Hello all,
Isn’t that a funny title? I thought so. A year ago today I came home in shock, sat at my kitchen table in Pendleton, and waited until my parents got home. They looked at me like a broken puppy for half a second, Dad patted me on the shoulder, which was odd because we have a very strict “no touching” pact- I was too out of body to notice, and my ever sympathetic mother said, “Well, we were expecting you yesterday.” She’s……she’s……my mom.
So much has changed in a year, but some things haven’t at all. Fuckhead and I tried to start things back up again 4 maybe even 5 times, I’ve lost count. I still think about him all the time, what he’s doing, if he’s thinking of me, how he could possibly just drop everything between us and never look back. I have to stop myself from calling him every day. Not to worry, I realize that we could never go back and start over again, too much history and unfinished business, much too much to start over again. AND, fucking me over is one thing, but leaving my dear Graham with no remorse is cold. Don’t people stay together for the kids, bury their issues, and wait for better times? Isn’t that what a traditional marriage is? I watch a lot of TV, I’m pretty sure that’s what happens…..I digress.
A few days ago I also celebrated 5 months without drinking. With living at home, trying to meet someone to date, working at a superstore, and dealing with the over all stress of piecing together my life and personal goals, drinking would have a very important place in my life. It’s just not an option right now. Drinking made everything worse and now at the end of the day I come home, take a deep breath, and eat a giant bowl of fiber loaded cereal-I don’t know, somehow the cereal helps, with Silk of course. Who would have guessed that I’d become lactose intolerant? I love cheese! I used to sit with wheel of brie and have such a comforting experience. No cheese, no booze, I tell ya, I’m having to delve deep these days.
Speaking of drinking I have started the process of my probation, and the more I progress in my experience the better if gets. I set my community service and here’s how it went
Probation Officer: Well, we have lots of options for your community service so we can find a place that will be best suited for you.
Me: Oh! I thought I’d have to pick up garbage outside of a catholic church somewhere.
Probation Officer: No, no, no. Of course not there are lots of places in the community to give your time.
Me: Great.
Probation Officer: Alright, there’s the Humane Society, Goodwill, Animal Rescue, the Fine Arts Center…..
Me: Ooh, ooh, ooh! The Fine Arts Center! The Fine Arts Center! I have a BFA, that’s a bachelor’s of FINE ARTS. That would be perfect! I’m a ballet dancer, but I can also do things like answer phones, move paintings, other things….like that, I guess. That would be perfect! BUT, I would like the Humane Society. I love dogs! All the puppies, it’d be so much fun! I’m VERY good with animals.
Probation Officer:………….um, I think the Humane Society and Animal Rescue would be more like, “cleaning up” and stuff.
Me: Oh. Well, it’s probably for the best. Although I do like dogs, I am allergic to cats, and I have a dog at home, whom I don’t see as often as I should and I would project guilt on his behalf.
I nervously laughed as the probation officer marked me down for the Fine Arts Center and advised me to get my drug and mental analysis as soon as possible.
AAAAAAAAND, this is my 100th post! I know! That's a lot. Can you believe it 100 posts. You have read about 100 things that happened in my life....maybe you should get out more often. NO, NO, NO! I take it back! If you don't read my blog I die! I need your attention!!!! Happy Anniversary.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
A Plague of Chiggers on Both Your Houses
Hello All,
I write to you on a Saturday night from my basement at 8:57, because I lead such a full and fulfilling life. I have purposefully avoided watching “This Holiday” for a few years now because it reminded me of, “America’s Sweethearts”- when bad movies happen to good people, but actually I kind of like it. Don’t hate me. Aside from loving Kate Winslet and movies that have characters with lots of money-so everything is possible, it also has Jude Law in it. I already have a standing crush on Jude Law, but this movie has reaffirmed it to the point where I will go buy the movie just to see him again.
In my singlehood, I’ve been trying to decide what amazing guy I should be looking for to complete my life. I think it’s important to know specify my Mr. Right so that I don’t waste time on all the losers that will be hitting on me in the meantime. I’ve been thinking Dr. because of the financial security, scholarly-but not so much that I look stupid, handsome-but not out of my league, distinguished-but not too old, energetic and exciting-but definitely not too young, and that something that David Hyde Pierce had while playing Niles on Frasier- he was frail and whimsical yet confident and sophisticated. It’s a delicate alchemy, but I feel like the charm of an accent or just a gay Jude Law in general might do the trick.
“I don’t know why I’m not finding this man,” said the gay guy wearing sumo wrestler pajama pants in his parent’s basement.
This amazing gay Jude Law definitely wasn’t finding me the other day as I was actively avoiding participating in a conversation about chiggers with my mother. I hat the word chigger. It’s redneck and basic. I know the insect’s actual name is “Chigger”, but it sounds like something my dad says in place of what its scientific name should be.
Mom: “Did you see me in the bathroom when you got home from work?”
Me: “No, the door was closed”
“Well, I got chiggers while I was picking raspberries this afternoon.”
“…………..mm-hmm.”
“I got them bad!”
“……………mm-hmm.”
“Like from my waist down.” She started to gesture.
“OOOOOOOOOOOOOK!”
“………..alright, Dad had to put this medicine all over my…..”
“Stop! I am not listening to how my parents applied ointment in a closed bathroom! That is not happening!”
I’m still having a hard time erasing that image from my memory.
In addition to living at home, I am also not meeting my gay Jude Law while I am working at a superstore and dancing all day and night. That’s right, I said dancing. I’m a dancer again, I’m taking dance classes at night and I dance with a dance company during the day. They are putting on ballet next month; Romeo & Juliet, I’m playing Paris. I have a friend who couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t be able to meet a boyfriend in dance class. I’ll tell you why this brilliant idea to meet gay men is a complete bust.
I am the only boy in my classes that are mostly filled with 16 year old girls and aside from dodging awkward looks from parents who think I’m a pedophile; I’m actually there to have a good time and dance. While dancing with the company there are 2 other men dancing, but one is from Cuba and doesn’t get my jokes and the other…….how to explain the other……….he is attractive, in a 70’s porn star type of way, he also has never made eye contact with me because, like the rest of the company, he does not interact with me because I have the plague of the new person.
Although I have been dancing with them for 2 weeks now, the plague of the new person is hard to shake and shows no sign signs of being cured. Everything I say is incredibly charming and witty, but to them I am an annoying idiot. All of my dance clothes are appropriate and sleek, but to them I look uptight and toolish. All of my questions pertaining to this very specific rendition on Romeo & Juliet are COMPLETELY appropriate, but to them they are uncalled for and moronic. The plague of the new person is totally bringing me down, if they saw my gay Jude Law imaginary boyfriend they would totally think I was cool……..but seeing as how he doesn’t exist, that would probably just be more ammo for their awkward looks before barre.
I was talking to someone the other day about the 4,000 mile hike up the shit slide of a mountain that is my life, and she said that 26 is rough for everyone and in a few years it’ll be SO much better. If one more person says that to me I am going to lose it. I mean, I WILL FUCKING LOSE IT. I’m not saying that things aren’t better than what they were 6 months ago, but it’s no trip in Barbie’s convertible either. Dr. Gay Jude Law and 1 gabillion dollars better be in my Spectra tomorrow morning on my way to work.
I write to you on a Saturday night from my basement at 8:57, because I lead such a full and fulfilling life. I have purposefully avoided watching “This Holiday” for a few years now because it reminded me of, “America’s Sweethearts”- when bad movies happen to good people, but actually I kind of like it. Don’t hate me. Aside from loving Kate Winslet and movies that have characters with lots of money-so everything is possible, it also has Jude Law in it. I already have a standing crush on Jude Law, but this movie has reaffirmed it to the point where I will go buy the movie just to see him again.
In my singlehood, I’ve been trying to decide what amazing guy I should be looking for to complete my life. I think it’s important to know specify my Mr. Right so that I don’t waste time on all the losers that will be hitting on me in the meantime. I’ve been thinking Dr. because of the financial security, scholarly-but not so much that I look stupid, handsome-but not out of my league, distinguished-but not too old, energetic and exciting-but definitely not too young, and that something that David Hyde Pierce had while playing Niles on Frasier- he was frail and whimsical yet confident and sophisticated. It’s a delicate alchemy, but I feel like the charm of an accent or just a gay Jude Law in general might do the trick.
“I don’t know why I’m not finding this man,” said the gay guy wearing sumo wrestler pajama pants in his parent’s basement.
This amazing gay Jude Law definitely wasn’t finding me the other day as I was actively avoiding participating in a conversation about chiggers with my mother. I hat the word chigger. It’s redneck and basic. I know the insect’s actual name is “Chigger”, but it sounds like something my dad says in place of what its scientific name should be.
Mom: “Did you see me in the bathroom when you got home from work?”
Me: “No, the door was closed”
“Well, I got chiggers while I was picking raspberries this afternoon.”
“…………..mm-hmm.”
“I got them bad!”
“……………mm-hmm.”
“Like from my waist down.” She started to gesture.
“OOOOOOOOOOOOOK!”
“………..alright, Dad had to put this medicine all over my…..”
“Stop! I am not listening to how my parents applied ointment in a closed bathroom! That is not happening!”
I’m still having a hard time erasing that image from my memory.
In addition to living at home, I am also not meeting my gay Jude Law while I am working at a superstore and dancing all day and night. That’s right, I said dancing. I’m a dancer again, I’m taking dance classes at night and I dance with a dance company during the day. They are putting on ballet next month; Romeo & Juliet, I’m playing Paris. I have a friend who couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t be able to meet a boyfriend in dance class. I’ll tell you why this brilliant idea to meet gay men is a complete bust.
I am the only boy in my classes that are mostly filled with 16 year old girls and aside from dodging awkward looks from parents who think I’m a pedophile; I’m actually there to have a good time and dance. While dancing with the company there are 2 other men dancing, but one is from Cuba and doesn’t get my jokes and the other…….how to explain the other……….he is attractive, in a 70’s porn star type of way, he also has never made eye contact with me because, like the rest of the company, he does not interact with me because I have the plague of the new person.
Although I have been dancing with them for 2 weeks now, the plague of the new person is hard to shake and shows no sign signs of being cured. Everything I say is incredibly charming and witty, but to them I am an annoying idiot. All of my dance clothes are appropriate and sleek, but to them I look uptight and toolish. All of my questions pertaining to this very specific rendition on Romeo & Juliet are COMPLETELY appropriate, but to them they are uncalled for and moronic. The plague of the new person is totally bringing me down, if they saw my gay Jude Law imaginary boyfriend they would totally think I was cool……..but seeing as how he doesn’t exist, that would probably just be more ammo for their awkward looks before barre.
I was talking to someone the other day about the 4,000 mile hike up the shit slide of a mountain that is my life, and she said that 26 is rough for everyone and in a few years it’ll be SO much better. If one more person says that to me I am going to lose it. I mean, I WILL FUCKING LOSE IT. I’m not saying that things aren’t better than what they were 6 months ago, but it’s no trip in Barbie’s convertible either. Dr. Gay Jude Law and 1 gabillion dollars better be in my Spectra tomorrow morning on my way to work.
Friday, July 3, 2009
You've Got to Be Meowing Kidding Me!
Hello all,
Last week I went out on a date with a man who shares the name of a man in my immediate family, but we’ll just call him; Not Mr. Rogers. He is tall, tan, thin, and more than slightly older than I am. The age difference didn’t seem to be a problem because Not Mr. Rogers is energetic, full on fun trivia, and has very nice eyes.
Our first outing, which we did not count as an actual date, consisted of a walk around an Indy burro and a long talk on a park bench. He was very captivated by me and had many funny eccentric tendencies. Not Mr. Rogers doesn’t watch TV, so many of my references were lost on him and explaining them lost a lot of the comedic effect, but he still acted interested. With no common interests, ages that contain none of the same numbers, and a non-date that took place mostly in the dark; all signs pointed to a successful date.
He asked me to meet him where he worked, a food bank that sends supplies to victims of national disasters. This was not my ideal setting for a date, but who knows, stranger things have happened……..probably. Many of the quirky idiosyncrasies from the first date had lost their charm in the florescent light of the concrete warehouse. He showed me around; canned goods, ambulance, emergency call center, it was all interesting, but in a completely unimpressive way.
As we walked around the vacant building, he meowed. I have a friend who says the word “meow”, but she replaces it in sentences, “Shut the meow up” or “And then we can meow or whatever” even “Meow-bye.” It’s kind of like “smurf”, it’s funny and infectious. What Not Mr. Rogers was doing was nothing like that. He was actually meowing, like a cat, like a screaming, lost, and scared cat. He did it randomly as we walked around or change topics of conversation. I can’t even explain to you how much of a deal breaker that was.
He also dramatically fake punched me. He did it as an act of endearment; like, “You’re so cute, I’m going to hit you.” Being the youngest of four sons, terrible at ball sports, and a flincher by nature, this brought back some less than fond memories.
Hanging out in an ambulance was fun and all but as the evening was winding down I was trying to find a way out, but then he led me to a dark corner of warehouse that was lit by only an exit sign. He had constructed a mini sitting area with broken down cardboard boxes and blankets intended for flood victims. This was very ….creative…..and ….and thoughtful, but seriously….come on. I won’t say what happened after that…because it ruins my credibility.
As he wished me a fond farewell he gave me a bag of slightly expired Sun Chips, a box of limited edition lime Cheetos, a flat of Gatorade, and a blanket that said “Horth Carolina”. It was meant for a popular sports college, but the blanket manufacturer misprinted them so they were donated to the food bank. I’m not going to lie, these gifts did sweeten the pot a little, but oddly enough it takes a little more than expired snacks to win my heart.
After a series of awkwardly suffocating emails and one-sided phone calls, I finally ended the “relationship-type-thing” today. It wasn’t necessarily for any of the reasons stated in this blog, but it also wasn’t NOT because of any of the reasons in this blog, if you catch my drift. NO JUDGEMENT!
Last week I went out on a date with a man who shares the name of a man in my immediate family, but we’ll just call him; Not Mr. Rogers. He is tall, tan, thin, and more than slightly older than I am. The age difference didn’t seem to be a problem because Not Mr. Rogers is energetic, full on fun trivia, and has very nice eyes.
Our first outing, which we did not count as an actual date, consisted of a walk around an Indy burro and a long talk on a park bench. He was very captivated by me and had many funny eccentric tendencies. Not Mr. Rogers doesn’t watch TV, so many of my references were lost on him and explaining them lost a lot of the comedic effect, but he still acted interested. With no common interests, ages that contain none of the same numbers, and a non-date that took place mostly in the dark; all signs pointed to a successful date.
He asked me to meet him where he worked, a food bank that sends supplies to victims of national disasters. This was not my ideal setting for a date, but who knows, stranger things have happened……..probably. Many of the quirky idiosyncrasies from the first date had lost their charm in the florescent light of the concrete warehouse. He showed me around; canned goods, ambulance, emergency call center, it was all interesting, but in a completely unimpressive way.
As we walked around the vacant building, he meowed. I have a friend who says the word “meow”, but she replaces it in sentences, “Shut the meow up” or “And then we can meow or whatever” even “Meow-bye.” It’s kind of like “smurf”, it’s funny and infectious. What Not Mr. Rogers was doing was nothing like that. He was actually meowing, like a cat, like a screaming, lost, and scared cat. He did it randomly as we walked around or change topics of conversation. I can’t even explain to you how much of a deal breaker that was.
He also dramatically fake punched me. He did it as an act of endearment; like, “You’re so cute, I’m going to hit you.” Being the youngest of four sons, terrible at ball sports, and a flincher by nature, this brought back some less than fond memories.
Hanging out in an ambulance was fun and all but as the evening was winding down I was trying to find a way out, but then he led me to a dark corner of warehouse that was lit by only an exit sign. He had constructed a mini sitting area with broken down cardboard boxes and blankets intended for flood victims. This was very ….creative…..and ….and thoughtful, but seriously….come on. I won’t say what happened after that…because it ruins my credibility.
As he wished me a fond farewell he gave me a bag of slightly expired Sun Chips, a box of limited edition lime Cheetos, a flat of Gatorade, and a blanket that said “Horth Carolina”. It was meant for a popular sports college, but the blanket manufacturer misprinted them so they were donated to the food bank. I’m not going to lie, these gifts did sweeten the pot a little, but oddly enough it takes a little more than expired snacks to win my heart.
After a series of awkwardly suffocating emails and one-sided phone calls, I finally ended the “relationship-type-thing” today. It wasn’t necessarily for any of the reasons stated in this blog, but it also wasn’t NOT because of any of the reasons in this blog, if you catch my drift. NO JUDGEMENT!
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