The Ghost of Christmas Past

As you might of guessed...I'm not the most religious person. In fact I'm more likely to be attending the Republican convention than to attend a religious service (but lately, they seem like one in the same). But somehow, I've been hooked on Christmas since I was a small child. Not for the reasons that everyone thinks (toys, toys, and toys), but because my mom would resume custody of me as soon as school let out for the holiday. Halloween began the countdown and Thanksgiving was the speed bump to freedom from my dad's side of the family.

By the time I finally would get to wherever my mom was living, I was more than ecstatic to embrace anything Christmas. My mom, thought I was wild about the holiday and would put a Christmas tree in my room. And from that, began a serious fascination that I have yet to stifle.

My current tree is a 7' artificial tree that I bought in 1992. My mom, mailed me all of the ornaments that used to be on my tree when I was a child, including some of my favorite ones. A diamond shaped ornament made out of one way mirrors, which inside had a single rose was reflected in the mirrors, so regardless of the angle, it looks as if a bouquet of roses was on the tree. Some glass ornaments that had been in existence since the 60's, some funky hand made ornaments that I had received from the artists on the commune, and even a matchbox car with a hook in the top that a childhood friend had given me. Yet once I owned my own tree, I began a tradition of getting one new ornament each year (although never a Hallmark. Screw that place!). By the time I met my Ex, I had quite a few boxes of wrapped trinkets, all which had some fairly significant memories attached to them.

When we moved from Colorado to Ohio (a move I still question...who moves TO OHIO?), my ex and I packed the truck together. Unfortunately my ex was not paying attention and placed some heavy boxes on my boxes of ornaments, thus crushing all of them. I was pretty upset, and my Ex felt awful, and even though he was Jewish, put up a tree and helped me pick out a new ornament each year from then on. Even after we broke up, he still gave me an ornament for my tradition.

This past weekend I put up my tree, and it's now such a bittersweet moment. Yes, putting the tree together and putting the lights on (why the hell are they blinking?) is a real pain, but then I start unwrapping the ornaments and it brings so much back. We saw this one the first Christmas we were dating, this was the one we bought the year he met my mom (it resembled a joint), and here's the one he bought in London.

By the time the tree is up, I'm a nostalgic, sentimental fool who is in need of some tissue...sans chick flick. Not all of the memories are the best of memories, but they are about the only thing I can say that I own that nobody can take from me. This year...I think the ornament is going to have a NY theme.

Less than a Week to Go!!!!

Realizing that I have way too much time on my hands, I designed a logo for this next weekend. In preparation, I've been working on stretching my liver so I can keep up with the heavy drinkers. However I did promise to be somewhat under control...yeah...right.
Hopefully I'll see you all there.

Christmas Shopping when broke

I'm broke...which means I'm not going to be buying any presents this Christmas, or creating any culinary extravagances (I may be joining others in the popcorn and Ramen Noodles diet). All I can afford to do is give a wish for things:

Dear Santa Claus,
I know as a 34 year old man (who still feels like a kid inside most of the time), I shouldn't be asking you for things anymore, seeing that you have got millions of snotty nose kids to deliver toys to (and thanks in advance for skipping the kid down the street that needs a few years of prison), but I figure you are the person to ask for the special things. So please, if it is at all possible, can I have these things:

• I want Bill's house to sell quickly, and for his parents to understand why he needs to move away.


• As Brian begins this new job of his, give him the coping strength so that he is able to battle any depression that comes his way.


• I want Crash's non-profit to take off. Can you throw a few 100k in donations his way?


• I want Jeff to recieve and acceptance notice in the mail for grad school, with funding.


• CJ and Aaron both have been mega sick. I want them better, as the world is a better place with them in it. If someone has to be sick, can't it be Rush Limbaugh?


• I want Pua to have the strength to lose the weight she wants, but also have the knowledge to know that it doesn't matter to me she is heavy or not. Her heart will always be the biggest part of her.


• I want Scott to start displaying his photos in galleries, as it's time he started selling them. He's good enough. And while we're at it...make his mom better. Rush Limbaugh deserves it more.


• I want Shamus to find the positive outlook he needs to fight his impending uphill battle.


• I want Aithne to get a few days away with her new dog, just for her. Since she had to put her last dog down, she's had it hard. I want the two of them to bond.


• I want Leigh to have a nice vacation with her grandson, so they can get all the bonding time they can have. I want her to spoil him rotten


• I want Tuna's husband home safely and quickly.


• For Mark, I just want the cure. It may be asking a lot, but it's what I want.


• MAK needs a new job. Something that challenges him, and pays overtime. I believe he also wants Starr Jones and Katie Couric to fall of the face of the earth.


• and lastly, and I know this is shooting for the moon, but if you can make Brad Pitt a bottom for 1 day and send him my way...well...I won't mind.

Sincerely,
Patrick

Flipping the Bird

Can anyone explain Thanksgiving to me?

As a kid, I looked at the holiday as the speed bump between Haloween and Christmas. My family never celebrated the holiday, and I'm going to sound un-American but...I'm not a turkey fan. Especially on Thanksgiving.

Is it just me, or do any you find the concept of presenting a dead bird on a platter a pretty revolting thing? Yes...Toddy...I know you don't like it, but what about all you meat eaters? I eat meat (although not every day), and I can't stand meat on the bone, as I can see the tendons, veins, and ligaments. Do cannibals put their dinner on a platter, or do they just cut up the meal and serve it?

My second year in college, my boyfriend invited me to his house for the holiday. I should have known better and just not attended, but he really wanted me to go along, so I agreed. We drove the 4 hour drive to get to his family's house, and I got to meet his 7 brothers and sisters. He had forgotten to tell me that he grew up in a very religious family. I remember wondering if he was out to them yet.

As the mother was cooking, I was herded into the living room with the rest of the family to join in a game of Trivial Pursuit...the bible edition. Did you all know that their are TEN COMMANDMENTS? I didn't. Nor did I know who killed Able, or what humans were are Noah's arc. I was having dinner with the Flanders family from The Simpson's.

Just before the meal was served, the patriach of the family asked that we circle around the table (which had the dead bird on it) and each tell the lord something we were thankful for.

The mother went first with "I'm thankful that Jesus sacrificed himself for our salvation". I would say it was a safe assumption that my boyfriend's mom didn't know that he was gay, and suddenly this had the potential to be very interesting. Around the room his 6 brothers and sistes praised the lord and then it was my turn.

My mind went blank. What was I thankful for? "I'm thankful"...uh...that your son's a bottom? That I got stoned before I came to this dinner? ummmm... The family began to stir and I could see the mother mouthing the word "Jesus" at me. And it came to me..."I'm thankful I'm not that dead bird!"

The parent's hated me and later blamed me for converting their son.

Hate is the Real Crime

Ok...let me start out by saying what's been going on that I needed a day away. Long story short, my job is supposed to end on the 31st of December. The senior VP's believe that I won't be needed within a few weeks and are considering ending my contract by the 15th. I was just counting on that income until the end of the month, and this makes things a bit more scary. 'Nuff said...Let's move on...but if you happen to want to rent a room out to a sports fanatic homo who can make a mean tiramisu, let me know. And yes...I do windows.

---

One of the things I'm thankful for is that my mother insisted I take self defense classes when I was growing up. She knew of too many gay men who had gotten beaten up, and wanted to be sure that I could defend myself if needed. The instructor, a gay man himself taught the class a few things, but the main point was to make as much noise as possible and RUN LIKE HELL! Luckily, I've only once felt the need to put those lessons to use.

When I first got together with the Ex, we would go everywhere together. He used to like to hold my hand as we walked places. It was Denver, and we both lived in Capital Hill (the gay friendly area) district. As we were cutting across the state capitol's grounds to get home, a couple of guys in a car started screaming at us.

"Fucking faggots!"
Ok...I'll admit it...I've got a mouth and a temper, and if you call me that, you are very likely going to get a not so nice retort involving your mother, a goat, and chocolate pudding. I passed on that comment, and both men (in their early 20's) got out of their car, ready to kick our asses. My ex wanted to stay with me, but I made him run for help, as I'm the stronger of the two of us. I fully believe that if I hadn't gone as "crazy" as I had, I probably wouldn't be here today, or at least I wouldn't look the way I do. By the time the police had gotten to the scene, the men had left, and I was nursing a bleeding hand from breaking their car windows. I had gotten their license plate number, but nothing was ever done.

As I've gotten older, I've grown very aware of my surroundings and the world I live in. Even though I feel generally safe, I know there is a lot of people out there who would be more than happy to harm me because of who I am. I'm always aware of my surroundings, and am very careful to choose to live in communities that aren't going to burn crosses on my front lawn.

From the FBI site:

Of the hate crimes motivated by sexual orientation violence, 61.6 percent were committed due to anti-male homosexual bias, 21.3 percent were due to an anti-homosexual bias, 15.4 percent were committed due to anti-female homosexual bias, 1.0 percent were committed due to anti-heterosexual bias and 0.6 percent were motivated by anti-bisexual bias.

What gets me is the "why" factor. Most criminals have a reason they commit a crime. Stealing food from a grocery store...probably because they are hungry. Stealing a television...probably because they think they need money. But why does someone feel the need to harm someone because of who they are? Christianity teaches that "Thou shalt not kill" and turn the other cheek and other words of wisdom that seem to have fallen on deaf ears. But at the same time, you have a pope who is pushing a political agenda, a president who quotes scripture in his legislative acts, and a religious force in this country who has made me very aware of how scared I need to be.

When Dan White killed George Mascone in San Francisco, he blamed twinkies as the reason he went nuts. The men who killed Matthew Shepard said they were incensed because Matthew made advances at him...a common defense in attacks on gay men. If women killed men for making passes at them, more than 1/2 the straight male population would be dead already.

So what is it? What provokes people to these kinds of attacks?

Stop Hate Crimes

News

Ok...I was given some very bad news on Monday afternoon. Because of this, I'm going to take a little alone time. I just need the time to regroup, as this is all I can think about right now.

Once I get past this anger and devastation of this...I'll reappear. I'm just not ready to freak on other people yet...

~patrick

Long Distance Hug Affairs

If oral sex isn't work why do they call it a blowjob?

---

I have a confession to make. I, your host, love...chick flicks. ***sigh*** I know, I know...how much of a homo can I be? But I figure I don't have 20 types of hair products, I like watching sports (the Browns suck by the way), I have never done drag in my life, and the only facials I've had are the kind I don't plan on mentioning here!

Yet...I am a hopeless romantic. Movies where people see each other "across a crowded room", and the music cues up and suddenly I am the blubbering mess that you pass the hankerchief to.

So Saturday, I spent my evening glued to the television, blubbering like a baby as I watched "Tales of the City" (the first three disks). As I watched the story unfold (I should mention I've read the books numerous times), I found myself looking for a hug. I ended up getting one from Pua, who recently knitted me a scarf with her beautiful hands. As I sat there, blubbering and sniffing, I wrapped in that scarf. So in a way, I had my own romantic hug from across the country.

Thanks Pua. XOXOXOXO

An Incentive

Well besides the fact that I facing impending financial ruin, I've decided that I need even more incentive to look for new employment. So starting the minute I'm done writing this post, I will not masturbate until I have a new job! That's right...Once this post is complete...I will not pleasure myself in anyway until I get a new full time job.

***Excuse me....I'll be right back...I need to use the restroom****

Ok...Now that I'm a little more relaxed, this is how I see the following weeks playing out:

Week 1: Corporate Trainer

Interviewer: Why are you applying for the position of Corporate trainer?

Patrick: I have 6 years of experience training new newly hired candidates on all government regulations regarding financial aid. I've found that using methodology of combining classroom based training, exercises, and web based computer tutorials is the strongest method of knowledge retention. Using my background in applications development, I'm fully capable of creating online content for new employees, while saving the company the expense of hiring programmers.

Week 2: Administrative Assistant

Interviewer: What makes you believe that you are the best choice for the position?

Patrick: Well sir, as an assistant, first and foremost my job is to make you look good. Which you do, look good that is, if I may say so myself. I'm willing to go the extra mile, and do whatever it takes to make sure your needs are taken care of. Are you wearing cologne? It's very nice.

Week 3: Automobile Salesman

Interviewer: Sell me this automobile.

Patrick: Sir, I can tell that this is the right car for you. Feel the cool black leather interior against your warm skin. As you can tell, the lumbar support is giving your back enough support, while simultaneously allowing you to show off your ample chest and broad shoulders. Now I want you to take hold of the manual stick shift. Caress the mushroom like head in your hand as you wrap your fingers around its shaft. Doesn't that shaft feel great in your fist. Don't you just want to explore how long and hard it really is?

Week 4: Fast Food Employee

Interviewer: Why do you want to work in a fast food restaurant?

Patrick: I've always found a sincere fascination with taking long hard potatoes and plunging them into hot grease, only to have them come out, hot, salty, and ready to be tasted. And don't even get me started on getting the carrots ready for the salads.

Week 5: Road Kill Remover

Interviewer: Why do you want to remove road kill?

Patrick: Because I need to get off.

Week 6: Prostitute

Patrick: I'LL DO YOU FOR A DOLLAR!!!

Channeling Julia Sugarbaker

Yesterday was my meeting with one of the departments I support. Actually the meeting was more of a "Coming to Jesus Meeting". You've all had them at one point or another. The kind of meeting where you are about to get blamed for everything that has ever gone wrong in the universe, including the PMS cramps of the person who is leading the meeting.

The meeting invitation list had 10 people on it, only one of whom I knew. Oddly enough, my supervisor was not invited to this meeting, but listened from his office, and pointed and laughed at odd times (I love this boss). The actual attendance was over 30 people, and very quickly it became ugly.

Now I have to explain a bit about what I do to help you understand. Anyone who starts at this company, has to take some web based training courses. Those courses are distributed through a content based management system. A chunk of my job is creating user accounts and assigning the correct courses to the new employees. There are currently 19 areas that will contact me throughout the week to create new id's. This meeting was basically a bitch session as to why one area didn't like the 48 hours turn around time.

The meeting started, and almost immediately I was placed in the hot seat. Oddly enough, the person who is supposed to be running this system was not yet on the call, and could not intercept any of the questions. Several of the group of people that were on the call were jumping in to my defense, but the accusations of incompetence were still coming.

At that point my blood began to boil. Not many people have seen me really angry. I don't let myself get that bad, but yesterday...Well it happened. By the time I started to speak, all 60 people on this floor stopped working on what they were doing to stare as my voice bellowed into the headset I was wearing. I'm a former theater major. When I want to be heard, I can speak to an audience size of 2000 and not need a microphone. Any of you who hear a rumbling of thunder around 11:45 EST? That was me.

Twenty minutes into my rant, the conference call leader interrupted me. Not the smartest on her part. I told her that it was rude to interrupt, and asked if she had any idea that she was speaking to an office temp employee, who was now charging her department overtime for dragging the meeting into my lunch hour.

When the person who will be taking over my work attempted to explain something about what I did (which he did incorrectly), I asked that he leave the speaking to those of us who actually knew what we were talking about.

At the end of my 30 minute rant, I concluded by asking the meeting chair exactly what her plans were for Thanksgiving. She meekly answered that she would be having dinner with her family. My response was "Well you should enjoy it. I'll be eating food from Boston Market while sitting at my desk, because office temps don't get holidays off." I hung up and looked at my email inbox to see emails from several of the people in the meeting:

"daaaaammmmmm!!!!"
"You go girl!!!!"
"Saucer of milk to table Patrick!"
"You're going to burst a blood vessel"
"I don't understand why they just don't hire you!"
"Remind me never to make you angry."

Today, for the first time in weeks, I've been walking with a big smile on my face. The emails are still circulating regarding the meeting and my performance. Some people were surprised at how much I stood up for myself, but the way I looked at it, I didn't see any reason to hold back. Now I don't feel nearly as pressured. Yeah...my job may be ending because of funding for this project, but I'm not going to make this easy on them.

What's missing?

Recently, I've been hearing several people lament that they don't have a "special someone" in their lives. They are depressed because they are alone, not sharing their life with someone, not "in love". And I sit there, drinking my coffee, listening to the lament, thinking eventually it will run out of steam and we can move onto another subject, but yet it still goes on. Now I find myself asking, what are they missing, or am I missing the point? Don't get me wrong, I believe that relationships are wonderful things, and when you are in one, you can be very happy, but being in a relationship isn't the way to happiness!

My stand-up show is titled "I'm Not Codependent...Unless You Want Me to Be." Now this may come as a shock (and maybe even ironic) as the majority of my comedy comes from being "dateless and desperate", but I'm happy not being in a relationship. So many of us are looking for that special someone so we can feel complete, but that in itself is the big mistake. We have to be able to complete ourselves, before we can even think of completing anyone else's life.

Happiness comes from within, not from another person, and if I can't be happy being alone, then I can't focus on my own needs in a relationship. Instead the relationship becomes all about the other person. "What do you need? What makes you happy?" Why not just say..."I don't matter", place a door mat on your chest and save everyone the time.

The relationship advice columnists all say that the benefits of being in a relationship far outweigh being alone, but I have yet to see how far they outweigh it:

• Emotional Intimacy - Ok...yes, when in a relationship you are able to emotionally connect with someone. But why the hell can't we do that with our friends. Scared? Angry at the world? Feeling sad? Talk to your friends, and expect your friends to do the same with you.



• Being able to wake up next to someone in the morning - well yeah. That way you can see them, mouth open, drool dripping from the opening onto the pillow. Remember that a dog can just as easily sleep with you, provide the same amount of drool, and the minute you wake up, the dog will be up with you wanting to go for the morning walk. A person may want to sleep in.



• Someone to share the mundane with - A roommate is just as easy to cook for, and you can always split the other cleaning duties.



• Consistent Sex - Ok...yes, sex is a wonderful thing. Releases endorphins, relaxes you, blah, blah, blah. Now here's a shocker...I've had sex with other people, and the most current sexual partner I've had has done a damn good job with his share of the duties, and I hope I've done the same for him, but as great as he is, I'm still able to do it better alone. It's a simple fact. Only I am going to be able to do exactly what I need, in the right order, and with all the right moves. I can last as long as I want, and when I'm done, I can just fall asleep if I want to, without having to "cuddle".



• Romance - Now excuse me, but I've been on candlelit dinners with very close friends, some of which could be considered very romantic, and have enjoyed them just as much as any romantic dinner with a boyfriend. Romance is what you make of it.

Now this is just my own opinion, but it seems as if a large amount of people spend the majority of their time searching for a relationship as a way of validating themselves. "I'm less of a person if I have nobody to love and take care of." Well here's a news flash...You're not less of a person, and you do have someone to take care of. Yourself. Find your own happiness. Expand your interests, make more friends, and fully enrich your life. When you do that, you'll be surprised at how often you come across the people who are trying to get your attention.

Cover Me!

I'm so going to get a job based on this cover letter!

Patrick Doyle
Cleveland OH

I was very excited to learn of your job posting

in the Cleveland Plain Dealer.
in the Cleveland Scene.
from one of your employees, ________________
from an old trick.
from a flyer I found at the STD clinic.

Over my career, I have gained:

14 years customer service experience.
6 years database administration experience.
19 years experience sticking my nose firmly up the ass of corporate snobs like yourself.
enough sexual experience to rock your world for the next decade.

My prior jobs have included:

Dishwasher
Line Cook
Buss Boy
Waiter
Amusement Park Ride Operator
Bartender
Phone Sex Operator
Downhill Ski Instructor
Actor
Stand Up Comic
Financial Aid Administrator
HIV tester/Educator
Computer Applications Developer
Office Temp

You should hire me because:

I'll kiss your ass and make you look good.
I'll work as long as you pay my bills.
I'll let you take credit for all of my work.
I give great head.
You need to increase diversity in your office.
I'm pretty?
Otherwise I will show your wife the pictures of us having sex!

Thank you for you consideration...

Patrick Doyle

Finger Licking Good!

I'll preface this by saying, I'm a great cook. It was a hobby I picked up in college, where to save money, I'd invite people over for dinner and make huge meals, and therefore wouldn't go out. My specialties are Pad Thai, Pumpkin Pasta with a Portabella Mushroom Sauce (my own recipe), and homemade lasagna (which includes making the pasta).

Once I graduated and met my ex, I broke away from the habit. He knew I loved to cook, but I used to get so busy, that I just didn't have the time. He on the other hand, had no clue how to cook anything. In the 4 years he had lived in one apartment, he never realized his electric stove had not been plugged in. He was the master of takeout menus, and since he worked at a hotel, he used to get free meals from work.

However, he did appreciate my hobby, and let me experiment as we lived together. Once a month, I would make some really wild things like: Double boned pork chops, stuffed with sausage, and served in a ham hock sauce, or carrot and jalapeno soup with cinnamon. The problem was that he never realized how much work some of those meals were.

During our third year together, one of his friends announced that she was getting married and wasn't sure how she could afford the whole affair. My Ex, figuring I would love the opportunity, volunteered me to make her wedding cake. As he put it, "How hard could it be?" Of course...he forgot to tell me until less than two weeks before the wedding, and it was only when the bride came over that he remembered to tell me. I wondered why the bride was giving me samples of the colors of her wedding, and kept describing certain cake designs she liked.

At that point, I had NEVER DECORATED A CAKE BEFORE! Does anyone have any idea how freakishly important a wedding cake is to a bride? I'm still surprised that I didn't kill him on the spot, but I figured I could do damage control and buy a wedding cake on his credit card.

Unfortunately, the bakery shops need more than a ten day notice to make a wedding cake. I didn't have much of a choice at that point. Either not make the cake and my Ex and I would be blamed for ruining her wedding, or make the 5 tier monstrosity that she wanted. 5 tiers! Of course, she was only expecting 50 guests. She would have enough cake to feed 300...but what she wants...she's getting.

First step, calling every bakery shop I knew, and telling them what exactly my ex-did. Every baker in town sent a private curse upon the man and then got to work telling me how to go about constructing this thing. The bride wanted a five cakes total, one on each side, with bridges going up to a center cake, where risers would raise the cakes upwards. Underneath it all?...a lovely sparkling fountain. What do I look like? Freaking Franklin Lloyd Wright?

Next step...the hardware store, where I had to buy wooden dowels that I would cut to size to stick in the cake. Those dowels are what the plate will rest on that holds the next cake. I also had to get a level, because if the plate wasn't level, the cake would come crashing down. Lastly, I stopped at the liquor store for a bottle of vodka to calm my nerves.

Over the next ten days (I immediately took the week off), I took to baking cakes like a madman. After the 4th cake mishap, I said hell with the whole "baking from scratch bit" and switched to Pillsbury cake mix. 18 cakes later, I finally had 5 cakes which were viable. Why so many? Because the cakes had to be perfectly level to balance the upper tiers, and my oven did not have very equal heat. I therefore would constantly have to turn cakes during the baking cycle.

While the cakes were baking, I got to work on making icing roses, and decorations. How do you make wedding cake icing? Take a can of Crisco, put in into a bowl and add two tablespoons of milk and whip with a mixer while you add powdered sugar until it tastes sweet. I tasted so much icing that week that...well lets just say what goes in has to eventually come out and leave it at that!.

After making what must have been 1000 icing roses, I probably had 3 which were usable. Sensing impending disaster, I took the ex's credit card and bought $200 in roses, which I stuck in strategic places on the cake to hide all the construction equipment.

The day of the wedding, I had been on about 2 hours of sleep, and small children were running everywhere around the reception. I warned one mother that if her brat came one more time within 5 feet of the cake, I would ensure that his hand touched a hot stove! The table provided was wobbly, and anytime anyone came close to the cake, the whole thing would shake. After the cake had its initial cut, the bride and groom left me to cut the cake for the guests. Each person got a piece taht was the equivilant of 1/4 a birthday cake, as I had a lot of cake to give away. The bottom cake alone was 15 inches across.

My ex was required to pay a price for his transgression. From that point on, he was required to make Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner, from menus that I picked out. I made that man make Peking duck from scratch, and a Banana Fosters Cheesecake (an 11 hour recipe).

We have a bet going now, partly as a motivator to keep me looking for work. The bet is that if I get full time work before December 31st, he will have to buy the new Gourmet cookbook and cook every single recipe withing a 1 year period. That's over 1,000 recipes. I so want to make him do this...I wonder if KFC is hiring?

Don't fall in

Ok...boss is watching over my shoulder because I am on a deadline, and I'm already posting at TunaGirl's site, this will be a quick post. I owe several of you emails in response to your comments or emails from yesterday's post...and I'm on track to respond to all of them. I should be caught up by thanksgiving.

Since yesterday was so heavy...how about just a joke:

A 12 year old boy is on his way to school, when he walks past the local bimbo's house. This woman is known to be very friendly with most of the neighborhood husbands, but nobody really confronts her. As he nears the home, she opens her front door to get her newspaper, and upon seeing the boy, leans further out, lifts her hand towards the sky and waves her pinky finger at him as she says..."Hello...little boy".

He's a little confused with her odd form of waving, so he asks "Why are you waving your pinky finger at me?"

"Because that's how big you are!" and she cackles as she goes back into her house.

The next day, as he walks past her house on the way to school, she once again steps out her door and lifts a pinky finger to the sky as she says "Hi little boy!"

He looks over at her, waves back, and gives her this gesture as he says:

click the image to see the gesture!

"Hi Lady!!!"

Support System

If your looking for comedy today...well go to another site. I'm not at my funniest right now.

I’ve been sitting here dumbfounded for the last 15 minutes, trying to figure out what it is that I want to say in regards to a post of Aaron’s. What he said has struck such a nerve with me, but I’m not sure I like the one its hit. However…even bad feelings are feelings that should be expressed.

Something has been bothering me lately. Whenever you start any type of therapy program, the therapist asks about your support system. A basic question of whom do you turn to in times of need? If our family is supposed to be our support system, who is our support when we have no family? We can make our friends our support system, but how far before we feel as if we are intruding on their lives?

The other day, while doing a medical experiment for some extra cash, the nurse asked for a contact name and number in the event that I have an emergency, and I had no contact person to give her. She continued to push me, “Father, Mother, Sibling?” I had to answer none. Dad’s dead, no siblings, I don’t even know my father’s side of the family, and mom’s phone is disconnected and I have no clue where she’s living now. I could have put down a friend, but if it is an emergency, I’m not sure I have anyone close enough that I would want making medical decisions for me.

Seeing advertisements and literature promoting “Traditional Family Values” alienates me. I have no clue what they are talking about, and never will. The concept of a close family seems almost mythic, an image painted on a television screen of something that is unattainable. Does this type of family really exist or is it as imaginary as the happy Brady Bunch? Do parents really love their kids unconditionally and have few problems?

So why am I writing all of this? Good question…and I wish I knew. I’m usually the guy with something funny to say. The more tense the situation, the more likely I’m going to crack a joke. I’m the guy who fakes it enough that I’ll sound completely confident, but meanwhile is shaking in my boots. In two different phone calls last night, people asked how I was doing, and I faked it. “I’m doing fine”, I answered…but in reality…I’m beginning to freak out.

The fact is…I’m scared and under an extreme amount of stress, and my patience has just about run out. I’m completely on my own here, and about to hit rock bottom financially. While my job ends December 31st, the majority of the people I work with think that I am an actual employee at the company I am working at. Because of that, tensions can be brought to a head if they are not given answers to their questions as fast as they like. Next week I have a conference call to discuss why a certain area is not getting results from me fast enough, and I’m trying very hard to not go into this meeting angry. This area is one of 16 that will contact me regarding creating user logons. The process takes 48 hours, but if I get a substantial amount from another area or have to work out of town (both being the case right now) things get backed up. I’ve got an Irish Temper, and it’s fully charged right now, and with the wrong statement from these people, my damn is going to break and I’m going to overflow with quite a bit of statements (including the "I’m doing a job for less that 21k a year that a staff person would be paid $40k for" line).

I am officially an office temp employee, yet I am treated as a full time employee (including managing a staff of temp employees on the project I am working on). The vice president is now aware that my contract will end on December 31st, so I have been assigned to write out in detail the exact procedures of how I do everything that I do, so that whoever takes over my duties will be able to do the job. Although there is a possibility that as I document everything in as much complicated detail as possible, the current employees will determine that they do not have the time to do the work, and my contract will be extended or a position will be offered, but it’s highly unlikely.

So once again…why am I writing all this? I’m writing this because…this site has become my support system. I’m not comfortable telling anyone I see daily about all of this, and burdening them. Burdening a website with my raving…that’s something I can do.

In the meantime…I’ll get back to being funny tomorrow.

Just a Little Pinch

Something I always found odd is that health professionals believe that needles don't hurt! You are sticking a foreign object inside of me, and injecting a substance that is not normally there, and you don't think it hurts?!?!? Huh...kinda like sex...

I'm digressing. As a small child, I dreaded the doctor more than any other person. This doctor was a personal friend of my father, and conducted his practice very close to where my father lived. He had treated my father for years, and my dad thought that he had the cure for ever disease out there. That cure, was a shot of penicillin in the ass.

This was where my fear of needles first came about. As a small child, I learned to never, ever complain about any ailments when living with my father, as I would be carted off to the doctor before I had a chance to say I'm feeling better.
At the age of 7, I had broken my hand, but didn't tell my dad, for fear of getting a shot. My teacher noticed the problem and I was taken to the hospital instead.

Going to Dr. Herman's, we would arrive at his office and have to sit quietly in the mint green waiting room with all of the other patients. The building was one of those really old buildings, with very steep stairs that creaked when you walked on them (this information is important later). Dr. Herman never took appointments, only walk in patients, so waiting could take hours. My father would allow me to leave the waiting room, only to go to the bathroom (of which I would make frequent trips out of boredom).

It was on one of these trips that I decided to run away back to the house (which was only a mile away). I had made it 1/2 way down the stairway before my father figured out what I was doing by hearing the creaking on the steps. I'm not going to say what transpired, as I really don't like discussing my father, but needless to say, from then on, I was accompanied to the bathroom.

Around the time I was nine, my father decided that I was getting sick too often and took me to the children's hospital for allergy tests. 22 shots in each upper arm, 100 in the back, and 75 in each leg...I was poked, and pricked until I developed a very strong phobia of needles. The results of the tests...I'm allergic to penicillin. The shots Dr. Herman were giving me for illness were making me sick.

Phobia intact, I grew up to become an HIV tester and counselor. This included getting certified as a phlebotomist. The class gathered for the first night and were told to arrange themselves into a circle. Looking at all the faces, we watied for the instructor to bring out the dummy. The dummy never appeared. We were instructed to take blood from the person sitting to our right. It was in this class where I lost the phobia I had of needles.

Yesterday, I did a new medical study, strictly for the cash payment. I was informed I would have to stay at the hospital all afternoon after the medical proceedure was performed. How many of you have had a lumbar puncture for a spinal fluid sample? Besides having a nurse hold me so I wouldn't move, I had a well qualified sadist doctor performing the process of sticking a needle into my spinal column. People...no money is worth it. And suddenly I'm afraid of needles again. I'm getting tired of being a lab rat.

Slammed

Art Studio C


One of my best drinking buddies from college, who is now living in Los Angeles is opening up an art space and has asked me to work on her website. At first I thought this would be a piece of cake, just modifying the text as the majority of the work was in the style sheet. I was sorely mistaken as the style sheet is nearly non-existant. This is turning into a major overhaul, and kept me up last night until the wee hours of the morning. I love the work...but it makes for a challenge.

My ex asked if I was getting paid for the work. I thought of all the times I needed someone to talk to during college and her ear was there, the time her shirt came off in a gay bar after we raced drinking Long Island Iced Teas, how I babysat her cat for a summer while she was in Spain, and how over a Christmas I was given a candle I still have in my house today. I thought of how how I slept with her roommate (which she didn't know until now), and how my roommate wanted desperately to sleep with her (and woman if you did...I'm getting you electroshock therapy). I've thought of how she's encouraged me in my creative work, and listened to me at some of my darkest times last year.

"She already paid me", I answered.

Pay her site a visit, and give me any feedback or suggestions.

Fool Disclosure!

I've been wanting to write this post since I first read Brent's post about protecting yourself against Sexually Transmitted Diseases. But I just wasn't ready to say anything, or even knew what I wanted to say.

A few weeks ago, I had made an acquaintance at an event who asked me nonchalantly "which STD's have you had?" He looked shocked when I answered none. Seriously! When did it become the norm to have had STD's?

Working as an HIV counselor, I got very used to working with people who had recently tested positive (in retrospect...I hate how used to it I had become). We would make a list of all of their prior sexual partners since the last time they had been tested (sometimes the client had never been tested), and we would gather the information to contact and tell those people that they should be tested as well. My job then was to get my patient to a doctor for follow up care immediately. The follow up care was what always bothered me. The doctors would always spend time telling the patients how to take care of their health, but really didn't push these newly positive people into always disclosing their HIV status to new partners.

Telling isn't easy. I have a personal friend who is HIV positive, who doesn't tell his partners unless they are to do things that are considered unsafe. I understand where he's coming from. He's met someone, things are progressing, he has told his status, and the guy freaks and leaves. He started feeling dirty because he had a disease. To stop the guys from walking out...he just quit telling them he was positive. "We aren't doing anything unsafe!" is his argument.

Problem is...what he considers safe may not be what someone else considers safe. The only 100% safe sex is masturbation. Everything else is a risk factor, and only you can decide how much of a risk you are willing to take. Sucking without a condom? Intercourse? It's up to the both of you...but both of you should be aware what you are getting into! Either that...or you need to assume the other partner is HIV positive and protect yourself as you see fit.

If you plan on going out in the rain...put on your rubbers!

Romance and Sex

Two things I'm throwing out here today:

First...I'm an incurable romantic. I'd say I'm hopeless, but that insinuates something negative. I look at romance as a good thing, even when I can get caught up in the moment of it. Be it poetry, talking in bed all night long, or even music. This song has been stuck in my head since Wednesday morning...

You can dance
Ev'ry dance with the guy
Who gives you the eye
Let him hold you tight
You can smile
Ev'ry smile for the man who held your hand
'Neath the pale moonlight
But don't forget who's taking you home
And in whose arms you're gonna be
So darlin', save the last dance for me, mmmm

Oh, I know (oh, I know)
That the music's fine
Like sparkling wine
Go and have your fun
Laugh and sing
But while we're apart
Don't give your heart to anyone
But don't forget who's taking you home
And in whose arms you're gonna be
So darlin', save the last dance for me, mmmm

You can dance (you can dance)
Go and carry on
'Til the night is gone
And it's time to go
If he asks if you're all alone
Can he take you home you must tell him no
'Cause don't forget who's taking you home
And in whose arm's you're gonna be
So, darlin', save the last dance for me

Sigh...Romance really is a beautiful art form. But is romance attainable, or is it really just a fantasy we strive for?

---

Are you a virgin? Seriously! Here's a thought to ponder. While working at the Boulder County AIDS project, I got into a discussion with one of the other employees regarding when someone isn't a virgin anymore.

When a heterosexual person loses their virginity, it is the first time they have intercourse. Once he or she bumps the uglies...that line has been crossed, and the cheery cherry had been "popped". Virginity be gone...along with the innocence!

But what about gay men? At what point do we lose our virginity? The person I asked last night said it's the first time you bottom. This was the same answer I got several years ago when working at the AIDS project, but I disagree. Some guys never top or bottom (be it hangups about the actual act, or whatever), so are these guys virgins? Is it the first time they drop to their knees and provide a bit of Oral stimulation? Not to mention Lesbians! When do they lose their virginity. The first time one straps one on?


So what are your thoughts on Romance and or Sex?

I'm just a City Boy

Yesterday afternoon, I drove back down to Smithville Ohio (Est. Population 1,324) to continue work in their operations center. The closing of this center is going to nearly eliminate the town, but most of the employees are still in good spirits. I wish I could be as high spirited.

In order to keep things pleasant, I try to get to know these people a bit. Most of them have lived in the area all their lives, raise animals for showing at the county fair, and spend their Friday nights watching the local high school football team. WE really have nothing in common, but surprisingly...They have been trying to get to know me. While working with one of the women yesterday, she asked if I was a FFA. I smiled knowingly. Yes...My mom first called me that when I was 9 years old I thought. This woman then told me that her son and brother were also in FFA. At that point I was confused. I didn't think this town was so progressive.

Now for those of you who don't speak gay lingo...FFA means Future Fag of America. Apparently...in the country...it stands for Future FARMER of America.

*blank stare*

Is it possible that the 4H club doesn't stand for:
Hard and Horny with a Hot Hole?

It's Not Important

A few days ago, someone asked me where I come up with my daily writings. 143,291 words written in one year...I guess it is a lot, but looking back, it doesn't seem like that much. I answered that I write with my emotions. If I'm having a bad day, I may pick a topic that I find bothersome (like religion getting involved in politics), or if I'm having a good day I may choose to write about an amusing incident (like my mother's insistance of my joining a monogamous threesome relationship).

Today, as I drove in, I was very depressed over the election results. Did I really care if Bush won the election? Not for his leadership (although I think he is a poor leader), but because of the supreme court justices he will put on the bench. We will be living with a very conservative court for the next 20 years, and for that I sincerely and saddened. I was prepared to write about this...and then I got an email this morning.

Someone I know, and some of you know as well, is sick. Not fever sick like I've been this week, but kick you in the crotch, break your ribs, sleeping on a bed of nails sick. And now...well suddenly nothing seems as important anymore. Bush in office...Fuck him...he's gone in four years. Domestic Partner benefits outlawed in Ohio...I don't have one...and I haven't benefits anyway. Knowing that someone who is sick is close to hopelessness? That matters to me.

And that's the perspective I needed today. I can be pushed around, silenced, legislated against, and made to feel not welcome in my own country...but I still belong here. And I can either go along with the rules of this game, or just refuse to play and focus on what's more important. I'm choosing the latter, and focusing on where I'm needed most. Those things are more important than any election results.

That being said...Don't expect me to support these elected officials. I'm not playing...but I'm not dead either.

It's Like a Heat Wave!

God? Are you there? It's me...Patrick. Please kill me and put me out of my misery.

I woke up this morning buring up, with a 103 fever. Fuck. I hate being sick, and I know that I am being a baby about this...but seriously...I have no clue how you women put up with being sick every 28 days. Cramping and bloating, boday aches...no wonder you become raving lunitics the few days before your period. Personally...I just want someone to kiss me better. Any takers?

***cough....sniff***

Today being election day, I got in line with my neighbors to wait for a little over an hour to vote. In the pouring rain, the line went around the city block and had well over 250 people (how appropiate...a trail of tears?). Waiting there, the last minute poll police tried to beg me to vote for thier causes. A woman handed me a "Protect Marriage" button. I stared at it for a second, before licking it, and handing it back to her. I hope she catches this ailment, and is buring a fever all week long.

The older couple in front of me patiently waited as we worked our way down the residential street towards the polling station. "Here's to not hearing another political add for two more years!" the old woman chimed, and those that could hear her acknoledged thier approval of that statemtent. Her husband countered with "now were going to have to listen to the court challenges for the next 40 days.

Walking into the polling station, I handed the woman my Driver's liscense. Immediately the Republican/Democrat (they all look alike) poll challenger came over to insure that I was actually a resident of Cleveland (my address is old on my liscense). Aware that I was up for a challenge, I handed over my passport, three pieces of mail (one from each party and a pay stub) and my voters registration card. The challenger seemed satisfied, but continued asking for others to show proof of thier residence. It's going to be a long day at the polls.

Tonight...I'm just going to bed. My job is done for the day. I've voted. Now I'm going to work at getting rid of this fever, before I kill a poll taker.

***addendum***
Anybody else realize that Contact cold medication is some serious shit? Good lord...my mother's home grown doesn't leave me this looped.

Treating my Tricks

Last night I was on candy patrol, passing out frosted sugar bombs to all the local children. I was really looking forward to doing this, and went out and bought extra razor blades for the night. (I know...Bad joke).

This was a first for me though, as I have never had trick or treating children come to my door...Ever. Throughout my life I've always lived in communes or apartments, neither of which are conducive to bringing on the kids. Last year, I was out at an event, so I was unable to give out candy, so I really wanted to do it this year. In preparation, I bought 3 bags of Snickers bars, 2 bags of Milk Duds, and 1 bag of Nerds. The bowl near my door was a near cornucopia of processed sugar.

I finished volleyball last night, and someone from another team asked me to a post game dinner. I turned him down for the night, so I could be home by dusk for the kids. Driving back to the house, I detoured to the store for one more bag of candy. 4 bags of blow-pops (lollipops with bubble gum inside), a bag of Now -n- Later's and 1 bag of Sweet Tarts later, I drove like a maniac to get back to my house before the first kids arrived. I turned on my porch light, the lights to my living room, and while waiting, I started to cook my dinner.

***RING***

The minute I touched my knife to the cutting board, the door bell rang with my first kids of the evening. I opened up to see a small child in what could only be a demon mask, Glinda the good witch, the Pillsbury dough boy, and not one, but two Spidermen (Spidermen? Sounds like a Jewish name). Gleefully I passed out a handful of tooth decay to each of every one of them and bid them a good night as they walked down my walkway to the sidewalk. And this was where my night took a turn for the bad. One of the kids turned and said "Thanks, ya' fucking faggot."

As my smile dropped from my face, I closed my door and pondered just turning out my porch light, signaling the kids to move on to a straighter household, one who would approve of such hate spewing from those foul mouths. I left the light on the porch, but my light had gone out. Halloween Shmalloween! "This sucks" I thought as I grabbed a snickers bar out of the bowl for my own consumption.

I walked back to my kitchen and began chopping the onion I planned on using for my dinner. "Fucking Faggot" I thought as I chopped the onion into chunks. You kiss your mother with that mouth? Chop, chop, chop. I should have gone postal on the brat and asked for my candy back. Little shit. My chopped onion was turning very quickly into a minced onion as I continued working the knife.

"It's the parent's fault." They perpetuated the stereotypes, and very likely have used the word around their kids. When their kids say "that's so gay" to negatively describe something, the parents never correct them. They have no clue that what they said was so hateful.

***RING***

"Fucking doorbell", I muttered as I walked to the door. I grabbed the bowl of candy, opened the door, and before a kid could even speak the phrase "Trick or Treat" I had dropped a handful of candy into the bags of each of them and had closed the door. I walked back to my onion, and looked in the mirror over my sink to see tears on my face. "It's the onion", I said aloud to nobody in particular, but maybe a little of these tears were real. My onion now resembled a paste I had chopped it so much.

I put it in the pot, and finished cooking the rest of my meal, wondering why the hell I hadn't gone postal on the brat. Those who have read this site know just how bad I can get once I go postal. The last time someone called me a faggot, I made sure to give a long winded, counter attack as to what the word actually meant in the first place. Unless you are a same sex attracted person, or a personal acquaintance of mine, or I've listed you as a blog on my site...You had better damn well not call me that word unless you are fully ready to defend your words. I've gone Ape Shit for less that ! "Fucking Faggot" my ass. That kid is very likely going to be the next kid who steals a car.

The night went on...kids came to the door, and I would never even look at them. I just wanted to get the damn sugar out of my house. I did this for the kids...and this is how I get treated? Screw this! I walked over to my door and placed my hand on the light switch about to turn the porch light off, when the door bell went off again.

***RING***

I opened my door to see a small little girl (whose parents were waiting by the sidewalk). I grabbed the candy to put in her bag, but her bag was closed. I looked at her dressed in a white dress and with wings, and she looked up at me with emerald green eyes. In her other hand was a piece of paper. She handed me the paper and said "this fell out" and pointed to my mailbox. It was only a flyer to a Chinese restaurant, but she thought it was important. She turned to walk away and her parents reminded her to say "trick or treat". She looked up at me, said "Trick" and looked confused.

I smiled at her, and told her to open her bag. As she held the bag open, I poured the majority of the candy down into her bag. She looked at me with amazement and said "tanks Misser".

I can't wait for Halloween next year.