Seriously...please tell me life can be better....
TELL ME!!!!!
Oh darn, I burned the muffins.
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Jason Rimbaud
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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....
TELL ME!!!!!
Oh darn, I burned the muffins.
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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 But I’m sure it’s so long ago that even my one loyal reader has given up on checking my outdated blog and has disappeared into the ether.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.
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I was in a bar earlier tonight and this black guy I have never met before comes over and says, I quote, "For a white boy, you have mad flavor."
I'm not really sure what "mad flavor" is, but I gots it.
So why would this stranger come over and say things I don't really understand? I guess I should start at the beginning. Well, not that far back, I don't think even my loyal reader would stick around to read this Blog Entry if I started at the beginning. So lets start from a beginning.
I got pulled over the other night on the , way home from work. Apparently my left brake light was shorted out and where its not really illegal it does give the police a good reason to pull someone over at one AM in the morning so they can check and see if that someone has been drinking before getting behind the wheel of their little car. Doesn't that make you all warm and fuzzy bunny slippers?
And unfortunately for me, I reeked of booze.
And before you go all high moral road on me...I was not drinking. Matter of fact I hadn't had a drink in over a week at the time of this incident. Though if I were to be in this situation as I type this, I would be hammered. But the good news, I'm not driving a car right now. And even better news, I probably couldn't find my car right now.
The pig...err...I mean police officer says, "Do you know why I stopped you?"
"Not really."
"Your left brake light is out." Then he leans in closer to my open window and says, "Have you been drinking?"
"No."
The bully in blue uniform goes, "License and registration please."
This is the part of the story where I tell both of my readers (I know...I'm gaining readership) that as of this moment, I currently have an expired drivers license.
Don't look at me like that, it's not that I did it on purpose. I'm no criminal.
It's not like I get carded anymore, so I haven't looked at my license since I got the damn thing five years ago. So I have been driving illegally since my birthday back in January. I'm such a rebel. *insert devil horn hands*
After taking a look at my expired driver's license, and the kick-ass picture, the donut eating machine says, "Can you step out of the car please?"
We had a really busy day at work, so busy that I had to jump behind the bar, in a suit I might add, and help the bartender sling drinks for two hours. And do you know how hard it is to sling drinks wearing a suit and tie? Pretty fucking hard, matter of fact, so hard that I ended up spilling a few drinks all over myself.
Cut back to the car at one AM, not only does this pig think I'm drinking and driving, he thinks I'm a dick with no respect for the law. There goes that warm and fuzzy bunny slippers feeling.
I step out of the car, quite gingerly I might add. Work has been crazy busy and I'm not as young as I once was, my feet hurt, I think I tore a back muscle hefting around a keg of beer, so stepping out of the car isn't really true. I hauled myself out of the car, a bit unsteady on my feet. Sadly this didn't help me look stone cold sober either. "I swear, I haven't been drinking."
Again the officer looked into my eyes and said, "I don't believe you. You smell like you've been drinking and you don't look that steady on your feet."
I am a smart ass, but even I know when to keep my big fat mouth shut. So instead of saying, 'well you're eyes look glazed does that mean you've been eating donuts' I simply let the thought die inside my head.
While I'm on the subject, why does every single police officer in the world have the same haircut? It's always shaved close on the side of the head and then on top they have this really bad crew cut. Seriously, next time you seen a cop, look at the haircut, they all match.
So the patrolman sends me on a series of stupid tests designed to do nothing or tell nothing either than make your heart pump harder so any alcohol that's in your stomach reaches your bloodstream faster to give the cops a higher blood alcohol content reading. I had to walk a straight line, which is very difficult when your feet have swelled up the size of melons. I had stand on one leg and count to twenty with my head tilted back, touch my nose without looking, and my personal favorite, saying the alphabet back wards.
Which ironically, I have absolutely no problem doing right now drunk as hell.
After about twenty minutes of this useless shit, the dick head says he has reasonable doubt that I am indeed under the influence and demands that I take a Breathalyzer test.
In the meantime, while the first cop was frowning at me for my blatant disregard of the law, two more police officers show up. I'm on the side of the road, about two blocks from my house, and three cops are gathered around, all who frown when cop number one says I am driving without a license and my brake light is broken. From the look on their collective faces, I am scum. Matter of fact I am wondering when one of those crazy S.O.B.'s is going to pop a cap in my ass.
You have seen the footage about that BART cop last New Year's Eve who had that black guy on the ground, three of them holding him down, and the BART cop pulls his gun and shoots him in the back. That happened not that far away from where I live in the Bay Area. Check the footage on Tube if you haven't seen it yet.
I can almost feel the pleasure oozing out of the cops, they think without a doubt that I am drunk, and I'm only a Breathalyzer test away from them making a shit ton of money and probably a bonus for busting a DUI.
Did you know that? Police departments have a running contest each month, where the police officer with the most DUI's get a cash bonus. And you wonder why real crime is rampant in the world? The cops are all staking out bars trying to bust little Suzy who had one shot of Yagermister and two warm draft Coors Light instead of stopping violent crime like rapists and murders. You go Barney Fife.
So they give me this little tube and I blow into it. And much like I knew it would, the results show I have zero blood alcohol content. The cop looks at the machine, and then back at me, and says, "There must be a malfunction."
He takes me to another police cruiser and a different machine where I repeat my blowing. I wonder if I had been drinking, and failed the machine blowing thing, I wonder if they would allow me to go to another cruiser and blow again.
Anyway, the results said again, ZERO. And now they aren't happy at all. It's now after two thirty AM, catching another drunk driver is all but impossible since all the bars are now closed and everyone is safely home. All the police gather around the machine and finally admit that not only have I not been drinking but I am completely sober.
And do you know what, they don't apologize for wasting my time. The cop looks at me and says, "I could make it that you lose your license for a year, enough time has passed. How would you like that? Driving is not a right, it is a privilege for those Americans that follow the rules."
I really didn't know what to say to that. This cop is so mad at me that I'm not drunk, something he should be happy that I don't drink and drive, but he's in my face, his face is red and his veins are sticking out. For a moment I think I'm in the twilight zone or something. Why is he so mad at me?
I wanted to scream back at him, but I didn't, because I'm intelligent. So instead, I stand there, not saying anything unless he asks me a direct question, while he writes me up a ticket for an expired drivers license and another warning fix-it ticket for my brake light, and a warning that the next time he seems me on the road, I better have a current driver's license.
So what did we learn...
That cops get really mad if you smell like alcohol but haven't really been drinking and that I can't pass a sobriety test while completely sober. And apparently, I'm so gay that I can't change a brake light on my car without cutting my hand and ripping out the carpet lining in my truck.
Thank god for my neighbor who had pity on me and changed the light for me. So I bought him a beer at the local bar and proceeded to get so drunk, and tell my story to anyone who wanted to listen.
And while at the bar, after another telling of this story which started to get more and more blown out of context, this black guy comes over and give me a hug, and says, "For a white boy, you have mad flavor."
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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.
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It's around two thirty in the morning, Tuesday morning, and I am at a loss of words.
I was sleeping, all cozy wrapped up in my favorite comforter dreaming of blonde haired boys with dancing eyes, and right when it was getting to the good part, my phone woke me up. Or rather the noise my phone makes when I get a new text message.
For a moment, I glance at the table next to the bed and debate whether or not to look at the phone or to try to fall back asleep so i could find out how that nice dream ended.
But since I rarely get text messages at two thirty in the morning, I decided to reach over and check out the asshole who chased away that sexy blonde from my dreams.
To make a long story short, or just to try and cope with what just happened, I'll blurt it out and forgo the long winded digressions and rants.
It was a text message from Mark, remember him, my straight boy crush. Yeah, the message was only four words long, it said, wish you were here.
Why am I experiencing this loss of words? Because it wasn't what he typed that sent my head spinning, it was what picture he sent that sent me flying out of bed and rushing out to the balcony in my boxers to have a cigarette.
I won't lie, it was a nice picture. But damn it, I thought this was settled. I'm going insane. I'll never be able to control myself now. Even with the cold night air, I had enough excitement to send him a picture back with this message
Yeah, so do I.
Damnit, I fucking hate him.
I'm going back to bed. Maybe that blonde will return and finish what the bastard started. I can only hope.
Jason R
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So as of thirty minutes ago, for good or for ill, America voted in Senator Obama by a large resounding margin. Soundly defeating McCain in key Republican states, I think America has spoken clearly and loudly that we need change in America.
With such a majority, Republicans need to get behind the Presidential Elect and try to heal this country. I think McCain said it best in his concession speech that though they were opponents this morning, McCain will fall behind Obama and work with him to move this country forward.
Now more than ever, Washington needs to see this election as the people are pissed about the "old boy's club" ruling the nation and to start being a government for the people by the people.
Like I said, I don't know if America did the right thing tonight, I don't know if I did the right thing by voting for Obama, but apparently a majority of the country felt as I did.
Obama has a long hard road ahead and I hope he surrounds himself with the right people to give him the right kind of advice to restore the greatness of our nation.
All my best thoughts are directed to the man that will now decide my fate and that of my country for the next four years.
Jason
And it was of some doubt in my mind, but McCain's concession speech proved to me that he is a man of honor, patriotism, and has a great love for this country and if he follows through on his promise to get behind Obama, then he truly is a great American.
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Chit & Also Chat Equals an Upset “N”
May 12th, 2022
I can’t believe it’s already May 12, 2022. Life seems to move faster and faster the older you get. I’ll be fifty in two and half years. Where the hell did the time go? Just yesterday I was twenty year old chasing fuzzy bunny slippers and now I’m lucky to find my slippers. Not sure if that is a euphemism. But it sounds dirty so I’ll allow it.
So I’m bald. But that’s been for like ten years now. I’m one of the lucky ones. My head is perfectly round like a bowling ball, it also has three holes in it. Wait, I’m forgetting a few holes, that’s so not like me to forget a hole I have. Told you I’m getting old.
Remember when I was obsessed with my drug weight and how I hated to be sober because it made me fat? And once I quit drugs my friends used to say that I was finally getting to a “healthy weight”. Which we all know is code for fat ass. Well, no one accuses me of that anymore. And I’m a few pounds heavier than I used to be.
I’m married, for three years now. We have been together for almost seven years. So my days of chasing train twink's and straight boy crushes are long behind me. As well as any type of sex. I’m trying to tell you that I never have sex anymore. And it’s not like I don’t try to jump my husband's bones/bone at every opportunity. For some reason he hates it when I try to dry hump him in the middle of Target. He’s such a prude sometimes.
I am now the owner of two cats, Chit and Chat. So my once pristine carpets are destroyed and filled with stains. And not the fun stains that I am accustomed to cleaning. Fur balls, and vomit and that’s just from my husband.
My job is amazing. It keeps me busy but opening new locations and getting into the corporate side of the business is so much fun. I don’t want to tell them that I would do it for half the money they are paying me. Even I think they pay me way too much for the work I accomplish.
My husband, I love the way that sounds by the way. My husband just graduated from an online college for accounting. He decided to change careers at *insert age*, and is now living his best life as a stuffy accountant. Did I mention that he crammed a three year program into one year? Did I also tell you that he did that while working a full time job? Did I also tell you that he graduated with one of the highest rankings in the year? Boom, humble brag about my husband, no regrets.
The last three months, I have begun gathering all my writings, Blog entries, poetry, and converting them to Google Docs so I can keep them all in the same place. During this process, I first started with my Blog at AwesomeDude. I went all the way back to the very first one with the intention of copying and pasting into Google Docs. But I found myself re-reading the entries and I found so many errors, spelling or grammatical that I actually rewrote all of them. From start to finish. I wasted almost two months rewriting them all before I started on my poetry, and I am now working on all the stories I posted under a name that none of you know.
Did you know that twenty years ago I was rather prolific on Nifty writing fan fiction? Did you also know that I won several Boy Band awards writing under my first pen name? You didn’t, because they were all fucking horrible. I know, because I am reading/rewriting them now for some weird reason. Maybe one day I’ll let you read them so you can see how much they suck.
Getting back to my Blog, boy was I a mess back then. Do you remember those angst filled, drug induced, straight boy crushes that almost killed me? I don’t. It was like looking at someone else. I guess I am so far removed from that person that I actually enjoyed reading the old entries. On entertainment value, I’d say my Blog was a 9 out of 20. On personal growth, 20 out of 20.
I posted on several different sites over the years. And as I have been gathering them all together, I have come across stories I completely forgot I wrote. Poetry that was really good, it’s under my name but I’ll be damned if I remember writing them. Is this what happens when you finally get your shit together and grow up?
I used to be a clean freak, I’d have marathon cleaning sessions. In each room of my apartment/house, all the carpet had to be vacuumed in the same way, each with complete straight lines. I washed the baseboards every week, dust the tops of doorways, clean all the doors to my kitchen cabinets. Scrub the floor and if I’d find even one little stain on my carpet, I’d shampoo the entire thing. But that was before “N”.
Upon reading my Blog, it seems that all the men I dated/fucked are messy. It’s easily the one thing that connects all my hookups together. I still hate leftovers, I don’t understand why you need to have leftovers? Why? You never fucking eat them. Throw them away. Why do you constantly make me clean up after you by cleaning out the fridge every few days of leftover food that you just had to save?
“N” comes home from work. Before I tell you that, let me explain a little about “N”. “N” is 110 pounds if I put rocks in his pockets and weigh him fully dressed including shoes. And he’s five foot nine inches, so he’s not short. The only reason I tell you this is to explain why I do five loads of laundry each week with only two people in the house.
“N” wears this every time he leaves the house. Three to four pairs of long johns, a pair of jeans/pants, three pairs of socks, a Tank-Top, a T-Shirt,a pullover sweater, a hoodie, and of course undies. That’s seven days a week!
Before I came into his life, I’m not saying that he wore the same long johns, socks for days on end, but he was only doing one load of laundry a week. I’ll let you decide his clothing habits.
So when my lovely husband comes home after a long day at work. The other thing about “N” is, when he was going to school full time, he was also working full time. He is as dedicated, driven a person as I ever met. He’s smart, way smarter than I will ever hope to be. He’s hot, fucking hot in a can’t believe I get to see you naked whenever I want kind of way. He’s so fucking hot if I wasn’t so in love with him I’d want the whole world to see his naked ass. But he’s a messy mother fucker.
He comes home from work, after studying five or six hours in the morning before working an entire day, and his shoes get thrown in different directions, he takes off his long johns, and pants, and undies in one motion. So I have three to four long johns, pants, undies, all inside out, layered on top of each other. His socks come off the same way, three pairs inside out layered, his sweater and hoodie, inside out and layered…in a heap on the kitchen or living room floor.
He then gets a new pair of undies, sleep pants, three pairs of socks, a Tank Top, T-Shirt, and a sweater/hoodie. Then he crawls into our bed, we have three thick comforters and he still complains he’s cold. I’m in the house, in a pair of shorts, sweating because he has the fucking heat turned up to the hell setting. Our two cats, Chit & Chat, are literally open mouth breathing because of the heat. And he’s fucking cold.
He then gets ready for bed. He takes off the sweater/hoodie, the T-Shirt, throws them on the floor next to our bed, and goes to sleep. In the morning, he gets a new T-Shirt, sweater/hoodie and puts them on. After he takes a shower, he takes off his undies, his three pairs of socks, his Tank-Top, his T-Shirt, and his sweater/hoodie and puts them on the bathroom floor. Right next to the laundry basket, because he prefers his clothes on the floor. I love him.
We have four laundry baskets around our house. For one, because for some reason we go through a lot of dirty clothes. But mainly because I always have a laundry basket handy for me to pick up his clothes from the floor and put it inside the basket. He then starts the whole process all over again. I do a lot of laundry. Do you understand how much time I spend just turning his clothes right side out before washing them? You don’t because no one is as messy as my husband. Not your husband, or any husband that has ever been a husband in the history of the entire fucking world.
September marks the 16th year I’ve had a Blog on Awesome Dude. Sixteen long years of rambling, digressions, and pointless rants that my one loyal reader has had to put up with. I feel sorry for whoever that person is. I probably have made him/her/they dumber in the process. But that’s the risk you run when reading anything I write. You must have missed the disclaimer.
I’ve been toying with the idea of doing something special in September. Like maybe I’ll post nudes in my Blog, one nude for each year my Blog has been hosted at Awesome Dude. I could probably find a nude from every year. Then all you could see the way I’ve gotten balder on my head and hirsute in my ears and upper shoulders. By the way, no one ever told me that not only does hair grow out your ears the older you get, but for some reason my eyebrows are getting bushy as well. Fuck you all for keeping that secret from me.
I also thought I could do a Blast from the Past section in my Blog. Posting something once a month to remind my one loyal reader of the absurdity of my past. Or I could work in the titles of my old entries with a link for those who might want to revisit those digressions. Seriously, when I read the entry “I’ll Never Wear Boxers Again”, it might be one of the best things I wrote here.
But all that sounds like a shit ton of work and I’m way too lazy to do any of that. Though I did have fun going through my photos finding all the nudes I’ve taken over the years. I don’t want to slut shame myself, but I was a fucking slut. Some of the photos I looked at and thought, why did I get laid so often in my youth? There is a whole series of just Las Vegas photos that would make a seaman blush. Boom, my first cum joke of this Blog, no regrets.
“N” had wanted a dog from the first moment I met him. I’m not an animal person. If anyone remembers an entry called “Giant Can Of Red Bull, Spearmint Gum, and a Pack of Marlboro Lights” would know that. I completely refused to get a dog. They are messy, dirty, and stain the carpets. I would not have a dog in my fucking house. Plus, I have a hard enough time cleaning up “N’s” shit on the daily. The last thing I want to do is clean up actual shit from the street a few times a day. The one thing I make “N '' do, he must clean the litter box. And if he “forgets” I dump a bit of fresh litter on his side of the bed to remind him. Just a little game we like to play. Don’t you worry about that.
Chit is an orange tabby female cat. According to “N”, orange tabby females are very rare. Chit was brought home about 10 months ago. Chit is a very nice cat, cleans herself often, has a clean butthole, and much to “N’s” chagrin, is my cat. Chit follows me around the house, no matter where I’m at, Chit is right there next to me. Chit helps me do laundry, helps me clean, offers advice while I’m playing video games, watches me while I eat. What else, she’s 11 pounds at 10 months old, so she is still a kitten. Oh, and she fucking sleeps on my face every night.
“N” is always cold. I have tried to get Chit to sleep with “N”. But for some reason, Chit is not happy unless her ass is firmly pressed up against my mouth. I sleep on my left side, facing my wonderful if not messy husband. My arm is stretched out like I’m trying to stay connected to him in our sleep. Chit sleeps in the corner of my arm, her head facing “N”, her ass in my mouth. And when I move my head back a few inches to get a breath that’s not filled with hair, she presses back until she makes contact with my mouth. Six hours a day I have to put up with this cat needing me to breathe on her ass.
Chit wakes me up every morning at 3am by slapping my face with her paws. She will continue to slap me until I roll over on my back where she will then sit on my chest, her face about an inch from my mouth and demand head rubs for about twenty minutes. Once she decrees that she is finished with head rubs, she will smack my face for me to roll back over on my side where she will assume her position of staring at my husband with her ass back in my mouth. At five am, she will start headbutting me until I get up to feed her. Once she is fed, I am dead to her for about seven hours. She sleeps next to my husband, purring in his ear.
Chit is a very proper cat. She lays down with her paws crossed, staring blankly at me as I move around the house. The upside, I can do anything I want to her and she doesn’t seem to care. I touch her paws, trim her nails, rub her belly, all this she takes in stride. Have you ever given someone a “raspberry”. You know, you put your lips on them and blow out. I do this to her all the time, and she just sits there with a look on her face of “continue, let me know when you are done.”
To get my revenge on her, when she is sleeping in the ray of sunshine that comes through our patio door, I start rubbing her head, her belly, anything to wake her up. Then once she goes back to sleep, I’ll do it again. One time I timed it, I fucked with her sleeping for thirty minutes and she didn’t move more than her tail twitched. Chit likes to take showers with me. She gets soaking wet and likes to run to my sleeping husband plop down on his chest. It’s one of his favorite ways to wake up in the morning.
About two months ago, “N” decided that our perfect little proper cat is depressed. So he brings home a little psycho that we named “Chat”. Chat was abandoned, so she never had a mother to teach her things like, how to groom herself, how to cover her waste, or how to do anything. So we have a complete psycho that has disturbed our lives in ways that we will be feeling for years to come.
If you thought I was mean to Chit for fucking with her while she sleeps, then you haven’t seen nothing what Chat does. It took us about a week to bring the two together. Chit and also Chat are now friends. They sleep together, groom each other, steal one another's food, shit in the same box, and generally cause mayhem in our lives.
I know I said Chit was a proper cat. But that was a lie. Chit has destroyed my carpets, my couch, my top comforter, and all the strings to every single hoodie I own. All of them. She is a complete nightmare walking. I cut her nails, we have scratching posts all over the house, but she refuses to use them. I fucking hate her.
No matter where Chit is, Chat will stalk her in a way that only a two pound kitten can do, unsteadily. Chat will creep up and then run at full speed and launch herself into Chit. I find it crazy that Chit is so gentle with Chat. She could easily knock her into next month but I’ve seen Chit actually run into a wall to avoid stepping on Chat.
The other day, remember, Chat has only been in our house for five weeks, Chit must have gotten tired of the smell because Chat hasn’t learned to groom herself. Chit ran over and forced her to the floor, and started cleaning her from nose to tail. “N” and myself were cheering her on by saying, “clean her butthole, teach her to clean her butthole”. And Chit being a proper cat, did just that. No more smelly Chat. Boom, kind of a Friends reference, some regrets.
“N” was hoping when he brought Chat home, that he would finally get a cat of his own to shadow him all over the house. He took off four days to make sure I was at work so she would bond with him. He demanded that only he be the one to feed her. After the first day was over, and I was heading into work, the moment the door shut behind me, Chat started crying at the door and did so for the rest of the day. When I get home, Chat comes running to me no matter what she is doing.
So now I have two cats, Chit and Chat, sleeping on my face. Chat is learning that if she smacks me in the face during the night, she will get head rubs too. I now get woken up in shifts, one for Chit, and one for Chat. Believe me, I thank my husband every morning by waking him up when they wake me up. It's a game we love to play. A game that has evolved into my husband threatening to move into the guest room if I insisted on playing it with him. We so love to kid each other.
Where was I? That’s right. I’m happy.
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The beginning?well that isn?t really the right place to start this particular tale. No not there, that would take more time then I could ask any sane person to suffer through. So instead of the beginning, I think I?ll start in the middle.
I?ve never had much luck with relationships. For all my slutty ways, I?ve only ever been in three long term relationships. And for those of you that might not know, I?ll define the phrase ?long term relationship?.
For me, long term relationship is defined, anything that last more than a week.
What? I tell the truth, even if it?s ugly. It just so happens that most of my truths are a bit dirty.
Last go back for a bit and I?ll tell you another dirty truth. My first long term relationship was with a boy named, Jason. You might remember this almost straight boy that held my heart in his hand so tightly. After all, I did agree to be his best man a few years later when he got married to this chick he met in a bar.
Jason was also the same boy that showed up at my apartment the night before his wedding for a final taste of the love that dare not speak its name.
(For those of you that are/might be interested in knowing more about this boy, check out my Blog at Awesome Dude for an entry called, I?ll Never Wear Boxers Again.)
I guess it was his way of thanking me for not telling his soon to be wife about our ?special bond? and the four years we spent together.
And if I am to be speaking truths right now, I must be honest. That sacrifice of silence nearly destroyed me. Jason never knew just how much I loved him. I know this as fact, because each time we slept together, I made sure to say what we were doing, was nothing more than fun. Two close friends helping each other out.
I was so worried, petrified actually, about scaring him away, never daring to show my true feelings out of fear that he would run to the hills.
That fear was founded on too many fucking conversations we had over the years. Often, usually the morning after our sex was particularly passionate, he would tell me that he wasn?t gay, and that his one wish in this journey we call life was to find a wife and have a family.
At first I thought, scratch that, I hoped, it was nothing but bravado mixed with self denial. So I would downplay my feelings, hoping to give him room and the time to sort out his emotions.
I remember there was a time about a year into whatever we were doing, that he was dating this chick from two towns over. Every single Friday night, after he got off work, he would drive forty-five minutes to her and be gone all weekend only to return to me Sunday night.
What a fucked up pair we made back then, Monday thru Thursday, we lived together, ate together, laughed together, got drunk together, and slept together. And then Friday night he would leave.
And every fucking time, I would swear that when he returned, I would tell him exactly how I felt. Sadly, I never really seemed to muster the courage.
This went on for about four months. And trust me; they were the longest four months of my life.
It was horrible, on the surface I had everything I ever wanted, never mind the small fact that I had to keep it all a secret and ignore that in front of our friends, I got to hear about this chick and how happy he was spending each weekend with her.
It was taking a toll, I started drinking heavily again and that turned into treating him like shit, basically behaving like a jealous school girl who can?t understand that her English teacher is already happily married and has no intention of leaving his wife for a spoiled little girl. For a time, I really believed that our friendship was heading towards destruction.
But then it happened. It was a Friday night, and just like always, he was packing his bag, preparing for his weekend of straightness, when I walked into his bedroom and sat on the bed. After a few moments of me watching him pack, he asked if I needed something.
?I love you, you know.?
That was the first time I ever said those words to someone other than my fucked up family.
He closed his bag, his back towards me and replied, ?I know.?
I got up and walked out of the apartment. A few hours later, after many drinks and a sloppy blowjob from some random guy from the club, I return home to an empty apartment. It was the first time I ever fucked someone for the sole purpose of trying to feel alive.
No matter how much I drank or how many blowjobs I got, I couldn?t fill the emptiness that consumed me.
Sometimes, even when completely hammered, our minds can suddenly have a single lucid thought that shifts everything into place and the world becomes shockingly clear.
Sitting on my empty bed, clutching his pillow to my chest, and through the self-loathing and Vodka haze, I knew that I could no longer go on fooling myself. Jason and I would never be truly together and I would be better off moving on.
I didn?t even care that one of us would have to move out of our apartment, all I knew is I couldn?t do it anymore.
Sometime around 3 am I passed out, fully intending to end it with Jason the moment he returned Sunday night. Around 3:45, I was rudely awoken by someone shaking me. And much to my surprise, it was Jason. He crawled into bed and pulled me close. He kissed my cheek and when I tried to talk, he put his finger against my lips and told me to go back to sleep.
And in the morning, we woke wrapped in each others arms. And in that moment, I was truly happy.
Sadly that moment didn?t last long because Jason started whispering in my ear as he held me tight. He told me that he loved me but wasn?t in love with me. He also apologized for leading me on. He said he knew that I wanted more from him but since I never came out and said it, he chose to ignore it because being with me filled a void and he hated to be lonely. He had decided for the sake of our friendship, that we had to stop sleeping together.
And it worked, for a time, but whatever it was between us, was to powerful and a few months later we started the whole thing again and it lasted another two years before I moved to a different city in a different state on the opposite end of the country to get away from him.
I guess Jason knew me better than any other human on this planet and I think that night in my bed was the only time he was completely honest with me and to this fucking day, I still believe it was a load of shit.
Sad, I know, but how I wish for those confusing times again. Anything would be better than the last three weeks.
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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.
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Daniel and I Part Ways(Finally)
After almost three years, Daniel and I have decided to part as roommates. Okay, the truth, Daniel decided, and since it was his house, I agreed. So for the last three weeks I have been busy moving into a nice two bedroom apartment in Redwood City. Please don't make any jokes about finding a "NICE" apartment in Redwood City, it can happen. I swear.
It's okay, I love the new apartment. But there is a fear that I'll go back to my old ways now that I am once again living by myself. Anyone that knows me, knows that a bored Jason is a dangerous Jason. It's not that I love getting into trouble, but when I don't have a stabilizing force to keep me in line, I tend to do the first thing that pops into my head. I'm sure in the coming months you'll hear all about it. But for now, luckily, I've been too involved with work and moving to do anything stupid. But I know it's only a matter of time before the boredom sets in.
But that's not the reason I'm posting today/tonight. During the course of my move, I've realized that I've become somewhat of a clothes whore.
I have:
Eleven jackets (three black leather)
Thirty-two pairs of shoes (two pairs of dress shoes, one black, one burgundy)
Seventeen towels
Forty-five pairs of jeans
Twenty-one pairs of slacks
Thirty something Hoodies
Fifty or so T-shirt's with assorted sayings on the front
Seventeen casual pull over shirts
Thirteen Sweaters (all from the Gap)
Well over a hundred pairs of socks
Seventy-five pairs of underwear (boxers/briefs/boxer briefs/thongs/ect) with twenty pairs of just blue
Thirty-seven button-up shirts
Four suits
Three blazers
Two ties (i need to work on this)
Three large jewerly boxes with assorted rings, necklaces, braclets, ear rings
Nine wallets
Two identical cigarette cases
Thirteen Zippo lighters
Four red Bic lighters
Nine sets of cuff links
And thirty-seven watches, of which fifteen are silver
And sadly, I couldn't bare to throw any of the cothes away as I began packing. Not even the clothes that are so old it's almost like wearing nothing the fabric is so thin and worn. Yes, I know I might have a problem. Believe I know.
It's even worse that all the clothes are color coordinated by type, and in alphabetical order. Though, because I'm left handed, the A's are on the right and the Z's are on the left. And the color is mixed up as well, a dark color, then a light color, then a dark color, so on and so on.
I just realized, as I type this, that I could be the saddest person alive. Let me explain, before you hastily agree with me. The above list is no joke, I actually counted and catologed my clothes as and before I packed. The list is sitting right here next to me. I guess Daniel was right, I do have OCD.
But on the bright side, my apartment is clean, I go even as far as making sure the vacuum cleaner lines are perfectly straight in each room. I know I'm going to end up yelling at my guests for using wire hangers instead of the nice wooden ones sometime in my future but I'm okay with that. I swear
Jason R.
By the way, Daniel and I still remain friends. With his new boyfriend moving in, I was feeling like a third wheel. And besides, it took him so long to find someone, I didn't want to be in the way. Okay, that's all a lie, I didn't want to come home late from work only to find them fucking in the living room. Not a sight I want to see twice in my lifetime.
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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.
J
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I hate the letter "M" and all that entails.
J
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So I guess I was quick on the draw when I said I hate the letter "M"...because I no longer hate the letter "M".
Let the usual craziness resume...
J
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I guess I'm in love with my I-Phone. There I've said it...publically and everything.
With all the applications you can download, I'm surprised it's not listed as one of the worlds greatest something or other. Let's face it, it beats the shit out of the Grand Canyon. (Sorry Des)
Though now that I think about it, the I-Phone should come with an ugly people spotting application for those of us that take a drink from time to time.
It would've came in handy for me last night. I'm not saying the little twink that shared my bed was a two but he was definitely a two. *shudders*
I was accused of not making sense the other day at work...to which I replied, "When I'm this dead sexy, I don't have to make fucking sense."
There is a server at the restaurant I now call home, let's call him "D", who isn't really that good of a server. But the guests love him and he has a good heart so I keep him around. But after screwing up for the thousandth time the other night, I look over at the bartender and say, "Good thing "D" is attractive, because his smarts isn't going to take him anywhere."
Why isn't Florida called, 'God's Waiting Room'?
Since I got clean and sober, I'm finding it harder and harder to remain slim, I know, the drugs were killing me and my behavior was erratic at best. But at least I was thin. So what if I was bald, at least I was thin. Now, I'm still bald and at what my friends call a healthy weight...which is code for fat ass. And to make matters worse, the hair that I'm losing on top of my head is now showing up in the craziest places.
Why would your ears ever need hair? For that matter, why would your back, blissfully free of hair for thirty-three years suddenly sprout what I can only describe as fur.
And before you all freak out, I do a bit of manscaping to keep the Sasquatch on my back under control. But it's all a bother really.
And yet instead of going to the gym, I'm sitting here typing this drivel while drinking a beer after I just ate half a pizza. Maybe I deserve this fat ass staring back at me from the mirror.
I guess I really don't want to be perfect anymore. Damn-it all, I am quite happy. Maybe that's all I really need.
Jason
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Drop
written by Justin F.
I touch the tongue to see
A devil's face in front of me
You blow your nose and cry
The clown demands a sad good-bye
A sad good-bye
Black below the tree
White horses dead in front of me
A scar below the cheek
There's a sweaty man in a bloody sink
It's just a trip not a way to ease your pain
Self-help...Tell another shrink the same damn thing
Stay cool, everything is going to be okay
Until you decide to drop again
A blue jean girl to be
Sweaty man is behind the trees
The flip side of sanity is the game
Fourteen million miles away from sane
A dark man in the restroom window pane
Whose words just pour out human pain
It's just a trip not away to ease your pain
Self-help...Tell another shrink the same damn thing
Stay cool, everything is going to be okay
Until you decide to drop again
Until you decide to drop again
Now, I'm so high, so high
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If there's anything I hate today, I would have to say girls, text messaging, and close-minded bigots that hold on to the Bible like a drowning man holds on to a life preserver in a storm-swept ocean.
How the fuck does that affect what happened between Mark and I last week, my reader might ask?
It's good that you ask, because I'm about to explain it to you in my usual round-about meandering way.
So last we peeked into my life, I was having trouble with a certain nerdy gay boy that wished to seduce me in the worst kind of way. We also found out that Mark and I had decided to keep our relationship on the down-low for a few different reasons.
Since that time, so many things has transpired I've been playing catch-up all week just to comprehend the life changing events of a single incident.
I've always found it simply amazing how one tiny event can snowball into a gigantic cluster-fuck of situations, sweeping up all those connected into swirling mess of shit.
It's not fair, not to me, not to Mark, and not to you, my faithful reader.
Since I don't have a lot of time to explain, I must go to work in an hour, and my usual taking three or four hour's to construct entries just won't work today. So I'll move fast.
Remember that little party Mark and I attended a few weeks ago, the one where he decided to kiss me in front of a few people?
You do, that's good, this will make things all the more easier. (For those of you that have no clue what I'm referring too, just go back a few entries and you'll have the chance to catch up. It's Okay, I'll wait.)
After that party, our relationship solidified and we existed, more or less, in a state of bliss, domestic, sexual, and any other kind of bliss you might imagine.
It seems, one of the attendee's of that party, is a casual acquaintance of Mark's ex-girlfriend, you remember her don't you, the cum-dumster, blow-up doll, arm-candy chick? Well, this casual acquaintance wanted to improve his status by becoming a bit closer than just casual acquaintance, so he told her about the events that night, I'm sure with no other motive than trying to get into her pants.
Needless to say, she did not take that news well. Matter of fact, she took it as a personal affront to her femininity and decided to call Mark's mother and spill the news that her only son was a faggot. And since she knew what Mark's mother thought of me, she probably danced around her apartment in glee knowing the mess of shit she was starting by relaying this information to a woman who wants nothing more than to have as many grandchildren as Mark's poor balls could produce.
Earlier that day, at work, Mark and I had discussed that party, somewhat ironically now that I think about it, and how it felt good to show his affection in front of people he considered friends.
Oh, one of his closet friends was a bit upset, not because Mark was gay, matter of fact this friend's mother is gay, no he was more upset that Mark hadn't trusted him enough to tell him sooner. This small bump was smoothed over rather quickly, and Mark was flying high, so to speak.
Apparently, after Mark arrived home from work, his mother was waiting for him, crying of course. Mark hasn't really given me all the details, and even if he did, I don't think I would share them here, but to make this long story short, Mark ended up at my house, drunk and high off his ass, crying like a baby, and pretty much destroyed.
Discovering one's son is gay must be a difficult thing to accept for a Mother, a Christian mother, even though I believe she's had her suspicions, making those supposes into reality must be hard.
She was pissed, heartbroken, angry, concerned for his well-being, loving, accepting in her way, and generally confused and falling apart.
So Mark had been staying with me since last week, they talk on the phone every day, and I believe they love each other way to much for this to drive them apart, but I did agree that the best thing for everyone involved was to give them a bit of space to adjust to this new bit of information. And quite happily, they have managed to restructure their relationship, and last night, Mark went home for the first time in a week.
This made me quite happy, I'm used to living alone, and though I believe I love Mark, neither one of us are ready to move in together just yet. Plus, being such a mommas boy, this rift was slowly destroying him. I'm sure they have a long road to walk down but they both are trying and I have high hopes.
A few days after his mother found out, Mark and I were at work when one of the servers suddenly asked why Mark was wearing one of my necklace's. This was a piece that he saw in my jewelry box and basically claimed it for his own. He said he wanted it to feel closer to me when I wasnt around. He hasn't take it off since, and it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy bunny slippers.
Before I could say anything, Mark put his arm around my shoulders, and said, and I quote, "Because we're fucking." And he kissed my cheek.
Somewhat surprising for me, everyone was completely shocked, I didn't realize how good we had become at hiding our feelings. Congrats were thrown around like they were free, and almost everyone told me how happy they were that I finally found a great guy to have. This made Mark's day, he was beaming like a kid at Christmas who just got his new shiny bike.
So the nerdy gay server was a bit un-happy but he'll get over it, after all, he didn't even know me, though he glares at Mark's back when he thinks no one is looking. He'll come around, everyone loves Mark, he's too likable for the nerdy gay to remain jealous.
So for once, my life seems to be ending on a good note. I can finally let the world know that I'm dating a guy that I really like, Mark says the stress he felt seems to be slipping away, I guess he didn't realize how much energy it took to have a secret life. He still smokes pot, but not everyday, which I'm thinking will slowly disappear the more comfortable he becomes in his new skin.
My boss was a bit worried at first, but when I told him that Mark and I have been dancing around this relationship for almost a year and assured him that it wouldn't affect my job performance as Mark's boss, he gave me his blessing.
It seems my boss was the only one that figured out Mark and I had been playing around. I guess it's true what they that you can't fool all the people all the time.
Jason
PS: My comment about text-messaging and close-minded bigots was just to throw you off the scent. But I meant what I said about girls, who fucking needs them.
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For the last few months, I have been undergoing some disturbing eye problems. This condition has virtually stopped me from writing, for a time it stopped me even from driving, working, and such normal activities I had taken for granted for years. Let's not even mention the toll it took on my porn watching habits. For three weeks I sat in front of the television and guessed what I was watching/hearing by putting together the sounds I heard. The screen a blur I could not make out.
For a while, it was unknown if I would ever regain my ability to see, even with glasses, contacts, ect ect. To say I have been more than a bit depressed wouldn't do justice to the feelings raging inside my small mind.
For most of the month of January, I was locked inside my house, the blinds shut, the windows blacked out with tin foil to stop the light from coming in. Not because I hate the sun, but my eyes were so light sensitive the merest light caused intense headaches and nausea. For weeks, I could barely open my eyes much less see anything. As a writer, I thought my life was over. Dark thoughts jumbled around my head, I questioned if I wanted to live without sight. I don't know what I would do if not for "Susan". But that really isn't the reason for this post.
The blurred vision is all but gone, the constant draining and nasty fluids no longer leak from my eyes, and though my eye glass perscripton has grown in strength, I am now classified as legally blind without corrective lenses of some kind, at least I can see clearly with glasses. Unfortantly due to the nature of my eye problems, I can no longer wear contacts. And let me tell you, my eye glasses, even with all the new technology offering thinner lenses, my glasses are still like coke bottles. I think they make me look ugly but on the bright side, I can at least see.
Even now, i can only stand staring at the computer screen for about an hour before the light from the screen causes intense headaches. At least I can resume writing again. If only for a small amount of time. Watching TV in thirty minute clips is a bit strange, but it gives me something to do, as reading is out of the question for now.
The doctors say I'm on the upswing and its only a matter of time before the damage done to my eyes is healed. They predict, if I follow their guidlines and suggestions, that I'll be back to "normal" sometime around summer. Though normal is now skewed, since I've done permenant damage to the cornea of my eyes.
To all you contact wearers, be careful about wearing your contacts too long, sleeping with them in, and waiting too long to get new lenses, a leasson I'm learning very well at this point.
I've got to get going, my eyes are starting to bother me and its time to rest them. which is basically me sitting with my eyes closed, remaining still and calm.
Special thanks go out to my support system: Absolute Ruby Red Vodka, French wine, Vicadin, Valium, Pot, Molson Candian Lager, Daniel, Susan, and of course, my cock. Thank you all for keeping me somewhat sane the last few months.
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Five Greatest Hitchcock Films of All Time
Last Night my roommate, Daniel, and I, got into a loud fight about Hitchcock's greatest films. Three of the five we agreed upon but he feels like North by Northwest is Hitchcock's greatest. I'm not sure if anyone that reads this blog watches Hitchcock, but here is my top five. If you havent seen any of these films, you should do yourself a favor and rent them. Great flicks by a master storyteller with brilliant acting by both Cary Grant and James Stewart.
Number One: Suspicion
The best movie Hitchcock ever directed. The last scene with Cary Grant holding a glass of milk as he walks up that long circular staircase still sends chills up my spine. Brilliant.
Number Two: Rear Window
Jimmy Stewart's finest performance. Unleashing the voyeur in us all, Hitchcock shows us that nothing we do is really private.
Number Three: Rope
The first movie I ever watched with hints of gay love. Though the villains are the gay guys, brilliantly acted and shot beautifully in three continuous takes.
Number Four: The Man who knew too Much
Another Jimmy Stewart gem, playing a man who wants his son back no matter the cost. Love this movie.
Number Five: To Catch a Thief
Retired cat burgular Cary Grant, stops at nothing to prove his innocent with the beautiful Grace Kelly by his side. Very cool movie.
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Frequently Asked Questions
Current Music Selection: Dashboard Confessional
Current State: Five by Five
Current Mood: Expended
Frequently Asked Questions:
In no particular order
1: How old are you?
In gay terms, I?m over the hill and very much the stereotypical Aquarius. This means I?m somewhere between twenty-seven and ninety-nine. But if it counts, I still behave like I?m eighteen.
2: Why aren?t you ever signed on to Yahoo Messenger?
I?ve never been one to go to chat rooms. And before I began posting on Awesome Dude, I never had a reason to sign on to Yahoo Messenger. But now I?ll automatically sign in so if you see me online, I promise I?ll answer all IM?s. Though I can?t promise to engage you in interesting conversation, I?m lacking most times in that department.
3: What do you look like?
The same way you do I guess. I have two eyes, sometimes four depending if I?m wearing my glasses or contacts. My nose has been broken three times though I must admit plastic surgery has done wonders for me and I look decidedly average. I have blue eyes and have been told this is my greatest attribute. I have dark brown hair and much to my chagrin, my hair has been committing suicide lately. (for all of you with thick hair, that means I?m slowly going bald) I?m somewhere between 5?11 and 6? depending on the time of day I measure. My weight fluctuates between 170 and 160, depending on my depression and alcohol intake.
4: Why haven?t you recorded a promo for Awesome Dude Radio?
I hate the way I sound on tape. Usually my mind is running so fast I have trouble articulating my words and typically end up stuttering or mumbling incoherently. And for the most part, my speaking voice resembles the sound a pregnant yak makes during a particular hard birth. The listeners would turn off the radio and never venture back.
5: Why is it, usually in your emails, that you seem to have trouble conveying your thoughts and ideas?
Anti-depressants and alcohol are never a good mix. And according to Daniel, I tend to forget that I already took my pill for the day and end up taking another one, this fucks with me on several levels. Although I must admit, getting the dosage wrong is always an adventure.
6: Are you single?
Yes. I have trouble with intimacy as you probably already surmised by reading my poetry and my blog.
7: Is So Called Chaos your first story?
No, I have written three complete novels over the last five years though no one will ever read them. Believe me, they suck.
8: Why did you post a short story, Moonlight Will Prevail, in your blog? Is this a true to life story?
I guess you could say this story is a ?true story?, it?s just not my true story. I had the pleasure of knowing the protagonist, Angel (though in the story I left out his name) and from the first moment he relayed this story, I knew I had to write it down. I broke it down in ten installments to make it easier to read and to give me the chance to do much needed re-writes. Other than that, I guess I just loved the piece.
9: Are you ever going to put up a picture either on your website or Awesome Dude?
One day I?m sure I?ll finally get a camera and take the time to learn how to up-load pictures. Though I can?t see that happening anytime soon. I?m not fond of cameras, plus, I have this fear of the camera possibly stealing my soul.
10: Have you thought about ?reading/performing? one of your poems to include it on Awesome Dude?
Forgetting about my ?I hate the way I sound on tape? thing, I?ve always considered myself a writer. And though I write about my personal life and allow the readers access into my most private thoughts, the idea of performing scares the hell out of me. And usually, once I write a piece, I?m done with it and off to the next one. I?ll leave that medium to those better suited to it.
11: I see that you mention ?John? frequently in your poems and throughout your blog, is this the same person each time, and, is he a real person or a composite of several past boyfriends?
John is very much a real person. Without giving you the entire sordid history, John and I had a brief but passionate love affair some years ago. This was a period of rampant drug use on both our parts and being we both are highly emotional people, our relationship was quite volatile. I find it therapeutic to write about the experience. If I didn?t, I might just grab a gun and go searching for the little bastard.
12: Is Jason Rimbaud your real name? If not, what is and why did you pick that name to write under?
I chose Jason Rimbaud for two reasons. Arthur Rimbaud, a French poet who?s most famous piece is called, A Season in Hell, had a great impact on my life during my teenage years. And the name Jason, is in reference to a good friend of mine who first encouraged me to find a home online. As for my real name, if you ask polite enough, I just might tell you.
13: I really liked So Called Chaos and A Moment of Clarity, but each time I try to contact you through Awesome Dude, my email is returned. How can I reach you?
Somehow, someway, Awesome Dude and my email address don?t get along. As far as I know, there is no way to remedy this. If you need to contact me, try using Awesome Dude Private Message or send me an email at jasonrimbaud2006@yahoo.com from your personal email account, bypassing Awesome Dude all together. As far as I know, this is the only way.
14: If I send you an excerpt from my story, will you read it and give me your thoughts?
Of course, though I think there are others better suited to this task. I found my current editor by posting a cry for help in the Editor section of Awesome Dude forums. Plus, don?t forget about The Bull Pen, a great place to get feedback from people more talented than I.
15: I?ve enjoyed reading the poems you?ve posted at Awesome Dude. My question is, how long does it take you to write each poem?
Writing times varies but usually I never spend more than an hour actually sitting in front of the computer. Normally I start with a title, usually inspired by music. Once I have the title, I might think about what I want to say for days and in some cases weeks before I ever sit down at the computer. So when I sit down, the piece flows out of me and after tweaking it for a bit, I post it and move on.
16: I see from your blog entries, your almost constant poetry posts, and your running serial novel, that you spend a lot of time writing. Do you write each day or do you write in spurts when the creativity strikes you?
I write each and every day. And usually I spend five or six hours each night in front of the computer writing something. This is a habit I do seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. I have to write, it?s something inside of me I can?t control. I?ve never understood those writers that only write once a week or when the ?muse? strikes. I never sit in front of the computer and stare at a blank screen. If I get stuck on a story I?m writing, I put that story away and move over to one of the other projects I have running. I found that if I take my mind of the story I?m having trouble with and go on to something else, my sub-conscious usually works out the problem for me. Sometimes it takes hours and sometimes it takes day, but during that time, I spend that time writing other things, usually poetry.
17: You?ve said on several occasions that you do not like stories written in the first person, why not?
In my experience, stories that use the ?first? person narrative tend to repeat themselves. The author usually has pages of ?inner dialogue? that tells the action instead of showing the action through character interaction. Or, and this really annoys me, the protagonist, through ?inner dialogue? will explain a trait about a certain character, then in the following paragraph, the protagonist will say the same thing through ?real dialogue? with another character. This happens all the time and it drives me crazy. Though I?ve found exceptions to this rule, and I always give a story a chance even if it is written in the ?first person?. This is my opinion and my personal tastes, nothing more.
18: Who are some of your favorite online authors and what are some of your favorite stories?
I?ve enjoyed stories by Dom Luka, Dan Kirk, Dio, and countless others. Though I must admit, I don?t spend much time reading online stories. I spend way too much time trying to construct my own stories. The above authors, all write in the ?first person? by the way. Laika by elecivil is definitely a favorite of mine and I never miss a post. Again, totally written in the first person. Always exceptions to the rule.
19: I?ve noticed your poetry is on the dark side, why didn?t you submit a story for Halloween?
I never really liked ?horror? stories, or movies for that matter. Plus, I?ve never had an idea dealing with those themes. The closest I?ve ever got was A Moment of Clarity, which is by no means a horror story.
20: I live in the San Francisco area, I love reading your poetry, would it be possible to ever meet you in person?
As flattering as that sounds, I?m afraid the answer is no. I?m really not that interesting to talk to and you never know, I might be some crazy killer just waiting to get you alone. I think it would be best if you?d stay away.
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I'm not usually one to listen to country music. But earlier today I was surfing through the channels and happen to land on CMT right when the new Garth Brooks video started to play.
And WOW, it blew me away. The video is absolutely amazing. And might I even go as far as saying that Garth is a bit sexy as well. The name of the song is "More than a Memory". If you get a chance to listen to the song or even better yet to watch the video, you'll see what I mean. Very good.
Jason R.
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I know wishing everyone a Happy 4-20 day on 4-22 is a bit trite, but for some reason I totally forgot to post this on 4-20 day itself. I know there should be a reason for forgetting, but for the life of me I can't remember.
HAPPY 4-20 Everyone
Jason R.
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aw man, hospitals suck. but the nurse who took my chest x=ray was cute. and when he told me to take off my shirt, it took a moment to realize that we weren't going to have sex. not that i could in my condition but my mind is still a pervert.
Jason R.
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Happy One Year Anniversary
to me
to me
Happy One Year Anniversary
to me
to me
So what if I'm four days late, it's my anniversary and I'll be late if I want too.
Thanks for having a place such as Awesome Dude where A-holes like myself can find a home.
And thanks to all the folks who have been so nice to me over this year.
Jason R.
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Where does love go when it dies?
Jason
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Current Music Selection: Meat Loaf?Bat out of Hell II Back into Hell
Current State: High
Current Mood: Optimistic
Okay I?ve had one of the worst days of my life. And not in, oh my god I just broke a nail and my favorite pair of jeans was ruined in the washer, kind of day. I?m talking about getting ass raped by a gorilla in a public setting with no lube and without the courtesy of the reach around. They have opposable thumbs, don?t they?
It started out okay. I had made an appointment to see a head shrinker, let?s call her Susan, a few days ago and had been slowly going insane waiting for today to arrive. I mean, it?s different writing poetry about my past or posting my rants online in this blog for the Internet readers to peruse but now I was going to pay someone to listen to my deepest darkest secrets, face to face for fuck sake. I?ve been chain-smoking cigarettes for two days while trying to maintain my nerve to actually show up for the appointment.
So this morning, Tuesday, I awoke at 7am, my eyes wide open and my heart pounding in my chest. I ran down the hall and into Daniel?s room, waking him out of a dead sleep. I jump into his bed and hid under the covers, declaring there was no way in hell I was going to go to a head shrinker.
He held me like I was a child, whispering words in my ears, telling me that I should give her a chance before I make my mind up. In a matter of a few minutes he convinced me to go ahead and go.
Whenever I feel nervous or scared, I have this habit of trying on every piece of clothing I own. If I was going to go to a head shrinker, I wanted to look my best. So for three hours I tried on a billion outfits before settling on a pair of Tommy jeans, a black turtleneck and my LA gear kicks. Spending another hour making damn sure my hair was carefully arranged in a ?I just got out of bed look?, I was ready to face this head shrinker.
So much like a prisoner marching to the gallows, I climbed inside my car and headed into the city, San Francisco, for my date with destiny. I must?ve smoke half pack of Marlboro Lights on the forty-minute drive to her office.
Side note, I have this piece of shit car with just an AM/FM radio with no CD player. Being a musical creature, I bought an adapter that plugs into my cigarette lighter, the other end plugs into my I-Pod, and with this adapter, I can listen to my I-Pod on my car speakers. The fifth greatest invention in the world, the I-Pod adapter. End side note.
So while I?m smoking and driving, I?m listening to Orgy?s Candyass. Steeling my soul for this titanic confrontation between this head shrinker and one scared little boy. By the time I arrived, I was shaking from the nicotine and the three Red Bull?s I had sucked down in quick succession. I was ready, for anything.
Susan was nothing like I expected. Not only did this petite woman calm me down just upon entering her presence but in no time I was not only comfortable but I realized I really needed someone to talk too. I made another appointment for next Tuesday and fully intend to complete my homework assignment.
I rushed home and changed into my work uniform. By the time I arrived at the hip up-scale restaurant I serve at, I was feeling quite optimistic about my therapy. I parked my piece of shit car behind the restaurant like always, hid my I-Pod under my seat and walked across the street and bought another Red Bull. And then I went to work. Never conceiving what a difference six hours can make in your life.
The hip up-scale restaurant where I work closes at ten PM. At nine-thirty, a party of six walked through the door. I had the most tables still consuming our award winning food so I was asked by my GM (general manager) if I would mind taking the table so the other servers, most of whom are in college, could call it an early night. Why the fuck not, a party of six could garnish me a sixty dollar tip.
The party of six was heaven sent, all were friendly, polite, and very thirsty. Their tab jumped up to four hundred dollars in a matter of forty minutes. I was feeling indestructible. But then Loki decided to jump in and join the mess that is my life.
It wasn?t the tables fault, I know they hung till midnight, enjoying their wine and our fabulous deserts. It wasn?t my GM?s fault, he was trying to relieve some of the pressure from the college students that work at this hip up-scale restaurant. And it wasn?t my fault, I like my co-workers and anything I can do to help, I would gladly do. Let me explain.
After desert was served and my table was pleasantly letting the food digest, I snuck out back to grab a cigarette. Walking to my car, I noticed immediately something was wrong. I don?t know a lot about cars but I know a few things. Such as, once you shut your door and lock it, it?s not suppose to be open again until you return with the key. Apparently, I knew less about cars than I thought. Because when I walked out the back door my drivers door of my piece of shit car was wide open.
Believe me, the fear I felt earlier that morning was nothing compared to the blood chilling feeling that shot through my nicotine crazed body. I ran over to my piece of shit car and looked inside. Shards of broken glass greeted me, shining in the glow of the streetlights. My half carton of cigarettes, missing, as well as my Sony Erickson phone, (the four hundred dollar video camera phone that I use only for answering the few people that call me but has my entire life inside its memory card) and the fifth greatest invention in the world, my I-Pod adapter. And then the fear sunk in, my baby, the one thing I love more than life, (except my laptop), my I-Pod Nano.
The rage I?m feeling at this moment can not be put into words. The string of expletives that spewed forth from my lips would make a sailor blush. In one foul swoop, this low-life scum sucking yeast-infected cum bubble, effectively destroyed whatever progress I made during my session with the head shrinker. The things I plot to do to this low-life scum sucking yeast-infected cum bubble should the opportunity ever present itself, would land me in jail, no, under the jail.
I ran back inside the hip up-scale restaurant, where I lamented loudly to my GM about this travesty that had befallen on me. Though he was sympathetic to my plight, there was nothing he could do about it. As many cameras as we have throughout our hip up-scale restaurant, not a single camera points out the back door.
The good news, my party of six must?ve heard me bitching about this great injustice because once they finished, the party that paid for the bill, which totaled four-hundred and eleven dollars, handed the booklet containing the credit card receipt to me and said he was sorry about my loss. I smiled and thanked him and once they left the hip up-scale restaurant, I helped the 2nd servers clean up before heading into the office to turn in all the credit card slips I had accrued throughout the day. When I opened the booklet to see how much of a tip I received, I was shocked. There written in the space for the tip was a three, followed my two zero?s, a period, and then two more zero?s. This party left me a three hundred-dollar tip, with a hand written note to go out and purchase a new I-Pod.
For a day that caused so much stress in my life, it ended pretty fucking cool. I met my head shrinker, Susan, and I think I?m really going to like talking to her. I get to buy a new I-Pod and though I still have to fix my driver side window, my life is looking up. I guess I?ll have something good to write about in my homework assignment.
So what I?m trying, life sometimes gets fucked up. And sometimes a perfect stranger offers you kindness without expecting anything in return. And maybe, if you?re ever working in a hip up-scale restaurant, and your piece of shit car gets broken into and your I-Pod gets stolen, complain loudly. Maybe this stranger is eating dinner and you too, just like me, could get a new I-Pod. Cheers until next time.
Jason R.
PS: Is it okay to have a small crush on your head shrinker? Is it okay to be straight for a day?
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