Finally...

it's happened at last. i'm 30. **sigh**
it's actually not that bad, i'm really kind of used to the idea (i've been obsessing with it for the last year). it's been made alot easier by Stephen and my friends.
a whole bunch of us went out Saturday night for dinner at the Cargo Cafe` which is a little restaurant/bar that Jenn, Erin and i have been going to since college.
the food was amazing (brie and pear quesadillas with carmelized onions, duck breast in a maple-mustard glaze, and a caramel cream torte) and the company was beyond fabulous. i had such an unbelievably wonderful time that i was truly sorry when everyone parted ways at the end of the evening. the conversation, company and gifts were truly exceptional.
to John, Michele, Jenn, Brian, Paul, Buster, Erin, and (of course) Stephen: thank you for making it a truly memorable 30th Birthday. i love you all :)
today stephen is off from work (holiday? David's Birthday: Observed) and he's cleaning the house and cooking furiously (Gazpacho, Chicken Picata, and Spaghetti Aglio Olio), waiting for my parents (and possibly his) to drop in for a "surprise" visit. the surprise that i know about i is another story for another day...
btw: the "birthday card" shown above was from john, last year :)

"That's me, an old kazoo and some sparklers"~ All About Eve (Bette Davis)

Your Ad Here

sometimes my blog writes itself, today is one of those days.
this ad was posted on my company's internal Bulliten Board/Classified Ads site, which employees use to sell and buy all sorts of things. it's by far one of the most interesting one i've seen in a very long time...
and this one honestly had me curious about Number Two Diapers; do the parents just put them on and hope for the best?

Show Me Your Rack

So as you all know, my 30th birthday is gaining like a lion on a lame gazelle (this Monday, actually). I got my first gift yesterday in the mail (from Jenn and Brian). It was, without a shadow of a doubt, one of the most thoughtful and original gifts I’ve ever gotten: a box of 21 herbs, spices, rubs and blends from Penzey’s Spices.I know that sounds like a really strange and possibly thoughtless gift, but I have to tell you that it thrilled me to absolutely no end.

For those of you who don’t know, my mother is an absolutely wonderful cook. Her cooking was (and continues to be) an extension of her love for her family. She went beyond “Say it with a Hallmark Card”, she said it with soups, stews, and sauces. She’s not afraid to try anything and given the chance will experiment, usually with fantastic results. In the 30 years that I’ve been eating her cooking, I can count on one hand the number of “bad meals” she’s served (one was a mishap involving a turkey breast, rice-a-roni and a can of black olives, and the other was a clearly accidental slip of the salt shaker over a pot of stew). Her repertoire includes Latin, Chinese, Japanese, French, German and naturally Italian; she bakes cookies, cakes, pies and has an Easter Bread that is heavenly. When I was a little tyke, I hung on her proverbial apron strings while she danced around the kitchen like a ballerina, from stove to microwave to cutting board to sink. When I was old enough (5? 6? 7?) I became her right hand man/boy. She taught me all her secrets, from how many times to dip the Christmas Pulpo in the boiling water to her classified Mashed Potato recipe. Cooking together became a real bonding experience and I looked forward to the three day Cook-a-thons we’d have prior to the bigger holidays like Christmas and Thanksgiving. I’d help her make the pies, cookies and side dishes; prepping the kitchen by getting out all the ingredients and cookbooks she’d need and then washing and drying the bowls, utensils and equipment in between recipes.

This went on till college, when I no longer had days off before holidays and weekends became devoted to my part-time job at the mall (with the full time hours). To be perfectly honest, I really didn’t cook anything more complicated than an Oodles of Noodles or Knorr’s Hollandaise Sauce till I left home to live with John and Chris. Occasionally, we’d have Roommates Only Dinner and a Movie Night, where we’d take turns cooking for each other and hanging out. It was a lot of fun and I really enjoyed cooking for them (they both seemed to like my cooking as much a I enjoyed cooking for them). Then I met stephen, the real epicurean, and food became one of the central parts of our courtship. He’d cook wonderful meals for me when I’d go over to his aparment in queens and taught me to make things I’d never tried before. he had spices and cooking tools I’d never seen or used before and made even the simplest of meals seem extraordinary. he’s one of the few people (my mom included) that can cook in an almost Iron Chef situation: take these ingredients and these tools and make something wonderful. Since we’ve been living together, I’ve found I’ve learned a tremendous amount from him and my mom. Now that we live together, we take turns cooking dinner and I’ve found that though I lack their Iron Chef ability, I more than make up for it in talent (I’m not egotistical, I’ve just been told that I’m a damn good cook!). like my mama before me, there’s not a recipe I’m afraid of (except when it comes to breads…yeast can’t be trusted…).
I can’t wait to go through the box and see what recipes are on the sides of the jars! What the hell do you do with arrowroot, anyway?

"If they keep crashing stuff into the moon, the moon's gonna get pissed off, and the tides'll change, and all the women'll start PMS-ing together. Then you guys are going to fucking regret it.” ~Tori Amos

Shocked? Me Neither

the only surprising thing is that his boyfriend is incredibly more attractive.

"I am sick to death of straight people. Tell the truth, aren't you? There's just too goddamn many of them. I was in a bank the other day; they were everywhere - writing checks, making deposits. Two of them were applying for a mortgage. It's disgusting! They're taking over. No one wants to talk about it, but it's true"~ Love! Valour! Compassion! (Buzz)

Yesterday, When I Was Mad...

yesterday was not a good day.
work had me completely stressed out, it's been alot busier that it usually is in the good old summertime, and by the end of the day i was at my wit's end. i hadn't slept the night before last, as i knew that there were problems waiting for me when i came into work; problems that i had caused and was trying hard to undo, without my supervisors getting involved. on top of that i've been very concerned about Stephen's ambivilance about switching jobs; thinking that he's going to be just as unhappy in a new setting as he is in the current one (i've mentioned in the past that he's got a bit of a dark/pessimistic side) and that my advice to interview elsewhere was completely off-base. this made be think that he'll never be happy, no matter where he is, because he's not happy with me. this got me thinking about the commitment ceremony and all the stress i've been bottling up about that (money, planning, money, invitations, money, etc). Meanwhile, Magenta had e-mailed me because of yesterday's post, and really helped me put it all in perspective, but by the time i hit the F train home i still felt like i wanted to cry. was hot and hungry, as i hadn't had more than a bag of Sun Chips since dinner the previous night, and having a total meltdown seemed like a capital idea. But, that was not to be...
i got to 34th street and stephen was smiling broadly waiting for the bus. he put his 4 weeks notice in and was finally happy about the move. it turns out he was waiting to hear from the new hospital's HR dept before getting his hopes up about leaving. he heard from HR yesterday and everything was official, greenlights all around. he asked me why i seemed so upset and i laid it all on the line for him. we talked almost the whole way home (at some point he picked up his book, and i donned my headphones and picked up mine) and i felt a helluva lot better getting off than when i had gotten on the bus.
we went home, ate dinner and watched Love!Valour!Compassion! which is one of my all time favorite movies. it's funny and makes me cry every time i see it. by the time i went to bed, everything seemed alot better.

please check out yesterday's other post...

"We defy augury. It's Shakespeare, it means 'don't fuck with me'"~ Love!Valour!Compassion! (James Jekkyl)

10 Reasons Why Gay Marriage Is Wrong

i'm tired and more than a little bit stressed out; please excuse this blatant cop out:


01) Being gay is not natural. Real Americans always reject unnatural things like eyeglasses, polyester, and air conditioning.

02) Gay marriage will encourage people to be gay, in the same way that hanging around tall people will make you tall.

03) Legalizing gay marriage will open the door to all kinds of crazy behavior. People may even wish to marry their pets because a dog has legal standing and can sign a marriage contract.

04) Straight marriage has been around a long time and hasn't changed at all; women are still property, blacks still can't marry whites, and divorce is still illegal.

05) Straight marriage will be less meaningful if gay marriage were allowed; the sanctity of Britany Spears' 55-hour just-for-fun marriage would be destroyed.

06) Straight marriages are valid because they produce children. Gay couples, infertile couples, and old people shouldn't be allowed to marry because our orphanages aren't full yet, and the world needs more children.

07) Obviously gay parents will raise gay children, since straight parents only raise straight children.

08) Gay marriage is not supported by religion. In a theocracy like ours, the values of one religion are imposed on the entire country. That's why we have only one religion in America.

09) Children can never succeed without a male and a female role model at home. That's why we as a society expressly ! forbid single parents to raise children.

10) Gay marriage will change the foundation of society; we could never adapt to new social norms. Just like we haven't adapted to cars, the service-sector economy, or longer life spans

"I used to run/I used to hide from love/But now, I'm satisfied/'Cause you showed me/That love could be/So good, so real and oh so right/So many things I used to let get in my way/Now I open up my arms and say hey/Lovin You/It's all I wanna do/For the rest of my life/This feels so right I'm/Lovin You/It's all I wanna do/For the rest of my days/'Cause I like the way I'm/Lovin You"~ Lovin You (Kristine W)

**Pinches Cheeks**

tell me this kid isn't ADORABLE! this is our new nephew!

stephen and i went to go to visit his sister this weekend

(had my office not Spam-blocked the pix i sent from my phone, you would've seen them two days ago!)

What do You Speak?

Your Linguistic Profile:

45% General American English

40% Yankee

10% Dixie

0% Midwestern

0% Upper Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Word

i'm clearly a glutton for punishment. once again i found myself looking for some gay fiction, worth the $17.95 i'd pay for it, at Barnes and Nobles on Staten Island. yeah i know, this puts me in the same class of denial usually found in big haired, white-trash, trailer park women from red states who continually go back to their unemployed, NASCAR watching boyfriends who get ripped to the tits on Schlitz and then beat them within an inch of their lives. it's a total excercise in futility and a waste of time and gas, but what can i say: i'm am optimist.
Barnes and Nobles' SI has a Gay/Lesbian section that holds, roughly, 50 books. of those 50 books 45 of them are "erotica" (let's call a spade a spade: they're porno without the pictures), the remaining 5 are titles like "You're Out of the Closet...Now How About the Rest of the House" and "Finding the Boyfriend Within"; in short: self-help nonsense. if you want to find fiction that doesn't include coupons for free tubes of Wet Platinum, you have to walk through the sections and hope for the best. that's what i tend to do: walk through the Fiction section and wait for a clever sounding title or gay looking cover to jump out at me. i'll be honest, i've found some really good books that way, but it's really like trying to find a straight girl at a Melissa Etheridge concert or someone who's sat through all of Glitter sober: you know it's possible, but is it really worth all the work?
what Staten Island needs is a Gay bookstore. someplace where the literate fags and dykes can go and pick up real novels, poetry and essays; works of fiction, non-fiction, history, sociology, coffee table books, and recent issues of Out, the Advocate, HX, XY, and Next. someplace that carries all the rainbow stickers and paraphenalia that we all roll our eyes at, but still manage to own one piece of. i know i'm no the only gay guy on Staten Island that reads. there are three colleges on Staten Island which means there are at least 300 queers in training bursting to find out more about our culture and heritage and. plus there's all the fags and dykes that are already out of college and the closet, surely they're eager for someplace where they don't have to special order David Stukas' murder mysteries, Armistead Maupin's "the Night Listener", anything by Robert Rodi or <insert random lesbian fiction title here> , right?
i guess B & N is my only option, till such a store opens on SI. I'll go in hoping that this time it will be different; that maybe they got a buyer who has a slightly less conservative view on fiction. i'll go in hoping that mayber this time i'll find that limited edition copy of LIttle Me, only to be disappointed and hurt again, till the next time...

"we all came into this world naked, the rest of it is all drag," ~RuPaul

Great...

Your Inner European is French!

Smart and sophisticated. You have the best of everything - at least, *you* think so.

Who's Your Inner European?

Balls (Part 4)

the tournament is over and my neice's team are the champions! last night was the last game of the series, and to tell the god's honest truth, it was the toughest game they played. it lasted the entire six innings and up until the last, they score was tied 1 to 1. both teams were evenly matched and watching it was so incredibly tense i almost passed out. in the end, they won 6 to 2. i have no idea where the team goes from here (if there's an inter-borough tournament or what), but she's happy and that's all that matters :)

in other niece/nephew related news...as i may have mentioned, the gals i know are all getting ready to give birth. earlier today Stephen's sister went in for a C-Section and gave birth to a BOUNCING BABY BOY! Evan Nicholas, 7lbs 11 oz. We're gonna drive out to see him and his mommy tomorrow.

"i can't have children...i hate them"~ Dr. Albright (3rd Rock from the Sun)

Sing...Sing a Song...

so the other night (tuesday, actually) stephen and i met with the lady who will be officiating our commitment ceremony. she's absolutely lovely; down to earth, warm, very polite, easy to talk to and nothing at all like i had pictured her. she reminds me of the nuns we had back in grammar school (all the good/sweet aspects, none of the bitter/evil aftertaste). all in all i liked her very much and we'll deffinitely be employing her services.

i'm glad we got to meet with her since ours will be the 1st commitment ceremony either of us have ever attended. though i have quite a few gay friends (and stephen has a nice array of lesbians in his coterie), either they're not in relationships, they're not at the Wedding stage or simply never bothered to have a ceremony. i have no idea what they're "supposed" to be like, how they're organized or structured. i was more than relieved when Julie whipped out a nice little outline for The Basic Commitment Ceremony and said that as long as there's a marked Begining and End, everything else is mutable according to our tastes/beliefs.

now, i'm not going to go into all the details (many of which we haven't worked out yet...we still have well over a year) but one of the things on her list that has had me thinking ALOT over the last 2 days are the readings that we'll have during the ceremony. according to Julie, there's no limit to the different kinds of readings we can have: song lyrics, poetry, prose, bible verses etc. Suffice to say, neither of us are Bible people. granted, i went to catholic school for, like, 20 years and between the two of us we've been to more Catholic/Christian/Protestant weddings than Cher's got wigs; but we want our ceremony to be different.

bearing that in mind, i've found two songs that i may want to have read somewhere in the ceremony. both make me all emotional when i read them (i almost started tearing up when i sent them to Stephen yesterday for his opinion), especially in the context of the ceremony...

Stronger :

If you think you stand alone
You've got a lot to learn
Because as long as there's one breath left in me
You'll always have someone to turn to
You're walking through that storm
There's a whirlwind in your mind
When you need a little shelter
You can run into these arms of mine

My love is stronger than your pain,
Stronger than your fear
Sweet enough to wash the salt from your tears
Deeper than the waves that break against your heart
You can't go on any longer
My love is stronger
Like a tiny fragile flower
Is gently nourished by the sun
Your love somehow empowers me
To do things I've have never done
To break through all these chains
All of my doubts and uncertainties
When your weakest hour falls around you
You can find your strength in me

My love is stronger than your pain,
Stronger than your fear
Sweet enough to wash the salt from your tears
Deeper than the waves that break against your heart
You can't go on any longer
My love is stronger

Miracles:

Clouds drift away
when they see you
Rain wouldn't dare
to fall near youhere
Miracles happen
when you're around
Somehow the grass is muchgreener
Rivers flow faster and cleaner
Being with you
no matterwhere
sunlight breaks through
and suddenly there's
A bluersky
whenever you're around
You always bring
a bluer sky
a brighterday
Thunder is silent before you
Roses bloom more to adore youtoo
Miracles happen
when you're around
The sunset is deeper andlonger
The scent of the jasmine is stronger
Stray dogs don'tbite
Birds start to sing
Lightening daren't strike
You suddenlybring
A bluer sky
whenever you're around
You always bring
abluer sky
a brighter day
Birds fly
even higher in the sky
Sun
shines
It's a new day

These are a Few of My Favorite Rants

my 30th birthday is right around the corner. bearing that in mind, i give you...

10 things that really piss me off as i get older...

1. When people decide at the absolute, very, last minute to merge into a lane at the toll plaza of bridges and tunnels or when getting on the highway. this is also incredibly irritating when there is construction or an accident on a street or the highway.
2. people who get on escalators in the subway (ie. 34th street and 6th avenue) and STOP walking.
3. people who walk down the stairway that a herd of people are walking up (and vice versa) when there is clearly another set of steps where people are quite clearly walking down (again, this happens in the subway all the time).
4. women who feel they are entitled to have doors held open for them, but would never conceive of reciprocating. where i work you need an ID to get from section to section (the doors slam shut and lock behind you); 99% of the time, the women who work here will let the door slam, regardless of whether your hands are full or if your two steps behind.
5. holding the door for one person, only to find 30 more come pouring through, and not one says thank you. i'm very big on Please and Thank You.
6. being called Miss, Ma'am, Bro, Dude, Boss, Chief, Cuz or things other than my name. if you can't remember my name, ask.
7. Dave is the name of a plumber or some doofy straight guy on a bowling team. Davey is that claymation kid with the dog and woody for Jesus. neither one are substitutes for my name. if i introduce myself as David, goddamn it that's what i wanna be called. as for my last name, don't even bother.
8. Crazy Christers and asshole Right-wingers who hide behind the bullshit shield of "protecting the family" and "the children" when it comes to their Anti-Gay Marriage rhetoric. Fuck the children. Fuck the families. i have no desire to ever have children (except maybe as a legal form of slavery/indentured servitude) and what my husband and i do bed has nothing to do with the sexless hetero couple across the street (unless they're watching with binoculars, looking for pointers). if people can accept Carmen and Dave (See, not David) then clearly family values will not be threatened buy a couple of cha-cha queens sashaying or diesel dykes lumbering down the aisle.
9. reality television. it's not reality. it's not television. bring back quality TV.
10. the over use of the word "gay" as a pejorative. we need to start coining phrases using terms like "Straight" and "breeder" and "het" as negatives. if we all do it, it'll catch on.

“I don't like Bush. I don't trust him. I don't like his record. He's stupid. He's lazy.”~Cher

What Superhero are You?

Your results:
You are Spider-Man

Spider-Man 95% Hulk 75% Catwoman 70% Superman 65% Robin 62% Green Lantern 55% Iron Man 55% Batman 50% Supergirl 42% The Flash 40% Wonder Woman 27%

You are intelligent, witty, a bit geeky and have great power and responsibility.

Click here to take the Superhero Personality Quiz

i was hoping for either the Flash or Green Lantern, but i'll settle for Spidey.
who were you?

I'm Melting

we haven't had an air conditioner since last tuesday. we're having a new patio put in and the old AC unit is sitting on our front steps till it the cement has been poured. i am so fucking hot, it's not even funny. i got absolutely no sleep last night; just tossed and turned and sweat, hoping stephen wouldn't try to cuddle. i love him more than life itself, but he's a human furnace. it's great in the winter but on nights like last night, not so much.
this morning was not better. i got to work drenched. i feel beyond disgusting.
i don't think i'm gonna survive the week.


"I'm schvitzing like a pudding at a picnic"~ Harry Goldenblatt (Sex and the City)

5 Random Thoughts on the Next Blog button

1. is my blog half as boring as most of the ones I read? God I hope not.
   
2. what is with all the Crazy Christer blogs? Every time I turn around I run smack into a blog written by some guy in a red state extolling the Big JC and his Holier than Thou entourage.
   
3. Foreign blogs: if I'm not hit with a Jesus Freak blog, I get a blog in either French, Spanish, Icelandic or German. There has to besome wayy to only get to the blogs in English, right? Not that i'm some crazed xenophobe, but while the pictures of Lars' adventure through downtown Dusseldorf or Raul's opinion about Brazil's World Cup loss are fascinating, I'd like to be able to read the captions (i'm an ignorant American who barely speaks English).
   
4. Blogs that are actually ads for stuff. I don't get it. They LOOK Like blogs, but are actually long winded ads for things like soap or used cars. i just don't get it.
   
5. Teenage girls. I absolutely loathe teenage girls. I'm sorry if ther's one reading this now, but it's true. Your blogs tend to suck like Ryan Idol in the 90's. it's the cutesy, Hello Kitty meets Sailor Moon Anime crap I object to. They make me gag.

"Water is just coffee that hasn't realized its potential"~CawfeeBoy

Balls (Part3) and Chains

First off, the continuing saga of my niece’s softball team…
They WON…AGAIN…! this time it was a TRULY fantastic game, right up until the end of the 6th inning. The other team was definitely on par with ours, though their pitcher was truly atrocious (lots of power, absolutely no control). After 2 hours and 6 innings, the score was 4 to 1, thanks (in no small way) to a base hit by my little love.
Next, I found this on Ryan Charisma's blog; it's a short commercial and if i knew anything about HTML, i'd post it myself, but since i don't follow the link. i was so moved the 1st time i saw it i almost cried. call me a big sap :)
finally, please send stephen your congratulations, he got a new job! yup, that's right...he's leaving the hell-hole hospital he's been working at since the day we met and is headed for (hopefully) a better one on SI. i'm so happy for and proud him that words (almost) fail me. this was a truly big step :)
that's all for now, i'm sure there will be another post later today...

"i've got thirty six expresssions, sweet as pie to tough as leather"~ I'm the Greatest Star (Funny Girl)

Cha-Ching

The (future) hubby and I had an interesting conversation the other night. It was precipitated by something I’d read in Dan Savage’s book (the Commitment). Early on in there relationship, he (Dan) is worried that his boyfriend is a golddigger. His boyfriend (Terry)’s response is quite simple: “If I were a golddigger, honey… I could get a guy with a lot more gold”. This got me thinking, “am I a gold digger? Did stephen ever worry that I was one”? now, our relationship is pretty straightforward, and I know I can ask him anything, so I did. His reply was just as simple as Terry’s: “Honey, you don’t have the financial sense to be a gold-digger”. My knee-jerk reaction was to be offended, but I tamped that down rather quickly because I honestly wasn’t sure what he meant. His explanation was that I didn’t value money enough to work towards the emotional and physical manipulation involved with being a gold-digger (that’s a paraphrased version of his explanation). The more I thought about it, the more I realized he was right (which annoyed me because that meant I couldn’t be annoyed that he had insulted me).

I have a very abstract notion of money. It’s kind like god: omnipresent and integrated in every facet of human existence but in ways that are so subtle to me that I rarely feel affected by them. does that make any sense? Allow me to elucidate:

I’ve never really had to think about money. It was always there growing up, even when I was told that we didn’t have any. When I was a kid, there were very few things that I wanted; I was the kind of kid that was amused for hours at a time by Play-Doh, Matchbox Cars, a Slinky or Leggo. Beyond that I never really required big expensive toys and stuff. I was a very content little kid. My parents paid for 12 years of Catholic school and I never really gave it a thought they had to struggle to put us both through school. When it came time for college, I got loans and grants that (and I’m being honest here) I never thought about paying back. The same thing happened with the credit cards which were offered on campus. Years later, the specters came back to haunt me in the form of wage garnishment liens. But still, I never saw it as money being taken from me, just that there was less to spend. I think stephen put it best when he told me that I don’t think about money till I’m standing out side of Chipotle with three dollars in my hand trying to figure out how to buy the four dollar burrito.

So here I am at 29.9 years (I’m not 30 yet…I’m not 30 yet…); I’ve been working steadily since I’m 14 (except for the 6 month break I took after getting laid off from my last job) I’ve managed to pay off 3 of my credit cards and my student loan (after having my wages garnished). I’m reasonably certain that my credit is completely shot. I can’t bring myself to summon up my Credit Report from wherever one goes to do that. To me, the prospect of finding out is like going to the Oracle of Delphi or the local medium; I’d be trying to divine what my financial future holds based on the ghosts that haunt me. I know I have to, in case stephen and I can ever get legally married, so that there’s no chance of a bank trying to garnish his salary or take the house he worked hard to buy, just because of my inability to make money a more than just a concept.

“Money? Oh but whats money to an artist? To a philosopher? Its just green coloered paper that floats in and out of his life likfe snow. Its not anything you actually have to I don't know, work for, is it Troy?”~ Lelaina Pierce (Reality Bites)

TMI? Probably (Some of You May Wanna Skip This One)

Ok I’ll admit it: before I met Stephen, I was a slut. It’s true and it’s indisputable; over the last 17 years, I’ve had alot of sex with alot of men. I’ve never discriminated; black, white, asian, and latin. I’ll be honest, I’ve lost count. I was that…“friendly”. Now don’t take all this the wrong way, I’m not bragging (really!) I’m just stating the cold hard facts that for a very long time, I was a very large trollop. I’ve had a couple of boyfriends, but they never lasted more than 5 months and when the relationships were over, I was kinda relieved. All that has changed however. I am now a one man guy (I have been for almost three years) and I’m happy. Since, for most of you, none of this is news, your probably wondering why I’m bringing this up. I’ll explain:

John just loaned me Dan Savage’s The Commitment. It’s a chronicle of his planning of a wedding/commitment ceremony for himself and his boyfriend of 10 years. Having read his last two books (Skipping Toward Gomorrah and The Kid) I was prepared to enjoy this book immensely. I thought it would be clever and ascerbic and even insightful, as Stephen and I planned our special day (October 6th 2007, mark your calendars). I wasn’t quite prepared to enjoy it or be as affected by it as I was. I found the entire account so incredibly moving and emotional that I spent about an hour crying on the bus and then on the F train. Yeah, I’m that guy. Anyway, what does this have to do with me being Supertramp? Reading someone else’s account of their relationship really made me examine my own; how I feel being in one and how much I have grown within it. here goes:

It is impossible not to notice all the staggeringly attractive men in new york, they’re everywhere. Gay, straight, or bi, NYC is filled with very attractive men. Being a reformed slut, I have to admit that I find it very difficult not notice them as they cross my path (as they inevitably do). like the saying goes, I’m not Dead, I’m Just Getting Married. A while back, I was struck by a realization: all the guys I find attractive look almost exactly like Stephen. He really is the man I’ve been lusting after for almost half my life and now I’m lucky enough to go home to him and have sex with him every night. How many people can say that?

I can honestly and truly say that nobody else, in my entire life, has ever made me feel happier or more content. He really is everything I’ve ever wanted in a man: sensitivity, intelligence, a sense of humor, kindness, patience, and gentleness; he’s a wonderful cook, a hard worker, handy like a lesbian, and (most importantly) I find him sexy as all hell. He continually makes me feel loved, cared for and safe. I know that sounds weird, but by “safe” I mean that I don’t have any fears when I’m with him; there’s nothing that could happen to me that he couldn’t help me get through. I’ve felt this since the day we met. He’s one of the only people I would want to be with in the face of any crisis, because I know that he would be able to keep a calm and level head (unlike me who is given to frequent outbursts of emotion and tears). When I found out I had the tumor, yes I freaked out, but the minute he told me that he thought everything would be ok, I believed him.

Do we disagree? All the time. Do we fight? Absolutely. Does he drive me nuts when he’s pessimistic? Hells yeah. Could I ever see myself without him? Not on your fucking life. No matter how much we argue and how much we irritate the crap out of each other, I know that beyond a shadow of a doubt there is nobody else in the entire world that I’d rather have drive me crazy.

“Are we simply romantically challenged, or are we sluts?”~ Carrie Bradshaw (Sex and the City)

Balls (Part 2)

(consider this to be an ongoing blog entry about my niece's Softball series)

Last night we went to the 2nd game of the Staten Island Little League Softball All-Star series. this game was the complete and total opposite of the 1st: it was long, it was drawn out, and it was an absolute massacre. we won ('cause, y'know, i'm a 9 year old girl too) by 21 runs. my niece is a wonderful player and even managed to get 2 base hits during one inning. it was fabulous how they went through the batting rotation at least once an inning! by the bottom of the 1st we were up 10 to 1. by the bottom of the 2nd they stopped changing the score board so as "not to mortify the other team".

at the end of the fourth inning (2 hours after the 8pm start time) the score was 22 to 1. it would've been a complete shut out (oooh saying that makes me feel SO butch!) but the other team was HANDED 1 run by a blatant bending of the rules which allowed a rather porcine 8 year old to steal home while another batter was walking to 1st. don't think that i didn't freak out over the egregious foul play, because freak out i did. actually, i spent quite an alarming portion of the game shouting like a baboon over terrible calls made by the obviously partial umpires. it was not pretty, boys and girls, and i admit that i am quite ashamed by my poor (read: hetero-esque) behavior.

the girls advanced to the next round and have another game on sunday at 5. i think i'm going to paint my face blue and white, to match the team's colors, to mark the occasion.

“When I'm hungry, I eat. When I'm thirsty, I drink. When I feel like saying something, I say it.”~ Madonna

Alcoholics Go to Meetings

Picture it: Brooklyn. Saturday night after leaving Brian and Jenn’s house. John (aka DJ John Michael) was spinning at his newest gig in this little gay bar in Sheepshead Bay. We got there a little after 11 and stayed till about 1:30. during that time I had between two and two-and-a-half Gin and Tonics (extra lime). This is my new favorite drink, vying with the Extra Dirty Vodka Martini for the position. Anyhoo, by the time we left the bar I was tipsy to say the least (truth to be told: after the 1st one, Stephen told me I was slurring like Judy Garland; I have no doubt that he was right). We got home a little after 2:30 and I woke up at 11 to go to Erin’s BBQ. All of a sudden, a the stroke of 6, I got a MONSTER headache that lasted till, roughly 9pm last night. It felt like my eyeballs were trying to escape from their optic nerve leashes. The headache was accompanied by severe light and sound sensitivity and a feeling in my stomach akin to post-vomit emptiness: I was hungry but there was no way in Cher’s Green Earth that I was gonna chance eating anything. At some point, yesterday, I spoke with Stephen who told me that I was hung over. Apparently, hangovers can rear their ugly heads DAYS after the actual drinking binge has occurred, and is ESPECIALLY COMMON IN THE OVER 25 SET. As if I didn’t feel bad enough, we can heap the fact that I’m an old lush to the pile of misery. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m hardly a Days of Wine and Roses class Fall Down Drunk, but in my day…oh god I AM old…I held my own at bars. There was a point in my life (from 22 up until a week after Stephen and I met, actually) where John and I would go out 3 or 4 times a week to one bar/club/lounge or another. We were known at Staten Island’s 1 gay bar and were on 1st name basis with all of the bartenders. Ditto for barbacks/waiters at Barracuda. it was not uncommon to roll in at dawn, sleep for about 2 hours, and then toddle off to the maul for a 12 hour shift without so much as a blood-shot eye. Now, here I am, getting smote 24 hours after the fact.
If this is what my 30’s are gonna be like, I’m gonna f-cking kill myself right now and save the money on advil.

"The last mosquito that bit me had to book into the Betty Ford Clinic"~ Patsy Stone (Absolutely Fabulous)

Balls

As most of you know, I am not a sports fan. As a matter of fact, I’ve been known to actively avoid watching sports in all it’s myriad forms. Perhaps it goes back to growing up and playing (I use the term VERY loosely) Baseball on a little league team. I was awful. I was the kid in DEEP right field making necklaces of dandelions and outfield grass. I was the kid who screamed at incoming pop-flies and covered his head with his glove. I closed my eyes when I swung the bat and was more shocked than anyone on the field when I hit the ball. I was also “the fat kid”, so when I did hit the ball, it usually beat me to 1st base. To this day, it’s universally acknowledged that I’m slightly less athletic than Stephen Hawkings. Bearing that in mind, it’s really no surprise that I’ve reached the age of 29 without any interest in watching organized sports on television or at a stadium. There really isn’t one that I find even mildly entertaining (though Ultimate Fighting on Spike is sort of intriguing, but for different reasons). What is surprising is that I spent the entire weekend watching sports and was completely enthralled. Pick up your jaw and let me explain.

This weekend, we went out to NJ to visit Jenn and her husband at a fabulous BBQ. Jenn’s brother-in-law was there and insisted on watching the World Cup match between Portugal and Germany. This was, perhaps, one of the most interesting and (dare I say it) sports I’ve ever seen. Did you catch it? It was AMAZING. There is SO much action and passion to this game! It’s really no surprise that the ENTIRE WORLD gets off on it! (the real surprise is that Americans actually enjoy watching baseball, which is about as thrilling as watching grandma get a mani/pedi). We won’t even get into how hot the players are; considering the amount of running and jumping and kicking involved, it really goes without saying that they’re f’n RIPPED. So after 20 minutes I was absolutely HOOKED and couldn’t WAIT till Sunday to see the final match between Italy and France. We only caught the last few minutes, as we were at another BBQ at Erin’s house, but the company was much more preferable to sitting in front of the television. Next year (it does happen every year, right?) I plan on watching as much coverage as I can. the pic, below is of the Italian Soccer team in their Dolce & Gabana ad. Viva Italia.

After Sunday’s BBQ, we adjourned to the ball-field to watch my 9 year old niece play softball in game 1 of the Staten Island Little League All Star Series. Usually, the games have a 2 hour or 6 inning time limit (whichever comes 1st). unfortunately, they usually hit 2 hours LONG before they’re even CLOSE to 6 innings. The games seem to go on FOREVER and the scores read like basket ball games, with all the base stealing due to errors. It’s comedy. The All Star Game, however, was AMAZING. These little girls are the cream of SI’s crop of softball players. They moved like a well oiled machine with military precision. They were so serious and so focused that they all looked like they were 35 year olds that were shrunk in the dryer. I was beyond impressed, I was flabbergasted. The game was over in less than an hour. Six innings in less than an hour. The score was 3-0 (my niece’s team kicked ASS). The other team didn’t stand a CHANCE. It’s a shame that they don’t cultivate the girls like they do the boys. Some of these kids look like they could REALLY go far.

Her next game is tomorrow night at 8 o’clock and I can’t wait. I’ve become one of those uncles that stands up and screams and hoots and hollers every time ANYTHING happens. I have a bruise on my hand from clapping with my ring on and I’m a little hoarse. If they win the series, i think I’ll go insane. Who knew that you could that fascinated by balls without there being a man attached?

“My doctor told me I can’t be involved in any activity where balls fly at my face” “Well there goes your social life”~ Amber and Cher (Clueless)

Silver Glitter Tumor

Once upon a time (somewhere in the late ‘90’s I think, but who can remember that far back) I read a book. The title was Can’t Buy Me Love and it was by Chris Kenry. No, it’s not about the Beatles; it’s about male prostitution, the gay porn industry, public assistance, taxidermy and true love (yes it’s fiction, silly). I’ve since read this book about 5 more times (y’all know how I like to re-read mah books), and the one part that sticks with me every day is when the protagonist of our tale wanders into the Denver Museum and happens across an exhibit devoted to the Colorado Silver Rush. In the middle of the room is a book where patrons of the museum have written about silver (heirlooms, etc). it must be a very Hands On kinda museum. Anyhoo…one patron has written in all sorts of acronyms for the wordk Silver (ie: Some Icelandics Love Very Eerie Recordings). I thought it was funniest thing I’d ever read. After I finished the book I loaned it to John, who found it just as fabulous. Since (6 years ago? 5?) then we’ve been text messaging each other acronyms for Silver. After a while we branched out. Mariah Carey’s Glitter had hit the world and in retaliation for making me sit through it, I inflicted acronyms on John (Gorgeous Lesbians insist tube tops ease redness). Oh the times we’ve had with Glitter!
Lately, in response to my fears and anxieties about my pet neuroma, we’ve been using the word Tumor (Thin? Ummm Mariah’s Obese. Really). I invite you, my friends, to help out and offer your own acronyms using SILVER GLITTER or TUMOR and to post them here on my blog.

some of our greatest hits:

TUMOR: Terrycloth Underneath Maribou?!! Oh Really?!!?
TUMOR: Tragedy! Ugly Mexicans Off Romanians!!
SILVER: Slim Indians Love Vibrant Enormous Ribbons
SILVER: Sometimes I Like Very Enigmatic Ricans
GLITTER: Gorgeous Ladies in tank tops enjoy running
GLITTER: Grazing Lightly, I Tried To Eat Rhubarb
GLITTER: Giggling leprechauns? insipid tittering taunts every rapist
GLITTER: Going Long, I Tackled Timmy Every Round
SILVER: Single Indians Like Vaginally Entering Romanians
GLITTER: Gigantic Lithuanians Insist: Terrycloth Towels Eradicate Red-wine!
GLITTER: "Getting Lice Is Terribly Tragic", Earl Replied
TUMOR: Terribly Undercooked Meat often repeats
TUMOR: “Tranny”! uttered Madonna, obviously repulsed
TUMOR: Terrycloth undermines Madonna’s obsession: RAYON!
TUMOR: Try uncut meat over regular.
TUMOR: the Underwear Model ordered raisins.
TUMOR: Tongue usage might offer relief

“She’s an onion-pussy bitch and I hate her”~ Get Huh (Ride Committee featuring Roxy)

Aye Aye Aye

I wasn’t completely honest when I wrote about Pride this year. Yes, it was really nice to be amongst “boys like us”, etc, but there was a hidden agenda for going to Pride this year and why we’re sure to go again next year. I love burritos.
You’re probably asking yourself what burritos have to do with Pride, well I’m gonna tell you.

Every year, for the last three, Chipotle has had a float in the parade. Every year for the last three, Chipotle (bless their hearts) has had the most wonderful young people handing out coupons for FREE burritos. Uh-huh, That’s right, FREE BURRITOS. Let it sink in. feels good doesn’t it? I’ll wait here while you have a cigarette.

For those unwashed masses that have never been to a Chipotle, let me explain why this is significant: THEY ARE THE BEST BURRITOS IN NEW YORK (second only to those which WBBF makes in our little kitchen). They make them right in front of you with wonderfully fresh and fabulous ingredients. You can put whatever you want in your burrito (Chicken, Beef, Steak, Veggies, Pork) or have them make it into a quesadilla or on a salad. They also have the most outstanding nachos and guacamole to DIE for, but (in case you missed it the 1st time): THEY ARE THE BEST BURRITOS IN NEW YORK. Granted, I don’t have a lot of burrito eatin’ experience to base this on, but Stephen has: before I met him, my man was practically Livin La Vida Latino out in Queens; hanging out with the Cha-Cha queens at Escualita, dating men named Carlos, Eduardo and Israel. Till he met me he hadn’t cooked Italian food in about 5 years. Believe me when I say that my man knows a good burrito when he eats one.
To be honest and fair, until the 1st year that we got the FREE BURRITO COUPONS, I’d never heard of them. Prior to Chipotle, I was limited to SI’s Burrito Bar in college, or **shudder** Taco Bell. We stopped in only because of the coupon. Holy cow am I glad we did. Now, they’re the burrito I crave on those cold winter nights and hot summer days. If god ate burritos, this is where he would get them.

Yesterday I was on the F train, to Manhattan from Brooklyn. At one point I put down my book and saw a FREE BURRITO COUPON under a girl’s foot. It was the same coupon that they hand out at Pride (the coupon is significant because these burritos are, like, $10 a pop. Heaven don’t come cheap, kids). No matter how I looked at it, I am saddened to say there was absolutely no way I could’ve gotten that coupon without looking like a total dirtbag. It gave me physical pain to get off at 34th street while it sat under some Un-Burrito-Loving whore’s Payless sandal.

We got 4 coupons at Pride this year, we better space them out to savor the thrill, it’s gonna be a long year.

"Consistancy is the last resort of the unimaginative"~Oscar Wilde

Bang Bang (You Shot Me Down)

I fear I might be considered a bad person; I’m certainly a bad American. I hate the 4th of July. There, I said it. Call the Department of Homeland Security or the CIA or whomever “disposes of” Emperor GWB’s heretics, these days. I’m not a fan of the Fourth. Personally, I think it rates right up there with electrolysis and getting a colonoscopy in terms of shear physical discomfort. It’s not the politics of the holiday I find distasteful (though I will admit that it’s hard to celebrate the birthday of a country that thinks I’m a 3rd class citizen). It’s the fireworks. I hate fireworks. While I have no problem with the pulsing throb of house music, the loud CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK of a matt of Jumping Jacks or the sonic BOOM of an M80 puts me over the edge. Perhaps it’s because I’m usually quite tense and thoroughly over-caffeinated, but loud and abrupt noises scare the living shit out of me. Every. Single. Time. Even if I know that it’s going to happen I still wince, flinch or jump. I can’t even be in the same room when champagne is being opened because of the loud POP that accompanies it. Don’t even talk to me about Pillsbury Biscuits in a can. The thought of them makes me quite edgy.

It’s not just the noise of the Fourth that I’m opposed to. I absolutely detest fireworks and everything they bring with them: bright flashes of light, smoke, soot and the smell of gun powder. I’m appalled at how my usually residential looking neighborhood turns into downtown Baghdad in the name of celebration. I walked out of my house this morning, looked around, and I swear to god it looked like the entire neighborhood had been stormed by a Jihad. There was a layer of soot covering the cars, large scorch marks were all about the street (the neighbors across the street actually set fire to the street), and there were empty cardboard casings EVERYWHERE. It was terribly disturbing.

Speaking of the neighbors, let’s get back to why I think I’m a bad person. By 10pm my nerves were completely shot, as they had started well before sundown with the Noise-Only brand of fireworks. Now, because we’re up a the ass-crack of dawn (5:30) for work, we’re usually in the sack by 10:30 (the VERY latest). Last night, however, sleep was clearly NOT going to be an option. By 10:30 it was quite clear that the Firework Extravaganza was NOT going to end any time soon. The neighbors had spent, what looked like, $2000 on fireworks and they were going to get every POP and WHISTLE they could get. They also thought it would be a real hoot to light a mini-bonfire in the middle of the street. It was a real lulu. That’s when I called the 311 who put me on with 911 (I told her it wasn’t an emergency, but it was clear that any fire warrants 911 attention). 10 minutes later the FDNY showed up and crashed the party. 10 minutes after they left, the neighbors started up again. 20 minutes (and another phonecall to 311) later the NYPD showed up. They left about 45 minutes later. The party was over. By this time I was asleep for about half an hour. Sometime around 1am a fight broke out across the street. Everyone was drunk, several people were high (by their own loud admission). And it seems to have started due to the involvement from New York’s Finest. God only knows what they found.

Next year, maybe we can go to Canada for the 4th.

“Fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke”~Bette Midler

Happy **YAWN** Third of July

Today is an incredibly strange and limbo-esque day: yesterday was Sunday and tomorrow is a holiday. the bus was half empty (or full), and there was hardly anyone on the F Train. Even the radio, this morning, was playing a weekend program. The usual DJs weren’t there and there was no mention of traffic, news nor weather. The office is quiet as a tomb, with the phones hardly ringing at all. In the 8 hours I’ve been here, I’ve gotten 1 fax (for paperwork that I requested); the stock market closed early. Everyone here seems mellow to the point of lethargic, bordering on comatose. I, myself, feel the overwhelming desire for an afternoon siesta, and if I could I would curl up under my desk and take a nice 45 minute long nap.

"There will always women in rubber flirting with me"~ Maureen Johnson (Rent: the Movie)