Of all the possible things I'd imagine her saying...

"God. Am I actually going to do this?" I say to myself. With the hours, minutes, seconds until the end of the year quickly diminishing my self-imposed deadline draws ever nearer. I must have seemed a bit out of sorts because even Mother Ray could tell something was different.

"What's wrong, honey? You seem anxious." she inquired.

"Um, oh, it's nothing." I lied, but it was enough to sustain her and she walked off to do something else in another room.

Now I'm pacing—literally pacing, like in the movies or a soap opera kind of pacing—in the living room. I can feel a growing feeling of nausea brewing in my gut. I can hear each second tick by even though the clock on the silently says 8:55pm. I tell myself, "OK, just do it at 9 o'clock and that way you can still make it back to The City in time for New Years."

I go to the bathroom to splash some water on my face, and to have the toilet handy just in case my nerves get the better of me. I'm surprised by how nervous I actually am. For the past weeks, if not months, I had been building up to this, running the countless possible combinations of admissions, replies, apologies, rejections, and even approvals through my mind. And I'm at the point in my life where I feel as though it's time to start living my own life, not the one that my parents think I should have. I'm ready for this. "What's the worst that could happen?" I muse. My self confidence begins to return, and just in time as the clock behind me reads 9:05pm. (My mom has clocks everywhere, yet our family is notorious for struggling to get places on time.)

I dry off my face, take a deep breath, track down my mom who is folding towels in the master bedroom with my dad watching sports on TV. I ask them if I can see them in the living room for a minute, that there's something I need to talk to them about. "Sure. Let me just finish folding these towels and we'll be right in," mom almost cheerfully replies. I begin to feel guilty now. My folks are so happy-go-lucky most of the time, and now I'm getting nervous about ruining that for them. But rather than cop out, I walk into the living room and take a seat in the swivel chair, my fate just moments away from being revealed.

Why is it that people set deadlines like this? After the hecticness of the holidays, why put a stake in the ground of midnight on New Years Eve when in reality the next day is just that, another day. Time hasn't truly advanced a year, it's just progressed as it always has, just the label has changed. And somehow that's supposed to make all the difference, like magically we'll be transported through time and everything will be different in the new year. I had be putting it off for long enough and back when I'd made the decision to talk with my folks NYE seemed so far away. Now it's less than 3 hours away and knowing that my folks liked to go to be early, I really had less time than that.

"Ok, honey, what's on your mind?" mom says, interrupting my thoughts. Dad says nothing, which is his style—a man of few words.

They take a seat on couch opposite me, looking quizzical, concerned. Shit! Say something! Why didn't I think of an opening? No wait, I do have an opening, hundreds of them, but what should I say now, in this moment? I can feel myself getting overwhelmed. I don't want to be emotional, not now.

To be honest, I don't really remember exactly what I said leading up to the two words that would change our family anticipated history, but I guess that doesn't really matter, those leading words sure didn't… Looking down at the carpet I finally begin to speak.

"………I'm gay." The words hanging in the air for what feels like an eternity. Like a slot machine, all the different scenarios I had played out in my mind previously are flashing in front of me... which would be the one? Finally the silence is broken.

"Oh no, Kenny, not gay," my mom gulps, her voice low, sad, and the word "gay" dripping with disgust and horror. It sticks like a dagger in my chest and my mind reels. I was not expecting that. Of all the possible things I'd imagine her saying, I never expected that. I wanted to die.

She started talking but I don't hear what she's saying. Her voice is beginning to tremble, but her first response is still playing in my mind, over and over, my brain trying to analyze what she said, and what it means. "Oh no, Kenny, not gay." The only meaning I can conclude is that substituting any word other than "gay" would have been perfectly find to say to them.

"Guess what? I'm a serial killer." … "That shows pattern recognition and problem solving, you're very smart! Just don't kill anyone we know, Kiddo."

"I've been meaning to tell you, I'm into hardline drugs and sold your car to support my habbit" … "That's OK, we'll just say it was stolen and get a new one with the insurance claim, Sport."

"Did you know that I'm in a cult and poisoned the raspberry lemonade you drank at dinner?" … "We're happy you're making new friends and have a hobby."

Anything would be better than saying I am gay.

After my brain completes the analysis, I realize that mom is kneeling beside me and about to put her arm around me. Dad is still sitting on the couch, looking very absent from the whole affair. I finally register what she's saying through choked back tears, and she's asking me to pray with her for God to heal me and make me straight again, to bring her son back to the ways of the righteous, to help me resist the demons that are preying on my impressionable mind, and to not let anyone else find out less it cause the family shame in the eyes of the church. I've got to hand it to my mom, she really knows how to pull the rug out from under me. "Heal me?" "Bring her son back?" Clearly all the positive signs I had seen in my mom in the past few months when discussing gay-related subject matters we would see on the news together completely vanished, that she didn't really understand what it was to be gay, and that the media really owned her impression of what it was to be a gay man.

And then she asked me if I had AIDS. WTF?! That is her definition of a gay man, that they have AIDS. Oh, and that they were going to hell. And are child molesters. I can't defend myself against a belief system like that, I'm too emotionally drained, I need to get out of the line of questioning because I know where this is heading. Holding back my emotions the best I can I stand up, detaching her from my body. Dad doesn't look up, his gaze transfixed on his shoes. I say I need to head home to The City for New Years and have to leave now if I want to make it in time and head out the door. "Don't tell your sister! Or anybody. The pastor will know what to do." she calls out as the door is closing behind me.

The night air is cold and razor sharp but I'm in my car and driving off before it really stings. My mind starts replaying the entire evening from the start and by the time I'm making the first turn to head to the freeway the floodgates open and I'm sobbing. Sobbing so hard that I'm barely able to see, my body heaving so hard it makes steering almost difficult. The logic in me is saying to pull over until it's safe to drive, but everything else in me is saying to put as much distance between me and that house as possible.

I end up navigating my way to the theater I used to manage, the one where me and Sparky chased each other through the empty halls, the one where I had come out to him just a few months earlier. Some of my friends were waiting there for me, just in case I ended up not going back home to The City. One of my best friends, Dice, said I could crash his folks' house and he took me over. I found myself welcoming in the New Year alone, on an unfamiliar sofa with only a collection of vintage Barbie dolls to watch over me as I eventually nodded off to sleep, unsure of the consequences of my actions, but deep down inside happy that now everyday after would be my own.

Happy New Year.

This took place 10 years ago tonight. Apologies for my lack of keeping the tenses consistent, this was more or less a stream of conscience entry.

Home Alone: Going for Broke

I promised Betty that I'd get some posts, um, posted in the month of December and with the last day of the month quickly approaching, I'd better take a break from all the remodeling tasks (and the Futurama marathon currently playing on Adult Swim on Cartoon Network) and post something. I have another post that I just realize is still in "Draft" mode that I need to publish too, but first things first.

Many of you in the blogiverse have no doubt been wondering what the heck is going on with the remodeling project. And to answer the question everyone is asking... no, it's not done yet. But that's actually ok because if it were going any faster, I'd be completely broke at this point. The fewer hours the contractors work, the less it costs me each week and right now I'm anxiously awaiting to be able to sell some stock after 12/30 so I'm not hit with short-term capital gains tax. But after that I'll be able to refill my reserves and crank up the speed. I'm also going to take back some of the projects from the contractors and finish them myself (installing baseboards, painting, minor rewiring work, etc) to save some cabbage.

It's been kind of nice being home during this past week (company break) and actually having people to talk to. The contractors are really nice guys, friends of a relative-in-law, and fun to converse with (which is good because I'm probably paying for said conversations). With as long as this whole process is taking, it's really good that T-Snake and Carlos aren't here, as it's been challenging enough for me to "rough it" with only a working faucet in my bathroom and a microwave for cooking. Trying to manage these conditions with two other people would be a living nightmare, literally. I'm not sure if they see it that way, mostly because neither side has made much of an effort to stay in touch, but as I write this I don't really care. Or at least that's what I'm telling myself. But honestly, it's really for the best and I need to accept that and look to the future, not the past.

Anyway, the countertop that I finally selected (why is it so hard for me to decide on things like this?) looks amazing after the contractors roughed it into place. Take a look at the pics and see for yourself. The following slideshow actually starts in the future and goes backward to the early days of the project, when I still had money to spend on things like food.

"That's one doodle that can't be un-did, homeskillet."

So, just what exactly broke my two week non-posting streak? What got me back on the blog horse? Would you believe it was a four-letter word? Those letters would be j - u - n - o.

So, you've seen Juno already, right? What?! You say it's not playing in your neck o' the woods yet? You signed up to get attend one of the free screenings (and free t-shirt!) for Juno, right? No?! Then you'll just have to wait until it opens nation-wide on December 25th. Yep, xmas day. You've been a good boy/girl/somewhere-in-the-middle/all-of-the-above so you deserve to treat you to this unique little film. Consider it a cinematic stocking stuffer. While all the other movies out during this season are filled with either holiday "magic" or CGI effects by Industrial Light & Magic, don't you want to see something different? And have I mentioned the soundtrack yet? It's, whimsical and oh so very listenable. Like over and over again. Right now I can't stop listening to "Anyone Else but You" by The Moldy Peaches. I have to thank Betty for her generosity in gifting the entire album to me in iTunes. It was about the only thing that got me through work on Friday.

---

Worst thing about today: Finding out that my kitchen needs to have pipes moved.


Best thing about today: Betty's musical generosity.

Going out with a bang whimper

It's over! NaBloPoMo! 30 days! 30 posts! I was planning a big, elaborate, posting to celebrate sticking it out for a full 30 days, even during the times I had only my iPhone to rely on... on the damned Edge network no less.

But then I read L'il B's post, and fuck if she didn't totally hit the nail on the head. Guess I'd been feeling the same way, but didn't want to admit it.

Now I'm home, watching "Chuck & Buck", feeling like shit (my cold has returned and it's pissed that I tried to dismiss it), eating a piping hot quart of hot and sour soup to soothe my aching throat, typing this final post for November... for NaBloPoMo. I guess I should feel some sense of accomplishment, but really I just feel mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted. And after all, I didn't cure cancer, or fix global warming, or even rescue a cat from a tree (for the record there's no such thing as a cat stuck in a tree, they're just trying to get away from annoying people and come down when they get hungry) ... I just textually vomited the contents of my brain once a day for 30 days in a row. No big whoop.

Will I stick with it? Yes, but not every day. Everything in moderation, right? Besides who wants to read the equivalent of the dry heaves?

Well, I'd love to stay up until it's officially not November any more, but I've gotta shit to do in the morning. And posting here isn't on the list. GKR out!

Oh, and kudos to Sara over at Moving Right Along for the kick-ass "mission accomplished" badge.

---

Worst thing about today: Sickies again

Best thing about today: Duh! You read all that drivel at the beginning, right? WTF?! What do you mean "I skimmed it." Lame...

"Good news, everyone!"

Yesterday marked the return of Futurama! Of course, it was on the direct to DVD release of "Futurama: Bender's Big Score" but still, good news indeed. I won't spoil anything by posting details of the plot here, but I will say that it's filled with tons of references to the original series so fans of show will enjoy the winks and nods the writers added in. I found 1 easter egg in the DVD menus, but there might be more; I haven't explored everything yet. Overall, the pacing felt a bit off, probably because of the feature film length story, so I'll be really curious to see how it translates into the return of the series to TV (on Comedy Central some time in 2008. Oh and there are 3 more direct to DVD movies coming soon! Apparently the DVD that Best Buy is selling has a bonus disc with exclusive previews of said future Futurama movies, but I say save yourself the misery of shopping at Best Buy and just go pick up the DVD at Target or any other retailer selling it.

And now, until the censors at YouTube take it down, you can watch the extended trailer for Bender's Big Score the was exclusively shown at Comic-Con 2007. Enjoy!



---

Worst thing about today: Had a hard time sleeping, woke up feeling exhausted.

Best thing about today: One of the pieces of an x-mas gift basket I've been assembling since this summer just arrived today, and it's going to be a really awesome and surprising addition to the basekt. Or should I say pitcher.

Photos! Photos! Photos!

Ok, now before you get too excited and go flying off the handle, waking up the neighborhood with your shouts of, "Huzzah! Praise be the interwebs!" there's only 5 photos from my recent trip, but I think they're pretty good. These were taken at the Vans Triple Crown of Surfing event. Enjoy! What do you think? Share your thoughts in the comments!




Green and red... festive!


This one makes me melt. Melt!


Handsome!


The last one there is Bethany Hamilton. You may remember her in the news a couple years back when she was attacked by a shark and lost her left arm. Watching her fly over the waves was amazing. I have no idea how she does it. I sometimes have trouble walking on land with two arms, she's truly an inspiration.

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Worst thing about today: The HORRIBLE customer service the neighborhood's new Best Buy tonight.

Best thing about today: Walking out in the middle of the transaction at Best Buy to go over to Target and buy the new Futurama movie "Bender's Big Score" ... let's hope I don't fall asleep watching it tonight!

---

The images in this post are licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Unported License.

We tumble to the ground and then...

Ten years ago found me working in a movie theater, quite possibly the best job I ever had even if it was shorter lived than I would have liked. Everyone who worked at the theater was cool even though our ages varied widely. This was the time in my life that I really began to strike out on my own and wanted to live my own life for myself. It was working at the theater that I met him. Sparky had just turned 18 and I was a bit more mature 23. He was shorter than me, thin but not skinny, toned but not buff, dark hair and deep brown eyes. When not working he work loose jeans, tight long sleeve thermal with a graphic tee over it, metalic silver marble necklace, and a beanie. And the sexiest shit-eating smile. I can't exactly say what it was about him that drew me to him, but I fell for him, and hard. But since I had not yet come out, I kept my secret crush to myself.

Sparky was taking film classes at a local JC and for one of his assignments had to write a paper on a director he admired. He chose Kevin Smith of "Clerks" and "Chasing Amy" fame. Lucky for him I'm a big Kevin Smith fan and I offered to help him research and write the paper, well, and to just spend time with him alone. Sparky was a bit of a slacker (think booze and pot party boy) and had waited until the last minute to write the paper so we only had the night to finish it. I drove down to the theater as he was just closing up the box office and concession stand and we began the project.

The first couple of hours were pretty productive, as we used the computer in the office and pumped Sublime and Matchbox 20 over the lobby's overhead speakers. I was powered by just being near him, he was energized by the endless supply of Pepsi just outside the office door. I knew that Sparky didn't feel for me the way I felt for him, he had a girlfriend and they'd been together for more than a year. But we did have a special bond that neither of us shared with anyone else on the staff.

The short hand marched around the face of the clock several more times and with each passing hour our productivity decreased and the punchiness set in. With one page to go the first daylight began the appear in the East. A warm light began filling the lobby. Paper done. Save to disk. Print. As the printer whirred to life Sparky bolted from the office, challenging me to try to catch him. Drunk on lack of sleep I stumbled into the vast lobby not sure which way he took off in. I heard a theater door close down the hallway to the right and I took off in hot pursuit. Rounding the corner I was faced with 9 doorways and possible places he could he hiding. I started with theater number 10, the smallest one. Nada. I ran back to the hallway and into theater 9. I turned on the cleaning lights, but they revealed the auditoriums vacancy. Soon I was in theater 8, then 7. With each one my adrenaline began to increase. Just as I entered theater 6's right corridor, I heard something come from the other corridor and returned to the entrance to find him darting out into the hallway, his short but strong legs pumping him forward as fast as they could. My longer stride helped me catch up to him. Just as I was about to tag him, his Adidas sandal slipped off and he stumbled. I tried to catch him but he took me down to the floor in the process.

We tumbled to the ground, rolling over and over each other. When we stopped I was laying on top of him, our faces inches from each other. I could feel his breath on my face, the warmth of his body beneath me, and smell the scent of his skin. Time seemed to stand still as we laid together, melting into each other, silently looking into each other's eyes. Slowly, cautiously, our faces neared, hearts beating faster, our lips so close to making the contact I was dreaming of, longing for, praying for.

---

Worst thing about today: Dozing off while watching Beowulf in 3D
Best thing about today: Back to back Futurama on Adult Swim

Lazy Saturday

Here's what's going on. House: still under renovation, no heat, no interior doors, soooo coooold. Me: a little blue today, and not just because it's so cold. Last night's adventures in the city brought some old memories to the forefront after being buried for many years. It's weird how sometimes just a particular song, or a place, can trigger a flood of memories. Some good, some not so good. Borrowing a page from Betty (and probably countless other bloggers out there), I think I'll post a few past memories in the coming days/weeks/months.

But right now I'm borrowing a page from Howler and going to recap the day as follows:

Worst thing of the day: feeling the funk

Best thing of the day: getting an email from Camp

Has anyone seen my Olympus camera's USB cable? The Vegas pics are trapped in my camera! On second thought, maybe that's a good thing.

Wait, what was I gonna say?

Ok, this sucks. I had been thinking about today's post since arriving to work this morning. The office was completely empty. So quiet. About 5pm I get a call from Hootie to head up to the city to run some errands, grab some dinner, and hit up The Mint for karaoke in my old stomping grounds. Now that I'm home, I've completely forgotten about what I was going to write about, no doubt singing Third Eye Blind songs at the top of my still recovering lungs wiped my memory clean. Damn! Oh well, since my contractors are going to be working on the house in the morning I'll need to evacuate again so that'll give me all day to remember the post. Oh, and maybe even get some pics posted.

Today, I'm thankful for...

…amazing friends, a loving family, and Panda Express being open today. Damn, I can't wait to have a kitchen again.

"Baby it's cold out inside..."

I swear this will be the last time I use a song lyric for a posting title. Well, for a few days anyway.

Because of the construction going on in the house right now I can't run the furnace as it and the air ducts are full of dust and I'm doing my best to keep the dust rhinos in a confined area instead of setting them loose via the vents. When I woke up this morning it was 50°F in my room. Now 1.5 hours later the room has warmed up to a far from cozy 54°F. Time to go to the office to keep from getting frost bite and/or hypothermia.

Luckily for Betty I'll be able to drop off a Venti latte to her office on the way to my own. I think I'll buy an extra one and just dump it on my head to warm up faster.

Brrrrrr!

Goodbye, Cinnamon Hole... Farewell, Sticky Buns...

See you soon, "You wanna woooman?" woman. Thanks for the memories, Mr. Woo! Ah, so many memories, so little money won. Actually, no money won. Damn, Vegas was a total bitch to me. But having Hooters, Hootie, Basement Boy, Barry, and surprise guest appearance by Howler more than made up for it. In fact, I would say that I hit the jackpot on this trip.

And now we're off to the airport. Back to the grind tomorrow. Until next time...

"Don't cum on me"

So it's just a little after midnight and we're still out on the town. Right now we are at the Imperial Palace Karaoke Club, Hootie is about to get his singing on. We always seem to end up here.

***The rest of the post***

Whoops, looks like I went and hit Publish Post before I had finished writing it. And I'm sure there's more than a few folks out there who are quite confused by the title of this post, especially after reading the first paragraph that did nothing in the way of providing enlightenment.

(As you might be able to tell, I've found semi-usable wifi and am able to type the rest of this post on a physical keyboard, not that the iPhone wasn't holding its own in a pinch.)

OK, let's recap Saturday the 17th picking up at 12:01am still on the town from Friday night. We were hanging out at La Scena at The Venetian, which is where we met up with Basement Boy and his buddy Barry. Basement Boy (BB for short) was actually at Bettyfest with us and we loved him so much that I was so excited when I found out that he'd be joining the festivities this time around. Bettyfest was so off da hook that there was no way that I was going to try to compete on a weekend of that caliber so we sort of just went where the night took us. And that meant hanging out, listening to a crummy band (seriously, the sucked hard), and getting just a wee-bit tipsy from the bevy of beverages. Hooters and I had decided early on that we were going to follow our single alcohol rule, vodka to be specific, but early on it was clear that wasn't going to happen. One thing led to another and suddenly, and this is still a bit hazy, it's like 3-4am and I'm suddenly feeling the effects of mixing alcohols and need to find a bathroom and quick. Stumbling into the mens room I'm soon bowing before the porcelain throne, praying that what comes next will be quick and relatively painless. As I'm waiting to puke my guts out, and for the record, this only makes 3 times in my whole life that I've been sick from drinking, some girls come bursting into the mens room and hunker down in the stall next to mine. One of them is giving the other one tips for surviving the binge drinking they've been doing and that was enough to coax my stomach to relieve its contents. "Atta boy," the advice-giving girl next to me trumpets. Solidarity. Good times. Somehow I managed to escape from getting any on me.

Did I mention before that this is going to be a loooong post? No? Well, you'd better get comfy 'cuz this is going to take a while.

So I stumble out of the bathroom, pretty sure I washed my hands too... I'm white trash, but very sanitary thank you very much. When I get back to the La Scena it's closed and I don't see anyone I know. Hooters, Hootie, BB, and Barry are no where to be found. So, like anyone in my totally wrecked condition would have concluded that they've gone back to the hotel, I trot off in the direction I think the exit to Las Vegas Blvd is. No idea what happened next. All I know for certain is that when I woke between 4-5am, someone (I assumed Hooters) was in the bed next to me and fell back asleep. And this is where it gets a bit ironic, every single one of us ended up going to the restroom within minutes of each other and when everyone came out, they couldn't see anyone else and each tried to find their way home. Hooters ended up walking close to a mile just trying to cross the damn street. Hootie ended up going and playing slots and was nearly taken advantage of by a lady of the night. BB ended up in the basement of his hotel with security threatening to count to three if he didn't leave the basement. Barry was probably the only one of us to make it back safely and with most of his memory intact. During all of this, Hootie and Hooters ended up having a great text conversation, a transcript of which I'll post soon.

Fast forward (your welcome) to 1pm on Saturday afternoon and Hooters and I are just finally waking up. We probably would have slept longer, but the phones kept ringing and ringing. The person on the other end? Howler! And she was hungry. Groggily I picked up the phone to hear "FEED ME!" on the other end. And when you here that, you best do as she says. Hooters and I do our best to pretty our still totally wrecked selves up and head to the MGM for a very late lunch at Wolfgang Puck's Bar & Grill. The food was good but the service was way off. We didn't know whether to laugh or cry when the server suggested just replacing the buns of a incorrectly prepared burger, or when they brought us decaf coffee when the regular stuff was just a few minutes from brewing.

Jumping ahead again finds us at The Flamingo to watch the Second City improv troupe perform. Hootie had the hook up and got us in for practically nothing. I've never seen them perform anywhere before, but I was expecting they'd do more improv with audience interaction rather than so much seemingly scripted material. Don't get me wrong, it was great time and I found my sides hurting by the end. The title of this blog is actually one of the lines from one of their best sketches. We've been repeating it all day, it was just that memorable. And, Rob Belushi, if you happen to be googling yourself and stumble across this blog, I'd just like to add that you are totally hot. TOTALLY hot. We made eye contact a few times during the show and I felt something, some sort of connection... and it couldn't have been from the drinks at the show... they were WAY watered down. So if you'd like to see where our brief visual encounter can go, comment below!

Ok, that's enough of that and it pretty much brings us up to the present at the karaoke club at IP. Hootie had his eye caught by a hot little number that apparently just returned from a tour of duty in Iraq. Let's call him Cockeye (the inspiration for which came from the name of a restaurant at IP). That boy had quite the ripped body, and Hooters was actually able to get him to pose for the camera. (Sorry Cockeye, I'll still take Rob hands down.) And yes, I'll post all the pics that are PVA (post-Vegas approved) this week.

And now I need to get to bed. We fly out on Monday, which is technically the day I'm updating this. See you tomorrow!

Does anyone know how I got back to the room?

No, seriously, I don't have a clue what happened between 2am and 4am.

What's a guy got to do to get friggin' Internet access in his hotel room?!?

I touched down at SFO at 9pm and the had to drive home last night to meet with and pay the contractors. As luck would have I'd, I didn't even have wifi at home because they had to disconnect everything when installing the new bamboo floors. Wait, did I already post about that? I'm so tired from my travels that I can't remember now. Anyhow, I barely made it back to the airport thus morning to get my tired ass to Vegas. Ended up flying Southwest -- I hate Southwest, and now they have some fucked up new line-up to board system that is just beyond lame -- but the flight wasn't as awful as I thought it would be, and surprisingly very little turbulance landing.

We're staying at TI, which is decent, but the Internet access us so hit or miss (and it's mostly miss) that I'm still posting from my iPhone. Not sure what the plan is for tonight but right now Hooters and I are going to get breakfast... at 3pm. It's going to be one of those trips I think.

Just under the wire

Ok, just got home a little while ago and had to get my home wifi set up since it had been taken down for the installation of the new bamboo floor. BTW, the floor looks real nice and should be all done by the time I get back from LV.

I'm feverishly doing laundry and trying to get the final arrangements for the weekend taken care of so the pics of the trip will have to wait until Tuesday-ish. Who knows, I might even get a full night's sleep tonight.

See you tomorrow from Vegas!

Lost out on Lost

Today we woke up earlier than yesterday for our around the island adventure. First stop, the southern-most tip of Oahu. Cool blow hole, though at first I was disappointed thinking we were going to a different kind of hole. You know the drill, pics post once I'm back on the mainland.

Next stop, Chinaman's Hat. But first a quick detour to a small windward side town for a little shopping in a used book store and hawiian BBQ for lunch. Just outside of town a ways is the Valley of the Temples, a Lost filming location! It was so beautiful the, and I got to take some really cool pictures. Betty would hopefully be proud.

Finally we arrive at Chinaman's Hat, which happens to be right next to Kualoa Ranch, where a ton of movies and TV shows are shot including two of my faves, Jurassic Park and Lost. After spending far to long at Chinaman's Hat trying fruitlessly to figure out hope to activate the panorama setting on my little camera, we roll into Kualoa Ranch at 3pm. After distractedly navigating to the tour desk at the back of the huge gift shop, my spirit of aloha was crushed to learn that the last tour of the day left at 3pm and it was now 3:05pm. Why is it that I seem to be cursed when it comes to visiting film sets an TV show tapings while on vacation? This is not the first time it's happened, but maybe it should be the last.

We get back in the Jeep and continue our trek North, enjoying the beautiful scenery. At the northern-most part of the island we discover Turtle Bay with a nice public beach and a restaurant right on the beach. To disappointed to swim, I strike out on my own to take some pics on a coral jetty. As the sun sets, we take our seats at Ola on the beach for tasty cocktails, scrumptous main courses, and satisfying deserts. And did I mention hella fine waiters? One in particular caught GKR's eye, but he was to shy to successfully flirt at let alone with.

The drive home was quiet, everyone blissed out from the meal and tired from our adventures. The only sounds came fron the radio as it pumped out bass-heavy rap music to keep my bro-in-law awake on the drive back to the condo.

Tomorrow morningIve got to pack and head to the airport. It's hard to believe nearly a week has gone by already. But soon a new adventure will begin with Sin City as the backdrop. Hells yeah!

Nada

That pretty much sums up today. Slept in 'til 11:30am, babysat the kid while his 'rents went to a timeshare members update which is basically a way to sell the members more points for nicer rooms. Had a nice late lunch at the Yardhouse, watched a little TV, took the underwater camera out for a spin in the pool (pics will be posted when I have full Internet access again), went out for ice cream, and strolled through the Royal Hawaiian shopping center (which is currently undergoing some major remodeling)... I'm chaffing something fierce from wearing my swim trunks under my cargo shorts during the 2 hours stroll -- ouch!

Other than a fire in somewhere on the neighbor that made the air near the pool smokey while the sirens of fire trucks echoed off the highrises surrounding us, there's really nothing to report on. Tomorrow, my last full day here, will be spent on a drive around the entire island, with a possible stop where they film the canyon scenes (remember golf from season 1?) in Lost. Yay!

Pass the octopus - a late night bonus post

Just got back from sushi and teppan with my bro-in-law and his younger brother. I get the feeling they don't go out for sushi as i do, or maybe it's just that the sushi place we went to had a "if you don't already know what it us, just order the California roll" menu, but somehow someone ordered an appetizer with octopus in it. I had always worried that octopus would be the one ocean creature that would trigger my gag reflex, but this was grilled with a savory pesto garlic sauce and was surprisingly delicious. The large sake didn't hurt as I ended up chowing down on the majority of the 'pus. Anyway, i think I'm now ready to apply for the Amazing Race and successfully make it through the "local delicacy" Road Block. The resturant was chic, the food good (but many dishes seemed overpriced) and the service (tonight) was borderline nonexistent, and from what I overheard from other tables, we weren't the only ones that thought so. Unfortunately I don't remember the name of the resturant, but will add it when I can confirm it. Ok, time for bed.

The Nanny Diaries, GKR Edition

Well now I understand why I was invited on this trip; they needed a cheap babysitter. I know I should just be thankful to be on vacation at all, but this hasn't exactly turned out to be the vacation I was hoping for. I'm doing my best to go with the flow, but for fuck sake, my time is not by own which excuse me if I misunderstood, but isn't that the very definition of a vacation?!?

Don't get me wrong, I love my nephew but he's at that age where he demands CONSTANT attention, and frankly he wore my name out long ago. "Uncle Kenny! Kenny! KENNY!!!" Sheesh! Give it a rest, kid. No wonder my sis wanted a break, and thank god I'll never have kids naturally. Parents out there, you are either braver or stupider than I ever gave you credit for in the past. My sis is one of the brave ones, as it takes brains to con me into doing her bidding.

Ok, I can barely read the screen if my iPhone as it is covered with sunscreen as I type this "live" from Hanauma Bay. Sorry, still no wifi so still no photos.

Short, to the point

No wifi anywhere near hotel. Here's a brief recap if the day.

Breakfast, Starbucks

Safeway for groceries

Genius Bar to fix keyboard

Peanut butter, banana, and guava jam sandwich for lunch

Beach, ocean, sun, sand ... Relaxed
Kona Brewing Co porter with Kona coffee

Chicken and ribs for dinner

Mondo gellato

ABC Store for more sunscreen

Futurama on Adult Swim

Typing this

Bedtime. Good night and best wishes for wifi tomorrow.

GKR is totally wirelessless

and by that I mean that the hotel fibbed about internet access in the rooms, or anywhere else on the property. Super lame. So, until I can find wifi my posts from here will be very, very short. As in, see you tomorrow.

Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping…

Talk about getting this one in just under the wire! Gotta keep this one short because I still need to pack and such for my vacation, which begins in exactly 5 hours from now when I hit the road to the airport.

I'm not really sure how I'll able to keep up the whole NaBloPoMo thing for the next 12 days as I may actually be without a computer (the HORROR!) and quite frankly, I just can't belt out postings on my phone as easily as I can on a regular keyboard. That last one might actually be considered an upside by the rest of the world.

Anyway, I'm off to get lei'd, and if I'm lucky, maybe actually laid. Don't gimme that look, it could happen!

See you tomorrow? You'll have to come back to find out!

Who needs a concert when you could be working a 15-hour day instead?!

Over the past two days I've worked about 30 hours. While fighting a cold. I've got only 2 days to finish three weeks worth of projects before I have to travel. I'm exhausted. Beyond exhausted. I feel numb. Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually. Numb. So numb it hurts to my core, and then goes numb again. The only thing I can feel is the shooting pain in my neck that right now is making it impossible to turn my head to the right. While driving home I turned to look over my right shoulder to change lanes and nearly got into an accident when the pain made my eyes go blurry. I'm falling apart.

I'm so disappointed with myself. Tonight marked the second time in the last 6 months that I choose to give up an after work personal social outing (no, not a date) because of work. If I can't find a way to balance work and home, I'm never going to survive another year (let alone another 5) at work. Maybe it's time to explore what else is out there. Who am I kidding, I don't have time to. I think the problem is that I have a hard time saying "no" to assignments. I honestly believe that saying no would kill my career options (yeah, I'm in one of those situations). So I just take on the work, knock it out, nearly kill myself in the process, and rinse and repeat. It's just a fucked up situation. A fucked up cycle. Since I can't expect the other parts of the equation to change, it's up to me to change. Which is pretty much their expectation anyway. How the hell did I make it 5 years? Oh yeah, employee stock plan. I've only got myself to blame.

Someone's in the kitchen with GKR...

Actually, no one is in the kitchen, 'cause there ain't no kitchen to be in! Card and letter have been virtually pouring in, asking about how the whole Home v1.5 project is going. Well, by the time I'm done with it, it's going to be full-on Home v2.0.11b! And the housing market will still be over saturated with homes that nobody is buying so I'll be sitting pretty in my pretty new home, alone, watching my savings dwindle until the bank forecloses on my broke-ass ass. Can you tell I've been over analyzing things again?

Anywho, here's some pics to show you the progress of the kitchen remodel over the past couple weeks.

Getting ready to demo the cabinets…



Looking a little third-worldly there…



What $2K worth of cabinets look like before they're assembled. Don't kid yourselves … just because they're from Ikea don't mean they're lightweight. Them suckers were heavy!


Ok, that's about all I can muster tonight. I've been up since 5:30am and finally left the office at 10:30pm with just enough time left over to keep my commitment to the damn NaBloPoMo (which sounds too much like No Blow Homo, also apparently another commitment I'm upholding…unfortunately) and with any luck I won't fall asleep while typing thiiiiiiiiiiii

What the Chuck

So I'm spending a little quality time with my significant other, TiVo Series 3, watching a new show for the Fall 2007 season called Pushing Daisies. For those of you not familiar with this slice of visual deliciousness, you owe it to yourself to either pop on over to ABC.com and watch an episode or two on demand. Or you could TiVo it. Sorry, got a little distracted. Like I was saying, I'm watching Pushing Daisies and pondering what on earth my 4th entry in the NaBloPoMo will be. It was bad enough that Betty challenged me to find the time to participate. Wait, where was I? Oh yes, watching Pushing Daisies, thinking about the blog, and loving that the writers of the show have a female character named Chuck. Of course, that's just the beginning of the delightful quirks in this Tim Burtonesque show that I'm worried may not be able to fully develop the ratings it deserves as it's quite unlike anything else on television. Ever. But having just read that ABC did pick it up for a full season, I'm a little reassured that fans of the show will be able to enjoy it for at least 20+ episodes.

Chuck. Hmmm... that reminds me of something I saw on YouTube a few months back and bookmarked with the intention of commenting about this find, but never did. Until now. Some of you may already be familiar with the laugh riot known as What the Buck on YouTube staring the hysterical Michael Buckley who provides sassy commentary on the disasters known as Hollywood starlets and starlosers. Love him or hate him, he's right on the money. And since imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, there's a vast array of Buck wannabes just lurking in the shadows of his spotlight. One of them, CriscoZ, caught my eye, not only because he's absolutely adorable and dare I say hot, but because he's a redneck, and we all know that rednecks are the cousins of us white trash Americans, and also not above dating/marrying/humping cousins or other relations. He did a bit called "What the Chuck" which is a parody of Buck if Buck lived in Alabama. While "Chuck" might not be quite a funny as Buck, it's entertaining nonetheless. Plus did I mention that he's adorable? Something about him stirs me all up in side and now I just want to get him buck-nekkid and Chuck him. Or he could Chuck me. Either way, with a name like Crisco, it would be some real good an' slippery, red neck and trashy Chuckin'.

So, without further ado, here's Chuck.

Irony is a bastard, part II

Where last we left our hero, he had just arrived home after a long day at work to find that something in him home was amiss. And now, the conclusion of "Irony is a bastard."

Even with the jolt of adrenaline that comes out of surprise or fear, my mind was still slow to process information and now I'm turning on all the lights and sniffing the air to determine where the burning oder is coming from. My immediate thought was that it had something to do with the dishwasher's wiring, which was the most recent addition to the kitchen. The kitchen was hazy, and now I was starting to feel a bit dizzy. On my approach to the dishwasher, something else catches my eye. There's a small indicator light on the range glowing orange. At first, in my tired state, I ignore it and continue on to the dishwasher, but then I realize what the orange glow actually indicates: one of the surface cooking elements is on. Indeed, I can feel warmth coming from the direction of the range and now focus my attention on turning off the inappropriately turned on burner.

I'm standing in front of the range, looking at it, trying to make sense of what I see in front of me, and the facts I know to be true. Only 3 of the 4 burners work. Actually, let me clarify. I only use 3 of the 4 burners because one of the knobs is missing so I just ignore that burner entirely, so all of my recent experience with the stove top revolves around the left rear and two front burners. And that's why I'm confused. All of their knobs are off. But clearly one of them is on; I can feel the heat radiating as if I'm standing near a campfire. I hold my hands about a foot above each of the 3 burners yet none of them feel like they're giving off heat. Now, chances are that if I had not been so tired, the empty pan on the "dead-to-me" burner that is visibly smoking would have immediately jumped out at me as the source of the problem, so I'm a little embarrassed to admit that it took a minute or so for me to arrive at the conclusion. Without a control knob, that burner shouldn't have been on at all. I can't remember the last time I even used that burner. Actually, the last time that burner was used was when Carlos left a kettle on the still-on burner and it cooked dry and got so hot that some of the enamel from the pot fused to the coil element. Just another incident to add to my collection of "roommates burning down the house" fears. And even now, with no one living in the house except me, I know have to worry about strangers burning down my house. After removing the smoldering pan from the stove — burning my hand on the scorching "stays-cool" handle in the process — and turning off the offending burner, I open all the windows to let out the reportedly toxic fumes that had been building up for hours, and then head up stairs to lie down for a while in hopes that the room will stop spinning.

Lying there, I can't help but think about the several occasions that T-Snake set off the smoke alarms late at night after getting high and deciding that pan searing a steak was the only thing that would remedy the ensuing munchies. My solution? Ban him from cooking steak ever again. His solution? Take the batteries out of the smoke alarms so the next time he attempted to cook while high in the middle of the night wouldn't wake me up. Of course, he never remembered to replace the batteries which would explain why the smoke alarms were ringing when I got home. Staring up at the ceiling, I close my eyes, slowly letting the anxiety of what just happened mix with the still fresh memories and fears of my ex-roommates near-fires. Like a flood, the anxieties take over and I just loose it. I'm paralyzed with the fear of what almost happened and, at the same time, I'm sobbing uncontrollably. Only later would I see the sick irony of what happened.

After I'm finally able to regain my composure, I head back downstairs to revisit the scene. The surface of the pan has noticeably changed color, taking on a yellowish tinge compared to its identical sibling. How could this have happened? When I'm finally able to crawl into bed for sleep, I feel the anxiety start to return, my muscles tensing up and unconsciousness only comes in short intervals until my alarm goes off.

I have to find out what happened so I contact my realtor. He assures me that he's not sure but will get to the bottom of it. I tell him that considering the circumstances, I'm not paying for the inspection. He doesn't necessarily agree with that decision, but he doesn't disagree with it either. Whatever. He gets back to me to report that they turned on the stove as part of their inspection. I find that odd because I had told my realtor that the stove was not going to be included in the sale of the house and didn't understand why it would have been inspected. "Oh, that's right," my realtor says. Not exactly an answer to bolster my confidence. Then I ask the $64k question: did you chaperone the inspectors, or did they alone access my house? There's a pause and then an answer I was both expecting and not. My realtor did chaperone the inspectors, and also went through the house turning off lights and appliances as they finished each room, and went through the house one final time before leaving to make sure that everything was off that should be off. I'm stunned. I'm crushed. I'm furious. I tell him that I'm going to need some time to decide how to proceed. Minutes later I contact his manager and ask to fire (no pun intended) the realtor and cancel my contract with them.

So where does this leave the home sale now? Well, my house is not on the market and I'm not sure when it will be. But when I'm finally ready to list it, I can promise you it won't be with that company. Maybe I'll do a "for sale by owner" … because if you can't trust yourself not to nearly burn down your house, who can you trust?

Irony is a bastard.

Frequent readers (not that there's many, if any, left due to my lack of updates in the last nearly two months) may recall that I'm in the middle of remodeling my house to sell. If you care to refresh your memory, you won't have to travel very far back in blog-time — seriously, it was just two posts ago — to catch up on the details. Go ahead, you can do it now if you want, I'll wait for you...

...Just let me know when you're finished....

...Done? Oh, sorry....

...OK, looks like most everyone is back now so let's go ahead and continue.

So back at the beginning of September I hired a Realtor to help me sell my house. I actually got a team of Realtors excited about putting my house on the market. They were impressed at the remodel's progress and we're supportive of the decorating decisions I had made. I was on cloud 9. Then they told me what they wanted to list the house for. Bye bye cloud. And, worse, bye bye breaking even. But that's the risk that comes with owning property; no guarantees you'll be able to get more for it than you paid. It was a hard pill to swallow at first, but after doing more research it was obvious that the market was taking a tumble. Part of me thinks there's some conspiracy involving real estate investors and the media to start a panic to make the headlines of "plummeting values" and "disappearing buyers" into a reality for their benefit. But that's a rant for another time. Long story short, I accepted the facts and decided to keep moving forward.

My Realtors couldn't have been nicer, we really hit it off. Due to my insane work schedule and the quickly approaching extended business trips that would keep me away from the whole process, we decided to move forward as quickly as possible. Step one: sign the contracts. Check! Step two: termite and home inspections. Well, this is where things went terribly wrong.

The morning air was surprisingly crisp the morning I put my spare house key in the key box clamped on the door handle. This was the day I would find out what needed to be repaired in order to get my home on the market and hopefully sold before my competing neighbor's home. The combination was tricker than it looked and I spent more time than I had allotted for the procedure than planned and now I was running the risk of being late to work. Mind you, I'm at work before my boss about 90% of the time, and I stay later than her about 80% of the time, but I'm still worried that she's just looking for a reason to get rid of me. But, again, that's a theory for another time.

At work, the projects kept coming fast and furious. Even the simple projects took forever because nothing is ever simple in our world. Having to play tech support for the people on my team — and other teams, too! — didn't help in my ability to keep on schedule. Or have lunch for that matter. By 5:30pm, most of the building was empty, except for me and a couple other people whose colleagues end up dumping stuff on before heading home to be with their families. Single office workers, do you know what I'm talking about? Like the expectation is that it's no big deal for us to stay late just because we aren't married or have kids, while our married counterparts get to play the "family card" whenever they don't want to stay late. Hey, married people, just because I didn't go and get some girl knocked up doesn't mean that I don't have my own shit to take care of back home. At least you aren't going it alone but rather you have a significant other (and possibly some really cheap labor in the form of kids) that can help out at the homestead while your at work procrastinating and then handing off to us on your way out the door. Those of us who are partner-free almost deserve it more simply because we don't have that extra person around. Am I alone in this? PLEASE leave a comment and tell me what you think! But I digress. So the other guy still at the office is getting ready to leave which would leave me there flying solo. My brain power is fading, as is my vision from staring at computer screens for the past 12 straight hours. His argument on why I should just go home while I'm still functional enough to drive can't be beat so I give in, set my system to start its nightly backup process and turn off the lights behind me even though they'll turn off automatically in less than two hours anyway.

The walk to my car is painfully long but only because I've been sitting so long that I've lost much feeling below the waist. The 10 yard trek feels like miles and before the feeling can completely return to my legs, I'm sitting again, hands on the steering wheel, thinking about whether or not to get take out food or just make something to eat at home. I decide on cooking then put the car in drive and navigate the reverse of my morning route. It's late enough that there's not much traffic still on the road and the drive becomes a blur as I lapse into autopilot. Before I know it I'm getting off at my exit with just 5 more minutes to go before putting my car in park, shutting off the engine, and locking the doors behind me.

The air feels crisp again, kind of like the morning's. Walking up to the door I'm briefly thrown off by the key box attached to my front door. Then I remember that it was so that my realtor and the home inspectors could get in and complete their duties while I was tied up at work. Walking in the front door I'm almost immediately thrown off again, but I'm not sure by what. Everything looks the same, where I left it in the morning, but something is definitely off. At first I chalk it up to the fact that I'm exhausted and suffering from low blood sugar from working through lunch. But no, something is definitely not quite right. It's surprisingly warm in the house, as if someone had been running the heater. Well, they would have done that as part of the inspection I suppose. I turn on the light in the corner. Adding more light in the room reveals another clue; it looks slightly hazy in here. No, wait, my eyes are just tired from all the computer work. I shrug it off and take a deep breath in anticipation of letting out a great sigh of relief of finally being home before 10pm for once. Drawing the air into my lungs I pick up on something that smells like iron and burnt plastic. This time I can't come up with a reasonable answer as why my house would smell like that and I get an instant jolt of adrenaline … something in my house is burning!! But what?!

Tune in tomorrow to find out what happened next and why irony is such a bastard. And yes, there's a chance that I'm using the word "irony" in the Morresette sense rather than the true sense. It makes for a better title so get over it already!

It's getting hot in year.

Ok, be honest, who out there thought that I, like so many other novice bloggers, had given up on the whole thing? Fortunately (I think) for you, I have not, but have just been so consumed with work (working 10-14 hour days, 6 or more days a week) and the home remodel that by the time I get home, I barely have the mental capacity to do more than throw something in the microwave and force myself to stay awake while eating.

That being said, Betty has semi-challenged me to get my ass in gear and get something posted. Everyday. Do you know how much brain thinking stuff that requires? Apparently the month of November is National Blog Posting Month. And if the month of November looks anything like this...



...it's going to be a very, very good month. Suddenly I'm feeling very inspired.

So the whole Mormons Exposed calendar might be old news by now. I saw something about it on CNN a couple months ago and filed it away in my topic scrap book for later posting. (Something tells me that I'm going to be using up that scrapbook this month to meet the one-a-day quota.) I suppose that some might see this calendar as controversial, but it's for a good cause such as Care For Life, Salvation Army and Habitat for Humanity. Even if you aren't religious, surely you can appreciate a fine male physique and supporting an equally fine charity.

But there's a dilemma in the world of men getting nekkid for a cause calendars. Do you go Mormon? Or mortician? That's right... hunks and coffins. Such an obvious pairing! Actually, I think I'm experiencing some very localized rigor mortis right now, better find a good undertaker to, uh, under, er... take... OK, my brain has run out of innuendo and euphemisms for the night so I'll stop there and move right into a cover shot of the Men of Mortuaries calendar which is supporting KAMM Cares, non-profit organization that places money directly into the hands of persons going through breast cancer treatment.



Go on and buy it. You know you want to. Hell, buy both! One for home, one for work. Straight boys, you should buy the mortician one. "WTF, Kenny Ray?! Wouldn't buying a calendar of half nekkid men make me gay??" Not at all! Here's my bulletproof logic: straight boys like boobs ... the money raised goes to help boobs ... buying a calendar proves your love of boobs. See? Totally logical. So straight boys, go buy a calendar. And if you really want people to not think you're gay, try doing a better job keeping dicks out of your mouth, and elsewhere. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Oh yeah, GKR is back.

You take the good, you take the bad...

(Note from GKR: this post was actually written weeks ago, but due to a technical issue with Blogger's interwebs, it never made it up. And then everything went the hell in a handbasket and I forgot this was sitting in draft still.)

Well, actually you rarely have the choice. In this case the "good" is that I've jumped in with both feet on getting my house fixed up to get on the market. The "bad" is that I haven't gotten very far because while beginning what was to be a simple bath remodel of ripping out the vanity and vinyl floor to replace with gleaming pedestal sink and custom tile floor (laid by yours truly), I discovered that the dry wall is beginning to fail and there's mold growing in the wall and sub-floor. But don't take my word here's an early pic during the demo process:



Momma Kenny Ray, bless her soul, has been so helpful helping with the post roommate cleanout. She spent several hours scrubbing the bathtub and got it looking nearly white, proving that Carlos really didn't work on it as hard as he could have. Then again, at least he tried... T-Snake, to my knowledge, rarely — if ever — cleaned the bathroom. But, still, some of the things left behind for me to dispose of (at cost, I might add) are as telling as they are cause or disappointment. Ok ok ok, no more roommate talk. Back to the house...

So, the cost of getting this house on the market is quickly skyrocketing. On the bright side, at least I'm going to have a home that will be easier to sell than my neighbor's. And I've even got a couple invites to move in short-term style with friends should I not be able to find a suitable new condo. Good friends, good times.

Three random things

Seriously, these are pretty random. I put some hardcore brain power into how these might relate and only ended up with a headache and new wrinkle in my forehead. Let's just dive right in…

#1. Last night I had the tremendous pleasure of going to see the national tour of Avenue Q. For those not familiar with this multi-award winning Broadway show the easiest way to describe it is Sesame Street meets South Park. Or how about full frontal puppet nudity. Oh yes, they go there and you're glad they do. And did I mention it's a musical? Get a sampling of what you're missing by not going to see it the next time you're in New York, or London, or near any of the cities of the current tour, by checking out their official website or by listening to the songs of the show on iTunes. With the stresses of work and home weighing heavily day after day, it was really nice to get out and just have a really fun evening. My divine date for the evening was Hooters of Bettyfest fame. She didn't really know what to expect when the show started but after the first couple songs she was hooked. A Friday night watching puppets get-it-on on stage = good times.

#2. I feel ever so slightly ashamed to admit that after hunting far and wide for a Wii, that in reality I'm barely using it. I think the roommates have clocked 20x the hours on it that I have. (I just wish they'd remember to turn it off after a half-baked session of tennis.) But at the not so recent E3 conference a new accessory was announced that has once again reignited my interest in playing with my Wii. The Wii-Fit will be hitting store shelves in the coming months with the promise of helping people do even weirder body movements in front of their TVs. Check out the official video now:



Now I know what you're thinking, "What that video needs is a narrator." And you'd be right. Check out below what someone out there on the interwebs came up with to solve this problem.



Brilliant! Say it with me…good times.


#3. This last one, well, I'm not sure what to say. Part of me thinks it's a hoax. But the other part of me—the nerd part—thinks it's fucking awesome. Kathy Griffin—whom I find hysterically funny—is rumored to be dating the one of the biggest geek icons of all time Steve "Woz" Wozniak. My jaw hit the floor when I stumbled across this on Gizmodo. And since you can't believe everything you read on the 'net, I went to one of those Apple fanboy-type sites for confirmation. I can only hope that he'll be on the next season of her show. That would be some seriously good ti–er, good television.

Does my hair whorl make me look gay?

I may have asked some really "out there" questions before, but this may not be so far out there as it may seem. And really, it's less about looking gay than it is that may have to do with being gay. Weird, huh?

Here's the deal, apparently there might actually be some science to Gaydar and New York Magazine recently had a very interesting and detailed article on that very topic. Things like the direction of hair whorl, density of thumbprint, finger proportions, and hand dexterity might actually be specific to sexual orientation. Who would have guessed that gay men are more likely to have a counterclockwise hair whorl? I have to give author David France credit for once placing a personal ad describing himself as "gay-acting/gay-appearing" in stark contrast to the typical ad seeking "str8-acting." (I'm so over all those str8-acting gays…you're not so str8-acting when you're getting double penetrated by two power tops!) But now it would seem that vocal patterns and physical gestures may not be the only things that outwardly hint at orientation. But what could this newly discovered biological uniqueness mean? It raises some very important moral and ethical questions to say the least.

I won't spoil the rest, it's such a great article that you should read it for yourself. (Yes, that's the last link I'll put in there for it.) And when I said it was detailed, that's another way of saying it's much longer than a typical blog entry so give yourself some quality time to read it.

"If jackin' on will make strangers think I'm cool, I'll do it!"

That title is in honor of a very special day coming up in November. No, not my vacation. Something even more exciting. Yep, you guessed it. The first Futurama movie on DVD hits the streets on November 27! Futurama is without a doubt my favorite animated TV series, and in the top 3 favorite TV shows of all time. Smartly written, a smart-ass robot, dialog like the title above … you just can't go wrong! How could it get any better? Well, Comedy Central is bring new episodes of Futurama to basic cable in 2008.

But is it possible to go more right? I think a guy named Simon might have found a way. For those of you not completely familiar with the fantasticle cast of characters on the show, everyone's favorite robot is Bender, a beer drinking, cigar smoking, thieving bending unit who works at the Planet Express delivery company. Seems this Simon guy got the idea of building a life size beer-brewing replica of Bender. While I rarely drink anymore, I still can fully appreciate what he's doing. In fact, in one episode of the show, the characters try to brew beer inside Bender, who treats it like a pregnancy. Classic! I look forward to seeing how his project progresses. Geeks and fans of beer all over the world and cheering you on, Simon! Oh, and is that a Police Public Call Box sign I see in the background? This guy scores serious extra points for also being a Doctor Who fan. If he was gay it'd be a trifecta and I might just have to move to where he lives and marry him!

By the way, for the time being you can catch at least 1 episode every weeknight on Adult Swim on Cartoon Network. I say "for the time being" because the programming masterminds at Adult Swim seem to have an attention span just slightly longer than that of the average MTV viewer because they're allllways changing the schedule around. Oh well, at least I own all the DVDs of the original series. They never get old! I know…I'm a nerd. If you weren't aware of the, you might wanna check my profile again.

Wow. That was hard. And not the good kind.

So if you weren't able to figure out by my Terminator post a couple days ago, tonight I had to terminate my roommates leases so I can move forward with my plans to sell this place and get into my own place by the end of the year. It didn't go so well, as T-Snake tried every trick in the manipulators handbook to try to get me to change my mind. I have a feeling that I'm going to be facing that for the next 30 days. Just what I needed, more stress. Who would have suspected that work could actually be the silver-lining in all this, the next couple months are going to be very busy so I'll be starting early and staying late at the office. And with the workload ramping up to an even more fever pace with two big projects, I'm going to need all the time I can get to get this place fixed up. It's just me, lonely little me. After all the years of supporting others, all I've got left is myself. I guess it's always just been up to me to support myself, but I just never made myself a priority. Well, now is the time. For once, it's time to be my own priority. It's unfortunate that it had to turn out this way.

Well, I'm sure they'll be plenty of fall out and drama over the next 30 days. Well, the other silver-lining is that I'll probably have plenty of fodder for the blog. Word of warning: it's probably going to be very heavy with "bummer" labels.

This makes me... so... happy!

Some might call it cruel, but seriously, I think everyone is secretly reveling in this news:

Paris Hilton loses inheritance.

'Bout fucking time!

On the road…

Friends, fans, and frenemies (you know who you are) just wanted to let y'all know that I'm going to be away until Monday visiting my family and probably won't be on the interwebs while I'm there. From my last phone call with my mom, this might be a fairly serious visit—of the difficult life decisions variety—so I'll may have some pretty deep stuff to post come Monday night. Make your you get plenty of sugary-sweet stuff in ya before then. :)

While I'm away, why not check out some of the links to Bitchin' People and Rockin' Reads over there on the left side of the page? They've been recently updated and are good times all.

See you in 3 days!

Because even hell needs a break…

While my appetite has been a little shaky with all the shit going down at mi casa, I present to you the first just-for-fun post in several days, if not months. Enjoy…

So, how you seen this year's best reviewed movie yet? I'm talking, of course, about Ratatouille. First of all, the film is as fun as it is magical. The attention to detail is amazing, and even the food, while just pixels, looks delicious. You leave the theater feeling good all over, and just a wee bit hungry. No spoilers here, but if you want to sample the dish that shares its name with the title of the movie, check this out. Luxo is a fan blog of the creative geniuses at Pixar and they recently posted a note about how to cook Ratatouille yourself. The version of the classic dish is from Sunset Magazine, one of my favorite analog pieces of reading material. Pop on over for more about the dish and all things Pixar! When you've had your fill of delicious creativity and need a cold dose of reality again, I'll be here.

An upbeat posting? Not tonight...

…I've got a headache. Can you blame me? Carlos decided to lay into me with demands and criticisms and all the while I'm standing there in the living room holding the ingredients of the dinner I was trying to cook after a long day at work. What a self centered self-serving asshole. He wants everything exactly his way and exactly when he wants it. Anything that does not meet those standards will be criticized. Fuck that!!

Wait a second, that raises a good point. I guess I'm partially to blame for his recent behavior after being so generous and supportive with him in the past, But holy shit, the cunt* really comes out when there's no more free         . That vile persona is here way to often. He's not the person I used to know. He's not a person I want to know. Right now, I'm deeply regretting ever attempting to rebuild our friendship.

Remember when I wrote that I wasn't sure if I should spare his feelings or give him honest feedback? Well fuck his feelings (since he doesn't give a crap about mine), right now I don't care how miserable he thinks his life is, I deserve to be treated better than that after all I've been through and done for him. His drug and alcohol use is only making things worse. And I don't need that kind of crap in my life right now.

Sorry no upbeat content tonight. I just got home after getting a couple hours of air (thanks, Ricky) and don't have it in me to post another, um, post.

*Not to be confused with Cuntessa.

Why I Like Straight Guys

Ok, that title is a bit misleading. I mean I don't not like straight guys, but I don't like them in the way that straight girls do. In other words, I'm clearly aware they're off limits. And that is why I like them. I'll explain more in a second, but first, I need to share the "Wind Beneath my Wings" story.

So after the two movies, Becks and I were hungry and headed over to a nice family owned/operated pizza place. While we were waiting for our pie to arrive, the conversation turned to some recent tragic news of the untimely passing of the partner of one of our coworkers. He came home to find his partner had passed away on the floor, and we're not sure what happened. It's very sad and our hearts go out to our coworker and friend. Then we started talking about how each of us would deal in a similar situation. And then we started discussing scenarios if we lived alone and something were to happen to us, and how long it would take for someone to discover our own lifeless body. Talking about each other's and our own mortality was kind of a downer. Although I haven't known Becks for as long as say I have known Carlos, or even my coworkers, I've really enjoyed getting to know him better in the past year. Then, right in the middle of our downer discussion, Bette Midler's "Wind Beneath My Wings" starts playing over the restaurant's speaker system. If you remember back to the late 80s you'll remember this song was in the tear-jerking movie "Beaches" in which one of the main characters dies. We both look at each other, and I both ruin the moment and break the tension with a sarcastic comment about now having to promise to be BFFs. If you're not familiar with the term BFF, just Google it or just watch the Bratz movie trailer…you'll be sorry you did. Anyway, we both laugh at the crazy coincidental timing of the whole thing. And yes, Becks, I am indeed blogging about it.

The entire 11 hours we hung out I felt completely at ease with Becks, and thus, why I like straight guys. There's no pretenses, no pressure to meet "community" and media standards in physical appearance, and no competition in the same dating pool. It's just hanging out, having fun, talking about whatever. And while some conversation topics can lead to instant dead-ends, it's still a lot better than feeling like you need to impress them per chance to get a date with them.

To be fair, straight guys have their downsides too. For one—and through no fault of their own—I become befuddlingly awkward around cute guys (gay or str8)…it's not a pretty sight and I suspect that the cute guys think I'm suffering from Tourette syndrome or something. And as I touched on before, there can be times my interests and their interests might differ significantly thus stalling the conversation…so I try to keep my conversations about hot guys and home decor to a minimum and hope that they will not talk about tits and ass. Plus straight guys don't like to talk about their feelings. (OK, that was too stereotypical on both sides, my apologies.) And then, of course, there's the seemingly mandatory homophobic factor that seems to come into play, either because of social pressures or macho posturing, or both. Usually this takes place in the form of saying things like "that's so gay" as a way of disparaging something. Becks has let that last example slip a couple times, but he's always caught himself and immediately apologized and I've thanked him and done my best not make him feel more awkward about saying it.

I'm just happy he's as cool and accepting as he is because when I first met him some of our coworkers made it seem like he was a big-time conservative and that he was highly homophobic. Discovering that they were wrong on most counts is a relief. Anyway, I'm glad I have a new friend who likes going to baseball games, likes Aqua Teen Hunger Force, doesn't drink to cope with everyday life, and who I can still catch off guard with a great one liner rendering him speechless, slowly turning red, and looking for the nearest escape route. Good times…good times.

The history of the world. Well, my world. And, actually, only 7 years of it.

So yesterday I mentioned how tricky it's going to be to tell Carlos the complete reason I'm moving on, and much of that has to do with our history. After a good night's sleep and some Colbert Report reruns to keep my spirits up, I'm ready to take that stroll down memory lane. So put on your walking shoes and an extra pair of sock because this could be a long journey, here we go…

Carlos came into my life in late 1999 when we needed to fine a new roommate. It was down to two candidates. "One who smoked pot, and one who smoked pole," as I liked to say back then. Since one of my roommates, a disgusting beast I'll call Hermit, had routine random drug screening at his job, he was worried that a pot smoker would be too risky to have in the house. And even though they weren't too keen on having two gay roommates making the house hold a 50/50 mix of gay to straight, they decided to go for Carlos. I was still rather fresh out of the closet (Yep, I'm a late bloomer) so I was kind of excited to have someone I could talk to about life in the gay world.

Carlos and I hit it off pretty much right off the bat. He worked for at a copy center while taking classes at the local JC. He worked the closing shift so sometimes he would get home pretty late. I'm a night-owl by nature so I was usually still up when he was getting in. Soon we were having late night conversations and we started becoming friends. I really felt like I had met my soul-mate. Not even a year later, we had decided to join a gym to get in shape and to make all the gay boys beat a path for our door. Unfortunately, I had my sights set on one guy that I should have known would be off limits. That guy, Carlos. In the early summer, after a late night gym visit, I told him there was something I needed to talk about. We pulled over in a quiet neighborhood a few blocks from the house and I proceeded to lay it all out in the open and tell him how I felt. I should have known that was a big mistake as I was pretty quickly shot down. Adding a bit of insult to injury was his comment that, and I'm paraphrasing here, "my friend fall in love with me all the time." Wow. I mean wow. For someone who has so many personal hang ups and low self esteem, he's clearly not lacking any self esteem in the that department.

Things were a bit awkward for a while after that. I think I went almost a week avoiding him, or him avoiding me, or both. Long before the night of me making a fool of myself we had planned to take a vacation together to Disneyland. We still went and it was a lot of fun, but things were clearly now different between us. Where as before he had little problem showing signs of affection (platonic, of course) such as a hug or arm around the shoulder now he avoided physical contact except for an occasional—and usually horribly coordinated—high-five. When I asked him about it, he conceded that he flet a bit uncomfortable given what had happened, but also that he's not a physically affectionate person to begin with. Well that went contrary to how I'd seen him interact with our other friends. Hugging, kisses, and other types of casual physical contact were the norm for everyone to receive but me. His reasoning was that he'd known many of these people for years and that one day, years from now, he'd feel comfortable with me in the same way.

Time marched on. Months flew by and we became even closer friends. Eventually the day came when he moved back home to be with his folks. And we started seeing less and less of each other, but still kept in close contact and hung out as often as we could. We had our good times, we had our rough times, and ever time we made it through it. My feelings for him were not letting up and it became obvious to me that I unless I forced myself to move on, I never would and I'd be miserable for the rest of my lift watching as he moved in and out of relationships. One chilly fall day I asked him to meet because there was something I wanted to talk to him about. We met for coffee and a small bakery. We made small talk as we drank our latttes and nibbled at some pastry. Finally I cut to the chase, which was essentially that I still had feeling for him, and that the only way that I would be able to move on was to live a life without him. The words hung in the air with the smoke from the chimneys of the surrounding neighborhood. When he asked how long I thought it would be for, I think I caught him off guard with my reply of, "Never." That pretty much ended the talk and he left. That night was very rough. As was the following week. Complicating things a bit is that we had several mutual friends and I'm sure made things hard on them as well.

Things were rough without the one person who I felt I could talk about anything with. Weeks later things were starting to feel better and moving on seemed within reach with the support of my friends and coworkers. And then came 9/11 hit and the reality of choosing to lose my best friend seemed unfair and selfish when compared to all those that died in the attacks. Adding to mix of elevated emotions was the fact that one of our shared friends ran into Carlos on the street and "flipped out" because he felt that he was caught in the middle of a feud. Truth is that guy was just a drama queen who wanted attention to be paid to him.

A few months later, I was finally feeling in control of my emotions, that I had gotten to the point where I was moving on. Just in time for the holidays. The holidays have all ways meant family and friends for me so my thoughts began to turn to considering a reconciliation with Carlos. I wasn't sure how that would be received considering that I had said that the break up was a forever deal. I shouldn't have been surprised when I was finally able to contact him that he wasn't very keen on the idea of getting together to talk. But eventually he agreed to meet in early January. The meeting was a bit awkward as it was clear that what had happened had taken an emotional toll on both of us. He warned me that it would take him a long time to feel like he could fully trust me again, which wasn't beyond reason. We decided to take it one step at a time.

Over the next couple seasons, we began to rebuild our friendship, and at times it seemed as though our friendship was even stronger than before. Every once in a while Carlos would play the "you hurt me" card when he was feeling defensive. It was obvious that things may never fully be resolved. That never set well with me—it seemed unfair—but I rationalized that it was part of my penance to pay.

Flashing forward would find me helping him move into the dorm at a nearby university. I would visit often and things were going great. My feelings for him were remaining at bay and I had even started dating a guy, Erik, I met on Yahoo. It almost seemed like Carlos was a little jealous about that. Nothing big, just a hunch. I found it tricky to split my time between Erik and visiting Carlos at school, and Erik wasn't thrilled when I left after our first night together to meet up with Carlos for a perviously arranged breakfast. October 2002 found me at one of the most challenging points in my life. I was in a car accident, my school closed with me being 1 class session away from completing two certificate programs, I was working 2 jobs and hadn't had a day off in more than 10 days, and Erik and I broke up. It was probably for the best. Things improved in early December as I was able to drop of my jobs. Just over a year later I found a nice corporate gig not far from where Carlos was attending school and when I learned that one of his roommates was moving out of their apartment, I moved in. Things were great. A couple years passed.

Then our quality of life at the apartment took a turn for the worse when these young punks moved in above us and made our daily lives miserable. The worst was then flooded our apartment. Twice. We were ready to move and I was finally ready to buy a house. The timing seemed perfect, even though the circumstances weren't. I choose a 3 bedroom townhouse so that all three of us (Carlos, T-Snake, and myself) could relocate together. I had assumed that our living arrangements in the apartment would simply carry over to the house, but that would not be the case. About a year into living in the house Carlos commented that he'd like to, once he established a career for himself, consider buying a place together, or at least get added to the title and pay half of the mortgage. Wow, that was a bit of a shock, but it was also a very reassuring prospect. While the whole soulmates thing had become a thing of the past, I saw him as someone that would also be in my life.

I'm not sure how or why, but since moving into the house, things between myself and Carlos have really started to fall apart. I'm sure some of it can be chalked up to the stresses he faced during his final year of school, and I feel I went above and beyond to be supportive. Maybe that was my mistake and I'm to blame for the problems in our relationship. But I don't think that is to be blamed for the communication problems what we've been having. I feel as though he doesn't want to listen to what I have to say, especially if it's something he doesn't want to hear, but needs to know. He expects me to listen to his day, but I get an uninterested ear when I want to talk about my day. I know I've said it before, but the whole double-standard thing, I'm over it. I don't deserve it. I've earned better than that. And now I want to go out and get what I deserve, a place of my own, away from the burdens of an ungrateful friend.

But I can't tell him that, can i? Before I needed to get away from him because I couldn't get him out of my heart. But now I want to get away from him because I can't stand to be around him at times… and it's more and more often. He doesn't handle feedback like that very well, and given that he has increasingly been turning to pot and alcohol to cope with handle stress (aka: life), I'm worried that it would only get worse before I could be on my own. I feel like telling him would be similar to rejecting him all those years ago, and part of me still feels guilty for hurting him back in 2001. As awful as it sounds I just want to check out of the relationship until he can get his life together and he can learn to treat me with the same support and respect I've given to him. I want to be treated as well as he treats his other friend, or at least I don't want to have to be the person who has to subjected to the brunt of the negativity he spares other people from. Is that an unrealistic expectation? I would love to know, after reading the whole saga from the past few days, what you think. I might even post a survey to help me figure out the best course of short term action.

Alrighty, I really need to get to Trader Joe's before they close. Check back tomorrow for a posting on why I like straight guys. It's not what you think… or is it. Log on to find out.

The three kitties have turned into one ginormous elephant in the room.

Ok, let's get the mega-sugary syrupy part over and done with, here's the additional pictures of the kitties. God, they were so sweet and we had really bonded. The pictures were taken while I was on my way to the Humane Society. Logic and reason had to prevail if the kitties were to have any real chance of survival. I've been thinking about them all day. And even though I was the only one to have taken care of them—at all—in the brief time they were in our company, both Carlos (who played with them for a few minutes before abandoning them because he wanted to go to his room) and T-Snake (who never ever saw them) had gotten the idea that adopting the kitties was a good idea and done deal. It was while I was cleaning up the copious amounts of shitty kitty crap that the reality of being a pet owner kicked in. Reality is a bitch.

When they came home from dinner T-Snake burst into the house giddy with the (never confirmed) notion that he was going to get a kitten or kittens. For the next 45 minutes there was a lot of back and forth (I'll spare you all the mind numbing and illogical details) and T-Snake was doing everything in his power to manipulate the outcome into his favor of getting a cat. He kept claiming that he's very qualified for taking care of pets, having raised more than any of us. I believe what I see and nothing I've seen him do would indicate he's capable of such a responsibility. I could not in good conscience entrust the tender fragile life of one of these rescued kittens into the care of someone who doesn't even do his share in cleaning his own litter box (aka: bathroom) or bedroom—the same bedroom whose stench still makes be gag when I walk by when the door is open—but was not mentally able at the time to put get that point across without possibly insulting him. OK, I can hear everyone out there saying in unison, "but you fucking own the house, and it's your right to take a stand." And you would be right. To be fair I wouldn't entrust the kitten(s) lives in my own hands right now, either. None of us are realistically able to make that kind of commitment right now. But I digress.

Ultimately I had to play the landlord card and say "no pets" which I thought—as any logical person might—would end the conversation. It did not, and even though Carlos said he respected my judgement and decision, it started to feel like I was being made out to be the bad guy. Hell, I'd rather be the bad guy and do the right thing, than then nice guy by doing the wrong thing. When I tried to—on eggshells, as to not bring out Carlos' close-minded defensive persona that's become such a frequent visitor—address the fact that I had tried stop the "house meeting" before it started and avert the 45 minutes of pointless round-and-round, Carlos started doing what he always faults me for, he began talking over me and interrupting me. And then when I asked if I could finish what I was saying, he cut me off and said "Wait, let me finish." The double standard that has become a growing roadblock in our communication over the past year finally broke me. I snapped. And they were not ready for what I told them next; the new elephant in the room.

And I'll tell you what that elephant is…tomorrow. (I'm such a tease!) As an added bonus, I'll share with you the deleted content that didn't make it into tonight's big reveal. Think of it as a blog post with bonus features!