So now both boys are losing teeth. I suppose over the last couple of years I sort of forgot that losing all one's baby teeth meant losing ALL the baby teeth. Yes, this includes the ones in the back that I don't see and don't make your cute little six year old that much cuter.
The Boy has recently started losing teeth and finding money under his pillow, and just yesterday Big Brother lost another. He has one more that he's sure is going to come out soon.
I forgot to have Big Brother straighten his bed today and noticed while tucking The Boy in. While adjusting his pillow back to where it usually goes I found his most recent tooth and slipped it back under his pillow. I was tucking him in when he checked to be sure it was still there.
We've never been big on pretending the Tooth Fairy was real, but we do like the idea of buying their teeth off them. It is sort of part of being an American child, though I imagine many people likely draw a line and stop at some point.
I took his tooth after asking him if it was okay. I know he knows better than believing in the ol TF, and he certainly knows where the money comes from that he's found under his pillow over the years. There was a certain feeling of killing off some magic upon essentially buying the tooth outright, but he's a dollar richer, so I doubt he really cares. He's that much closer to a mouth full of regular teeth and that Nintendo DS he's been saving for.
A dollar a pop? I'm glad we never set the bar any higher than we did. I can deal with that price.
Monday, July 06, 2009
Frankencar
For my Facebook friends this is likely a second reference to my Frankencar, but it's such a lovely story that I surely must share it with more of you. It's great fun. Also, I'm not telling the whole story at Fb because that's not what it's for.
Though I haven't bitched online nearly as much as in real life about it, I have mentioned a time or two that my driver's side window in my car hasn't been rolling up lately. Sadly, due to the lazy nature of myself as well as other issues I use as excuses this has been a problem that's been long in need of a solution. That solution happened today.
Before I go further I'll share some of the joys of having a window that won't roll up. I've carried everything of value that generally lives in my car in an Army surplus gas mask bag. It's a great bag, and I actually have a female friend with an identical bag that she uses as a purse. It holds a number of cd's, the front to my stereo, the bandana I wear for work, my car phone charger, an extra lighter or two, my cigarette tobacco, a spare tshirt for post work drinking, sunglasses and some other something sometimes. It's a great bag that should also have been holding my auto registration, but as soon as I carry that to the courthouse I should be okay. Another joy is our mysteriously sodden spring and summer. It's rained most days for the past few months at least a little, and one day I even got to drive in a thunderstorm with pea size hail. The car is also very easy to spot with an orange bag over the window had I ever forgotten where I parked.
Pull-A-Part, as you may likely figure from the name, is basically a large junkyard. The cars are in sections and rows, a section for domestics and a section for imports, the rows all numbered. The place is automated which was certainly a help.
Step one upon entering PAP is to visit the computer and find the make and model of your car, and while you can't search by year it does list them by year. You can then print a list of each of those cars. Other info includes the row in which each car can be found as well as the date the car was brought in. It helps to know which year's parts will correspond with your car so that you can be sure the parts will work. I wasn't quite sure of this, but knowing I needed a power window switch and having looked at it a number of times I was hopeful I could figure it out.
I visited several cars, most of which had been visited before, and each one had already been stripped of the part that I needed. A final visit to the last Accord was nearly hopeful, but considering I'd seen ten or more stripped out doors already was endangering my ability to hope. This car was three years newer than my own and fairly different in terms of body shape as well as interior trim.
I approached the car and pulled the door open happy to find the door panel intact and holding the exact part I'd been searching for, though it was obviously going to not fit exactly as it should. I pulled the panel and had to remove six screws to get the switches off. There were also three metal clips that had to be pried off and sent flying. With a little elbow grease, a fair amount of swearing and generous bit of sweat I had this part off, a part I knew wouldn't fit exactly but hoped would work.
Eight and a half dollars later I was outside again, wandering happily-ish toward my car. I needed to move quickly to get home in time for Momma to leave for work, and I wasn't able to check the part at PAP, obeying the pleasant signs that suggested one should not repair cars in the parking lot. I had hope and Lily Allen blaring as I roared up and out of the driveway, onto the road and back home.
A quick bit of prying pulled my switches out of the door panel, and some squeezing and pulling got the wiring harnesses loose. I plugged the newer switches in, turned the key and perhaps giggled a little as my window finally worked again. The newer switches fit into the door panel while not actually fitting the door panel, but I'm quite certain that I don't care. My window rolls up.
Though I haven't bitched online nearly as much as in real life about it, I have mentioned a time or two that my driver's side window in my car hasn't been rolling up lately. Sadly, due to the lazy nature of myself as well as other issues I use as excuses this has been a problem that's been long in need of a solution. That solution happened today.
Before I go further I'll share some of the joys of having a window that won't roll up. I've carried everything of value that generally lives in my car in an Army surplus gas mask bag. It's a great bag, and I actually have a female friend with an identical bag that she uses as a purse. It holds a number of cd's, the front to my stereo, the bandana I wear for work, my car phone charger, an extra lighter or two, my cigarette tobacco, a spare tshirt for post work drinking, sunglasses and some other something sometimes. It's a great bag that should also have been holding my auto registration, but as soon as I carry that to the courthouse I should be okay. Another joy is our mysteriously sodden spring and summer. It's rained most days for the past few months at least a little, and one day I even got to drive in a thunderstorm with pea size hail. The car is also very easy to spot with an orange bag over the window had I ever forgotten where I parked.
Pull-A-Part, as you may likely figure from the name, is basically a large junkyard. The cars are in sections and rows, a section for domestics and a section for imports, the rows all numbered. The place is automated which was certainly a help.
Step one upon entering PAP is to visit the computer and find the make and model of your car, and while you can't search by year it does list them by year. You can then print a list of each of those cars. Other info includes the row in which each car can be found as well as the date the car was brought in. It helps to know which year's parts will correspond with your car so that you can be sure the parts will work. I wasn't quite sure of this, but knowing I needed a power window switch and having looked at it a number of times I was hopeful I could figure it out.
I visited several cars, most of which had been visited before, and each one had already been stripped of the part that I needed. A final visit to the last Accord was nearly hopeful, but considering I'd seen ten or more stripped out doors already was endangering my ability to hope. This car was three years newer than my own and fairly different in terms of body shape as well as interior trim.
I approached the car and pulled the door open happy to find the door panel intact and holding the exact part I'd been searching for, though it was obviously going to not fit exactly as it should. I pulled the panel and had to remove six screws to get the switches off. There were also three metal clips that had to be pried off and sent flying. With a little elbow grease, a fair amount of swearing and generous bit of sweat I had this part off, a part I knew wouldn't fit exactly but hoped would work.
Eight and a half dollars later I was outside again, wandering happily-ish toward my car. I needed to move quickly to get home in time for Momma to leave for work, and I wasn't able to check the part at PAP, obeying the pleasant signs that suggested one should not repair cars in the parking lot. I had hope and Lily Allen blaring as I roared up and out of the driveway, onto the road and back home.
A quick bit of prying pulled my switches out of the door panel, and some squeezing and pulling got the wiring harnesses loose. I plugged the newer switches in, turned the key and perhaps giggled a little as my window finally worked again. The newer switches fit into the door panel while not actually fitting the door panel, but I'm quite certain that I don't care. My window rolls up.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
imagine I'm doing this in a dress
What a day, gay pride in my little town. For me it was somewhat anticlimactic in so many ways, most of which I must accept the blame for.
I slept much later than I should have, and though I'm not going into it, I'm so tired of waking up in this living room on that sofa. That's almost at an end, which I'm sure I've been saying, but I totally mean it this time. What matters is the effect that has on my sleeping and the fact that I totally should have been up and ready to go.
We, myself and the boys, wandered out of the parking garage in time to see the tail end of the parade and wave at the float representing my own regular gay bar. I didn't put it to them like that and didn't actually mention that particular bit of info with them at all. They did meet the bartender that semi regularly feeds me High Life and almost met the local drag queens with whom I'm most familiar.
I also drank some beer when I shouldn't have and got a little pissy at the job from which I should have asked off for the night all things considered. But as the night progressed I came to accept my fate and deal well with the having to cook for people. I'm sure there were some amount of gays dining with us for pride.
I did get lucky enough during a smoke break to catch some of the drag show on the square which was so awesome to see happening there. I really don't know the beginning of the relevance of drag queens in gay male culture, and I will soon look into that. All I know is that I didn't used to think it was my thing, and really it's still not, but I've realized over the last couple of years that I can appreciate and enjoy it. Whether it's more proof that I'm gay or whether coming out has allowed me to accept a broader array of art forms is not the debate for this post, so we'll leave it at that, but it does beg yet another question. How does one explain to his children about drag? I'm not going to bother I think, opting instead for a wait and see approach, but the thought of it came up.
I did try to give them at least a cursory explanation as to where we were going as we left the house yesterday. It's the first time I've gone with the boys to pride, and I did want them to have some idea of what was coming, but the going about it without making it a big deal is the problem.
I just want the whole gay thing to fit seamlessly. I suppose that's what we're really going for in general as a people, to just be. I think we'll know we've arrived when Pride Day is to John Q. Public what that one Mexican holiday and that other Irish holiday are. I long for the day when douche bag frat boys spend June 27 downing rainbow jello shooters while wearing kiss-me-I'm-queer tshirts even though they aren't even a little gay.
Before this turns into a pride as new year's for gays post, which it almost did but for some timely editing, I'll try to figure out where I'm going to go to wrap it up.
It was a decent day, though I'd have preferred not to have to go to work at all that day. If I'd been able to work the day shift I'd have been happy, and things would have been cool. Things were cool, but the not gay wedding we catered, though I did a great job in my part of feeding them, sort of pissed me off. If you don't know why I won't bother you with the details. We'll just let it go.
And that't that. What will happen between now and next year's pride? I can only imagine, though it's fun to think of sometimes. Things are changing as I speak.
I slept much later than I should have, and though I'm not going into it, I'm so tired of waking up in this living room on that sofa. That's almost at an end, which I'm sure I've been saying, but I totally mean it this time. What matters is the effect that has on my sleeping and the fact that I totally should have been up and ready to go.
We, myself and the boys, wandered out of the parking garage in time to see the tail end of the parade and wave at the float representing my own regular gay bar. I didn't put it to them like that and didn't actually mention that particular bit of info with them at all. They did meet the bartender that semi regularly feeds me High Life and almost met the local drag queens with whom I'm most familiar.
I also drank some beer when I shouldn't have and got a little pissy at the job from which I should have asked off for the night all things considered. But as the night progressed I came to accept my fate and deal well with the having to cook for people. I'm sure there were some amount of gays dining with us for pride.
I did get lucky enough during a smoke break to catch some of the drag show on the square which was so awesome to see happening there. I really don't know the beginning of the relevance of drag queens in gay male culture, and I will soon look into that. All I know is that I didn't used to think it was my thing, and really it's still not, but I've realized over the last couple of years that I can appreciate and enjoy it. Whether it's more proof that I'm gay or whether coming out has allowed me to accept a broader array of art forms is not the debate for this post, so we'll leave it at that, but it does beg yet another question. How does one explain to his children about drag? I'm not going to bother I think, opting instead for a wait and see approach, but the thought of it came up.
I did try to give them at least a cursory explanation as to where we were going as we left the house yesterday. It's the first time I've gone with the boys to pride, and I did want them to have some idea of what was coming, but the going about it without making it a big deal is the problem.
I just want the whole gay thing to fit seamlessly. I suppose that's what we're really going for in general as a people, to just be. I think we'll know we've arrived when Pride Day is to John Q. Public what that one Mexican holiday and that other Irish holiday are. I long for the day when douche bag frat boys spend June 27 downing rainbow jello shooters while wearing kiss-me-I'm-queer tshirts even though they aren't even a little gay.
Before this turns into a pride as new year's for gays post, which it almost did but for some timely editing, I'll try to figure out where I'm going to go to wrap it up.
It was a decent day, though I'd have preferred not to have to go to work at all that day. If I'd been able to work the day shift I'd have been happy, and things would have been cool. Things were cool, but the not gay wedding we catered, though I did a great job in my part of feeding them, sort of pissed me off. If you don't know why I won't bother you with the details. We'll just let it go.
And that't that. What will happen between now and next year's pride? I can only imagine, though it's fun to think of sometimes. Things are changing as I speak.
Friday, June 26, 2009
art shit somebody did
As happens in the area where I work I ran into a friend tonight. She was fliering for an art installation she's doing, and I realized as I talked to her something great about one of the new changes I haven't mentioned because I haven't been blogging regularly like a good blogger should.
Momma has moved back to her old job making sushi very close to where I work. She's close like we can walk to either restaurant in the time it takes to smoke a cigarette close. We discussed our schedules when she took the job and settled on three days a.m. and three days p.m. each so that we are still both off opposite each other for the kids but also in a way that's fair to each of us and the restaurants we work in.
The point of all the rambling above is that I now have Friday nights off work. I realized this upon seeing my friend's flier because it just happens to happen on the very next First Friday for my little town, our local downtown come see some art shit somebody did night.
And I haven't been off and able to go since sometime last year in that brief moment that I had a boyfriend, and we tried to go to First Friday, but he had to be a dick and make us so late that we couldn't actually visit any of the galleries really. We did make it to one, and then . . . I don't even know. The night ended somehow or other, but it wasn't the First Friday I'd envisioned.
So, yeah. I'm sorta happy about this.
Momma has moved back to her old job making sushi very close to where I work. She's close like we can walk to either restaurant in the time it takes to smoke a cigarette close. We discussed our schedules when she took the job and settled on three days a.m. and three days p.m. each so that we are still both off opposite each other for the kids but also in a way that's fair to each of us and the restaurants we work in.
The point of all the rambling above is that I now have Friday nights off work. I realized this upon seeing my friend's flier because it just happens to happen on the very next First Friday for my little town, our local downtown come see some art shit somebody did night.
And I haven't been off and able to go since sometime last year in that brief moment that I had a boyfriend, and we tried to go to First Friday, but he had to be a dick and make us so late that we couldn't actually visit any of the galleries really. We did make it to one, and then . . . I don't even know. The night ended somehow or other, but it wasn't the First Friday I'd envisioned.
So, yeah. I'm sorta happy about this.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
oh no he . . . oh . . . he did
At some point you get to where you don't know what to think about the people you think you know. I refuse to give you too much information, but this is a comment left to a friend. This was left at the friend's Facebook page. This is a person who is sort of family and sort of friend but is also neither, more the mother of a friend who was related to some family with whom divorce makes us no longer family.
Does that make sense? I can't say if it will or doesn't, but given the shake up I'm working through I can't help but not bother.
Sit back and feel the dumb as the nonsense rolls over you. I really did just copy and paste some real person's jibber jabber, and keep in mind that I'm not arguing the point this person holds valid so much as questioning the round-the-bend assumptions and suggestions.
Does that make sense? I can't say if it will or doesn't, but given the shake up I'm working through I can't help but not bother.
Sit back and feel the dumb as the nonsense rolls over you. I really did just copy and paste some real person's jibber jabber, and keep in mind that I'm not arguing the point this person holds valid so much as questioning the round-the-bend assumptions and suggestions.
It's because vaccination is a religion, or a cult, if you like, and as such, involves irrationality. As Dr Herbert Shelton once pointed out:
"Belief in immunization is a form of delusional insanity."
When arguing with pro-vaxers, one therefore always needs to keep in mind that one is arguing with people who are insane, due to having been deluded into believing that vaccines prevent diseases.
Basically, they should be locked up for their own good, and for the sake of other people's safety. The way they're running around loose, at the moment, endangers everyone's sanity, health and well-being.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
begin the dig
Edit number one of the night included a lot of drama that I'm trying to will myself from getting into too much. I've been accused of being dramatic lately, and I suppose it might sometimes seem that way. I don't see it that way. None of that is really the point.
I brought a couple of boxes in from the garage. They're sitting in the floor behind me. I had an idea that I was going to smoke a bowl, drink some beer and sit down in the floor and go through a couple of places where I have stuff I need to look at and sort through and pack or get rid of.
Then there are those other things and even more those different things. I think about the physical property I actually brought into a relationship that became Momma and me, and I think about the mass of accumulation that is thirteen years later.
What about the books? the cookbooks? the cd's? I can't find Rufus Want One, and I'm only listening to Rufus Want Two because only he is right right now and I can't find One. I'm not happy, but really, right this second, it's not my biggest concern.
What does it say that I feel a little bit guilty about feeling so happy at the prospect of moving out? I can't explain why I feel either way. It's a bit of a mental minefield if I start thinking too much about it, and given my disposal to dwell a bit much sometimes it's best left alone for now.
I do need to go, and I suddenly have a place to go. Some amount of getting-used-to is to be expected, but just knowing the weirdness to come, the getting-used-to I guess, but it's more such a huge step in a sense.
I guess that's really all I have to say. I brought a couple of boxes in. Momma brought them home about a month ago. They are not the usual tomato boxes we tend to salvage from work as recycling boxes, and the first time I saw them I wondered whether or not she was giving me a nudge, some boxes into which I could fit my stuff that needed to leave with me.
What of my salt and pepper shaker collection? my vinyl collection on which I'll soon have nothing to play those dear records I so seldom visit? Don't even mention pictures, the old kind on shiny paper. And the random objets de art? I so totally spelled that wrong, I'm sure, though without a huge heap of concern.
I just don't know. It's probably too late to start digging through those two cabinets tonight. I still have Facebook to check and my email and reader one more time. And I'm tired from being up early for work.
I brought a couple of boxes in from the garage. They're sitting in the floor behind me. I had an idea that I was going to smoke a bowl, drink some beer and sit down in the floor and go through a couple of places where I have stuff I need to look at and sort through and pack or get rid of.
Then there are those other things and even more those different things. I think about the physical property I actually brought into a relationship that became Momma and me, and I think about the mass of accumulation that is thirteen years later.
What about the books? the cookbooks? the cd's? I can't find Rufus Want One, and I'm only listening to Rufus Want Two because only he is right right now and I can't find One. I'm not happy, but really, right this second, it's not my biggest concern.
What does it say that I feel a little bit guilty about feeling so happy at the prospect of moving out? I can't explain why I feel either way. It's a bit of a mental minefield if I start thinking too much about it, and given my disposal to dwell a bit much sometimes it's best left alone for now.
I do need to go, and I suddenly have a place to go. Some amount of getting-used-to is to be expected, but just knowing the weirdness to come, the getting-used-to I guess, but it's more such a huge step in a sense.
I guess that's really all I have to say. I brought a couple of boxes in. Momma brought them home about a month ago. They are not the usual tomato boxes we tend to salvage from work as recycling boxes, and the first time I saw them I wondered whether or not she was giving me a nudge, some boxes into which I could fit my stuff that needed to leave with me.
What of my salt and pepper shaker collection? my vinyl collection on which I'll soon have nothing to play those dear records I so seldom visit? Don't even mention pictures, the old kind on shiny paper. And the random objets de art? I so totally spelled that wrong, I'm sure, though without a huge heap of concern.
I just don't know. It's probably too late to start digging through those two cabinets tonight. I still have Facebook to check and my email and reader one more time. And I'm tired from being up early for work.
Friday, June 12, 2009
an answer to my last post
I hate that I feel I need someone. I want to be able to be me for a while, to figure out what I'm doing and what I want to be doing.
The idea of a relationship feels like a life raft, except that if I'd just try, I could swim to shore, though it might take some work.
Instead, I just seem to keep trying to find a boat to climb into, and I never even make it to shore.
I could have already been there, could already have found my way, but I just keep not.
p.s. the "boat to climb into" phrase is in no way intended as a sexual reference, though upon my edit reading I've made myself giggle a little.
p.p.s. even after reasoning it out and making actual sense of my mental nonsense I still want to be his boyfriend, even if just for a little while
The idea of a relationship feels like a life raft, except that if I'd just try, I could swim to shore, though it might take some work.
Instead, I just seem to keep trying to find a boat to climb into, and I never even make it to shore.
I could have already been there, could already have found my way, but I just keep not.
p.s. the "boat to climb into" phrase is in no way intended as a sexual reference, though upon my edit reading I've made myself giggle a little.
p.p.s. even after reasoning it out and making actual sense of my mental nonsense I still want to be his boyfriend, even if just for a little while
The people that will read this won't get it, and the person who needs to see this won't, and he wouldn't necessarily get it if he did read it, but I have to say it.
I'm not being mean. I'm being confused, and you aren't helping. I almost think I know what I want, but when you call me on it I don't know what to say. If I say what I think I'm afraid it will drive you away, and I'm afraid to answer in terms that will tell you what I think you want to hear because it would be a lie.
Quit fucking with my head.
FUCK, are all boys like this? Are they ever just open and honest? Can I just get a straight answer? Can I give a straight answer? Can I just say what's on my mind without you rolling your eyes at me?
I just want to fucking cry sometimes because boys are stupid and don't tell me what they're really thinking.
FUCK!!!
I'm not being mean. I'm being confused, and you aren't helping. I almost think I know what I want, but when you call me on it I don't know what to say. If I say what I think I'm afraid it will drive you away, and I'm afraid to answer in terms that will tell you what I think you want to hear because it would be a lie.
Quit fucking with my head.
FUCK, are all boys like this? Are they ever just open and honest? Can I just get a straight answer? Can I give a straight answer? Can I just say what's on my mind without you rolling your eyes at me?
I just want to fucking cry sometimes because boys are stupid and don't tell me what they're really thinking.
FUCK!!!
Friday, June 05, 2009
an attempt
Because I like haiku and this poor version of one has been forming slowly in mind for a day or so . . .
shaggy white heads
the clover blooms throughout
the green grass lawn
shaggy white heads
the clover blooms throughout
the green grass lawn
Monday, June 01, 2009
quandary
Two sort of major events are taking place on the same night. One will require a few minutes travel, while the other over three hours. There is no way I can even imagine doing both short of winning the Powerball and renting a helicopter.
One of these is a derby bout, but it's not just any bout. It's Hard Knox's first WFTDA sanctioned bout, and it's kind of a big deal. I've been looking forward to it and even have a ticket, though I could easily pass it on to a deserving soul. I really want to be there for my team, cheering them on, smile plastered across my face as I see the league sporting their new WFTDA patches.
The second of these will take a drive to Nashville, and I've really wanted to make this drive for some time. One of my oldest and closest friends is having a birthday party that day. He's invited me as has his girlfriend who I've never even met in real life. She seems to have invited me without him knowing as she explained what a great surprise it would be.
The trip is really calling to me. I could go so far as to suggest that I almost feel I need to make this trip. I haven't seen this friend in too long, at least a couple of years. At the same time I know how big a deal this bout is too our league.
I guess I just don't know. I'm almost afraid that the main issue is finances because I'm just not making that much money, and I've blown too much the last couple of weeks hanging out with the guy I keep mentioning. Financially the trip will only involve gas money. I know that the friend and girlfriend will house and feed me. I'll have to make some token purchase as a birthday gift for the friend, though not because I'll have to so much as I'd want to.
I'm leaning toward the trip.
One of these is a derby bout, but it's not just any bout. It's Hard Knox's first WFTDA sanctioned bout, and it's kind of a big deal. I've been looking forward to it and even have a ticket, though I could easily pass it on to a deserving soul. I really want to be there for my team, cheering them on, smile plastered across my face as I see the league sporting their new WFTDA patches.
The second of these will take a drive to Nashville, and I've really wanted to make this drive for some time. One of my oldest and closest friends is having a birthday party that day. He's invited me as has his girlfriend who I've never even met in real life. She seems to have invited me without him knowing as she explained what a great surprise it would be.
The trip is really calling to me. I could go so far as to suggest that I almost feel I need to make this trip. I haven't seen this friend in too long, at least a couple of years. At the same time I know how big a deal this bout is too our league.
I guess I just don't know. I'm almost afraid that the main issue is finances because I'm just not making that much money, and I've blown too much the last couple of weeks hanging out with the guy I keep mentioning. Financially the trip will only involve gas money. I know that the friend and girlfriend will house and feed me. I'll have to make some token purchase as a birthday gift for the friend, though not because I'll have to so much as I'd want to.
I'm leaning toward the trip.
Monday, May 25, 2009
three shades
It happened on Friday night, sitting on the patio after work. I was hoping that a certain guy would text me and want to hang out, but I was also thinking it would be nice just to get some beer and go home and hang out with Momma.
Another friend came by to have a drink and hang out, and eventually a workmate finished closing the kitchen and joined us. A short time later another person came by though didn't quite join us so much as hang out on the square side of the patio to chat for a moment.
The workmate was the one non gay person there at this point. It's always nice to see the non gay person and recognize that they are the minority for once. This has some bearing on the point of the post as you will soon see.
A customer was leaving our patio about this time, and I noticed something as she pulled her sweater on. I commented to those around me that she was wearing three different shades of pink, and indeed she was. Her skirt, top and sweater, though all pink, were all obviously different shades.
The joiner, from his side of the fence commented, "That was gay." And I have to suppose that it was, my noticing her various versions on a single color theme.
Anyway, it's not much of a story, but now you know it, and you can carry it with you your whole life.
Another friend came by to have a drink and hang out, and eventually a workmate finished closing the kitchen and joined us. A short time later another person came by though didn't quite join us so much as hang out on the square side of the patio to chat for a moment.
The workmate was the one non gay person there at this point. It's always nice to see the non gay person and recognize that they are the minority for once. This has some bearing on the point of the post as you will soon see.
A customer was leaving our patio about this time, and I noticed something as she pulled her sweater on. I commented to those around me that she was wearing three different shades of pink, and indeed she was. Her skirt, top and sweater, though all pink, were all obviously different shades.
The joiner, from his side of the fence commented, "That was gay." And I have to suppose that it was, my noticing her various versions on a single color theme.
Anyway, it's not much of a story, but now you know it, and you can carry it with you your whole life.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
dudes and chicks
Any of my couple of readers that are friends with me on Facebook may have seen my profile lately and may have noticed a couple of quizzes that I took recently. They were both asking me how much I knew about men and women, two quizzes, one for each gender.
Do I have to preface the whole rest of what I'm saying by pointing out that I honestly do in fact know better than to rely in any way, shape or form with the results of a quiz at a social networking site? Do you perhaps please think I'm at least smart enough to get it?
I'll give you that the quizzes seemed to rely mostly on stereotypes. I get that. On some level though I do think that some basic stereotypes about gender differences have some bearing in the general neighborhood of truth, though given each individual person that claims one gender of the two is still only going to be somewhere on the spectrum that is gender differences. Think Venn diagram, people, with lots of circles. I get it.
I think that idea of gender spectrum is something that so many people fail to fully recognize, and I may have mentioned something along these lines in a past post even if vaguely. But none of that is quite the point, though it does have some bearing.
The only reason I'm sitting here now writing this is those two damn quizzes. And believe me when I tell you that I almost didn't bother because of the process. My computer and/or my internet connection and/or Facebook and/or anything else I might be leaving out seemed to conspire against me. The first time I tried to take the first quiz asking how well I knew men I kept getting sent back to home. The link to take the quiz didn't work.
I walked away from the Fb and had a beer and tucked some kids in bed. I lazed around a tiny bit and finally had nothing better to do. Dear ol' Fb was calling. This time I was able to go right to and then take the quiz. When I was completely done and leaving the end of the quiz page I saw a link to a different but related quiz asking me how well I knew women.
So on to the quiz results and the point of all this
How well do I know men? 25%
How well do I know women? 100%
Do I now need to point out that I didn't game the results? I didn't. I don't have time for that sort of thing. Okay, I'm blogging it now, so on some level I could have had time, but I'm not doing that. If I don't like a quiz result I just don't bother posting it. You can do that. I take the quiz and try to be honest, and if there's a reason to post the result then I do. I do also get that it's meant to be fun. I did also find out that Fb thinks I'm Frenchy from Grease, so please accept that I'm keeping this in the proper place in order of importance and accuracy as regards me and myself and my place in the world.
I'm really not going into the different ways my mind works to make a big deal out of something so pointless. I guess I do feel some need to point it out, that some nonsense social network site app tells me I must be a woman. It says something on some level regardless of how meaningless that is. Maybe it's just that nearly anything is enough to set my head off on a wild goose chase of nonsense considerations. Or maybe it says I might be a little bit gay.
That's all I know about the matter.
Do I have to preface the whole rest of what I'm saying by pointing out that I honestly do in fact know better than to rely in any way, shape or form with the results of a quiz at a social networking site? Do you perhaps please think I'm at least smart enough to get it?
I'll give you that the quizzes seemed to rely mostly on stereotypes. I get that. On some level though I do think that some basic stereotypes about gender differences have some bearing in the general neighborhood of truth, though given each individual person that claims one gender of the two is still only going to be somewhere on the spectrum that is gender differences. Think Venn diagram, people, with lots of circles. I get it.
I think that idea of gender spectrum is something that so many people fail to fully recognize, and I may have mentioned something along these lines in a past post even if vaguely. But none of that is quite the point, though it does have some bearing.
The only reason I'm sitting here now writing this is those two damn quizzes. And believe me when I tell you that I almost didn't bother because of the process. My computer and/or my internet connection and/or Facebook and/or anything else I might be leaving out seemed to conspire against me. The first time I tried to take the first quiz asking how well I knew men I kept getting sent back to home. The link to take the quiz didn't work.
I walked away from the Fb and had a beer and tucked some kids in bed. I lazed around a tiny bit and finally had nothing better to do. Dear ol' Fb was calling. This time I was able to go right to and then take the quiz. When I was completely done and leaving the end of the quiz page I saw a link to a different but related quiz asking me how well I knew women.
So on to the quiz results and the point of all this
How well do I know men? 25%
How well do I know women? 100%
Do I now need to point out that I didn't game the results? I didn't. I don't have time for that sort of thing. Okay, I'm blogging it now, so on some level I could have had time, but I'm not doing that. If I don't like a quiz result I just don't bother posting it. You can do that. I take the quiz and try to be honest, and if there's a reason to post the result then I do. I do also get that it's meant to be fun. I did also find out that Fb thinks I'm Frenchy from Grease, so please accept that I'm keeping this in the proper place in order of importance and accuracy as regards me and myself and my place in the world.
I'm really not going into the different ways my mind works to make a big deal out of something so pointless. I guess I do feel some need to point it out, that some nonsense social network site app tells me I must be a woman. It says something on some level regardless of how meaningless that is. Maybe it's just that nearly anything is enough to set my head off on a wild goose chase of nonsense considerations. Or maybe it says I might be a little bit gay.
That's all I know about the matter.
Friday, May 22, 2009
tiny balls
Given different circumstances my night could have turned out any number of ways. I'd gone to the gay bar to meet the guy I keep mentioning. We hung out for a bit, talked, laughed, discussed the drag queens.
He needed to get home, and I was getting texts from a friend wanting me to meet her for a drink. The guy and I left, walking to his car. We talked for another few minutes and admired the interior of a soon to be new restaurant that hasn't yet opened, though I'm not sure why. The inside certainly looked as if they were just closed for the night.
We finally parted ways but not before sharing a very brief kiss, a talk-to-you-soon sort of kiss. And then the car full of assholes ran a red light just behind us. They yelled something unintelligible at us, extended their middle fingers out of their windows and accelerated away.
It should have been more annoying that it was, maybe even a little hurtful that a car full of douche bags can't just leave people alone. I could easily see that the car was in fact full, four stupid heads bouncing around inside, but as they greeted us with their tiny little minds I realized that the stomp on the gas pedal really also indicated that their balls are also rather tiny.
Anyone can yell from a speeding car. Anyone can flip you off because they think they deserve to deride anyone they feel superior to.
Of course had they chosen to stop and do something more physical the guy and I could easily have made it back across the street to the bar which likely would have emptied somewhat in a cloud of fags and drag queens. And still nothing would have happened anymore than the tiny minds speeding off and away.
Yes, I know it can be dangerous out there and that I should be careful. I also know how fortunate I am that it's now and not years ago when I would have been even less safe. I get what has happened to too many gay people. But I also refuse to be intimidated.
He needed to get home, and I was getting texts from a friend wanting me to meet her for a drink. The guy and I left, walking to his car. We talked for another few minutes and admired the interior of a soon to be new restaurant that hasn't yet opened, though I'm not sure why. The inside certainly looked as if they were just closed for the night.
We finally parted ways but not before sharing a very brief kiss, a talk-to-you-soon sort of kiss. And then the car full of assholes ran a red light just behind us. They yelled something unintelligible at us, extended their middle fingers out of their windows and accelerated away.
It should have been more annoying that it was, maybe even a little hurtful that a car full of douche bags can't just leave people alone. I could easily see that the car was in fact full, four stupid heads bouncing around inside, but as they greeted us with their tiny little minds I realized that the stomp on the gas pedal really also indicated that their balls are also rather tiny.
Anyone can yell from a speeding car. Anyone can flip you off because they think they deserve to deride anyone they feel superior to.
Of course had they chosen to stop and do something more physical the guy and I could easily have made it back across the street to the bar which likely would have emptied somewhat in a cloud of fags and drag queens. And still nothing would have happened anymore than the tiny minds speeding off and away.
Yes, I know it can be dangerous out there and that I should be careful. I also know how fortunate I am that it's now and not years ago when I would have been even less safe. I get what has happened to too many gay people. But I also refuse to be intimidated.
a piece of goodness in my morning news
So, did you hear the one about the guy willing to fight the Taliban while wearing pink boxer shorts? Seriously. Go HERE.
Perhaps you don't know it, but all of the best shit I write comes when I'm a couple or so drinks into my evening. I'm sure that's the case less often than I think at this moment, but with the smell of the gay bar still on me and the whatnot in my head, right this second it feels like I'm at my best/worst like never before.
Every time I walk away from the guy that keeps messing with my head. I'm left wondering what exactly just happened, whether or not I said what I meant to say, whether or not I read him and got what he was trying to say.
A brief kiss, shouts from a passing car, and I'm home and not as alone as I feel right now. And I don't really feel as alone as the words suggest. But I just don't know.
Maybe that what I should get tattooed across my stomach in that undeniable and barely readable old English script, "I don't know." I seem to never know.
I don't think I should have tried any harder or pushed any more, but maybe I should have. Maybe I should have tried more, but I don't think so. At the same time I'm so seldom sure of myself in certain arenas while too sure of myself and full of my rightness in others.
This being patient and slow that I've been doing feels right. This two weeks that I've been slowly chasing him, hoping he gets what I'm trying to say, it seems so right. I can't know. I don't trust crystal balls even were I to find one and see something in it. My gut says I'm okay, he's okay and we might well be. My brain does its usual and makes everything seem, not wrong, but not as right as one might want.
And I hope I'm not spinning my wheels. I hope I find traction.
On the other hand, maybe I should listen when he tells me I'm being too dramatic.
Every time I walk away from the guy that keeps messing with my head. I'm left wondering what exactly just happened, whether or not I said what I meant to say, whether or not I read him and got what he was trying to say.
A brief kiss, shouts from a passing car, and I'm home and not as alone as I feel right now. And I don't really feel as alone as the words suggest. But I just don't know.
Maybe that what I should get tattooed across my stomach in that undeniable and barely readable old English script, "I don't know." I seem to never know.
I don't think I should have tried any harder or pushed any more, but maybe I should have. Maybe I should have tried more, but I don't think so. At the same time I'm so seldom sure of myself in certain arenas while too sure of myself and full of my rightness in others.
This being patient and slow that I've been doing feels right. This two weeks that I've been slowly chasing him, hoping he gets what I'm trying to say, it seems so right. I can't know. I don't trust crystal balls even were I to find one and see something in it. My gut says I'm okay, he's okay and we might well be. My brain does its usual and makes everything seem, not wrong, but not as right as one might want.
And I hope I'm not spinning my wheels. I hope I find traction.
On the other hand, maybe I should listen when he tells me I'm being too dramatic.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
minus one for overuse of the word
Things are always weird it seems. By things I don't know that I can say in a coherent way exactly what it is that I mean. My situation is weird. My head makes things seem weird. The lawnmower sounds weird as Big Brother pushes it around the back yard.
I'm tired of sleeping on the sofa, but even if I could sleep in the bed it just seems too weird. I don't want to sleep there, and I don't want to smell Momma or her boyfriend when I'm trying to get to sleep.
There's a guy I'm trying to see, and whatever is going on there, though nice, seems possibly weird. I like him, and I'm pretty sure he likes me, and we seem to be moving at a rather glacial pace toward whatever might be about to happen, and it's weird. Maybe just my ability to be so patient and my delight in this patience and the slowness are a bit weird, and it feels weird to be so okay with this.
I suppose a big part of the weirdness of feeling lately is some other feeling I'm having, this feeling like some sort of internal springs are slowly tightening. It's as if they are setting themselves for some sort of action. It's sort of like being blindfolded and led some unknown direction and knowing that at any minute I'll be told to jump, still blindfolded, totally unaware of direction or target or reason.
I want to sleep in a bed and not just once, but I want my own bed in my own place. Having managed to blow all the income tax return I'm starting over, but at least I'm starting. I have a couple hundred in my savings account that I've managed not to need to bail myself out right before payday, but the way I've been living I could easily find that gone too soon.
Alongside the coiled springs feeling is that old familiar trapped and stuck feeling. I wish that was the weird feeling, but it's like an old acquaintance, I know it whether I like it or not.
And it's cold here in my part of East TN today. Not a horrible teeth chattering cold, but a coolness that I'm just tired of. I want warmth, not a jacket.
I'm tired and tired of being tired. Part of this is just being so lazy that my body doesn't know how to do anything but stare at a computer, go to work and hold down my spot at the bar. I'm tired because I haven't been sleeping well, and I've been drinking a bit more than is good for me. I'm not eating worth shit.
And I'm not really acting to change any of this. I've said and thought that I was going to make changes, and then I've gone back to how I've been, how I've acted. I haven't made those changes, and I'm paying the price.
Later, I keep telling myself. I have time I keep saying.
I'm tired of sleeping on the sofa, but even if I could sleep in the bed it just seems too weird. I don't want to sleep there, and I don't want to smell Momma or her boyfriend when I'm trying to get to sleep.
There's a guy I'm trying to see, and whatever is going on there, though nice, seems possibly weird. I like him, and I'm pretty sure he likes me, and we seem to be moving at a rather glacial pace toward whatever might be about to happen, and it's weird. Maybe just my ability to be so patient and my delight in this patience and the slowness are a bit weird, and it feels weird to be so okay with this.
I suppose a big part of the weirdness of feeling lately is some other feeling I'm having, this feeling like some sort of internal springs are slowly tightening. It's as if they are setting themselves for some sort of action. It's sort of like being blindfolded and led some unknown direction and knowing that at any minute I'll be told to jump, still blindfolded, totally unaware of direction or target or reason.
I want to sleep in a bed and not just once, but I want my own bed in my own place. Having managed to blow all the income tax return I'm starting over, but at least I'm starting. I have a couple hundred in my savings account that I've managed not to need to bail myself out right before payday, but the way I've been living I could easily find that gone too soon.
Alongside the coiled springs feeling is that old familiar trapped and stuck feeling. I wish that was the weird feeling, but it's like an old acquaintance, I know it whether I like it or not.
And it's cold here in my part of East TN today. Not a horrible teeth chattering cold, but a coolness that I'm just tired of. I want warmth, not a jacket.
I'm tired and tired of being tired. Part of this is just being so lazy that my body doesn't know how to do anything but stare at a computer, go to work and hold down my spot at the bar. I'm tired because I haven't been sleeping well, and I've been drinking a bit more than is good for me. I'm not eating worth shit.
And I'm not really acting to change any of this. I've said and thought that I was going to make changes, and then I've gone back to how I've been, how I've acted. I haven't made those changes, and I'm paying the price.
Later, I keep telling myself. I have time I keep saying.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
on my way to work
So, I know where he works. I'm a semi regular there, and was just there yesterday for the awesome local milk we've been buying lately.
I'm so tempted to stop in, my excuse being to buy a tea, one of the best iced teas ever, while my real reason would of course be to see him for just a moment, to say hi, to see his beautiful eyes and smile.
But I'm not going to. I'll see him soon enough. Though I'm sure of that I don't actually know when, but I can wait.
I'm so tempted to stop in, my excuse being to buy a tea, one of the best iced teas ever, while my real reason would of course be to see him for just a moment, to say hi, to see his beautiful eyes and smile.
But I'm not going to. I'll see him soon enough. Though I'm sure of that I don't actually know when, but I can wait.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
like like maybe
Have you ever found yourself trying not to like a boy too much? I've only hung out with him a couple of times not counting that first night months ago when I met him, and that barely counts because that's the nature of things.
We've texted some and talked on the phone a bit and hung out over beers, and I can almost still feel the feel of his beard on my cheeks. And then there's his eyes and his laugh, and there's me trying not to like him too much.
Because I do like him. I like how plain ol' nice it is to just sit and talk to him. I like how little and how much we seem to have in common. I like when my phone makes a noise and I look and see his name.
And now I've said too much, but I want to give you the soundtrack for the evening. We're doing two different Faith No More songs, Just a Man and I Started a Joke. Check them both out, whether or not your a fan of this amazing band.
We've texted some and talked on the phone a bit and hung out over beers, and I can almost still feel the feel of his beard on my cheeks. And then there's his eyes and his laugh, and there's me trying not to like him too much.
Because I do like him. I like how plain ol' nice it is to just sit and talk to him. I like how little and how much we seem to have in common. I like when my phone makes a noise and I look and see his name.
And now I've said too much, but I want to give you the soundtrack for the evening. We're doing two different Faith No More songs, Just a Man and I Started a Joke. Check them both out, whether or not your a fan of this amazing band.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
smooth criminal
Perhaps I've mentioned here, though I don't remember, but I'm having some minor car issues lately. My front, driver side window refuses to roll up. It will roll down, and it did actually roll up a couple of times last week, but no more. I have a big orange garbage bag that rides around and acts as my window when I have to park my car outside.
After work last night I met up with a nice and very attractive young man, and we went to a couple of bars and drank a couple of beers. I rode in his truck to one of the bars, and he drove me back to my car at the end of the night.
As he parked next to my car I noticed my doors were unlocked. Yes, even though it's useless to do so, I find myself locking the doors. It was parked in the garage nearest the square, and since it's inside basically I didn't bother to put my orange window up. It seems like that might make my issue more noticeable and more attractive to would be thieves.
I exited the truck of the nice and attractive guy to get into my car and noticed that the ash tray had been pulled out and dumped on the passenger seat. I should add that I've removed anything of value from the car, and I've even begun carrying a bag so that I can carry my cd's and my stereo front with me when the car is parked in public.
I should also point out that the ash tray was probably open and that I roll my own cigarettes. I'm guessing that someone noticed the open window and then noticed what looked like roaches, marijuana cigarette butts for those not down with drug lingo.
So they found nothing of value. I have to almost laugh a little, but at the same time there's also some amount of violation involved. Someone thinks it's okay to mess with my stuff and try to steal my stuff. I'm sure a working and rolled up window would have dissuaded them, but I don't know. Someone's car was apparently broken into near mine as there was glass on the ground.
And this is why we just can't have nice things. Some asshole is always on the lookout for your stuff. So, to the douchebag who got in my car, HAHA you prick! You got shit, motherfucker!
Oh, and the guy in the truck? He's nice, and he's cute, and he seems to like me. I think I seems to like him as well, and that's all the info you're getting right now.
After work last night I met up with a nice and very attractive young man, and we went to a couple of bars and drank a couple of beers. I rode in his truck to one of the bars, and he drove me back to my car at the end of the night.
As he parked next to my car I noticed my doors were unlocked. Yes, even though it's useless to do so, I find myself locking the doors. It was parked in the garage nearest the square, and since it's inside basically I didn't bother to put my orange window up. It seems like that might make my issue more noticeable and more attractive to would be thieves.
I exited the truck of the nice and attractive guy to get into my car and noticed that the ash tray had been pulled out and dumped on the passenger seat. I should add that I've removed anything of value from the car, and I've even begun carrying a bag so that I can carry my cd's and my stereo front with me when the car is parked in public.
I should also point out that the ash tray was probably open and that I roll my own cigarettes. I'm guessing that someone noticed the open window and then noticed what looked like roaches, marijuana cigarette butts for those not down with drug lingo.
So they found nothing of value. I have to almost laugh a little, but at the same time there's also some amount of violation involved. Someone thinks it's okay to mess with my stuff and try to steal my stuff. I'm sure a working and rolled up window would have dissuaded them, but I don't know. Someone's car was apparently broken into near mine as there was glass on the ground.
And this is why we just can't have nice things. Some asshole is always on the lookout for your stuff. So, to the douchebag who got in my car, HAHA you prick! You got shit, motherfucker!
Oh, and the guy in the truck? He's nice, and he's cute, and he seems to like me. I think I seems to like him as well, and that's all the info you're getting right now.
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