Wanna Ride?

As a child growing up, I loved amusement parks, and specifically roller coasters. I was and still am a fanatic, but as a child I could relate everything to ride technology. I was the kid who would read every news paper advertisement regarding new ride openings, and knew of every ride in Disney World before I ever got there. And If I couldn't discuss amusement parks, I would find a way to relate the topic of conversation to amusement parks.

Recently, over the summer, I found myself doing just that. I was sitting at brunch grazing and gazing (that's eating small amounts of food while lusting after the single gay men sitting around us), when my companion and I started speculating what it would be like to date the different men around us. I described each guy as a different amusement park ride.

• The Antique Cars
  This is the ride we all know. Safe, reliable, and entertaining...at first. But after a few minutes, you realize you are stuck with this guy until you find an exit. The speed never goes faster than 4 miles an hour, and nothing is exciting.
  
  
• The Carousel
  This is the slut of the amusement park. Everyone, and I mean everyone in the park has had a ride at least once.
  
  
• The Bumper Cars
  This is the kind of guy who starts moving in one direction, and as soon as you've got any momentum going (WHAM!) turns into a different direction, giving you emotional whiplash.
  
  
• The Log Flume/ Rapids
  This guy...well you enjoy the ride while it lasts, but near the end of the ride, he soaks you emotionally, leaving you wet and miserable for an incredibly long time afterwards to remember him.
  
  
• The Tilt a Whirl
  One time with this guy is fun. Spend too long with him and you want to puke.
  
  
• The Roller Coaster
  This guy will take you on a major emotional thrill ride, but it just never stops. You'll be screaming and screeching, but he is always in control, and you can only hope that somewhere along the way he has an emergency brake, or at least a good harness.
  
  
• The Observation Tower
  This is the guy you date while trying to get to know the other types of guys out there. You go out with him, but really are looking for something else.
  
  
• The Giant Swing
  This guy looks like a promising guy, but three seconds later...that's it. It's over, and you find yourself wondering why you bothered paying the extra money for such a short ride. A complete let down.

The hard part about doing this, was that I realized I should probably categorize myself into an amusement park ride as well. For now...I'm not sure. I think I'll say I'm the ticket booth.

Throwing My Legs Over My Head

Recently, I signed up to run a new race. A 4 mile run in Central Park that starts up the east drive and back down the west (crossing the park at 102nd and 72 streets). The run itself shouldn't be that bad, but I'm not yet running at my full strength since I've got out of surgery. But that isn't my main concern. My main concern is that it's November, and I hate the cold. I live on the North East coast and I HATE THE COLD!

It's why I despise the fall. The minute the wind blows my nipples get so hard that I could etch drawings into glass (which isn't saying much since my nipples are always visible regardless of what I wear). If it weren't for the fact that Hawaii is so far away from the mainland and flights are so expensive, I'd move there. I'd rather have leathery skin from sun exposure than goose bumps on my ass, and the need to wear fifteen layers of clothing.

Running in the fall becomes problematic. What does a short, poor guy like me wear while running outside in the late fall? I still sweat like a whore in church, so it has to be moisture whisking, but still keep me warm, as my candy ass will be miserable if my teeth can't stop chattering.

Which is why I went shopping in SOHO this weekend. I was looking for some type of warm up pants. Now I've been to Target and K-mart, and in both cases, the clothing that would fit my waist was unacceptable in the length. I would need to grow 8 inches taller to wear the pants. Thus, SOHO looked like a decent place to search out athletic gear.

I entered the one store and saw a sign that said men's clothing were located upstairs. Up the stairs I went, and at the far end of the store, I found pants I might be able to wear. I grabbed a size small and looked for a changing room, and after circling the upstairs twice, the salesperson informed me that the dressing rooms were on the first floor. Thus back downstairs, where I tried on the potential purchase. They fit fine, and I made my way back up the stairs to find a coordinating jacket. That was when it happened.

Last week, my boss came into the office sick. Since then, both my coworker and I have gotten sick. Yesterday, I took cold medication to make me feel a little better. In reality, all the medication did was make me sleepy. Walking those steps a second time was exhausting, but I continued to climb them, until I reached the last step. I placed my left foot on the last step and for whatever reason, my foot slipped and I tumbled to the ground. That normally would be bad enough, but because I was still on the stairway, I proceeded to roll backwards down the stairway, head over feet,(boom, boom, boom, boom) landing at the base of the stairs, in women's lingerie. I opened my eyes to see panties hovering over my head (which in itself is more frightening than falling down the stairs). Immediately, every sales person in the place was running to my side to see if I was alive.

The first, a 16 year old girl, asked if I was all right. I just looked at her, with a beet red face and asked "are these on sale"? I didn't care if they had cost my entire month's salary, I'd have bought them. Lucky for me they only cost $15. Either that, or the salesperson just wanted to sell them to me and have me get out as quickly as possible.

Now who wants to bet that it will be warm enough during my race next month that I won't need to wear them.

Seven in One Blow!

I'm currently in a bad mood. And nothing improves a bad mood more than spreading it around. Thus, I did that today.

I go to the gym daily, usually to burn off steam and to keep some muscle mass, as I'm losing weight easily right now. The trainers all know me really well, since they see me daily. They also know I'm working hard to keep my weight stabilized.

Today, while in the locker room, I got onto the scale. Moving the sliding counterweights around, I peeked with one eye to see how much I really weighed. The one personal trainer saw me peeking and said, "Well?"

I looked in disbelief and exclaimed "Woo-Hoo!!!! I just gained a pound!" and jumped off the scale. As I turned around, I caught the eyes of about 7 guys in the locker room all giving me a dirty look. Obviously they disapproved of my happy moment...or at least the celebratory dance.


***evil smile***

Good!

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Semantics. They can be such a complication that even adults have difficulties with it. If I go out to dinner with another man, and run into someone, you can bet I'll be asked who my "friend" is. I've even been asked if someone was a "friend" or a "friend friend". Yes, it's confusing for adults, but imagine how it is for kids.

Currently the Tuna Daughter is having issues with this. A side note...in reality, Tuna Daughter should be called tunagirl, but since her flying fish mom claimed the name, Tuna Daughter gets this one. Maybe she should be called guppy? Anyway...Tuna Daughter has asked a few times if I was Tunagirl's boyfriend. (***giggle***)

Well in a sense she is right, as I am male and we are friends, but by calling me "boyfriend" she is connotating a romantic relationship that others would perceive badly. I can just hear the military wives on base all cackling with the gossip that Tunagirl is having an affair. No...I shouldn't be called a boyfriend, and Tuna agrees, and corrected her. Once again, she explained in "child friendly" terms that some boys like other boys like her mommmy and daddy like each other. Tuna Daughter is smart and she understands, but she makes interesting connections based on explanations.

Mommy and daddy were boyfriend and girlfriend. Daddy and mommy got married and now live together, happily ever after (just like every fairy tale). Therefore daddy was mommy's "prince charming" and that's why they are together. So the next question out of Tuna Daughter's mouth is "Who is Uncle Patrick's boyfriend?"

***blank stare***

The kids are coming to visit the week of Thanksgiving. That gives me three weeks to find a boyfriend who is kid friendly. No stress.

:-)

365

365 days
1 relationship sadly ended
9 times I've ran into or seen prior relationship guy
6 extremely boring dates (hello...Goodbye...To the curb).
x sexual partners (I'm keeping secrets...Feel free to guess.)
40 job applications
2 jobs
2 different residences
1 major surgery
12 lbs
1 root canal
2 crowns
1 bottle of xannax
1 five mile race
5 theater productions
6 comedy shows I performed in (God bless Stand Up NY)
9 house guests
2 mice
3 visible and now dead cockroaches
6 rats in the subway
8 people I've wanted to kill on the trains
2 number of times I've fallen asleep and woke up past my station
2 Provincetown trips
4 visits to friends in the hospital
3 motion pictures
1 time bowling
1 Big Mac (which was awful!)
32 restaurant dinners
1 nearly stolen bottle of vodka (which was returned!)
1 police encounter
2 building maintenance calls
1 new driver's license
1 year



I moved here one year ago today. I guess this makes me officially a New Yorker.

Obligations

We all have obligations in life, those that we have no choice over (like dying and paying taxes), the self inflicted ones (I've got to work out more), and the guilt ridden ones (exactly when is the last time you called your mother?).

It's the guilt inflicted type that has always been my worst enemy. No, I don't feel the need to call my mother (in fact...I have no idea where she is) and calling my grandmother is currently like rubbing salt in an open wound. Instead, I self impose my own stupid requirements on myself.

I don't know where all of these rules came into being, but since it wouldn't be a good day if I couldn't bash my grandmother once, I'd say it starts from her. She's the one who taught me that I should judge myself based on how other people think of me. Have I ever mentioned that she doesn't have much of a self esteem? Good to see it runs in the family. If I'm asked to do something that I don't want to do...I'll still do it. In my head I'll begin to think "What would people think of me if I didn't do _____ in return?"

This can be really problematic in certain situations, specifically sex. Aren't their times when you are obliged to put out? A wise woman told me a phrase that I've used for the longest time.

"Just because he put his dick inside you, does not me you owe him a damn thing!"

I've used that phrase often...but I've not practiced what I've preached. I've done the deed because I've felt I've had to. Obligatory sex. He's done these things for me, so I at least owe him an hour or so. How long can it really last? Of course, it isn't easy. How exactly are you supposed to have sex with someone when you don't want to, or aren't even attracted to the person?

I know the joke, "point your ankles to Jesus and think of handbags!", but it's much more difficult than that. When you find yourself wishing you were kissing a dead fish instead kissing the person you are with, something is the matter. At what point do you say "Stop! I find your physically, emotionally, and spiritually repulsive and the thought of you and I having sex makes me vomit a little in my mouth!" It's like being a really low paid prostitute who eventually despises his customer. "You bought dinner? Aww shit...I have to sleep with you now. Make it quick."

But "just because he put his dick inside you..." or visa versa, doesn't mean you are obliged to do it again. Except I was raised to be the nice guy, always accommodating the other person. Put other people's needs above your own. "What would he think if I said no?" But when putting someone else's needs above your own sacrifices your own self esteem, it's time to stop.

At least I think so. So how do you stop?

One Track Mind

Many who are attempting weight loss equate their heavy burden with their emotional burdens. No love life? It's from being overweight and unattractive. Bad job? Who hires fat people? Those people (and I'm one of them sometimes) think that all your problems go away with the excess weight. So many people believe that once they reach that goal weight, their lives will be perfect.

143

I got on the scale yesterday and this was the number. I've not weighed 143 since I was in high school. Now I'm the first to admit that I'm not losing weight the healthy way, nor am I even trying to lose weight. However, eating 600-800 calories a day via liquids only, I'm at a loss to stop the loss for now. Ensure ain't cheap folks, but I've discovered some really good soup recipes.

African Peanut Soup
Indian Cucumber Soup
Pepper and Ginger Soup
Loaded Baked Potato Soup (probably just what you think it is)
S'more Surprise Soup

Ok...that last one is my own idea. 1 package of graham crackers with 4 cups of chocolate milk and two tablespoons of marshmallow fluff. Puree in a blender. Surprise...Instant soup!

And this is what my life has been reduced to. I find myself thinking about food all the time, even when my mind should be focused on other things. Ever tried masturbating when all you can think about is a hot guy eating a hamburger. Or fantasizing about a 6 man orgy that involves the guys dividing up a lasagna? If it wasn't for hot dogs, I'd fear my future sex life would be ruined.

I've even found myself browsing the bookstores, spending time in the cookbook sections. It's my new porn, and when I read a story about how to cook a salt crusted filet mignon, I start breaking out into a cold sweat and find myself salivating. Especially when it's served with mushrooms cooked in a red wine sauce.

I wonder if I could masturbate with food? Where's the cucumber?

Four Letter Words

Lately, I've found myself having an affinity for four letter words. I'd like to blame it on the fact that I'm only eating about 700 calories a day, or that I normally have the vernacular of a sailor on leave, but since I went back to work this week, I've found that work stress is causing me to express my emotions in single syllable words.

Rhymes with truck:
Returning to the restaurant, I've found out that my bartending shifts were replaced by other bartenders. The restaurant has "generously" offered me a couple of server shifts (of course, the pay is less than 1/2 the hourly rate and I now have to pool my tips), meaning I won't be making as much money there. I think the appropriate phrase is "fuck"? As in "thank you for fucking me over!"

Rhymes with snap:
After finding out that I will no longer be having my supplemental income from the food and beverage industry, I went home where I found in my mailbox the renewal notice of my lease. In this notice, I found that my rent is going up $90 bucks. This means that after my day job pays my rent, I will have $110 for utilities, credit card payment, and food. Crap!

Rhymes with spit:
Over the past month, I've been having sporadic conversations with "the fisherman". But my counsel in all relationship matters (hell, she has slept with more gay men than I have) asked me a very pointed question. "Do you believe that crock of shit?" No...I don't.

Rhymes with Bell:
My other situation currently going on is much more difficult. Depending how things work out, if a decision (someone else's) isn't made soon...I'm going to raise hell. Serious, throwing things against the wall, threatening bodily harm, and possible extortion type of hell. The kind of hell that has others standing aside hiding until the first wave of attacks is over and they can possibly run for safety.

I don't know about you....but I could really use a drink right now. Too bad cranberry juice doesn't have the same effect as vodka.

Oh Baby!

People call them "bundles of joy". Ain't it cute?

A woman who has that paternal instinct pumping in her blood will squeal in delight when seeing a new rugrat. I've even heard some swear that the "baby smell" is so wonderful!

***blank stare***

The smell of puke, crap, and baby powder is good? Uh...I'll pass.

Maybe it's just me, but rarely do I get those feelings when I see a small baby. Usually when I see an infant, they look more like this,

and always when I'm about to get on a plane. Yes babies cry when tired, scared, hungry, or even when they're just pissed off that the Yankees are out of the playoffs. But the number one reason babies cry so much, has nothing to do with any of those reasons.

It's the food. Seriously, I should know. I've been eating it now for 4 weeks as my closest form of solid food. What the fuck are parents feeding their kids? Chicken mixed with sweet potatoes and apples (all pureed into one jar!)? Have you ever tasted that mixture? I would think not. So why would you give it to a person who doesn't have the ability to tell you how bad that shit tastes!

Baby food in general tastes like crap! Obviously the reason babies puke so much. Even the fruit purees have a weird after taste, and the meat...well the meat smells like canned dog food. In fact, had I known that it smelled like that in the past, I would have given it to my dog when she was alive, as the baby food is way cheaper.

For those of you who want to be parents...I suggest this. Before you feed your baby any of that food, eat a jar yourself. If you can eat it, not retch, and still smile afterwards, your baby deserves a taste.

Me personally? I've given up on the baby food, and just stuck to Ensure and pureed soups. I'd rather starve than ever tried the Turkey, Gravy, Sweet Potatoes, Green Bean mixture again.