Rory, Boy, You in Danger…
So I had a long talk with JC with about the job and he let me know that he believes that a lot of us may be out of a job as of the 17th of December. This is not good news though Spike’s behavior as well as what they did to Valeska—it seems very possible. So now I am kind of kicking myself for jumping on the Shatner Titanic.
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Sunday, November 28, 2004
A Little Disappointment
This weekend was a little disappointing. It wasn’t one thing or another—it was a combination of things that I either had no control over or way to get around. Whether it was friends that didn’t call, or called late or added people to the event who didn’t need to be there. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at all but I was.
And it sucks cause with my night job I have little time to see people and do things with them so when things allow me to be around I want to have the most fun possible. I don’t know why I’m writing bout this even since there is no way to change any of this. I guess I’m just annoyed.
This weekend was a little disappointing. It wasn’t one thing or another—it was a combination of things that I either had no control over or way to get around. Whether it was friends that didn’t call, or called late or added people to the event who didn’t need to be there. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at all but I was.
And it sucks cause with my night job I have little time to see people and do things with them so when things allow me to be around I want to have the most fun possible. I don’t know why I’m writing bout this even since there is no way to change any of this. I guess I’m just annoyed.
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Hey All…
Every year I try to come up with a list of things I am thankful for but this year I have only this—
I am thankful for all my friends and family who let me be myself—whether it is being supportive with my artist endeavors, much needed career advice, limitless relationship dramas but most of all--by just simply allowing me to be me. It means the world more than any of you can possible know…
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!
Every year I try to come up with a list of things I am thankful for but this year I have only this—
I am thankful for all my friends and family who let me be myself—whether it is being supportive with my artist endeavors, much needed career advice, limitless relationship dramas but most of all--by just simply allowing me to be me. It means the world more than any of you can possible know…
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Job Training or Lack of It
So I was already feeling guilty about having to miss work do to the trapped in Vegas non-fun and I went in already felt guilty as I showed up for training in my new position as story editor for the Shat project.
Topher, Collier and Retta seemed cool with what happened and so I was starting to relax as I started going over the details of the position with Topher. He gave me a copy of a script to show me what I needed to do and that was it. I mean, I was assigned an act of a show and that was it. They all left me with the night editors with next to no guidance.
I sat in my office with the non-talking AE and just tried to fake my way through it. I don’t think I have ever felt so uncomfortable in my whole life. I basically just watched tapes and tried to look busy as I ran ideas around in my head. But it has to get better right?
So I was already feeling guilty about having to miss work do to the trapped in Vegas non-fun and I went in already felt guilty as I showed up for training in my new position as story editor for the Shat project.
Topher, Collier and Retta seemed cool with what happened and so I was starting to relax as I started going over the details of the position with Topher. He gave me a copy of a script to show me what I needed to do and that was it. I mean, I was assigned an act of a show and that was it. They all left me with the night editors with next to no guidance.
I sat in my office with the non-talking AE and just tried to fake my way through it. I don’t think I have ever felt so uncomfortable in my whole life. I basically just watched tapes and tried to look busy as I ran ideas around in my head. But it has to get better right?
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
The Pursuit of Pleasure—
Vegas—there is nothing more glamorous than a weekend trip there. (If there is, I haven’t experienced it.) I was eager—though sleep deprived—as made my to meet up with Lola and Angel for the car trip to sin and decadence. (My favorite 2 places…) As we bounced in the car on the freeway—we took turns rocking out to Madonna, Gwen, and Berlin—I kept falling half asleep but having recurring bouts of DSG. (Driver Support Guilt.)
As the drive continued the girls and I worked on my first comedy idea ever—I don’t want to give too much away except that it involves Jackie as nun—and led to the many recurring jokes of the weekend. (Hanging out with the Sistahs—Yeah!) After a brief shopping spree in Primm—2 pairs of pants, a new pair of glasses and a bracelet if you must know—we made it to Vegas in amazing time.
After unloading at the hotel we got a call from Kelly to meet her for lunch with her travel party consisting of co-workers and their significant others. I was so tired that I barely remember the buffet—though strangely enough I remember the garish Treasure Island sign now reading TI in neon colors. Between the shock of that and the discovering of female pirates (not arrgh but ughhh!) I was brazenly coasting though lunch on coffee and cigarettes, which lead to the major mistake of the weekend.
I believe when dealing with different groups of ones life at the same event the idea is—like a good cocktail—to mix them up to discover the best pairings. Unfortunately at the brunch I was so tired that I allowed all of the me group—Lola, Angel, Kelly and I at one table with Kelly’s co-workers at the other. There was little in between table talking or anything and thus sealed the fate of a huge portion of the weekend.
After lunch the 2 groups, now clearly defined by how we walked in two separate groups, made our way through the Fashion Mall and in our tired state all made risky, sexy, crazy choices of clothing, support garments and shoes. (I bought 2 hot t-shirts and a cute pair of shoes.) It was so much fun wandering through the streets of Vegas, bag laden with fun purchases and sunglasses perfectly placed.
A very weary gang made their back into the hotel and we all climbed into our various beds. There was light talking and more fashion debate as I drifted in and out of dreamland. I also developed my first spin off to “Keeping Up with the Sistahs” involving a novice nun who leaves the sisterhood to teach in the inner-city after a parishioner is shoot—it’s much funnier than it sounds though the title “Breaking the Habit” is genius if I say so myself.
After a wakeup from Kelly, the girls and I dressed up and jumped into a cab to make the scene at Freemont Street. Of course this scene is cheaper than K-mart on crack and I only went to pay my respects more out of obligation than true desire—kind of like visiting my Mom’s 2nd husband. Of course, Kelly’s co-workers loved it because of the 2 dollar tables and so we left their cheap asses behind and returned to the strip. At this point I was drunk from drinks longer than my arm and colder than I have ever been. I always seem to forget that Vegas is a desert.
We, of course, ended up at the Nine Fine Irishman per Kelly’s request, and ended up dancing like fools with drunken tourist in front of an Irish cover band. We saw an older lady who looked exactly like Lucy will at 60—rocking the dance floor and not caring who watched or what they said about it.
We followed up the NFI with a run to the late night Starbucks and many quotable conversations including such winner as “you say potato, I say judging” and the realization that every straight man in Vegas was in dirty jeans and a stripped dress shirt which led to one of my favorite quotes—“I thought I was being stalked by some guy but it turned out it was just an outfit.”
After coffee we made our way to a late night buffet that was quite the con. It had cheap prices that were only on certain nights and thus we were suckered in for food we didn’t want at prices we didn’t like. There was a brief game of “gay or Euro trash”—turns out they were both—as well as my confession about liking older men. Food filled we retired for the night but not before extending our check out time.
We woke up Sunday to a rainy gray sky—Vegas seemed sad to see us go—and so we met up with Kelly for a fun last Vegas meal. After a dirty martini at the Grand Lux Café, we wander the shops of the Venetian and I discover that moving sidewalks when wet can allow me to skate down the length of them at break neck speeds. We played in Seppohara and tried on scents and watched make demonstrations gone awry.
We then made plans to return for checkout but not before we posed for pictures under “The Pursuit of Pleasure” poster outside the museum at the Venetian. We each claimed a word “Angel was The, I was Pursuit, Lola was Of, and Kelly was Pleasure. This led to us decided to no longer use the word the but replace it with pleasure—examples being “Walking pleasure dog”, “Looking for the pleasure bathroom” or “Hitting pleasure casino”. Good times.
After this we packed the car and smoked our last cigarettes and played our last slots and made our good byes to Vegas. Lola, Angel and I prepared for the long drive home. The rain was scary and we were prepared for along ride back to LA. That is, until we hopped on the highway and found out the freeway was closed. That’s right kids—we were stuck in Vegas for another night.
Vegas—there is nothing more glamorous than a weekend trip there. (If there is, I haven’t experienced it.) I was eager—though sleep deprived—as made my to meet up with Lola and Angel for the car trip to sin and decadence. (My favorite 2 places…) As we bounced in the car on the freeway—we took turns rocking out to Madonna, Gwen, and Berlin—I kept falling half asleep but having recurring bouts of DSG. (Driver Support Guilt.)
As the drive continued the girls and I worked on my first comedy idea ever—I don’t want to give too much away except that it involves Jackie as nun—and led to the many recurring jokes of the weekend. (Hanging out with the Sistahs—Yeah!) After a brief shopping spree in Primm—2 pairs of pants, a new pair of glasses and a bracelet if you must know—we made it to Vegas in amazing time.
After unloading at the hotel we got a call from Kelly to meet her for lunch with her travel party consisting of co-workers and their significant others. I was so tired that I barely remember the buffet—though strangely enough I remember the garish Treasure Island sign now reading TI in neon colors. Between the shock of that and the discovering of female pirates (not arrgh but ughhh!) I was brazenly coasting though lunch on coffee and cigarettes, which lead to the major mistake of the weekend.
I believe when dealing with different groups of ones life at the same event the idea is—like a good cocktail—to mix them up to discover the best pairings. Unfortunately at the brunch I was so tired that I allowed all of the me group—Lola, Angel, Kelly and I at one table with Kelly’s co-workers at the other. There was little in between table talking or anything and thus sealed the fate of a huge portion of the weekend.
After lunch the 2 groups, now clearly defined by how we walked in two separate groups, made our way through the Fashion Mall and in our tired state all made risky, sexy, crazy choices of clothing, support garments and shoes. (I bought 2 hot t-shirts and a cute pair of shoes.) It was so much fun wandering through the streets of Vegas, bag laden with fun purchases and sunglasses perfectly placed.
A very weary gang made their back into the hotel and we all climbed into our various beds. There was light talking and more fashion debate as I drifted in and out of dreamland. I also developed my first spin off to “Keeping Up with the Sistahs” involving a novice nun who leaves the sisterhood to teach in the inner-city after a parishioner is shoot—it’s much funnier than it sounds though the title “Breaking the Habit” is genius if I say so myself.
After a wakeup from Kelly, the girls and I dressed up and jumped into a cab to make the scene at Freemont Street. Of course this scene is cheaper than K-mart on crack and I only went to pay my respects more out of obligation than true desire—kind of like visiting my Mom’s 2nd husband. Of course, Kelly’s co-workers loved it because of the 2 dollar tables and so we left their cheap asses behind and returned to the strip. At this point I was drunk from drinks longer than my arm and colder than I have ever been. I always seem to forget that Vegas is a desert.
We, of course, ended up at the Nine Fine Irishman per Kelly’s request, and ended up dancing like fools with drunken tourist in front of an Irish cover band. We saw an older lady who looked exactly like Lucy will at 60—rocking the dance floor and not caring who watched or what they said about it.
We followed up the NFI with a run to the late night Starbucks and many quotable conversations including such winner as “you say potato, I say judging” and the realization that every straight man in Vegas was in dirty jeans and a stripped dress shirt which led to one of my favorite quotes—“I thought I was being stalked by some guy but it turned out it was just an outfit.”
After coffee we made our way to a late night buffet that was quite the con. It had cheap prices that were only on certain nights and thus we were suckered in for food we didn’t want at prices we didn’t like. There was a brief game of “gay or Euro trash”—turns out they were both—as well as my confession about liking older men. Food filled we retired for the night but not before extending our check out time.
We woke up Sunday to a rainy gray sky—Vegas seemed sad to see us go—and so we met up with Kelly for a fun last Vegas meal. After a dirty martini at the Grand Lux Café, we wander the shops of the Venetian and I discover that moving sidewalks when wet can allow me to skate down the length of them at break neck speeds. We played in Seppohara and tried on scents and watched make demonstrations gone awry.
We then made plans to return for checkout but not before we posed for pictures under “The Pursuit of Pleasure” poster outside the museum at the Venetian. We each claimed a word “Angel was The, I was Pursuit, Lola was Of, and Kelly was Pleasure. This led to us decided to no longer use the word the but replace it with pleasure—examples being “Walking pleasure dog”, “Looking for the pleasure bathroom” or “Hitting pleasure casino”. Good times.
After this we packed the car and smoked our last cigarettes and played our last slots and made our good byes to Vegas. Lola, Angel and I prepared for the long drive home. The rain was scary and we were prepared for along ride back to LA. That is, until we hopped on the highway and found out the freeway was closed. That’s right kids—we were stuck in Vegas for another night.
Not Primm or Proper…a Prisoner of Vegas
One might imagine that it is crazy fun being trapped in Vegas—especially due to rain and snow on the 15 back to LA. And it would have been if we hadn’t already said our good byes to sin and decadence.
But as I flipped to EMT Rory (Emergency Management Trainee Rory) we quickly doubled back to the strip and began to make a plan of action. Lola’s sister Rocky and her boringboy Eugene were spending the week in Vegas and had just arrived before we checked out of our hotel so we decided to look them up. The point of this way to see if we could crash on their hotel room for the night in case things got crazy with all the trapped people in town.
The rain was pounding as we parked in the rooftop garage of Luxor and we piled out of the car. Lola and I, in our slap-happy mood, skipped in the pouring rain up to the doors as Angel made calls to get work covered for her as well as let her mom know what was up. Lola and I let Angel play the adult for a bit as we laughed our way through the casino in sunglasses and wet t-shirts.
Eventually we realized that Rocky and Eugene were off at the buffet and Lola went to deal with them as Angel and I discussed the various plans for the up coming night. I tried calling Kelly to let her know what was up but had little luck getting hold of her. Angel and I talked about random things we could do to stay in Vegas—friends of friends, older relatives, and maybe strange boys.
Lola eventually returned—looking annoyed—and rounded us up as she explain that Rocky and Eugene were being too couple-y and we needed to find somewhere else. Quick side note on Rocky and Eugene—they are one of THOSE couples that even though the honeymoon phase is over they still hang all over each other and have eyes only for each other. This would be fine if they seemed those type of people but they don’t when single and it’s annoying. What makes it worse is that they are the couple that asks you to go out to dinner since they haven’t seen you in awhile and make you feel like your on “Third Wheel” as they kiss and feed each other in public.
So nonetheless, I was happy we weren’t crashing with them and we made our out into the rain once again. The roads were becoming flooded and so we pulled into the closest cheapest hotel—Excalibur anyone? —and waited in the line for the valet. During this time I decided to try and make the most of our adventure and came up with a song to sum it all up—
(Sung to the melody of R. Kelly’s ‘Bump and Grind’)
I don’t see nothing wrong with another buffet
I don’t see nothing wrong chasing it with tangeray
I don’t seen nothing wrong going home with this guy who might be gay
I don’t see nothing staying in Vegas another day…”
Having made the turn into madcap farce we hit the Excalibur and the girls quickly jumped in line for a hotel room while I hit the bar for a beer. The girls scored a cheap room and we once again settled in for another night of strange beds and endless possibility. We settle into PJs and watched a little “Viva La Bamm” as we half napped and talked about boys, Joy and Trucker. We were little bitches.
Eventually Kelly called and Lola offered the room to her and her 2 stranded friends—Kelly seemed cool about it so we stayed in our room to wait for them to get over to the casino. Of course—three hours later—we received a phone call that they had booked their own rooms elsewhere and were going off to meet boys and go back to the Nine Fine Irishmen. This was annoying since we stayed to meet up with them and so we were in a nasty mood.
We dressed up and hit the casino floor to try and have some last minute Vegas fun. This plan was ruined by meeting up with Rocky and Eugene who wanted to “hang out”. We found them cuddling in the MGM and dragged with us as we scored dinner. Dinner was awkward because it wasn’t that good and didn’t help that Rocky and Eugene weren’t listening and instead fed each other desert. We ditched them as quickly as possible and Lola, Angel and I hit the strip alone.
Because of our grumpy tired moods we just really wanted to find someplace chill to sit and hang out. It didn’t help that I was freezing and had no jacket at all on me, that it was Sunday so weird things were closed and Lola and Angel were both just Vegased out.
But we are nothing if not resourceful and we found a small little piano bar in our hotel and had the best moments of the weekend with bloody marys, dirty martinis and lots of talk about boys and sex and kissing and all the good stuff. This was the true moment when I realized that I really liked both girls—before the trip I knew of them but now I felt I knew them and really liked them.
This also led to the best putdown of the weekend—“You’re such a bitch!” “What? Did I make you wait in the hotel room 3 hours then go off to meet boys at the Nine Fine Irishmen?” Funny stuff and proved that these girls had the wit to hang with me.
Bed that night was fun as we talked and joked and made each other laugh into the early morning. We woke up and packed up and were ready to hit the road and get home. Phone calls were made about work and classes as we made our way to the freeway. Imagine our surprise that 15 was still closed.
We made the obvious choice to go to Primm and shop while we waited out the road reopening. We shopped like the Hilton sisters (2 dress shirts, 2 ties, a baseball cap and a cute cowboy shirt) and dared to eat at the Primm casino. We discovered that Primm is where hookers go to die and that grandpas like Brittney Spears hats. We also decided that we should open our own buffet in Vegas—the Bikini buffet where swimsuits are required and one can get half shirts that say “I went to the Bikini Buffet and all I got was this food baby”. Funny as we even took a picture of dirty mullet and Grandpa Spears—it was good times even though Kelly called to complain about her driver home through the Indian Reservation.
Eventually the road opened—thanks to the salesgirl at American Eagle for giving us the heads up—and we made our way home in record time. It was the type of Vegas trip that will live as one of the best. I got some new Sistahs, some cool clothes and learned a lot more about Primm than I wanted to. Good times ladies, good times.
One might imagine that it is crazy fun being trapped in Vegas—especially due to rain and snow on the 15 back to LA. And it would have been if we hadn’t already said our good byes to sin and decadence.
But as I flipped to EMT Rory (Emergency Management Trainee Rory) we quickly doubled back to the strip and began to make a plan of action. Lola’s sister Rocky and her boringboy Eugene were spending the week in Vegas and had just arrived before we checked out of our hotel so we decided to look them up. The point of this way to see if we could crash on their hotel room for the night in case things got crazy with all the trapped people in town.
The rain was pounding as we parked in the rooftop garage of Luxor and we piled out of the car. Lola and I, in our slap-happy mood, skipped in the pouring rain up to the doors as Angel made calls to get work covered for her as well as let her mom know what was up. Lola and I let Angel play the adult for a bit as we laughed our way through the casino in sunglasses and wet t-shirts.
Eventually we realized that Rocky and Eugene were off at the buffet and Lola went to deal with them as Angel and I discussed the various plans for the up coming night. I tried calling Kelly to let her know what was up but had little luck getting hold of her. Angel and I talked about random things we could do to stay in Vegas—friends of friends, older relatives, and maybe strange boys.
Lola eventually returned—looking annoyed—and rounded us up as she explain that Rocky and Eugene were being too couple-y and we needed to find somewhere else. Quick side note on Rocky and Eugene—they are one of THOSE couples that even though the honeymoon phase is over they still hang all over each other and have eyes only for each other. This would be fine if they seemed those type of people but they don’t when single and it’s annoying. What makes it worse is that they are the couple that asks you to go out to dinner since they haven’t seen you in awhile and make you feel like your on “Third Wheel” as they kiss and feed each other in public.
So nonetheless, I was happy we weren’t crashing with them and we made our out into the rain once again. The roads were becoming flooded and so we pulled into the closest cheapest hotel—Excalibur anyone? —and waited in the line for the valet. During this time I decided to try and make the most of our adventure and came up with a song to sum it all up—
(Sung to the melody of R. Kelly’s ‘Bump and Grind’)
I don’t see nothing wrong with another buffet
I don’t see nothing wrong chasing it with tangeray
I don’t seen nothing wrong going home with this guy who might be gay
I don’t see nothing staying in Vegas another day…”
Having made the turn into madcap farce we hit the Excalibur and the girls quickly jumped in line for a hotel room while I hit the bar for a beer. The girls scored a cheap room and we once again settled in for another night of strange beds and endless possibility. We settle into PJs and watched a little “Viva La Bamm” as we half napped and talked about boys, Joy and Trucker. We were little bitches.
Eventually Kelly called and Lola offered the room to her and her 2 stranded friends—Kelly seemed cool about it so we stayed in our room to wait for them to get over to the casino. Of course—three hours later—we received a phone call that they had booked their own rooms elsewhere and were going off to meet boys and go back to the Nine Fine Irishmen. This was annoying since we stayed to meet up with them and so we were in a nasty mood.
We dressed up and hit the casino floor to try and have some last minute Vegas fun. This plan was ruined by meeting up with Rocky and Eugene who wanted to “hang out”. We found them cuddling in the MGM and dragged with us as we scored dinner. Dinner was awkward because it wasn’t that good and didn’t help that Rocky and Eugene weren’t listening and instead fed each other desert. We ditched them as quickly as possible and Lola, Angel and I hit the strip alone.
Because of our grumpy tired moods we just really wanted to find someplace chill to sit and hang out. It didn’t help that I was freezing and had no jacket at all on me, that it was Sunday so weird things were closed and Lola and Angel were both just Vegased out.
But we are nothing if not resourceful and we found a small little piano bar in our hotel and had the best moments of the weekend with bloody marys, dirty martinis and lots of talk about boys and sex and kissing and all the good stuff. This was the true moment when I realized that I really liked both girls—before the trip I knew of them but now I felt I knew them and really liked them.
This also led to the best putdown of the weekend—“You’re such a bitch!” “What? Did I make you wait in the hotel room 3 hours then go off to meet boys at the Nine Fine Irishmen?” Funny stuff and proved that these girls had the wit to hang with me.
Bed that night was fun as we talked and joked and made each other laugh into the early morning. We woke up and packed up and were ready to hit the road and get home. Phone calls were made about work and classes as we made our way to the freeway. Imagine our surprise that 15 was still closed.
We made the obvious choice to go to Primm and shop while we waited out the road reopening. We shopped like the Hilton sisters (2 dress shirts, 2 ties, a baseball cap and a cute cowboy shirt) and dared to eat at the Primm casino. We discovered that Primm is where hookers go to die and that grandpas like Brittney Spears hats. We also decided that we should open our own buffet in Vegas—the Bikini buffet where swimsuits are required and one can get half shirts that say “I went to the Bikini Buffet and all I got was this food baby”. Funny as we even took a picture of dirty mullet and Grandpa Spears—it was good times even though Kelly called to complain about her driver home through the Indian Reservation.
Eventually the road opened—thanks to the salesgirl at American Eagle for giving us the heads up—and we made our way home in record time. It was the type of Vegas trip that will live as one of the best. I got some new Sistahs, some cool clothes and learned a lot more about Primm than I wanted to. Good times ladies, good times.
Saturday, November 20, 2004
Friday, November 19, 2004
What Happens in Vegas…
So in about 24 hours I will be getting myself ready for my last journey into bedlam and mayhem with Vegas as the final destination. As such I much as there are other places I need to go and people to visit (you know who you are) I realize that with my vampire lifestyle that Vegas is the place to be. Rocking at 3? No problem…
As a Vegas survivor many times over I find it helps to have a list of things I won’t do so here’s my dirty dozen…
1) Go to the pool without shaving my chest—sure it makes me look like a potbelly pig but it’s all about grooming and up keep people…
2) Attack Tina for voting for Bush when drunk….
3) Discuss Perry’s sex change AT ALL.
4) Be the boyfriend for any of my girls when in trouble—in other words no cockblocking the ugly or the rowdy,
5) Swipe knife to gag on to make myself throw up outside the America restaurant. (Long story.)
6) Not be shocked when Perry uses the men’s room.
7) Be concern about anyone’s behavior beside my own.
8) Grope my bedmate while passed out.
9) Allow anyone to wear stripes and plaids. (Long story)
10) Drunk dial Chance.
11) Take any porn while on the street and instead yell, “I’m gay”.
12) Be the barometer for any of the girls—you know, the girls judge the guy by cool if he talks to their token ugly, fat or, in my case, gay friend
So in about 24 hours I will be getting myself ready for my last journey into bedlam and mayhem with Vegas as the final destination. As such I much as there are other places I need to go and people to visit (you know who you are) I realize that with my vampire lifestyle that Vegas is the place to be. Rocking at 3? No problem…
As a Vegas survivor many times over I find it helps to have a list of things I won’t do so here’s my dirty dozen…
1) Go to the pool without shaving my chest—sure it makes me look like a potbelly pig but it’s all about grooming and up keep people…
2) Attack Tina for voting for Bush when drunk….
3) Discuss Perry’s sex change AT ALL.
4) Be the boyfriend for any of my girls when in trouble—in other words no cockblocking the ugly or the rowdy,
5) Swipe knife to gag on to make myself throw up outside the America restaurant. (Long story.)
6) Not be shocked when Perry uses the men’s room.
7) Be concern about anyone’s behavior beside my own.
8) Grope my bedmate while passed out.
9) Allow anyone to wear stripes and plaids. (Long story)
10) Drunk dial Chance.
11) Take any porn while on the street and instead yell, “I’m gay”.
12) Be the barometer for any of the girls—you know, the girls judge the guy by cool if he talks to their token ugly, fat or, in my case, gay friend
Thursday, November 18, 2004
How the Cookie Crumbles
Unless something changes soon—I didn’t get the story job with the Shatner show. I’m actually kind of fine with this development. The show is a nightmare, plagued with issues for Mr. Shatner due to Spike TV so I’m not super concerned about missing out on some great chance.
The new job is okay—night hours do mess with one’s head but nonetheless the show I’m now on is easier and a lot more up my alley. It’s about kids and helping people so I can’t look at it and say that I object to it in anyway.
Outside of that, I’m keeping busy and really trying to solidify my next couple of steps in terms of my writing. I think I’m close to come up with a good novel idea—blog format of course—very “Tales of the City” as well as trying to focus on advice idea. Between dealing with the e-mail switch as well as the return of Neddy—well the plate is close to full.
And now I just have to get up the balls to call the boy. I don’t know—I’ve heard nothing since Halloween weekend, which either means he’s scared of me, read my blog or isn’t interested. And I don’t know which is the best scenario.
But I am going to Vegas for the weekend with the crazy ones so maybe that will give more than a hang over—here’s to hope chance is with me. Pun intended.
Unless something changes soon—I didn’t get the story job with the Shatner show. I’m actually kind of fine with this development. The show is a nightmare, plagued with issues for Mr. Shatner due to Spike TV so I’m not super concerned about missing out on some great chance.
The new job is okay—night hours do mess with one’s head but nonetheless the show I’m now on is easier and a lot more up my alley. It’s about kids and helping people so I can’t look at it and say that I object to it in anyway.
Outside of that, I’m keeping busy and really trying to solidify my next couple of steps in terms of my writing. I think I’m close to come up with a good novel idea—blog format of course—very “Tales of the City” as well as trying to focus on advice idea. Between dealing with the e-mail switch as well as the return of Neddy—well the plate is close to full.
And now I just have to get up the balls to call the boy. I don’t know—I’ve heard nothing since Halloween weekend, which either means he’s scared of me, read my blog or isn’t interested. And I don’t know which is the best scenario.
But I am going to Vegas for the weekend with the crazy ones so maybe that will give more than a hang over—here’s to hope chance is with me. Pun intended.
Monday, November 15, 2004
The Shat Hit the Fan….
So a week ago Friday was supposed to be my last day of work on the Bill Shatner show—I was excited to get the hell out of dodge mostly because I was some what miserable and eager to be unemployed.
I already had another job lead and so I was sitting pretty with the idea of a week off before the next gig. Unfortunately, due to my co-workers inability to work, we had to extend into this past week. Of course it meant another check so I sucked it up. Things got worse though when I realized that the show was doing reshoots and so that mean that we would be through out the rest of the week.
Add to this the fact that my next job would be all night shifts—thus killing my social life and I was not pleased. But I knew that I needed to take the money, if only to try and either get out of more debt or save up to buy a car/phone/computer. Thus I made a deal to take the night shift starting today.
But imagine my surprise when my boss, Collier, on Shatner came to us and said that they might be looking for a night story assistant. So now I have chance to either make the next step up or continue down the logger road a bit longer. I find out today but still either job makes me a vampire. Though one is more worth it. Wish me luck…
So a week ago Friday was supposed to be my last day of work on the Bill Shatner show—I was excited to get the hell out of dodge mostly because I was some what miserable and eager to be unemployed.
I already had another job lead and so I was sitting pretty with the idea of a week off before the next gig. Unfortunately, due to my co-workers inability to work, we had to extend into this past week. Of course it meant another check so I sucked it up. Things got worse though when I realized that the show was doing reshoots and so that mean that we would be through out the rest of the week.
Add to this the fact that my next job would be all night shifts—thus killing my social life and I was not pleased. But I knew that I needed to take the money, if only to try and either get out of more debt or save up to buy a car/phone/computer. Thus I made a deal to take the night shift starting today.
But imagine my surprise when my boss, Collier, on Shatner came to us and said that they might be looking for a night story assistant. So now I have chance to either make the next step up or continue down the logger road a bit longer. I find out today but still either job makes me a vampire. Though one is more worth it. Wish me luck…
Chances are…
So after the Halloween party I was feeling good. I spent Halloween Day with Lizzie and Valeska over along Indian brunch and mild shopping for cute t-shirts and household goods. We had ice cream and I rehashed the Chance story from the night before. We all swapped boy stories and laughed at our good luck. It was fun.
Then the night rolled around and I had plans with Joy, Grant and Irene (??!!) to hit the Weho Costume Parade. I was excited most because of the fact that Chance’s band Mutator was playing at one of the main stages and figured we could hang and watch the show and just have fun. I knew it was unlikely to see Chance and didn’t want to get myself all psyched up.
Joy and I arrived late and after phone tag with Grant and Irene we tried to make our way through the crowded fun. We were both somewhat cranky and tired but did our best to laugh and enjoy the various costumes and nudity.
As we made our way down the street, we finally stumbled across the Mutator stage. It was crowded and uncomfortable and just miserable but a fun show. And Joy asked if I thought I would see Chance and I said no. The crowd was too thick and in the way.
The truth of the matter was that I was afraid to see Chance. I was worried that the night before was a fluke—a random act of drunken confession and confusion. I didn’t want ton risk seeing him and having a bad reaction or worse—no reaction at all. But as I stood there and watched the cute couples around us, gay and straight, all just together and something in my head flipped.
I spend a lot of time not really going after what I want—what I truly desire because then I can’t be disappointed. And as I realized this, I knew I want to try and see him. Not for the two of us but because I needed to do something. I had to try for what I want even if I failed.
And suddenly the night felt like a John Cusak movie. People moved out of the way as I wrapped Joy’s arms around my neck and barreled toward the stage. I didn’t care about couples or kids or the elderly. I was going to get to the stage regardless. And as we got 2/3 of the way to stage, the band finished.
As the crowd started to move and get thinner Joy and I reached the security fence. We were watching the band clear off stage and we were debating what to do. I briefly debate calling over a member of the band to pass a message but felt that would be pathetic. Joy looked at me and as I was saying I wanted to give up she looked away. And before I realized it, she was calling Chance’s name. Because there he was, standing 15 feet away—blue Mohawk and all.
And as he turned and saw us, a smile came over both our faces. And as he came to the fence, he outstretched his arms and gave the best hug one can over the fence. After a moment of reintroduction for him and Joy, we were backstage and talking. I briefly met his dad (I know—what?!) and Chance left to find us passes for the VIP room. As we stood there, I couldn’t believe it.
We talked with his dad (I know—what?!) and I briefly felt odd. No one wants to have a romantic moment in front of the dad and so I wrote the evening off as just social. And as Chance returned with the passes, I realized he didn’t have one for his dad. So the thereof us went off to the VIP tent and as we entered we spotted Steve from BB—dressed as a jester to boot.
So Joy, Chance and I stood in the VIP room with drinks and made chitchat. After a bit, Steve somehow charmed his way in to the VIP tent and managed to amuse Joy long enough for me and Chance to talk along. I rubbed his Mohawk and he leaned into my neck as we stood there. After a few minutes we stood there and locked eyes. We leaned into each other and I felt that the night before wasn’t a mistake but more of a step forward. And even though we kissed and swayed, I was aware of the whole room. Of Joy being a good friend for waiting, of Steve dancing with the bartenders, of the people milling about. And for the first time in along time I felt special.
I was so overwhelmed by the feelings of the moment that I left to use the restroom. I borrowed Joy’s cell phone to apologize to Irene and Grant for not meeting them and after a few moments of random waiting and steadying myself, back in I went. And as we stood leaning into other I wondered we could go. But chance’s dad showed up and Joy was tired so off we went. And I became a twit.
On the long walk back to the car I was giggly and glowing. Joy admitted that while I was gone she and Chance talked about me and I was excited. Because made this meant he liked me. And now I don’t know what I should do but I feel like it is his move. But it is nice to know that for one night more, I felt special… Where it goes from there…I’m not sure.
So after the Halloween party I was feeling good. I spent Halloween Day with Lizzie and Valeska over along Indian brunch and mild shopping for cute t-shirts and household goods. We had ice cream and I rehashed the Chance story from the night before. We all swapped boy stories and laughed at our good luck. It was fun.
Then the night rolled around and I had plans with Joy, Grant and Irene (??!!) to hit the Weho Costume Parade. I was excited most because of the fact that Chance’s band Mutator was playing at one of the main stages and figured we could hang and watch the show and just have fun. I knew it was unlikely to see Chance and didn’t want to get myself all psyched up.
Joy and I arrived late and after phone tag with Grant and Irene we tried to make our way through the crowded fun. We were both somewhat cranky and tired but did our best to laugh and enjoy the various costumes and nudity.
As we made our way down the street, we finally stumbled across the Mutator stage. It was crowded and uncomfortable and just miserable but a fun show. And Joy asked if I thought I would see Chance and I said no. The crowd was too thick and in the way.
The truth of the matter was that I was afraid to see Chance. I was worried that the night before was a fluke—a random act of drunken confession and confusion. I didn’t want ton risk seeing him and having a bad reaction or worse—no reaction at all. But as I stood there and watched the cute couples around us, gay and straight, all just together and something in my head flipped.
I spend a lot of time not really going after what I want—what I truly desire because then I can’t be disappointed. And as I realized this, I knew I want to try and see him. Not for the two of us but because I needed to do something. I had to try for what I want even if I failed.
And suddenly the night felt like a John Cusak movie. People moved out of the way as I wrapped Joy’s arms around my neck and barreled toward the stage. I didn’t care about couples or kids or the elderly. I was going to get to the stage regardless. And as we got 2/3 of the way to stage, the band finished.
As the crowd started to move and get thinner Joy and I reached the security fence. We were watching the band clear off stage and we were debating what to do. I briefly debate calling over a member of the band to pass a message but felt that would be pathetic. Joy looked at me and as I was saying I wanted to give up she looked away. And before I realized it, she was calling Chance’s name. Because there he was, standing 15 feet away—blue Mohawk and all.
And as he turned and saw us, a smile came over both our faces. And as he came to the fence, he outstretched his arms and gave the best hug one can over the fence. After a moment of reintroduction for him and Joy, we were backstage and talking. I briefly met his dad (I know—what?!) and Chance left to find us passes for the VIP room. As we stood there, I couldn’t believe it.
We talked with his dad (I know—what?!) and I briefly felt odd. No one wants to have a romantic moment in front of the dad and so I wrote the evening off as just social. And as Chance returned with the passes, I realized he didn’t have one for his dad. So the thereof us went off to the VIP tent and as we entered we spotted Steve from BB—dressed as a jester to boot.
So Joy, Chance and I stood in the VIP room with drinks and made chitchat. After a bit, Steve somehow charmed his way in to the VIP tent and managed to amuse Joy long enough for me and Chance to talk along. I rubbed his Mohawk and he leaned into my neck as we stood there. After a few minutes we stood there and locked eyes. We leaned into each other and I felt that the night before wasn’t a mistake but more of a step forward. And even though we kissed and swayed, I was aware of the whole room. Of Joy being a good friend for waiting, of Steve dancing with the bartenders, of the people milling about. And for the first time in along time I felt special.
I was so overwhelmed by the feelings of the moment that I left to use the restroom. I borrowed Joy’s cell phone to apologize to Irene and Grant for not meeting them and after a few moments of random waiting and steadying myself, back in I went. And as we stood leaning into other I wondered we could go. But chance’s dad showed up and Joy was tired so off we went. And I became a twit.
On the long walk back to the car I was giggly and glowing. Joy admitted that while I was gone she and Chance talked about me and I was excited. Because made this meant he liked me. And now I don’t know what I should do but I feel like it is his move. But it is nice to know that for one night more, I felt special… Where it goes from there…I’m not sure.
Saturday, November 13, 2004
From Kelly
Fuck the South. Fuck 'em. We should have let them go when they wanted to leave. But no, we had to kill half a million people so they'd stay part of our special Union. Fighting for the right to keep slaves - yeah, those are states we want to keep.
And now what do we get? We're the fucking Arrogant Northeast Liberal Elite? How about this for arrogant: the South is the Real America? The Authentic America. Really?
Cause we fucking founded this country, assholes. Those Founding Fathers you keep going on and on about? All that bullshit about what you think they meant by the Second Amendment giving you the right to keep your assault weapons in the glove compartment because you didn't bother to read the first half of the fucking sentence? Who do you think those wig-wearing lacy-shirt sporting revolutionaries were? They were fucking blue-staters, dickhead. Boston? Philadelphia? New York? Hello? Think there might be a reason all the fucking monuments are up here in our backyard?
No, No. Get the fuck out. We're not letting you visit the Liberty Bell and fucking Plymouth Rock anymore until you get over your real American selves and start respecting those other nine amendments. Who do you think those fucking stripes on the flag are for? Nine are for fucking blue states. And it would be 10 if those Vermonters had gotten their fucking Subarus together and broken off from New York a little earlier. Get it? We started this shit, so don't get all uppity about how real you are you Johnny-come-lately "Oooooh I've been a state for almost a hundred years" dickheads. Fuck off.
Arrogant? You wanna talk about us Northeasterners being fucking arrogant? What's more American than arrogance? Hmmm? Maybe horsies? I don't think so. Arrogance is the fucking cornerstone of what it means to be American. And I wouldn't be so fucking arrogant if I wasn't paying for your fucking bridges, bitch.
All those Federal taxes you love to hate? It all comes from us and goes to you, so shut up and enjoy your fucking Tennessee Valley Authority electricity and your fancy highways that we paid for. And the next time Florida gets hit by a hurricane you can come crying to us if you want to, but you're the ones who built on a fucking swamp. "Let the Spanish keep it, it’s a shithole," we said, but you had to have your fucking orange juice.
The next dickwad who says, "It’s your money, not the government's money" is gonna get their ass kicked. Nine of the ten states that get the most federal fucking dollars and pay the least... can you guess? Go on, guess. That’s right, motherfucker, they're red states. And eight of the ten states that receive the least and pay the most? It’s too easy, asshole, they’re blue states. It’s not your money, assholes, it’s fucking our money. What was that Real American Value you were spouting a minute ago? Self reliance? Try this for self reliance: buy your own fucking stop signs, assholes.
Let’s talk about those values for a fucking minute. You and your Southern values can bite my ass because the blue states got the values over you fucking Real Americans every day of the goddamn week. Which state do you think has the lowest divorce rate you marriage-hyping dickwads? Well? Can you guess? It’s fucking Massachusetts, the fucking center of the gay marriage universe. Yes, that’s right, the state you love to tie around the neck of anyone to the left of Strom Thurmond has the lowest divorce rate in the fucking nation. Think that’s just some aberration? How about this: 9 of the 10 lowest divorce rates are fucking blue states, asshole, and most are in the Northeast, where our values suck so bad. And where are the highest divorce rates? Care to fucking guess? 10 of the top 10 are fucking red-ass we're-so-fucking-moral states. And while Nevada is the worst, the Bible Belt is doing its fucking part.
But two guys making out is going to fucking ruin marriage for you? Yeah? Seems like you're ruining it pretty well on your own, you little bastards. Oh, but that's ok because you go to church, right? I mean you do, right? Cause we fucking get to hear about it every goddamn year at election time. Yes, we're fascinated by how you get up every Sunday morning and sing, and then you're fucking towers of moral superiority. Yeah, that's a workable formula. Maybe us fucking Northerners don't talk about religion as much as you because we're not so busy sinning, hmmm? Ever think of that, you self-righteous assholes? No, you're too busy erecting giant stone tablets of the Ten Commandments in buildings paid for by the fucking Northeast Liberal Elite. And who has the highest murder rates in the nation? It ain't us up here in the North, assholes.
Well this gravy train is fucking over. Take your liberal-bashing, federal-tax-leaching, confederate-flag-waving, holier-than-thou, hypocritical bullshit and shove it up your ass.
And no, you can't have your fucking convention in New York next time. Fuck off.
Fuck the South. Fuck 'em. We should have let them go when they wanted to leave. But no, we had to kill half a million people so they'd stay part of our special Union. Fighting for the right to keep slaves - yeah, those are states we want to keep.
And now what do we get? We're the fucking Arrogant Northeast Liberal Elite? How about this for arrogant: the South is the Real America? The Authentic America. Really?
Cause we fucking founded this country, assholes. Those Founding Fathers you keep going on and on about? All that bullshit about what you think they meant by the Second Amendment giving you the right to keep your assault weapons in the glove compartment because you didn't bother to read the first half of the fucking sentence? Who do you think those wig-wearing lacy-shirt sporting revolutionaries were? They were fucking blue-staters, dickhead. Boston? Philadelphia? New York? Hello? Think there might be a reason all the fucking monuments are up here in our backyard?
No, No. Get the fuck out. We're not letting you visit the Liberty Bell and fucking Plymouth Rock anymore until you get over your real American selves and start respecting those other nine amendments. Who do you think those fucking stripes on the flag are for? Nine are for fucking blue states. And it would be 10 if those Vermonters had gotten their fucking Subarus together and broken off from New York a little earlier. Get it? We started this shit, so don't get all uppity about how real you are you Johnny-come-lately "Oooooh I've been a state for almost a hundred years" dickheads. Fuck off.
Arrogant? You wanna talk about us Northeasterners being fucking arrogant? What's more American than arrogance? Hmmm? Maybe horsies? I don't think so. Arrogance is the fucking cornerstone of what it means to be American. And I wouldn't be so fucking arrogant if I wasn't paying for your fucking bridges, bitch.
All those Federal taxes you love to hate? It all comes from us and goes to you, so shut up and enjoy your fucking Tennessee Valley Authority electricity and your fancy highways that we paid for. And the next time Florida gets hit by a hurricane you can come crying to us if you want to, but you're the ones who built on a fucking swamp. "Let the Spanish keep it, it’s a shithole," we said, but you had to have your fucking orange juice.
The next dickwad who says, "It’s your money, not the government's money" is gonna get their ass kicked. Nine of the ten states that get the most federal fucking dollars and pay the least... can you guess? Go on, guess. That’s right, motherfucker, they're red states. And eight of the ten states that receive the least and pay the most? It’s too easy, asshole, they’re blue states. It’s not your money, assholes, it’s fucking our money. What was that Real American Value you were spouting a minute ago? Self reliance? Try this for self reliance: buy your own fucking stop signs, assholes.
Let’s talk about those values for a fucking minute. You and your Southern values can bite my ass because the blue states got the values over you fucking Real Americans every day of the goddamn week. Which state do you think has the lowest divorce rate you marriage-hyping dickwads? Well? Can you guess? It’s fucking Massachusetts, the fucking center of the gay marriage universe. Yes, that’s right, the state you love to tie around the neck of anyone to the left of Strom Thurmond has the lowest divorce rate in the fucking nation. Think that’s just some aberration? How about this: 9 of the 10 lowest divorce rates are fucking blue states, asshole, and most are in the Northeast, where our values suck so bad. And where are the highest divorce rates? Care to fucking guess? 10 of the top 10 are fucking red-ass we're-so-fucking-moral states. And while Nevada is the worst, the Bible Belt is doing its fucking part.
But two guys making out is going to fucking ruin marriage for you? Yeah? Seems like you're ruining it pretty well on your own, you little bastards. Oh, but that's ok because you go to church, right? I mean you do, right? Cause we fucking get to hear about it every goddamn year at election time. Yes, we're fascinated by how you get up every Sunday morning and sing, and then you're fucking towers of moral superiority. Yeah, that's a workable formula. Maybe us fucking Northerners don't talk about religion as much as you because we're not so busy sinning, hmmm? Ever think of that, you self-righteous assholes? No, you're too busy erecting giant stone tablets of the Ten Commandments in buildings paid for by the fucking Northeast Liberal Elite. And who has the highest murder rates in the nation? It ain't us up here in the North, assholes.
Well this gravy train is fucking over. Take your liberal-bashing, federal-tax-leaching, confederate-flag-waving, holier-than-thou, hypocritical bullshit and shove it up your ass.
And no, you can't have your fucking convention in New York next time. Fuck off.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Monday, November 08, 2004
Halloween Magic
I have been a bad, bad boy… I’ve been holding back—things have developed with the boy and I haven’t known what to do. It started on Halloween in the most random way possible—costumes and booze and all types of drama. I was dressed an as 80’s after school special—tract marks and expensive vodka, headband and black eye.
I was just hitting my ten-minute stride when I came around and there he was—Chance with blue Mohawk and all. I was so shocked that I did what I do best—I turned and ran away to the first person I could find that was out of his eyesight. I hugged Justin Catalino like he was my lost child. (I think I caused years of therapy.)
After a few moments of hair checking and costume adjusting I took some deep breaths and begin the slow process of building up the courage to talk with the boy. I was mostly bolstered by the discovery that Chance had planned to go to this party in the canyons that I was supposed to originally to go but he found out via Lizzie that I was only going to the Detroit St party and that he came there just to try and see me. Awesome….
So I sucked up everything I had inside of me and went rolling in with everything I had—but was intimidated by the crew from Big Brother that was already there. The most I could do was snag a hug and a bright smile and not much else. And I have never been one for small talk and so I blew out of the group, got another drink and danced on everything but the kitchen table.
And then I got the talk—a good friend came up to me and gave me the talk. The talk about what the hell was I doing, that this boy came to see me at this party, that he was happy to see me and was the only guy I had been interested in for months now. That I needed to get it together and think—what would Kelly do?
After a moment’s thought (and another shot of vodka) I realized what I had to do and I did it. I grabbed pack of a cigarettes, fixed my bangs and went charging in. I smiled and laughed and flirted—I made small talk about work and music and everything I have ever done my whole life. We laughed and I played with his hair and coat collar, I left every so often to flirt and dance but never out of Chance’s eyesight…
And it was working until the drama happened. Not drama involving me but my friends and as always—I get sucked in. I jumped in because I knew I wouldn’t have fun if my friends weren’t having fun. So I left the boy behind to deal with everyone else and I came back to find the boy was gone. Poof, like Cinderella.
And I was mad—mad at him for leaving without saying good-bye, my friends for pulling me into the drama, and myself for not doing enough. After a moment’s hesitation I realized I had to do something—I was tired of losing the boy, of not doing enough and letting the boy go because it’s easier. So I commandeered a cell phone—thanks Naomi—and I took a chance.
He answered the phone on the first ring and I asked him where he was—on his way home obviously—and why he had left without saying good-bye. I told him I was pissed that he left without saying good-bye and that I wanted to set up a time to see him again. And instead of freaking out or being coy—he wanted the same thing. So much so that he agreed to turn around and come back, if only to give me a proper good bye.
And as I stood on the sidewalk outside the party, I grew nervous. Now I had the ball but no idea what the fuck to do with it. How far do I go and what do I say to make something, anything happen? And just as I thought maybe nothing would happen—something did.
Chance came around the corner—and not alone. He was lugging two cases of beer and smiling impishly. I asked what he was doing, I thought he was just coming back to say good-bye and he looked me straight in the eyes and said, ”well you made me change my mind.” And then he handed me a case of beer and told me to work the crowd for a bit—he brought the beer because he noticed the keg was almost empty.
So I went back with a big smile and handed out Corona like a missionary on crack. My friends were surprised that he came back and could tell I went stupid due to the boy. And in a way I had—it’s a novel thing to have a nice guy like me, a good guy, a thoughtful guy. A guy who came back because I asked him to.
It wasn’t till hours later that I took my moment with him. Chance was tired and getting ready to leave but I pulled him into the kitchen. I had to ask if his coming back meant something, if I was reading him right and if not then it was okay—and it would be—and he just looked at me in the eyes and we both waited.
And then he leaned into me in the middle of the Detroit St kitchen, he nuzzled my neck and we wrapped our arms around each other and he leaned in and whispered in my ear. “You are the sweetest boy.” And then we kissed and held each other for a bit and then I walked him out. I stood there for a bit and we made plans to see each other again and then he drove away—which was what I wanted right then. No sex or awkward sleepovers or all night hangouts. I waited time to enjoy what had just happened and who we had both been that night. And I realized I don’t know where it is going yet but that it has already gone somewhere new for me.
I have been a bad, bad boy… I’ve been holding back—things have developed with the boy and I haven’t known what to do. It started on Halloween in the most random way possible—costumes and booze and all types of drama. I was dressed an as 80’s after school special—tract marks and expensive vodka, headband and black eye.
I was just hitting my ten-minute stride when I came around and there he was—Chance with blue Mohawk and all. I was so shocked that I did what I do best—I turned and ran away to the first person I could find that was out of his eyesight. I hugged Justin Catalino like he was my lost child. (I think I caused years of therapy.)
After a few moments of hair checking and costume adjusting I took some deep breaths and begin the slow process of building up the courage to talk with the boy. I was mostly bolstered by the discovery that Chance had planned to go to this party in the canyons that I was supposed to originally to go but he found out via Lizzie that I was only going to the Detroit St party and that he came there just to try and see me. Awesome….
So I sucked up everything I had inside of me and went rolling in with everything I had—but was intimidated by the crew from Big Brother that was already there. The most I could do was snag a hug and a bright smile and not much else. And I have never been one for small talk and so I blew out of the group, got another drink and danced on everything but the kitchen table.
And then I got the talk—a good friend came up to me and gave me the talk. The talk about what the hell was I doing, that this boy came to see me at this party, that he was happy to see me and was the only guy I had been interested in for months now. That I needed to get it together and think—what would Kelly do?
After a moment’s thought (and another shot of vodka) I realized what I had to do and I did it. I grabbed pack of a cigarettes, fixed my bangs and went charging in. I smiled and laughed and flirted—I made small talk about work and music and everything I have ever done my whole life. We laughed and I played with his hair and coat collar, I left every so often to flirt and dance but never out of Chance’s eyesight…
And it was working until the drama happened. Not drama involving me but my friends and as always—I get sucked in. I jumped in because I knew I wouldn’t have fun if my friends weren’t having fun. So I left the boy behind to deal with everyone else and I came back to find the boy was gone. Poof, like Cinderella.
And I was mad—mad at him for leaving without saying good-bye, my friends for pulling me into the drama, and myself for not doing enough. After a moment’s hesitation I realized I had to do something—I was tired of losing the boy, of not doing enough and letting the boy go because it’s easier. So I commandeered a cell phone—thanks Naomi—and I took a chance.
He answered the phone on the first ring and I asked him where he was—on his way home obviously—and why he had left without saying good-bye. I told him I was pissed that he left without saying good-bye and that I wanted to set up a time to see him again. And instead of freaking out or being coy—he wanted the same thing. So much so that he agreed to turn around and come back, if only to give me a proper good bye.
And as I stood on the sidewalk outside the party, I grew nervous. Now I had the ball but no idea what the fuck to do with it. How far do I go and what do I say to make something, anything happen? And just as I thought maybe nothing would happen—something did.
Chance came around the corner—and not alone. He was lugging two cases of beer and smiling impishly. I asked what he was doing, I thought he was just coming back to say good-bye and he looked me straight in the eyes and said, ”well you made me change my mind.” And then he handed me a case of beer and told me to work the crowd for a bit—he brought the beer because he noticed the keg was almost empty.
So I went back with a big smile and handed out Corona like a missionary on crack. My friends were surprised that he came back and could tell I went stupid due to the boy. And in a way I had—it’s a novel thing to have a nice guy like me, a good guy, a thoughtful guy. A guy who came back because I asked him to.
It wasn’t till hours later that I took my moment with him. Chance was tired and getting ready to leave but I pulled him into the kitchen. I had to ask if his coming back meant something, if I was reading him right and if not then it was okay—and it would be—and he just looked at me in the eyes and we both waited.
And then he leaned into me in the middle of the Detroit St kitchen, he nuzzled my neck and we wrapped our arms around each other and he leaned in and whispered in my ear. “You are the sweetest boy.” And then we kissed and held each other for a bit and then I walked him out. I stood there for a bit and we made plans to see each other again and then he drove away—which was what I wanted right then. No sex or awkward sleepovers or all night hangouts. I waited time to enjoy what had just happened and who we had both been that night. And I realized I don’t know where it is going yet but that it has already gone somewhere new for me.
Sunday, November 07, 2004
The Bewitching Hour
I have been a bad, bad boy… I’ve been holding back—things have developed with the boy and I haven’t known what to do. It started on Halloween in the most random way possible—costumes and booze and all types of drama. I was dressed an as 80’s after school special—tract marks and expensive vodka, headband and black eye.
I was just hitting my ten-minute stride when I came around and there he was—Chance with blue Mohawk and all. I was so shocked that I did what I do best—I turned and ran away to the first person I could find that was out of his eyesight. I hugged Justin Catalino like he was my lost child. (I think I caused years of therapy.)
After a few moments of hair checking and costume adjusting I took some deep breaths and begin the slow process of building up the courage to talk with the boy. I was mostly bolstered by the discovery that Chance had planned to go to this party in the canyons that I was supposed to originally to go but he found out via Lizzie that I was only going to the Detroit St party and that he came there just to try and see me. Awesome….
So I sucked up everything I had inside of me and went rolling in with everything I had—but was intimidated by the crew from Big Brother that was already there. The most I could do was snag a hug and a bright smile and not much else. And I have never been one for small talk and so I blew out of the group, got another drink and danced on everything but the kitchen table.
And then I got the talk—a good friend came up to me and gave me the talk. The talk about what the hell was I doing, that this boy came to see me at this party, that he was happy to see me and was the only guy I had been interested in for months now. That I needed to get it together and think—what would Kelly do?
After a moment’s thought (and another shot of vodka) I realized what I had to do and I did it. I grabbed pack of a cigarettes, fixed my bangs and went charging in. I smiled and laughed and flirted—I made small talk about work and music and everything I have ever done my whole life. We laughed and I played with his hair and coat collar, I left every so often to flirt and dance but never out of Chance’s eyesight…
And it was working until the drama happened. Not drama involving me but my friends and as always—I get sucked in. I jumped in because I knew I wouldn’t have fun if my friends weren’t having fun. So I left the boy behind to deal with everyone else and I came back to find the boy was gone. Poof, like Cinderella.
And I was mad—mad at him for leaving without saying good-bye, my friends for pulling me into the drama, and myself for not doing enough. After a moment’s hesitation I realized I had to do something—I was tired of losing the boy, of not doing enough and letting the boy go because it’s easier. So I commandeered a cell phone—thanks Naomi—and I took a chance.
He answered the phone on the first ring and I asked him where he was—on his way home obviously—and why he had left without saying good-bye. I told him I was pissed that he left without saying good-bye and that I wanted to set up a time to see him again. And instead of freaking out or being coy—he wanted the same thing. So much so that he agreed to turn around and come back, if only to give me a proper good bye.
And as I stood on the sidewalk outside the party, I grew nervous. Now I had the ball but no idea what the fuck to do with it. How far do I go and what do I say to make something, anything happen? And just as I thought maybe nothing would happen—something did.
Chance came around the corner—and not alone. He was lugging two cases of beer and smiling impishly. I asked what he was doing, I thought he was just coming back to say good-bye and he looked me straight in the eyes and said, ”well you made me change my mind.” And then he handed me a case of beer and told me to work the crowd for a bit—he brought the beer because he noticed the keg was almost empty.
So I went back with a big smile and handed out Corona like a missionary on crack. My friends were surprised that he came back and could tell I went stupid due to the boy. And in a way I had—it’s a novel thing to have a nice guy like me, a good guy, a thoughtful guy. A guy who came back because I asked him to.
It wasn’t till hours later that I took my moment with him. Chance was tired and getting ready to leave but I pulled him into the kitchen. I had to ask if his coming back meant something, if I was reading him right and if not then it was okay—and it would be—and he just looked at me in the eyes and we both waited.
And then he leaned into me in the middle of the Detroit St kitchen, he nuzzled my neck and we wrapped our arms around each other and he leaned in and whispered in my ear. “You are the sweetest boy.” And then we kissed and held each other for a bit and then I walked him out. I stood there for a bit and we made plans to see each other again and then he drove away—which was what I wanted right then. No sex or awkward sleepovers or all night hangouts. I waited time to enjoy what had just happened and who we had both been that night. And I realized I don’t know where it is going yet but that it has already gone somewhere new for me.
I have been a bad, bad boy… I’ve been holding back—things have developed with the boy and I haven’t known what to do. It started on Halloween in the most random way possible—costumes and booze and all types of drama. I was dressed an as 80’s after school special—tract marks and expensive vodka, headband and black eye.
I was just hitting my ten-minute stride when I came around and there he was—Chance with blue Mohawk and all. I was so shocked that I did what I do best—I turned and ran away to the first person I could find that was out of his eyesight. I hugged Justin Catalino like he was my lost child. (I think I caused years of therapy.)
After a few moments of hair checking and costume adjusting I took some deep breaths and begin the slow process of building up the courage to talk with the boy. I was mostly bolstered by the discovery that Chance had planned to go to this party in the canyons that I was supposed to originally to go but he found out via Lizzie that I was only going to the Detroit St party and that he came there just to try and see me. Awesome….
So I sucked up everything I had inside of me and went rolling in with everything I had—but was intimidated by the crew from Big Brother that was already there. The most I could do was snag a hug and a bright smile and not much else. And I have never been one for small talk and so I blew out of the group, got another drink and danced on everything but the kitchen table.
And then I got the talk—a good friend came up to me and gave me the talk. The talk about what the hell was I doing, that this boy came to see me at this party, that he was happy to see me and was the only guy I had been interested in for months now. That I needed to get it together and think—what would Kelly do?
After a moment’s thought (and another shot of vodka) I realized what I had to do and I did it. I grabbed pack of a cigarettes, fixed my bangs and went charging in. I smiled and laughed and flirted—I made small talk about work and music and everything I have ever done my whole life. We laughed and I played with his hair and coat collar, I left every so often to flirt and dance but never out of Chance’s eyesight…
And it was working until the drama happened. Not drama involving me but my friends and as always—I get sucked in. I jumped in because I knew I wouldn’t have fun if my friends weren’t having fun. So I left the boy behind to deal with everyone else and I came back to find the boy was gone. Poof, like Cinderella.
And I was mad—mad at him for leaving without saying good-bye, my friends for pulling me into the drama, and myself for not doing enough. After a moment’s hesitation I realized I had to do something—I was tired of losing the boy, of not doing enough and letting the boy go because it’s easier. So I commandeered a cell phone—thanks Naomi—and I took a chance.
He answered the phone on the first ring and I asked him where he was—on his way home obviously—and why he had left without saying good-bye. I told him I was pissed that he left without saying good-bye and that I wanted to set up a time to see him again. And instead of freaking out or being coy—he wanted the same thing. So much so that he agreed to turn around and come back, if only to give me a proper good bye.
And as I stood on the sidewalk outside the party, I grew nervous. Now I had the ball but no idea what the fuck to do with it. How far do I go and what do I say to make something, anything happen? And just as I thought maybe nothing would happen—something did.
Chance came around the corner—and not alone. He was lugging two cases of beer and smiling impishly. I asked what he was doing, I thought he was just coming back to say good-bye and he looked me straight in the eyes and said, ”well you made me change my mind.” And then he handed me a case of beer and told me to work the crowd for a bit—he brought the beer because he noticed the keg was almost empty.
So I went back with a big smile and handed out Corona like a missionary on crack. My friends were surprised that he came back and could tell I went stupid due to the boy. And in a way I had—it’s a novel thing to have a nice guy like me, a good guy, a thoughtful guy. A guy who came back because I asked him to.
It wasn’t till hours later that I took my moment with him. Chance was tired and getting ready to leave but I pulled him into the kitchen. I had to ask if his coming back meant something, if I was reading him right and if not then it was okay—and it would be—and he just looked at me in the eyes and we both waited.
And then he leaned into me in the middle of the Detroit St kitchen, he nuzzled my neck and we wrapped our arms around each other and he leaned in and whispered in my ear. “You are the sweetest boy.” And then we kissed and held each other for a bit and then I walked him out. I stood there for a bit and we made plans to see each other again and then he drove away—which was what I wanted right then. No sex or awkward sleepovers or all night hangouts. I waited time to enjoy what had just happened and who we had both been that night. And I realized I don’t know where it is going yet but that it has already gone somewhere new for me.
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Guess I'm 2nd class
I am a 2nd Class Citizen... I woke up this morning and turned on the news. At first I was confused--everyone has a different number, a different hope but we all kind of know how it is going to down... And I realized that I am a 2nd class citizen to this man--this leader. And I hate him, I wish him ill will, I hope for death and sadness upon his house, his hopes denied because that is what he wants for me. I want to make a button the size of a fist that says "Guess I'm Not Equal." Then after that I will make one that says "My son is 2nd class". Then I will make one that says "I deny my heart for you" for all my people working in the military and not asking or telling. And then I will make one that says "I deserve to be hit" and that will go to all the people that have been hate crimed and yet still not covered by the federal hate crime bill. And then I will make one "My wife is a fake" and that will be for all my sisters whoose marriage will be ruled illegal by his court. And then I will make one that says "I don't have a family" and that will go to all the kids being raised by same sex couples who he wants to not exist. Then I will make the biggest button yet--"My friends aren't equal". And when people ask what these pins mean they will have a choice. They can take a button for themselves and wear it everyday or not. And if they don't wear then I am done with them because I am already oppressed enough and don't need my friends to do that to...
I am a 2nd Class Citizen... I woke up this morning and turned on the news. At first I was confused--everyone has a different number, a different hope but we all kind of know how it is going to down... And I realized that I am a 2nd class citizen to this man--this leader. And I hate him, I wish him ill will, I hope for death and sadness upon his house, his hopes denied because that is what he wants for me. I want to make a button the size of a fist that says "Guess I'm Not Equal." Then after that I will make one that says "My son is 2nd class". Then I will make one that says "I deny my heart for you" for all my people working in the military and not asking or telling. And then I will make one that says "I deserve to be hit" and that will go to all the people that have been hate crimed and yet still not covered by the federal hate crime bill. And then I will make one "My wife is a fake" and that will be for all my sisters whoose marriage will be ruled illegal by his court. And then I will make one that says "I don't have a family" and that will go to all the kids being raised by same sex couples who he wants to not exist. Then I will make the biggest button yet--"My friends aren't equal". And when people ask what these pins mean they will have a choice. They can take a button for themselves and wear it everyday or not. And if they don't wear then I am done with them because I am already oppressed enough and don't need my friends to do that to...
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
I am a 2nd Class Citizen...
I woke up this morning and turned on the news. At first I was confused--everyone has a different number, a different hope but we all kind of know how it is going to down...
And I realized that I am a 2nd class citizen to this man--this leader. And I hate him, I wish him ill will, I hope for death and sadness upon his house, his hopes denied because that is what he wants for me.
I want to make a button the size of a fist that says "Guess I'm Not Equal." Then after that I will make one that says "My son is 2nd class". Then I will make one that says "I deny my heart for you" for all my people working in the military and not asking or telling. And then I will make one that says "I deserve to be hit" and that will go to all the people that have been hate crimed and yet still not covered by the federal hate crime bill. And then I will make one "My wife is a fake" and that will be for all my sisters whoose marriage will be ruled illegal by his court. And then I will make one that says "I don't have a family" and that will go to all the kids being raised by same sex couples who he wants to not exist. Then I will make the biggest button yet--"My friends aren't equal".
And when people ask what these pins mean they will have a choice. They can take a button for themselves and wear it everyday or not. And if they don't wear then I am done with them because I am already oppressed enough and don't need my friends to do that to...
I woke up this morning and turned on the news. At first I was confused--everyone has a different number, a different hope but we all kind of know how it is going to down...
And I realized that I am a 2nd class citizen to this man--this leader. And I hate him, I wish him ill will, I hope for death and sadness upon his house, his hopes denied because that is what he wants for me.
I want to make a button the size of a fist that says "Guess I'm Not Equal." Then after that I will make one that says "My son is 2nd class". Then I will make one that says "I deny my heart for you" for all my people working in the military and not asking or telling. And then I will make one that says "I deserve to be hit" and that will go to all the people that have been hate crimed and yet still not covered by the federal hate crime bill. And then I will make one "My wife is a fake" and that will be for all my sisters whoose marriage will be ruled illegal by his court. And then I will make one that says "I don't have a family" and that will go to all the kids being raised by same sex couples who he wants to not exist. Then I will make the biggest button yet--"My friends aren't equal".
And when people ask what these pins mean they will have a choice. They can take a button for themselves and wear it everyday or not. And if they don't wear then I am done with them because I am already oppressed enough and don't need my friends to do that to...
Monday, November 01, 2004
I owe--
There is so much to say and so much good stuff to write about that I know I am failing but not posting. I'm wait for the words to string together in my head, to form little paragraphs that are enough to cover all the places I have been...
It doesn't help that work is being a greedy little brat and slowly sucking the life out of me. I don't think I will ever be as glad to get unemployed again.
There is so much to say and so much good stuff to write about that I know I am failing but not posting. I'm wait for the words to string together in my head, to form little paragraphs that are enough to cover all the places I have been...
It doesn't help that work is being a greedy little brat and slowly sucking the life out of me. I don't think I will ever be as glad to get unemployed again.
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