Not sure if anyone knows, I'm sure no one cares, but I go to Las Vegas frequently. And yes I do gamble a bit, but the main reason I go is for the food and the shows. I love magic shows and have seen every show in vegas that has any magic whatsoever. Penn & Teller is one of my favorites and I have seen them over twenty times. Especially since their show Fool Us, as they add new material almost every show. Plus I listen to Penn's Sunday School Podcast which always makes me laugh.
Earlier this year, I found out that Criss Angel is leaving the Luxor Casino after ten years. He's moving to Planet Hollywood where he first started with his 2005 TV show and rise to fame. Apparently its a whole new show, so I'm assuming all the music will be different. Here is a song that he plays during some fun close up coin magic in his showl For some reason, I love this song.
Four months ago, at least from the outside, most would say that I was on top of the world. I have a good job, a great apartment, and an amazing boyfriend. I had a good start on a saving account, a brand new car with all the bells and whistles. If I was a normal person, I would have been content at the success I enjoyed. Yet for all those possessions, something was lacking in my life.
I first started working in hospitality the year I turned 21. I really didn't have the opportunity to go to college, and didn't really have any other avenues to traverse. What else could a cute gay boy do for work besides shake his ass as a bartender.
And though I moved from working in gay bars, then stopped bar-tending completely, only to move into serving before landing a job as a manager a few years later. Truthfully, at least professionally, it was the only thing I was ever good at. And I can say with complete modesty, I am very good at my job.
From the time I was a young boy, my only dream was to be a writer. And until I turned thirty, I followed that dream. But then I got sidetracked, I started listening to others telling me that I had to secure a future. So I guess you could say, I fell into the hospitality business. I built a career out of the one thing I was good at and for a time, I was content to do so.
But content is not happy. The future was starting to cement, I started growing my savings account. And I had built up quite an impressive resume with some of the most successful people in San Francisco.
I calculated each move, every time I left and took a new position, it was for a better future for me. I sacrificed a five year relationship and more friends then I would care to admit in my single minded ambition to secure a future.
For a time, I told myself that when I reached success, when I finally made it, then I would focus on my personal life. But truth be told, the more successful you become, the more time and energy it takes to maintain that success. I started to wonder when enough would be enough.
Then I met "N" two years ago. Three hours after meeting him, I told my friend that I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. I just knew it. Two months later, I had gave up my condo in Daly City and moved into San Francisco with him. Again, from the outside, most people would say that I had it all.
But I wasn't happy. And yes, I could mask it at work, I am a professional after all. But the years of 14 hour days, six to seven days a week, working every single weekend. Sometimes not getting home until 1am only to get up at 4am and then head back to work for another 14 hour day.
"N" understood the long hours, after all, he is in the same business as me. The difference, the owner he works for truly believes in work life balance, and he rarely works more than 40 hours a week and always gets two days off a week in a row. I am not so fortunate.
In the dark parts of the night, snuggled in bed with "N", I told him about my long forgotten dream of becoming a writer. Of course he was interested in reading my work as any good "N" would be, I showed him my past writings. And he started to encourage me to take up the words again. And over the last two years, I have slowly dipped my toes in the water of creativity again. Though it had only been occasionally and in brief spurts only. And much like the discovery of an old friend, I started to realize how much I enjoyed sitting down at my laptop and spewing forth nonsense onto the screen.
The dedication it takes to operate at the level I had managed to achieve is total commitment. It's working 14 hours in the restaurant, then spending another three hours at home answering emails from the department managers and various vendors that need my attention it seems daily.
I will admit, I probably worked more than I needed too but the restaurant brought in 12 million a year and I was responsible for every dollar of it. So yes, my focus was on the bottom line for more than just my quarterly bonus.
It had been brewing for a while, my unhappiness at work. And I can't blame the owner for wanting to make the most money he possibly could. But I started to wonder how much money was enough. I knew the numbers, I knew the magic number. Once the restaurant makes this magic number, anything over that amount is profit for the owner. And he was a single owner, he had no partners. So when he set the budget for this year 25% more than last year, I had to wonder what he was thinking.
He's the owner, he can set whatever budget he wants, its his right. And as a professional, it was my job to try and hit that budget. I"m not so naive that I don't understand business. He is only in it for the money. And its his money and his right.
Any of you that understand budgets and how the restaurant business works, it is highly unlikely that any restaurant, unless something out of the ordinary happens, to grow a business by 25% over the previous year. Especially when 35% of your business is tied up with the Moscone Center and their convention business.
I'll give him the unreachable budget. When it was written the year before, he did not know Moscone Center was going to be in construction and all the conventions we enjoyed in 2017 would not be there in 2018.
Nor did he realize that international tourism is down due to our current political climate. Add that to our out of control homeless problem and several large conventions citing homeless issues as the reason they are no longer booking in San Francisco, and its no wonder all restaurants in the city are down fifteen percent city wide.
After talking with friends in the accounting world, he should be happy he's only down 10%. He is actually doing better than most currently in San Francisco. I have lost count of the high end restaurant closures and the celebrity chefs that are struggling to keep the doors open.
I know the main reason he raised my budget so high, was to help cover the cost of his new restaurant that was opened in 2017 and was struggling, to put it mildly, in the current climate.
For full disclosure, I started losing my happiness at work the moment I met "N" and realized he was something outside of work that was more important than anything. It had been brewing for months. So when the culture of the restaurant started to change and the owner started to show his stress more and more.
So during the monthly meeting when he demanded what I was going to do to attain this budget, I brought out the numbers, a bit more in detail than what I describe above, and he looked at me and responded that it was only excuses and he didn't pay me to give him excuses. And he is right. He didn't pay me to give him excuses.
So I said the first thing that came to me. And trust me, I had given better speeches over my career. And it might have been a mistake, but every fiber in my being said it was the right thing to do. I can't say what I told him, I don't really remember. But I resigned that day. For the first time in my life, I walked away with no notice and no prospects.
San Francisco is a small town, every owner knows all the rest. And leaving like I did was not the smartest thing I could have done, but that was the day my happiness returned.
And I will be honest, it wasn't just because my owner is an asshole, he is. But I don't think my life has room for something that is so demanding that takes me away from being happy in my life.
So for two months I've sat in my great apartment with my amazing boyfriend and made time for myself. For the first time in ten years, I have nothing to do. Everyday I spend time with "N" before he goes to work. Then I clean the house, I do laundry, sometimes I play video games, sometimes I get hammered in the middle of the day for no reason, but most of the time, after I do my house chores, I sit down at my laptop and write.
I write like I did in my twenties when the desire was strong and I didn't know what the future held but I was excited to face it.
My vacation payout alone was two months salary and I figured I was going to enjoy every moment. We aren't rich and my little diversion from work won't last much longer. After all, this is the most expensive city in the country to live and he won't let me be a bum much longer.
I think my time in hospitality has come to a close. I think my next job will be something that will allow me to pay my bills yet leave me time to focus on what really matters in this life.
The night I left my job, I went out and bought my amazing boyfriend a ring, we are planning on getting married next June and life could not be happier for me.
On September 22nd, 2006, I posted my first Blog entry. It was a tongue-n-cheek entry called Attachment VS No Attachment. It was a parody of my first time being with a boy that wasn't circumcised and the nickname that I was saddled with after telling my group of friends about the encounter. It would be the start of numerous Blog entries that were true to life but made larger than life. I was usually the butte of most of the jokes and sadly, as I look over the Blog entries and the titles, most actually did happen in one form or the other.
Mainly as I look over the past twelve years, I realized that I had forgotten a good portion of these events as I grew and change my circle of friends. It's strange, things that were so life-changing at the time, barely register in today's happiness.
I long time ago I flirted with the idea of deleting this Blog as I didn't think it represented who I am anymore. I am quite happy I was talked out of it by a past member named Trab.
I have since lost track of Trab but I will forever be grateful to his sage advice. Happy Anniversary to me and to all your Awesome Dudes.
Just returned from watching Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom. Or should I say dragged to see the flick.
I should start by saying that I am a huge fan of Jurassic Park, a satisfied fan of Jurassic Park 2, a meh for Jurassic Park 3, and a very disappointed viewer for Jurassic World.
For all the amazing CGI of the first one, they did not skimp on the story and characters. All I have to say is Alan Grant. Jurassic Park 2, the sequence when T-Rex squared pushes the camper off the cliff is stunning, again they did not skimp on the story and characters. I know they have plot holes and characters that were only half developed. But the entertainment factor of Dr. Ian alone carries that film that is re-watchable each time I see it on cable. Jurassic Park 3, sees the return of Alan Grant, one of my favorite actors from the 90's and eerily attracted to in a carnal way, returns to an okay horror film. I love the moments with Eric Kirby, he has some of the best lines in the entire film. Plus, you have the human eating birds attacking our steadfast heroes. Lets not talk about the spinosaurus as a villain.
Then you have Jurassic World some 17 years later with the amazing B.D. Wong and the over-hyped Chris Pratt and his abs. Great CGI and a pulse pounding action scenes but with under developed characters, kids in danger for no reason, and a deeply unsatisfying ending that is a bit too nostalgic for my taste. I felt that Star Wars Force Awakens suffered from the same malady. A fan that grew up and made a homage movie to their childhood fantasies. In both films, each writer and director focused more on feelings that actual story, spectacle over substance, and nostalgia dripping from the screen that makes me wish instead of essentially re-making a classic, they would have been better served in just re-watching the originals.
So when "N" insisted on us going to the movie tonight on my one day off this week, I was prepared for another Jurassic World. After all, Chris Pratt has already given me a sequel that was boring on the surface, sub-par in the meat of the story, and just plain awful by the discovery of the villain. Of course i am speaking about Guardians of the Galaxy Chapter 2.
I offered other opportunities, even went as far as begging us to go to Las Vegas last minute just to avoid this movie. And much to my chagrin, he wasn't having any part of that strategy. And once the credits rolled, damn was I impressed. For the first time in a long time, Chris Pratt was more grounded as an actor since I first saw him on Everwood. The writers/directors kept him from his Prattness and he acted the shit out of a smart, believable script that didn't seem like over two hours that it ended being. Bryce Dallas Howard stopped being the damsel in distress/high heels from the previous one and held her own against the new villain of the piece. I will give zero spoilers but finally a sequel to Jurassic Park that was promised. I didn't stay past the credits so I don't know if there is a post credit scene., but they set up the next installment perfectly that made sense in the framework of the story. Completely understand why its making all the money.
I would say watch this movie, you won't be disappointed.
It’s Thursday, September 21st, 2017 and I’m in Daly City California. It’s my day off, nothing special about that except that “N” is working the morning shift and I have the whole day off to do whatever I want. If I want to stay in bed all day naked, watching YouTube videos, I can. Or if I want to do a marathon of jerking off to free porn on the whole interwebs, I can and no one can say anything about it.
And don’t think I didn’t contemplate that last one this morning after waking up with a full on robot chubby that wouldn’t go away that defies all logic for a forty-two year old man. One of the reasons I was so happy with growing older was the mistaken thinking that my libido would diminish with the onset of old age.
And yes, I know that forty-two isn’t old compared to some of the other humans that populate this planet nor am I saying that forty-two is old. All I’m saying is that I was really hoping that I wouldn’t be the horny man I was in my twenties.
The man/boy that slept with the butt-crack of dawn for no other reason then I couldn’t think straight the moment things became erect. And to be truthful, that was the only reason I slept with a little person when I was 22. And because I wondered if his cock looked like a normal sized cock, for the record it did. Nor was it because I wanted to see how massive my cock would look like going in and out of his little butt. For the record he was a top…but that’s another story.
Why at my age do I still wake up with a hard-on? And even more curiously, why am I still horny the moment my boyfriend walks into the room? When will I get the dreaded EDS the TV tells me happens to every man over forty? For Christ sakes, I’m in my forties, do I still have to contend with my cock boning up with every stiff breeze that comes along?
My boyfriend left at 7:15 this morning to go to work. Apparently he had a few private parties and several larger groups for breakfast and needed to make sure he was there in plenty of time to oversee this madness. And right after he left, I lay in bed with my other head ready for some fun.
So I did what every man/boy does when his penis is taking over…that’s right, I got up and turned on my X-Box 360 and started playing Assassins Creed 3. And if you are wondering, I did not feel like a pervert playing games at 7:30am with a boner. Nor did I have a brief/thirty minute fantasy what it would be like to have sex with Conner from the game. And I am talking about a full thirty minutes of constructing a complicated story of what point in the game we would meet, the details of our first awkward encounter that slowly builds over time until we climax on the grass overlooking the manor with Achilles somewhat reluctant approval as he looks on.
Besides my raging hard-on, the only thing I wanted to do today on this glorious day off, was to get hot wings from Buffalo Wild Wings in Daly City, Ca in the Serramonte Centre.
I believe that everyone who has been reading my Blog for any amount of time…mostly a few years ago when I actually updated my Blog more than once every few years, would know that I am quite addictive to all things hot…exclusively hot wings. I will go to any amount of trouble to acquire those artery clogging morsels of ecstasy. Lie to policeman, check, leave work early on a faulty pretense, check. I’m not saying I would kill a human for those tasty treats, but don’t be the asshole that makes my life difficult at work and then stand in between me and those chickens that are fried in fat and then tossed in hot deliciousness. Seriously, don’t do that because I’m not sure what or who I would choose. Better to error on the side of caution then test my morals when it comes to hot wings.
When “N” left for work, I was horny and really needed to release but I started playing video games instead of taking things in hand as it were. Then after driving myself to the brink of madness wondering what it would be like to have sex with a 3-D construct, I really needed to curb my horniness with something tangible.
I played Assassins Creed 3 until 11am. I know, that’s like three and half hours playing a game. But all I was doing was waiting until Buffalo Wild Wings opened so I could indulge in man’s simplest pleasures. Okay, seeing as I was talking about jerking off, I wanted to indulge in man’s second simplest pleasure, the consumption of Hot Wings.
At 11:25, I called in my order to Buffalo Wild Wings. May I have a medium traditional wings, all hot BBQ extra extra extra extra wet, with a side of Blazing sauce, a Chili Queso Dip with no pico de guillo. I don’t really give a shit if I spelled that wrong.
I’ve lived in the Bay Area for thirteen years. I started going to Buffalo Wild Wings sometime in the last three years. Just so I can give you full disclosure, I’ve ordered the exact same order at least once a week for the last three years. It might have been longer/shorter, but I’ve spent way too much fucking money on this addiction that will probably put me in an early grave.
I arrived at Buffalo Wild Wings at 12:30pm, because I stopped at the grocery store to buy Fosters beer and Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey. But before I talk about my Buffalo Wild Wings experience, I stopped at the local Lucky Grocery Store to do two things. First, I wanted to exchange my bag full of coins, they have a coin star that you can exchange your coins into money. When I first walked into the store, can you believe there was a line to use the coin star machine. Three people in front of me and I joined the line as I was listening to Penn’s Sunday School Podcast and really not in a hurry.
After about five minutes, the guy leaves and the next guy goes to the machine and places a paper bag on the counter. His actions was hidden with his body, but after a few minutes and I didn’t here the sounds of the machine counting the coins to convert into money, I peered to my left and noticed that he had a paper bag filled with already rolled and packaged coins. The type of packaging that looks like when you get coins from a bank. And he was slowly breaking open the rolled coins and putting them into the counting thingy.
“Fuck this” I thought and walked back to my car to place my oversized container in my trunk. All I wanted to do was cash in my coins, it wasn’t like I needed the coins to buy my groceries. I then walked back into the store and grabbed two bottles of diet coke, three 24 ounces of Fosters beer, and a 750ml of Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey whiskey. I walked to the front of the store, and they only had two registers open, and they had to have at least ten people in each line. Of course, the self check-out lines was completely empty, but seeing as you can’t buy alcohol in the self check-out lines, that really didn’t help me.
“Fuck this” I thought as I dropped my basket and walked out of the grocery store. After all, I had lots of places I could buy beer and whiskey without waiting in line on my day off.
I drove to Serramonte Mall, where Buffalo Wild Wings opened a massive store. When I walked into the store, it was 12:30, almost forty minutes from the time I called in my order. I walked up to the counter and there was three younger girls behind it talking amongst themselves. It felt like five minutes before I was even greeted but it was probably less than a minute. But sixty seconds is a long fucking time to stand somewhere where three different people can see you and no one even says hello.
Seriously, right now, just start counting to sixty in your head and imagine you standing at a counter with someone standing behind it yet not saying a single word to you. It feels like forever right. That’s how I felt.
Finally after three hours/thirty seconds, someone says hello. I give my name, they read my order back to me, medium traditional wings, all hot BBQ extra extra extra wet, side of blazing sauce, chile queso dip no pico de guillo, that will be 30.92. I give them my card, I total it 35.00 dollars and she says, your order isn’t ready it will be another five minutes.
I sit down on the bench and continue listening to Penn’s Sunday School podcast. After eight minutes, I walk back to the counter and inquire about the status of my order. This is when the girl behind the counter decided to tell me, “There was a mix up of your order and they are re-making it, it’s not that busy so it should only be another 15 minutes.”
I’m not mad that they lost my order, I’ve worked in the restaurant industry for more than twenty years, I understand that mistakes happen and orders get lost. If they would have said something to me when I paid for my order, I would’ve sat there quietly while they figured it out. But they didn’t tell me that when I paid, what they said was it would be another five minutes.
And yes, I was really enjoying Penn’s Sunday School podcast, but I was also watching them. It’s a habit I’ve picked up over my years of running restaurants, I always watch the staff members. And in my watching, I saw that they were talking amongst themselves, pointing at me, and pointing back at the kitchen. Then I also observed them getting on the phone, gesturing towards me again, and then a minute or two later, a manager walked up to the front and started looking at the computer while looking at me everyone moment or two.
But I understand that things happen and though I knew deep down in my heart that something happened to my order, I was waiting patiently. But after waiting eight mintues, knowing that something was wrong, and rightly/wrongly waiting for them to explain what happened to my order, I walked up to the front only to be told off-handedly, that they were re-making the order and that something happened.
No apology, no saying they are doing everything they can to fix it, no offering a soda while I wait for the order to be corrected, nothing from the manager at all.
And I will be the first to admit, I was pissed. From 7:30 in the morning, all I could think about was getting Buffalo Wild Wings, getting beer and whiskey and watching the remake of Magnificent Seven. And once again, Buffalo Wild Wings fucks up my plans.
Earlier I told you that I have been ordering from Buffalo Wild Wings for longer than I can remember. What I never admitted too, was that they screw up my order at least 1 out of 5 times. Now before you ask me why I continue to go back to the place that fucks up my order that often, I will point out that I have an addiction and I will always need hot wings in my life. Always.
I am rather proud that I didn’t yell, or demand some kind of free stuff, all I said was I’ve been waiting for almost 50 minutes and I want my money back.
I want to say again, that Buffalo Wild Wings have screwed up my order so many times that I am immune to their incompetency and always check my order before leaving the restaurant. Over the years, I’ve gotten to know the front of house staff, and have seen lots of staff and managers come and go. And usually all I do is smile and take whatever bad experience they throw at me because in the end I get what I need, Hot Wings. I’ve seen great FOH staff, who cares but mess up continually, bad FOH staff that can’t get an order right if there was a gun to their head. And everything in between.
And before you say, the FOH staff can’t control the kitchen, I know that. But Buffalo Wild Wings put the ticket on the bag, and I’ve seen the ticket never mention that I want no pico de guillo in my Chili Queso Dip. I’ve seen tickets that never says extra extra extra wet on my Hot BBQ wings. That is not a kitchen error, that is a FOH mistake.
And what really pissed me off today, when the manager told me they lost my ticket and was remaking the order, what pissed me off, she turned away and started talking to the girl next to her about the date she had the night before.
And I will be the first to admit, I’m not a nice guy sometimes. I have a sharp wit and sometimes it can be extremely harsh when I’m not at work. That didn’t happen today. I was calm, and politely asked for my money back. The manager looked at me, and said okay. She processed my order, gave me the slip that said my order was voided and that my card would be credited for the amount. She then turned away from me again and resumed her story about the night before.
For the first time in my life, and it has already been established that I am forty-two, I looked up the corporate office and sent an email detailing my experience. I didn’t demand my money back, nor did I swear and lose my mind which is what I would normally do. Instead I detailed my experience today, and asked for them to try and fix the issues that seem to happen at each and every Buffalo Wild Wing I have ever frequented. I said, “I wish I could quit you, because after giving you so much money over the years and having so many issues with your staff, I wish I could quit you, but I probably won’t because I love hot wings so much”.
It’s been five hours and I haven’t heard anything back from their website complaint department and I wasn’t really surprised. When you are such a huge corporation, people are going to give you money no matter what and that they believe that with all the new guests they get each week, they really don’t care about existing guests. But that logic is flawed, and what they don’t seem to understand, sooner or later they are going to run out of new guests and there will be no one left to try their restaurant. I spend so much of my energy making sure that all my guests are taken care of, I sometimes have nothing left to give to my boyfriend after a long day at work.
I left Buffalo Wild Wings with the idea that I would go to my local Hot Wing place that doesn’t really have spicy hot wings but have decent hot wings that I could purchase and then add my ghost pepper sauce to kick them to another level. But when I arrived at their establishment, they were closed for remodel. And then went to another hot wing place in Daly City and they were out of hot wings until 1pm because there shipment didn’t arrive on time.
It’s now 5pm and I’m at home. I did get my beer, and my whiskey, and I’m rather drunk, which is why if this Blog entry has mistakes or a rambling feel to it, it’s not my fault I’m on an empty stomach and rather drunk.
I still have a hard-on, I have no hot wings, and my boyfriend isn’t home yet from work. Sometimes life just sucks no matter how hard you try and maintain positivity.
Six years. That's how long it's been since I last blogged something. And how do I still know my password? Because it's my real name. I think I changed it to that two years ago, so I won't forget.
Six years. And it seems like it's only yesterday.
Six years. Though it hardly seems like a blink of an eye.
Six years. And I'm still alive.
Well, would you look at that.
This is my third day of being off, and I’m not feeling that good right now. I think my liver is mad at me and/or dying. Either way, I’m feeling poopy so I decided to sit down and type out a blog entry.
Let me start off by saying, my life is going pretty well for the last few years. And since “N” came into my life back in January, I really have nothing to complain about.
I have an amazing boyfriend who I love insanely, a job that doesn’t suck and pays a ridiculous amount of money even before I get my quarterly bonus. And thus far, since January, I’ve hit my bonus every quarter.
I bought an amazing condo this year, on a hill overlooking the ocean. And on a clear day, I can just make out some of the taller buildings in downtown San Francisco. And a month ago, I bought a brand new car, my first since 2005.
Two months ago, on my way to work at 5:40am, heading northbound on 101 into San Francisco, my car engine blew up and I was stranded on the highway in line number one. I’m not scared to admit that I was pretty scared as cars flew by me doing 70 plus miles an hour. Seeing that tow truck pull up behind me was an amazing feeling let me tell you.
But let me again repeat, my life isn’t even remotely bad or stressful.
So I can hear you asking, why am I typing this blog entry today? What could have possibly happened in my almost perfect life that would get me off the couch and share something dark and twisted with all of you? Maybe it as because Cole told me that he missed my writing. Or maybe because I feel like things are going a bit too well and I’m waiting for the other boot to drop. And trust me, that is a very real fear of mine, because lately it seems the only thing falling from the sky is fuzzy bunny slippers.
Could it be that though “N” is almost a perfect boyfriend, maybe not everything is working out in the bedroom? Is that what you are thinking? Are you really wondering about my sex life with “N”? All the dirty details of naked bodies under the sheets. Because I think that is asking way too much of me and I might stop typing this if you are going to be asking those kind of things. My sex life with “N” is none of your business thank you very much.
If I actually would take the time to research this, I’d know the exact date I am referring too but if you are that interested you can look it up yourself. A few days/weeks/months ago, the crazy inhabitants of San Francisco suffered through a record breaking heat wave that rose to 106 on that Saturday.
And trust me, the normal weather conditions here have no call for air conditioning. Just stop and think about that for a moment. 106 degrees without any air conditioning in city that is almost always covered in fog and mist. Trust me, I have never had so many complaints ranging from this beer isn’t cold enough to my salad is hot. After a few hours of dealing with bitchy guests due to the heat, I started saying at least your not back in that kitchen, where the temperature was soaring to 110 plus. That shut up most of the guests.
During the hottest part of the day, guests would come into our restaurant, feel the heat, and turn around and walk right back out. It was so miserable, and I kept changing shirts as every few hours I would completely sweat through my shirt. Nothing worse than having a person serving you food that is dripping sweat into your hot salad. After it was all said and done, I had changed shirts three times.
On a separate note, I did write a thank you note to Old Spice deodorant, cause I still smelled fresh after that blistering day. (I actually don’t wear Old Spice deodorant but I can’t remember the brand I actually do wear and the bathroom is all the way across the house and I don’t want to get up and look) Don’t judge me, I’m hung-over.
Have you ever been so miserably hot that you can barely think straight? We all know, the heat does crazy things to our brains and after spending hours trying to calm down all the metaphorically fires that erupted due to the heat, that I was completely spent by the time I crawled inside my car and cranked the air conditioning to full blast.
People don’t realize how hard running a restaurant can be. No matter what happens, I have to keep calm and always put the good of the restaurant above anything else. So the amount of abuse I often take from rude guests leaves me somewhat silent when I’m not at work. Being happy and cheery for eight hours a day, that usually by the time I’m finished with work, my give-a-shitter is completely empty. Add all that usual bullshit but compound it by 11, and I was in a pretty foul mood.
Those of you that are from our hotter states and who are accustom to those kind of temperature might not sympathize with me, so all I can say to you, fuck off, we all can’t be as tough as you.
It was so fucking hot outside, that my poor little car couldn’t keep up with the temperature I was demanding of it that my car started overheating. So for parts of the commute home, I had to turn off the air so my car wouldn’t stop working. So after giving all my kindness at work that day, I didn’t have much left for anyone, much less my boyfriend, by the time I made it back to my house.
Now, before you ask, “N” and I have maintained separate apartments, mainly because I’m not happy about the neighborhood he lives in. Seriously, my car has been broken into three times in two months in his place. Plus, his place his pretty small, and as I have mentioned in the past, he is not the cleanest person I have met.
And he doesn’t like my place only because I live in Daly city, on a hill, overlooking the ocean, and it’s a bit far for him to commute to work. He doesn’t drive and I’m not that close to our underground, and the nearest bus stop is half mile away, but on the way back, it’s a half mile up a hill, and I can’t blame him for not wanting to walk up that hill after working all day.
And before you start yelling at me that I’m a bad boyfriend for not driving him around. We work completely different schedules most of the time and its not that easy. Jeesh, get off my back, I try to pick him up or drop him off at work as much as I can but sometimes I need to get my beauty sleep.
So needless to say, we spend most of our time at his place, and he rarely comes to my place unless we both have the day off.
My condo has air conditioner, and “N’s” does not. Matter of fact, he only has one window that opens so all of us can imagine how hot his apartment must have been that day. So on that hot day a few days/weeks/months ago, I texted him while I was heading home and informed him in no uncertain terms that I would not be staying at his house like we had originally planned. And again before you yell at me, of course I offered for him to come back to my place and enjoy the cold on that stupidly hot day. Its not my fault he didn’t want to make that journey up that long hill after his shift ended. I even offered to get a lyft for him but he refused. So there.
This is the part in this story when I tell you that both of us run highly successful restaurants so our schedules rarely match up and its something of a juggling act to coordinate time together that doesn’t involve us watching the other sleep. I know its weird, but we actually like spending time together in or out of the sheets. But relationships are better when both parties are awake at other times than just sex.
And really, stop asking about our sex lives. It doesn’t matter who tops or bottoms. We are in a loving committed relationship and its not your concern.
Have I mentioned that “N” is an Indian that was born in Malaysia. He has just a hint of an accent that makes my heart skip a beat each time he talks. And he’s been here for years so he’s pretty much Americanized.
Let me set the stage for you, I’m at my house, taken a cold shower, and am now sitting in my living room naked, watching season five of 24. Its been about three hours since I’ve gotten home and im finally starting to feel normal again.
So he texts me and demands that I pick him up at work. Now think about this, I get up usually around 4am and leave work around 2pm. He goes to work at 4pm and gets home around midnight. So when he demands that I come get him, it means that I would only get four hours of sleep. And maybe I would have, if it wouldn’t have been Saturday night, and the next morning I would have to deal with Sunday brunch again, another heat wave, and more bitchy guests. So I tell him that I can’t but that I would see him the next day. I was planning on seeing him at work and having dinner.
But he gets really mad and starts a barrage of angry texts. I’ve had a few hours up to this point to cool off and get my head back on straight. I know he’s still in the middle of the heat and his mind isn’t in the right frame to have a logical discussion about the merits of sleep or my lack of love for him. And for a while, I keep that fact in my mind and ignore some of the more hurtful things he said/typed to me.
You know those kind of comments that only someone who love you can make that send you right around the twist. They know all your faults and fears, and can use them in the most horrible ways when they are mad at you.
After more than a few insults, I started firing back with both barrels blazing. And for an hour or so, we go back and forth, calling each other horrible names, brining up old argurments, basically being awful to each other.
What got my blood really boiling though, was he said I didn’t love him since I didn’t want to come pick him up and that I was selfish that I wanted to sleep instead of picking him up in my air conditioned car.
I throw my phone across the room and storm around my apartment waiting for 11pm. That’s the time when I am going to go to his work and tell him off face to face. There was no way I was going to wait until I see him the next day. And while I’m waiting, I’m rehearsing all the things I want to say to him, I’m not going to hold anything back. I plan on bringing up past things that I let go but never really forgotten about. It’s going to be epic, I’m actually looking forward to yelling at him, maybe because I’m so nice during my day job that I can get out all my aggression on him. Or maybe its because I’m a baby but I’m not going to tell him any of that. Fuck no, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind.
It’s after 11 and I’m driving like a mad man all the way across San Francisco to his restaurant which has the most lovely view of the Bay Bridge. I arrive right at 11:30 and just wait outside, seething the entire time I’m waiting.
About 11:45, he comes out of the restuarnt and locks the front door. After he locks the door, he picks up a bag and looks around until he sees my car across the street. The moment he sees me, he smiles and starts walking to the car unhurriedly.
I’m not going to lie, when he smiled at me a bunch of my anger went away. But I wasn’t going to let this go and he had no right to say/type some of those things to me. I opened the car door and stood up, ready to give him a good tongue lashing.
The last four steps he runs and jumps into my arms and kisses me until I can’t think straight. After a few minutes, he stops and hands me the bag, saying, “I got you your favorite.”
“Why” I’m a bit shocked.
“Because I knew you wouldn’t eat dinner because you were mad at me.”
Fuck him, though he was right. I hadn’t eaten dinner.
“How’d you know I would even be here tonight? This whole thing started because I refused to pick you up tonight.”
He looks at me, smiles the biggest brightest smile I’ve even seen and says, “Babe, I know you better than anyone, why do you think I said all those thing to you, I had to make you come here somehow, dumbass.”
It was late, around 2am, and we are in his bed, a hot sweaty mess on his bed with one fan blowing around hot stagnant air. He’s snuggled up to me, gently snoring into my shoulder. And I have to been at work in two hours to struggle through another hot day with bitchy guests. Life could not be better and one day, I swear, we are going to be exchanging “I do’s” before our friends.
After all, the sex is simply amazing.
I have the day off, first one in a pretty long time that the Boyfriend is working. Not saying he isn't the cleanest person on the planet, but he's messy as fuck. So I really needed to clean the house while he's not around so he won't distract me by dancing around the house in his undies. Though that does make me feel like fuzzy bunny slippers when he does.
So I needed some motivation to clean this filthy house. I searched through my almost one thousand movies and decided on re-watching Season 5 of 24.
I made myself some tuna salad, toasted my artisan sweet batard bread, thinly sliced some sharp cheddar cheese, salt and vinagear chips on the side, sat down in my kitchen and switched on Hour number one. Five hours later, the house is not only still dirty, I haven't cleared the dishes from breakfast, so in fact, it is actually dirtier than it was when i started. And to make it even more upsetting, I think I fell in love with Keifer Sutherland's ass.
So much for cleaning motivation. Though to be honest, I do have the urge to...err..polish something else entirely, thus making the house dirtier still.
Having a great day off.
So waking up at 3am to go to work to complete inventory and payroll before working a ten hour day. Can life get any better I ask you?
Seriously...please tell me life can be better....
Oh darn, I burned the muffins.
The sun had long set behind the mountains of the town of Glacier Bay. The moon bathed the town in a soft light with a backdrop of twinkling stars in the October sky. The trees gently swayed in the offshore breeze that hinted at the bone chilling weather that was to come but for now, the air was crisp and refreshing. The leaves had changed giving the streets and parks a colorful facelift that brought in visitors from all around. The last influx of outsiders bringing their pocketbooks before the long winter brought snow and ice and all the winter games along with it. Some folks said that winter was gods way of testing the human spirit. Much like the grass and trees, humans tended to go into a hibernation mode throughout the winter. Surviving on the nutrients they had gathered in the spring and summer to get them through the harsh starving months of winter. The world seemed a bit sadder in the winter months, most of the habitants of Glacier Bay walked with their head down, their faces covered by scarves and bundled up in colorful hats, gloves, and bulky winter coats. In the summer, they would wave and shout out to their neighbors, most times stopping for moment to ask about families and goings on. But with the onset of winter, one was lucky to get a polite wave as they rushed by seeking indoors over the blistering cold.
On this particular night, Scott Taylor was staring out at the glacier that gave the town its name. The glacier, brightly lit by the moon, reflected across the bay giving off the illusion the water was ice, calm and still. This illusion was ruined every few minutes when a gentle wave would crash into the bottom of the glacier echoing off the mountainside.
Scott tucked his long blonde hair behind his ears and looked towards the town he had lived in all his life. Glacier Bay, nestled at the base of a range of mountains that almost saw snow on the peaks all year round. The glacier snaked its way down the mountain until it spilled out in the bay that was protected by a natural seawall. When the town was first settled in the late 1800’s, the townsfolk had carved a deep channel for boats to enter the bay safely in the natural wall. This was once upon time to protect the fishing vessels that were moored at the docks during the winter months. Nowadays there was not much commercial fishing anymore. All the boats moored at the dock were built more for pleasure and unused for most of the year except when their rich owners could get away from the city for a few short weeks and enjoy all the town had to offer. Many local boys like Scott, made really good money taking care of the boats for their absentee owners throughout the year as well as maintaining the carefully manicured lawns and removing the snow from their vacation homes throughout the year. It always amazed Scott how much someone was willing to pay to keep a house they would visit once or twice a year. It seemed like a waste of money that could be better spent in other ways. But Scott was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
As he peered across the bay, he eyes drifted to the lighthouse. There was no need for a lighthouse since the 1950’s and it had long been turned into a tourist destination with daily tours during the summer months. A small gift shop in the base of the lighthouse offered those who had the need to buy souvenirs and keepsakes to remember their trip to Glacier Bay. It had been closed for weeks now, abandoned until the spring. Too many things in Glacier Bay seemed to be dormant for his liking.
Scott glanced at his watch and wondered again what was keeping his friend. His eyes drifted back to the high school. Thirty minute ago the lights had all but been turned off, signaling the end of the play and the participants headed home for the night. Even if there was traffic leaving the parking lot, his friend should have arrived twenty minutes ago. He pulled his coat around him tighter, it wasn’t that cold yet. But sitting still on a bench for almost an hour had caused a chill to sink into his bones.
For the hundredth time, he checked his phone to see if there were any texts. Since he had arrived, his sister had texted him three times about the ending of the play, his mom wanted to know what he was doing Saturday night and if he was free for dinner. And a few more from random friends, but there was nothing from Jake. Silent; much like the last week had been. The old saying was true; you almost never miss what you have until it is no longer there. And after a week of silence from his closest friend, he found that he missed him terribly.
Scott reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes. It was definitely a habit he was trying to quit but the craving was always worse when he was bored. He hadn’t so much taken his first drag when he heard footsteps on the gravel walkway below. Jake must have ridden his bike, otherwise he would have seen the headlights of his car as he drove around the lake.
Though the moon was bright and the sky was clear, he couldn’t make out the face of the figure as it approached him. But he would have known that shape anywhere. He had seen that shape for eighteen years. He peered intently as the boy walked towards him. Once he was close enough to see, Scott could see his face was drawn, his eyes intent as he looked at the ground. His hands were shoved in his pockets and his breath steamed in the night with every exhale. He had ridden his bike.
Jacob Rainer, his next door neighbor for most of his life. The one person that knew every secret, every prank, everything he had ever done in his life. They were together when Scott got the bright idea to jump off the roof with sheets tied around their necks; they were also together when Scott convinced his friend that crossing the bay in old man Thomas’s row boat was a good idea at 2am in the middle of winter. From the time they could walk, they had been inseparable.
The two boys, both eighteen and heading into their final year of school, could not have been more different. Neither in looks nor in personality. Jake was average size, short cropped brown hair, and always seemed to ponder each decision carefully before acting. He was well liked by his peers and received mostly A’ and B’s in all of his classes. Being the middle child, at home he would disappear as his younger sister seemed to garnish all the attention and his older brother couldn’t keep from arguing with his parents about everything. Everyone who knew him would testify that out of all the kids, he was going to be the one that made it and made it in a big way.
Scott took another drag from his cigarette and waited for his friend to sit down next to him on the bench. But that did not stop him from looking at his friend with an expectant look on his face.
Jake moved his hand in front of his face, trying to avoid the cigarette smoke that lingered around Scott’s head like a halo. “I really wish you’d quit those.”
Scott shrugged, “Everyone needs a bad habit.”
Jake settled back into the bench, and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Nice night. Won’t be long until winter arrives though. I can smell the snow in the air.”
Scott threw the cigarette on the ground and stamped it out with his foot. “It is almost November. Hell, Halloween is just around the corner.”
Jake looked at his friend sideways. “What are you going as this year?”
Scott turned his head and looked at his friend, “Are we really doing this? Small talk, like you haven’t said a word to me in a week, and you want to know what I’m dressing for Halloween.”
Jake ignored the outburst, something he did often. “I’m going as a father,” he said quietly.
Scott’s eyes widened at the declaration. “Well shit.”
Jake stared at the ground, not wanting to make eye contact with Scott. Instead he dug his toe around in the dirt. “Remember the fall dance at the club back in August.”
Scott couldn’t help but chuckle as he remembered that night. That was the night he dumped two bottles of whiskey in the punch, one hour before he puked on Mrs. Turners shoes. As much trouble as he received for ruining her shoes, it would have been worse if they would have known he was the culprit that spiked the punch. “What about it?”
“Christine and I…”
“Christine?” Scott interrupted. “Blankenship.”
“Remember, Becky and I got into that fight. She was mad at you for spiking the punch,” Jake explained. “Becky went home with Julie and Christine was pretty drunk, so I offered to give her a ride.”
“Yeah you did,” Scott said, laughing.
Jake stood up, and spat out angrily, “This is why I can’t talk to you sometimes. Not everything is a joke.”
Scott stared up at his friend for a moment. Then he said in a quiet tone, “You’re serious.”
“I’m gonna be a father Scott. And I’m scared shitless.” Jake stated before turning around to face the glacier.
“Wait a minute,” Scott said, shaking his head. “You slept with Christine the night of the dance and didn’t tell me?”
Jake glared at his friend. “Not everything is about you. And no, I didn’t.”
Scott pulled out another cigarette. “Okay, lets start at the beginning.”
Jake rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Christine was hammered that night. I would never take advantage of someone like that. But she was all over me, and managed to kiss me before I kicked her out of the car.”
Jake sat back down next to his friend and grabbed the cigarette and took a long drag before exhaling the smoke upwards. “That’s how you do it. Not in your friends face.”
“Rodger,” Scott said with a grin. “Continue.”
“Becky and I were having problems. She was so worried about what would happen at the end of the year when we go off to college. It was so frustrating, I mean, why couldn’t we just be happy now, and worry about next year, next year.” Jake stated with a sigh.
“A few days later, Christine showed up at work, being all flirty. Wondering if I wanted to get coffee after I was finished. It was nice, hanging out with her, just being in the moment, not worried about college, and how many kids we needed to have, where we were going to live, you know. Just two people enjoying each other.”
Jake stopped for a moment and eyeing the cigarette before taking it again. “So we hung out off and on for the next few weeks. And I swear, nothing happened. We were just talking.”
“When did Becky find out?” Scott asked as he lit up another cigarette.
Jake took a another drag, looked at the cigarette in his fingers, and threw it on the ground. He stated with a frown, “You sure seem to smoke a lot nowadays.”
“What can I say, I’m an addict.”
“Three weeks ago, Becky saw us at the coffee shop, she went crazy. She wouldn’t let me explain, she started accusing me of cheating on her with her best friend, calling us all sorts of names. It was in the middle of the coffee shop. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.”
Scott shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”
“That was the night it happened. Right over there,” Jake gestured at the end of the walkway. He grabbed the cigarette again and took a long drag.
“Look Jake, I don’t mind if you smoke my cigarettes but you have to stop putting them out after one drag, their expensive,” Scott said with a frown. “Are you sure she’s pregnant?”
“She was pretty sure after a week because she missed her period. Three tests later, and I’m gonna be a father,” Jake sighed. “At eighteen, just like my father.”
“That’s heavy,” Scott stated with a grimace.
“And the really messed up thing,” Jake said quietly. “I don’t love her. I love Becky.”
“Does she know?”
Jake shook his head. “No one knows. Just Christine, me, and now you. Not even her parents.”
“No wonder you’ve been avoiding me all week,” Scott said, his eyes wide in disbelief.
Jake stared off into the distance as he said, “I told her. That I didn’t love her and that I wanted to be with Becky.”
“How did she take that?”
“She just starting crying,” Jake said, rubbing his hands through his hair. “I can’t seem to do anything right lately.”
“There is one thing you did perfectly,” Scott blurted out.
Jake stared at him flatly. “Don’t be an ass.”
“I’m just saying maybe you should’ve tried for that ass and you wouldn’t be in this situation.”
Jake couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m not a pervert like you.”
Scott laughed. “I’m not a pervert anymore; it’s legal now in almost all fifty states. We can get married and everything.”
Jake shoved his friend playfully. “What you do I wouldn’t call it legal in any state.”
“They have all been consensual,” Scott said, pausing before adding with a grin, “except that one time but we won’t talk about him. He deserved what he got anyway.”
“Gross,” Jake stated dryly. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Is she going to keep it?” Scott asked carefully.
“I’m not sure. I didn’t know how to bring that up. Fuck, I already told her I don’t want to be with her, I didn’t think asking about abortion was appropriate.” Jake admitted. “I’m such an asshole aren’t I.”
“Best thing to do is talk to your dad.” Scott offered.
“He’s going to kill me,” Jake said with a frown. “He always told me not to do what he did.”
“Look on the bright side,” Scott stated as he stood up. “You didn’t, you’re not going to marry the girl you knocked up.”
“Oh, you are so dead,” Jake snorted and started chasing his friend who had starting running towards his truck parked in the lot down the path.
“You could never catch me slowpoke,” Scott called out over his shoulder before really turning on the speed. His long legs made running seem effortlessly, and he had been running his entire life. On his best day, Jake couldn’t keep up with him unless he slowed to a jog and this time was no different.
By the time Jake caught up to him, he was leaning against his truck and the motor was already warming up. He did notice that Jake’s bike was already in the bed of his blue pick-up. Riding out to the glacier in the middle of the night might be fun but no one wanted to make the long ride back.
Jake half-jogged the last ten yards, his chest heaving as he took large gasps of air. He held his side and winced. “I don’t know how you run that fast and still smoke that many cigarettes.”
“Genetics,” Scott said with a smile. He smoothed down his long blonde hair and jumped in the truck. “Get in before you fall over.”
“I was built for short bursts,” Jake explained as he climbed inside the 4X4 truck with a grunt. “I’m much better on the wrestling floor.”
Scott turned on the heat full blast as he spoke, “And yet, oddly enough, I turned out to be the gay one.”
“That is true. I’ve probably had my face in more boy crotches than you have. If I’m not gay by now, I’ll never be,” Jake said proudly.
“You are one of the few on the wrestling team that could honestly say that,” Scott said, moving his eyebrows up and down suggestively.
“Those are my teammates, I don’t want to hear about what they might do with you behind closed doors,” Jake complained half-heartedly.
Scott laughed, loud and deep. “Remember that time we went to that away game in Hillersville, now that was a wrestler that knew which end of a boy was what.”
For the rest of the ride back to town, Scott told one outlandish tale after another about his many conquests and crazy exploits. Like most boys do of a certain age, there was a large amount of exaggeration and all out lies. Jake knew that Scott was far from being a virgin, and he did have a more active sex life than most boys in the school ever dared dream. Most times he just hoped that most of Scott’s stories were fanciful tales designed to get a rise out of his listeners.
Scott was well known around the school at having the weirdest sense of humor. No matter what the circumstance, he could always be counted on to say the most offensive thing at any given time. It was something that Jake actually respected him for. It took a very confident person to say whatever and not care what everyone else thought. Scott truly marched to a different drum than anyone else. He was never sure which boy was the good influence on the other. All he knew, Scott was someone he could count on to always be there. No matter what.
For his part, Scott was at a complete loss of words. He couldn’t even begin to understand what his friend was going through. So he did the only thing he could do, try to take Jake’s mind off his problem, even if it was only for twenty minutes on the ride home.
Jake was almost smiling by the time the blue truck pulled up to 803 Campus Circle at 11:53pm. Scott put the truck in park and stared ahead. “Talk to your dad.”
“I’d rather talk to your dad,” Jake stated with a grin.
Scott laughed again. “He’d be so happy to talk about sex with girls with someone. You’d make his day.”
“How’s he been the last few weeks?” Jake asked, looking at his friend intently.
“He’s getting use to it,” Scott said with a shrug. “Mom said it was okay for me to come to dinner tomorrow night. So that’s a good thing.”
Jake reached over and put his hand on Scott’s arm. “Look Scott, I’m sorry I’ve been so distant lately. It’s not because…you’re gay. I don’t care about that. And truthfully, I kind of always suspected.”
“Really?” Scott asked. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jake countered.
Scott turned his head for a moment and looked out the drivers window. “I guess I was scared.”
Scott turned to face his friend. “I think I knew that you wouldn’t care, deep down. But I didn’t want to lose you. You are one of the most important things in my life. And I was scared to take a chance that you wouldn’t accept me. Or worse.”
“Or worse?” Jake asked.
“Like, if you thought I was hitting on you on those times we would wrestle around. Or the showers, or sleeping together,” Scott said honestly.
Jake made a face and said quickly, “That’s gross.”
Scott’s eyes widened as Jake continued thoughtfully, “One of the reasons I always thought you were gay was when we wrestled and you’d get a boner.”
“I so did not,” Scott denied laughing.
Jake laughed, for the first time that night, a deep belly laugh. “Exactly my point. You are more like my brother than my own brother.”
Scott stated through his laughter, “Truth.”
“I didn’t know what to say about this Christine thing, I was avoiding you because it’s got my head all twisted,” Jake admitted. “But I realized that you might think it was because you came out. And it’s not. Honest.”
Scott sighed. “Thank you. I will admit I was wondering if that was it. It was weird not being able to talk to you about this stuff.”
“Hey, you can always talk to me, I might not understand it all, but I’ll listen,” Jake said with a small grin.
“Thanks. And you’re not worried what everyone will say at school about you,” Scott asked. He had already heard some of the things that have been said. For the time being, nothing had been said to his face but he figured it was just a matter of time.
Jake laughed again. “Scott, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I wasn’t the only one that suspected.”
Scott was truly stunned. “Really.”
“Becky and even Julie told me that years ago. Mike mentioned it in passing,” Jake said through his laughter. “I think everyone knew and probably no one really cares.”
“Well shit, I could’ve saved all that stress,” Scott said thoughtfully. “If only my father would’ve suspected.”
“He’ll come around,” Jake said confidently. “He just always wanted a grandson.”
“Well, maybe he can adopt Christine’s baby,” Scott snorted out, not being able to stop himself.
“You really are an asshole,” Jake said, shaking his head. “Really, a big asshole.”
“You could come over and visit him, bring him presents,” Scott said more enthusiastically, gesturing wildly. “Take naps with me in my bed.”
“Just keep laughing,” Jake warned, but the corner of his mouth was curling up in a grin. “Though, you are a great napping partner. You like to cuddle.”
“One time,” Scott admonished.
“Best nap I ever had,” Jake said laughing. “That’s when you’re father should’ve suspected. When he walked in on us that day, you had even drooled a bit on my shoulder.”
“You’re laughing now,” Scott replied. “But Mom asked me if you were my boyfriend.”
Jake stopped laughing and asked, “Seriously? What did you say?”
Scott put his hands behind his head and said, “I told her it wasn’t my place to out other people and if she wanted to know she should ask you.”
Jake smacked him right in the stomach, hard. Scott made a sound, and grabbed his stomach, though he didn’t stop laughing. “It doesn’t help that you stopped coming around these last few weeks. No telling what they are thinking.”
“Well, I can bet they aren’t thinking I got some girl pregnant,” Jake said wistfully.
“No, can’t say that they are,” Scott agreed. “Anything you need, just ask.”
“Thanks. But it’s time for me to go inside,” Jake stated as he stared at his darkened house, a lone porch light shining a light on the walkway. “I’ll see you.”
Jake opened the door and headed towards the front of the house. Scott stared at him until he disappeared inside and the door closed. Scott checked his phone and read a text that brought a grin to his face. He replied, “I’m on my way.”
He started up his truck and headed across town whistling. He had wanted to tell Jake about the reason he came out but didn’t think it was the right time. Not when Jake was worried about being a father to a girl he didn’t want to be with. Not to mention that when Becky found out she would probably break up with him. No seventeen year old girl wants to be a girlfriend of an eighteen year old that is having a baby with her best friend.
But that was for a later time to worry about. For now, he was going to see the reason he came out. And for now, that was all that mattered.
I’m back...and this blog entry is sponsored by “wingtip shoes” and candy apple cigarettes.
I could look this up but I’m a bit too much on the lazy side to figure out how long it’s been since I last posted a blog entry. But I’m sure it’s so long ago that even my one loyal reader has given up on checking my outdated blog and has disappeared into the ether.
Unfortunately I am regulated to posting to those that have no idea who I am or realize the sheer boredom the next few minutes will bring them as they read this blog entry called Bottom(less) Tales in Vegas 2016. So let me be the first to apologize to all of you for wasting your time.
But I am a gentleman so just to avoid all the confusion, let me tell you who I use to be a long time ago, twenty-pounds smaller, and a few thousand hair follicles ago. I was a rather prolific poet, blogger, and part-time storyteller known as Jason Rimbaud.
That was a long time ago when I was still messed up on pills, alcohol and a straight boy named Mark. Do you remember now?
Just in case you were wondering, I have put all three of those things firmly in my rear-view view. And if I were to be honest, the main reason I stopped blogging all those years ago , I really didn’t have much drama in my life and what little drama I had was a bit on the boring side to share with my loyal reader.
Trust me, no one wants to read anything remotely about me getting up to work, working all day, going home and sleeping only to rise and repeat. That should be the title of my life, Rise and Repeat (trademark pending). Literally nothing was going on in my life.
Okay, so judging from the title of this blog post, I’m sure a few of you are expecting something interesting happened to me one blistering hot day in Las Vegas.
I met a boy. Not really a boy, more like an amazing wonderful guy that from here on out, I will call “G” to preserve his identity. “G” is an Indian, his family comes from Goa but he was born here in San Francisco.
Lets go back to the beginning, a perfect place to start for this fuzzy bunny slippers kind of a tale.
I am currently sitting at the Luxor Casino in the quaint little dessert town of Nevada known as “Sin City”. This town is aptly named because I definitely found some sin in that city. Well, two sins to be precise.
It has been just over a year since I broke up with “G”. Matter of fact, almost in the exact spot I was when I first realized that we were no longer an “us”.
Have you ever been in a relationship and one day you wake up and realize that what you think was perfect was actually flawed and nowhere near the vicinity of perfect?
“G” and I were together for well over two years and I must say, it was the most adult relationship I have had to date. It’s been long enough that I can look back and see it for what it was…perfect for me and just average for him.
Before you go and think we had epic battles and tears were shed and bodily fluids were shared with other partners, you would be wrong. In the weeks before the break-up, we went about our daily lives in a comfortable routine. A routine that I guess worked for me but left him wanting something else. I don’t believe there was another boy that took him away. I believed he came to the same conclusion I did on that fateful day in Vegas, but he came to that much sooner than I.
I went to Vegas in March, last year, after a long stretch of long hours and missed days off. I had been texting him off and on all day, sharing with him my wins and my losses, when I started getting the sinking feeling that something was extremely wrong
Have you had the moment via text, when you can feel the mood shift? That’s what I felt from him that day. I could almost feel he was just replying back to me because we were together and not because he really was enjoying talking to me.
We always had the most fun together, we enjoyed each other and spent most of our time laughing and joking and referencing all the inside jokes we had developed. Our texts were playful and flirty and were seldom one word replies. But that day, the replies were coming slower and slower and the words became fewer and fewer. I remember vividly sitting there at the slot machine, staring at the screen and then down to my phone, and the sudden clarity moment when I knew we were over. Matter of fact, six days later, we would be over and my life would be forever changed.
I’ll be honest, mainly because he will never read this and partly because I have always been honest in these blog posts, I was lucky to have him in my life for as long as I did. “G” is a great guy and though I believe I am over him, I still think about him often and wonder how he’s doing.
I am currently, as I type this, sitting at the Luxor Casino in a bar called Aura trying to get my head around the events that happened just a few minutes ago. I’m exhausted, and not in I need to pass out for twelve hours kind of way, but more like a contented exhaustion.
I awoke this morning and decided I needed to clear my head and work out the memories that have been haunting me for a year. While it had been a year since “G” and I broke up, I had yet to throw my ass into the dating world.
I might have been a bit too glib earlier when I acted like it was a mutual thing. It was the saddest break-up of my life. And that hurt, for a long time, and I was devastated. I couldn’t even as much look at another penis without a crippling feeling of loss.
Don’t get me wrong, I joined Jacked and Grindr but no one I met even came close to “G” nor did I really feel like getting someone else fluids anywhere near me. But that was then, and this is very much right now.
This morning I woke up and felt a horniness that I haven’t felt in a long time. So intense was this mental erection, I jumped on a plane and headed to my favorite vacation destination. And I did it right. I flew first class, I booked a two bedroom suite that came with a hot tub in front of the window so I could look out on the Vegas strip while soaking naked.
So here I was, freshly mended heart, looking out across the dessert in one of the greatest cities in the world and I needed human contact. It was so overwhelming, I knew it was an itch only a guy could feel. What was a boy to do? Damn right! I opened Grindr.
Twenty minutes later I’m sitting at the very bar I’m sitting now, chatting up this guy from Wisconsin. One drink after that, we were back in my room.
He was a bit younger than me, late thirties, tall and rail thin. His name was Adam. A fitting name I thought as I was about to be partaking of the forbidden fruit for the first time in a year.
I believe Adam was married and only played with men on his business outing. But he was horned up and for some reason, I was the reason.
He kissed like a straight man. So like a true reformed slut, I put a condom on his peen and sat down.
When I first met “G”, he was in a tragic relationship with a guy I really believe broke his heart. So much so, I don’t think there was ever a chance for us to work. He was coming off a relationship he thought was going to last forever, there was a ring and everything. Moving into my little world of craziness, he never really had the time to heal from that.
I’m not the most emotional guy in the world and with just a hint of clarity in my pretty bald head, we were probably doomed from the start. But fuck me did I try, more than I ever tried before. At least I know when I do meet the right guy, I will have no trouble diving head first and doubling down.
Adam had a great body, smooth and a perfect sized penis. You know the kind I mean, not so big that you can’t fit it in anywhere but not so small that makes you looked down and go “no thanks”.
Looking out over the Vegas strip, pressed up against the window, I realized that was something I had been missing for a long time. As I gazed out at the twinkling lights of Mandalay Bay, I actually let out a sigh.
I won’t describe the sex I had with “G”, that is for me and I won’t cheapen the memory by sharing it with you. But he was little, and I’m not talking about his down there parts, that was as close to perfect as you could get, but it had been a while since I was with someone that could really manhandle me around. I was so horned up and ready for Adam to stop kissing me, I didn’t even use lube, I just pushed back and took the pain. One, two, three, maybe five thrusts and he collapses against my back, shaking. As we kind of stood there, his weird breath on my back, silent for a moment before I said, “That was disappointing.”
Think about it, it had been over a year since I had any action and fifteen seconds into it, right when it just started to feel amazing, he finishes with a grunt.
I’m not sure what he was expecting nor the look that must have crossed his face when I said that. All I know is I felt him tense up, and he pushed off me and started walking over to his clothes. The condom dropped to the floor and without a word, he got dressed and left the room.
I was still standing by the window, still excited and wondering what the fuck just happened and what the fuck was I going to do now.
I could have taken it in hand as it were, but now I was like a man possessed. When you’ve gone a year without sex, fifteen seconds is nowhere near long enough to come close to satisfying me. No hand job in a poorly lit movie theatre, no wink wink nudge nudge, not even boom goes the dynamite. I needed dick, and for longer than fifteen seconds.
I stood there kind of confused, all my blood still pooling far away from my bald head, when I heard that magic sound every Grindr user recognizes.
I opened the APP, and the first thing I see is a bare stomach, two brown nipples winking at me, no face but that wasn’t what sent my stomach doing back flips.
“G” was probably the first guy I ever took without a condom. And I can remember that first time we did it, like we were connected in ways that all homophobes will never understand. I don’t want to get too graphic, but fuck me, it’s an amazing feeling.
Remember, it has been a year since I bottomed for anyone. An entire year, needless to say, it was a really tight fit. So maybe I can’t blame Adam for shooting so quick…maybe!
So I open Grindr, and under ethnicity, I see Native American, Navaho to be precise. He was hot, 6 foot tall, runner build, amazing smile and let’s not even mention the glasses, because fuck I do like my men in glasses.
What was a guy to do? I had never been with a Native American, the excitement was there, and that need to be fulfilled was still there, pounding in my brain. I told him my room number and promptly jumped into the shower to wash off Adam’s stink. After all it has been only ten minutes since Adam was all up in my business.
I really hoped that Sonni, yes his name is Sonni, couldn’t tell that I just had someone else ten minutes earlier, but I really didn’t care. I was definitely seeing red at this point.
Sonni was completely opposite of Adam. He was shy, so much so I also wondered how much experience he had with guys. That fear was quickly put to rest at the expert way he handled certain parts of my anatomy. But I am getting ahead of myself.
While Sonni and I were chatting by the window, he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to have sex, he was a bit more interested in oral pleasure at first. But luckily for me, he took one look at my willingness and threw those plans out of the window.
We made out for a while, doing a little bit of this and some dirty that, and I get another condom and in no time I am ready to go. He was bigger than Adam, one of the biggest I have been with on that end of things. But I was up for the challenge and slowly sat down.
One, two, three, eight and wammo, his toes curl and he lets out a whimper and I’m back right where I started. Horned up and still not properly topped.
The first time “G” topped me, the same thing happened. It was over long before it really began and after these two guys tonight, I am starting to believe I just might have a magic ass. Which might be quite difficult to accomplish at forty-one years old?
But I am sitting here in this bar, a bit sore back there, but content that I was still attractive enough that two different guys in a matter of an hour, shot off because of the sensations I caused them. And for those of you that say that isn’t me as much as it has to do with them, don’t rain on my parade. I needed a confidence booster.
The real difference between Adam and Sonni, Sonni isn’t leaving until Friday, that’s three days away. Who knows, maybe I can get him in my bed again for round one and half.
I think I would take “G” back if he would offer. I still love him. But I also know that we grew apart in ways that neither of us can recover the distance. And just because my track record is being the king of looking back and diving headfirst into past boyfriends and all that tangled shit over and over again doesn’t mean I have to wash rinse and repeat. I miss “G” in certain moments, the fun we had, the times we shared, and all the moments that we created as an “us”.
But then, for the first time in years, I was with two different guys in a matter of an hour. And yes I understand what that might make me, but after a year I think I deserved a bit of safe fun. Me and my magic ass deserve it. I’ve been in town seven hours and I already used up all my towels. What will the maid think of me when she cleans my room tomorrow?
As usual, I’ve rambled on for too long to disclose the remainder of my Bottom(less) Tales in Vegas or the time when Sonni came to San Francisco and we spent nine amazing hours in bed for his birthday. But those tales are for another time and some other when.
I think I’ve been turning into a recluse. But, I haven’t lost my optimism…yet.
A lot has been happening, but where to begin? I guess from the beginning. This will be long.
When the economy started to go down in 2008, my business (I'm a structural engineer to help keep their buildings from crashing down) started to slow. My clients were architects and builders. Their businesses went down and consequently, so did mine. I eventually pulled out of the business and went on Social Security, because I could make more than my business was bringing in. We muddled on for a while, and then two of our foster kids were pulled from us because the agency had found adoptive families for them. Now David had to go to work. Because of the turn down in the income, I missed a rent payment in June of 2013. I was able to make the next few rent payments, but couldn’t pay the June rent. Well, in October of that year, we were evicted. I was pretty much in financial ruin.
As my father was quite ill in the hospital, my brother offered to use his truck flatbed trailer and move us to Minnesota. We would be staying in my father’s house with no rent. So on October 30th we arrived in Thief River Falls, Minnesota and moved into my dad’s house. That gave me the opportunity see him in the hospital. The house is about 125 years old with riverfront property, large for this area, and not very well kept up. It needed a lot of mostly minor repairs that had been neglected over the last couple of years. We had given away all of our furniture as move space was limited, but kept linens, clothes and kitchen stuff.
My dad passed away from cancer a month later in November of 2013. He left the house to my brother, also a David (my partner), and I. My brother has a home in town, so I remain living in the house that my dad left us, and he remained in his.
David got a job with Digikey in February of 2014. It’s one of the largest electronic parts distributers in the country and employs a little over 1/3 of the city’s population of 8,500. I tried to get a job, but when they read my resume, I’m too qualified for anything that they could offer, so I stayed retired and continued to raise our remaining foster boy, Rio Northern.
That didn’t go well. New Mexico put in a request that we be able to transport him to Minnesota. The approval came just 2 hours before we were to leave. Starting off on the right foot, huh? Rio was still under guardianship of the state of New Mexico. New Mexico has different policies than Pennington County. (The state runs the foster system in New Mexico while in Minnesota the counties run their social services.) New Mexico has a requirement that they must have a home visit by their case worker once a month, while Pennington County does not. New Mexico had requested that Pennington County Social Services provide that. That’s where the fireworks started. Pennington County did not have guardianship over Rio and did not want him here as they had no control over him. He was a burden to them.
David and I had started the adoption process for Rio in the spring of 2013, but it was not complete when we left. New Mexico requested that Pennington County perform the final home study, which they did and approved the adoption in early March of 2015.
Now, Rio does not have the best ability to make good choices and got into trouble with the law. He got a BB gun that first Christmas here. I figured that since he was going to be living in an area where everyone hunts and has a lot of guns and would be with my relative’s kids, he should get some firearm training from me. A new friend and Rio took the BB gun and went out the day after Christmas. The other kid took the gun and was shooting out car headlights and windows in a church. The police were able to follow their footprints in the snow and showed up at our house that afternoon. Since Rio was with him and considered an accomplice, he had to go to juvenile court. Rio had not fired the BB gun.
This is a small town, and some of the police here are bullies. As Rio had been involved with the police, he now had a reputation with them as being quite the delinquent. And it got worse. Rio had been taking a med to help with his ADHD and PTSD. Shortly after that Christmas (February 2014, I think), the doctor changed his med to vivance. Shortly after the med change, Rio came home from a friends. He seemed to be depressed, and we questioned him but could find nothing that had made him depressed. I guess that he just didn’t want to talk about it. Fifteen minutes later I found his prescription bottle in the bathroom sink – empty! I immediately called 911 and an ambulance was dispatched along with the police. Rio had tried to commit suicide. He was put on a suicide watch at the hospital and given the standard blood tests. They found amphetamines in his system. Now Rio was not just a delinquent in the eyes of the police and the courts, but a meth-head as well. It’s really unfortunate how people don’t follow through and jump to conclusions. You see, vinance IS an amphetamine. He took his own prescribed medication not something from off the street. The police never understood or realized that.
When we went to court in March 2015, Rio’s public defender and I were shocked when the county prosecuting attorney dropped all charges. Of course, we were elated, but couldn’t figure out why. We found out the next morning why. Pennington County had recanted their adoption approval. Two things were in play here. The first Is that our foster license had expired, but since we were in the adoption process, we were approved with an adoptive license to have a foster boy in our home. But now we didn’t have either a foster or adoptive license. Second is that there Is a federal agency that governs rules between states for foster kids that live out of the state that has their guardianship. Pennington County Social Services contacted them, telling them of the unlicensed home that Rio was in. New Mexico contacted us and said that they had three days to pick up Rio and return him to New Mexico. Needless to say, we were quite upset that Rio was being jerked from our home. I drove Rio back to Las Cruces that weekend. It was quite obvious to me, David and Rio’s attorney that we were set up! Pennington County Social Services couldn’t get Rio out if he were awaiting judgement from the judicial system. They obviously contacted the County Prosecutor’s office, and they worked it out.
When Rio was back in New Mexico, he was scheduled to have his annual court hearing in a couple of weeks. The judge just wants to make sure that the agency is following through with their plans for getting these kids adopted at that hearing. I couldn’t afford staying in a motel for an extra two weeks, so I drove back to Minnesota to wait. Two weeks later, I drove back to New Mexico and contacted Rio’s attorney (New Mexico provides an attorney to protect the rights of kids under care by Social Services). She submitted a motion before Rio’s hearing that requested David and I be given permanent guardianship over Rio. New Mexico Social Services had to approve that motion before it could be so ordered. They could not approve the motion because of an agency policy to never let a minor out from under their control unless he or she was adopted, or aged out. I heard from the agency’s attorney that she thought that our home was the best place for Rio, but her hands were tied.
Rio’s attorney and I had many breakfast, lunch and dinner meetings along with a few in her office to figure out what to do. She had an idea. She provided two motions to the court. The first one was to have Rio removed from control by the agency and placed under control of the court. This removed Rio from being under the policies of the agency. The second was to have Rio removed from control by the court and placed under permanent legal guardianship of David and I. The judge signed both orders the next morning, and Rio was now ours! I drove back to Minnesota the following day with my son!
Pennington County was not pleased that we went around them. And, Rio was now under the scrutiny of the county sheriff’s and city police departments. In a way, we feel that even David and I are being watched. Police cars seem to be cruising our street a lot. The neighborhood has gone south since I remember it back in the day (I was born here). There was a drug bust in a house across the street a few months after we arrived.
On a brighter note, David and I were married last year shortly after Rio and I returned to Minnesota. Minnesota already had already legalized gay marriage.
It seems that living in Minnesota has been one crisis after another. I don’t like this town. It has totally changed since I was here years ago. Digikey has to hire a lot of people, and there are a lot of new arrivals with their delinquent kids because of that. We have to keep the house continually locked because of a lot of robberies that happen in this neighborhood.
Rio turned 18 on September 13th last year. Oddly enough, his birthday is the day before mine, so we celebrate together. He was now out of our guardianship and technically on his own. He wants what all kids want, and that is to be on his own. So, Rio moved to Morehead, Minnesota last month. Fargo is just across the Red River of the North from Morehead. He had an opportunity to room with a friend of ours. She’s about 30 years old and could give him the guidance that he needed. The apartment building is just across the street from the State University of Minnesota Morehead. He enrolled in GED classes and now fully intends to attend the university to get a degree in graphic and video arts. He never had any ambition to go to college before this. I can’t tell you how much I’m impressed and pleased that he wants to finally make something of himself. The friends that he’s meeting there are nothing like the delinquents that he’s met here. They have goals. His roommate goes to the college. His roommate’s mother is a teacher. Perfect for developing motivation in him.
Well, it didn’t go so well. David and I didn’t realize the mental aberrations that Rio’s roommate was living under. She started accusing Rio of things that he was not a part of, and she eventually moved out. Unfortunately, they were under lease, and Rio could not afford all of the expenses himself. Thankfully, the landlord is on Rio’s side and is trying to find a roommate for him. Unfortunately, David and I must pick up his new found expenses. We don’t want him to move back to Thief River Falls for two reasons. First is the proliferation of delinquent friends that seem to come around here and the attitude that he needs to be watched by the police. Second is that we want him in the school environment that’s afforded him where he is. He wants to stay because of the school and his future. We’re off to find him furniture tomorrow. We’re working on trying to keep him there, trying to help him find a roommate. The landlord offered to move him to a single bedroom apartment, but Rio can’t afford the rent all by himself. We’re still working on it. I'll be visiting Clay County (where Morehead is located) tomorrow.
As for David and I, we want out of this place. I’ve mostly lived in larger cities and so has David. Maybe it has a lot to do with the anonymity of self and culture that large cities offer compared to small towns. My brother and I have worked out an arrangement. We had originally thought of buying a large 5th wheel trailer and truck to tour the country. We wanted to find a place to relocate to and wanted to find out where we might want to live first. That would work for us. This house has a sales value (given the repairs and upgrades that need to be made) of around $ 85,000. That means that what I own is around $ 42,500. He offered to buy me out (which I want) by giving me his 5th wheel trailer and truck and some cash as my portion. So hopefully, David and I will be out of here on Nov 1st this year on our way to investigate and enjoy the country.
I've started writing again with the time I have now that Rio is in his own apartment. We still have to go get him in Morehead for his court appearances. It's a novel and will take some time to finish, but I think you'll like it.
I've never lost my optimism. :)
A report from Zuccotti Park, November 14th 2011
Written December 25th, 2011 at 06:18 AM by larkin
A report from Zuccotti Park, November 14th 2011
(This is my piece, not, cut and paste from other sources)
I have a bias so don't expect impartial reporting from me. I am sympathetic to the core issues of Occupation Wall Street. If I was homeless, I might be camped there with them.
I traveled 300 miles for a number of reasons, one of which was to go to Zuccotti Park and visit the with the protesters. What makes Occupation Wall Street different from the others is that they are camped in the very center of the world and the contrast is formidable. Upon approaching the park the sky view is dominated by the lofty new world trade center building now almost complete. The campable part of the park is barely 60' x 250' and every square foot is occupied with tents. The overall appearance is grimy like many other parts of New York. The buildings surrounding the park aren't just buildings, they are shining monuments that tower over what I fear is a doomed encampment.
On their own and sometimes with the help of the police, the indigent, the homeless and mentally ill came from other parts of the city. It was hoped by their adversaries that the presence of undesirables and potential trouble makers would discredit the motives of the movement.
Instead of rejecting or ejecting these people, they fed them, scrounged up clothing and tried to organize social service for them. The philosophy was that these people are also part of the 99%. It was a true test of principles.
Surrounding the entire park was a continuous stream of well dressed tourists taking pictures and donating a dollar here and there. I talked with one camper who could only be characterized as an romantic and impractical idealist. I asked him why he didn't make the walk to Washington. He said he didn't have a sleeping bag and he had to stay close to friends in Brooklyn. There were older people, Native American contingencies, There were disaffected democrats, libertarians and yes, socialist and anarchists.
The button and poster sellers showed up in numbers. This is a capitalist country, after all.
I was excited and fearful at the same time. The police lined the corners of the park acting as quiet and somewhat resentful custodians of something they really didn't want to be bothered with. The New York City police force is probably the most racially diverse police force in the country. They consist of men, women, black, Spanish, Asian, tall and short. They too have family members that have lost their houses or are unemployed. Like the service men that have joined the ranks of the protestors the police are not without sympathies for what is going on. However they are employed by the city and the people that conduct the affairs around Zuccotti park.
There is a core group of activists that headed out towards Washington on foot. Their intention is to join up with Occupation Washington and forge solidarity. The walk is expected to take 2 weeks and they plan to accumulate supporters all along the way.
I left the park with an ominous feeling about the future of the encampment and for all those involved. I knew it could go on this way. My guess was that rout was going to happen very soon and certainly while the activists were away on their march to Washington D.C. Activists specialize in confrontation and the police really don't need them.
I got home on Monday evening. At 4 am this morning I checked Youtube and saw that the camp had been razed at 1 am this morning.
The encampment at Zuccotti park maybe gone but it will become the Genesis for a much larger movement. These people didn't come out of nowhere and they challenged and took on the most powerful forces on the planet. They did it with no money. All across the country cities and the police forces will begin to tear down and raze these encampments but it will only make matters worse. The problem is a government unresponsive to the voters. It is a government that supports forces that are dismantling this once great country of ours. Until they begin to deal with these issues things are only going to escalate.
To quote Chris Hedges, "We have nothing left but the street.."
"It's not that I didn't like the gift..."
"You don't," Ron interrupted while flipping through a magazine.
"Right, but he doesn't have to know that."
"He will figure it out when you never wear it and it goes the way the rest of his gifts have gone," Ron said, gesturing towards the closet.
"It's our fifth year anniversary, that deserves something more romantic than a brown coat and an even plainer brown scarf," Daniel exclaimed, pushing his hair off his forehead.
"It could have been worse you know."
"Remember the animal print top he bought you two years ago," Ron said, putting the magazine down on his lap. "What kind of animal was that again?"
"Right, that would have been worse. A zebra printed coat."
"Sometimes I wonder if he is even gay."
"I doubt that," Ron said as he busied himself with his magazine. "I see how you walk into the kitchen the morning after date night."
"That's what I mean," Daniel stood up angrily. "You shouldn't be privy to our love making sessions."
"And you shouldn't be calling it 'our love making sessions' either."
"We use to stay out all night just talking. We'd go out for long walks on the beach under the moonlight. We'd hold hands and make out until the sun came up over the city."
"And I remember when you thought turtle necks hid your tremendously long neck."
Daniel ignored him and continued, "Now I cook dinner, he opens a bottle of wine. We snuggle on the couch while watching Alien Encounters before shuffling off to our bed promptly at nine pm where our love making sessions begin and end by nine-thirty."
"Sounds like a pretty horrible life to me," Ron said as he stood up and looked at his watch. "You have a man that not only puts up with all your crazy insecurities, your family baggage, and still loves you so much there are times I get physically ill being in the same room with you two. Horrible life."
"You know what I mean," Daniel said as he threw up his hands in frustration. "What if it's over?"
Ron rolled his eyes. He loved his brother more than anything but there were times it was exhausting listening to his insecurities. "COme on drama queen, we have to go if we are going to make that seven oclock showing."
"I can't believe he has to work late on our anniversary."
"Damn," Ron stated as he looked down at his shoe. "I think I have a broken shoelace. Why don't you go get the car and I'll change shoes and meet you down in a minute."
The moment the door closed behind Daniel, Ron pulled out his phone and waited for the connection.
"Is it set?" The voice on the other end asked.
"My brother the drama queen is heading down as we speak."
"How mad is he?"
"You know my brother, he doesn't even know how he feels moment to moment."
"Thanks again for watching the house this weekend. You are by far my favorite brother in law."
"I'm your only brother in law weirdo, "Ron said with a laugh. "Have fun in Bermuda."
Ron returned his phone to his pocket and kicked off his shoes. He sat down on the sofa and put his hands behind his head and sighed loudly. "Finally, some peace and quiet."
It's fast becoming a need of mammoth proportions to stand against religions as antiquated belief systems with no redeeming features.
Moreover, religious belief is an immature explanation for what science now reveals as fact without superstition, morality without coercion, and love without the need to appeal to, or appease a god.
How many lives will the religious sacrifice on the altar of their ignorance?
How many beating hearts will the priests of burden rip from the bodies of the innocent?
And how many times must we witness insanity destroying reason, intelligence, and truth, before we understand that nurturing the love within ourselves is the only sane and satisfactory answer to the mystery of life?
So I'm having a pessimist moment:
We're living in some kind of culture warp where politicians are intent on reversing all the gains made since The Enlightenment. It's not that we are moving in reverse as much as we have turned our back to the future and are walking (sometimes it seems like we are running) backwards, into a future with no idea that we're going to fall over a cliff grasping at the thin air of cartoon-like superstitions. Then when we hit the road at the base of the cliff we get run over by a medieval body cart returning from delivering our humanity to The Inquisition. Can it get any worse? Yep...Beep-beep.
Following my blog post of 10th March 2014
Sweet, yeah, right.
I've never seen such aggression in a household cat.
I can only think that he was taken from his mother too soon. (I had a boyfriend that was taken from his mother too soon, when I was 18, but his problem was that he didn't know that my boyfriends don't entertain the local harlots (female) in the woodshed.)
Psycho the cat continued on his journey of training for the remake of the Alfred Hitchcock movie of the same name, slashing at our ankles. He even rushed into the shower with fangs and claws striking out at our ankles and lower extremities. He was well named.
Then he stopped eating. I consulted the vet, again. This time we were well prepared and the vet decided to wear leather gloves and wrapped Psycho in a heavy blanket...a feat in itself.
After an examination the vet said that he must start drinking some water or he wouldn't survive the weekend. He just snarled and hissed and tried to bite us. She told the cat that he was very lucky as most people wouldn't put up with his tantrums.
I was horrified at her suggestion that we would abandon him or worse, have him put down. I didn't even try to put down the old boyfriend when he was running rampant in the woodshed. After disappearing for the weekend and leaving us very distraught and worried he (the cat, not the old boyfriend) suddenly reappeared on Monday looking very healthy and smoothed against our legs.
Anyway, the vet said we should try a product called Feliway which released cat pheromones into the room and might serve to calm him down. Three months later and I'm happy to report that Feliway worked, to a degree. He now sleeps on the bed with us. He begrudgingly will let us give him a cuddle, but in the middle of his very loud purring he will still snap at us and then go back to purring. We finally worked out that his snapping at our ankles is his way to let us know that he wants to be fed.
We bought him a tree house which he loved until winter arrived and he discovered that the bed was a better choice for keeping warm; a fact that my de facto and I had previously discovered some years ago.
We've stopped using the Feliway and so far so good. Feliway isn't a complete cure but we think it has helped.
If I knew where that old boyfriend lived I'd send him a bottle.
Psycho the cat, contemplating his next attack.
So, I haven't been making many comments in this here Blogging thingy, mainly because of all the issues we had organising our finances and preparing for our dementia which will hopefully be delayed by all the supplements and vitamins I take.
I showed the doctor all my pills and powders, and gave him the print outs of all the websites that proclaim longevity if you take this and don't eat that. He perused the documents with what I suspect was related to Pecman's speed reading faculty.
The doctor looked up and told me that he had no idea so much research was being done on alternative treatment to keep people alive. His experience was confined to merely getting his patients in contact with big pharma which he doesn't trust much more than I do, but sometimes pharmaceuticals offer the best answer to maintaining a quality of life when quantity of life is teetering on being compromised.
I told the doctor that if you didn't take the medicine you die in two weeks, but if you did take the medicine you would die in a fortnight. He grinned and said I sounded like his old med school professor.
I was relieved to know that all my test results were in normal range and I could expect to survive somewhat longer than my hypochondria predicted.
The Taxi Drivers
I had to travel to and from the doctor in a taxi because the beloved one is using the car to go work. The taxi driver going to the doctor was a serious Middle Eastern gentleman. It seems like the Muslim invasion in Australia is starting with taking over our taxi fleets.
The taxi driver on the way home was, I suspect, of Mediterranean origin. He was friendly and courteous.
When we pulled up at my house he announced that he was going home to his family as he had had enough for the day.
I told him I was going to make some coffee and go on the Internet.
He asked, "Does your wife complain?"
"I don't have a wife," I replied.
"What about a girlfriend?" he inquired.
"I don't have a girlfriend...I have a boyfriend."
He eyes widened and he turned in his seat to look at me.
O, this is interesting, I thought to myself.
He stuttered and finally managed to say, "Oh so you are one of th..er, one that comes from that side."
Then he quickly followed with, "Do you enjoy that? Does your boyfriend?"
"Well, we've been doing it for over 40 years, so I guess we enjoy it."
"Forty years, together?"
"Yes," I said. (Did he think we did it in separate rooms?)
He was getting excited as he told me that he and his wife were married for 40 years. He then held up his closed fist and I knew that Harvey Milk was right, you just have to let people know who you are and they will bump fists with you, which we did, celebrating our common pursuit of marital happiness. He smiled as I exited the cab and then he drove away.
I wondered if I would have told the first taxi driver...somehow I don't think so, but then again, the opportunity never arose.
My de facto partner, (that's how the Australian Government regards my relationship with my boyfriend of over 40 years) and I have been lucky enough to share our home with a number of cats. All have lived happily with us for 16 - 20 years without any real traumas, until they died. I won't go into the heart-wrenching details of the death of our beloved cats except to say that I doubt they could have been happier, whilst they lived.
I digress for a moment to describe how we recently overcame our financial problems which threatened to see the bank foreclose on our mortgage and force us out on to the street. The best we could hope for was a nice tree in one of Adelaide's park-lands with a broadband connection.
Anyway, to cut short the story of a year long effort of challenges with the local council and the real estate agent, the bank, thank the deity of your choice, granted us a bridging loan to subdivide our property and sell it. We were able to reduce our mortgage to a very small amount which the dear bank would allow us to repay over 18 years. We were able to keep our home on the now smaller block of land which doesn't worry us.
As an aside to this digression, I should tell you that the Real estate agent presented us with a quote for overseeing the subdivision which I refused and organised myself saving over $7,000 in the process. Of course it meant that I had to physically go all butch and build the council's demanded carport for our car, as well as organise the concrete, fencing, tree clearance, etc.
Our clever accountant made sure we didn't have a capital gains tax problem.
My friends, such as they are, were all very helpful telling me, whist I am up on the carport roof (at the age of 69) to "Be careful." I was beginning to feel like one of my characters from my Doors Of Love stories.
Finally we overcame all the council objections and the real estate agent found us a buyer for the newly created block of land.
We took out a small extra loan so we could paint and carpet the rooms. Then the gas cooktop blew up in the kitchen, and we replaced that. The electric stove stopped working and it was cheaper to replace it than repair. I still have some tiling to do in the laundry.
The keyboard on the computer lost the plot and I replaced that. I now have a wonderful mechanical action keyboard...I love it, no more tysop.
So that left us with a vacancy for a cat.
We decided that rather than get a kitten we would adopt an adult cat and thereby rescue it from the dreaded death by lethal injection. I always wonder about death by non-lethal injections.
We searched the local used cats site, and found a lovely 4 year old black male (neutered). The owner was a girl who just graduated her engineering degree and was moving to a job in another city where her accommodation didn't allow pets.
So we get the cat home. It had a name we didn't like, but decided that we would wait for it to show its character and that would give us a clue as to its new name. Little did we know.
First it wouldn't come out of its cat carrier cage. It hissed, snarled and growled in no particular order. It bared its fangs and snapped at our fingers. Okay, so I patiently offered it food and sat with it, making silly cat noises of soothing and welcoming sounds. Nine hours later it exited the cage and rubbed itself against my hand and leg.
It then proceeded to vomit on the floor.
An anxiety attack if ever I saw one. I knew about anxiety attacks as the de facto boyfriend had one when it looked like we were going to be destitute, but thankfully he made it to the bathroom and didn't vomit on the floor.
The next day pussycat ate and threw up, ate and threw up quite consistently, so I made an appointment with our local Vet.
I looked at the previous owners' Vet documents and saw that the cat had been vaccinated, but no other examination had been done because of, "extreme temperament problems."
So when the de factoed one got home I told him we were going to the vet. He told me he felt okay. He had just manage to land a full time job. We had some extra income. Lucky us, the Vet must have known and charged us $89.
Calmly we arrived at the Vet and the cat had sat quietly in his carrier cage. Once the door was opened he sprang at the Vet sunk his claws into her and clawed the now shocked and horrified de facto one.
The Vet decided a hairball might be part of the vomiting problem as the cat was very active and not at all underweight.
We returned home with some cat laxative. I was already having the shits with this animal. My poor lover's hand was looking quite lacerated.
Four weeks later, the cat is loving and sookie, and then for no reason attacks our ankles, and bites and scratches exposed skin. We are not going commando until we sort this cat out.
We watched the videos at My Cat From Hell site (recommended) where cat behaviourist Jackson Galaxy, advises on how to handle difficult cats.
We've done everything he suggests and the cat still summons the demons from the underworld right in the middle of his loving us. He's mental...So we have called him Psycho.
We'll post further bulletins, if we survive.
My second year high school physics teacher was a popular young man of around 23 years old. He enjoyed a joke or two and made the lessons memorable, if not fun.
When a teacher was called to an away mission, usually a phone call, it was, in those days, customary for the class cabal to appoint one of their members to keep watch at the door for the teachers return. This permitted the rest of the class the freedom to enjoy a chalk fight, or as often happened, a competition to see who could engineer the best paper glider capable of achieving escape velocity from the classroom, if not the Earth.
I remember one particular day, when the keeper of the watch, spied the teacher swiftly making his way back down the hallway toward the classroom which was in an uproar over the latest unmanned glider test flight. Suddenly the appointed stake out officer announced quite loudly, "Here it comes." The class rapidly resumed the quiet demeanour of angels in contemplation of the value of intelligent desire.
Dear teacher made his entrance with a fury and flurry not seen since the last emergency fire drill. All was quiet as he surveyed the remains of a dozen or so, test flights scattered around the test pad, also known as the floor. Then he spoke,
"Boys," he exclaimed, "Your teachers, including me, are well aware that you have nicknames for us. Indeed those of us in my profession who are not disabled by having our heads up our backsides are even amused by some of your more inventive names for us, but we really are not amused by phrases proclaiming our approach as, "Here it comes." In future, you would be best advised to reserve that phrase for your personal activities in the privacy of your bedrooms. I can assure you all that I am not an it."
The cheers emanating from the collective young test pilots were very encouraging and the teacher laughed with the rest of us.
Lives in Periphery
A new serial novel by EleCivil
Manufacturing plants opened up on the outskirts – little metal pockmarks against the amber waves of grain. They didn’t last. Now, there were abandoned factories and junk heaps just sitting around. Chunks of broken machines rusted into the gravel lots in front of condemned buildings. He had always been drawn to them; the abandoned machines and the ruins of a failed empire. This one was fairly close to school, and it had become his afternoon hideout. No one else knew this – they’d probably think he was weird – but the way he saw it, some people are called to the trees, some people are called to the water, and he was called to the rust. Given his childhood on the outskirts, rust seemed as natural and comforting as a cool breeze.
“Consider it reparations for your history of repeated malfeasance. I know from your records that you’re smart enough. That’s why I’m using words like ‘malfeasance’. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate that. I usually have to say things like ‘Hey, jerk - stop punching.’ This is refreshing.”
He wasn't going to fall for this. This kind of tactic may work on middle schoolers, or hotheads, or the weak-nerved, but he was made of stronger stuff than that. This was such a transparent trick to make him implicate himself. Say nothing, and let the criminal go mad with guilt until he's ready to throw himself to the floor, pull up the boards and it's the beating of his hideous heart! But that wouldn't work on him. He wasn't a criminal.
"Hell, if you’re going to play outlaw, you might as well go all out."
Beginning Fall 2013