Always Blame the Dog

I have a confession to make here and since Tunagirl is right now having a visit from her parents and inlaws, she won't have time to read this.

Over the summer, I had intimate relations with someone. Well ok...it was more than one person this summer, but that's not the point of this confession here. You see, this confession is a bit more sordid. While Tunagirl and Tunahubby were off visiting NYC for a weekend, I invited a certain person down from Provincetown to visit for dinner.

We had a lovely meal, and after a bottle of wine, things became...shall we say...adventureous? Sadly to admit, we christened the brand new Tuna couch, as well as the tuna living room floor, and a couple of tuna carpets. In fact, if it hadn't been for the dog finding one of our latex "gloves", we would probably have used the coffee table next.

Cut to three days later. Tuna and hubby are back in the house watching TV with me and Tunagirl looks at the dog.
"I think the dog might be in heat", she says.
"Why?", I ask.
"Because this room smells like sex."


***Blank stare***


"You really should get her fixed soon."

A Crimson Tide

A few weeks ago, my workplace had its staff party on the beach followed by an evening cookout and campfire. The day was wonderful and had I not been only getting 3 hours of sleep a night, I would have stayed awake for the campfire. Additionally, each of us were allowed to invite a guest, but unfortunately my guest was unable to attend as he had to work.

Therefore, last week, I figured why not relive the event and the two of us could spend the day at the beach, and he could have his day of fun. My friend suggested we go to Chatham beach and have our day on the sandbars. For those of you who don't know, during a low tide, areas of beach will appear, sometimes a significant distance out (in this case about 100 yards) from the shoreline. They resemble small islands. A perfect place to have a picnic.

We carried wood, charcoal, steaks and chicken, chips and salsa, corn, a radio, two beach towels, sunblock, a frisbee, and a six pack of beer to a nicely elevated sandbar fairly far out. We did so for the seclusion, and because it was kind of fun walking across toenail high water to this isolated island (about 60 yards from shore). I asked my friend when low tide was officially in and he said 2:30. It was only 11:00 am, so we had plenty of time. We dug a small hole in the sand and filled it with the charcoal and started our fire.

Only a few sea gulls flying nearby, the sound of the ocean surrounded us as we lay down to sunbathe. We placed the food on the grill and I lay down to soak up a few rays. Now yes TUNAGIRL, I have already heard your lecture about UV rays...but damnit...I never get this tan, and it's going to fade now!

So music is a playing, the ocean waves are crashing around me and the wind is starting to feel a little cooler. I look up at the water and am mesmorized by the rhythmic crashing of the waves. The water is just coming up to my toes, cascading over them, when my mind snaps to reality. The waves are a bit high. I turn to my resting friend and he is off in his own world. I turn to look back at the shoreline and see that the sandbar we walked out onto is disappearing.

Apparently, my friend had mixed the tides up. High tide was at 2:30 and the sandbar we were resting on was disappearing at an alarming rate. By the time we had packed the radio and towels up, the water had already risen up and poured into our charcoal pit (causing our entire postage stamp island to engulf in steam). The frisbee was taken away by the ocean, but worst of all...so was the beer.

Gathering the last of our belongings, we made our way back to shore like the newest contestants on survivor. By the time we were half way to the shore, the water was already over shoulder height, and we were swimming it to shore holding what we could over our heads (some fish out there is probably munching on a half grilled steak right now).

So yes...dinner was had...but at a local restaurant instead. Next time...I'm checking the tidal charts.

The Big Announcement

On Monday, I was working at the restaurant when it was announced that we would be closing on October 16th. This is 15 days earlier than we first were told, but as business dies down in a vacation town, it grows too costly to keep a restaurant open. Food goes bad, employees consume the alcohol (not that I know anything about that), and labor costs outnumber total profits. Still, it's sad to know that it's all about to come to an end in just a little over two weeks.

So now it comes time to start blitzing for a job, contacting anyone I know in NY. I've also been practicing for this new job. Watch.

Would you like to supersize that sir?

Ok...so I am seriously hoping I don't have to work in fast food (especially since I've never really eaten much of it...What does KFC taste like?), but I'll do so if I need to.

Until then, I need to go through my belongings and see what I should take with me, and what really isn't necessary. So far this is my pile.



Ehhh...it's 70 degrees today. I think I'll just head to the beach.

Switching Positions

Last night at the bar, we had the TV on for the Patriots vs. Steelers game. The bar was packed with viewers, and the ending field goal was spectacular, with the Patriots winning. Screams everywhere and toasting of beer bottles. But something sounded odd.

All of the screams were female. Not a man in the bar (except for myself and I was rooting for the Steelers) and not a straight woman to be found. Yes. I know that all stereotypes are based on some fact, but it was nearly ridiculous. Every woman in that bar was drinking a beer out of the bottle, and they all were glued to the television, cheering on the home team. Lesbians can be so predictable.

Then 9:00 hits. There are 6 tables on the patio in front of the bar, and three of them were filled. Desperate Housewives starts on the television and all three tables (consisting of gay men) move into the bar. All of my bar stools fill with viewers (all gay men except for one lesbian who has never viewed the show), and I get orders for nearly 30 Cosmopolitans.

The one housewife threatens a priest and the whole bar erupts with the troll like laughter that only a room full of testosterone can do. Martini glasses clink and drinks get tossed back as the men bond over the four characters. Maybe if the gay boys took the time to watch a few sports games, and the lesbians watched a little Desperate Housewives, we could all get along enough to find a little common ground and make a difference in our community.

So I'll try. How many strikes until you are out in football?

Puzzle Pieces

This is the first post I've been able to post by myself in over a month. My laptop had finally called it quits after 6 years of daily use. I'm thinking of digging a grave for it on the property. Today I am working on a new Dell Inspiron 700m. It feels like I'm graduating to the big time again. Of course, now I covet an IPOD. See my prior entry about purchasing big ticket items if you would like to work out a deal.

So sitting here today, I find myself in awe of just how much has changed in my life over the past nine months. If you had asked me if I would be owning a new computer this year I would have called you crazy. I wasn't spending money on anything frivolous, including extra food. Now I'm moving to NYC in 38 days and things are fitting into place so easily that it is beginning to freak me out.

This may of be surprise to some of you, but I think I'm a control freak (shut up Tunagirl). I like change, but I have to be the one creating it and at my own pace. This year my life has been changing at it's been changing at a pace that I haven't been in control of. In actuality, there have been times where I feel like I've been watching my life on a television and have not been experiencing it. I'm still sitting on my futon in my living room in Cleveland while the "television Patrick" has sold all his belongings, moved to work on the cape for the summer, broken someone's heart (some things have to be private, but if we speak on the phone, you know some if not all of this), and began his preparations for the move to the big city.

And just like a television show, things so magically fall into place for him. He has found a temporary place to live and now has the possibility of a more permanent place. Just like that. Those things don't happen to real people. It's never that easy. In real life, it's hell from beginning to end when going through this kind of change. In real life, I'd be homeless for a few weeks, and my only job offer for the summer would have been McDonald's. Good things don't usually happen to me.

Now this is going to sound pathetic, and I know that part of this is stemming from how I was raised, by why would anyone do anything so nice for me as let me stay in their home for a summer? Why would anyone treat me so nicely? This is foreign to me. The Patrick sitting on that futon in Cleveland had nothing in his life besides the belongings surrounding him. If you want him to like you, treat him badly because he responded to that. This "television" Patrick doesn't take that type of treatment. Television Patrick is getting ready for the next big changes of his life, and he's scared off his ass, but enjoying it all the same.

So enough with the looking back, time to move forward. I have to start packing again.

Instructional Guidelines

I've realized that in all this time, I've never really described what it takes to get me into bed. Now rumor has it that I'm not that picky, but I do have my standards. So I figure I should create a list. Now you may not need to do all of the items to qualify, but if you did, it would be a guarantee.

How to Get Into My Pants!

1. Breathe
   
2. Flatter me
   
3. Pay me
   
4. Have less than 8% body fat
   
5. Fly 3000 miles to meet me
   
6. Be on the internet when I'm in the mood (ask for which website)
   
7. Buy me drinks
   
8. Buy me big ticket items (currently I have no furniture)
   
9. Have a hot shower
   
10. Have a great smile
    
11. Be in my general proximity while I am intoxicated
    
12. Laugh at my jokes
    
13. Have a number of things in common with me
    
14. Ask
    
15. Flirt
    

I think that list is fairly comprehensive. If you believe I've forgotten anything, let me know.

How Hard it Can Be

After blogging for 2 years, I forget just how powerful this medium can be at times. People read this site and get insight into my thoughts and personal life, and at times can know me a lot better than I think they do.

This was the case in point this weekend. Upon opening my bar, a customer asked for me. Normally this wouldn't be weird, except that he asked me if I was working. I guess Tunagirl is right and I don't resemble my picture.

Surprise and happy thoughts, he's a reader of this site. He was very nice and interesting, and is considering writing a blog as well. He left to have dinner and promised to return later. That was when the Executive Recruiter form NYC came into my bar. Seeing an opportunity, I proceeded to talk with this man for some time. We were having a very good conversation when the reader came back in.

He wanted to let me know that my picture on the right does not do me justice. Mr. Executive Recruiter seemed interested, so I had to explain that I have a blog and my picture is on it. I also mentioned that I took that picture of myself while in the hospital. That raised the questions. Why was I in the hospital?

I explained that 2 years ago, I signed up for a medical study that required I take Paxil for a year. That would have been the whole story except my reader then asked the question of all questions.

"You took Paxil for a year? How were your erections?"

***blank stare***

Ummm....hard enough to penetrate the tightest of sphinters?

My Executive Recruiter stared a little aghast and remarked about how personal the question was, but I brushed it off. When you have your personal thoughts on the web, you are opening yourself up to the point where things that may be personal are not as private anymore.

Here's to self censoring! :-)

A Question

Just wondering here...but if you have sex with someone and afterwards the person complains that they are comming down with a cold, does that mean you can guarantee that you are going to have the same cold?

...Fuck...


I've discovered that working on the Cape this summer was a lot like being on Survivor, without voting tribe members out. No sleep, lack of food (I ate one meal a day if that), and a few of us sustained injuries (ask me about my broken ribs). Now as the summer comes to an end, people's jobs are ending and they are leaving the area. It makes me wonder who will be the last working (I don't think it will be me) and the final survivor.

You can make a lot of money here, but it does have it's disadvantages. I went to the beach for the first time yesterday this entire season, and now I find myself constantly exhausted. Four hours of sleep a night does not sustain me. Additionally I've lost a bit more weight than I would have liked (I've dropped two waist sizes and now have no clothes that fit me). I sent this picture to a friend of mine, who exclaimed that I've gotten too thin and look sickly. What ever happened to the phrase "you can never be too rich or too thin"?



Suddenly I feel the need to eat at Mcdonald's a few times.

Let Go and Let God

When ever I hear a friend or someone who is stressing over something, I always crack the joke "Let go and let God". My question is, what do you do if you are an atheist?

Something I've discovered about myself is that if I am crossed, I am slow to forget it. Ask my ex. I can remember the exact words he's said during a moment of indiscretion that led to him regretting it for a very long time. My problem is that I just can't let things go.

So when a person recently chewed me out at work in front of other people, I get pissed and very defensive, and will avoid the other person from then on. In my head I obsess about what I really should have answered at the time, and instead keep myself angry about the exchange.

So yes...I need to "Let go and let ???"

So how do I let go?

Treachery, Deceit and Murder!

Last week I was privy to a crime against nature itself. This crime involved treachery, deceit and a murder most foul! If I didn't know better, I'd believe I was in a Shakespeare tragedy.

That night, I drove to P-Town to meet a wonderful man I have been getting to know. He wanted us to cook dinner together, and seeing it was one of his last nights in town, he wanted to make it special. I met him at his place and we walked to the market to buy supplies for our dinner. Asparagus (which makes your fluids taste bad...I'm just saying), baby potatoes, bread and brie, a bottle of wine, and then this man did the unheard of. He looked me in the eye and said "Let's make this night really special. Let's get two lobsters."

Now as those of you know, I had never had lobster before. In fact, I was unable to attend the lobster roast I was invited to because I had to work (I've never been more willing to work a shift).

He walked me over to the tank of poor defenseless creatures. Actually if he had been looking at my feet, he would have seen my feet being more dragged to the tank. I told him I had never eaten this before and wanted a very small one. I suggested a 1/2 pound creature. He disagreed and bought me a 3 pound creature. As I looked into its eyes I swear the thing said "don't eat me". My friend looked at his lobster and said, "I promise to eat you with lots of butter!"

As we walked back to his place, I could hear the lobsters hearts beating in the bag. Just like the Tell Tale Heart, I wondered if the people who were staring at us knew we were about to commit a crime. Thumpa thumpa thumpa as we walked down the street. Of course most people thought it was the gay disco music blaring from the car that was following us down the street, but I knew what it really was. My friend pulled out the pot and steamer insert and put just enough water to make the smoke of death for these two creatures.

Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble.
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

My lobster whispered to me..."Please don't kill me". I looked sadly at my new friend(who I named Charlie) as he was placed into the steaming basket. Actually my accomplice asked that I put my lobster into the basket. We lowered them into the pot and put the lid on. Within a minute, I heard the banging on the pot of the lobsters trying to escape their death. Those bangs lasted nearly 5 minutes, until they finally ended. I looked down at my hands to see them covered in stains. "Out, out, damn spot" I clamored as I washed my hands for the fifth time. Meanwhile my lobster friend was placed onto my plate for my horror.

I sat at the table and was instructed as to how to crack the claws, remove the tail, and apparently "suck the meat out of the little legs". I sat in horror as I stared at the eyes of my cohort in crime. A raven was sitting on the fence near us as I disassembled what was now my dinner. I took the smallest piece of meat I could find and submerged it in butter for nearly a minute before placing the meat in my mouth. Melted butter flowed like a tidal wave in my mouth, coating my tongue with enough grease that days later I could still eat a plain baked potato. I think I actually felt my arteries hardening. I swallowed the piece whole and chugged a glass of wine.

That was when I had the idea. I looked at my surroundings (the back deck of the apartment) and made my plan. I put a baby potato on my fork and the lobster meat on the end of my fork. I then turned my fork upright very quickly and using centrifugal force, flung the lobster meat over the side railing as I placed the potato in my mouth. "This is really good!" I told my murderous friend. Piece by piece I disposed of the meat in this fashion as we kept eating our dinner, only actually eating a piece of the meat if my friend was watching. The raven that sat on the fence looked at me and I agreed with him as he said "never more".

Blockage

Yesterday I was speaking to Tunagirl about how I was suffering from writer's block. My mind is racing with thoughts but I don't seem to be able to put it to paper. So of course while I was lamenting about it to her, she throws my own words back in my face and says to write out my thoughts. I hate it when she's right. So as you take a tour of my thoughts be very careful to keep you arms and legs inside the tram at all time. If you come in contact with any gray matter, please leave it intact so that I can remember who exactly I am.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Did I fuck things up with him or is it just in my head? I'm known for pushing people away or scaring them off. Me and my big mouth, I should have just kept things quiet. Does it really matter anyway? He's getting himself involved with a neurotic comic who's only trying to get himself back on his feet. I shouldn't be concentrating on relationships anyway, I've got to find a place to live.

How am I going to find a place to live when my credit is so bad? I've never missed a rent payment, but the minute they check my credit they are going to laugh at my application. Student loans defaulted, Capital One (which ironically is not in my wallet anymore), and nearly a year's worth of past due heating bills. Maybe I should have just paid off the back bills and start out completely broke this fall again? Doesn't anyone have an apartment for rent for less than $1200 a month?

Work is cutting my shifts now that the season is ending. How the fuck am I supposed to earn the $800 a week goal I have set for myself? And why is it so many people are getting such shitty attitudes there? If you don't like working there...quit! Ok...easier said than done, but come on. Compared to the Patio, this place is so much better. The owners are nice and they don't bounce pay checks, which is a welcome event.

With my luck, I'm not going to see him again after he gets back to the city. Shame too as he is a great guy. Funny, smart, extraverted, and....who's that shirtless guy walking down the street? DAMN!!!! Oh yeah...he's a great guy, and he's freaking me out. He's found a place in NYC.

Why the fuck can't I find a place there? Somebody has got to rent to poor people like me. Not everyone has a perfect credit score. I just want a credit score that isn't a negative number.

Ok...so I've got a lot on my mind lately.