What Causes It?

Ok...so everyone else is doing a year in review, but I'm not everyone else. I figure I'd write about something else. Since today is my last day of work at the bank I work for my day job, I'm feeling a bit philosophical.

I've been thinking about the creation of love lately. Not the desire of being in love, or the feeling you have when you are in it, but what causes it. What makes us turn into that mess of devotion, emotion, irrationality and temporary insanity that we find so blissful. And why does it happen with only certain people and not everyone we meet? We never go walking down the street saying "I love you" to everyone (unless you are me, in Times Square, and have had a few cocktails).

Is it a chemical thing where your chemical makeup is activated by the chemical makeup of the person you are involved with? What makes you so crazy that you find yourself thinking "I want to kiss that shoulder tattoo!" What brings that kind of emotion out of what would normally be a reserved person? Do we become addicted to the chemical composition of another person? Is that what makes us sit by the phone singing "Please be him....oh dear God! It must be him...It must be him...or I shall die!"

You don't sing that?...Fuck you...neither do I...

We've all heard the saying "the heart wants what the heart wants," and I have to agree with that. I've seen it happen so many times where someone falls in love with "the wrong" person. Either the feelings aren't returned, or worse, the person who has fallen in love is being used (usually not intentionally) by the other person.

A year ago, I painted a piece titled Love and Hate, which was my interpretation about how the two emotions are so equal. We hate that we love someone, we love to hate someone, while hating ourselves, we want to be loved. Complete polar opposite emotions but both seem to have an equal place in the world.

So back to my original question: What causes us to be in love?

Goal Orientation

Damn you Scott of Sardonic-Bomb for doing this to me. Two days ago I read on his site that he was looking for a few new years resolutions, and he got me thinking...I don't have any. I'd like to say it's because I reached the epitome of perfection, but seeing that I don't have a way to pay the heating bill over the next few months, and money is going to be tighter than Christina Augliera's clothing, I'm fairly certain I have areas that need improving. However, I hate calling them resolutions, because it just seems so easy to forget working on them. So I figure I need some goals. The difficult part...I'm not even sure what I should have for goals.

I've been "goal free" for a few years now. Working in financial aid, I had set the goals to work as a director of financial aid at a university, and was well on the way to it...Until I got sick. Hell broke loose, I reported a few indiscretion and laundering to the government, and pretty much fried myself from ever getting another financial aid job. For the first time in my life, I had ethics (what was I thinking?). The positive thing was that I realized I didn't want to work in financial aid any more. The career had progressed to the point of ending, as well as my love relationship, and according to the cancer diagnosis of my doctor, my days of living were just as numbered. Obviously, since I'm typing this, the doctor had some difficulty with mathematics.

So getting back to living, I was goal free. I had to find work, which I did, and was back to getting myself onto a career track...Before being laid off the first time (I'm a professional at being laid off now). The goal became...Earn enough to pay the bills, which really isn't a good goal. I've found myself having to do the soul searching. Now add to this mess a sadist therapist who has asked me, "What is it you want to do?"

Bitch!... It was easier to figure out what I DON'T want to do than to figure out what I want to be doing for a living. That being said, professionally I do have some goals, but I'm taking the weekend to work on those a bit before I post them. Expect those shortly. However I do think it may be time to set some personal goals. I'm just not sure what, so I'm asking for your suggestions.

My list so far:
Run a 5k in less than 20 minutes.

Those of you who read this probably see areas for improvement better than I do. If I listed all my ideas for areas of improvement, you would all be reading until New Years Eve 2005. So comment away. What do you think I should improve? Should I be having more sex? Less Sex? Travel more? Clean the house more? Take up another sport? Wear a jock strap? What are your ideas for improving me?

Bedroom Confessions

First...if you haven't given the red cross $5 bucks, do so now. If all the people in NYC did, the agency would have 95 million dollars to support those in need in the wake of the tsunami's. That's just from New Yorkers. If every working person in this country did, most of these people who have lost everything would at least have clothing again.

Ok, blame Aaron and Rick for starting this, but they got me thinking...and I don't do that much (I should have been blonde). Since I've already admitted the creamy white gooey center of me is all marshmallow fluff (thanks Tuna) maybe now is the time to admit to something else.

I've been sleeping with someone for over a month now. He and I have known each other for a long time (since I first bought my bed), but we've only recently moved our relationship to the next level, and started sleeping together. He's a big time cuddler and never turns me down for sex when I'm in the mood (which is always good). Thing that bothers me...He's not really a good conversationalist. It could be because he's my bedroom pillow.

In my life, I've found that I can gauge how ready I am to start dating by how often I snuggle my bedroom pillow. When I sleep with the pillow perpendicular to the length of the bed, I realize that I'm not only not looking, I'm actively taking up as much space in my bed as possible, usually by sleeping in the center of the bed. It's almost the equivalent of me screaming "Don't touch me".

Once the pillow moves to a parallel positioning, I'm open to dating...But not really looking. I call this my pre-dating stage...Usually looked upon as a person who's dipping a toe into a swimming pool to see how cold the water really is. I'll start sleeping on one side of the bed, but the pillow is usually a bit away from me.

Somehow over the past month, I moved on to stage 3. In stage 3, I will fall asleep with the pillow next to me, and wake up in the morning actively cuddling it. Usually we are spooning. A close friend of mine calls this the "Patrick needs to get laid stage." I disagree because at this point, the romantic in me takes over, and I'm having the imaginary conversations with Mr. Wonderful (or Jim Brinkman) while waiting for the coffee maker to finish brewing. It doesn't help that I have an electric mattress pad that keeps me warm, and not wanting to get out of bed.

And this is where it gets problematic. I know I'll meet someone when the time is right, and things will be great, but I also know that the longer that pillow stays in the position it is in, the more it hinders me from meeting someone. Seriously, spending all my evenings spooning my fantasy man (Jim Brinkman) and all I end up doing is creating a fantasy that nobody can live up to. My fantasy man doesn't snore! My fantasy man has only 1% body fat. My fantasy man is independently wealthy, a gourmet cook, and would prefer that we buy a loft in NY. Holy crap! If I ever want to find a normal person and not force him to live up to my expectations, I have to divorce my pillow!

And seriously...Like Aaron and Rick, yes...I do wonder what the next person in my life will be like. Will he be crazy or just married? Until the time comes I'm just going to sing Doris Day songs.

When I was just a little girl,
I asked my mother, 'What will I be?
'Will I be pretty?
'Will I be rich?'
Here's what she said to me:
'Que sera, sera,
'Whatever will be, will be;
'The future's not ours to see.
'Que sera, sera,
'What will be, will be.'

And because I promised him I would say this.

Aaron Edwards' Dick is Great!

End of Year Confession

I hate...tolerate...like...Love my grandmother. That's what I'm supposed to say right? The woman who is my maternal grandmother, who argues continuously with my hippy mother, yet feels it's her religious duty to drive me up the fucking wall! I hate...tolerate...like...Love my grandmother.

Excuse me while a take a bottle of valium here.

I don't write about my granny (she'd flip is she saw that word) often, as I really don't need the ulcers. She is the polar opposite of my mom in every way. She's Catholic, Republican, Racist, armed with a selective memory of only what she wants to believe, and unfortunately was a care giver of mine when I was taken out of my parents custody for a while. So of course I am guilted into putting up with her crap. Never underestimate the power of guilt from an old Irish Catholic lady.

When I came out of the closet (ok...so my mom outed me to woman over a holiday dinner), the world came to an end in her eyes. I was forced to say prayers with her when I visited (even though I didn't believe those prayers), and I know that she still prays daily that I'll find my way back to women. She'd rather have me porking as many women as possible out of matrimony that have sex with one man monogamously.

Now when I say she prays, I mean really prays. We all say prayers of some type. "Please God, let me get this job", "God, don't let the rent check bounce", or my personal nocturnal favorite "Oh God! I'm cumming!" However, my grandmother says 3 hours of prayers daily. The missions all send her these nifty little prayer cards (along with their requests for money), and she reads them daily...all 100+ cards daily.

Each year she sends me a Christmas card, or actually it's a "mass card". She pays a mission/ convent/ monastery a sum of money and in return, they mention my name at the mass and offer up their prayers for me. Kind of like doing a guest spot on a radio, or sponsoring a little time on NPR. I keep asking her to have the mass mention my performance dates. I can see the mass now:

"For Ida Smith, whose husband just recently past away"
"Lord hear our prayer"
"For the new chapel fundraising goals"
"Lord hear our prayer"
"For Patrick Doyle, now appearing at the Funny Bone. Wednesday through Sunday, show times 8, 10, and midnight."
"Lord hear our prayer"

Her birthday is in December, and every year I anticipate the call I am going to get from her. I always starts out the same way with her bawling into the phone. She's just so happy after reading the most beautiful card I have ever sent her. The words meant so much, and it's the most appropriate meanings, and...blah, blah, blah. The next words out of her mouth are usually about when I am supposed to come visit for the holidays (which I dread). So here's the confession...

I have never read a card that I have mailed to my grandmother. I go to the nearest Hallmark card store, go to the grandmother birthday section, and scan the cards for the card with the most printing inside. If the card has two pages of printing inside, that's the keeper. Mail it to the woman.

My Ex got into it as well, and sent her a birthday card the same way. She responded by sending him $100 for Christmas that year, and bawled on the phone to him (while also mentioning that she hopes he finds a nice girl as well...and finds Jesus).

She called last night.
"Why aren't you coming for the New Year Holiday? You aren't dating anyone, so you'll only be alone...like me. Wouldn't you like to keep me company so I'm not so alone?"

Quick...Somebody date me.

Hooking Up

Ok...before I go into my post of the day, I just have to state. I'd totally fuck Jim Brinkman ...I'm just saying.

Now Jim is a Cleveland native, but I've never seen him around. So until I finally meet him, I still have to take care of my own needs, or I could get really lonely. Hey, I'm 34 years old, if I go too long without sex, my penis becomes the beanstalk from Jack and the Beanstalk and I need a good weed wacker!

So I have to go out looking where other guys go who want sex. Like prison...or internet chatrooms! Not that I've ever been in a chat room before. In this unmentionable place, everyone is basically searching for the same thing, but decorum demands that we never speak of it. Never with each other, and never in a public forum like a blog. Of course...I've never been one to follow decorum.

Upon entering the clevelandM4M room of aol, the process is fairly easy, survey the attendants in the room by screen name and pick your flavor. Their are always three types of names:

• Tops
• HungTop23
• AzzPoundR
• TopAthlete
• DungeonMaster
• and my personal favorite: 9x6Top


• Bottoms
• UseMyHole27
• BottomBoi (how original)
• Phil-R-up
• RamitNme
• TheAbyss


• and Ambigious
• Lookin4fun
• ShowNTell
• JockBod
• RU4real
• cmptmscl

My only time visiting a seedy chatroom (years ago...which is why I can write about this now), I was contacted by someone who fell into the ambigious category. We messaged each other for short while (5 minutes) before setting up a time to meet that evening at my home. An hour later, when he arrived, I realized that he must have difficulty typing. He mistakenly typed a 3 for a 5 when he said is was 34 years old. Of course, it was now past 10 pm, and since I was up early that day, I decided to still invite him in. He sat down at my couch, and I poured him a glass of whine. Yes...I spelled that incorrectly on purpose. You see...once he drank a glass of wine, he began to whine. I heard all about his ex, the last boyfriend, the mother who won't speak to him, how he is closeted at work, his wicked boss, and that his roof is now leaking. The things I put up with to get off!

After nearly 3 hours of listening to his banter, I get up and just go to the kitchen to make myself a sandwich, all the while listening to him get more and more weepy about how he been hurt in the past. At the point that he curled up into a fetal position on my couch and began to cry, I went upstairs to bed. Shortly after, he regained composure, came to my bedroom door, and asked if he could join me. Glancing at the clock, I agree.

Now, the one thing about me that is most important. You have to be a good kisser. If during the kiss, you engulf my mouth, nose, 1/2 my jawline, and my chin ...well the thrill is completely gone. Especially when you breath tastes like the garlic you had for dinner two days ago.

I had no choice to kick his sorry ass out of my house, and that is the joy of the internet chatrooms. This is why I need to hang out in bars more.

Hungarian Layer Cookie

My mother (where ever she is) has a signature cookie that causes fights and hoarding among its recipients every year. Seriously...these cookies are the ones that grown adults have complained if another person gets a bigger sized one. My mom has kept this recipe secret for years, and when I turned 32, she finally gave it to me.

Consider it my Gift to you and if you ever make it...let me know:

Hungarian Layer Cookie (Hungarian Delight)
4 cups flour
1 cup crisco
3 1/2 Tsp Baking Powder
1/2 Tsp Salt
1 cup Sugar
3 egg yolks
1/2 pt. Sour Cream
Rind of one Lemon
3 jars Pureed Prune Filling (You can make this...but save yourself time)
3 jars Pureed Apricot Filling (You can make this...but save yourself time)
WallNut Filling (recipe follows)
1 glass of red wine

Sift the 4 cups of flour, salt and baking powder into a large bowl. Cut the Crisco into the flour and mix well, adding the sugar and rind. When mixed thoroughly add the egg yolks and sour cream. Mix and divide the dough into 4 equal parts.
Chill the unused dough when not in use. Drink the glass of wine as the dough can be difficult to work with (ok...it's a bitch), and your nerves will be agitated.
Roll out the dough between two pieces of wax paper. You will need the dough to evenly cover the bottom of a 13x9 inch pan. If the dough cracks, reroll it out. Try not to touch the dough with your hands, as your body heat will break down the Crisco, and make the dough too dense.

Assemble the cookie
Lightly grease and flour the bottom and sides of a 13x9 pan, then lay the first dough onto the bottom of the pan. Spread the apricot filling onto the dough. Roll out the second dough and lay it on top of the apricot filling. Spread the nut filling onto the dough, and lay the third strip of dough onto the nut filling. Spread the prune filling onto the dough and top the filling with the last dough filling. Brush the top of the dough with egg white to give the finished cookie a golden color on top. Bake for 1 hour in a 350 degree oven.


Walnut Filling
1 lb ground walnuts
2 egg whites
1 cup milk
1 1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1 1/2 lb powder sugar

Mix nuts, eggs, milk and vanilla. While stirring, add one cup of powder sugar at a time, making sure to mix thoroughly.

Can't We Just Cuddle?

Back in my Denver days, I met this really cute guy while working in a local bar. Ok...cute may have been an understatement...he was really hot. The bar owner had hired him to walk around in a g-string and keep the lonely customers drinking on Christmas Eve, and Steve walked around being nice to everyone. At the time, I was on my "I'm better than you kick", and thought he was a bit egotistical (ok...I was probably more jealous that he had the body to walk around in a g-string). He kept coming over to my bar, and talking with me and a few of the patrons.

One of the patrons asked if Steve had ever performed in a porn movie, which Steve answered in the affirmative. "Well you've earned our respect" was the answer one of the patrons stated. "Speak for yourself" I thought and distinctly remember him looking at me and asking me "what?" in question to the look on my face. Figuring my look of disgust must have registered, I asked if his mother had known about the films, which of course she didn't. I took the attitude that if you can't tell your mother what you are doing for a living, you really shouldn't be doing it.

I was young, judgmental, and fairly high and mighty. But after the bar closed, he asked if I wanted to go to the local diner for a cup of coffee and a little breakfast (read: sex and sausage). 3am? Christmas morning? Sure...I'll go. Forgetting that everything is closed on Christmas except the Jewish deli...we went back to my place where I cooked breakfast. One thing led to another, and we were making out on my bed...and this was where he threw me for a loop. He didn't want to have sex.

Ok...his mouth said he didn't want to have sex, but other body parts were definitely eager to proceed with more physical bedroom activities. He looked me in the eye and mentioned that he had had a lot of sex (Duh...he did porn...that says it all), but none of it was with intimacy. With me...he'd rather wait until something more emotionally intimate developed and then explore the physical. Now I have had more than a "few" partners, and compared to some, would be called a slut. Compared to others...well for gay standards I might be called innocent. However that night I was stunned, but still agreed to Steve's request. We held each other for a very long time while sleeping through the remainder of the night. It was a month before anything else happened between us, and when we finally did...well OH MY GOD...I KNOW the neighbors heard us. I think people in Africa heard us that night.

But profoundly, I learned something from Steve that Christmas morning. Physical intimacy is so easy to get in the gay culture. You want to get off? Go to a bar, and blatantly ask someone if they want to come back to your place. Go to a bathhouse and you'll be amazed. Like in the Field of Dreams, if you put it out there, he will cum (ok...that was a bad pun...I admit it). Sex is easy, but emotional intimacy...well that is like going into uncharted territory some times. All the important relationships I've had in my life involved waiting for the right time. We may have slept in the same bed, had maybe a little under the sweater action, but the actual "deed" didn't take place. Instead, I decided to wait it out, knowing that it could be so much better, and would mean so much more.

So why am I writing this? Good question. I think probably because when I get snowed in, and it's cold in the house, besides drinking hot chocolate while watching the snow fall, what I really want to do is just cuddle with someone. Yeah...sex would be great too, but just sitting in a chair, wrapped in blankets and each other's arms...that gives me a warm feeling.

But for now...with no prince in my sites, I'll just stick to an electric blanket. Of course, I guess I could try looking up Steve's old number.

It's All Tradition

First of all...I woke up this morning, and got ready for work. After taking 90 minutes to move my car 2 feet I threw in the towel and admitted that I was just snowed in. Why couldn't this be Friday?

This picture is the front of my house. I live in the far left row house. Brrrr.


I've been thinking about holiday traditions this week, and specifically what traditions I've grown to hold on to, as well as the ones I am more that willing to give up. Each holiday my mom is known for one thing...baking cookies. Ok...she's also known for cookies that can get you baked...but that is part of the season.

She starts baking cookies and her "special" brownies in early November. By the week before Christmas, she has more cookies than a bakery shop. Largest count she ever made was the 14,000 she made over the holiday of 86. Everyone she knows gets a plate (with close friends getting a plate with a browniee). I'm come to count on the box of cookies, so it's a bit of a let down to not have them this year.

I for one, have decided to make due. Since I'm snowed in, I've been baking cookies (instead of getting baked). I'm enjoying making lemonade of these lemons.

Season's Greetings!

All is now right with the world!

I admit it...I'm a Harry Potter fan, and it has nothing to do with the fact that my Ex looked a lot like an adult Harry Potter! (The last thing I need is the fundamentalists accusing me of being a molesting homo...That's for Wacko Jacko) I first read the Harry Potter book 2 days before the first movie came out, and I was more than anything stunned at the level of character development Rowling created for a children's novel.

So of course...I was completely stunned to hear that the Christian churches in Ohio were banding together to protest the films and books, as they supposedly promoted Satanism, Witchcraft, and worst of all, to not listen to your parents. Of course...When a book sells 5 million copies in one day...The church would have better luck converting me to Christianity than stopping printing of the series.

We've entered a new state in this country, and it involves a legislated morality. Now I'm all for morals, and have nothing against promoting morality...As long as I can determine what those morals are. The fundies are now boycotting department stores who will not print "Merry Christmas" in their advertising, or wish you a "Merry Christmas" upon making a purchase. Does this mean that they are boycotting all of the Jewish owned stores? Where else are they going to find good Corned Beef and bagels?

Does this mean that a Muslim has to say "praise Jesus" on Easter if he wants to make a living? One of the founding reasons our country seceded from England was to leave the Church of England and pursue our own religious freedom. Now, 228 years later, the country is once again pushing all of it's citizens into believing one religion...Like it or not.

Well I don't want to piss off any religious zealots out there who might actually have read past the description line of my blog and saw the word "GAY", so to each and every one of you:

Merry Fucking Christmas!

I'm so gonna burn in hell...

Holiday Spirit

This is going to be rambling...but It's stuck in my head today...so bear with me.


If you really want to know me, you have to know one thing about me. I'm a an addict, and I've been one for a very long time. I don't admit this much in public, but it's the holiday season, so why not reveal a little more about myself than I normally would.

What's my drug of choice? NPR. National Public Radio. I could listen to that radio station from 5 in the morning (when my clock goes off) until I go to bed at 11 pm. I know all the programs, and although I haven't met any of the announcers, I have even had sexual fantasies about them. Noah Adams and I are laying in post coital bliss, on a Sunday morning while Ira Glass is cooking up latkes and omelets in the kitchen. Cory Flintoff is fetching cups of coffee and the New York Times so that Nina Totenberg and I can work on the crossword puzzle together while discussing the actions of the supreme court. Now I have never looked at any of the pictures of the reporters, as it would ruin the fantasy. Noah Adams in my head, is a 5'11" dark haired man with incredible tan lines, who has the libido of a rabbit. He's also very flexible...but that may be too much information for you. Screw you though...this is my fantasy!

But what I get out of NPR most is the commentaries. Yesterday, as I was driving home, I was listening to a commentator discuss how materialistic her children had become over Christmas and how she had changed everything. Her daughter's wish list was as follows:

Boom box
Radio Controlled car
Bunch of other things I can't remember right now.

When her daughter opened her gifts on Christmas, her mother the commentator was distraught as to how ungrateful her daughters had become. "I wanted the red car!", "This isn't the boom box with the big speakers!" was all her mom heard. Taking drastic action, her mom picked up all of the gifts and returned them to the store and told her children if they wanted those items, they could earn them at $5 and hour like normal people.

Over the next few years, Christmas was spent getting 1 present, until one year, when she and her husband gave her daughter a catalog and a slip of paper. The paper told the daughter how much was normally spent on her. She was to go through the catalog and pick out an item that would come out of her own present budget. That item would be given to someone who was more in need. Her daughter was allowed to pick out the needy person.

A few days later, she returned listing off nearly 40 items that were to come out of her present budget, thus eliminating any presents she could receive. Her mom questioned her and the daughter answered that she didn't need anything...while the children she picked out did.

Business Week magazine just posted the top 50 philanthropists for 2004. Oprah is one of them. In it she discusses how she still remembers the time her mom had told her that the family had no money for Christmas presents. She had finally resigned herself to a giftless holiday, when several nuns delivered a turkey dinner to their doorstep. 40+ years later, she still doesn't know the names of those nuns, but she remembers that act of kindness.

This holiday season, if you want to experience the holiday spirit, do something for someone else, and ask for nothing...not even a thank-you in return.

Famous Words

"First of all...I'm ok."

In my life I've started out my bad conversations with my mom with these words. You know the kind of conversations. "I'm in jail", "I borrowed the car to go to Mardi Gras", "I'm gay and dating a priest" conversations that are one's you dread saying. That being said...my mom isn't around and I didn't have anyone to say it to (if any of you see a crazy hippy woman with a 31 year old husband, tell her to call her son once in a while). So indulge me for a moment.

First of all...I'm ok. Yesterday, we had a horrible winter storm that dropped several inches of snow and ice onto Cleveland in 5 short hours. I know this because when I went to bed at 3 am after leaving a Christmas Party, no snow was on the ground. When I woke up at 8, the world was a white swirling mass of freezing weather. Yesterday was our volleyball tournament, where my team was in a solid second place. Our first game started at 2:00 pm. The gym is only a short 4 miles from my home, but with the weather I left at 12:30, allowing for bad driving conditions.

I drove down my street and stopped at the Starbucks for an Egg Nog Latte (Venti) and the newspaper, before leaving for the gym. I traveled through the west side of Cleveland following the highway along the lake front. As I passed the Cleveland Browns stadium, the winds began to pick up and the blowing snow was making it difficult to see, so I reduced my speed to around 10 mph. I pulled into the right hand lane, and prepared to exit onto I-90 heading West. As I pulled into the exit lane, my car spun out. I did three 360 spins before finally ramming my back end into a guard rail. My latte, which was sitting full in the cup holder, flew out of the holder and covered my ankles in scalding hot coffee, with the majority seeping into the carpet. I will be smelling souring Egg Nog for the next 8 months.

Hands shaking, I started the car back up, turned the car around and slowly drove the car the rest of the way to the gym. I'm a little sore today, but I'm ok. My rear bumper will eventually need replaced, and the left side of my back end will need some work as it has separated from the side of the car. The carpet will probably need a professional cleaning in not replaced. Reporting this to the insurance is not as much of a problem, but paying the $500 deductible while my job ends is. Such is life I guess.

Karma came back and did take care of me though, by having my team win the volleyball tournament. The league is broke right now... so no trophy...but we get bragging rights for a full few weeks before we start back up in the spring for a new season.

I'm getting back under the covers now...it's cold out...and I'm not in a very good mood.

Sap, Sappy, Sappiest

What a Sap!

Sadly...I've done this before.
ice.wmv

---

This Makes Me Sappy!

I just got the coolest present in the mail from Aaron. He took these pictures of us while we had lunch in the village. I like them so much that I printed them out, and I've framed them and hung them in my dining room. It's like eating with Aaron on a daily basis, and I can't even put to words how much I value this. Thanks Aaron.

Picture he took of me.

Picture of the two of us.

---

The Sappiest Thing I've Ever Admitted!

I know I'm going to regret telling this as it will perpetuate the marshmallow theory that TunaGirl likes to use to describe me.

When I was 7 years old, I was perusing the holiday cards at the local pharmacy while my mother was shopping for some items. One card just fascinated me. The picture was a winter scene of a sleigh traveling down a road that was screen printed onto a clear plastic layer, which rested on a silver background. This silver background shown through the entire scene and just made everything shimmer. The card is a card to give to someone you are in love with. I remember reaching in my pocket and having just enough money to buy the card which I did. I'm sure the sales clerk thought it was cute that this little 7 year old thought he had a girlfriend to give a card to, but this was different. I bought it with the idea in my head that I would give that card to the one person I knew I was in love with on Christmas.

Last night I pulled out my Christmas card box (where I pack my left over Christmas Cards until the following year), and that card is still in the box, waiting to be given. Oddly enough, I lived with my ex for a 6 years, and every year I would see that card, but knew that card wasn't meant for him. I'm still holding onto it for now.

Ok...Bring on the marshmallow comments...

Christmas Bitterness

About the only thing I don't like about the holidays is that Christmas and its evil twin sister, New Year's eve are the days one is expected to be "coupled" up. The pressure falls only short of the bitch of a sadistic holiday,Valentine's Day ***spits on ground***, no other holidays come near to the pressure.

All the advertisements cram down your throat the insistence that you purchase EVERY SINGLE ITEM THAT YOU SEE FOR YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHER.

"Every kiss begins with Kay Jewelers"
"Nothing says happy holidays like a new flat screen TV from Best Buy"
"Diamonds are forever!"
"Old Navy is selling everything you'll ever need for cheap!"

And when you don't have a SIGNIFICANT OTHER, you are tattooed with the scarlet "L" for "Lonely Loser". You don't have someone to kiss on New Years? Huh...I think the dog might be free...but it is last minute.

I'm not one to be force fed an advertisers idea of what my life should be like, but I'm still one to fall for the thing a little bit. So if I want that kiss on New Year's Eve...I better start looking for a date. Anyone want to lend me their dog?

Getting Wood

This post is dedicated to Mark, who insisted I write this after telling him.

Since I knew I was leaving for NY the first weekend of December, I decided to put my Christmas tree up Thanksgiving day. It seemed like the best idea as MAK was going to be visiting that Saturday, and each weekend after I came back from NY would be full of holiday parties and merriment. (hey...I'm entertaining after I've had a few. My label says "Instant Slut...just add alcohol").

So I schlepped down to my basement, dragged the rubbermaid container up the fifteen steps, and down the hall to my living room. Then laid the branches in size order on my floor. I positioned the center pole into its stand, and placed the top on to the pole.

Each branch has it's own little hole that it fits into in the support pole, and I quickly worked my way from bottom to the top of the tree, until I had all the branches on the damn thing. Lastly I added the lights and ornaments, and voila! One big massive structure that sits in the living room.

I left for NY, came back and looked at the tree...it reminded me of something familiar, but then I decided to watch porn for a while and forgot what I was thinking of. In fact, for some reason I couldn't keep my eyes off this structure in my home. I've been drawn to if on a near subconscious level. My friends have all commented on how much they loved my tree this year, and it suddenly hit me. Only a gay man would do this.

My tree looks like a very erect penis. When I assembled the tree, I mistakenly put the smaller branches in the middle of the tree, so it starts thick on the bottom, gets smaller until you reach its mushroom shaped head, where it grows to the near shaft size before rounding off at the top. I have a giant decorated dick in my home...

I am so gay.

Happy Hanukkah!

Baruch ata, Adonai Eloheinu, melech haolam, asher kideshanu bemitsvo tov, vetsivanu lehadlik neir shel Channukah.

Baruch ata, Adonai Eloheinu, melech haolam, sheasa nisim lasavoteinu bayamim haheim bazeman hazah.

Baruch ata, Adonai Eloheinu, melech haolam, shehechyanu vekiyamanu vehigianu lasmanhazeh.

That I can actually remember this prayer is pretty freaking scary! Not bad for growing up in a family of goyim.

---

It took me over two hours to get home from work last night. Cleveland Drivers are notorious for not remembering how to drive in snow. For those of you who don't know...some basic rules:

1. Lady...Put the fucking makeup down!!!


2. When skidding, turn the steering wheel in the direction of the skid. Do not throw your hands in the air and scream!


3. Don't stop while driving uphill when you have bald tires. I'm not getting out of my car to push your stupid ass to the side of the road!


4. If you are an attractive man who happens to need my help, flag me down. I'd be happy to ride you somewhere.


5. Unless you want my car up your ass...don't slam on the breaks!


6. If you hit my car...I will expect you to stop. If you don't...I will take down your liscense plate and stalk you!


7. If you are under the age of 18...well you shouldn't be driving in the first place.


8. Commuters...you drive this road every day. If it was a one-way street when the weather was nice, it doesn't change to two-way in bad weather.

I'm gonna make more hot chocolate.

First Impression

The weather in Cleveland took a turn this weekend and it has finally happened for the first time this season.



Snow.

Shit. There goes my heating bill. Of course, I do like the snow. It's better than the frigid weather, and I've found that winter can't end until I have done the obligatory falling on the ice. I did it Sunday afternoon.

I live 6 houses away from the Starbucks coffee shop. Every Sunday, I walk to the shop, and buy my newspaper (where I immediately make sure I have the jobs section (I know...not quite networking...but I'm desperate here). This past Sunday, I walked out of my house to weather which only can be described as "colder than a witch's tit". Seriously...my nipples felt like they could have cut glass within seconds of walking outside, and I still had to walk down to the corner! So wrapped in my Pua original scarf (forever more referred to as just my "Pua"), my wool peacoat, and denim jeans I began the 6 house trek down the street.

By the time I passed my landlord's place I saw "him". You all know who he is. The Mixture of Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, Colin Farrell and the Latin seductiveness of Antonio Banderas that will be my husband. Suddenly vanity takes over for comfort. I look like the Michelin Man in my bulky outfit...not very impressive. I suck in the gut and unbutton the coat. How's my hair? Thank God I used product! Slow the walk a bit...make him notice me...I'm so cold right now my nipples are about to just pop off my chest. He's not looking my way yet, so I cough to clear my throat.

He looks my way, and I smile. Not the small smile that says "Hey...wanna fuck?" or the really big smile that says "I'll eat your liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti" but just enough of a smile to say..."Hey...I've noticed you...wanna get married and buy a Labrador?". He smiled back, and walked towards the Starbucks...walking a bit slower than I was...so I could possibly catch up to him before he got into the building.

The Starbucks is located on the corner of my street and a fairly busy main street (I'm not naming it...stalkers can be scary) and the parking lot is directly behind the building. If I cut across the parking lot, I can walk down a few stairs and come up the side of the building. My future husband took the long way and walked along the sidewalk. To meet him at the door, I cut across the parking lot, walking double time (still insuring that my coat stayed open and my gut stayed sucked in). I reached the top of the wooden stairs and caught his eye as I stepped forward. His beautiful brown eyes which said "I'll stare at you for hours and on New Years Eve this year, you are going to get a very nice kiss from me...the kind that makes you wonder how you ever lived without me." Those beautiful brown eyes were also the last thing I saw and the next thing I knew...I stepped down onto the ice on the wooden steps. My legs slipped out from under me, and within seconds they were in the air above my head. Yes...with Mr. Brown eyes that would have been a nice idea...but I wanted to learn his name first.

My ass hit the stairway, and I proceeded to slide down each stair, banging my head on the higher step. Thwap (Please don't let him see this), Thwap (is my coat still open), Thwap (I wonder if he has a boyfriend), Thwap (thank God it's the last step...if my head isn't banging a headboard...it just isn't fun). I slid to a stop in the handicap parking space and Mr. Brown eyes rushed over to me.

"Are you ok?" he asked.
For a split second, I wondered if I could pretend that I wasn't breathing, and I could get a little mouth to mouth. "I'm ok" I lied. My pride was still at the top of those 5 stairs, looking at my future husband. Now as I looked up at him, hovering over my mess of a body, I saw that he had multiplied into two men. Except one had green eyes. Two sets of arms grabbed me and lifted me back up. Mr. Brown Eyes and I were now in the company of Mr. Green Eyes. "Watch those steps" I said, turning several shades of red. Mr. Brown Eyes once again asked if I was ok, and then turned to Mr. Green Eyes and gave him a kiss hello, before taking his hand and walking towards the front door of the shop.

Realizing they were together, I buttoned my coat (now with a button on the ground), and walked across the street to the grocery store, which also sells the newspaper...And at least clears their sidewalks.

Hello God? You can end winter now!

Going Out With a Bang!

Four Pages

Today is the day I have been dreading for a few weeks now. My job was supposed to be ending on the 31st of this month. The meeting I had a few weeks ago, finally put people into a tailspin, where I had to do a complete write-up as to how I do everything that I do.

The instructions are 4 pages single spaced. Today at 11:00 am EST, I have to train the person on how I do what I do, without getting angry. My boss has informed me that this pud wacker will very likely suggest that we go to lunch afterwards, which unless he's paying is not going to happen. "Gee...you're ending my job and I get to buy my lunch? Well fuck you very much." See. I keep getting angry as I think about this. Someone...give me a stress tab...I'm already drinking decaf.

Of course...I have to be as nice and as confusing as possible, becuase if I can make this sound difficult enough, I might be able to squeeze the job until the 31st, and not have it end on the 15th. Hmmm...paychecks...what a nice present!

Culture Shock

Ok...so yes...I need a digital camera. I'll add that to my christmas list just below rent and utilities. As you can see from the photo's Aaron is 10,000% better at this than I am! I should leave the picture taking to the professionals

The Notorious MAK
TunaGirl's Mantra
Tuna has 1,000 words
Generic Times Square Shot
Tuna shows her fin!
Pyramid for Letterman
Someone else was drinking too!
Another Times Square
A third Times Square shot
Drunks in a bar!
My Favorite Group Shot
The Three Wise Men
Tuna missing TunaHubby
Both asking "Who's Prettier?"
Federal Agent MAK

---

So yes...I need a digital camera. I'll add that to my Christmas list on top of rent and utilities. Until then, I'll keep using the disposable cameras.

Last night, I realized I was in culture shock, something that always seems to happen when I travel. I can get so caught up in the moment of where I am, that I will forget I'm actually home again. I woke up this morning and thought, I'll go to the Met this weekend (something I did nearly once a month in NYC), and shook my head a bit more awake as I realized I was back in Ohio.

I've done it before, waking up after a Vegas vacation thinking "I want to hit the craps table before lunch", or upon returning from Africa I thought "Should I trade these sunglasses for water?".

I always take those afterthoughts as an incredible sign of a great vacation. Where all have you gone where you didn't want to come back from?

A Pious Weekend

I don't know what MAK is talking about in his synopsis of the weekend, but I was angelic this weekend. After arriving in Manhattan on Thursday, I stopped at the Famous Author Rob Byrnes' office, where I surfed the net looking for opportunities to provide clothing for those who are currently doing without. Now Rob may think that I was looking at pornography, but I was concerned for those muscular men who obviously had had their clothing stolen. They were in need, and I wanted to help them off out.

We made our way to a lovely little bistro on East Midtown, where I had a hearty Greek Salad, with two glasses of grape juice. Rob suggested we meet Charlie at his townhouse only a few streets away. Oddly enough, Charlie seems to have a lot of friends who like to talk to new people. The Famous Author ordered another grape juice, but I decided I would rather have a cranberry juice. I think it was a bit old as it had a funny taste, but being polite, I finished it anyway. I was promptly brought another. Charlie has a wonderful friend who enjoys refilling drinks.

I mentioned to Rob, that I wanted to attend a prayer service at Saint Patrick's that evening, and the bartender overhearing me, suggested I drink this drinkable mouthwash, which I thankfully accepted. The people at this townhouse were just so friendly. The mouthwash burned my mouth and esophegous clean of all bad smelling germs, and I was so inspired to pray that I fell to my knees right there. I grew tired very rapidly, and asked my host MAK if we could go home. The Country Boy volunteered to take my bag for me, and I accepted, forgetting to tell him where I was staying. MAK and I went home, and I was asleep by a very late 10:00.

---

Friday morning I awoke at 6am, for my daily run. However, since my host was not yet awake, I decided to forego the run and just say some prayers. The Famous Author was already awake and sent me a message saying that he had gotten dizzy the night before. I think it might have been the grape juice...Perhaps it was spoiled?

Friday Afternoon was spent spending some time with the master of photography, Aaron, having lunch at Dobo in the East Village ($12 for two...who says you can't eat cheap in NY?) and time getting to know this sweet and wonderful man. We said our "I'll see you laters" as I was going to pick up the TunaGirl at the airport. We checked her into her hotel, and we walked to a disorderly place called Posh. As I promised the Tuna, nobody was allowed to touch the Tuna Rack, and I made sure to make that announcement very quickly. After telling one gentleman that her eyes were on her face and not her chest, I realized he was looking at the front of my pants. I guess I must have had a stain on them or something. I have to make sure to wash them tonight.

Aaron, MAK, the Famous Author Rob Byrnes and The Famous Boyfriend, Hot Toddy, the Executive, and others all began arriving. Hugs and kisses ensued. We also ran into a famous has been actor from a large situational comedy. He played a student in high school. Apparently he had to perform CPR on a patron of the club while sitting at the bar.

---

Saturday was spent brunching with MAK and TunaGirl in the West Village. My old stomping grounds, I don't remember ever being in that place, but then again, I did live there 14 years ago (back when the subways still used tokens). We walked down to the piers where we passed Kristen Johnston, the tall Amazon blond from 3rd Rock from the Sun. I'd like to say I was looking at her, but her blond male friend with the cute puppy was getting my attention. I so wanted to play with the wiener dog!

We glanced at the Statue of Liberty and walked arm and arm back to the subway where we were going to see "Avenue Q". The show was wonderful, but the language used at times was a little embarrassing. Such vulgarity! I've never heard those words before. The show also promoted drinking and promiscuity...something I don't believe in! But I don't judge ever.

I suggested that we all go to dinner but the TunaGirl said she wanted to play with a monster, so we were back in the village. After meeting up with Aaron, the Tuna, Aaron and I all went to dinner at Sammy's on 6th. Aaron turned me on to porking buns, and I distinctly remember Tuna mentioning something about it being so hot. One of the best meals of the weekend, I can't tell you how nice it was to get to know both of these people.

Seeing that TunaGirl was just as traumatized as I was about the language used in the show, I insisted that we all go to group therapy at 9pm. We stopped off in Times Square for some photo opportunities, including posing in front of the David Letterman Show. Feeling like a kid again with these two wonderful souls, we skipped through the city to the therapist.

Fortunately, the entire gang was there and we all had a wonderful therapy session. I was about to have a breakthrough, but at that point, TunaGirl held me down on the table and poured ***gasp*** alcohol down my throat. I begged her to stop, but she wouldn't relent. With an evil laugh, she said she was going to teach me a lesson for poking fun at her on her blog. That woman is freakishly strong. I looked to the others for help (and even tried to get away) as they all stood looking at me. Unsure what to do, she threatened to pour alcohol down each of their throats. Thankfully, Aaron being the night in shining armor, pushed her off of me, and took me out of the bar before any thing bad could happen. As we walked through Times Square, I said hi to all of the friendly tourists. Being the gentleman that he is, Aaron offered to take me back to his place, where we could rest without TunaGirl attacking me again. Have I mentioned how sweet he is?

---

On Sunday, I received a text message from the TunaGirl. Like the Plant from the Little Shop of Horrors, she screamed "FEED ME!". MAK and I had no choice but to take her to brunch, where she threatened to pour mimosa's down my throat. MAK wisely stopped her and instead I had orange juice. Sensing that Tuna was about to attack me again, he put the shark lady into a cab, and sent her back to LaGuardia airport. MAK and I went back to his apartment where we took showers and rested.

I spent the rest of the evening having dinner at Wild Ginger, listening to showtunes and chatting with my host late into the night (and I am sorry that I kept you up late sweetie).

---

Monday, it rained, as the city knew I was going to leave. I arrived at the airport, only to be told by the gate agent that I was being bumped from my flight. They were giving me $150 and a free airline ticket to use on a later date. I was all smiles, and just before she was to give me the free gifts, she decided she didn't need to bump me at all, and I was placed onto a puddle jumper plane with way too many other sad souls, heading back to Cleveland.

So that is the real story as to what went on in NY. My pictures are being developed right now, so as soon as I pick them up, I'll post them.

Finally Back in Cleveland

I'm exhausted...so I'll post my synapsis of the weekend tomorrow, but I thought this picture exemplified my behavior the entire weekend.

Which of You Bloggers Has My Underwear?

Unfortunately I had to ask that question this morning.

Last night, The Famous Author and I went to dinner (a tasty greek salad-my only meal of the day) and two chardonays. We then proceeded to go to the Townhouse Bar to meet the other bloggers. Two Cape Cods later, and I was feeling nice and comfortable...until the evil bartender stepped in. He gave Rob and I both a shot of Rumpleminz liquor. For those of you that don't know what it is, the alcohol is peppermint schnapps. 100 proof peppermint schnapps. The size of this shot was the size of a small water glass.

3
The other bloggers began showing up, and hugs were shared all around. Truly wonderful people here.

2
The discussion turned to how expensive rent is here in the city. 1500 for a one bedroom??? However, I still think I'm moving here next though.

1
For some reason...I was beginning to feel very warm.

Blastoff!
Schnapps kicked in. The Famous Author knocked me off the barstool (and I'm still not sure who it was that put me back on it). Someone else bought a round of shots, but thankfully my host was smart enough to not get me one. The famous author went home and soon my host and I were ready to leave the bar (ok...so I was a slurring mess and I was ready).

In the cab on the way home, my host MAK says "You left your bag in the bar!" The bag he was referring to was my backpack, which had all of my clothes for the weekend. Thankfully, calls were made and someone had agreed to grab it for me. Breathe deeply, but I didn't remember this morning who had it. So yes...I had to ask...who has my underwear?

No more Rumpleminz...ever!

What are the odds?

My plane has landed, and I steam rolled through the LaGuardia terminal to the M60 bus into Manhattan. Switching onto a train in Astoria, I took the subway into Times Square. A short walk and I arrive at MAK's workplace. Hug, kiss, and it's off to stop at Famous Author Rob Byrnes' office to drop off my bag (sans cock ring...those damn airport security checks!). On my walk over, I nearly bump into someone who isn't watching where he is going. He says "sorry". I stare slack jawed. I know him...

As of 2000, nearly 19 million people live in New York City. Only I would run into an ex from my college days. I feel like Mary Tyler Moore..."I'm gonna make it world!" ~I said make it world...not make it with the world. I do have some standards...albeit low ones.

All Dressed Up and No One to Blow!

I'm flying out to the city today on flight 1750 Cleveland to LaGuardia. Mothers...hide your sons...daddy needs it bad!


Items packed for NYC Trip

• Condoms
  
• Lube
  
• Cock Ring
  
• Porn
  
• Spare Bottle of Lube
  
• 2 disposable cameras
  
• jock strap
  
• pants with snaps up the sides for quick removal
  
• spare liver and dialysis machine to filter blood once my liver gives out
  
• Ex-boyfriend's credit card
  
• a great attitude in anticipation for hanging out with some great people.

Look out NY...I'm about to come home!

Decisions

So...Seeing that the majority of the US population is currently asking "What would Jesus do?", and I'm not sure he's going to post an answer in my comments section...I figured I'd ask you. What would my fellow Bloggers do?

---

I'm interrupting this post to screw up a few blogger searches
101 Holiday Dinner menus
Horny College Coeds
quitting smoking naturally
Christian holiday ideas
George Bush
Hillary Clinton Naked
Brittany Spears Pregnant
Star Jones Wedding
Matt Lauer Naked

---

Ahhh...much better.

Yesterday I had a job interview with another contract firm (a firm that places technical staff). We will see what I get with it though, as I've learned to not hold my breath. However, a worker at the bank let me know that she is the hiring manager for the switchboard, and has recently posted a position. She's offered to give me first crack at interviewing for the position. Now before you get all excited, it pays $20,000 a year. I currently make $21k, and my monthly expenses are too much for that income (rent, car, credit card, heat, electric, water, food). The bank has a policy that if I take a position, I can't apply to leave that position for another position at the bank until I've worked the first position for 1 full year.

So...what would you do? Take the 20k job, and apply for food stamps (ok...so that income is to high to qualify...I'd end up working at the local quicky-mart...Possibly selling quickies), or would you just hold out for something else?