Work was work. We finally got the motion granted yesterday for me to appear by telephone at the settlement conference – good thing. The guy did show up, which amazed me, but it was an absolute waste of time. He came in with no attorney, basically to poor-mouth the judge and tell him that he wasn’t able to make an offer for settlement. The judge was most solicitous, taking him by the hand and leading him through the process as you would a child, basically. Oh course to hear this guy speak, he sounded like he just got off the boat from the old country and had no idea how court proceedings worked; this despite the fact that he had owned his own company, etc. We did make an offer to settle, which made us look better in front of the judge, but he refused any offer of settlement, telling the judge he was going to “borrow some money” to hire an attorney and mount a counter-claim suit. So it was an hour and a half on the phone, on my time, for nothing. But at least I didn’t have to go to California for that nothing.
After the call was finally over, I had already heard from Fran. She was waiting for me at the hotel. With the fact that it was so late, I was starving, and had worked out four days this week already; I just skipped the gym and went to pick her up.
It’s always good to see Fran. We rode by Carraba’s because I figured I could get my scampi and pasta fix there, but there were 8,000 people on wait, as usual. So we went on over to the Peppermill. I love the Peppermill. But it’s hella expensive. Of course I wasn’t paying the check. When we walked in there was a wait, but the sommelier came up to greet me and shake my hand – he remembered me from the last visit. I was flattered, and I could tell Fran was impressed. It isn’t often you get greeted personally at one of the nicest restaurants in town!
We proceeded to eat as if it was our last meal. We started with a couple of Cosmos, and the moved to stuffed mushrooms that were quite good. Next came a spinach salad they had updated for summer with fresh bananas and strawberries. I love their spinach salads, and have been known to come in and just get two of them to take home for supper. I like the winter version better, but it was still quite good. We ordered a bottle of Pinot Noir that was recommended, but not as good as some I’ve had. It got a bit flat and metallic tasting later in the bottle. For my entrée I had lobster thermidor, because I had always wanted it and never eaten it. I was pissed at myself for not getting it the last time, but I was on a kind of date and didn’t want to get the most expensive thing there. It was very good, but very similar to seafood newberg, another of my favorites. The lobster was 2 pounds! It was huge! It was served with some haricots vert (that really should have been blanched or steamed before they were sautéed, they were a bit tough) and a gorgeously delicious orzo in a tomato cream sauce that I would LOVE to be able to make – I suspect it was made like risotto, on the stove top, reducing the cream sauce gradually with the pasta in it. Lovely. Of course for dessert we had the bananas foster, my very favorite dessert. I ended up finishing Fran’s because she just couldn’t eat any more. I myself was starting to feel like Mr. Creosote from Monty Python’s Meaning of Life by the time we left. We had spent four hours in the restaurant, drinking wine, talking, taking smoke breaks, and of course eating.
We went back to Fran’s hotel and talked by the pool until 1am. I got all caught up on her life (well the big parts anyway), and she was mostly caught up on mine. It was a lovely evening. I went on home because tomorrow I’m taking her to the Anderson Jockey Lot!
Friday, July 31, 2009
Thursday, July 30, 2009
A post in which I put off doing housework, quelle surprise*
I finally went to my boss this morning to set up contingency plans for the California settlement conference today. Of course, after we put a plan in place and I prepped someone from the California office to go, the court found in our favor and I can appear by telephone. That’s ideal for us; since I’m sure the guy we’re suing won’t appear. We’ll get points with the judge just for showing up.
That freed up my plans with Fran for tomorrow night, so I chatted with her about that. We’re going to dinner tomorrow night (I have to decide where), and then to the flea market on Saturday morning. She has decided to leave the kids with her dad in NC, which I have mixed feelings about. On the one hand, I’d kind of like to meet them, and don’t want to be worried about them when she’s here (she has a somewhat tumultuous relationship with her relatives here); but on the other hand I’d just as soon not worry about smoking, drinking, cussing, or generally minding my p’s and q’s around little pitchers.
That means that she’s going to be at the house this weekend at some point. And the house is pretty much a wreck. I hit the gym (the soreness is almost all gone, thank goodness), and went home with the best of intentions to make myself do some cleaning, but one thing led to another. I ate supper and decided to sit down for a while before I got started. Then I saw that TCM was showing Gone With the Wind tonight. Then a buddy hit me up on email and wanted to come by…
By the time he came and went, and I got the kitchen cleaned up and got ready for bed, I was wiped. I did put some stuff away in the kitchen, and soaked the labels off the new console bowl I bought last weekend. I decided if I wake up early in the morning (which I frequently do) I’ll donate my coffee time to straightening up the house a bit. It could use it anyway, whether someone’s coming or not.
The other interesting thing that happened tonight was that B called. B is the guy that Russ introduced me to at the barber shop a couple of weeks ago. Russ called me Wednesday to tell me that B was coming in, and to make sure it was OK for him to give my phone number, which of course it was. I had wondered at first if he would call, but it had kind of slipped my mind when he called last night. We didn’t have wild chemistry when we first met, but he is a good looking guy. More worrisome to me was that he is in this on-again, off-again thing with his ex. He was telling me tonight that his family was in town last weekend, and his ex went out to dinner with them and showed his ass. I can see how his family might have asked about him if they knew him, but it kind of bothers me that he and his ex still seem to be involved so closely. I got a bit of a feeling tonight that he wouldn’t have called me if he wasn’t pissed at his ex over last weekend. Still, it’s just a date (I don't have to eval every guy I meet for marriage, right?), and we’ll see where it goes.
That freed up my plans with Fran for tomorrow night, so I chatted with her about that. We’re going to dinner tomorrow night (I have to decide where), and then to the flea market on Saturday morning. She has decided to leave the kids with her dad in NC, which I have mixed feelings about. On the one hand, I’d kind of like to meet them, and don’t want to be worried about them when she’s here (she has a somewhat tumultuous relationship with her relatives here); but on the other hand I’d just as soon not worry about smoking, drinking, cussing, or generally minding my p’s and q’s around little pitchers.
That means that she’s going to be at the house this weekend at some point. And the house is pretty much a wreck. I hit the gym (the soreness is almost all gone, thank goodness), and went home with the best of intentions to make myself do some cleaning, but one thing led to another. I ate supper and decided to sit down for a while before I got started. Then I saw that TCM was showing Gone With the Wind tonight. Then a buddy hit me up on email and wanted to come by…
By the time he came and went, and I got the kitchen cleaned up and got ready for bed, I was wiped. I did put some stuff away in the kitchen, and soaked the labels off the new console bowl I bought last weekend. I decided if I wake up early in the morning (which I frequently do) I’ll donate my coffee time to straightening up the house a bit. It could use it anyway, whether someone’s coming or not.
The other interesting thing that happened tonight was that B called. B is the guy that Russ introduced me to at the barber shop a couple of weeks ago. Russ called me Wednesday to tell me that B was coming in, and to make sure it was OK for him to give my phone number, which of course it was. I had wondered at first if he would call, but it had kind of slipped my mind when he called last night. We didn’t have wild chemistry when we first met, but he is a good looking guy. More worrisome to me was that he is in this on-again, off-again thing with his ex. He was telling me tonight that his family was in town last weekend, and his ex went out to dinner with them and showed his ass. I can see how his family might have asked about him if they knew him, but it kind of bothers me that he and his ex still seem to be involved so closely. I got a bit of a feeling tonight that he wouldn’t have called me if he wasn’t pissed at his ex over last weekend. Still, it’s just a date (I don't have to eval every guy I meet for marriage, right?), and we’ll see where it goes.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
A post in which I am sore
The soreness I was expecting yesterday came in today. I had brackets of pain on both biceps that I remembered whenever I moved my arms today, so basically all day.
I had a pretty surprising email from Rhonda this morning, basically asking if I still wanted to be her friend. It wouldn’t have been so surprising (we haven’t seen much of each other for a while) if I hadn’t felt like last night went so well. In the end, we got it all worked out, and we’re good. It may all work out great, since Laura just told me recently that I need to find a partner for cards. Michael and I spent many an enjoyable evening at Kimbley and Laura’s playing cards. Since Rhonda’s new lover doesn’t play, if we can work out a regular card night with them it would be perfect. I can’t just have a casual date over to play with Kimbley and Laura, plus so many people don’t play cards anymore. Also, Rhonda is an excellent card player (indeed, she is better than I am) so there wouldn’t be any training period required.
The California settlement hearing continues to hang out there. The attorney has made a motion for me to appear by telephone, but the judge hasn’t ruled on it yet. The courts in the San Francisco area (the hearing is in Hayward, CA) are frequently backed up, and we can wait months to hear a ruling on a motion. One specific default judgment we waited a year for, but this motion should be ruled on before we’re actually required to appear.
I contacted Fran, one of my reps, today to let her know that there could be a complication with our plans for the weekend. She is out here on a visit to her dad in NC, and is coming down to see me and spend some time this weekend. She’s an avid bargain hunter, and is stoked about the Andersen Jockey Lot. I had thought about going to Wilkesboro this weekend to see Granny, but I had forgotten that Fran was coming. Since next weekend is the Bear Pool Party for August, I guess that lets out next weekend also. I do need to get up there, although I don’t relish going in the hot summertime. There isn’t any air conditioning upstairs, although Mom told me that there are a couple of window units in some of the bedrooms now.
I heard from Russ today. He reminded me that when I was moving a washer/dryer last weekend, I was supposed to have been at the flea market with him. It had completely slipped my mind. I’ve been on such a press to fill my weekends lately (so that I don’t have time to get broody), that I guess I overbooked myself without realizing it. Russ also told me he’s going to give my number to the guy I met up at the barber shop a couple of weeks ago. I hope he’ll call. He was a nice guy. I guess we’ll see. Now that I’ve decided to devote my life to my friends and various other spinster pursuits, I’m not frantic about it, but it would be nice to have a good guy to at least go to dinner with and stuff. I don’t know though, from what I understand, this man has a bit of a penchant for the young’uns. I guess I’ll either hear from him or not, right?
When I got off work, I went up to the gym to work out some of that soreness. I know what causes it, and the only way to stop hurting is to wait it out, but you can speed that up by working the sore muscles. So I did penance today for being impatient with my body on Monday. But at least it motivated me to get back into doing some weights work, which I had been putting off.
I went on Facebook again tonight to work on my profile a bit, and answer some messages, but didn’t stay on for long. There are so many screens, and there is so much stuff dumped into your front page, that I just find it bewildering and aggravating. I’m trying to figure out how the myriad of functions work, while getting virtual hearts, jello shots, and friend requests. It’s like the Chuck E Cheese of friend/chat sites. But hey, what else do I have to do, right?
I ate a salad, a sandwich, some nuts, and two cookies for dinner tonight. That’s not too bad I guess. I purposely didn't weigh today. My weight was going back down a bit the last time I did, and I don't want to discourage myself.
There was a pre-code musical called Hips Hips Hooray on TCM tonight. I tried to get into it, but just couldn’t. It was too lower-rent Marx brothers-ish to me. I finally turned it off and put in the Ang Lee version of Sense and Sensibility. Again. And went to bed.
I had a pretty surprising email from Rhonda this morning, basically asking if I still wanted to be her friend. It wouldn’t have been so surprising (we haven’t seen much of each other for a while) if I hadn’t felt like last night went so well. In the end, we got it all worked out, and we’re good. It may all work out great, since Laura just told me recently that I need to find a partner for cards. Michael and I spent many an enjoyable evening at Kimbley and Laura’s playing cards. Since Rhonda’s new lover doesn’t play, if we can work out a regular card night with them it would be perfect. I can’t just have a casual date over to play with Kimbley and Laura, plus so many people don’t play cards anymore. Also, Rhonda is an excellent card player (indeed, she is better than I am) so there wouldn’t be any training period required.
The California settlement hearing continues to hang out there. The attorney has made a motion for me to appear by telephone, but the judge hasn’t ruled on it yet. The courts in the San Francisco area (the hearing is in Hayward, CA) are frequently backed up, and we can wait months to hear a ruling on a motion. One specific default judgment we waited a year for, but this motion should be ruled on before we’re actually required to appear.
I contacted Fran, one of my reps, today to let her know that there could be a complication with our plans for the weekend. She is out here on a visit to her dad in NC, and is coming down to see me and spend some time this weekend. She’s an avid bargain hunter, and is stoked about the Andersen Jockey Lot. I had thought about going to Wilkesboro this weekend to see Granny, but I had forgotten that Fran was coming. Since next weekend is the Bear Pool Party for August, I guess that lets out next weekend also. I do need to get up there, although I don’t relish going in the hot summertime. There isn’t any air conditioning upstairs, although Mom told me that there are a couple of window units in some of the bedrooms now.
I heard from Russ today. He reminded me that when I was moving a washer/dryer last weekend, I was supposed to have been at the flea market with him. It had completely slipped my mind. I’ve been on such a press to fill my weekends lately (so that I don’t have time to get broody), that I guess I overbooked myself without realizing it. Russ also told me he’s going to give my number to the guy I met up at the barber shop a couple of weeks ago. I hope he’ll call. He was a nice guy. I guess we’ll see. Now that I’ve decided to devote my life to my friends and various other spinster pursuits, I’m not frantic about it, but it would be nice to have a good guy to at least go to dinner with and stuff. I don’t know though, from what I understand, this man has a bit of a penchant for the young’uns. I guess I’ll either hear from him or not, right?
When I got off work, I went up to the gym to work out some of that soreness. I know what causes it, and the only way to stop hurting is to wait it out, but you can speed that up by working the sore muscles. So I did penance today for being impatient with my body on Monday. But at least it motivated me to get back into doing some weights work, which I had been putting off.
I went on Facebook again tonight to work on my profile a bit, and answer some messages, but didn’t stay on for long. There are so many screens, and there is so much stuff dumped into your front page, that I just find it bewildering and aggravating. I’m trying to figure out how the myriad of functions work, while getting virtual hearts, jello shots, and friend requests. It’s like the Chuck E Cheese of friend/chat sites. But hey, what else do I have to do, right?
I ate a salad, a sandwich, some nuts, and two cookies for dinner tonight. That’s not too bad I guess. I purposely didn't weigh today. My weight was going back down a bit the last time I did, and I don't want to discourage myself.
There was a pre-code musical called Hips Hips Hooray on TCM tonight. I tried to get into it, but just couldn’t. It was too lower-rent Marx brothers-ish to me. I finally turned it off and put in the Ang Lee version of Sense and Sensibility. Again. And went to bed.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
A post in which I dine with an old friend
Well if you can call eating at the East China Buffet dining, anyway. But strappin' on the feedbag is usually quite good enough for yours truly. Hell, usually I eat dinner in my underwear during the week, so this was practically formal dining.
I wasn’t sore today, amazingly. Stiff yes, but not sore. The residue of frustrated desire lingered in the back of my mind like the smell of burnt sugar though. I really don't like myself when I feel like I'm being the Creepy Gay Guy. It reminds me of how close I am to being a Dirty Old Man. Sometimes though, I just seem to be overcome by longing that manifests as desire, suddenly and quite without design.
I signed on to Facebook today, since apparently everyone in the world is on it but me. It’s pretty much as dildonic as I expected, but I can reference Michael’s page now. I kind of feel like I should, since he checks in on my blog from time to time.
I talked to Terry today. He had called me a couple of times, but I hadn’t sorted through the several phone numbers I had for him (Terry changes phone numbers like most people change socks) to call him back until today. He sounded OK. He is still fighting with John, and relayed the latest salvos in that conflict. He’s in Ohio with his family, and debating staying there. I’d be sorry if he did, but I would understand it.
The more I think about it lately, the more leaving here makes sense. I’m resisting it, because I’d have to overhaul my whole life to do it, but it seems more attractive than it used to. In a way, I kind of envy the fact that Terry cast off all ties. He’s free to do whatever he wants. I don’t even want to think about how hard it would be to sell the house right now though. There are three on my block for sale right now that have been on the market for months, and one that the owner finally just rented out. I did get an interesting letter in the mail though, from someone offering to buy my house. It was just handwritten on legal paper. I thought it was weird at the time, unless they wanted my specific house, but really there isn’t anything that makes mine that terribly different than any of the others in the neighborhood. I stuck the letter in my briefcase and forgot about it, but ran across it the other day. I thought about just calling and naming some outrageous price, but my inherent caution has ruled so far.
I worked out (no weights today), and headed home, did the turnaround, and met Rhonda for dinner.
It was really good to see her. Rhonda and her ex, Jaimi, were really close friends of me and my ex, Michael, when we were still together. They broke up about a year before we did, and we were devastated. I think their breakup kind of sped up our relationship, which was limping toward a conclusion.
Rhonda and I just picked right up where we left off, which is how good friends do. I caught her up on all that had happened with me this Spring/Summer – it’s been a most eventful year. She caught me up on the latest on her son Tony, and her and her lover Sabrina’s problems with trying to buy a house.
By the time I caught her up on BB and Poppy dying, me getting my heart broken, the Spring Camp Out, and SELF, it was about 10. We had adjourned to my place to sit on the front porch, smoke, and talk. It was a really nice evening. Being with Rhonda again is like having a little scrap of my old life back. I have missed her.
I wasn’t sore today, amazingly. Stiff yes, but not sore. The residue of frustrated desire lingered in the back of my mind like the smell of burnt sugar though. I really don't like myself when I feel like I'm being the Creepy Gay Guy. It reminds me of how close I am to being a Dirty Old Man. Sometimes though, I just seem to be overcome by longing that manifests as desire, suddenly and quite without design.
I signed on to Facebook today, since apparently everyone in the world is on it but me. It’s pretty much as dildonic as I expected, but I can reference Michael’s page now. I kind of feel like I should, since he checks in on my blog from time to time.
I talked to Terry today. He had called me a couple of times, but I hadn’t sorted through the several phone numbers I had for him (Terry changes phone numbers like most people change socks) to call him back until today. He sounded OK. He is still fighting with John, and relayed the latest salvos in that conflict. He’s in Ohio with his family, and debating staying there. I’d be sorry if he did, but I would understand it.
The more I think about it lately, the more leaving here makes sense. I’m resisting it, because I’d have to overhaul my whole life to do it, but it seems more attractive than it used to. In a way, I kind of envy the fact that Terry cast off all ties. He’s free to do whatever he wants. I don’t even want to think about how hard it would be to sell the house right now though. There are three on my block for sale right now that have been on the market for months, and one that the owner finally just rented out. I did get an interesting letter in the mail though, from someone offering to buy my house. It was just handwritten on legal paper. I thought it was weird at the time, unless they wanted my specific house, but really there isn’t anything that makes mine that terribly different than any of the others in the neighborhood. I stuck the letter in my briefcase and forgot about it, but ran across it the other day. I thought about just calling and naming some outrageous price, but my inherent caution has ruled so far.
I worked out (no weights today), and headed home, did the turnaround, and met Rhonda for dinner.
It was really good to see her. Rhonda and her ex, Jaimi, were really close friends of me and my ex, Michael, when we were still together. They broke up about a year before we did, and we were devastated. I think their breakup kind of sped up our relationship, which was limping toward a conclusion.
Rhonda and I just picked right up where we left off, which is how good friends do. I caught her up on all that had happened with me this Spring/Summer – it’s been a most eventful year. She caught me up on the latest on her son Tony, and her and her lover Sabrina’s problems with trying to buy a house.
By the time I caught her up on BB and Poppy dying, me getting my heart broken, the Spring Camp Out, and SELF, it was about 10. We had adjourned to my place to sit on the front porch, smoke, and talk. It was a really nice evening. Being with Rhonda again is like having a little scrap of my old life back. I have missed her.
A post in which I find this quote resonant
"Whether your husband is assassinated beside you as you sit watching a third-rate play or whether you are infected in a moment of sexual passion by a fatal virus, life has way of suddenly flipping so that you can end up dying internally, even spiritually, while still being physically alive."
Lewis Gannet (an excerpt from his review of the Andrew Holleran's book Grief)
Lewis Gannet (an excerpt from his review of the Andrew Holleran's book Grief)
Monday, July 27, 2009
A post in which I ponder angry frustration, punish myself, and cook
Work was work yesterday, right up until the end of the day. I had a message from an attorney from the end of the day last Friday, and returned his call. He casually informed me that I was to be in Hayward California on Friday! First I’ve heard about it. We usually have something coming up where I’m supposed to appear, but usually the company goes out of business, files bankruptcy, or settles before an appearance is actually necessary. In proceedings where it looks as if I will actually have to appear, we usually make a motion for me to appear by telephone. Sometimes we skip the proceeding, depending on what the sanctions are, if it looks as if nothing will be accomplished. In this case, no motion to appear by phone had even been made. I told the attorney to make a motion for me to appear by telephone, sent an email to the collection agency, basically ripping them a new one, and hit the gym.
The gym was frustrating. Usually when I go up I’m there by myself, but today when I went in there were several guys changing. One of them is up there every so often, but he’s a rather non-descript kind of guy, although he is furry. I saw his butt today, and Oh my God it was all I could do to keep focused. It is so perfect that angels would weep; olive-complected, perfectly shaped, and covered with soft brown fur. All this I saw in a glance, trying not to stare. I was really, really glad that my eyes didn’t lock on and refuse to be diverted, as has happened in the past (in other situations, not with this guy). So I’m trying to work out and not stare at this guy, and I’m putting off that vibe that makes them nervous. It’s some kind of left over survival instinct, but a guy senses something is off if he’s around someone who is secretly panting for him, whether he’s actually aware of what’s going on or not. I know he made a bee-line out of that locker room.
Then I started thinking that I’d never have a guy with an ass like that. Then I got frustrated with myself for even thinking about another boyfriend after what happened last time. I was pissed that here I am, thinking ‘I gotta have me a man’ 24 hours a fucking day like I’m some kind of brainwashed woman from the 50s. It also pisses me off that here I am, in my fucking 40s, lusting after straight guys in gym class like I did when I was an adolescent. I Then I got frustrated with being fish-belly white and saggy. I hit the weights pretty hard today, as if to punish myself for aging and for lusting after someone so remotely impossible. I was stiff when I left. I’ll be sore tomorrow.
I guess the real frustration is that all this physical lusting is just a substitution for the real problem. As Andrew Holleran says in Dancer from the Dance, it’s really my heart that is horny (not the first of many times I’ve identified with his protagonist, Anthony Malone, would that I had been blessed {or cursed} with his beauty). It’s just a lot easier to get laid than it is to find someone to care about. Maybe my body or mind is just automatically translating that hunger to lust because that at least can be satiated, however temporarily.
When I got home I changed and headed for the store, then came home and spent the evening in the kitchen. I casserole-ized my squash. I ended up using only one recipe this time, which was quite enough of a pain in the ass. I was hungry too, but wanted to get my casserole in the oven before I stopped to eat.
After I ate supper, I cut fruit. For some reason I decided I needed two watermelons this week, and they are taking up tons o room in the fridge. After that, I got some cherries on Sunday. They were only a dollar a bag, and when I got them home I found out why – they were old enough that about half of them were rotten. I sorted through them, and took most of them for lunch today, but I still have LOTS of fruit this week.
After cleaning up the kitchen and changing out a load of laundry, I was pretty whooped and went on to bed.
The gym was frustrating. Usually when I go up I’m there by myself, but today when I went in there were several guys changing. One of them is up there every so often, but he’s a rather non-descript kind of guy, although he is furry. I saw his butt today, and Oh my God it was all I could do to keep focused. It is so perfect that angels would weep; olive-complected, perfectly shaped, and covered with soft brown fur. All this I saw in a glance, trying not to stare. I was really, really glad that my eyes didn’t lock on and refuse to be diverted, as has happened in the past (in other situations, not with this guy). So I’m trying to work out and not stare at this guy, and I’m putting off that vibe that makes them nervous. It’s some kind of left over survival instinct, but a guy senses something is off if he’s around someone who is secretly panting for him, whether he’s actually aware of what’s going on or not. I know he made a bee-line out of that locker room.
Then I started thinking that I’d never have a guy with an ass like that. Then I got frustrated with myself for even thinking about another boyfriend after what happened last time. I was pissed that here I am, thinking ‘I gotta have me a man’ 24 hours a fucking day like I’m some kind of brainwashed woman from the 50s. It also pisses me off that here I am, in my fucking 40s, lusting after straight guys in gym class like I did when I was an adolescent. I Then I got frustrated with being fish-belly white and saggy. I hit the weights pretty hard today, as if to punish myself for aging and for lusting after someone so remotely impossible. I was stiff when I left. I’ll be sore tomorrow.
I guess the real frustration is that all this physical lusting is just a substitution for the real problem. As Andrew Holleran says in Dancer from the Dance, it’s really my heart that is horny (not the first of many times I’ve identified with his protagonist, Anthony Malone, would that I had been blessed {or cursed} with his beauty). It’s just a lot easier to get laid than it is to find someone to care about. Maybe my body or mind is just automatically translating that hunger to lust because that at least can be satiated, however temporarily.
When I got home I changed and headed for the store, then came home and spent the evening in the kitchen. I casserole-ized my squash. I ended up using only one recipe this time, which was quite enough of a pain in the ass. I was hungry too, but wanted to get my casserole in the oven before I stopped to eat.
After I ate supper, I cut fruit. For some reason I decided I needed two watermelons this week, and they are taking up tons o room in the fridge. After that, I got some cherries on Sunday. They were only a dollar a bag, and when I got them home I found out why – they were old enough that about half of them were rotten. I sorted through them, and took most of them for lunch today, but I still have LOTS of fruit this week.
After cleaning up the kitchen and changing out a load of laundry, I was pretty whooped and went on to bed.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
A post in which I go to supper at Jeff and James's place*
When James called me yesterday, I told him I would bring a batch of my triple-cheese bean dip with me tonight. At the time, it seemed like I would have plenty of time to do that and not rush today. I rarely make it because it’s such a pain in the ass.
Of course, going to move appliances this morning kind of threw off my timing, but in all honesty it was really more my fault. I got up early and had a buddy come by for a bit, then did a quick run through the flea market on White Horse. I didn’t get anything. It strange how things go in cycles there. I need fabric softener. Two weeks ago, everyone had Downy for sale, but now no one does. The source has apparently dried up.
Then I ran over to Miss Kat and dana’s house, reflecting that it would perhaps have been wiser to eat breakfast than to go to the flea market this morning. Miss Kat saved me though; she had breakfast ready when I got there. After eggs, grits, and whole wheat toast, I felt much more human and ready to move a big washer/dryer set.
We got the set on the truck easily enough – the auction house had a big dock you could just back up to and basically drop stuff into a truck; but it was a bit scary getting them home. Greg was riding with dana in the truck, and Helen, Miss Kat, and I were following. Greg decided to ride in the back with the set, standing up for some odd reason. Had they started to fall out, I don’t know of a thing he could have done about it but fall out with them. That’s a man for you. The police rode right by us on the way back; but didn’t stop dana, amazingly.
Getting the set in the house actually went much more easily than I expected. Their laundry room is awkwardly placed in the basement, and you have to actually push the washer and dryer through a low hole cut in the wall. With the aid of a hand truck though, the whole thing went amazingly smoothly.
That’s when I got into trouble on my timing. We went upstairs for a celebratory smoke, after which I was fairly worthless for about an hour. I left their house around noon, and went by the grocery store on the way home to get the rest of the stuff for the dip. That was an adventure, since I had a bad case of the munchies and had to get through the store without buying a bunch of crap. I got in line, and waited, and waited some more. I felt beads of sweat gather on my forehead. Fortunately, about the time I was thinking about getting out of line to go through the chip aisle, the line started moving. I got out with only a cup of banana chips extra. I got home and ate lunch, then had to have a nap. I finally got up and started cooking about 2:30.
I put the dip together, and then decided I wouldn’t have time to put my casserole together, but I went ahead and stewed up the squash, since that is the time-consuming part. I washed my TR shirt so I could wear it, and cleaned up the kitchen (making this dip is very messy – plus I had added a layer of fakin’ bacon bits in honor of James, who is a baconaholic). Dinner was supposed to start about 6. I got in the car on the dot of 5:30. I got halfway there, and then remembered that I was supposed to bring tequila for margaritas. I remembered everything but that. I called Justin (James wasn’t answering his phone), but ultimately made the executive decision not to turn back. I was ready to get there and relax, and really drinking margaritas on a Sunday afternoon probably wasn’t the best idea for me anyway.
When I got to James and Jeff’s house, they were working on supper, but we weren’t close to eating yet. I popped the dip in the oven, and we snacked on that and some homemade pico de gallo while they finished up. The dip was a big hit, and well worth the trouble to make. I won’t make that just for me though; I have to have a gathering to inspire me to that pain.
Of course, going to move appliances this morning kind of threw off my timing, but in all honesty it was really more my fault. I got up early and had a buddy come by for a bit, then did a quick run through the flea market on White Horse. I didn’t get anything. It strange how things go in cycles there. I need fabric softener. Two weeks ago, everyone had Downy for sale, but now no one does. The source has apparently dried up.
Then I ran over to Miss Kat and dana’s house, reflecting that it would perhaps have been wiser to eat breakfast than to go to the flea market this morning. Miss Kat saved me though; she had breakfast ready when I got there. After eggs, grits, and whole wheat toast, I felt much more human and ready to move a big washer/dryer set.
We got the set on the truck easily enough – the auction house had a big dock you could just back up to and basically drop stuff into a truck; but it was a bit scary getting them home. Greg was riding with dana in the truck, and Helen, Miss Kat, and I were following. Greg decided to ride in the back with the set, standing up for some odd reason. Had they started to fall out, I don’t know of a thing he could have done about it but fall out with them. That’s a man for you. The police rode right by us on the way back; but didn’t stop dana, amazingly.
Getting the set in the house actually went much more easily than I expected. Their laundry room is awkwardly placed in the basement, and you have to actually push the washer and dryer through a low hole cut in the wall. With the aid of a hand truck though, the whole thing went amazingly smoothly.
That’s when I got into trouble on my timing. We went upstairs for a celebratory smoke, after which I was fairly worthless for about an hour. I left their house around noon, and went by the grocery store on the way home to get the rest of the stuff for the dip. That was an adventure, since I had a bad case of the munchies and had to get through the store without buying a bunch of crap. I got in line, and waited, and waited some more. I felt beads of sweat gather on my forehead. Fortunately, about the time I was thinking about getting out of line to go through the chip aisle, the line started moving. I got out with only a cup of banana chips extra. I got home and ate lunch, then had to have a nap. I finally got up and started cooking about 2:30.
I put the dip together, and then decided I wouldn’t have time to put my casserole together, but I went ahead and stewed up the squash, since that is the time-consuming part. I washed my TR shirt so I could wear it, and cleaned up the kitchen (making this dip is very messy – plus I had added a layer of fakin’ bacon bits in honor of James, who is a baconaholic). Dinner was supposed to start about 6. I got in the car on the dot of 5:30. I got halfway there, and then remembered that I was supposed to bring tequila for margaritas. I remembered everything but that. I called Justin (James wasn’t answering his phone), but ultimately made the executive decision not to turn back. I was ready to get there and relax, and really drinking margaritas on a Sunday afternoon probably wasn’t the best idea for me anyway.
When I got to James and Jeff’s house, they were working on supper, but we weren’t close to eating yet. I popped the dip in the oven, and we snacked on that and some homemade pico de gallo while they finished up. The dip was a big hit, and well worth the trouble to make. I won’t make that just for me though; I have to have a gathering to inspire me to that pain.
Justin brought the little sandwich glass set he and Amanda found last week. He told me his grandmother could use the cream and sugar that went on it, and I sent them on to her with my compliments. I don't know what I'll do with the little tray, but it sure is pretty.
9 1/4" handled sandwich glass cream and sugar tray in crystal by Indiana Glass. This pattern was made from 1925 up through 1985! This is the picture of my actual tray. Amanda took it and it was so pretty I just posted it.
I had brought some old Mystery Science Theater 3000 movies, and we watched some of them while we ate and visited. I had a really nice time.
I left about nine, when they were preparing to watch TV. I needed to get home and hit the hay. Another week starts tomorrow.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
A post in which I go to an auction*
I got up this morning and made a brief visit to a buddy. I got away in time to do a bit of thrift shopping, and run over to the flea market. I didn’t find any glass, but I productively went ahead and bought my produce for the week. I’m planning to make a big squash casserole to eat on next week, so I spent some time last week researching recipes online. I thought that I ordered a copy of a cook book that had a great one in it a while back, but when I got the cookbook the recipe wasn’t in it – meaning either my memory is faulty or the recipe was edited out of a subsequent printing. I’ve narrowed it down to two. I may make both, and just see how they turn out.
I got home and was taking a nap when dana called. Apparently she had called me last night and I missed the call – I have no idea how. I had carried my phone around last night specifically because I thought I would take Anna over there to meet them if they called. Anywho, Greg was up from Atlanta this weekend to see them, and they invited me over to hang out and go to an antique auction tonight. Then James called to invite me to dinner at their place tomorrow night. I cheerfully accepted both offers. Fulfilling spinsterhood, here I come! Seriously though, I love that I have friends that invite me places. It was good to feel like I had plenty to do.
The auction was pretty cool. It was at a nice auction house out in Traveler’s Rest. Apparently they are trying to build a clientele. There were lots of freebies tonight. For showing up we got free t-shirts. Because I am a larger size, mine ended up being a TR shirt instead of one for the auction house, which I thought was very cool and quirky. I can’t wait to wear it tomorrow. Justin will be so jealous of my TR tourist shirt! They also had complimentary little pocket measuring-tapes with the auction house logo on them. I picked one up for Justin. I keep one in my glass bag, but I don’t think he has one. I also won 25 auction dollars from a ticket drawing they did later that evening, so I ended up getting a pink console bowl for free. You just can’t beat that. I’m not sure what the pattern the bowl is – it’s a very plain etched pattern, and may not be in the book; but the bowl has a lovely shape and is in great condition. From the date of much of the stuff from the estate, I'm sure it's period. I’ve just always wanted a console bowl, but haven’t ever had one.
I also bought Dad’s Christmas gift. This is going to be chancy. One summer I told Dad about a friend of mine who had an old wrought iron dog door-stop that had been in his family for years. He and his brother had fought over it until they finally had to agree to joint custody - each kept it in their home for six months of the year. When I told Dad about it, we started looking for them at the flea market, back when we used to go together, but we never found any but the cheap reproductions. This one is an old one, and I got it at a pretty good price – about half what I figure it is worth; but they go for $125-$200 depending on the condition. I think Eve will like it just because it’s a cool old thing, and is worth a bit of money; but if Dad doesn’t remember us looking for them it’s going to kind of fall flat as a gift. But I’ll take my chances. I usually give them a gift certificate for a meal out somewhere. This will at least be a change.
I got home and was taking a nap when dana called. Apparently she had called me last night and I missed the call – I have no idea how. I had carried my phone around last night specifically because I thought I would take Anna over there to meet them if they called. Anywho, Greg was up from Atlanta this weekend to see them, and they invited me over to hang out and go to an antique auction tonight. Then James called to invite me to dinner at their place tomorrow night. I cheerfully accepted both offers. Fulfilling spinsterhood, here I come! Seriously though, I love that I have friends that invite me places. It was good to feel like I had plenty to do.
The auction was pretty cool. It was at a nice auction house out in Traveler’s Rest. Apparently they are trying to build a clientele. There were lots of freebies tonight. For showing up we got free t-shirts. Because I am a larger size, mine ended up being a TR shirt instead of one for the auction house, which I thought was very cool and quirky. I can’t wait to wear it tomorrow. Justin will be so jealous of my TR tourist shirt! They also had complimentary little pocket measuring-tapes with the auction house logo on them. I picked one up for Justin. I keep one in my glass bag, but I don’t think he has one. I also won 25 auction dollars from a ticket drawing they did later that evening, so I ended up getting a pink console bowl for free. You just can’t beat that. I’m not sure what the pattern the bowl is – it’s a very plain etched pattern, and may not be in the book; but the bowl has a lovely shape and is in great condition. From the date of much of the stuff from the estate, I'm sure it's period. I’ve just always wanted a console bowl, but haven’t ever had one.
I also bought Dad’s Christmas gift. This is going to be chancy. One summer I told Dad about a friend of mine who had an old wrought iron dog door-stop that had been in his family for years. He and his brother had fought over it until they finally had to agree to joint custody - each kept it in their home for six months of the year. When I told Dad about it, we started looking for them at the flea market, back when we used to go together, but we never found any but the cheap reproductions. This one is an old one, and I got it at a pretty good price – about half what I figure it is worth; but they go for $125-$200 depending on the condition. I think Eve will like it just because it’s a cool old thing, and is worth a bit of money; but if Dad doesn’t remember us looking for them it’s going to kind of fall flat as a gift. But I’ll take my chances. I usually give them a gift certificate for a meal out somewhere. This will at least be a change.
This old doorstop looks very similar to the one I bought Saturday night. (I think the paint on mine may look a tad better.) Apparently "Hubley" is the sought after maker here. I'm going to have to do some research before Christmas to find out exactly what I bought.
It was a great estate they were selling. There was lots of cool stuff - most of which I couldn't afford, of course. They had two exquisite sets of matching glasses. One was a set of light green champagne glasses, the other an gorgeous set of hollow-stemmed, hand etched sherry glasses. The bowls were almost a vaseline yellow color. I expected them to go high, and they did, but Helen bought them! I was pretty surprised, but they are gorgeous, and a set of 12 like that is very rare. They must have never been used - they looked perfect.
There was also some beautiful jewelry. The woman's engagement ring ended up for sale. I can't imagine how, unless there was no family left. It was almost a karat sized octagon solitaire, set in a gorgeous old platinum band. It had been given in 1897, and the couple was happily married for many years. What a romantic history for a ring. If I'd had someone to give it to, I would certainly have done my best to snatch it up.
Miss Kat made the big buy of the night though. I went outside to talk to Helen while we smoked, and when we came back in, Miss Kat had purchased a very nice washer and dryer that had come out of the estate they were auctioning. She made a great buy – this is a very fancy set of the newest type, both front loaders, etc. She got them for about half price. The problem was that we hadn’t planned to purchase anything like them that night, so we had no way to get them home. Fortunately, the auction house is used to stuff like that and we worked out a time to pick them up tomorrow.
We left and went to dinner at a little country place, where I had an excellent tuna melt. I am way over my quota on fish for this week. But you only live once, right?
We got back to their house and hung out and smoked for a while before disbanding. We’re meeting in the morning at 9:30am to go get the appliances, so we needed to go ahead and turn in.
Friday, July 24, 2009
A post in which it is movie night
Work was work. I hit the gym afterwards.
I was excited because a new movie called In the Loop was opening this weekend. It sounds really good. I called Anna to see if she wanted to go, and she said she’d like to; but when I looked into actual times, it wasn’t opening here. Of course. I guess there’s not a big market for British political satire in South Carolina - go figure. But we decided to go to dinner anyway.
By the time I got off work, I was in an odd mood. I was weary of trying to throw off the chains of conformity. I wanted to give up and revel in the mediocrity of American society. So we went to Golden Corral for dinner. Can’t get much more mediocre than that. I had to talk Anna in to going, because she apparently had some trauma there with an ex in the past, but Lordamercy - can you really assign painful memories to a cheap buffet? Anyway, she went after persuasion, and apparently suffered no trauma while we were there. We ate basically until we couldn’t move. They had surprisingly good calamari, among other tasty, formerly-packeted dishes.
After we ate, we talked while we tried to decide what to do. I was kind of in the mood to go fry my brain with a typical cinematic abomination – specifically G-Force, a movie in which an elite team of guinea pigs is trained as secret agents. Yeah, I know, completely dildonic. But even in my mood of wanting to revel in mediocrity, I just couldn’t bring myself to shell out $20 to go see CGI guinea pigs.
We ended up going to Anna’s house and just hanging out with her mom, Kathy. She was watching a movie called Danika, in which Marisa Tormei is given the chance to go crazy after winning the Oscar for My Cousin Vinnie. Unfortunately, the movie completely sucked. After the unsatisfactory conclusion (in which we are left to wonder how much of the movie actually occurred, and how much of it was the product of her unbalanced mind as we are treated to a close up of her very dirty, homeless feet), Kathy turned to another odd movie called simply Bug, in which Ashley Judd and her co-star Michael Shannon get to go crazy, line their apartment with aluminum foil, light it with bug zappers, and despair over the fact that Judd has become the ‘super mother bug’ (yes, gentle reader, that is a direct quote) before immolating themselves. Yeah, that was a pick-me-up. Rotten Tomatoes gives this movie a 58% fresh rating, so I guess other people saw a whole lot more in it than I did, musta not been my kind of thing. I thought it completely sucked.
We finally discovered and put the object of our quest in the DVD player. Anna had a copy of La Vie En Rose, which I had really wanted to see. It was a very good movie, but exceedingly grim. OK, so I know that Edith Piaf didn’t lead a charmed life, OK? But it is pretty unremitting until she falls in love with Marcel Cerdan. Still, it was excellent. Marion Cotillard was stunning. She totally deserved the Oscar she won for best actress. She plays Piaf from 20 to 47 (when she died) brilliantly. I understand that they used Jil Aigrot for three of the songs, of which they didn’t have good Piaf recordings, but frankly, I didn’t even notice. She was wonderful. Cotillard lip-synched so well that I forgot she wasn’t singing. And I’ve watched a lotta lip-synch in my day.
It was a long movie. When it was over, Anna and I hung out for a bit and talked about weird music we like. Surprisingly, Anna likes some of the same odd things I do - we had several CDs in common (among them specifically, a quirky little compilation CD called 'Divas Exotica'). I would have expected her to have much stranger taste than I do. Admittedly, she mentioned several artists I had never heard of, but we ended up singing snatches of odd songs we both enjoy.
It was a nice evening.
I was excited because a new movie called In the Loop was opening this weekend. It sounds really good. I called Anna to see if she wanted to go, and she said she’d like to; but when I looked into actual times, it wasn’t opening here. Of course. I guess there’s not a big market for British political satire in South Carolina - go figure. But we decided to go to dinner anyway.
By the time I got off work, I was in an odd mood. I was weary of trying to throw off the chains of conformity. I wanted to give up and revel in the mediocrity of American society. So we went to Golden Corral for dinner. Can’t get much more mediocre than that. I had to talk Anna in to going, because she apparently had some trauma there with an ex in the past, but Lordamercy - can you really assign painful memories to a cheap buffet? Anyway, she went after persuasion, and apparently suffered no trauma while we were there. We ate basically until we couldn’t move. They had surprisingly good calamari, among other tasty, formerly-packeted dishes.
After we ate, we talked while we tried to decide what to do. I was kind of in the mood to go fry my brain with a typical cinematic abomination – specifically G-Force, a movie in which an elite team of guinea pigs is trained as secret agents. Yeah, I know, completely dildonic. But even in my mood of wanting to revel in mediocrity, I just couldn’t bring myself to shell out $20 to go see CGI guinea pigs.
We ended up going to Anna’s house and just hanging out with her mom, Kathy. She was watching a movie called Danika, in which Marisa Tormei is given the chance to go crazy after winning the Oscar for My Cousin Vinnie. Unfortunately, the movie completely sucked. After the unsatisfactory conclusion (in which we are left to wonder how much of the movie actually occurred, and how much of it was the product of her unbalanced mind as we are treated to a close up of her very dirty, homeless feet), Kathy turned to another odd movie called simply Bug, in which Ashley Judd and her co-star Michael Shannon get to go crazy, line their apartment with aluminum foil, light it with bug zappers, and despair over the fact that Judd has become the ‘super mother bug’ (yes, gentle reader, that is a direct quote) before immolating themselves. Yeah, that was a pick-me-up. Rotten Tomatoes gives this movie a 58% fresh rating, so I guess other people saw a whole lot more in it than I did, musta not been my kind of thing. I thought it completely sucked.
We finally discovered and put the object of our quest in the DVD player. Anna had a copy of La Vie En Rose, which I had really wanted to see. It was a very good movie, but exceedingly grim. OK, so I know that Edith Piaf didn’t lead a charmed life, OK? But it is pretty unremitting until she falls in love with Marcel Cerdan. Still, it was excellent. Marion Cotillard was stunning. She totally deserved the Oscar she won for best actress. She plays Piaf from 20 to 47 (when she died) brilliantly. I understand that they used Jil Aigrot for three of the songs, of which they didn’t have good Piaf recordings, but frankly, I didn’t even notice. She was wonderful. Cotillard lip-synched so well that I forgot she wasn’t singing. And I’ve watched a lotta lip-synch in my day.
It was a long movie. When it was over, Anna and I hung out for a bit and talked about weird music we like. Surprisingly, Anna likes some of the same odd things I do - we had several CDs in common (among them specifically, a quirky little compilation CD called 'Divas Exotica'). I would have expected her to have much stranger taste than I do. Admittedly, she mentioned several artists I had never heard of, but we ended up singing snatches of odd songs we both enjoy.
It was a nice evening.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
A post in which I am restless
Well so much for sleeping through the night. I was up at 2:30, but I ate some peanut butter toast and was able to go back to sleep after about an hour.
I was back up early today for the &*^%&^$##!! quarterly meeting. The powers that be have decided that their blather is important enough to rip us from our beds a half hour early to hear it. Fortunately, they have cut down on the number of presenters. They used to have the VP from every division do a (lovingly and endlessly detailed) presentation on what their department is doing, which just took forever. Now, just the head honcho, the charity organizer, and HR speak. Our president’s speaking skills have vastly improved as well. I wondered when he would take a class or something. I used to pass the time by counting the ‘um’s when he spoke. For a while there he was up to 20-22 per minute. That’s a lot of umming. So things have improved, but he still speaks for too long. He talked for about 35 minutes this morning, and even a good Baptist minister knows that you can only speak for 20 minutes before all anyone can think about is their butt. Maybe we should break for a hymn, or a company song, or something…
I had coffee (with cream, yay) before I went in, and did have a moment on the porch; my own little Walden Pond. When it’s quiet and cool in the morning, it really is a little oasis of tranquility. I took stock a bit this morning. The house is fairly straight. I feel like I look pretty good (for me anyway). I seem to have come through that wave of strangely crippling depression from last week relatively unscathed. Things are fairly together right now. I feel like I’m setting the stage, like I’m ready for something to happen, but nothing is. I used to think that I needed to keep a place in my life for someone, but now I’m actually thinking it may be time to give that up. It may be time to look into a fulfilling spinsterhood. Maybe I should just volunteer for a charity work. AID Upstate (or another charity) has to be looking for volunteers. Maybe I should go back to church. I just feel like there is this huge empty space in my life that I’m ready to fill. In less profound musings, I was thinking that this weekend I should maybe try to tackle house cleaning early. Maybe if I clean for two hours Saturday morning, I could reward myself with café con leche and Cuban toast at Latin Express…
Work was work. Since I had packed in my breakfast (if I eat early enough to do it before the quarterly meeting, my sugar drops and I have a headache by lunch), I promptly dropped tomato guts all down the front of my baby blue shirt. I and I thought I looked so natty today too. Before that, anyway. I bugged Jim again for that missing file and did my calls.
I hit the gym after work. My workout came hard today. I felt really tired and bloated up from lunch still for some reason. I got through it, and decided to weigh. I’m up 7 pounds since the last time. I tried to tell myself it’s just one of those fluctuations, but it was damn discouraging nonetheless. I only took a week off for Chrissake!
I came home and was restless. Being home by myself has stopped feeling like a refuge and started feeling constrictive. I could have cleaned, of course, but who wants to do that. There was nothing on TV, and nothing I wanted to eat for supper. I thought about going somewhere, but I would have to eat first (I don’t expect people to be able to provide a vegetarian meal out of the blue – for some reason people find it very intimidating to offer you food that doesn’t involve a piece of meat), plus I had sheets to change and dishes to wash.
I turned on some re-runs of 'Friends' and did my chores. But I stayed restless until I was tired enough to go to bed.
I was back up early today for the &*^%&^$##!! quarterly meeting. The powers that be have decided that their blather is important enough to rip us from our beds a half hour early to hear it. Fortunately, they have cut down on the number of presenters. They used to have the VP from every division do a (lovingly and endlessly detailed) presentation on what their department is doing, which just took forever. Now, just the head honcho, the charity organizer, and HR speak. Our president’s speaking skills have vastly improved as well. I wondered when he would take a class or something. I used to pass the time by counting the ‘um’s when he spoke. For a while there he was up to 20-22 per minute. That’s a lot of umming. So things have improved, but he still speaks for too long. He talked for about 35 minutes this morning, and even a good Baptist minister knows that you can only speak for 20 minutes before all anyone can think about is their butt. Maybe we should break for a hymn, or a company song, or something…
I had coffee (with cream, yay) before I went in, and did have a moment on the porch; my own little Walden Pond. When it’s quiet and cool in the morning, it really is a little oasis of tranquility. I took stock a bit this morning. The house is fairly straight. I feel like I look pretty good (for me anyway). I seem to have come through that wave of strangely crippling depression from last week relatively unscathed. Things are fairly together right now. I feel like I’m setting the stage, like I’m ready for something to happen, but nothing is. I used to think that I needed to keep a place in my life for someone, but now I’m actually thinking it may be time to give that up. It may be time to look into a fulfilling spinsterhood. Maybe I should just volunteer for a charity work. AID Upstate (or another charity) has to be looking for volunteers. Maybe I should go back to church. I just feel like there is this huge empty space in my life that I’m ready to fill. In less profound musings, I was thinking that this weekend I should maybe try to tackle house cleaning early. Maybe if I clean for two hours Saturday morning, I could reward myself with café con leche and Cuban toast at Latin Express…
Work was work. Since I had packed in my breakfast (if I eat early enough to do it before the quarterly meeting, my sugar drops and I have a headache by lunch), I promptly dropped tomato guts all down the front of my baby blue shirt. I and I thought I looked so natty today too. Before that, anyway. I bugged Jim again for that missing file and did my calls.
I hit the gym after work. My workout came hard today. I felt really tired and bloated up from lunch still for some reason. I got through it, and decided to weigh. I’m up 7 pounds since the last time. I tried to tell myself it’s just one of those fluctuations, but it was damn discouraging nonetheless. I only took a week off for Chrissake!
I came home and was restless. Being home by myself has stopped feeling like a refuge and started feeling constrictive. I could have cleaned, of course, but who wants to do that. There was nothing on TV, and nothing I wanted to eat for supper. I thought about going somewhere, but I would have to eat first (I don’t expect people to be able to provide a vegetarian meal out of the blue – for some reason people find it very intimidating to offer you food that doesn’t involve a piece of meat), plus I had sheets to change and dishes to wash.
I turned on some re-runs of 'Friends' and did my chores. But I stayed restless until I was tired enough to go to bed.
A post in which I ponder the accolades for Michael Jackson
This is a post I have waited to write. I’ve been trying to turn it over in my head and figure some things out, but I remain confused.
Michael Jackson died on June 25, 2009. He was a gifted entertainer, a vastly talented singer, a living legend, and a pedophile.
I’m not going to waste tons of time arguing this truth, but I will briefly address the nay-sayers, most of whom probably stopped reading the post after the above sentence. I have read the declaration given by Jordie Chandler, the first molestation victim to come forward. If this child wasn’t telling the truth, his family sat down with him and had him memorize a book on how pedophiles seduce children, all of which he remembered, step by step, in giving a deposition to social services. I have given a deposition to social services myself, and I know what that is like. I think it unlikely to the point of impossibility that a twelve year old boy could give such a detailed and consistent story to the authorities seamlessly.
I saw the Bashir documentary. At the time, the footage of MJ with Gavin Arvizo alarmed me. I was more surprised that he had actually come forward than I was that Michael Jackson molested him when his allegations finally became public. His family is poor, dysfunctional, and his mother seems to be borderline of some kind of disorder; but none of this changes the facts, although they most assuredly did change the outcome of the court case.
Both boys supplied the police with drawings of Michael Jackson’s genitalia that matched the unique skin patterns (caused by vitiligo) shown in photographs taken of Jackson’s privates during the Jordie Chandler investigation. This to me is the equivalent of (or stronger than) the 'Hansel and Gretel' blood trail left by OJ Simpson from Nicole Brown Simpson’s house to his own on the night he killed her. There was an additional settlement with a maid over the molestation of her son for $2.5million that Jackson’s people quietly made go away, and which was not broadly covered in the media.
I followed the trial extensively. I have read about his life; most notably the series of articles Vanity Fair did about him. These articles are by far the most informative, and in my opinion illuminating, look into his private life (if not in possession of the most attributed sources). I have tried to think about things from his perspective, and it makes perfect sense within the framework of a molester who is sexually arrested. From what I have read about his life I do have a measure of sympathy for him (as much sympathy as I can have for any molester, anyway). He didn’t have much a childhood and his father was a bastard by all accounts. But I am also a firm believer that at some point in your life, you become more than just a product of your childhood. You have to step into adulthood and begin to make decisions about where you are going from here. You don’t write the beginning of your story, but you certainly write the end. MJ had every advantage. He was talented, beloved, enormously wealthy, and had the world at his feet. He didn’t have to pursue young boys. He certainly had access to any of the best treatment offered in the world. Instead, he built what has been referred to as a real-life version of Pinocchio’s Pleasure Island, where young boys are trapped in a fantasy and exposed to vice.
I understand why fans don’t want to believe the truth. This man was tremendously talented. He changed music, and practically invented the music video. He was non-threatening (if you weren’t around him personally). Many children grew up with the image and presence of Michael Jackson and his music in their lives. To tarnish his image is to color their young memories with a cynicism, a taint of the real world, which they resist. Hell, for that matter, I was a teenager in the 80’s – I would love to be able to believe he was innocent. For hardcore fans, of course, it is always hard to realize that your idol has feet of clay - some simply refuse. If even your hero is faulty, what is left to aspire to in this world? People naturally resist the idea that something they have long admired and respected is unworthy of said respect. It means they have squandered that admiration and respect. No one wants to think they have wasted part of their life and affection on an unworthy object. It invalidates part of your self.
I can understand, to an extent, why the parents couldn’t (or didn’t want to) believe it when it was happening. Denial by a parent is very common in molestation cases. Parents don’t want to believe that something like that can happen. They don’t want to have to accuse someone and deal with the anger, the guilt, the reality that their child has been assaulted and damaged. They don’t want to disrupt life as they know it. And that’s just in average cases that don’t involve a perpetrator that buys new cars, expensive watches, jewelry, or dream vacations. Arvizo’s family lived in the barrio. Visiting Neverland was like a dream world to them. They would have to be really, really sure of his guilt to accuse him. And the fact that he had a pattern of separating the boys from their parents on the grounds of the huge estate made it really easy to maintain a denial mindset.
I understand why the Jackson family has rallied round and denied everything through the years. MJ was the gravy train - the most talented star of a talented family. The rest of them basically lived on his coat-tails. He was making the payments on the Jackson family home. Even Janet, the close second (some would say superior) talent in the family, can sure attribute her start, at least, to her brother. The Jacksons are all poorly educated. They have no marketable skills besides entertainment. You don’t kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. Far better to believe what is convenient.
There are things, though, that I don’t understand. I don’t understand the media’s white-wash (no pun intended) of all the allegations against MJ since his death. I’ve seen numerous documentaries about his contribution to the entertainment industry, his genius-level talent, and his life. But most either skip (or make the most fleeting mention of) the single most defining issue of his notoriety. I suppose that this isn’t what fans want to see, and non-fans aren’t watching. I suppose that the not guilty verdict at his trial does give them plausible deniability. I suppose that to some extent you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead – although if the media is behaving with restraint and good taste now, that is certainly an unusual phenomenon. But it’s as if society has breathed a collective sigh of relief and decided now that he is dead, we don’t have to deal with the unpleasantness. We can just sweep it under the rug and pay homage.
I don’t understand why the black community has rallied around his memory and appears to completely buy his ‘innocence’. Rev. Al Sharpton reportedly spoke directly to his children, saying “There was nothing strange about your daddy.” And he knows this how?
While I have to admit that MJ did break down racial barriers (with MTV in particular), you could also argue that he did so by being an Uncle Tom of sorts. He broke those barriers by being the whitest and least threatening of black people – someone who wouldn’t offend white sensitivities. He was also reportedly a racist. He had private names for black people like “jivebos” or “spabooks”. He definitely used a skin bleaching cream, called Benoquin, on his face, and at least once on his genitals (officially to help treat his vitiligo, but he personally admitted to one maid that he used the cream for cosmetic reasons, because he didn’t like being black). He had a white woman artificially inseminated by a white sperm donor rather than father his own children – reportedly because he didn’t want black children. Even his victims (or "special friends" in Jackson parlance) were a parade of similar-looking caucasian boys. I don’t understand how any black celebrity could reject their race more than MJ did.
And yet, the community lauds him as a demi-god. One after another, notable African Americans came forth to praise him in memoriam. People like Rev. Al Sharpton I kind of take with a grain of salt. My impression of him is that he’s always looking for the latest cause célèbre to link his name and image to and get his face out there; although I must admit after listening to him speak during his presidential campaign, he is more intelligent than I previously suspected. But Queen Latifah eulogized him! I have to say that my respect for her took a blow when I saw her up there. She has always seemed like a no-BS kinda gal, seemed to have a healthy self-respect, and certainly didn’t need the fame of being seen. She read a poem written by Maya Angelou in honor of Michael Jackson – another noteworthy personage who certainly didn’t have to lend her cache to further her fame.
I just don’t get it. There are so many laudable and admirable role models to choose from within the African American community. Why this reverence?
This is yet another example of what I have come to privately refer to as 'Clarence Thomas Syndrome'. During the Clarence Thomas hearings, the rank and file of the black community staunchly threw their support behind Clarence Thomas. Why? By all accounts, the only thing black about Clarence Thomas was his skin. An arch conservative, he had taken a position against Affirmative Action, among other issues germane to the black community. The NAACP opposed his nomination, for heaven’s sake! But the average black person asserted repeatedly in the media that if he was not approved it would be a racist act. They believed that Anita Hill was lying. Why would she? To ruin her career? To become a national laughing-stock and pariah? There was another woman Clarence Thomas had harassed who refused to testify. This was not an affair. This was systematic and misogynistic harassment of women by a powerful man who didn’t think they would be believed if they came forward. Turns out they weren’t. At least by the ones who mattered. And this man now sits on the highest court in the land, administering and interpreting laws he has flouted.
The same thing happened during the OJ Simpson case, which much more closely parallels the MJ hearing. Both cases were an indictment of the American criminal justice system. The question in both cases was – if you have enough money, can you buy a verdict? The answer in both cases seems to be yes. I guess white people have been doing it for a long time – it’s no secret that many times court procedures reflect which side has the better lawyer rather than actual justice. We waited to see if black people - traditionally at a disadvantage if accused (as can readily be seen by conviction rates – blacks make up about 10-12% of the population, but about 47% of the incarcerated population as of 1997) could buy a verdict as well. Apparently they can. Despite an overwhelming amount of physical evidence, a lack of alibi, and a history of domestic abuse, OJ was acquitted as we all know. Black people were reportedly jubilant. Why? He also had long abandoned the black community that so fervently supported him. When he became famous, he left his black wife to marry a white woman many years his junior. He lived in an affluent white suburb.
I don’t understand this, coming from the gay community. Admittedly, homosexuals aren’t as readily identifiable as a group as black people are. We don’t have a physical marker that immediately sets us apart from the community at large. Many of us can “pass” when we need to, or when it’s convenient. In some ways this has held us back. It’s easier to justify not pushing for your rights when you can live your life without risk in the closet. That’s not an option most black people have. I can say though, that when we choose a spokesperson or idol in the gay community, we make damn sure he or she is beyond reproach. If they haven’t supported the community, or are a poor representative, they are fair game. The best example of this is the community’s treatment of Harry Hay. Hay was one of the co-founders of the Mattachine Society – the forerunner of the modern gay rights movement. He had been a part of things since the beginning, and had done a lot of important work for the community. You can still find footage of him speaking out on behalf of the homosexuals, as in the documentary Before Stonewall. When Harry Hay began to use his voice to advocate NAMBLA, however, the community swiftly took that voice from him. He didn’t represent the community as a whole, and was showing the gay people in a bad light, therefore, he was removed from his role of spokesperson/idol/hero. You'd be hard pressed to find a young person now who has heard of him. (But in fairness you'd be hard-pressed to find a young person now who has heard of the Mattachine Society either - that's already been covered in another rant.)
Advocating Michael Jackson as a role model for black children would be like advocating Larry Craig as a role model for gay children. I just don’t see it, and I doubt I ever will.
I’ll say this at the risk of being accused of condescension. African American community – you can do better. You don’t have to cling blindly to lascivious traitors, murderous ex-football stars, or child molesters as notable black figures. You do a disservice to your people when you do.
I suppose I have focused on Michael Jackson because of my own experience in coming from a background of molestation. It is very common for molesters to get away with their crimes. I suppose it shouldn’t come as a surprise that so rich, famous, and well-connected a person as MJ should get away with it. But I can’t help feeling for those boys he left broken in his wake. Chandler lives as a recluse – a rich recluse, but a recluse all the same. Arvizo faced the media rape of his family, and re-lived one of the most profound and personal traumas of his life on the stand; and all for nothing.
At the time of the trial, I thought it would be a huge step forward for the molestation community as a whole if Arvizo was vindicated. Instead, I now think about the children who have seen this case and been afraid to come forward. I wonder what message we have sent to molesters. They are held up to ridicule and derision when caught, but they are the wiliest of perpetrators. How many were emboldened by MJ’s ‘victory’?
I take comfort in the fact that MJ faces a higher Judge now, in a court where money and lies won’t stand; although there is definitely a part of me that wishes he had faced some earthly retribution for his crimes. At the same time, I have sympathy for the broken child that became this broken man. I’m glad that God has the wisdom to sort this all out. I’m quite sure that I don’t. So I have to give my confusion and conflict over to God (and share the process with you, gentle reader), and trust that He’s going to fix it.
Michael Jackson died on June 25, 2009. He was a gifted entertainer, a vastly talented singer, a living legend, and a pedophile.
I’m not going to waste tons of time arguing this truth, but I will briefly address the nay-sayers, most of whom probably stopped reading the post after the above sentence. I have read the declaration given by Jordie Chandler, the first molestation victim to come forward. If this child wasn’t telling the truth, his family sat down with him and had him memorize a book on how pedophiles seduce children, all of which he remembered, step by step, in giving a deposition to social services. I have given a deposition to social services myself, and I know what that is like. I think it unlikely to the point of impossibility that a twelve year old boy could give such a detailed and consistent story to the authorities seamlessly.
I saw the Bashir documentary. At the time, the footage of MJ with Gavin Arvizo alarmed me. I was more surprised that he had actually come forward than I was that Michael Jackson molested him when his allegations finally became public. His family is poor, dysfunctional, and his mother seems to be borderline of some kind of disorder; but none of this changes the facts, although they most assuredly did change the outcome of the court case.
Both boys supplied the police with drawings of Michael Jackson’s genitalia that matched the unique skin patterns (caused by vitiligo) shown in photographs taken of Jackson’s privates during the Jordie Chandler investigation. This to me is the equivalent of (or stronger than) the 'Hansel and Gretel' blood trail left by OJ Simpson from Nicole Brown Simpson’s house to his own on the night he killed her. There was an additional settlement with a maid over the molestation of her son for $2.5million that Jackson’s people quietly made go away, and which was not broadly covered in the media.
I followed the trial extensively. I have read about his life; most notably the series of articles Vanity Fair did about him. These articles are by far the most informative, and in my opinion illuminating, look into his private life (if not in possession of the most attributed sources). I have tried to think about things from his perspective, and it makes perfect sense within the framework of a molester who is sexually arrested. From what I have read about his life I do have a measure of sympathy for him (as much sympathy as I can have for any molester, anyway). He didn’t have much a childhood and his father was a bastard by all accounts. But I am also a firm believer that at some point in your life, you become more than just a product of your childhood. You have to step into adulthood and begin to make decisions about where you are going from here. You don’t write the beginning of your story, but you certainly write the end. MJ had every advantage. He was talented, beloved, enormously wealthy, and had the world at his feet. He didn’t have to pursue young boys. He certainly had access to any of the best treatment offered in the world. Instead, he built what has been referred to as a real-life version of Pinocchio’s Pleasure Island, where young boys are trapped in a fantasy and exposed to vice.
I understand why fans don’t want to believe the truth. This man was tremendously talented. He changed music, and practically invented the music video. He was non-threatening (if you weren’t around him personally). Many children grew up with the image and presence of Michael Jackson and his music in their lives. To tarnish his image is to color their young memories with a cynicism, a taint of the real world, which they resist. Hell, for that matter, I was a teenager in the 80’s – I would love to be able to believe he was innocent. For hardcore fans, of course, it is always hard to realize that your idol has feet of clay - some simply refuse. If even your hero is faulty, what is left to aspire to in this world? People naturally resist the idea that something they have long admired and respected is unworthy of said respect. It means they have squandered that admiration and respect. No one wants to think they have wasted part of their life and affection on an unworthy object. It invalidates part of your self.
I can understand, to an extent, why the parents couldn’t (or didn’t want to) believe it when it was happening. Denial by a parent is very common in molestation cases. Parents don’t want to believe that something like that can happen. They don’t want to have to accuse someone and deal with the anger, the guilt, the reality that their child has been assaulted and damaged. They don’t want to disrupt life as they know it. And that’s just in average cases that don’t involve a perpetrator that buys new cars, expensive watches, jewelry, or dream vacations. Arvizo’s family lived in the barrio. Visiting Neverland was like a dream world to them. They would have to be really, really sure of his guilt to accuse him. And the fact that he had a pattern of separating the boys from their parents on the grounds of the huge estate made it really easy to maintain a denial mindset.
I understand why the Jackson family has rallied round and denied everything through the years. MJ was the gravy train - the most talented star of a talented family. The rest of them basically lived on his coat-tails. He was making the payments on the Jackson family home. Even Janet, the close second (some would say superior) talent in the family, can sure attribute her start, at least, to her brother. The Jacksons are all poorly educated. They have no marketable skills besides entertainment. You don’t kill the goose that lays the golden eggs. Far better to believe what is convenient.
There are things, though, that I don’t understand. I don’t understand the media’s white-wash (no pun intended) of all the allegations against MJ since his death. I’ve seen numerous documentaries about his contribution to the entertainment industry, his genius-level talent, and his life. But most either skip (or make the most fleeting mention of) the single most defining issue of his notoriety. I suppose that this isn’t what fans want to see, and non-fans aren’t watching. I suppose that the not guilty verdict at his trial does give them plausible deniability. I suppose that to some extent you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead – although if the media is behaving with restraint and good taste now, that is certainly an unusual phenomenon. But it’s as if society has breathed a collective sigh of relief and decided now that he is dead, we don’t have to deal with the unpleasantness. We can just sweep it under the rug and pay homage.
**OK here comes the section that would force me to resign office or ruin my career were I famous**
I don’t understand why the black community has rallied around his memory and appears to completely buy his ‘innocence’. Rev. Al Sharpton reportedly spoke directly to his children, saying “There was nothing strange about your daddy.” And he knows this how?
While I have to admit that MJ did break down racial barriers (with MTV in particular), you could also argue that he did so by being an Uncle Tom of sorts. He broke those barriers by being the whitest and least threatening of black people – someone who wouldn’t offend white sensitivities. He was also reportedly a racist. He had private names for black people like “jivebos” or “spabooks”. He definitely used a skin bleaching cream, called Benoquin, on his face, and at least once on his genitals (officially to help treat his vitiligo, but he personally admitted to one maid that he used the cream for cosmetic reasons, because he didn’t like being black). He had a white woman artificially inseminated by a white sperm donor rather than father his own children – reportedly because he didn’t want black children. Even his victims (or "special friends" in Jackson parlance) were a parade of similar-looking caucasian boys. I don’t understand how any black celebrity could reject their race more than MJ did.
And yet, the community lauds him as a demi-god. One after another, notable African Americans came forth to praise him in memoriam. People like Rev. Al Sharpton I kind of take with a grain of salt. My impression of him is that he’s always looking for the latest cause célèbre to link his name and image to and get his face out there; although I must admit after listening to him speak during his presidential campaign, he is more intelligent than I previously suspected. But Queen Latifah eulogized him! I have to say that my respect for her took a blow when I saw her up there. She has always seemed like a no-BS kinda gal, seemed to have a healthy self-respect, and certainly didn’t need the fame of being seen. She read a poem written by Maya Angelou in honor of Michael Jackson – another noteworthy personage who certainly didn’t have to lend her cache to further her fame.
I just don’t get it. There are so many laudable and admirable role models to choose from within the African American community. Why this reverence?
This is yet another example of what I have come to privately refer to as 'Clarence Thomas Syndrome'. During the Clarence Thomas hearings, the rank and file of the black community staunchly threw their support behind Clarence Thomas. Why? By all accounts, the only thing black about Clarence Thomas was his skin. An arch conservative, he had taken a position against Affirmative Action, among other issues germane to the black community. The NAACP opposed his nomination, for heaven’s sake! But the average black person asserted repeatedly in the media that if he was not approved it would be a racist act. They believed that Anita Hill was lying. Why would she? To ruin her career? To become a national laughing-stock and pariah? There was another woman Clarence Thomas had harassed who refused to testify. This was not an affair. This was systematic and misogynistic harassment of women by a powerful man who didn’t think they would be believed if they came forward. Turns out they weren’t. At least by the ones who mattered. And this man now sits on the highest court in the land, administering and interpreting laws he has flouted.
The same thing happened during the OJ Simpson case, which much more closely parallels the MJ hearing. Both cases were an indictment of the American criminal justice system. The question in both cases was – if you have enough money, can you buy a verdict? The answer in both cases seems to be yes. I guess white people have been doing it for a long time – it’s no secret that many times court procedures reflect which side has the better lawyer rather than actual justice. We waited to see if black people - traditionally at a disadvantage if accused (as can readily be seen by conviction rates – blacks make up about 10-12% of the population, but about 47% of the incarcerated population as of 1997) could buy a verdict as well. Apparently they can. Despite an overwhelming amount of physical evidence, a lack of alibi, and a history of domestic abuse, OJ was acquitted as we all know. Black people were reportedly jubilant. Why? He also had long abandoned the black community that so fervently supported him. When he became famous, he left his black wife to marry a white woman many years his junior. He lived in an affluent white suburb.
I don’t understand this, coming from the gay community. Admittedly, homosexuals aren’t as readily identifiable as a group as black people are. We don’t have a physical marker that immediately sets us apart from the community at large. Many of us can “pass” when we need to, or when it’s convenient. In some ways this has held us back. It’s easier to justify not pushing for your rights when you can live your life without risk in the closet. That’s not an option most black people have. I can say though, that when we choose a spokesperson or idol in the gay community, we make damn sure he or she is beyond reproach. If they haven’t supported the community, or are a poor representative, they are fair game. The best example of this is the community’s treatment of Harry Hay. Hay was one of the co-founders of the Mattachine Society – the forerunner of the modern gay rights movement. He had been a part of things since the beginning, and had done a lot of important work for the community. You can still find footage of him speaking out on behalf of the homosexuals, as in the documentary Before Stonewall. When Harry Hay began to use his voice to advocate NAMBLA, however, the community swiftly took that voice from him. He didn’t represent the community as a whole, and was showing the gay people in a bad light, therefore, he was removed from his role of spokesperson/idol/hero. You'd be hard pressed to find a young person now who has heard of him. (But in fairness you'd be hard-pressed to find a young person now who has heard of the Mattachine Society either - that's already been covered in another rant.)
Advocating Michael Jackson as a role model for black children would be like advocating Larry Craig as a role model for gay children. I just don’t see it, and I doubt I ever will.
I’ll say this at the risk of being accused of condescension. African American community – you can do better. You don’t have to cling blindly to lascivious traitors, murderous ex-football stars, or child molesters as notable black figures. You do a disservice to your people when you do.
I suppose I have focused on Michael Jackson because of my own experience in coming from a background of molestation. It is very common for molesters to get away with their crimes. I suppose it shouldn’t come as a surprise that so rich, famous, and well-connected a person as MJ should get away with it. But I can’t help feeling for those boys he left broken in his wake. Chandler lives as a recluse – a rich recluse, but a recluse all the same. Arvizo faced the media rape of his family, and re-lived one of the most profound and personal traumas of his life on the stand; and all for nothing.
At the time of the trial, I thought it would be a huge step forward for the molestation community as a whole if Arvizo was vindicated. Instead, I now think about the children who have seen this case and been afraid to come forward. I wonder what message we have sent to molesters. They are held up to ridicule and derision when caught, but they are the wiliest of perpetrators. How many were emboldened by MJ’s ‘victory’?
I take comfort in the fact that MJ faces a higher Judge now, in a court where money and lies won’t stand; although there is definitely a part of me that wishes he had faced some earthly retribution for his crimes. At the same time, I have sympathy for the broken child that became this broken man. I’m glad that God has the wisdom to sort this all out. I’m quite sure that I don’t. So I have to give my confusion and conflict over to God (and share the process with you, gentle reader), and trust that He’s going to fix it.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Another post in which I am once again unexpectedly virtuous*
Well, not at first.
I was up at 2am. I couldn’t sleep. I fell into the Manhunt vortex and ended up going to visit an old buddy.
Needless to say, being up for two and a half hours in the middle of the night doesn’t make for a pert n’ perky morning. I took the time to have a cup of coffee and a cigarette and spend a little porch time to brace for the day. I’m all caught up on my desk right now, with the exception of locating the mystery file that has disappeared into the black hole of Jim’s desk. I almost had words with Bob (his second in command) today. They just keep telling me they thought they brought it to me, and of course they didn’t. I guess if this continues we’ll have to have a meeting about it. I don’t think Jim has even looked yet.
I thought about what I was going to do at home tonight. There was nothing on the tube. I don’t think I can really read Dickens all evening, despite that I’m making pretty good progress on Copperfield at the mo. I called Rhonda on the way home; she had emailed me last weekend about getting together, and I responded, but haven’t heard from her. She had plans tonight, but we set up dinner next Tuesday. Tony continues to be asexual. At 19. Rhonda is completely fine with this, but if I were her I would be worried. But that’s her life.
I hit the gym, and signed on to the Internet when I got home, but was too restless to sit still. Justin called. He and Amanda had been antiquing today and bought me a sandwich glass tray I had looked at last weekend. It's just this cute little thing - I noticed them because Russ has one (although his is sick), but it was for a cream and sugar to sit on. They got the cream and sugar as well. I have been trying not to start collecting sandwich glass (and of course I need another cream and sugar like I need a padded bra), but I did like the little tray. It was thoughtful of them to remember I had looked at one last weekend.
I ate a bit, and put a load of laundry in to wash my gym clothes, but couldn’t decide what I wanted for supper. I decided to go on to the grocery store, which I have been putting off for days. I've been out of cream for a week and been drinking that powdered shit in my coffee. Since I was going anyway, I loaded up the recycling and hauled that off – that was overdue.
Since I was being so good, I got a couple of treats at the grocery store; some cherries (which I love, but which are so expensive), and a bag of microwave steam-able sugar snap peas.
So I got home, put the groceries all away, brought in the recycling bins, ate my peas and a fried egg sandwich on sourdough bread for supper, washed up all the dishes, folded a load of laundry, moved the new load to the dryer, and collapsed. I don’t know what brought all that on, but it’s good to get some stuff done, and more importantly to feel like getting it done. Hopefully I can sleep through the night tonight. I have to be at work early tomorrow for the &^%$%$#@!! quarterly meeting.
I was up at 2am. I couldn’t sleep. I fell into the Manhunt vortex and ended up going to visit an old buddy.
Needless to say, being up for two and a half hours in the middle of the night doesn’t make for a pert n’ perky morning. I took the time to have a cup of coffee and a cigarette and spend a little porch time to brace for the day. I’m all caught up on my desk right now, with the exception of locating the mystery file that has disappeared into the black hole of Jim’s desk. I almost had words with Bob (his second in command) today. They just keep telling me they thought they brought it to me, and of course they didn’t. I guess if this continues we’ll have to have a meeting about it. I don’t think Jim has even looked yet.
I thought about what I was going to do at home tonight. There was nothing on the tube. I don’t think I can really read Dickens all evening, despite that I’m making pretty good progress on Copperfield at the mo. I called Rhonda on the way home; she had emailed me last weekend about getting together, and I responded, but haven’t heard from her. She had plans tonight, but we set up dinner next Tuesday. Tony continues to be asexual. At 19. Rhonda is completely fine with this, but if I were her I would be worried. But that’s her life.
I hit the gym, and signed on to the Internet when I got home, but was too restless to sit still. Justin called. He and Amanda had been antiquing today and bought me a sandwich glass tray I had looked at last weekend. It's just this cute little thing - I noticed them because Russ has one (although his is sick), but it was for a cream and sugar to sit on. They got the cream and sugar as well. I have been trying not to start collecting sandwich glass (and of course I need another cream and sugar like I need a padded bra), but I did like the little tray. It was thoughtful of them to remember I had looked at one last weekend.
I ate a bit, and put a load of laundry in to wash my gym clothes, but couldn’t decide what I wanted for supper. I decided to go on to the grocery store, which I have been putting off for days. I've been out of cream for a week and been drinking that powdered shit in my coffee. Since I was going anyway, I loaded up the recycling and hauled that off – that was overdue.
Since I was being so good, I got a couple of treats at the grocery store; some cherries (which I love, but which are so expensive), and a bag of microwave steam-able sugar snap peas.
So I got home, put the groceries all away, brought in the recycling bins, ate my peas and a fried egg sandwich on sourdough bread for supper, washed up all the dishes, folded a load of laundry, moved the new load to the dryer, and collapsed. I don’t know what brought all that on, but it’s good to get some stuff done, and more importantly to feel like getting it done. Hopefully I can sleep through the night tonight. I have to be at work early tomorrow for the &^%$%$#@!! quarterly meeting.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
A post in which I am a good boy
Work was work. I’m doing write-offs right now, and there aren’t that many. No problem to get them done with almost two weeks left in the month. The only problem is on the one big one. The manager of that account is a cultural dinosaur who still uses paper files. He has lost the paper file for a 50k account that needs to be written off. I’ve only been asking him for it for a month now. I’ll have to devil his every step and make both of our lives a hell between now and the end of the month to get anything from him. Sigh.
After work, I decided to skip the gym and go home and mow the grass, which desperately needed it. That was one of the many things I let slide to play all weekend last weekend. But fortunately, the weather is unseasonably cool at the moment (it was only 85 this afternoon), and since it has been dry for the last couple of weeks I was really just knocking the tops off the weeds, so it didn’t take long. Still, I hate working in the yard so much I felt justified in giving myself a break from exercise. Besides, I’m sure I burned a few calories anyway right? The lawnmower gods hate me. Last year I had a mower that wouldn’t stay running. The new one has a wheel that keeps falling off now. I put it back on three times today (stopping to find the nut, etc) before finally going into the house, getting a wrench, and clamping it on. It will barely turn now, but at least it stayed on through the rest of the job.
Afterwards I sorted and started some laundry – another thing I didn’t do last weekend. I then ate some cherry tomatoes (that needed to be eaten) with French dressing and saltines for dinner.
I went to bed feeling very virtuous – rare enough.
After work, I decided to skip the gym and go home and mow the grass, which desperately needed it. That was one of the many things I let slide to play all weekend last weekend. But fortunately, the weather is unseasonably cool at the moment (it was only 85 this afternoon), and since it has been dry for the last couple of weeks I was really just knocking the tops off the weeds, so it didn’t take long. Still, I hate working in the yard so much I felt justified in giving myself a break from exercise. Besides, I’m sure I burned a few calories anyway right? The lawnmower gods hate me. Last year I had a mower that wouldn’t stay running. The new one has a wheel that keeps falling off now. I put it back on three times today (stopping to find the nut, etc) before finally going into the house, getting a wrench, and clamping it on. It will barely turn now, but at least it stayed on through the rest of the job.
Afterwards I sorted and started some laundry – another thing I didn’t do last weekend. I then ate some cherry tomatoes (that needed to be eaten) with French dressing and saltines for dinner.
I went to bed feeling very virtuous – rare enough.
Monday, July 20, 2009
A post in which I have dinner with Anna
Anna called today, and we agreed to go out to dinner.
I finally went back to the gym. About damn time. Especially the way I’ve been eating for the last week.
Anna and I went out to Ni Hao for cheap sushi, and caught up on what has been going on. Her brother’s wedding is over, but apparently there is still left over tension. I don’t get that, because my favorite part of a wedding is the back end of it. But then I’m fond of the back end of lots of things…
We ate like pigs. Then I went home and went to bed.
I finally went back to the gym. About damn time. Especially the way I’ve been eating for the last week.
Anna and I went out to Ni Hao for cheap sushi, and caught up on what has been going on. Her brother’s wedding is over, but apparently there is still left over tension. I don’t get that, because my favorite part of a wedding is the back end of it. But then I’m fond of the back end of lots of things…
We ate like pigs. Then I went home and went to bed.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
A post in which I have brunch and antique my way through a Sunday
Justin had called me yesterday evening to invite me to brunch today. I was delighted to accept. I was up early, as usual, and chatted on line for a bit before deciding to run through Barnyard in Duncan on my way up to brunch. It just didn’t seem right to not go through when I was so close. I did find another Manhattan pink handled fruit bowl, but this was in worse shape than the last one I found, and was a lot more expensive to boot. I left it with them.
I wasn’t really worried about getting to Justin’s on time, since I figured James would be late anyway, but I turned out to be the last one there, and Justin had already called to find out where I was before I got there, even though I was only about 20 minutes late.
Brunch was lovely, as I knew it would be. Eggs, grits, bacon, fruit, doughnuts, brownies, biscuits with homemade blackberry jam, coffee, tea, and several kinds of juice; it was quite a spread. After we ate our fill, we adjourned to the stoop for a smoke. About that time the upstairs neighbor let his kids out to play, and we were surrounded by children until we left the apartment. They stayed with us when we were outside, and talked to us through the windows of Justin’s apartment when we were inside. It was quite annoying. Interestingly, they seem to be fascinated by James. Despite his continued indifference and indeed casual disdain, he is a god to them.
With James and Jeff going to paint their apartment (still – this seems to be a perpetual task), and under siege by young’uns, Amanda, Justin, and I decided to go antiquing. That’s all well and good; I love running around with them. The problem was that Amanda’s truck was loaned out today, and she was in her dad’s spare car, a 1972 Chevelle, which is apparently his pride, joy, and reason for continued existence. She was not allowed to leave the car unattended, so we had to take it if we wanted to go shopping. I was led to believe that the value of this vehicle is apparently such that even as I write a compendium of international car thieves are conspiring to get their larcenous hands on this unparalleled treasure, this means of conveyance that Helios himself must surely covet. The virtues and treasures of said automobile had been extolled upon to the point that I was half expecting trumpets to sound when the doors opened. I was in for a bit of a disappointment. It’s just an old car. It has a big engine. But it doesn’t have a dash, a CD player, an intact head-liner, or (most importantly in South Carolina in July) air-conditioning. I was also informed that the lights didn’t work, so Amanda had to be home before dark; and that we were to hope it didn’t rain because we weren’t quite sure of the capabilities of the windshield wipers, and because the roof apparently leaks.
I was game. It was OK. But we did every antique store that was open within a 45 mile radius of Justin’s apartment. By the end of the day I was pretty tired of not being able to sit up straight, and the day had turned off hot (although still relatively mild for this time of year here). But it was a fun day, and I love hanging out with Justin and Amanda. We saw a lot of glass. Amanda is into flatware, and we saw a lot of that too. But the prices weren’t right, we were broke, and we all have quite enough crap already. None of us bought anything. We did stop off for lunch at a Mexican place where Justin and I had been before, which was nice. Amanda made the restaurant open a closed section so that we could be seated within sight of The Car in the parking lot. Thankfully, the thieves following us either lost us in the wilds of Inman, or decided we were too vigilant to attempt a theft during lunch. Eventually, though, we made it back, and Amanda headed home before the sun went down.
Justin and I ended up down at Jeff and James’s house. I hung out, talked, and smoked with them until around nine. When it got time for the TV to come on, I headed home. I needed to go home anyway, and I knew if I started watching with them I’d be there too late. Hell, I’d already blown the whole day playing anyway. Tomorrow is a work day.
I wasn’t really worried about getting to Justin’s on time, since I figured James would be late anyway, but I turned out to be the last one there, and Justin had already called to find out where I was before I got there, even though I was only about 20 minutes late.
Brunch was lovely, as I knew it would be. Eggs, grits, bacon, fruit, doughnuts, brownies, biscuits with homemade blackberry jam, coffee, tea, and several kinds of juice; it was quite a spread. After we ate our fill, we adjourned to the stoop for a smoke. About that time the upstairs neighbor let his kids out to play, and we were surrounded by children until we left the apartment. They stayed with us when we were outside, and talked to us through the windows of Justin’s apartment when we were inside. It was quite annoying. Interestingly, they seem to be fascinated by James. Despite his continued indifference and indeed casual disdain, he is a god to them.
With James and Jeff going to paint their apartment (still – this seems to be a perpetual task), and under siege by young’uns, Amanda, Justin, and I decided to go antiquing. That’s all well and good; I love running around with them. The problem was that Amanda’s truck was loaned out today, and she was in her dad’s spare car, a 1972 Chevelle, which is apparently his pride, joy, and reason for continued existence. She was not allowed to leave the car unattended, so we had to take it if we wanted to go shopping. I was led to believe that the value of this vehicle is apparently such that even as I write a compendium of international car thieves are conspiring to get their larcenous hands on this unparalleled treasure, this means of conveyance that Helios himself must surely covet. The virtues and treasures of said automobile had been extolled upon to the point that I was half expecting trumpets to sound when the doors opened. I was in for a bit of a disappointment. It’s just an old car. It has a big engine. But it doesn’t have a dash, a CD player, an intact head-liner, or (most importantly in South Carolina in July) air-conditioning. I was also informed that the lights didn’t work, so Amanda had to be home before dark; and that we were to hope it didn’t rain because we weren’t quite sure of the capabilities of the windshield wipers, and because the roof apparently leaks.
A 1972 Chevrolet Chevelle. This is not The Car, but it looks pretty much like the one we were in unless you are Amanda or her dad.
I was game. It was OK. But we did every antique store that was open within a 45 mile radius of Justin’s apartment. By the end of the day I was pretty tired of not being able to sit up straight, and the day had turned off hot (although still relatively mild for this time of year here). But it was a fun day, and I love hanging out with Justin and Amanda. We saw a lot of glass. Amanda is into flatware, and we saw a lot of that too. But the prices weren’t right, we were broke, and we all have quite enough crap already. None of us bought anything. We did stop off for lunch at a Mexican place where Justin and I had been before, which was nice. Amanda made the restaurant open a closed section so that we could be seated within sight of The Car in the parking lot. Thankfully, the thieves following us either lost us in the wilds of Inman, or decided we were too vigilant to attempt a theft during lunch. Eventually, though, we made it back, and Amanda headed home before the sun went down.
Justin and I ended up down at Jeff and James’s house. I hung out, talked, and smoked with them until around nine. When it got time for the TV to come on, I headed home. I needed to go home anyway, and I knew if I started watching with them I’d be there too late. Hell, I’d already blown the whole day playing anyway. Tomorrow is a work day.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
A post in which we go to see Half Blood Prince*
I had heard from Russ yesterday that he was going to Anderson today, and asked if I could tag along. So we went. I didn’t really need anything today. I have a ton of food in the fridge. But I just wanted to go to hang out with Russ. There wasn’t much glass today, but I did buy another Sharon cake plate for cheap. I figure when I can pick one up, I will, and that way I’ll have some to take cakes to people on. We didn’t find any shadow boxes today. The man who used to build them may not have a booth out there any longer. But Russ didn’t lose his phone, which was a good thing.
Sharon, or "Cabbage Rose" cake plate in crystal by Federal Glass Company, circa 1935-1939
Russ dropped me back at my place on his way home, and reminded me that we were going to see Harry Potter this afternoon. I’m glad he did, because I thought we were going tomorrow. I called Miss Kat to make sure that she knew we were going today.
About that time I got an email from a friend, he’s been coming to see me lately in the mornings, and asked for me to run out to Greer today. I really didn’t have time for that, but since he’s been so good to me, I went anyway.
I dropped by Taco Bell on the way home for a burrito since I didn’t think I’d make it through the movie otherwise, got ready, and met everyone at the Harry Potter matinee. Miss Kat had said that she wanted to go see it with Russ and Billy (dana apparently can’t watch movies in the theater any longer because of motion sickness), but the bears were coming too. The movie was good. It was pretty much what I expected it would be. They did a good job of keeping to the story, and the changes they had to make for time didn’t seem to hurt anything. There was time for enough of the sub-plots to keep to the flavor of the book. The effects, as usual, were great.
After the movie was the great debate about where we were going to eat supper. Eventually, we settled on Quaker Steak and Lube, for reasons that are not entirely clear to me. A restaurant named after an automotive product just doesn't set my salivary glands ablaze. But hey, I was along for the ride, and when I go out to eat with friends, it’s as much for the company as the food anyway. I was a bit intimidated about going to this place though, I will admit. They are next to the Harley dealership, and are pretty involved with the biker community. Not that I’m against bikers or anything. My mother is one, and some of her friends are really nice. I know all bikers aren’t hoods or something; but they’re just usually not guys who relish the company of homosexuals. And there is a bar there.
Well I was a bit intimidated until I got in there. Basically, it’s like an Applebee’s for rednecks, with motorcycles hanging from the ceiling. Our drinks came out with bendy straws, there was a birthday party going on, and Michael Jackson was playing on the sound system. Yeah, I was much less intimidated after I noticed all that. We had a decent, though expensive meal. I got the impression that most of the food was standard frozen and then deep-fried stuff. The sauces, though (or ‘lube’ in restaurant parlance) were really good. I bet their wings are excellent. I could have eaten cut up tires dipped in the 'Louisiana Lickers' sauce. I had a margarita, some tea, a salad, and a shrimp and fry basket. My bill was $27. Before tip. That’s pretty pricey for Mrs. Paul’s shrimp to me. But the sauce was really good. And I got to see my friends. Vince and Brian were with us, and ended up sitting next to them. They’re fun.
After dinner was another set of SALT talks about where we were going next and what we were doing that night. Vince was lobbying hard to go to the bar, because they had strippers tonight. I don’t know why this was endlessly fascinating to him, but it was. I have never liked strippers. Personally, I feel that if a man takes his clothes off in front of me, he should mean business. Particularly if I'm paying him. Don't show me the candy and then take it away. I just don't get it.
Since they were going to a bar, I figured it would be a Blockbuster night.
I called Billy on the way home though, to ask him to text my phone number to a mutual friend. This guy broke up with his lover and is about my age. I talked to him at the movies today, and basically just reached out to him. I’m not hitting on the guy – I have sworn a Scarlett O'Hara vow to never again to be involved with a man I have to have a chain and wench to drag words out of, and that’s pretty much this guy – plus, he’s yet another top. But I thought it might be nice for him to have someone he could talk to (were he so inclined), or go to dinner with, or just hang out and watch a movie. When I talked to Billy, he told me they weren’t really interested in going out, but were just humoring Vince. Billy asked me over to the house, and said they were inviting this guy as well. I gladly turned around and headed for R&B’s house.
We had a nice evening. We hung out and talked. Russ made Cinnabons and ice cream, which of course I need like a padded bra, but which I scarfed nonetheless.
As we were walking out, I offered said guy (who shall remain nameless) my phone number. He basically told me he didn’t want it. I was like what the fuck ever. I guess it’s for the best. I’ve had enough to do lately just looking after myself. But I thought it might have been nice to be around someone else who knows what this feels like. R&B are great, but they’ve been together for like sixteen years. As have Dan’l and Jim, Kimbley and Laura, Donnie and Mark, etc. I am blessed with wonderful friends who care about me, but there are some things that people who have been married for an extended period of time just can’t understand. They mean well, but give bone-headed advice/clichés like “you’ll find him when you’re not looking” and crap like that. I just thought it might be nice to have another single person to hang out with. But maybe I just don’t have enough left over to help someone else right now.
Friday, July 17, 2009
A post in which I end off the week nicely
I wore my new shoes to work today. That gave me a lift. By the end of the day, I was actually feeling pretty good.
I talked to Anna this afternoon, and her brother’s wedding was this weekend. When she called me back, she was getting ready to slip into her dress to go to the rehearsal dinner. You know, I would have paid cash money to see that. If it didn’t involve going to the wedding, anyway – I loathe weddings. But they’re happy about that one, and that’s good. I’m happy for them. I don’t hate weddings. I just hate when I have to go to them.
Sometimes, you’re hungry, and you really just can’t think (even with a gun to your head) what you want. That was not the case for me today. I wanted a fish taco from Long John Silver’s today so badly that I could almost taste it. And I’ve never even had one. Yes, I know, the fish tacos there are a culinary abortion, and bear about as much resemblance to the real thing as I do to Whoopi Goldberg. But they sure did look tasty on TV. I am putty in the marketer’s hands. Actually there are so few of those things they advertise on TV that I can actually have, I was kind of stoked about it.
Lacking anything else to do, I headed to Long John Silver’s after work, where I proceeded to gorge myself. I love French fries better than almost anything. The ‘tacos’ were pretty much as awful and as tasty as I thought they would be. It was pretty much a fish stick in a tortilla with some lettuce, a bit of cheese(as if it needed more fat – Long John Silver’s has some of the fattiest of all the fast food), and spicy mayo.
As I pulled out of LJS on my way home to read, I guess (I’m trying to get into David Copperfield again), dana called and invited me over to their house tonight. I cheerfully accepted. I took over the episode of 'Family Guy' where Stewie gets in to BDSM, and my copy of Sextette, since it’s been a while since I had seen it, and I figured dana, at least, would get a kick out of them. Wrong, oh so wrong. dana actually just left the room during the 'Family Guy' episode. They were put off by the extra-long Peter vomiting scene at the beginning of the episode (‘Peter’s Two Dads’). We made it about 45 minutes in to Sextette when Miss Kat just called a halt and said she couldn’t take any more. She’s not as big a fan of the B cinema as I am. Oh well; I tried.
Although we had eaten some muffins earlier, when I left their house I had the munchies so bad I could hardly stand it. I went through the Sonic drive-through and was like counting change out of the car to get tater tots and a milkshake. Then I went home and basically just buried my head in the bag until it was all gone.
I didn’t work out at all this week. I’m going to have to start back Monday without fail.
I talked to Anna this afternoon, and her brother’s wedding was this weekend. When she called me back, she was getting ready to slip into her dress to go to the rehearsal dinner. You know, I would have paid cash money to see that. If it didn’t involve going to the wedding, anyway – I loathe weddings. But they’re happy about that one, and that’s good. I’m happy for them. I don’t hate weddings. I just hate when I have to go to them.
Sometimes, you’re hungry, and you really just can’t think (even with a gun to your head) what you want. That was not the case for me today. I wanted a fish taco from Long John Silver’s today so badly that I could almost taste it. And I’ve never even had one. Yes, I know, the fish tacos there are a culinary abortion, and bear about as much resemblance to the real thing as I do to Whoopi Goldberg. But they sure did look tasty on TV. I am putty in the marketer’s hands. Actually there are so few of those things they advertise on TV that I can actually have, I was kind of stoked about it.
Lacking anything else to do, I headed to Long John Silver’s after work, where I proceeded to gorge myself. I love French fries better than almost anything. The ‘tacos’ were pretty much as awful and as tasty as I thought they would be. It was pretty much a fish stick in a tortilla with some lettuce, a bit of cheese(as if it needed more fat – Long John Silver’s has some of the fattiest of all the fast food), and spicy mayo.
As I pulled out of LJS on my way home to read, I guess (I’m trying to get into David Copperfield again), dana called and invited me over to their house tonight. I cheerfully accepted. I took over the episode of 'Family Guy' where Stewie gets in to BDSM, and my copy of Sextette, since it’s been a while since I had seen it, and I figured dana, at least, would get a kick out of them. Wrong, oh so wrong. dana actually just left the room during the 'Family Guy' episode. They were put off by the extra-long Peter vomiting scene at the beginning of the episode (‘Peter’s Two Dads’). We made it about 45 minutes in to Sextette when Miss Kat just called a halt and said she couldn’t take any more. She’s not as big a fan of the B cinema as I am. Oh well; I tried.
Although we had eaten some muffins earlier, when I left their house I had the munchies so bad I could hardly stand it. I went through the Sonic drive-through and was like counting change out of the car to get tater tots and a milkshake. Then I went home and basically just buried my head in the bag until it was all gone.
I didn’t work out at all this week. I’m going to have to start back Monday without fail.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
A post in which I carry on
Well I woke up feeling better today, thank God. I went ahead and had coffee and cigarettes on the front porch.
I continued to get amazing amounts of work done today. I finished my account reconciliations for the month, finally got the rest of the stuff for the slides from one slack guy (his assistant was off this week, but this stuff was due yesterday), and got those sent out.
I got my new shoes today! I’ve always wanted a pair of saddle oxfords, and finally decided I would never get them any younger, as my old boss used to say. They’re tan and navy, instead of the black and white I wanted (I can only find those in golf shoes, for some odd reason), but they are still way cool. I’m thinking I can make saddle shoes one of my ‘things’. I’m going to be wearing them ironically, but then the folks at the office will never know that.
Then again, if I really want them, will I be wearing them ironically? It’s kind of like the flea market thing. I can’t decide if I’m slumming or fitting in.
There was a “luau” after work today sponsored by one of the vendors, but no way was I sticking around for that. It was 97F outside when I left today. Plus, I don’t generally spend time with the people I work with unless I’m paid to do so. That’s why they don’t usually have things after work – almost no one goes.
I ate a salad and chatted online for a while. There are some nice guys out there – most of them are just 8,000 miles away. I talked to one guy who has moved to Greenville, but he is an ex-seminary student who is now working at a convenience store. I mean kudos to him, and he was nice enough, but I just don’t want to take all that on.
I continued to get amazing amounts of work done today. I finished my account reconciliations for the month, finally got the rest of the stuff for the slides from one slack guy (his assistant was off this week, but this stuff was due yesterday), and got those sent out.
I got my new shoes today! I’ve always wanted a pair of saddle oxfords, and finally decided I would never get them any younger, as my old boss used to say. They’re tan and navy, instead of the black and white I wanted (I can only find those in golf shoes, for some odd reason), but they are still way cool. I’m thinking I can make saddle shoes one of my ‘things’. I’m going to be wearing them ironically, but then the folks at the office will never know that.
New Shoes...
Then again, if I really want them, will I be wearing them ironically? It’s kind of like the flea market thing. I can’t decide if I’m slumming or fitting in.
There was a “luau” after work today sponsored by one of the vendors, but no way was I sticking around for that. It was 97F outside when I left today. Plus, I don’t generally spend time with the people I work with unless I’m paid to do so. That’s why they don’t usually have things after work – almost no one goes.
I ate a salad and chatted online for a while. There are some nice guys out there – most of them are just 8,000 miles away. I talked to one guy who has moved to Greenville, but he is an ex-seminary student who is now working at a convenience store. I mean kudos to him, and he was nice enough, but I just don’t want to take all that on.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
A post in which I catch up on work
I knew it was going to be a tough day today. When I woke up at 5:30, I just got up and got ready to go in. I packed my breakfast, stopped for coffee, smoked a cigarette, and made it to the office by 7:15. Since I wasn’t in yesterday, I had to pull my weekly report and get it going first. I got it out by 8:30, when the east coast team was coming in.
I worked a solid eight hours straight through, barely coming up for air – eating breakfast and lunch at my desk. I’m still working on pulling more useless backup for the attorney, and that took up a lot of my day. I had a meeting with my boss, caught up on calls, and left the office at 3:30 for a dentist appointment.
Of course I could care less, really. But I do know that it would be worse to be a used-up unemployed gay man with no money who can’t pay his bills than to be a used-up middle-aged gay man with at least a house.
When I got home, it was a huge relief. First, to be home, and blessedly alone. Second, to know that I accomplished Herculean tasks today and that tomorrow wouldn’t be as hard. I ate an excellent bowl of homemade curry for supper.
I worked on the blog, catching it up, did some little household stuff, but all I really wanted to do was smoke. When I finished my stuff, I took a glass of iced tea out on the porch and indulged for a while. After that I took a pill and went to bed.
I worked a solid eight hours straight through, barely coming up for air – eating breakfast and lunch at my desk. I’m still working on pulling more useless backup for the attorney, and that took up a lot of my day. I had a meeting with my boss, caught up on calls, and left the office at 3:30 for a dentist appointment.
Of course I could care less, really. But I do know that it would be worse to be a used-up unemployed gay man with no money who can’t pay his bills than to be a used-up middle-aged gay man with at least a house.
When I got home, it was a huge relief. First, to be home, and blessedly alone. Second, to know that I accomplished Herculean tasks today and that tomorrow wouldn’t be as hard. I ate an excellent bowl of homemade curry for supper.
I worked on the blog, catching it up, did some little household stuff, but all I really wanted to do was smoke. When I finished my stuff, I took a glass of iced tea out on the porch and indulged for a while. After that I took a pill and went to bed.
A post in which it is a rough day ahead
I got up early to go on in to the office this morning. These are the songs that are speaking to me right now, that I'm listening to in my car:
Honestly
The beauty that you gave
Has turned upon itself
And all the things you said
Evaporated
Evaporated ...
Was I blind
Deaf and dumb
To the words slipped from your tongue?
Honestly ... honestly ... honestly
Alone in my bed
The things that you said
Go round in my head ... still
It seems to be true
That nothin' I do
Can influence you ...
I tried and tried again
(Don't you know I tried and tried again
to make you listen to me
But everything I said it always seemed to go right through you)
To make you notice me
(I turned myself into a person that I didn't like
But please believe me when I say I know it wasn't right)
But talking to myself
(I never thought that things would
get to be so complicated
I never thought that you and me would end up o frustrated)
Won't catch you attention I see ...
(You'd think that something had to come from all those good intentions
But in the end I needed something more than intervention)
Was I mad?
Was I ... mad?
Foolish me
Foolish ... me
To succumb so easily
To suc...cumb
Easi...ly
So easily
So easily
Honestly... honestly... honestly...
(Alone in my bed
The things that you said
Go round in my head ... still
It seems to be true
That nothin' I do
Can influence you... still)
Fools like me get so easily taken
And fools like me can be so mistaken
Honestly... Honestly... Honestly
The promise that you gave
(Don't you know the promise that you
gave just turned it's back upon me
I stopped believing but you couldn't take the whole thing from me)
Has turned it's back
(I never thought I'd have to pay the price to set you free)
And all you represented
Was just my projection you see...
(You know I never thought I'd ever
live a day without you
And that's the reason why
it makes me sad to think about you
and you know I never thought
I'd make it if you wasn't there
And now I'm tryin' to eject myself
from this despair)
People come
People go...
Never say I "told you so"
Honestly
Everything I know you said
Goin' round inside my head
Never thought I'd see the day
Always got a price to pay
Nothin' that I ever do
Ever seems to get to you
Bitter
Bitter pill to swallow
Slidin' down my throat
Bitter pill to swallow
How it makes me choke
How the hell am I gonna find
Happiness and peace of mind
When I'm losin' all the time?
Yes... bitter
Don't you ever call me
I don't wanna see your face
Don't you dare to call me
Don't darken up this place
What the hell d'ya expect from me?
Emptiness and misery
Took it all away ya see
Yes... bitter
Ooh it means nothin' to me
Ooh you mean nothin' to me
Ooh it means nothin' to me
I paid the price
Sacrificed
Sacrificed...
Bitter pill to swallow
How can I abide
The taste of rage and anger
Burnin' me inside?
How the hell
Will it ever change?
Slowly drivin' me insane
Let me cover up this pain
Yes... bitter
When I'm feelin' low
And there's no place to go
And I'm on my knees
Fallen back down on the floor
And I've had enough
And the situation's tough
And I'm hangin' on
By my nails
Holdin' on...
hopin' I won't fail
This is what reality is made of can't
You see I'm relatively twisted
Laid myself upon you
Underneath your feet
Laid myself upon you
Didn't that look sweet?
Finally the truth has come
Guess I know it all along
Nothing else I could have done
Yes ...Bitter
Bitter
I'm bitter
So bitter
both Annie Lennox, from the Bare album
I have tried really hard not to become bitter over all of this, but I seem to be falling into it despite myself. Maybe I'm more my father's son than I would like to recognize.
Honestly
The beauty that you gave
Has turned upon itself
And all the things you said
Evaporated
Evaporated ...
Was I blind
Deaf and dumb
To the words slipped from your tongue?
Honestly ... honestly ... honestly
Alone in my bed
The things that you said
Go round in my head ... still
It seems to be true
That nothin' I do
Can influence you ...
I tried and tried again
(Don't you know I tried and tried again
to make you listen to me
But everything I said it always seemed to go right through you)
To make you notice me
(I turned myself into a person that I didn't like
But please believe me when I say I know it wasn't right)
But talking to myself
(I never thought that things would
get to be so complicated
I never thought that you and me would end up o frustrated)
Won't catch you attention I see ...
(You'd think that something had to come from all those good intentions
But in the end I needed something more than intervention)
Was I mad?
Was I ... mad?
Foolish me
Foolish ... me
To succumb so easily
To suc...cumb
Easi...ly
So easily
So easily
Honestly... honestly... honestly...
(Alone in my bed
The things that you said
Go round in my head ... still
It seems to be true
That nothin' I do
Can influence you... still)
Fools like me get so easily taken
And fools like me can be so mistaken
Honestly... Honestly... Honestly
The promise that you gave
(Don't you know the promise that you
gave just turned it's back upon me
I stopped believing but you couldn't take the whole thing from me)
Has turned it's back
(I never thought I'd have to pay the price to set you free)
And all you represented
Was just my projection you see...
(You know I never thought I'd ever
live a day without you
And that's the reason why
it makes me sad to think about you
and you know I never thought
I'd make it if you wasn't there
And now I'm tryin' to eject myself
from this despair)
People come
People go...
Never say I "told you so"
Honestly
Everything I know you said
Goin' round inside my head
Never thought I'd see the day
Always got a price to pay
Nothin' that I ever do
Ever seems to get to you
Bitter
Bitter pill to swallow
Slidin' down my throat
Bitter pill to swallow
How it makes me choke
How the hell am I gonna find
Happiness and peace of mind
When I'm losin' all the time?
Yes... bitter
Don't you ever call me
I don't wanna see your face
Don't you dare to call me
Don't darken up this place
What the hell d'ya expect from me?
Emptiness and misery
Took it all away ya see
Yes... bitter
Ooh it means nothin' to me
Ooh you mean nothin' to me
Ooh it means nothin' to me
I paid the price
Sacrificed
Sacrificed...
Bitter pill to swallow
How can I abide
The taste of rage and anger
Burnin' me inside?
How the hell
Will it ever change?
Slowly drivin' me insane
Let me cover up this pain
Yes... bitter
When I'm feelin' low
And there's no place to go
And I'm on my knees
Fallen back down on the floor
And I've had enough
And the situation's tough
And I'm hangin' on
By my nails
Holdin' on...
hopin' I won't fail
This is what reality is made of can't
You see I'm relatively twisted
Laid myself upon you
Underneath your feet
Laid myself upon you
Didn't that look sweet?
Finally the truth has come
Guess I know it all along
Nothing else I could have done
Yes ...Bitter
Bitter
I'm bitter
So bitter
both Annie Lennox, from the Bare album
I have tried really hard not to become bitter over all of this, but I seem to be falling into it despite myself. Maybe I'm more my father's son than I would like to recognize.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
A post in which I continue to whine*
I just couldn't face the world today. I just couldn't.
I watched a bunch of stuff on TCM. Autumn Leaves, an old Joan Crawford tear-jerker in which she plays an angelic wife to a man who is crazy . He was hot - and 20 years her junior (Cliff Robertson). Leave it to Joan. She was 51 when this movie was made, and despite the black and white, the careful camera angles, and the makeup, she looked old. Her drinking had started showing in her looks and she was becoming a caricature of herself with the big lips and eyebrows. **spoiler alert** It was pretty difficult to see her as a typist who had given up her youth to nurse her dying father. But after she finishes getting her husband committed, he is touchingly grateful upon his release,and they end up with the big Romantic Ending - on the grounds of the sanitarium yet. Of course it doesn't work that way in real life.
Next was Night of the Iguana, with Richard Burton cast as a straying alcoholic priest (yeah, really, a priest) interacting with a group of Christian women for whom he is acting as tour guide on a bus vacation of Mexico. Yeah, that sounds like fun. Unsurprisingly, it was pretty grim. Since the Lolita of the group (who provided dramatic tension, among other kinds of tension, for Burton's character) wasn't very compelling to me, I fell asleep. It was kind of a negative of Rain.
I woke up in time to see Goodbye Again, in which Ingrid Bergman has a fling with a younger Anthony Perkins because her unfaithful long-time lover is ignoring her. **spoiler alert** She breaks the young guy's heart (yeah right, he said cynically) because he's kind of shiftless, and goes back to her old droopy-lipped French philanderer, only to have him start ignoring her again once he had her back. The movie closes with here facing her mirror and removing her makeup (a scene later resurrected heart-stoppingly by Glenn Close in Dangerous Liaisons) and visibly reflecting on what the dead-end prospects faced by a middle-aged woman either way. Yeah that was a real pick-me-up.
The actual Lolita was coming on later in the day, but a) I felt as if I had wallowed in quite enough cynicism and decadence for one day; and b) at some point I had to get ready to go to Spartanburg. I turned of the TV, and put in the A&E version of Pride and Prejudice for a dramatic renewal of innocence and hope. Listening to that, I straightened up the house a bit, deep-cleaned the bathroom (which desperately needed it), and set off for Justin's.
I didn't want to go. I'm going back into that place where it hurts for people to look at me. I would much rather have stayed home curled up in the bed. But I had promised Justin. Plus his graduation is coming up and I wanted to take him to dinner at least, since I'm not going to the ceremony. I also decided that I really needed to get out of the house.
Which I did. When I got there, Justin and Amanda showed me clips on YouTube of the show America's Got Talent. I don't do reality TV, but some of the people were surprisingly good. My favorite, hands down though, was the yodelling dominatrix, Manuela Horn. If this woman doesn't put a smile on your face you just ain't trying; although I couldn't help thinking that Miss Kat would just NOT approve. She did kind of make a mockery of BDSM by using the clothes as a gimmick to get on TV. No way would they have put her on if she hadn't made a novelty of herself, however talented her yodelling was.
After the videos came the Presenting of Gifts. Justin had found a Colonial sugar bowl lid in crystal for 50 cents (!!), and picked it up for me to just use with my spooner. That was pretty cool. He also got me a Raindrops whiskey glass, and a small reproduction Cameo pitcher in yellow from the "child's set" they made later. There were actual child's sets in some patterns, but none was ever made in Cameo, which is one of the most popular patterns. Of course those enterprising Chinese were going to fix that. It is cute though.
Raindrops "Optic Design" (how's that for a stupid common name? - I bet no one ever uses it) 1 7/8" 1 oz. whiskey tumbler in green by Federal Glass Company, circa 1929 - 1933
After the glass was examined and Justin showed me his new stuff, Amanda left for home and we left for dinner. We went to Miyako downtown, where we have been several times before. They were unexpectedly busy for a Tuesday night, but we got a table. Our food took a long time to get there, but when we got it it was excellent. Justin kept up a constant stream of lively chatter about student teaching, etc. It was a pleasant meal.
When we got back to his place he called James and Jeff and they came up to visit for a while. It was good to see them.
Eventually, it just got late and I had to head for home. I have the day from hell ahead of me at the office tomorrow.
*** OK - if you can't read personal shit without freaking out, overreacting, or engaging in fag drama - DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER IN THIS POST!! I'm not going anywhere folks. However attractive and sensible it may seem at the moment, I am emphatically NOT suicidal, and will be highly pissed at anyone making histrionic phone calls, becoming angry, or telling someone else that I am. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!***
On the way home tonight, I really just thought, what the fuck? Why am I hanging around? The miles of empty highway stretched before me like the years of empty life coming up. What's left? 25 more years of working at a job I hate, or another job I hate. Watching my weight (most likely watching it go up). Paying the mortgage on a house that needs constant upkeep and maintenance I can ill afford. Cleaning the cat box. Going out on dates with losers - as long as I can get dates that is. Getting older. Feeling worse. Either being alone, or continuing to try to market product long past the sell-by date, and for which there is apparently very limited demand. Loneliness. The years alone - the weight of them just seems too much to bear. Saving money in the hopes that, to quote Drop Dead Gorgeous, I'll be lucky enough to ride out my final years in a raisin ranch where they change me twice a day. I've seen two grandparents do that now. Why stick around for it? That little voice in the back of my head started thinking: You're in a car. There's a dividing wall right there. Slip off the seat belt, a little turn to the left, and you're outta here. You just spent a pretty good evening to go out on. No more work. No more worry. No more disappointment. Just out. Clean and gone. So I wrestled with the devil tonight for a bit. It's been a long, long time since I thought anything like that.
But of course I can't do that. *sigh* I made a promise to my dad that I would never try to commit suicide again. It is a promise I will keep. First of all, with my luck I'd just end up horribly maimed and having to live with Dick and Eve - truly a fate worse than death. More importantly, of course, is that suicide is the ultimate "fuck you" to the people who care about you. I have been blessed with too many friends and too much family who love me to treat them that way. And of course, I'm not allowed to decide when I'm done. The Big Guy wants to decide that for me, and He won't be happy if I make the decision. So I'm stuck. Putting one foot in front of the other. Because I have no choice. *double sigh*
But I'll be honest with you kids, were it my decision, I'd just as soon check out right now as stick around. The reason I'm still here is mainly external tonight. I just can't see the fucking point, honestly.
I watched a bunch of stuff on TCM. Autumn Leaves, an old Joan Crawford tear-jerker in which she plays an angelic wife to a man who is crazy . He was hot - and 20 years her junior (Cliff Robertson). Leave it to Joan. She was 51 when this movie was made, and despite the black and white, the careful camera angles, and the makeup, she looked old. Her drinking had started showing in her looks and she was becoming a caricature of herself with the big lips and eyebrows. **spoiler alert** It was pretty difficult to see her as a typist who had given up her youth to nurse her dying father. But after she finishes getting her husband committed, he is touchingly grateful upon his release,and they end up with the big Romantic Ending - on the grounds of the sanitarium yet. Of course it doesn't work that way in real life.
Next was Night of the Iguana, with Richard Burton cast as a straying alcoholic priest (yeah, really, a priest) interacting with a group of Christian women for whom he is acting as tour guide on a bus vacation of Mexico. Yeah, that sounds like fun. Unsurprisingly, it was pretty grim. Since the Lolita of the group (who provided dramatic tension, among other kinds of tension, for Burton's character) wasn't very compelling to me, I fell asleep. It was kind of a negative of Rain.
I woke up in time to see Goodbye Again, in which Ingrid Bergman has a fling with a younger Anthony Perkins because her unfaithful long-time lover is ignoring her. **spoiler alert** She breaks the young guy's heart (yeah right, he said cynically) because he's kind of shiftless, and goes back to her old droopy-lipped French philanderer, only to have him start ignoring her again once he had her back. The movie closes with here facing her mirror and removing her makeup (a scene later resurrected heart-stoppingly by Glenn Close in Dangerous Liaisons) and visibly reflecting on what the dead-end prospects faced by a middle-aged woman either way. Yeah that was a real pick-me-up.
The actual Lolita was coming on later in the day, but a) I felt as if I had wallowed in quite enough cynicism and decadence for one day; and b) at some point I had to get ready to go to Spartanburg. I turned of the TV, and put in the A&E version of Pride and Prejudice for a dramatic renewal of innocence and hope. Listening to that, I straightened up the house a bit, deep-cleaned the bathroom (which desperately needed it), and set off for Justin's.
I didn't want to go. I'm going back into that place where it hurts for people to look at me. I would much rather have stayed home curled up in the bed. But I had promised Justin. Plus his graduation is coming up and I wanted to take him to dinner at least, since I'm not going to the ceremony. I also decided that I really needed to get out of the house.
Which I did. When I got there, Justin and Amanda showed me clips on YouTube of the show America's Got Talent. I don't do reality TV, but some of the people were surprisingly good. My favorite, hands down though, was the yodelling dominatrix, Manuela Horn. If this woman doesn't put a smile on your face you just ain't trying; although I couldn't help thinking that Miss Kat would just NOT approve. She did kind of make a mockery of BDSM by using the clothes as a gimmick to get on TV. No way would they have put her on if she hadn't made a novelty of herself, however talented her yodelling was.
After the videos came the Presenting of Gifts. Justin had found a Colonial sugar bowl lid in crystal for 50 cents (!!), and picked it up for me to just use with my spooner. That was pretty cool. He also got me a Raindrops whiskey glass, and a small reproduction Cameo pitcher in yellow from the "child's set" they made later. There were actual child's sets in some patterns, but none was ever made in Cameo, which is one of the most popular patterns. Of course those enterprising Chinese were going to fix that. It is cute though.
Raindrops "Optic Design" (how's that for a stupid common name? - I bet no one ever uses it) 1 7/8" 1 oz. whiskey tumbler in green by Federal Glass Company, circa 1929 - 1933After the glass was examined and Justin showed me his new stuff, Amanda left for home and we left for dinner. We went to Miyako downtown, where we have been several times before. They were unexpectedly busy for a Tuesday night, but we got a table. Our food took a long time to get there, but when we got it it was excellent. Justin kept up a constant stream of lively chatter about student teaching, etc. It was a pleasant meal.
When we got back to his place he called James and Jeff and they came up to visit for a while. It was good to see them.
Eventually, it just got late and I had to head for home. I have the day from hell ahead of me at the office tomorrow.
*** OK - if you can't read personal shit without freaking out, overreacting, or engaging in fag drama - DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER IN THIS POST!! I'm not going anywhere folks. However attractive and sensible it may seem at the moment, I am emphatically NOT suicidal, and will be highly pissed at anyone making histrionic phone calls, becoming angry, or telling someone else that I am. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!***
On the way home tonight, I really just thought, what the fuck? Why am I hanging around? The miles of empty highway stretched before me like the years of empty life coming up. What's left? 25 more years of working at a job I hate, or another job I hate. Watching my weight (most likely watching it go up). Paying the mortgage on a house that needs constant upkeep and maintenance I can ill afford. Cleaning the cat box. Going out on dates with losers - as long as I can get dates that is. Getting older. Feeling worse. Either being alone, or continuing to try to market product long past the sell-by date, and for which there is apparently very limited demand. Loneliness. The years alone - the weight of them just seems too much to bear. Saving money in the hopes that, to quote Drop Dead Gorgeous, I'll be lucky enough to ride out my final years in a raisin ranch where they change me twice a day. I've seen two grandparents do that now. Why stick around for it? That little voice in the back of my head started thinking: You're in a car. There's a dividing wall right there. Slip off the seat belt, a little turn to the left, and you're outta here. You just spent a pretty good evening to go out on. No more work. No more worry. No more disappointment. Just out. Clean and gone. So I wrestled with the devil tonight for a bit. It's been a long, long time since I thought anything like that.
But of course I can't do that. *sigh* I made a promise to my dad that I would never try to commit suicide again. It is a promise I will keep. First of all, with my luck I'd just end up horribly maimed and having to live with Dick and Eve - truly a fate worse than death. More importantly, of course, is that suicide is the ultimate "fuck you" to the people who care about you. I have been blessed with too many friends and too much family who love me to treat them that way. And of course, I'm not allowed to decide when I'm done. The Big Guy wants to decide that for me, and He won't be happy if I make the decision. So I'm stuck. Putting one foot in front of the other. Because I have no choice. *double sigh*
But I'll be honest with you kids, were it my decision, I'd just as soon check out right now as stick around. The reason I'm still here is mainly external tonight. I just can't see the fucking point, honestly.
Monday, July 13, 2009
A post in which I wake up very depressed**
Don't know why. Just woke up feeling lower than a worm's asshole.
Last night I started thinking about how much I hate Sunday evenings. I usually leave housework and stuff that has to be done until then so I'm just busy and don't have to think about it. The restaurant we were in was pretty much deserted. On Sundays people are home with their families/spouses/loved ones. Plus I had that thing where I had to tell the waitress "Yes I'm alone," again. I know it's stupid for that to hit me today. I was out with friends who really care about me after all. But it just struck me wrong. I've been fighting it all weekend, but today I just didn't have any fight left.
I ended up watching Goodbye Mr. Chips today. I had never seen it before, and TCM had it on OnDemand. They are doing a salute to 1939 this month (the golden year of cinema, and the last gasp of the studio system). It was a very good movie, but it was very sad. Greer Garson played the wife. I love her. But her character died in childbirth. The guy is dying and looking back over his life. It was a very good movie, but then the character had a very eventful life and made a difference in a bunch of people's lives.
I feel like I'm right back where I was ten years ago. Dating guys with no promise. Having sex with guys I either don't like or who aren't available. Is this it? What's the point?
Justin called tonight. He said I'd been on his mind. We made plans to go to dinner tomorrow night. I'll go up and visit with him, and take him his Taylor Smith Taylor platter I got him the other week. Plus he has presents he got for me that are burning a hole in his pocket.
It'll give me something to look forward to anyway.
Last night I started thinking about how much I hate Sunday evenings. I usually leave housework and stuff that has to be done until then so I'm just busy and don't have to think about it. The restaurant we were in was pretty much deserted. On Sundays people are home with their families/spouses/loved ones. Plus I had that thing where I had to tell the waitress "Yes I'm alone," again. I know it's stupid for that to hit me today. I was out with friends who really care about me after all. But it just struck me wrong. I've been fighting it all weekend, but today I just didn't have any fight left.
I ended up watching Goodbye Mr. Chips today. I had never seen it before, and TCM had it on OnDemand. They are doing a salute to 1939 this month (the golden year of cinema, and the last gasp of the studio system). It was a very good movie, but it was very sad. Greer Garson played the wife. I love her. But her character died in childbirth. The guy is dying and looking back over his life. It was a very good movie, but then the character had a very eventful life and made a difference in a bunch of people's lives.
I feel like I'm right back where I was ten years ago. Dating guys with no promise. Having sex with guys I either don't like or who aren't available. Is this it? What's the point?
Justin called tonight. He said I'd been on his mind. We made plans to go to dinner tomorrow night. I'll go up and visit with him, and take him his Taylor Smith Taylor platter I got him the other week. Plus he has presents he got for me that are burning a hole in his pocket.
It'll give me something to look forward to anyway.
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