding tickets. So I told them my Dad lives with us and is getting really old and hides the mail."
As pathetically hilarious as Buttercup's life can be, I think I found someone I pity even more. The other night I ran into my friend Drunko. The last time I saw him, I was picking him up off the floor of CC's after he fell onto a table and broke a couple glasses.
"I'm doing better tonight than the last time you saw me," he said as he mistakenly picked up my beer and started drinking it.
"I can see that," I replied.
"Did you go see that guy who lived somewhere else?" he asked, proving that my blog readers aren't the only ones who were subjected to crunch stories for two months. I told him my trip was great and asked him about his dating life recently.
"Oh, yeah, I'm dating this really great looking guy," Drunko told me. I asked where his boyfriend was. "He is grounded," said Drunko, who is 30.
Drunko's boyfriend is 19, and his parents grounded him. I was so amused and shocked that I forgot to ask why the boyfriend was grounded. For some reason Thoreau's words about "lives of quiet desperation" entered my mind.
Yesterday I was feeling like such a screw-up. Today I began thinking about my friends and how equally screwed up they are. None of us are exempt. All of us have shortcomings as well as strengths. Whether we are dating totally inappropriate people or falling in love with awesome, but unattainable, men or accumulating traffic tickets and lying to cover our tracks, we are all just trying to get by.
I am glad I have the problems I have. I don't want to trade with anybody else. But if I were given a choice between Drunko's and Buttercup's situations, I think I would rather have the hundred traffic tickets.
Unless the 19-year-old is, like, totally hot.
Friday, July 30, 2004
Thursday, July 29, 2004
The Patron Saint of The Path of Least Resistance
That's me. If there is an easy way out, I will find it.
I was in college when I first realized this. I was studying Psychology. My friend, Chip, asked me why I chose that as my major.
"Because it's easy, and I'm good at it."
Chip was stunned. He couldn't believe I chose my major based on the lack of effort it required. Successful people don't think that way, do they? Chip has produced documentaries for National Geographic. He always has a new art project or screenplay in progress.
My friend Marco, whose first novel will be published in a few weeks, often reviews my rough drafts for essays or theatre pieces and writes "CDB" next to my paragraphs and sentences. CDB means "could do better". I get a lot of CDBs on my work.
It is easier for me to write, "I am so tired today" than it is to come up with something snappy like, "my energy level is lower than Paris Hilton's IQ..." or whatever. (Or whatever. Such a lazy way to end a sentence...)
Last night I was talking to Juju about a possible job opportunity that I have. She said that she has heard me voice frustrations about my current situation for over a year but has never seen me take action to change it. Ouch. The truth hurts.
I'm becoming dissatisfied with my willingness to take the easy way out. The easiest way out is often inertia. I have been told that I have a gift for writing, and I have done so little with it. I told someone yesterday that the reason I haven't written a book is that nobody is standing over my shoulder telling me I have to complete it before I am 40.
Famous Author Rob Byrnes told me "we're through" if I didn't write a manuscript in two months. That was three months ago, and I haven't even attempted an outline. So far he hasn't withdrawn his friendship, for which I'm grateful. I'm not looking for comfort, here. I won't get anywhere if people keep telling me to "stop being so hard on myself..."
Maybe if I were harder on myself, I would develop some discipline and stop cruising through life accomplishing nothing. Okay, if I could be more objective here, I would say that I actually have accomplished a few things. I've written a one act play that was well-received by the audience. I've collaborated with other writers/actors to create three shows that have been relatively successful. But there is a glaring red-inked CDB scrawled over these achievements.
I've never published anything. I've never even tried. I don't know where to begin. And, so far, I have been too lazy to seek out the answers. Maybe admitting this to themillions dozens who read Toaster Oven is a step in the right direction.
That's me. If there is an easy way out, I will find it.
I was in college when I first realized this. I was studying Psychology. My friend, Chip, asked me why I chose that as my major.
"Because it's easy, and I'm good at it."
Chip was stunned. He couldn't believe I chose my major based on the lack of effort it required. Successful people don't think that way, do they? Chip has produced documentaries for National Geographic. He always has a new art project or screenplay in progress.
My friend Marco, whose first novel will be published in a few weeks, often reviews my rough drafts for essays or theatre pieces and writes "CDB" next to my paragraphs and sentences. CDB means "could do better". I get a lot of CDBs on my work.
It is easier for me to write, "I am so tired today" than it is to come up with something snappy like, "my energy level is lower than Paris Hilton's IQ..." or whatever. (Or whatever. Such a lazy way to end a sentence...)
Last night I was talking to Juju about a possible job opportunity that I have. She said that she has heard me voice frustrations about my current situation for over a year but has never seen me take action to change it. Ouch. The truth hurts.
I'm becoming dissatisfied with my willingness to take the easy way out. The easiest way out is often inertia. I have been told that I have a gift for writing, and I have done so little with it. I told someone yesterday that the reason I haven't written a book is that nobody is standing over my shoulder telling me I have to complete it before I am 40.
Famous Author Rob Byrnes told me "we're through" if I didn't write a manuscript in two months. That was three months ago, and I haven't even attempted an outline. So far he hasn't withdrawn his friendship, for which I'm grateful. I'm not looking for comfort, here. I won't get anywhere if people keep telling me to "stop being so hard on myself..."
Maybe if I were harder on myself, I would develop some discipline and stop cruising through life accomplishing nothing. Okay, if I could be more objective here, I would say that I actually have accomplished a few things. I've written a one act play that was well-received by the audience. I've collaborated with other writers/actors to create three shows that have been relatively successful. But there is a glaring red-inked CDB scrawled over these achievements.
I've never published anything. I've never even tried. I don't know where to begin. And, so far, I have been too lazy to seek out the answers. Maybe admitting this to the
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
Banking 101
I just realized I only get three free withdrawals from my savings account each month. After that, I am charged $3 each time I make a withdrawal from my savings account.
When I realized this, I called the bank to see if I could have the fees removed from my account. I almost always try to get fees waived from my accounts, and am often successful. Today, however, I failed to convince my bank that they should reverse the charges. Why? Because the customer service guy sounded cute, and he made me laugh. I couldn't play hardball. I melted.
ME: I didn't know I was being charged for going over my maximum number of withdrawals.
CUTE-SOUNDING (POSSIBLY SHIRTLESS?) CUSTOMER SERVICE REP: Yes, sir. You only get three free withdrawals.
ME: Why?
C-S(PS)CSR: This encourages you to use the account appropriately.
ME: Huh?
C-S(PS)CSR: It is a savings account. The idea behind that type of account is to save money.
ME: (Laughing and feeling incredibly stupid) Yes, I think I may have heard of that financial strategy.
C-S(PS)CSR: I know I sound a lot like your ex-boyfriend right now, but you really should think about saving money and using your checking account for ATM withdrawals when you are at CC Slaughters and decide to spend another $20 on drinks. I am rubbing my chest right now as I lean back in my office chair. Are you playing with the putty on your desk? I know that you enjoy kneading it in your hands as you listen to my voice...
He didn't really say that last part. But he would be right if he had. He did sound like my ex, and he did raise a good point (along with raising other things). I need to stop spending my savings! How else am I going to get to New York this winter?
Last night, while helping The Executive prepare for Monday's recycling pick-up by draining his bottles of Maker's Mark, he and I discussed a possible plan for visiting our many new NYC blogger friends in December. But how will I come up with the money?
Maybe I should make monthly payments to the financial wiz, The Executive, and he could work his magic. When I say "work his magic" I mean that he could "not spend it" for me. Because the ability to not spend money truly is magical in my opinion. I do not have that mysterious superpower. My superpowers include mouthing off to authority figures without getting in trouble and the ability to attract men who want to be stapled. Oh, and I also have a knack for buying mac & cheese and somehow receiving an extra packet of cheese in the box. But I have not mastered money-saving magic.
And now I'm going to call my bank again. I'll be checking my balance a lot today as I play with my putty.
I just realized I only get three free withdrawals from my savings account each month. After that, I am charged $3 each time I make a withdrawal from my savings account.
When I realized this, I called the bank to see if I could have the fees removed from my account. I almost always try to get fees waived from my accounts, and am often successful. Today, however, I failed to convince my bank that they should reverse the charges. Why? Because the customer service guy sounded cute, and he made me laugh. I couldn't play hardball. I melted.
ME: I didn't know I was being charged for going over my maximum number of withdrawals.
CUTE-SOUNDING (POSSIBLY SHIRTLESS?) CUSTOMER SERVICE REP: Yes, sir. You only get three free withdrawals.
ME: Why?
C-S(PS)CSR: This encourages you to use the account appropriately.
ME: Huh?
C-S(PS)CSR: It is a savings account. The idea behind that type of account is to save money.
ME: (Laughing and feeling incredibly stupid) Yes, I think I may have heard of that financial strategy.
C-S(PS)CSR: I know I sound a lot like your ex-boyfriend right now, but you really should think about saving money and using your checking account for ATM withdrawals when you are at CC Slaughters and decide to spend another $20 on drinks. I am rubbing my chest right now as I lean back in my office chair. Are you playing with the putty on your desk? I know that you enjoy kneading it in your hands as you listen to my voice...
He didn't really say that last part. But he would be right if he had. He did sound like my ex, and he did raise a good point (along with raising other things). I need to stop spending my savings! How else am I going to get to New York this winter?
Last night, while helping The Executive prepare for Monday's recycling pick-up by draining his bottles of Maker's Mark, he and I discussed a possible plan for visiting our many new NYC blogger friends in December. But how will I come up with the money?
Maybe I should make monthly payments to the financial wiz, The Executive, and he could work his magic. When I say "work his magic" I mean that he could "not spend it" for me. Because the ability to not spend money truly is magical in my opinion. I do not have that mysterious superpower. My superpowers include mouthing off to authority figures without getting in trouble and the ability to attract men who want to be stapled. Oh, and I also have a knack for buying mac & cheese and somehow receiving an extra packet of cheese in the box. But I have not mastered money-saving magic.
And now I'm going to call my bank again. I'll be checking my balance a lot today as I play with my putty.
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Happy Birthday, Baby!
My Yum Yum brother, The Dancer, is turning 21!
As he's reminded me, he wasn't even born when I was writing diary entries like this:
May 28, 1982
I loved ANNIE! It's the best musical in the world. I wouldn't mind watching it 13 times!
Yum Yum Matty,
Even though some of us are old enough to be your father, we love you like a brother.
I, for one, am extremely proud of you. You're smart and cute. You're talented and strong. You are funny and warm. You'll go far in life, and I hope I am by your side watching you grow and thrive over the years.
I am amazed and envious that you came out at such a young age. When I was 21, I was secretly fantasizing about him while pretending to be attracted to her.
It must be thrilling to be open about your sexuality as you enter your twenties. I will never know that thrill, but I'm glad I'm your friend so I can bask in who you are.
You did, however, miss out on a lot by being born so late. You never got a chance to lust over the steamy homoerotic storylines of Dynasty, for example.
You'll never know the joy of having these men as role models.
My wish for you on your birthday is that you will never have to lie about who you are. I want you to always be proud.
One of my favorite series is Tales of the City, by Armistead Maupin.
My birthday gift to you is the first two books in the series. Let's talk about these stories together - maybe you've seen the films based on the books. If not, you'll have fun watching them!
One of my favorite characters, Michael or "Mouse" sends the following words to his mother when he comes out to her, and I want to share these sentiments with you. You are blessed to be surrounded by this group of older gay brothers. Again, I envy you.
I love you, Matty...
From More Tales of the City:
ALL The Yum Yums love you, Matty.
My Yum Yum brother, The Dancer, is turning 21!
As he's reminded me, he wasn't even born when I was writing diary entries like this:
May 28, 1982
I loved ANNIE! It's the best musical in the world. I wouldn't mind watching it 13 times!
Yum Yum Matty,
Even though some of us are old enough to be your father, we love you like a brother.
I, for one, am extremely proud of you. You're smart and cute. You're talented and strong. You are funny and warm. You'll go far in life, and I hope I am by your side watching you grow and thrive over the years.
I am amazed and envious that you came out at such a young age. When I was 21, I was secretly fantasizing about him while pretending to be attracted to her.
It must be thrilling to be open about your sexuality as you enter your twenties. I will never know that thrill, but I'm glad I'm your friend so I can bask in who you are.
You did, however, miss out on a lot by being born so late. You never got a chance to lust over the steamy homoerotic storylines of Dynasty, for example.
You'll never know the joy of having these men as role models.
My wish for you on your birthday is that you will never have to lie about who you are. I want you to always be proud.
One of my favorite series is Tales of the City, by Armistead Maupin.
My birthday gift to you is the first two books in the series. Let's talk about these stories together - maybe you've seen the films based on the books. If not, you'll have fun watching them!
One of my favorite characters, Michael or "Mouse" sends the following words to his mother when he comes out to her, and I want to share these sentiments with you. You are blessed to be surrounded by this group of older gay brothers. Again, I envy you.
I love you, Matty...
From More Tales of the City:
I know I can't tell you what it is to be gay. But I can tell you what it's not.
It's not hiding behind words, Mama. Like family and decency and Christianity. It's not fearing your body, or the pleasures that God made for it. It's not judging your neighbor, except when he's crass or unkind.
Being gay has taught me tolerance, compassion and humility. It has shown me the limitless possibilities of living. It has given me people whose passion and kindness and sensitivity have provided a constant source of strength.
It has brought me into the family of man, Mama, and I like it here. I like it.
ALL The Yum Yums love you, Matty.
The Day I Will Never Forget
I knew something weird was going on today.
I drank too much with THP and Apollo last night. So, I woke up late. I couldn't find one of my black shoes and had to change my shirt and belt to match the brown shoes I could find.
THP made me vegetarian chili for dinner and said I could bring some to work for lunch today. I put the chili in a tupperware and left it sitting on the dining room table.
I was late to work. I scratched my car against a pillar in the parking garage.
But none of this tops the fact that I have been PUNKed today. In a big way. Far beyond any practical joke I could ever devise.
My hats are off to the most evil bloggers ever: Patrick, The Executive, Famous Author Rob Byrnes, Michael Vernon, Crash, Chrisafer and Gatsby's Ghost.
And I thought we were friends. Well, except for Rob.
I knew something weird was going on today.
I drank too much with THP and Apollo last night. So, I woke up late. I couldn't find one of my black shoes and had to change my shirt and belt to match the brown shoes I could find.
THP made me vegetarian chili for dinner and said I could bring some to work for lunch today. I put the chili in a tupperware and left it sitting on the dining room table.
I was late to work. I scratched my car against a pillar in the parking garage.
But none of this tops the fact that I have been PUNKed today. In a big way. Far beyond any practical joke I could ever devise.
My hats are off to the most evil bloggers ever: Patrick, The Executive, Famous Author Rob Byrnes, Michael Vernon, Crash, Chrisafer and Gatsby's Ghost.
And I thought we were friends. Well, except for Rob.
Monday, July 26, 2004
Let's Hang Out
Aaron and I drank too much Jagermeister last night. Then we fell into bed and messed around for a few hours.
I must confess. I'm lying. Aaron lives in the East Village in New York and just put himself into that photo. But it almost seems as if our wild date really happened.
I wish I could share the other picture he sent me, but I can't because it made me blush.
I've always loved the images on 1000 Words, and I love what Aaron can do with an ordinary photograph. (Yes, I love the words too!) If you haven't seen his site, you really should go check it out.
Maybe you and I should hang out together too. If you create the picture, I'll create the story.
Aaron and I drank too much Jagermeister last night. Then we fell into bed and messed around for a few hours.
I must confess. I'm lying. Aaron lives in the East Village in New York and just put himself into that photo. But it almost seems as if our wild date really happened.
I wish I could share the other picture he sent me, but I can't because it made me blush.
I've always loved the images on 1000 Words, and I love what Aaron can do with an ordinary photograph. (Yes, I love the words too!) If you haven't seen his site, you really should go check it out.
Maybe you and I should hang out together too. If you create the picture, I'll create the story.
Is That a Staple in Your Thigh or Are You Just Happy to See Me?
I thought the weirdest thing about my date this weekend was that he claims to be eighty percent straight. I'm trying to decide if the percentage changes each time we sleep together. Does he become more gay with each of our sexual encounters?
I feel for 80/20 because he is really confused right now. He told me this weekend that all of his one night stands have been with men and all of his relationships have been with women. I think he is having a hard time because we've been more than a one night stand but are not really "in a relationship".
Well, I now realize that the weirdest thing about 80/20 is not his confusion. It is the fact that he likes to staple himself. And he demonstrated how he likes to flog himself with a belt covered in metal studs. He asked me to feel the welts left by the belt.
I am willing to try a lot of new things, but so far I have never hit one of my dates. I kind of try to avoid hitting or hurting my dates. I don't know what to do now.
Recently, I watched the DVD commentary for an episode in the final season of Sex and the City. The director mentioned that Aiden was Carrie's emotional match and Burger was Carrie's mental match. 80/20 seems like my mental match. We spar verbally all the time. He and I went to dinner and exchanged funny quips throughout the meal. He wants to bring back the limerick, and he quoted one he wrote about an airplane engine. It was brilliant and funny. 80/20 has so much to say and has a knack for using language creatively. He's passionate about music and really impresses me with his knowledge of various musical styles and artists. He makes great cuban coffee. He likes to cuddle. He is interesting and sexy to me. But I am extremely guarded about allowing myself to care too much too soon. Especially since he is not clear about what he wants.
Yum Yum Marco and I had a great talk yesterday as we floated in a swimming pool at a big gay party. He told me that he doesn't think my recent string of strange dates are a reflection on me. He says I am not doing anything wrong. The right guy just hasn't come along yet. I hope Marco is right. Maybe I had it too easy the first time. Meeting CT was memorable and powerful.
I remember the day CT walked into rehearsal for a show I was in. I stopped in my tracks and felt myself draw in a quick breath. "Welcome to the show," I said. He smiled and later told me he fell for me in that instant. Five months later we lived together.
I guess I already had my "love at first sight" moment, so it is only fair that I experience a string of romantic misses. But I am a little bit like Veruca Salt...
I thought the weirdest thing about my date this weekend was that he claims to be eighty percent straight. I'm trying to decide if the percentage changes each time we sleep together. Does he become more gay with each of our sexual encounters?
I feel for 80/20 because he is really confused right now. He told me this weekend that all of his one night stands have been with men and all of his relationships have been with women. I think he is having a hard time because we've been more than a one night stand but are not really "in a relationship".
Well, I now realize that the weirdest thing about 80/20 is not his confusion. It is the fact that he likes to staple himself. And he demonstrated how he likes to flog himself with a belt covered in metal studs. He asked me to feel the welts left by the belt.
I am willing to try a lot of new things, but so far I have never hit one of my dates. I kind of try to avoid hitting or hurting my dates. I don't know what to do now.
Recently, I watched the DVD commentary for an episode in the final season of Sex and the City. The director mentioned that Aiden was Carrie's emotional match and Burger was Carrie's mental match. 80/20 seems like my mental match. We spar verbally all the time. He and I went to dinner and exchanged funny quips throughout the meal. He wants to bring back the limerick, and he quoted one he wrote about an airplane engine. It was brilliant and funny. 80/20 has so much to say and has a knack for using language creatively. He's passionate about music and really impresses me with his knowledge of various musical styles and artists. He makes great cuban coffee. He likes to cuddle. He is interesting and sexy to me. But I am extremely guarded about allowing myself to care too much too soon. Especially since he is not clear about what he wants.
Yum Yum Marco and I had a great talk yesterday as we floated in a swimming pool at a big gay party. He told me that he doesn't think my recent string of strange dates are a reflection on me. He says I am not doing anything wrong. The right guy just hasn't come along yet. I hope Marco is right. Maybe I had it too easy the first time. Meeting CT was memorable and powerful.
I remember the day CT walked into rehearsal for a show I was in. I stopped in my tracks and felt myself draw in a quick breath. "Welcome to the show," I said. He smiled and later told me he fell for me in that instant. Five months later we lived together.
I guess I already had my "love at first sight" moment, so it is only fair that I experience a string of romantic misses. But I am a little bit like Veruca Salt...
I want the world.
I want the whole world.
I want to lock it up in my pocket
It's my bar of chocolate
Give it to me now!
Friday, July 23, 2004
Tribe or Mary or Elephant Ears
I feel like Mary Ingalls this morning.
Remember when Mary went blind, and she sat on her bed screaming for Pa? She had a terrified look on her face and tears poured out of her eyes as she cried, "I can't see! It's so dark! It's so dark!"
Well, that is how I feel this morning except that I just had a breakfast burrito (she didn't) and I can see (she couldn't) and I'm actually not even terrified (she was).
Yeah. That wasn't a good analogy.
But one of my co-workers did bring in some weird pastry thing (Elephant Ears?) She brought me two of them but I can't even bring myself to take a bite. They are the strangest pastry ever. Unless there is a pastry made out of mermaid heads. Then THAT would be the strangest pastry ever.
I have been busy with the Gay Bloggers tribe for the past couple days. I'm afraid that we are all going to spend more time messaging about blogging than we are going to spend actually blogging. And now I am blogging about messaging about blogging. I am afraid I might be caught in one of those loops, what do you call it? A fruit loop or something. Some of us in Tribe are worried that we won't be able to keep up with work. I'm worried, not entirely unlike blind Mary Ingalls as she sat crying on her bed. (I knew I could work that in).
These ears are sitting on my desk begging me to try them. Can vegetarians eat elephant ears? Was Mary Ingalls vegetarian? Do you see how my mind works when I let it go? It frightens me. Pa!!!! I'm frightened!!!
Anyway, I answered my phone with my butt last night. I was sitting with THP's family and suddenly felt my cell vibrating in my back pocket. I must have shifted in a moment of pleasure, because I somehow managed to answer the phone with my butt. I promptly told the caller (Boy Hunk) that I had managed to answer the phone with my butt. I was very proud. We had some interference on the line, and he asked if my butt was cutting in. It was all very funny and uproarious and spastic.
But that is not what this post is about. This post, sponsored by Attention Deficit Disorder, is about Tribe.net. Or Mary Ingalls. Or elephant ears. Or maybe it's about....SIDEWALKS!
I noticed a ton of people hanging out on the sidewalk in front of our office this morning. I can't stand having to greet coworkers (not YOU AuburnPisces and Ms. Karma) every time I am leaving the building for a coffee break or a walk around the block. I feel like they are judging me. Even though they are standing around on the sidewalk not working either. I just hate when there are people on the sidewalk. (Some of you New York bloggers may be getting excited right about now, and you know who you are...)
I could use some coffee right now. But if I go outside I will have to deal with my coworkers clustering around the front door like penguins on the last remaining ice block during a spring thaw. Maybe I could just sit here and eat my (gag) ears. Yuck.
What would Mary Ingalls do? Probably fall down the stairs on her way outside. That was so not funny. Making fun of blind people like that. I apologize if you are blind and are reading this blog. I apologize mostly because I can't fathom how you could do that, and I'm sorry for my own confused state.
So, I guess there is no avoiding it. I will go get coffee even though there is always someone else on the sidewalk. If not, I will personally eat my ears.
I feel like Mary Ingalls this morning.
Remember when Mary went blind, and she sat on her bed screaming for Pa? She had a terrified look on her face and tears poured out of her eyes as she cried, "I can't see! It's so dark! It's so dark!"
Well, that is how I feel this morning except that I just had a breakfast burrito (she didn't) and I can see (she couldn't) and I'm actually not even terrified (she was).
Yeah. That wasn't a good analogy.
But one of my co-workers did bring in some weird pastry thing (Elephant Ears?) She brought me two of them but I can't even bring myself to take a bite. They are the strangest pastry ever. Unless there is a pastry made out of mermaid heads. Then THAT would be the strangest pastry ever.
I have been busy with the Gay Bloggers tribe for the past couple days. I'm afraid that we are all going to spend more time messaging about blogging than we are going to spend actually blogging. And now I am blogging about messaging about blogging. I am afraid I might be caught in one of those loops, what do you call it? A fruit loop or something. Some of us in Tribe are worried that we won't be able to keep up with work. I'm worried, not entirely unlike blind Mary Ingalls as she sat crying on her bed. (I knew I could work that in).
These ears are sitting on my desk begging me to try them. Can vegetarians eat elephant ears? Was Mary Ingalls vegetarian? Do you see how my mind works when I let it go? It frightens me. Pa!!!! I'm frightened!!!
Anyway, I answered my phone with my butt last night. I was sitting with THP's family and suddenly felt my cell vibrating in my back pocket. I must have shifted in a moment of pleasure, because I somehow managed to answer the phone with my butt. I promptly told the caller (Boy Hunk) that I had managed to answer the phone with my butt. I was very proud. We had some interference on the line, and he asked if my butt was cutting in. It was all very funny and uproarious and spastic.
But that is not what this post is about. This post, sponsored by Attention Deficit Disorder, is about Tribe.net. Or Mary Ingalls. Or elephant ears. Or maybe it's about....SIDEWALKS!
I noticed a ton of people hanging out on the sidewalk in front of our office this morning. I can't stand having to greet coworkers (not YOU AuburnPisces and Ms. Karma) every time I am leaving the building for a coffee break or a walk around the block. I feel like they are judging me. Even though they are standing around on the sidewalk not working either. I just hate when there are people on the sidewalk. (Some of you New York bloggers may be getting excited right about now, and you know who you are...)
I could use some coffee right now. But if I go outside I will have to deal with my coworkers clustering around the front door like penguins on the last remaining ice block during a spring thaw. Maybe I could just sit here and eat my (gag) ears. Yuck.
What would Mary Ingalls do? Probably fall down the stairs on her way outside. That was so not funny. Making fun of blind people like that. I apologize if you are blind and are reading this blog. I apologize mostly because I can't fathom how you could do that, and I'm sorry for my own confused state.
So, I guess there is no avoiding it. I will go get coffee even though there is always someone else on the sidewalk. If not, I will personally eat my ears.
Thursday, July 22, 2004
Moving into the Castle
Last night I started moving my stuff into The Handsome Prince's palace. I have never met his parents before, but I finally got a chance to yesterday. They are in town to help THP move into his house. I am certain a made a great impression on them. They were both scrubbing the kitchen floor when I arrived, and I said, "Wow, Handsome Prince, your parents sure are dirty."
I think it was too soon to initiate them into my bizarro world where that is a funny and appropriate greeting for someone you've never met.
I really love the house. And THP's parents. And the changes about to happen in my life. My room is great, and it's a lot bigger than my current bedroom. There will be plenty of space for any acrobatics I attempt in there (and I hope to be doing a lot of acrobatic activity).
THP's dad has his same blue eyes. His mom has the same cute smile. I guess I will have to start calling them The King and The Queen. They are cattle ranchers from Eastern Oregon, so our freezer will always be full of beef. As a vegetarian, that makes me so happy.
According to THP, I have too much kitsch. I'm not sure if he's referring to my artwork (framed "Laverne & Shirley with The Fonz" poster) or my decor (Pottery Barn Eiffel Tower), but he was very upset when I carried my "Snoring Witch" into the house. The Snoring Witch is asleep next to her little broom in her plastic bed and snores when you push a button. As she exhales she emits a witch's cackle.
"No, I told you I hate kitsch! No snoring witches," he bossed.
"I will only put her out at Halloween. I'll keep her in my room," I lied.
A few moments later, THP was stacking boxes in the garage and I came out to ask him if I could set up the christmas tree in the living room. His mom laughed, and I knew she was starting to appreciate Toddy's Bizarro World at last.
Last night I started moving my stuff into The Handsome Prince's palace. I have never met his parents before, but I finally got a chance to yesterday. They are in town to help THP move into his house. I am certain a made a great impression on them. They were both scrubbing the kitchen floor when I arrived, and I said, "Wow, Handsome Prince, your parents sure are dirty."
I think it was too soon to initiate them into my bizarro world where that is a funny and appropriate greeting for someone you've never met.
I really love the house. And THP's parents. And the changes about to happen in my life. My room is great, and it's a lot bigger than my current bedroom. There will be plenty of space for any acrobatics I attempt in there (and I hope to be doing a lot of acrobatic activity).
THP's dad has his same blue eyes. His mom has the same cute smile. I guess I will have to start calling them The King and The Queen. They are cattle ranchers from Eastern Oregon, so our freezer will always be full of beef. As a vegetarian, that makes me so happy.
According to THP, I have too much kitsch. I'm not sure if he's referring to my artwork (framed "Laverne & Shirley with The Fonz" poster) or my decor (Pottery Barn Eiffel Tower), but he was very upset when I carried my "Snoring Witch" into the house. The Snoring Witch is asleep next to her little broom in her plastic bed and snores when you push a button. As she exhales she emits a witch's cackle.
"No, I told you I hate kitsch! No snoring witches," he bossed.
"I will only put her out at Halloween. I'll keep her in my room," I lied.
A few moments later, THP was stacking boxes in the garage and I came out to ask him if I could set up the christmas tree in the living room. His mom laughed, and I knew she was starting to appreciate Toddy's Bizarro World at last.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
Whispered Words
"I could play with you all night..."
"Your eyes are beautiful..."
"Why don't you have a boyfriend..."
I need to hear more. Soon.
I intended on publishing a few more diary entries from 1982, but I can't concentrate right now. It's funny that I am sitting here at work trying to look productive, but if you could hear the noise in my head at this moment, you'd be amazed. Whispers from lovers past are literally echoing in my mind, and I don't know how to shut them out.
Maybe it is the fact that I'm moving this week. I'm sorting through tons of crap. Papers, notes, cards, letters and photos are crammed into boxes and drawers in my room. I finally threw out the empty ketchup bottle from this one time a special guy bought me some Heinz (I know - sick and wrong), but there are so many things I've collected from the men who have moved me that I can't part with. Yet.
I don't know why I cling so fiercely to mementoes of love (or sometimes just sex). This practice of collecting tangible reminders of passion may have started in high school. I saved my best friend Barry's underwear after we had sex one night. They smelled like vaseline (I'd never even heard of lube yet) and they had the Playboy Bunny logo embroidered into them. I'm not sure why Barry didn't notice he was leaving the next morning without his underwear, unless, maybe, he left them for me on purpose. Since he was "straight", we never talked about what happened between us, but I found the underwear crumpled into a ball between my bed and the wall. So that underwear became the only proof I had that the whole thing really happened. I kept that souvenir in my dresser drawer until I went away to college and threw them out.
After that first experience, I developed a crush on Richard, the high school quarterback. We became great friends, and I think he may have had a little crush on me too. We slept together at his house a few times, but it remained pretty innocent (a bit of petting) and never went as far as I wanted it to go. Richard gave me his football jersey when he went away to college. I could smell his scent on it and would sometimes sniff it while I looked at the picture of him working out (barbell curls) that was published in the yearbook our senior year. I never saw him again, and I no longer have the jersey.
Once I kept a washcloth from the bathroom of a particularly hot trick I spent one night with in Dallas. I sprayed some of his cologne on it and shoved it into my pocket. I think that's the last time I ever stole a souvenir from a lover. But I haven't broken the habit of hanging onto items that remind me of a time I felt deeply for someone.
I save voice mail messages for months. I keep ticket stubs, cards and e-mails long after I've forgotten the last names of some of my lovers. I've even found restaurant receipts from a time I grabbed a pizza or burger with someone I liked. I realize the objects themselves are of no value, but the memories that come rushing back when I glance at a paper menu from a restaurant in New Mexico or a receipt from an Irish pub in Ohio are worth so much to me.
Yesterday I found an old check register and....
YOU: WAIT!!! No, Toddy, NO!! You're not going to tell us you save check registers for sentimental reasons!? Please don't say it. Nobody is that crazy!!!
ME: Shut up, Toaster Oven Reader. You are a reader, not a speaker. If you have something to say, put it in the comments. Don't interrupt me again.
YOU: Sorry, my lord.
ME: That's better.
Anyway, I found the check register and glanced at the dates. March of 1996. What was I doing in March of 1996? Oh, right. Dream Cafe in Dallas. Obzeet in Plano. ATM machines on Cedar Springs. All the old places I hung out with CT. We were in the early days of our relationship and spent a lot of time hiding out from CT's ex, who still lived with CT. Barnes & Noble was one of our favorite spots to meet. We would read astrology books in the store aisle to see if Libra and Taurus was a good match. Or we would go to Whole Foods and wander around smelling candles and soap. Then we would go make out in my truck parked behind the store.
And then this one time....
YOU: ENOUGH! I'm leaving. This blog is too sappy. I'm going to go read about heavy drinking or check out the blog wars between deaf and hearing bloggers.
ME: WAIT!! No, I'm sorry, you're right. I am crazy. I'll throw out the check register. It's just a painful reminder of a time that is long gone and will never return.
YOU: Finally, you're talking sense.
ME: Yeah. How realistic of me. I feel so grounded. What a great feeling.
YOU: I knew you'd come around.
ME: Great, thanks! I'm off to the bar. I need a stiff drink.
YOU: Be sure to save a cocktail napkin if you talk to a cute boy!! Ha ha ha ha!!!
ME: I hate you, Sarcastic Toaster Oven Reader.
"I could play with you all night..."
"Your eyes are beautiful..."
"Why don't you have a boyfriend..."
I need to hear more. Soon.
I intended on publishing a few more diary entries from 1982, but I can't concentrate right now. It's funny that I am sitting here at work trying to look productive, but if you could hear the noise in my head at this moment, you'd be amazed. Whispers from lovers past are literally echoing in my mind, and I don't know how to shut them out.
Maybe it is the fact that I'm moving this week. I'm sorting through tons of crap. Papers, notes, cards, letters and photos are crammed into boxes and drawers in my room. I finally threw out the empty ketchup bottle from this one time a special guy bought me some Heinz (I know - sick and wrong), but there are so many things I've collected from the men who have moved me that I can't part with. Yet.
I don't know why I cling so fiercely to mementoes of love (or sometimes just sex). This practice of collecting tangible reminders of passion may have started in high school. I saved my best friend Barry's underwear after we had sex one night. They smelled like vaseline (I'd never even heard of lube yet) and they had the Playboy Bunny logo embroidered into them. I'm not sure why Barry didn't notice he was leaving the next morning without his underwear, unless, maybe, he left them for me on purpose. Since he was "straight", we never talked about what happened between us, but I found the underwear crumpled into a ball between my bed and the wall. So that underwear became the only proof I had that the whole thing really happened. I kept that souvenir in my dresser drawer until I went away to college and threw them out.
After that first experience, I developed a crush on Richard, the high school quarterback. We became great friends, and I think he may have had a little crush on me too. We slept together at his house a few times, but it remained pretty innocent (a bit of petting) and never went as far as I wanted it to go. Richard gave me his football jersey when he went away to college. I could smell his scent on it and would sometimes sniff it while I looked at the picture of him working out (barbell curls) that was published in the yearbook our senior year. I never saw him again, and I no longer have the jersey.
Once I kept a washcloth from the bathroom of a particularly hot trick I spent one night with in Dallas. I sprayed some of his cologne on it and shoved it into my pocket. I think that's the last time I ever stole a souvenir from a lover. But I haven't broken the habit of hanging onto items that remind me of a time I felt deeply for someone.
I save voice mail messages for months. I keep ticket stubs, cards and e-mails long after I've forgotten the last names of some of my lovers. I've even found restaurant receipts from a time I grabbed a pizza or burger with someone I liked. I realize the objects themselves are of no value, but the memories that come rushing back when I glance at a paper menu from a restaurant in New Mexico or a receipt from an Irish pub in Ohio are worth so much to me.
Yesterday I found an old check register and....
YOU: WAIT!!! No, Toddy, NO!! You're not going to tell us you save check registers for sentimental reasons!? Please don't say it. Nobody is that crazy!!!
ME: Shut up, Toaster Oven Reader. You are a reader, not a speaker. If you have something to say, put it in the comments. Don't interrupt me again.
YOU: Sorry, my lord.
ME: That's better.
Anyway, I found the check register and glanced at the dates. March of 1996. What was I doing in March of 1996? Oh, right. Dream Cafe in Dallas. Obzeet in Plano. ATM machines on Cedar Springs. All the old places I hung out with CT. We were in the early days of our relationship and spent a lot of time hiding out from CT's ex, who still lived with CT. Barnes & Noble was one of our favorite spots to meet. We would read astrology books in the store aisle to see if Libra and Taurus was a good match. Or we would go to Whole Foods and wander around smelling candles and soap. Then we would go make out in my truck parked behind the store.
And then this one time....
YOU: ENOUGH! I'm leaving. This blog is too sappy. I'm going to go read about heavy drinking or check out the blog wars between deaf and hearing bloggers.
ME: WAIT!! No, I'm sorry, you're right. I am crazy. I'll throw out the check register. It's just a painful reminder of a time that is long gone and will never return.
YOU: Finally, you're talking sense.
ME: Yeah. How realistic of me. I feel so grounded. What a great feeling.
YOU: I knew you'd come around.
ME: Great, thanks! I'm off to the bar. I need a stiff drink.
YOU: Be sure to save a cocktail napkin if you talk to a cute boy!! Ha ha ha ha!!!
ME: I hate you, Sarcastic Toaster Oven Reader.
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
Somebody is Lying
I just checked the poll results (to the right) and eight people claim to have slept with me. I could try to deceive you and say I haven't even slept with eight people in my life, but I doubt I could pull that one off. Still, I am relatively sure I haven't slept with eight of my readers. I can think of only four. If you claim to have slept with me, and your first name doesn't start with a K, M, B or P, I think you are lying. But I forgive you, because it's funny. I'm about to rant a bit, and this is not directed at you lying poll-takers. This is directed at other people.
Last night I couldn't sleep. I wondered if I should call "The Top" because he left me a nice message. But I was really making an effort to fall asleep and didn't think a chat with him would help me to relax. More likely, I would call him and then hang up with my thoughts racing...
So instead I did some thinking. Recently, I have realized friends have lied to me. The specifics don't really matter. All that matters is that it hurts. These are people I've always been truthful with. I am known in my circle of friends as the guy with no boundaries - no filters. I will tell you the truth if you ask me. A lot of times I will tell you the truth if you don't ask me. I like to say what I feel and be honest about what I'm thinking, even if it might be "too much information".
I don't lie to impress my friends or to get a man in bed. For example, I know I could pass for being in my mid-twenties and probably get more dates. But I'm not in my mid-twenties anymore, so I don't tell people that I am. I won't tell you "I can't stop thinking about you," if it's not true. "I have never felt this way about anyone before," will not be uttered from my lips unless it's true that I have never felt this way about anyone before. If you just want me to sleep with you, please say, "I just want you to sleep with me." I might just do it, and I won't hate you afterwards for using romantic lies to lure me into your bed.
What is the point of coming out of the closet and telling the world the truth about who you are if you are going to continue lying to people about other things? Are you afraid of being honest? You should be more afraid of being caught in a lie. If you tell the truth, nobody can hurt you, because you have nothing to hide.
I remember when Ellen DeGeneres was interviewed by Oprah the day the coming out episode aired on "Ellen". Oprah asked Ellen what changed for her after coming out. Ellen replied that nobody could hurt her anymore. I know the feeling. The day I told my best friend in college that I was gay, I felt so liberated. Here was a person who knew my deepest darkest secret and still loved me! I felt invincible.
Lying is tough. When you lie to people around you, it takes a lot of work to keep your stories straight. You have to work hard to be consistent. You have to keep your guard up. And if you are caught in a lie, it can be so humiliating.
A friend told me recently that he always knows I will tell the truth. He asked me why I am always so honest. "I have never been hurt by telling the truth," I answered. He then admitted that he has been hurt in the past by lying to people far more than if he had just been honest.
I have fallen prey to liars so many times. My ex, CheaterThief, was a liar. Throughout our relationship I consistently complimented him and loved him, and I think he sometimes felt I was too kind to him. He wanted some "constructive criticism" now and then. The day we split up he asked me to tell him one thing I didn't like about him. "You don't tell the truth," I said.
"You're right. I don't," he said. And that was that. He didn't seem to take my statement as an insult. He accepted it as fact and had no remorse about it. I guess that is one reason he and I never would have lasted.
I don't have a nice neat way to wrap up this post. People are lying to me. If you are one of the liars, you know it. What you probably don't realize is that I know it too. I've caught you in your lies, but I haven't confronted you on it. And I won't confront you because, frankly, I don't trust you to come clean. I think you will probably tell me another lie to cover your tracks.
It doesn't bode well for us. It's only a matter of time before your lies drive me away from you. I'm not one to give up quickly. I invest in people too much to just give up. But everybody has a limit, and although you think I don't have any boundaries, I have to tell you this...
If you lie to me, I don't want you in my life.
How's that for a boundary?
I just checked the poll results (to the right) and eight people claim to have slept with me. I could try to deceive you and say I haven't even slept with eight people in my life, but I doubt I could pull that one off. Still, I am relatively sure I haven't slept with eight of my readers. I can think of only four. If you claim to have slept with me, and your first name doesn't start with a K, M, B or P, I think you are lying. But I forgive you, because it's funny. I'm about to rant a bit, and this is not directed at you lying poll-takers. This is directed at other people.
Last night I couldn't sleep. I wondered if I should call "The Top" because he left me a nice message. But I was really making an effort to fall asleep and didn't think a chat with him would help me to relax. More likely, I would call him and then hang up with my thoughts racing...
So instead I did some thinking. Recently, I have realized friends have lied to me. The specifics don't really matter. All that matters is that it hurts. These are people I've always been truthful with. I am known in my circle of friends as the guy with no boundaries - no filters. I will tell you the truth if you ask me. A lot of times I will tell you the truth if you don't ask me. I like to say what I feel and be honest about what I'm thinking, even if it might be "too much information".
I don't lie to impress my friends or to get a man in bed. For example, I know I could pass for being in my mid-twenties and probably get more dates. But I'm not in my mid-twenties anymore, so I don't tell people that I am. I won't tell you "I can't stop thinking about you," if it's not true. "I have never felt this way about anyone before," will not be uttered from my lips unless it's true that I have never felt this way about anyone before. If you just want me to sleep with you, please say, "I just want you to sleep with me." I might just do it, and I won't hate you afterwards for using romantic lies to lure me into your bed.
What is the point of coming out of the closet and telling the world the truth about who you are if you are going to continue lying to people about other things? Are you afraid of being honest? You should be more afraid of being caught in a lie. If you tell the truth, nobody can hurt you, because you have nothing to hide.
I remember when Ellen DeGeneres was interviewed by Oprah the day the coming out episode aired on "Ellen". Oprah asked Ellen what changed for her after coming out. Ellen replied that nobody could hurt her anymore. I know the feeling. The day I told my best friend in college that I was gay, I felt so liberated. Here was a person who knew my deepest darkest secret and still loved me! I felt invincible.
Lying is tough. When you lie to people around you, it takes a lot of work to keep your stories straight. You have to work hard to be consistent. You have to keep your guard up. And if you are caught in a lie, it can be so humiliating.
A friend told me recently that he always knows I will tell the truth. He asked me why I am always so honest. "I have never been hurt by telling the truth," I answered. He then admitted that he has been hurt in the past by lying to people far more than if he had just been honest.
I have fallen prey to liars so many times. My ex, CheaterThief, was a liar. Throughout our relationship I consistently complimented him and loved him, and I think he sometimes felt I was too kind to him. He wanted some "constructive criticism" now and then. The day we split up he asked me to tell him one thing I didn't like about him. "You don't tell the truth," I said.
"You're right. I don't," he said. And that was that. He didn't seem to take my statement as an insult. He accepted it as fact and had no remorse about it. I guess that is one reason he and I never would have lasted.
I don't have a nice neat way to wrap up this post. People are lying to me. If you are one of the liars, you know it. What you probably don't realize is that I know it too. I've caught you in your lies, but I haven't confronted you on it. And I won't confront you because, frankly, I don't trust you to come clean. I think you will probably tell me another lie to cover your tracks.
It doesn't bode well for us. It's only a matter of time before your lies drive me away from you. I'm not one to give up quickly. I invest in people too much to just give up. But everybody has a limit, and although you think I don't have any boundaries, I have to tell you this...
If you lie to me, I don't want you in my life.
How's that for a boundary?
Monday, July 19, 2004
Toddy's Catatonic Date
This morning I told two of my friends that I had a bad date this weekend. They both started clapping their hands with glee. Not the kind of reaction I expected, but then they explained that they were looking forward to my blog about it. Great. So glad my life can entertain you all...
I chose the Italian Professional as my first date. Mostly because I had met him once before, so it was the least threatening option. As I've said many times, I am The Patron Saint of Paths of Least Resistance.
Since Juju moved out and I am alone in the house until I move in with The Handsome Prince, I had to provide my own therapy after the date. Therapy consisted of pizza and beer and Sex and the City. I also had a quick talk with myself in the car on the way home from the date.
Me: I didn't have a great time on this date. What is wrong with me? WHY DIDN'T I LIKE HIM?
Other Me: Why is that your fault? Why do you feel it is mandatory to like guys who ask you out?
Me: Because I was in a cult.
Other Me: That is a stupid excuse.
Me: Um, how about because I dropped that cake in 7th Grade?
Other Me: Try again.
Me: I don't know. Maybe we just didn't click. Maybe it is not anybody's fault.
Other Me: That's better. Now go home and eat pizza and drink beer and watch a DVD.
Me: I'm all over it.
The Italian Professional, for all I know, did not enjoy the date either. There are two sides to every story. I imagine the Italian Professional might describe our date like this...
Hello, my name is Tony, and I am guest blogging today for Hot Toddy. I don't really understand what a blog is, but Todd couldn't shut up about Toaster Oven, so I imagine it must be a really big deal. Anyway, I went out with Todd this weekend, and he's asked me to describe the date in detail.
Todd called at noon on the day of the date to find out where I lived so he could pick me up three hours later. He then called five minutes before he was supposed to be here to tell me he was running ten minutes late from having brunch with "a friend". I hung up thinking that he probably had double-booked dates for the day because he seems kind of slutty that way. So, after arriving 10 minutes late, Todd pulled up in front of my house. I was standing on the porch waiting. He could not get out of his car to open my door because he had stopped right in a lane of traffic. As cars swerved around Todd, I rushed to get in the car hoping to avoid seeing him rear-ended. If I were capable of being funny, I could make a joke about "being rear-ended" but, unfortunately, humor is mostly lost on me.
I noticed Todd was wearing sexy jeans and a black t-shirt. Over the t-shirt he was wearing a blue shirt with martini glasses on it. His attire seemed appropriate given the fact that I could smell vodka on his breath. No wonder his "brunch with a friend" went a bit long.
Anyway, Todd's car was dirty inside. It looked like it had never been vacuumed. There were dozens of empty water bottles inside. I also spotted a couple bags of gym clothes (I doubt they were clean) and there was a pair of boxer briefs laying out in plain view on the back seat. They were blue and kind of sexy, and I imagine how good Todd would look in boxer briefs, so I asked him for details about the show he's doing so that I can go see him naked. That is probably the only way I will get to see Todd naked.
Todd drove like a maniac. To make matters worse, he was listening to country music in the car. Can you imagine? He didn't even ask if it bothered me. I did not feel special. I pointed out a parking space to Todd, and he thanked me. He said he would never have seen it. Todd is sexy but not very smart. Anyway, as we walked to the theater to see the play Todd's friend was in, some cute guy started yelling Todd's name. Todd looked around and couldn't figure out who was yelling at him, so I had to point out the guy to Todd. Again, sexy but not smart.
This guy started complimenting Todd on his show, and I could clearly see Todd checking this guy out as they spoke. I was insulted. Again, I did not feel special. At least Todd introduced me. We walked further down the sidewalk, and Todd stopped to speak to a couple people smoking on the sidewalk. It turns out these were actors from the show we were going to see.
Todd must have mentioned the humidity a dozen times on the way to the theater, so I was relieved when we walked through the front doors into the cool air-conditioned lobby. What a relief to not have to listen to Todd's whining anymore. He informed me he was paying for my ticket, so he scored some points with that one. Todd socialized with several other people in the lobby and always made sure to introduce me. Maybe this date would be okay after all.
We sat down next to three of Todd's friends. I would later find out these people are referred to in this blog as The Handsome Prince, The Executive and Juju. Again, I was introduced as Todd's friend, and I muttered greetings to these beautiful people. I did not understand the play. Many of the words were big, and, as I told Todd, I have seen several plays at Center Stage that I did not understand.
During the show, Todd coughed and fidgeted a lot. He also seemed to be leaning away from me, almost as if he were attempting to cling to his friend, The Executive, who sat on Todd's other side. At intermission Todd walked out of the bathroom and passed me on his way back into the theatre. He didn't even seem to notice me. So I followed him meekly into the theatre rather than use my vocal powers to stop him. He apologized a bit too profusely and claimed he didn't see me standing outside the bathroom waiting. What a ditz. Again, I did not feel special.
After the show, I was informed that Todd wanted to go home and rest. He said he didn't feel well, so I said we could do drinks another time. I figured Todd probably had a third date scheduled or something. On our way to the car Todd was very quiet. I was very quiet. I think maybe Todd was bored. I was only quiet because Todd is so hot I felt intimidated by him. Why couldn't he see that and help me relax with a nice shoulder rub or something? He didn't touch me once on the whole date.
So Todd drove me home (quickly), plowed into some foliage by my driveway (at least he pulled out of traffic this time) and handed me a flyer to his show before pulling away. I did not feel special. I told him I would try to see his show, but I would have to take a nap first because it doesn't even start until 10:30 pm! Can you imagine!? 10:30 pm!!!!! That is super late!!!!!
I was a bit depressed after the date, so I went home and ate pizza (no beer - that would make me sleepy, I'll bet) and watched Sex and the City. I wish we had done something different for this date like gone to karoke - er, korake? Um that singing thing. Whatever. I hate big words.
This morning I told two of my friends that I had a bad date this weekend. They both started clapping their hands with glee. Not the kind of reaction I expected, but then they explained that they were looking forward to my blog about it. Great. So glad my life can entertain you all...
I chose the Italian Professional as my first date. Mostly because I had met him once before, so it was the least threatening option. As I've said many times, I am The Patron Saint of Paths of Least Resistance.
Since Juju moved out and I am alone in the house until I move in with The Handsome Prince, I had to provide my own therapy after the date. Therapy consisted of pizza and beer and Sex and the City. I also had a quick talk with myself in the car on the way home from the date.
Me: I didn't have a great time on this date. What is wrong with me? WHY DIDN'T I LIKE HIM?
Other Me: Why is that your fault? Why do you feel it is mandatory to like guys who ask you out?
Me: Because I was in a cult.
Other Me: That is a stupid excuse.
Me: Um, how about because I dropped that cake in 7th Grade?
Other Me: Try again.
Me: I don't know. Maybe we just didn't click. Maybe it is not anybody's fault.
Other Me: That's better. Now go home and eat pizza and drink beer and watch a DVD.
Me: I'm all over it.
The Italian Professional, for all I know, did not enjoy the date either. There are two sides to every story. I imagine the Italian Professional might describe our date like this...
Hello, my name is Tony, and I am guest blogging today for Hot Toddy. I don't really understand what a blog is, but Todd couldn't shut up about Toaster Oven, so I imagine it must be a really big deal. Anyway, I went out with Todd this weekend, and he's asked me to describe the date in detail.
Todd called at noon on the day of the date to find out where I lived so he could pick me up three hours later. He then called five minutes before he was supposed to be here to tell me he was running ten minutes late from having brunch with "a friend". I hung up thinking that he probably had double-booked dates for the day because he seems kind of slutty that way. So, after arriving 10 minutes late, Todd pulled up in front of my house. I was standing on the porch waiting. He could not get out of his car to open my door because he had stopped right in a lane of traffic. As cars swerved around Todd, I rushed to get in the car hoping to avoid seeing him rear-ended. If I were capable of being funny, I could make a joke about "being rear-ended" but, unfortunately, humor is mostly lost on me.
I noticed Todd was wearing sexy jeans and a black t-shirt. Over the t-shirt he was wearing a blue shirt with martini glasses on it. His attire seemed appropriate given the fact that I could smell vodka on his breath. No wonder his "brunch with a friend" went a bit long.
Anyway, Todd's car was dirty inside. It looked like it had never been vacuumed. There were dozens of empty water bottles inside. I also spotted a couple bags of gym clothes (I doubt they were clean) and there was a pair of boxer briefs laying out in plain view on the back seat. They were blue and kind of sexy, and I imagine how good Todd would look in boxer briefs, so I asked him for details about the show he's doing so that I can go see him naked. That is probably the only way I will get to see Todd naked.
Todd drove like a maniac. To make matters worse, he was listening to country music in the car. Can you imagine? He didn't even ask if it bothered me. I did not feel special. I pointed out a parking space to Todd, and he thanked me. He said he would never have seen it. Todd is sexy but not very smart. Anyway, as we walked to the theater to see the play Todd's friend was in, some cute guy started yelling Todd's name. Todd looked around and couldn't figure out who was yelling at him, so I had to point out the guy to Todd. Again, sexy but not smart.
This guy started complimenting Todd on his show, and I could clearly see Todd checking this guy out as they spoke. I was insulted. Again, I did not feel special. At least Todd introduced me. We walked further down the sidewalk, and Todd stopped to speak to a couple people smoking on the sidewalk. It turns out these were actors from the show we were going to see.
Todd must have mentioned the humidity a dozen times on the way to the theater, so I was relieved when we walked through the front doors into the cool air-conditioned lobby. What a relief to not have to listen to Todd's whining anymore. He informed me he was paying for my ticket, so he scored some points with that one. Todd socialized with several other people in the lobby and always made sure to introduce me. Maybe this date would be okay after all.
We sat down next to three of Todd's friends. I would later find out these people are referred to in this blog as The Handsome Prince, The Executive and Juju. Again, I was introduced as Todd's friend, and I muttered greetings to these beautiful people. I did not understand the play. Many of the words were big, and, as I told Todd, I have seen several plays at Center Stage that I did not understand.
During the show, Todd coughed and fidgeted a lot. He also seemed to be leaning away from me, almost as if he were attempting to cling to his friend, The Executive, who sat on Todd's other side. At intermission Todd walked out of the bathroom and passed me on his way back into the theatre. He didn't even seem to notice me. So I followed him meekly into the theatre rather than use my vocal powers to stop him. He apologized a bit too profusely and claimed he didn't see me standing outside the bathroom waiting. What a ditz. Again, I did not feel special.
After the show, I was informed that Todd wanted to go home and rest. He said he didn't feel well, so I said we could do drinks another time. I figured Todd probably had a third date scheduled or something. On our way to the car Todd was very quiet. I was very quiet. I think maybe Todd was bored. I was only quiet because Todd is so hot I felt intimidated by him. Why couldn't he see that and help me relax with a nice shoulder rub or something? He didn't touch me once on the whole date.
So Todd drove me home (quickly), plowed into some foliage by my driveway (at least he pulled out of traffic this time) and handed me a flyer to his show before pulling away. I did not feel special. I told him I would try to see his show, but I would have to take a nap first because it doesn't even start until 10:30 pm! Can you imagine!? 10:30 pm!!!!! That is super late!!!!!
I was a bit depressed after the date, so I went home and ate pizza (no beer - that would make me sleepy, I'll bet) and watched Sex and the City. I wish we had done something different for this date like gone to karoke - er, korake? Um that singing thing. Whatever. I hate big words.
Friday, July 16, 2004
The Dating Game
Ubergirl spun a wheel for me at a Pride booth, and won me a Gold Membership to a Voice Personal phone service. That's 1000 minutes I have to use by the end of July. I've used 50 minutes so far. Anyway, here is my ad and the top candidates who responded. Which one should I call first? Help, I'm a Libra. Decide for me.
My Voice Personal:
"This is Todd, and I'm putting my ad in this category (Just Friends) because there's no category for, "I have no idea what I want". I'm 37, but I look like I'm in my twenties. I swear to God, I do. But I'm not in my twenties. I'm old.
Anyway, I like theatre, writing, music, parties...I like to sing karaoke. I work out 3 or 4 times a week. I would love to do more outdoors stuff - hiking or camping. I've never been camping. That would be cool. Anything else you want to know, let me know. We'll chat."
The Southern Boy, 45 (He sounds like Michael Vernon!)
Seeking LTR - Discreet 6'2, 203 lbs - great smile - good heart - loves outdoors - dance with life
"Todd I was impressed with your voice and also with the things that you like to do. It sounds like you have a passion for life. I'm a person that loves theater and writing and music. Just moved here from Texas, as you can tell from my southern accent. Moved here last summer. Here's my cell number. Give a shout and let's talk! Hope you have a great week. Thanks."
The Latino Bisexual, 25 (Another great accent!)
Seeking "straight acting" guys - Start with friendship first
"Hi, I heard your ad and you sound pretty interesting to me. I stand about 5'8" and weigh 160-165 and I have brown hair and brown eyes. I have smooth tan skin. I'm an outgoing easygoing person looking to meet new people and start from there. If you're interested give me a call."
The Italian Professional, 41 (I know who he is. I volunteered for his agency for one day and then got bored and never came back. Not a good start, eh?)
"Hey, I heard your message and it sounds really good. Finally, a real person. A lot of these messages are a bit bizarre for me. I'm 41 and recently single. Looking for new friends. People to hang out and do things with. Sounds like you have varied interests. Maybe it would be fun to go see a movie or go do "karoke"? (He mispronounced it - uh oh) which I've never done before. I've watched a couple times. If you're looking for a new friend to do things with, let's talk. Let's connect. I don't do a lot of outdoor stuff. I have to be honest, camping is not my forte. I like to camp with people who know what they're doing. Otherwise I stay at a Best Western. Anyway, give me a call. Thanks! "
The Jock, Age 25 (Could I date someone who says "rockin" in a sentence?)
5'10" 175 Jock type - likes to work out - goatee - digs straight acting guys - rock concerts - loves hairy legs
"Hey, I was listening to your ad, and you sound like a pretty rockin' guy. Why don't you listen to my ad and maybe see if I might be someone you might like to meet and we'll go from there. I'm curious about you so why don't you get back? Later."
The Drag Queen, Age 24 (Could barely hear him - he was doing a sexy whisper voice)
5'5" 135 pounds
"Hey, there. You sound pretty cool. If you want to, go ahead and get back to me. I have an ad playing too. I currently work as a drag queen downtown (giggles) I know, I know. But I don't live it - I live as a guy. You can call me day or night. I'm a night owl. If I'm sleeping or gone I won't answer so leave a message and I'll get back to you. So, I'll talk to you later. Hopefully."
The Top, Age 47 (Great bass voice)
6'1" 220 - football player build - salt & pepper hair - very explicit sexual details in his ad, although he says in his message to me he's looking for "Just Friends"
"Hey, Todd. You're probably not looking for a 47-year-old, but I just had to chime in and tell you I really got a kick out of your ad. I listened to it a couple times. You sound like a really good down-to-earth kind of guy. If age is not really important to you, listen to my message. You sound like a cool guy, and I really liked your ad. Looking just for friends. Someone to hang out with. I do theatre too - more technical stuff than stage. Let me know!"
My responses read like a reality television show cast. My time is really limited. I can't meet more than one or two of these guys in the next couple weeks. So, who do I call first?
Ubergirl spun a wheel for me at a Pride booth, and won me a Gold Membership to a Voice Personal phone service. That's 1000 minutes I have to use by the end of July. I've used 50 minutes so far. Anyway, here is my ad and the top candidates who responded. Which one should I call first? Help, I'm a Libra. Decide for me.
My Voice Personal:
"This is Todd, and I'm putting my ad in this category (Just Friends) because there's no category for, "I have no idea what I want". I'm 37, but I look like I'm in my twenties. I swear to God, I do. But I'm not in my twenties. I'm old.
Anyway, I like theatre, writing, music, parties...I like to sing karaoke. I work out 3 or 4 times a week. I would love to do more outdoors stuff - hiking or camping. I've never been camping. That would be cool. Anything else you want to know, let me know. We'll chat."
The Southern Boy, 45 (He sounds like Michael Vernon!)
Seeking LTR - Discreet 6'2, 203 lbs - great smile - good heart - loves outdoors - dance with life
"Todd I was impressed with your voice and also with the things that you like to do. It sounds like you have a passion for life. I'm a person that loves theater and writing and music. Just moved here from Texas, as you can tell from my southern accent. Moved here last summer. Here's my cell number. Give a shout and let's talk! Hope you have a great week. Thanks."
The Latino Bisexual, 25 (Another great accent!)
Seeking "straight acting" guys - Start with friendship first
"Hi, I heard your ad and you sound pretty interesting to me. I stand about 5'8" and weigh 160-165 and I have brown hair and brown eyes. I have smooth tan skin. I'm an outgoing easygoing person looking to meet new people and start from there. If you're interested give me a call."
The Italian Professional, 41 (I know who he is. I volunteered for his agency for one day and then got bored and never came back. Not a good start, eh?)
"Hey, I heard your message and it sounds really good. Finally, a real person. A lot of these messages are a bit bizarre for me. I'm 41 and recently single. Looking for new friends. People to hang out and do things with. Sounds like you have varied interests. Maybe it would be fun to go see a movie or go do "karoke"? (He mispronounced it - uh oh) which I've never done before. I've watched a couple times. If you're looking for a new friend to do things with, let's talk. Let's connect. I don't do a lot of outdoor stuff. I have to be honest, camping is not my forte. I like to camp with people who know what they're doing. Otherwise I stay at a Best Western. Anyway, give me a call. Thanks! "
The Jock, Age 25 (Could I date someone who says "rockin" in a sentence?)
5'10" 175 Jock type - likes to work out - goatee - digs straight acting guys - rock concerts - loves hairy legs
"Hey, I was listening to your ad, and you sound like a pretty rockin' guy. Why don't you listen to my ad and maybe see if I might be someone you might like to meet and we'll go from there. I'm curious about you so why don't you get back? Later."
The Drag Queen, Age 24 (Could barely hear him - he was doing a sexy whisper voice)
5'5" 135 pounds
"Hey, there. You sound pretty cool. If you want to, go ahead and get back to me. I have an ad playing too. I currently work as a drag queen downtown (giggles) I know, I know. But I don't live it - I live as a guy. You can call me day or night. I'm a night owl. If I'm sleeping or gone I won't answer so leave a message and I'll get back to you. So, I'll talk to you later. Hopefully."
The Top, Age 47 (Great bass voice)
6'1" 220 - football player build - salt & pepper hair - very explicit sexual details in his ad, although he says in his message to me he's looking for "Just Friends"
"Hey, Todd. You're probably not looking for a 47-year-old, but I just had to chime in and tell you I really got a kick out of your ad. I listened to it a couple times. You sound like a really good down-to-earth kind of guy. If age is not really important to you, listen to my message. You sound like a cool guy, and I really liked your ad. Looking just for friends. Someone to hang out with. I do theatre too - more technical stuff than stage. Let me know!"
My responses read like a reality television show cast. My time is really limited. I can't meet more than one or two of these guys in the next couple weeks. So, who do I call first?
Thursday, July 15, 2004
Living Happily Ever After
Just like Cinderella, I am about to move in with a Handsome Prince and live happily ever after.
I'll bet Cinderella and her Prince never had a conversation like this one:
ME: You know, I think it's amazing the way my life is influenced by others.
THE HANDSOME PRINCE: (looking around the bar) Yeah.
ME: I mean, Juju had a powerful impact on my life.
THP: Uh huh.
ME: Did you read my blog about that?
THP: Yes.
ME: Um, so, anyway, I just think it's exciting to speculate about how I will change after living with you!
THP: I think you should get ready for your self-esteem to go down.
ME: (laughing too hard to reply)
Just like Cinderella, I am about to move in with a Handsome Prince and live happily ever after.
I'll bet Cinderella and her Prince never had a conversation like this one:
ME: You know, I think it's amazing the way my life is influenced by others.
THE HANDSOME PRINCE: (looking around the bar) Yeah.
ME: I mean, Juju had a powerful impact on my life.
THP: Uh huh.
ME: Did you read my blog about that?
THP: Yes.
ME: Um, so, anyway, I just think it's exciting to speculate about how I will change after living with you!
THP: I think you should get ready for your self-esteem to go down.
ME: (laughing too hard to reply)
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
Time for a Break or Time for a Date?
Juju and I have been e-mailing this morning about the demands of being an actor. We are both performing in Thrust, which opens Saturday night at Stark Raving Theatre. After this show, I think I need a break, and Juju is contemplating going on hiatus as well.
The problem is that we actors can put so much stock in what we create that we feel we have nothing to offer unless we are performing. If we aren't acting, then, as Juju put it, "What will I be? Who will I be? What will I do?"
Before I did 10 Naked Men I took a break (eight months) from acting. I wrote a few sketches and participated in The Writer's Nightmare, but I didn't take on any major roles for that period. When people would ask me what I was working on, I answered, "nothing" and felt like the dullest person in the world.
So, if I take a break from acting, does that mean I will have time to meet new people again? Because there are a few potential guys "waiting in the wings", and all I have to do is take a chance on them. In two separate conversations yesterday I confessed that I have been avoiding dating anyone since I returned from Cleveland. Even though I am as single as ever, I guess I needed some recovery time before putting myself back out there again. So, why am I not taking these dating opportunities, especially since I am constantly talking about wanting a boyfriend? Because, frankly, dating sucks sometimes.
The Handsome Prince pointed out to me last night that if I start dating again I will have a great source of material to write about. Dating stories, as we all know, are comedy gold. That was just the advice I needed. As long as I am going on these dates for you, my dear readers, I will be able to endure anything. The worst date will be the best blog entry.
And if I luck out and have a really great date, well, I'm sure you wouldn't mind hearing about that either, now would you?
Juju and I have been e-mailing this morning about the demands of being an actor. We are both performing in Thrust, which opens Saturday night at Stark Raving Theatre. After this show, I think I need a break, and Juju is contemplating going on hiatus as well.
The problem is that we actors can put so much stock in what we create that we feel we have nothing to offer unless we are performing. If we aren't acting, then, as Juju put it, "What will I be? Who will I be? What will I do?"
Before I did 10 Naked Men I took a break (eight months) from acting. I wrote a few sketches and participated in The Writer's Nightmare, but I didn't take on any major roles for that period. When people would ask me what I was working on, I answered, "nothing" and felt like the dullest person in the world.
So, if I take a break from acting, does that mean I will have time to meet new people again? Because there are a few potential guys "waiting in the wings", and all I have to do is take a chance on them. In two separate conversations yesterday I confessed that I have been avoiding dating anyone since I returned from Cleveland. Even though I am as single as ever, I guess I needed some recovery time before putting myself back out there again. So, why am I not taking these dating opportunities, especially since I am constantly talking about wanting a boyfriend? Because, frankly, dating sucks sometimes.
The Handsome Prince pointed out to me last night that if I start dating again I will have a great source of material to write about. Dating stories, as we all know, are comedy gold. That was just the advice I needed. As long as I am going on these dates for you, my dear readers, I will be able to endure anything. The worst date will be the best blog entry.
And if I luck out and have a really great date, well, I'm sure you wouldn't mind hearing about that either, now would you?
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
What is Toaster Oven?
Thanks to Kris for this great link. This is what Google thinks of Hot Toddy...
hot toddy is served
As I should be. Now run and get me a Maker's Mark straight up.
hot toddy is definitely moving on
Well...I'm trying to. Although the number of entries about past crushes and love affairs might suggest I'm not moving on quickly enough.
hot toddy is an obvious right facing dihedral located on the southeast face of maverick buttress
Uh, thank you. I feel the same about you.
hot toddy is traditionally made with bourbon or rye
No comment.
hot toddy is destined to be a classic
Are you calling me old?
hot toddy is wanting to strongly uphold reality in a show about a teenager from another planet who can bend steel
You read my mind.
hot toddy is even safe for kids
And animals. Don't forget animals.
hot toddy is an art perfected by trial and error
Too right.
hot toddy is a very nice young doe with good depth and width
I believe the proper term is girth, but thanks.
hot toddy is a total lovebug who isn't happy unless he's in the same room as you
And you, and you, and you...
hot toddy is your grandmother in the kitchen
Only if your grandmother drinks too much, forgets to turn off the burners and talks incessantly about The Rock.
hot toddy is guaranteed to give you a chill
Hand me an ice cube and let me show you.
hot toddy is pretty nasty
You love it.
hot toddy is not out of the question
But I won't rest until I become your answer.
hot toddy is not allowed
Try and stop me.
hot toddy is a bad idea
If you are trying to be good.
hot toddy is going to help
Hand me an ice cube and I'll show you.
hot toddy is all but walking away with the top honours for best hair
Yeah, it's pretty great, isn't it?
hot toddy is waiting whenever you are ready for it
Are you ready? Hurry up.
hot toddy is needed to keep the cold out
I've been told I'm like a furnace.
hot toddy is for you
Act now. Supplies are limited.
hot toddy is a great way to relax your cold body on a cold winter's day
You'll love my massages.
hot toddy is deliciously built
Okay, okay. Enough with the flattery, Google. I'll do you.
Thanks to Kris for this great link. This is what Google thinks of Hot Toddy...
hot toddy is served
As I should be. Now run and get me a Maker's Mark straight up.
hot toddy is definitely moving on
Well...I'm trying to. Although the number of entries about past crushes and love affairs might suggest I'm not moving on quickly enough.
hot toddy is an obvious right facing dihedral located on the southeast face of maverick buttress
Uh, thank you. I feel the same about you.
hot toddy is traditionally made with bourbon or rye
No comment.
hot toddy is destined to be a classic
Are you calling me old?
hot toddy is wanting to strongly uphold reality in a show about a teenager from another planet who can bend steel
You read my mind.
hot toddy is even safe for kids
And animals. Don't forget animals.
hot toddy is an art perfected by trial and error
Too right.
hot toddy is a very nice young doe with good depth and width
I believe the proper term is girth, but thanks.
hot toddy is a total lovebug who isn't happy unless he's in the same room as you
And you, and you, and you...
hot toddy is your grandmother in the kitchen
Only if your grandmother drinks too much, forgets to turn off the burners and talks incessantly about The Rock.
hot toddy is guaranteed to give you a chill
Hand me an ice cube and let me show you.
hot toddy is pretty nasty
You love it.
hot toddy is not out of the question
But I won't rest until I become your answer.
hot toddy is not allowed
Try and stop me.
hot toddy is a bad idea
If you are trying to be good.
hot toddy is going to help
Hand me an ice cube and I'll show you.
hot toddy is all but walking away with the top honours for best hair
Yeah, it's pretty great, isn't it?
hot toddy is waiting whenever you are ready for it
Are you ready? Hurry up.
hot toddy is needed to keep the cold out
I've been told I'm like a furnace.
hot toddy is for you
Act now. Supplies are limited.
hot toddy is a great way to relax your cold body on a cold winter's day
You'll love my massages.
hot toddy is deliciously built
Okay, okay. Enough with the flattery, Google. I'll do you.
Monday, July 12, 2004
What a Dork
The more I read my 1982 diary entries, the more convinced I become that I wouldn't have wanted to hang out with me in junior high school:
April 15
Ummm...oh yeah! I got a GO-GO's record. It's FABTASTICAL!
April 22
Jodi's braces look beautiful. She's really starting to blossom into a beauty.
April 24
Just a word on music. Medleys seem to becoming popular. First the Beach Boys, then Beatles, now Stevie Wonder.
April 26
I did a VERY VERY unprofessional thing today. I kept laughing in our performance of "You Can't Take It With You". It was awful.
April 27
Today I heard a terrible thing. There are records that sing satanic songs when played backwards. When played forward the thoughts subconsciously enter your mind. Luckily these are only on hard rock records!
The more I read my 1982 diary entries, the more convinced I become that I wouldn't have wanted to hang out with me in junior high school:
April 15
Ummm...oh yeah! I got a GO-GO's record. It's FABTASTICAL!
April 22
Jodi's braces look beautiful. She's really starting to blossom into a beauty.
April 24
Just a word on music. Medleys seem to becoming popular. First the Beach Boys, then Beatles, now Stevie Wonder.
April 26
I did a VERY VERY unprofessional thing today. I kept laughing in our performance of "You Can't Take It With You". It was awful.
April 27
Today I heard a terrible thing. There are records that sing satanic songs when played backwards. When played forward the thoughts subconsciously enter your mind. Luckily these are only on hard rock records!
Friday, July 09, 2004
To All The Boys I've Loved Before, or, Unrequited Love
Sometimes I will listen to music that reminds me of a boy I have loved, and I will suddenly get tears in my eyes. I'm not talking about a crush or someone I've dated casually. I am talking about the three men I have actually loved. There are only three men in my life that I've cared about to this extent. Twice I said, "I am in love with you."
The third time it happened, it seemed so ridiculous that I couldn't even say I was in love with him, so I merely said, "I feel like I love you..."
I beat myself up about it a lot - why do I still care so deeply when I know these men don't return my love? In examining my relationship with each of these guys, I see some commonalities. In all three cases, I wanted the same things from each of them.
I wanted to help them (I'll save you!!)
I wanted to get laid (and did).
I wanted to be in love with them and have them feel the same.
One of the three fell in love with me too. Now, I don't play baseball, but that's not a great batting average, is it? One out of three? Not great, but it could be worse.
So, aside from my relationship with CT, the other men I fell for didn't return my feelings. I know, can you imagine someone not falling in love with me!?
The question is, why do I keep returning to these same men in my mind over and over? A young man at i need some inconsistency recently posted an entry on his blog that resonated deeply with me.
"And I don't know what I can do. I thought going away, keeping clear and staying busy would do it, would drive him out of my head, but that doesn't work. I can't stop thinking about him, wondering what he's doing, how he's doing, who he's doing. Please not who he's doing...
Whenever I think of him I feel this sad face come across me and I can't look happy, can't even do the fake happy smile that one is obliged to wear. I can't stop"
I don't know if there will be a day anytime soon when I don't think about my own personal "him" at all. So far I have thought about him every day since he entered my life. What do I want from him? All I know is he is with me all the time, and there doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it. Once he told me, "why wouldn't a guy want you? You're a catch!"
I responded, "I don't know. You tell me."
Silence.
I know there are lots of sexy, kind, talented and loving men out there. If I ever find someone who wins my heart the way these three men have, I will pursue him to the ends of the earth if he returns those feelings.
It seems unfair to me that we humans have the capacity to fall in love with someone who doesn't love us back. That's downright cruel. But there's nothing any of us can do about it. I think about boys who have pursued me in spite of the fact that I didn't return their feelings. Mostly, I feel sorry for those guys because I know what it feels like to experience unrequited love. In fact, I hung up the phone and cried after telling one of these guys I didn't want to go on a second date with him. I hate rejecting people.
On the other hand, I can't make myself feel something if it isn't there.
I've experienced both sides of the game of love. So, I don't blame these men for whom I have feelings. None of them have ever been anything but kind to me. I know that in each case it simply "wasn't meant to be" - at least, not right now. That doesn't stop me from wanting them sometimes.
Jann Arden wrote a song called "Wishing That" and I have sung that song to all three of "my loves" at one time or another. (Fortunately, not at the SAME time - that might be cause for a little visit to my ex-therapist...) Granted, these men weren't in the room, but I sang to them in my heart and cried, "And when I held you, you would almost always hold me back. You could see through everything. I said I was falling, and you said not to fall on you. I've bitten every finger 'till it bled. Wishing that you loved me too...
Listen to my nervous laughter
sunken deep inside my heart
My lips are dry I'm teary eyed
For you my love
hearken all you fallen angels
Help me find a place to rest
My head is pounding here beneath
the weight of this
I'm wishing that..."
Sometimes I will listen to music that reminds me of a boy I have loved, and I will suddenly get tears in my eyes. I'm not talking about a crush or someone I've dated casually. I am talking about the three men I have actually loved. There are only three men in my life that I've cared about to this extent. Twice I said, "I am in love with you."
The third time it happened, it seemed so ridiculous that I couldn't even say I was in love with him, so I merely said, "I feel like I love you..."
I beat myself up about it a lot - why do I still care so deeply when I know these men don't return my love? In examining my relationship with each of these guys, I see some commonalities. In all three cases, I wanted the same things from each of them.
I wanted to help them (I'll save you!!)
I wanted to get laid (and did).
I wanted to be in love with them and have them feel the same.
One of the three fell in love with me too. Now, I don't play baseball, but that's not a great batting average, is it? One out of three? Not great, but it could be worse.
So, aside from my relationship with CT, the other men I fell for didn't return my feelings. I know, can you imagine someone not falling in love with me!?
The question is, why do I keep returning to these same men in my mind over and over? A young man at i need some inconsistency recently posted an entry on his blog that resonated deeply with me.
"And I don't know what I can do. I thought going away, keeping clear and staying busy would do it, would drive him out of my head, but that doesn't work. I can't stop thinking about him, wondering what he's doing, how he's doing, who he's doing. Please not who he's doing...
Whenever I think of him I feel this sad face come across me and I can't look happy, can't even do the fake happy smile that one is obliged to wear. I can't stop"
I don't know if there will be a day anytime soon when I don't think about my own personal "him" at all. So far I have thought about him every day since he entered my life. What do I want from him? All I know is he is with me all the time, and there doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it. Once he told me, "why wouldn't a guy want you? You're a catch!"
I responded, "I don't know. You tell me."
Silence.
I know there are lots of sexy, kind, talented and loving men out there. If I ever find someone who wins my heart the way these three men have, I will pursue him to the ends of the earth if he returns those feelings.
It seems unfair to me that we humans have the capacity to fall in love with someone who doesn't love us back. That's downright cruel. But there's nothing any of us can do about it. I think about boys who have pursued me in spite of the fact that I didn't return their feelings. Mostly, I feel sorry for those guys because I know what it feels like to experience unrequited love. In fact, I hung up the phone and cried after telling one of these guys I didn't want to go on a second date with him. I hate rejecting people.
On the other hand, I can't make myself feel something if it isn't there.
I've experienced both sides of the game of love. So, I don't blame these men for whom I have feelings. None of them have ever been anything but kind to me. I know that in each case it simply "wasn't meant to be" - at least, not right now. That doesn't stop me from wanting them sometimes.
Jann Arden wrote a song called "Wishing That" and I have sung that song to all three of "my loves" at one time or another. (Fortunately, not at the SAME time - that might be cause for a little visit to my ex-therapist...) Granted, these men weren't in the room, but I sang to them in my heart and cried, "And when I held you, you would almost always hold me back. You could see through everything. I said I was falling, and you said not to fall on you. I've bitten every finger 'till it bled. Wishing that you loved me too...
Listen to my nervous laughter
sunken deep inside my heart
My lips are dry I'm teary eyed
For you my love
hearken all you fallen angels
Help me find a place to rest
My head is pounding here beneath
the weight of this
I'm wishing that..."
Thursday, July 08, 2004
Poll Results
What does Hot Toddy fantasize about?
I met my boyfriend last weekend at the coast. He was a parasailor. You might think that is someone who propels himself around in a wheelchair by breathing into a straw device, but you would be wrong.
Actually, he wasn't even parasailing. He was kitesurfing. I just wanted to use that parasailing joke because making fun of disabilities is "comedy gold".
So, to answer the question, "What Does Hot Toddy Fantasize About", which won the poll (you can find it on your right, but it's too late to vote now, so I guess you have learned a hard lesson about procrastinating, haven't you?) I am going to tell you about my boyfriend.
Jake Sampson, Kitesurfer, is 35 years old. I watched him through binoculars this weekend. Once I saw his strength and stamina as he rode the waves, I realized that he and I are in a committed loving relationship. I began telling the Yum Yum Brotherhood all about Jake and was amazed at how much I know about him considering the fact that we have never spoken and I've only seen him from a distance.
Jake moved to Oregon two years ago after seeing a story on Oprah about an Oregon family whose home was destroyed in a fire. Jake was at Princeton finishing one of his many degrees, and he decided to come to Oregon with Habitat for Humanity and help the Schadenfreude family rebuild their house.
Jake and I actually met when we were both hiking on a trail and he offered to share his gorp with me. Then when I choked, he gave me the Heimlich maneuver. After he saved my life, we started making out, and I began gagging again but it wasn't from Gorp that time.
So, anyway, Jake is in Marketing. I think he is a VP or something. He found out how much I love animals and decided to get his veterinary license so he could care for strays. He also has a trust fund and says that he can support me if I decide I want to act or write full-time.
He is a rough but gentle lover, and he has a jealous streak so please stop writing flirtatious comments on my blog. He becomes very rough with me in bed when people flirt with me, so - you know what. Never mind. Write whatever you want.
The second question people most want answered has to do with my shoe size. You can go here for more information about my shoes.
As for the third question, I don't just give my phone number out to anybody. You have to ask for it. Be warned, if you call when I am in bed with Jake I'll have to pretend it's my mom calling or else I'll be sore for days.
What does Hot Toddy fantasize about?
I met my boyfriend last weekend at the coast. He was a parasailor. You might think that is someone who propels himself around in a wheelchair by breathing into a straw device, but you would be wrong.
Actually, he wasn't even parasailing. He was kitesurfing. I just wanted to use that parasailing joke because making fun of disabilities is "comedy gold".
So, to answer the question, "What Does Hot Toddy Fantasize About", which won the poll (you can find it on your right, but it's too late to vote now, so I guess you have learned a hard lesson about procrastinating, haven't you?) I am going to tell you about my boyfriend.
Jake Sampson, Kitesurfer, is 35 years old. I watched him through binoculars this weekend. Once I saw his strength and stamina as he rode the waves, I realized that he and I are in a committed loving relationship. I began telling the Yum Yum Brotherhood all about Jake and was amazed at how much I know about him considering the fact that we have never spoken and I've only seen him from a distance.
Jake moved to Oregon two years ago after seeing a story on Oprah about an Oregon family whose home was destroyed in a fire. Jake was at Princeton finishing one of his many degrees, and he decided to come to Oregon with Habitat for Humanity and help the Schadenfreude family rebuild their house.
Jake and I actually met when we were both hiking on a trail and he offered to share his gorp with me. Then when I choked, he gave me the Heimlich maneuver. After he saved my life, we started making out, and I began gagging again but it wasn't from Gorp that time.
So, anyway, Jake is in Marketing. I think he is a VP or something. He found out how much I love animals and decided to get his veterinary license so he could care for strays. He also has a trust fund and says that he can support me if I decide I want to act or write full-time.
He is a rough but gentle lover, and he has a jealous streak so please stop writing flirtatious comments on my blog. He becomes very rough with me in bed when people flirt with me, so - you know what. Never mind. Write whatever you want.
The second question people most want answered has to do with my shoe size. You can go here for more information about my shoes.
As for the third question, I don't just give my phone number out to anybody. You have to ask for it. Be warned, if you call when I am in bed with Jake I'll have to pretend it's my mom calling or else I'll be sore for days.
Dear Diary, Part Two
Yesterday I began sharing diary entries from 1982, when I was 16. As I reviewed these entries I noticed the usual issues. Food, desperate attempts at liking girls, and a cameo appearance by Attention Deficit Disorder on March 17.
February 9, 1982
Dad wanted some cigarettes tonight. It's hard to tell him how to avoid cigarettes when I have so much trouble avoiding food.
February 13
I saw "Night Crossing" today. I bought my ticket and went in - when Tony said it didn't start for another hour. I had to carry my popcorn around the mall until it started.
[How I got popcorn before knowing what time the movie started is beyond me. What did I do? RUN to the concession stand?]
February 16
Andrea is off my "Girls I Like" list. I loaned her my book, and she gave it to someone. She didn't even seem sorry so Good-bye Andrea.
[Actually, does this even require commentary?]
February 25
Tonight after school I realized how special Marcia is. She's really a lot like me. I think she's pretty also.
March 7
We took Mom to Red Lobster for her birthday. I wanted to go to "People's" but Mom wanted to please everyone.
[People's had chairs with legs that actually looked like human legs wearing funny socks and shoes)
March 9
When Mom went to Sweet Adelines, Kelly gave me a lot of trouble. I wish we wouldn't have fought on Mom's birthday.
[Kelly is my sister who was nine at the time]
March 13
I tied for 6th at the speech tournament. The judges didn't follow the same rules I was given. They were terribly unfair.
March 14
I can't believe I slept till 11:00 a.m. Yesterday after the tournament I was depressed so I went straight to bed.
March 17
I got a little more acquainted with Beth Richardson. A man climbed almost all the way up to the top of the Hyatt Regency Hotel.
[Attention Deficit Disorder at its best]
April 6
I have been so busy that I forgot about writing in my diary. Also my life had been kind of boring.
April 7
I wonder if I'll ever be invited to a neat party. Nobody seems to think I'd be any fun at a party. I WOULD but I wouldn't want to be invited to one where the kids drink alcohol or do WORSE THINGS.
[You will be relieved to know that I often get invited to "neat parties" now where I drink alcohol and do worse things...]
Yesterday I began sharing diary entries from 1982, when I was 16. As I reviewed these entries I noticed the usual issues. Food, desperate attempts at liking girls, and a cameo appearance by Attention Deficit Disorder on March 17.
February 9, 1982
Dad wanted some cigarettes tonight. It's hard to tell him how to avoid cigarettes when I have so much trouble avoiding food.
February 13
I saw "Night Crossing" today. I bought my ticket and went in - when Tony said it didn't start for another hour. I had to carry my popcorn around the mall until it started.
[How I got popcorn before knowing what time the movie started is beyond me. What did I do? RUN to the concession stand?]
February 16
Andrea is off my "Girls I Like" list. I loaned her my book, and she gave it to someone. She didn't even seem sorry so Good-bye Andrea.
[Actually, does this even require commentary?]
February 25
Tonight after school I realized how special Marcia is. She's really a lot like me. I think she's pretty also.
March 7
We took Mom to Red Lobster for her birthday. I wanted to go to "People's" but Mom wanted to please everyone.
[People's had chairs with legs that actually looked like human legs wearing funny socks and shoes)
March 9
When Mom went to Sweet Adelines, Kelly gave me a lot of trouble. I wish we wouldn't have fought on Mom's birthday.
[Kelly is my sister who was nine at the time]
March 13
I tied for 6th at the speech tournament. The judges didn't follow the same rules I was given. They were terribly unfair.
March 14
I can't believe I slept till 11:00 a.m. Yesterday after the tournament I was depressed so I went straight to bed.
March 17
I got a little more acquainted with Beth Richardson. A man climbed almost all the way up to the top of the Hyatt Regency Hotel.
[Attention Deficit Disorder at its best]
April 6
I have been so busy that I forgot about writing in my diary. Also my life had been kind of boring.
April 7
I wonder if I'll ever be invited to a neat party. Nobody seems to think I'd be any fun at a party. I WOULD but I wouldn't want to be invited to one where the kids drink alcohol or do WORSE THINGS.
[You will be relieved to know that I often get invited to "neat parties" now where I drink alcohol and do worse things...]
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
Dear Diary (1982)
Juju is gone. The house feels like a stage set that is being slowly dismantled after a successful two-year run of a hit comedy. My roomie is now living with Metro. It's partially my fault. I'm the one that snuck that Sade CD into the stereo the first night they kissed. The three of us were sitting around talking about what kind of music turned us on, and I wanted to see the two of them together so badly. I've always thought they would make a great couple.
So now they have found love, and I am shuffling around the house alone packing, listening to the music Jeff sent me and digging through the rubble. Sometimes I unearth some pretty interesting stuff.
In 1982 I was given a five year diary. The diary is green and black tartan plaid with gold leaf pages. On the side of the pages I scrawled "Go Go's" with a star in front of the name of the band. I was 16 when I started this diary, and I only kept up with it for a little over a year. Each day only allows for about two or three sentences, so the entries are short. In glancing through the entries, I have discovered two things about myself:
1. The more things change, the more they stay the same. I still have issues with losing weight and saving money, just like I did at 16.
2. I am better at blogging than I am at keeping a secret diary. The diary had a lock on it, but I lost the key (big surprise) so I had to cut it open in order to keep writing. I skipped writing for weeks at a time and completely stopped writing in it December 1983.
I am struck by my naivete in these entries. I feel like I'm reading the writings of a 12 or 13 year old, not a high school student. I'm sure I was much more sheltered than most of my peers due to a religious upbringing, serious self-esteem issues and a weight problem. Knowing I was gay and hiding it from my friends and family forced me to spend a lot of time alone. I didn't want them to know me, because I thought they would hate me. I definitely would not have even considered writing about any of my feelings for fear that someone would find the diary and read it.
So I spent a lot of time alone writing plays and performing them on a small stage my father built for me in the basement. I remember my youth as mostly happy, but I can also see a lot of self-doubt and gloom in the things I wrote about. By the end of high school I started partying a bit, hanging out with some "cool kids" and learning how to interact socially. But in 1982 I still had a long way to go.
I'll share a few entries with you, but if you weren't even born yet when I wrote this stuff, I don't want to hear about it...
1982
January 5
It was hard to get up this morning. I've been trying to watch my diet but it's pretty hard! Dinnertime!! Bye.
January 6
So long carbos! [Note: I was counting carbs at 16] Starting tomorrow I'm switching to calories. I can have more of a variety. My fingers are crossed.
January 7
Sort of had a hayday but tomorrow I diet! Dad borrowed 100$(sic) from my account. He felt bad but I tried to be cheerful and tell him not to worry.
January 8
The diet seems to be too easy. So many calories allowed that I hardly have to try. [Note: No further diet entries in the entire diary]
January 16
The chemistry in this household is awful. What I would give if I lived with one of those TV families like 8 is Enough!
January 17
Tomorrow I have to take Gym. I wish I didn't have to. I only pray that I can pass it.
January 18
P.E. wasn't so bad. But Wednesday we wrestle. I can't stand that.
January 20
Wrestling isn't that bad.
January 23
We went out shopping for some pants tonight. I found a pair I loved, but they didn't fit.
Juju is gone. The house feels like a stage set that is being slowly dismantled after a successful two-year run of a hit comedy. My roomie is now living with Metro. It's partially my fault. I'm the one that snuck that Sade CD into the stereo the first night they kissed. The three of us were sitting around talking about what kind of music turned us on, and I wanted to see the two of them together so badly. I've always thought they would make a great couple.
So now they have found love, and I am shuffling around the house alone packing, listening to the music Jeff sent me and digging through the rubble. Sometimes I unearth some pretty interesting stuff.
In 1982 I was given a five year diary. The diary is green and black tartan plaid with gold leaf pages. On the side of the pages I scrawled "Go Go's" with a star in front of the name of the band. I was 16 when I started this diary, and I only kept up with it for a little over a year. Each day only allows for about two or three sentences, so the entries are short. In glancing through the entries, I have discovered two things about myself:
1. The more things change, the more they stay the same. I still have issues with losing weight and saving money, just like I did at 16.
2. I am better at blogging than I am at keeping a secret diary. The diary had a lock on it, but I lost the key (big surprise) so I had to cut it open in order to keep writing. I skipped writing for weeks at a time and completely stopped writing in it December 1983.
I am struck by my naivete in these entries. I feel like I'm reading the writings of a 12 or 13 year old, not a high school student. I'm sure I was much more sheltered than most of my peers due to a religious upbringing, serious self-esteem issues and a weight problem. Knowing I was gay and hiding it from my friends and family forced me to spend a lot of time alone. I didn't want them to know me, because I thought they would hate me. I definitely would not have even considered writing about any of my feelings for fear that someone would find the diary and read it.
So I spent a lot of time alone writing plays and performing them on a small stage my father built for me in the basement. I remember my youth as mostly happy, but I can also see a lot of self-doubt and gloom in the things I wrote about. By the end of high school I started partying a bit, hanging out with some "cool kids" and learning how to interact socially. But in 1982 I still had a long way to go.
I'll share a few entries with you, but if you weren't even born yet when I wrote this stuff, I don't want to hear about it...
1982
January 5
It was hard to get up this morning. I've been trying to watch my diet but it's pretty hard! Dinnertime!! Bye.
January 6
So long carbos! [Note: I was counting carbs at 16] Starting tomorrow I'm switching to calories. I can have more of a variety. My fingers are crossed.
January 7
Sort of had a hayday but tomorrow I diet! Dad borrowed 100$(sic) from my account. He felt bad but I tried to be cheerful and tell him not to worry.
January 8
The diet seems to be too easy. So many calories allowed that I hardly have to try. [Note: No further diet entries in the entire diary]
January 16
The chemistry in this household is awful. What I would give if I lived with one of those TV families like 8 is Enough!
January 17
Tomorrow I have to take Gym. I wish I didn't have to. I only pray that I can pass it.
January 18
P.E. wasn't so bad. But Wednesday we wrestle. I can't stand that.
January 20
Wrestling isn't that bad.
January 23
We went out shopping for some pants tonight. I found a pair I loved, but they didn't fit.
Tuesday, July 06, 2004
E-mail
I received this e-mail today at work:
Dear sir or madam,
I was browsing through the results from a search engine when I came across your site. It has a lot of good, relevant information
Red Flag. You don't read Toaster Oven. Good relevant information? If you consider "The Rock" and long distance crushes to be relevant, I suppose....
I was hoping that we could exchange links. Doing so would not only help our regular visitors find other useful pages, but it would also make our sites rank higher in search engines like Google, AOL, MSN, and Yahoo. Exchanging links would be free and beneficial for both of our sites.
Sir, my readers would never forgive me for linking to your site. NCAA information? Please. Besides, do you know how high I rank in Google searches from midwestern housewives looking to buy a toaster oven?
My web page is over 4 years old and receives more than 2,000 visitors a day.
Braggart. I've been blogging for less than a year and get 140 visitors a day. In four years I will make you want to cry when you see how many hits I get every day. People in New York can't even sleep at night because they are up wondering about whether or not I'll write about who I flirted with at CC Slaughters last night.
I try to offer the best information available on any topic I think my visitors would appreciate,
I must have missed your entry about Madonna changing her name to Esther.
but concentrate mostly on NCAA enthusiast related information and services. The site has sections for every NCAA team.
I definitely support the advancement of all minorities, but I am not interested in linking to you. I'm sorry.
Toddy
If you'd like to exchange links for our mutual benefit, please respond to this email. I'd be happy to discuss it with you. My phone number is ###
Sigh. Another person begging for phone sex. It's pathetic. Good thing I jotted his number down before I deleted the e-mail.
I received this e-mail today at work:
Dear sir or madam,
I was browsing through the results from a search engine when I came across your site. It has a lot of good, relevant information
Red Flag. You don't read Toaster Oven. Good relevant information? If you consider "The Rock" and long distance crushes to be relevant, I suppose....
I was hoping that we could exchange links. Doing so would not only help our regular visitors find other useful pages, but it would also make our sites rank higher in search engines like Google, AOL, MSN, and Yahoo. Exchanging links would be free and beneficial for both of our sites.
Sir, my readers would never forgive me for linking to your site. NCAA information? Please. Besides, do you know how high I rank in Google searches from midwestern housewives looking to buy a toaster oven?
My web page is over 4 years old and receives more than 2,000 visitors a day.
Braggart. I've been blogging for less than a year and get 140 visitors a day. In four years I will make you want to cry when you see how many hits I get every day. People in New York can't even sleep at night because they are up wondering about whether or not I'll write about who I flirted with at CC Slaughters last night.
I try to offer the best information available on any topic I think my visitors would appreciate,
I must have missed your entry about Madonna changing her name to Esther.
but concentrate mostly on NCAA enthusiast related information and services. The site has sections for every NCAA team.
I definitely support the advancement of all minorities, but I am not interested in linking to you. I'm sorry.
Toddy
If you'd like to exchange links for our mutual benefit, please respond to this email. I'd be happy to discuss it with you. My phone number is ###
Sigh. Another person begging for phone sex. It's pathetic. Good thing I jotted his number down before I deleted the e-mail.
Clams and Talent Shows
This weekend, everything happened exactly as I predicted. But there were a few surprises.
Saturday afternoon Apollo took a nap. He was pretty drunk, so he passed out at about 4 p.m. and didn't get up for about three hours. When he awoke he started packing his car and saying his goodbyes. Originally, he was supposed to leave on Sunday morning, but apparently something urgent had come up.
The rest of us were eating clams (well, I wasn't - but we'll get to that) and drinking bourbon as we waited for the fireworks on the beach to begin. Our lesbian friends drove up from Lincoln City to join us for the party. Apollo hugged me goodbye in the kitchen and said, "you people are ridiculously early risers".
I asked him what he meant, and he pointed at the clock on the stove. "It's 7:15 a.m. and you're eating clams and drinking. I wish I could stay."
"Apollo, it's 7:15 p.m," I answered. "It's still Saturday."
It is outrageous to me that Apollo thought it was Sunday morning. It is insane that he thought we were eating clams and drinking bourbon at that hour. It is downright preposterous that he thought the lesbians got up that early to join our party. Never mind the fact that the sun was rising over the Pacific at that hour.
Now, as I said, I didn't eat clams. I thought about it. While we were waiting in line at the seafood market, I asked questions of my Yum Yum brothers to see if maybe my conscience would allow me to eat a clam.
I asked a series of questions: "Do they have hearts? Do they have brains? Do clams breathe? Can they feel anything?"
The Handsome Prince turned to the group and whined, "Do clams cry? Can they talk?" He's such a bitch. I then asked the lady at the seafood counter if I could hold a clam and pet it for a minute. She just laughed, so I had to wait until we got back to the beach house to decide if I could eat clams. When I smelled the bag of clams on the kitchen counter, I knew I couldn't eat them. Besides smelling horrible, they smelled like living creatures. So I just skipped the clams and kept drinking.
One of my favorite memories was our "Talentless Show" after the fireworks on Saturday night. A big group of guys, including our gay beachfront neighbors, or "gaybors", decided it would be fun to turn the local tavern into a gay bar, so they headed en masse to the watering hole. Several of us felt it would be more enjoyable to hang out at the house, drink free booze and enjoy the deck overlooking the ocean. After all, going to the bar is something we can do anytime in Portland.
Soon those of us who stayed at the house were receiving swing dance lessons from our handsome agile Indonesian friend, "The Architect", in the living room. Swing dance lessons turned into a talent show of sorts. The Handsome Prince did a very sexy rendition of "Hey, Big Spender" using an ottoman and his tight ass to provoke thunderous applause. Not to be outdone, I performed the next song using the same ottoman. I'm not quite as acrobatic as The Handsome Prince, so I decided to do my song in the style of Drunk Billie Holiday. Stumbling over the ottoman and drinking vodka upside down, Drunk Billie Holiday sang until she passed out. For me there is nothing more gratifying than making my friends laugh until their stomach muscles hurt.
Because my act was so well-received, I commandeered the entire show. It became "Just Todd 2004", and I'm seriously thinking I should take this act on tour to gay beach parties everywhere (Fire Island anyone?) I discovered I am very good at playing spoons, but I was not allowed to attempt butcher knife juggling. I'm sure I would have been good. And who knew I could imitate Pearl Bailey performing a strip tease? I had no idea. The Math Whiz, who I've decided is perfect for The Handsome Prince, tried to assist me in stripping, but I was very coy.
Thanks to The Executive and all the Yum Yums for such a great weekend at the Oregon Coast. (My stalker may or may not have been there. One guy kept pulling on my hair and saying how much he loved it, so maybe it was him?)
This weekend, everything happened exactly as I predicted. But there were a few surprises.
Saturday afternoon Apollo took a nap. He was pretty drunk, so he passed out at about 4 p.m. and didn't get up for about three hours. When he awoke he started packing his car and saying his goodbyes. Originally, he was supposed to leave on Sunday morning, but apparently something urgent had come up.
The rest of us were eating clams (well, I wasn't - but we'll get to that) and drinking bourbon as we waited for the fireworks on the beach to begin. Our lesbian friends drove up from Lincoln City to join us for the party. Apollo hugged me goodbye in the kitchen and said, "you people are ridiculously early risers".
I asked him what he meant, and he pointed at the clock on the stove. "It's 7:15 a.m. and you're eating clams and drinking. I wish I could stay."
"Apollo, it's 7:15 p.m," I answered. "It's still Saturday."
It is outrageous to me that Apollo thought it was Sunday morning. It is insane that he thought we were eating clams and drinking bourbon at that hour. It is downright preposterous that he thought the lesbians got up that early to join our party. Never mind the fact that the sun was rising over the Pacific at that hour.
Now, as I said, I didn't eat clams. I thought about it. While we were waiting in line at the seafood market, I asked questions of my Yum Yum brothers to see if maybe my conscience would allow me to eat a clam.
I asked a series of questions: "Do they have hearts? Do they have brains? Do clams breathe? Can they feel anything?"
The Handsome Prince turned to the group and whined, "Do clams cry? Can they talk?" He's such a bitch. I then asked the lady at the seafood counter if I could hold a clam and pet it for a minute. She just laughed, so I had to wait until we got back to the beach house to decide if I could eat clams. When I smelled the bag of clams on the kitchen counter, I knew I couldn't eat them. Besides smelling horrible, they smelled like living creatures. So I just skipped the clams and kept drinking.
One of my favorite memories was our "Talentless Show" after the fireworks on Saturday night. A big group of guys, including our gay beachfront neighbors, or "gaybors", decided it would be fun to turn the local tavern into a gay bar, so they headed en masse to the watering hole. Several of us felt it would be more enjoyable to hang out at the house, drink free booze and enjoy the deck overlooking the ocean. After all, going to the bar is something we can do anytime in Portland.
Soon those of us who stayed at the house were receiving swing dance lessons from our handsome agile Indonesian friend, "The Architect", in the living room. Swing dance lessons turned into a talent show of sorts. The Handsome Prince did a very sexy rendition of "Hey, Big Spender" using an ottoman and his tight ass to provoke thunderous applause. Not to be outdone, I performed the next song using the same ottoman. I'm not quite as acrobatic as The Handsome Prince, so I decided to do my song in the style of Drunk Billie Holiday. Stumbling over the ottoman and drinking vodka upside down, Drunk Billie Holiday sang until she passed out. For me there is nothing more gratifying than making my friends laugh until their stomach muscles hurt.
Because my act was so well-received, I commandeered the entire show. It became "Just Todd 2004", and I'm seriously thinking I should take this act on tour to gay beach parties everywhere (Fire Island anyone?) I discovered I am very good at playing spoons, but I was not allowed to attempt butcher knife juggling. I'm sure I would have been good. And who knew I could imitate Pearl Bailey performing a strip tease? I had no idea. The Math Whiz, who I've decided is perfect for The Handsome Prince, tried to assist me in stripping, but I was very coy.
Thanks to The Executive and all the Yum Yums for such a great weekend at the Oregon Coast. (My stalker may or may not have been there. One guy kept pulling on my hair and saying how much he loved it, so maybe it was him?)
Thursday, July 01, 2004
Big Gay Beach Party
Dear Stalker, there is important information here as to my whereabouts for the next few days. Please let me know (a voice-altered threatening phone call will be fine) if you need me to post a map.
I am going out of town for a few days, so I won't be able to update until Tuesday.
And when I get back Tuesday, I may be too worn out to update. So I am going to go ahead and write about my weekend now, even though it hasn't happened yet....
What a wild weekend! All of my wildest dreams came true at Pacific City this weekend. I drove The Handsome Prince and his boyfriend The Math Whiz out to the coast in my car. THP and I sang "I'll Cover You" from RENT all the way there. The Math Whiz prefers the song "Seasons of Love," but he has a problem with the words, "525,600 minutes..." His problem is that he does not think 525,600 is a real number. He's so pretty.
Anyway, we arrived at the beach and BoBo came out to carry my bags inside. "You're sleeping with me," he said. The Handsome Prince wouldn't hear of it. "My boyfriend and I already have dibs on Toddy," shouted THP. Suddenly, Apollo's car screeched into the driveway. He jumped out and shouted, "DIBS ON SLEEPING WITH TODD!"
It was a mess. People were pulling hair and fighting to stake claims on my body. I calmly looked at the rioting mob and said, "We'll see. I haven't made my decision yet."
Once inside the beach house, I saw that BoBo had declared the entire weekend a Vegetarian Weekend. The table was spread with all my favorites, and there was not one dead animal carcass to be found. It made THP cry a bit, because he grew up on a cattle ranch in Eastern Oregon and needs to see his food slaughtered before he eats it. I offered to slam my garden burger violently against the wall before eating it, which seemed to placate him.
Everybody was drinking ridiculous amounts of liquor. They kept trying to offer me whiskey, but I stuck to my usual mineral water with lime. After we had dinner everyone was so drunk. It was sloppy and disgusting to me. At one point I was sitting on the sofa re-reading "The Night We Met" for the fourth time when the boys came up and started trying to give me lap dances. BoBo, who just gave himself a big raise, kept thrusting hundred dollar bills into my hands begging me to tip the dancers. I gave out as much money as I could, but he was handing me money faster than I could spend it, so I had to pocket at least a dozen of the bills. (I counted when I got home and somehow ended up with $3700).
After about an hour of fighting off gyrating sweaty naked guys, I needed some peace and quiet. Ithrew lovingly placed my book down on the floor coffee table and headed outside for a stroll. The night was peaceful, and I felt at peace. Plus there was a peacefulness that made me peacefully sigh as if I were someone who was enjoying peace and quiet.
Ahead of me I could see two figures grappling on the beach. I had chanced upon a some sort of sporting competition by moonlight. Two shirtless men wearing jock straps were rolling around in the sand. One was very muscular, and the other was very buff. "Hey, do you wanna wrestle," asked the muscular gentleman. "Oh, I don't know. I usually wrestle nude," I answered. "No problem, man," replied the buff one. I wrestled the guys for an hour or two and am proud to say that I was victorious. (I lost to both of them!)
I walked back to BoBo's feeling a bit chafed and wearing a big smile. Inside the house most of the boys had passed out from the evils of drink. I sipped a glass of water, did some push-ups and, after ordering several people out of my bed, had sex with the most sober of the remaining three guys and fell fast asleep.
The next morning (Saturday) after I ran along the coast, I came back inside and made breakfast for everyone. I prepared mango blintzes and veggie omelettes with fresh-squeezed orange juice because I didn't have time for anything elaborate. I was singing "Toxic" when a smattering of applause erupted behind me. Balancing my hot coffee cake (from scratch) on a plate held high over my head, I looked over my shoulder to see the boys smiling at me and clapping for my song. They looked so cute standing shirtless in their drawstring pants. We all sat down and began to eat. I beamed as I looked around the table at the boys enjoying my food. As I sat between Balloon Boy and Apollo, I rested my hands on their crotches and thought about how lucky I am to have such great friends.
We spent most of Saturday in the sun, but I didn't have much time to just relax. The boys kept running up to me asking me to slather suntan lotion on their bodies. Then beach boys I didn't even know were handing me bottles of lotion to apply on their hard firm bodies. A line quickly formed, and in order to save time and keep up with the crowd I simply applied the lotion to my own body first and just embraced each guy from the front and back. Still, the line did not diminish. It was at that point I realized I was being duped. Immediately after receiving their lotion hugs, the guys were running right into the ocean to wash off. They would then return to me for another application. I had to put a stop to that kind of nonsense, and two hours later I told them, "that's enough!"
Exhausted from my greasy afternoon in the sun with half-naked guys, I went inside to rest up for the big Saturday night party. After The Handsome Prince and his boyfriend massaged my aching body, I fell asleep. When I awoke, it was party time. BoBo had tried to make macaroni and cheese, but he had made a mess of it as usual. (I don't know how many times I have to tell him to boil the macaroni first). So I whipped up some incredibly fancy vegetarian dish (I forget the name) and we went outside and fed it to everybody. I got to meet BoBo's neighbor, Boy4Ever, and also met the 20+ guys accompanying him. Suddenly, a man emerged from the throng of guys and walked towards me smiling.
He had crystal blue eyes and blonde hair. Or he was Asian or a bodybuilder. Doesn't matter. In his hand he held a picture of me. I recognized it as the headshot (now laminated) from the poster in the theatre lobby.
The beautiful blonde or Asian or bodybuilder said to me, "I have been waiting to meet you. Will you sign my photo?"
"I don't have a pen on me," I replied meekly as the moonlight shone upon my bronzed skin and streaked blonde hair.
"I have one in my hotel suite, which overlooks the ocean. It is on the small side table next to the jacuzzi on the balcony," he answered.
I signed his photograph and had a wonderful evening with him in the jacuzzi. He wanted to hear all about my blog and about my performances. As we held each other and kissed each other, I almost forgot everything else. I almost forget about the rest of my friends sitting on the beach drawing straws over who would get to sleep with me. I almost forgot about the wrestling guys who wanted a rematch. I almost forgot to give The Handsome Prince his medication so that he wouldn't stick his finger or other body parts into electrical sockets.
"I can't stay. Too many people need me," I told the blonde/Asian/bodybuilder.
"I understand, but I will be here waiting for you," he answered. "Go back to your friends, but you must join me later. And then I will take you to Paris/Stockholm/Melbourne/Tokyo/Cleveland with me and we will live happily ever after," he said as he kissed me softly. At that moment fireworks erupted overhead. The sky flashed with red and blue and gold, and then I decided to stay with him. "Fuck my friends," I told him.
Only I didn't say "my friends".
Happy Fourth of July, everyone. God Bless America. Next year I will be celebrating with Sven/Jin Lee/The Rock.
Dear Stalker, there is important information here as to my whereabouts for the next few days. Please let me know (a voice-altered threatening phone call will be fine) if you need me to post a map.
I am going out of town for a few days, so I won't be able to update until Tuesday.
And when I get back Tuesday, I may be too worn out to update. So I am going to go ahead and write about my weekend now, even though it hasn't happened yet....
What a wild weekend! All of my wildest dreams came true at Pacific City this weekend. I drove The Handsome Prince and his boyfriend The Math Whiz out to the coast in my car. THP and I sang "I'll Cover You" from RENT all the way there. The Math Whiz prefers the song "Seasons of Love," but he has a problem with the words, "525,600 minutes..." His problem is that he does not think 525,600 is a real number. He's so pretty.
Anyway, we arrived at the beach and BoBo came out to carry my bags inside. "You're sleeping with me," he said. The Handsome Prince wouldn't hear of it. "My boyfriend and I already have dibs on Toddy," shouted THP. Suddenly, Apollo's car screeched into the driveway. He jumped out and shouted, "DIBS ON SLEEPING WITH TODD!"
It was a mess. People were pulling hair and fighting to stake claims on my body. I calmly looked at the rioting mob and said, "We'll see. I haven't made my decision yet."
Once inside the beach house, I saw that BoBo had declared the entire weekend a Vegetarian Weekend. The table was spread with all my favorites, and there was not one dead animal carcass to be found. It made THP cry a bit, because he grew up on a cattle ranch in Eastern Oregon and needs to see his food slaughtered before he eats it. I offered to slam my garden burger violently against the wall before eating it, which seemed to placate him.
Everybody was drinking ridiculous amounts of liquor. They kept trying to offer me whiskey, but I stuck to my usual mineral water with lime. After we had dinner everyone was so drunk. It was sloppy and disgusting to me. At one point I was sitting on the sofa re-reading "The Night We Met" for the fourth time when the boys came up and started trying to give me lap dances. BoBo, who just gave himself a big raise, kept thrusting hundred dollar bills into my hands begging me to tip the dancers. I gave out as much money as I could, but he was handing me money faster than I could spend it, so I had to pocket at least a dozen of the bills. (I counted when I got home and somehow ended up with $3700).
After about an hour of fighting off gyrating sweaty naked guys, I needed some peace and quiet. I
Ahead of me I could see two figures grappling on the beach. I had chanced upon a some sort of sporting competition by moonlight. Two shirtless men wearing jock straps were rolling around in the sand. One was very muscular, and the other was very buff. "Hey, do you wanna wrestle," asked the muscular gentleman. "Oh, I don't know. I usually wrestle nude," I answered. "No problem, man," replied the buff one. I wrestled the guys for an hour or two and am proud to say that I was victorious. (I lost to both of them!)
I walked back to BoBo's feeling a bit chafed and wearing a big smile. Inside the house most of the boys had passed out from the evils of drink. I sipped a glass of water, did some push-ups and, after ordering several people out of my bed, had sex with the most sober of the remaining three guys and fell fast asleep.
The next morning (Saturday) after I ran along the coast, I came back inside and made breakfast for everyone. I prepared mango blintzes and veggie omelettes with fresh-squeezed orange juice because I didn't have time for anything elaborate. I was singing "Toxic" when a smattering of applause erupted behind me. Balancing my hot coffee cake (from scratch) on a plate held high over my head, I looked over my shoulder to see the boys smiling at me and clapping for my song. They looked so cute standing shirtless in their drawstring pants. We all sat down and began to eat. I beamed as I looked around the table at the boys enjoying my food. As I sat between Balloon Boy and Apollo, I rested my hands on their crotches and thought about how lucky I am to have such great friends.
We spent most of Saturday in the sun, but I didn't have much time to just relax. The boys kept running up to me asking me to slather suntan lotion on their bodies. Then beach boys I didn't even know were handing me bottles of lotion to apply on their hard firm bodies. A line quickly formed, and in order to save time and keep up with the crowd I simply applied the lotion to my own body first and just embraced each guy from the front and back. Still, the line did not diminish. It was at that point I realized I was being duped. Immediately after receiving their lotion hugs, the guys were running right into the ocean to wash off. They would then return to me for another application. I had to put a stop to that kind of nonsense, and two hours later I told them, "that's enough!"
Exhausted from my greasy afternoon in the sun with half-naked guys, I went inside to rest up for the big Saturday night party. After The Handsome Prince and his boyfriend massaged my aching body, I fell asleep. When I awoke, it was party time. BoBo had tried to make macaroni and cheese, but he had made a mess of it as usual. (I don't know how many times I have to tell him to boil the macaroni first). So I whipped up some incredibly fancy vegetarian dish (I forget the name) and we went outside and fed it to everybody. I got to meet BoBo's neighbor, Boy4Ever, and also met the 20+ guys accompanying him. Suddenly, a man emerged from the throng of guys and walked towards me smiling.
He had crystal blue eyes and blonde hair. Or he was Asian or a bodybuilder. Doesn't matter. In his hand he held a picture of me. I recognized it as the headshot (now laminated) from the poster in the theatre lobby.
The beautiful blonde or Asian or bodybuilder said to me, "I have been waiting to meet you. Will you sign my photo?"
"I don't have a pen on me," I replied meekly as the moonlight shone upon my bronzed skin and streaked blonde hair.
"I have one in my hotel suite, which overlooks the ocean. It is on the small side table next to the jacuzzi on the balcony," he answered.
I signed his photograph and had a wonderful evening with him in the jacuzzi. He wanted to hear all about my blog and about my performances. As we held each other and kissed each other, I almost forgot everything else. I almost forget about the rest of my friends sitting on the beach drawing straws over who would get to sleep with me. I almost forgot about the wrestling guys who wanted a rematch. I almost forgot to give The Handsome Prince his medication so that he wouldn't stick his finger or other body parts into electrical sockets.
"I can't stay. Too many people need me," I told the blonde/Asian/bodybuilder.
"I understand, but I will be here waiting for you," he answered. "Go back to your friends, but you must join me later. And then I will take you to Paris/Stockholm/Melbourne/Tokyo/Cleveland with me and we will live happily ever after," he said as he kissed me softly. At that moment fireworks erupted overhead. The sky flashed with red and blue and gold, and then I decided to stay with him. "Fuck my friends," I told him.
Only I didn't say "my friends".
Happy Fourth of July, everyone. God Bless America. Next year I will be celebrating with Sven/Jin Lee/The Rock.
Morning Hair
Famous Author Rob Byrnes won the poll in which votes were cast to determine the next person I should blog about. Also, he pulled a GW and cheated his way to victory. He is getting pissy, because I haven't mentioned him yet. There is nothing worse than a pissy Famous Author.
So here is my tribute to Rob: Rob is not pretty in the morning. Sadly, I did not learn this firsthand.
Rob and I often exchange catty e-mails in which we talk about all of you. "I am You" is one of his favorite things to say to me. I guess Rob wishes he were me.
Who can blame him?
Yeah, Rob. You are me, except with a boyfriend, published novels and prestige.
One thing Rob and I do have in common, apart from our rapier wit and enthusiasm for spirits (not the Holy kind), is that I am not pretty in the morning either. Click here for Juju's prize-winning photo entitled, Morning Hair. (The photo is huge. I thought it would be more horrifying for you that way.)
After I wake up and get coffee I may be posting again today. You sit right there and hold your breath.
Famous Author Rob Byrnes won the poll in which votes were cast to determine the next person I should blog about. Also, he pulled a GW and cheated his way to victory. He is getting pissy, because I haven't mentioned him yet. There is nothing worse than a pissy Famous Author.
So here is my tribute to Rob: Rob is not pretty in the morning. Sadly, I did not learn this firsthand.
Rob and I often exchange catty e-mails in which we talk about all of you. "I am You" is one of his favorite things to say to me. I guess Rob wishes he were me.
Who can blame him?
Yeah, Rob. You are me, except with a boyfriend, published novels and prestige.
One thing Rob and I do have in common, apart from our rapier wit and enthusiasm for spirits (not the Holy kind), is that I am not pretty in the morning either. Click here for Juju's prize-winning photo entitled, Morning Hair. (The photo is huge. I thought it would be more horrifying for you that way.)
After I wake up and get coffee I may be posting again today. You sit right there and hold your breath.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)