in memory ...

To an infalliable spirit.

Goodye Diva Don. I'll miss you.

8/23/74-8/26/05

the "gay" yellow ribbon movement

Have you F*cked your serviceman today?

Having luckily and thankfully [and ...ahem, accidentally] stumbled across a truly inspired and witty treat, I have designed a new homosexual revolution.

Easy, queen.

I'm not trying to take away stone wall, I'm just trying to piss of the "moral" majority.

Simple really. Support your servicemen by servicing men [in uniform]. (lesbians feel free to join in by serviceing the closest service woman). That's it. That's the entire movement.

Given the popularity of blowjobs/cunnilingus, I assume this will spread quicker than Paris Hilton's legs.

REMINDER THAT COULD SAVE YOUR LIFE #1: remember the rubber.

REMINDER THAT COULD SAVE YOUR LIFE #2: remember to remove any fire arms that the object of your patriotism may be carrying.

(thanks, yank, for the enhancement.)

Thoughts.

A few things have been swishing around in my head the past couple of days.

First thing is the audacity of our honorable president to allow Pat Robertson to say anything he wants to anyone that will listen yet Bush denies a citizen (who may have voted for him) the same courtesy that he gives an over-idolized jock accused of drug use. (Read: why lance but not sheehan?). I guess we can just chalk that up to another question that may not get answered during this administration.

Second: a dinner conversation with friends on Tuesday revealed just how close complacency and passivity are to me. In fact, they reside in one person that was sitting right nest to me at the table. And if they are at MY table, chances are they are in higher concentration at other dinner tables across the country. Example of dinner conversation:

Complacent Passivist (C.P.): I hate that I have to work so hard for people to just sit on their asses and collect welfare checks.
Me: You have no problem working hard to buy all of those coporate made items in your overly-decorated house to make the right wing pundits richer. Which, by the way, create a system to provide less opportunities for children in those "lazy" welfare homes and prevents them from ever crossing to the other side of the poverty line.
C.P.: I came from a home without any money and made something of my life. They have the same opportunity i do/did.
Me: Yes they do ... after perhaps a restructuring of their DNA so that their skin color is lighter and they grow a penis.

It should go without saying that we finally agreed to disagree on this one. (and C.P.'s feeling on why we no longer need Social Security b/c we should all be smart enough to have retirement plans). But it still pisses me off that some poeple never stop to think about where their money goes as long as they are the only ones or at least in the majority of the ones benifitting from it.

Three: i decided to call the dude from a recent blog - and i don't know why. Sounds like a confession. I think it's a theme in dating: We are told our entire childhood that we should grow up and fall in love. Yet in our adult life we are conditioned to think that there is strength in being single (clinically referred to as rationalization). Yeah ... so i called him because, along with high fructose corn syrup, I have sworn off of rationalization as a tool to make myself feel more normal. And for the record, he returned my call with an email and another: "I feel like we need to talk a bit more - things were left kind of weird between us & I am not really comfortable with that." Wierd? David Arquette is WIERD! I could think of so many other adjectives for the way we "left" things. Oh and don't even get me started with that comfortable bullshit!

I have a fourth item swishing around in here, but I think I can let it ferment a bit longer.

git down gurl, g'head, git down ...

Not since the "heaven" song by los lonely boys has a tune made me so happy; I LOVE THE NEW KANYE WEST SONG. Go ahead and hate me. But my happiness is far more important that your judgement ;)

Zoar Valley.

let's just have a moment for the beauty that is Zoar Valley. Gotta love the outdoors.

Me and the gals.

look closely

ribbit!

not quite as cute as the froggy

say hi to Package and Justin!

that's me ... pretending to be a photgrapher.

that was FUN!

About to cross the line.

Since beginning this blog, i have been in a conundrum about how personal i should be. i think every writer, no matter how novice, no matter the forum struggles with how much to reveal about himself [potential] audience(s). For me, writing has always been cathartic. At the same time, putting my thoughts on paper have aided me in forming my [many] opinions into cohesive sentences that can later be used in arguements and debates with friends and foes.

My personal [bound] journal was a place to purge all ideas and feelings. Everything in that book is free game: from politics and religion, to complaining about my friends and venting about unsuccessful dating escapades. In this public format, I have [tried to] restrict my entries to no-name, limited opinion pieces with a link or two to fun stuff that I have found on my endless hours surfing and reading. (It's no secret that I am having a torid love affair with all things dot com, dot net, dot org, dot gov, etc.)

Unfortunately I have been unable to intellectualize a reason why i should not include everything. If I have learned anything as a product of the first Reality TV Generation, it is that honesty sells. A testament to this is that I find myself returning to blogs and pages that I feel are honest, sincere, and laced with anger, frustration, and compassion towards the same events and people that lace my beliefs with anger, frustration, and compassion.

A recent decision to break down the wall and stop trying to intelectualize acts that make me feel better, help me reach conclusions, and ultimately cause no one any harm i give you the following (ps ... if anybody is reading this, please tell me if i'm just being a big weenie and that you would rather i stuck to posting on my other blog [hey -- all promotion is shameless. don't judge me.]):

Two weeks to the day have passed since the flavor of the month and i have talked. In that time I have managed to occupy my time with things like weddings, barbeques, and porn. I have also managed in that time to email him no more that once -- an email that took him two days to respond to. This makes for an actual contact lapse of six days.

Now, i'm a realist. And by that i mean i have been burned and disappointed enough in my short dating life to stop expecting any man to be as available as i tell myself that i am. I attempt to go into new relationships with no illusions that we are going to run away and get married on date five. Hell, I have been known to do cartwheels if I even get to date TWO! (This is no joke -- i can give you the number of my best friend; ask her for yourself.)

But pardon me if I take it the wrong way when by date five I am fielding phonecalls from your mom while you're driving. I don't know why, but I was under the impression that me and your mom being on a first name basis means that "we" is a pretty solid deal. And excuse me if by date six you have fallen off of the face of the Earth causing me to confront you with the dramatic "where is this going?" conversation. I'll admit that if i intellectualize my motivations and all possible outcomes, I may have just been able to relax and wait for your call. (ahem ... see intellectualizing above.)

I can deal with not knowing something 100%. Actually, i find great pleasure in the fact that someone i begin dating has things that i may never know about them. It's actually this that makes me want to continue dating said man. But i refuse to feel like i am the one that is not making this possible. And i refuse to put myself in situations where i hate writing/returning emails because I don't want to think about "when/what is he going to reply?" And I refuse to keep settling for lines like (and this, my friends, is a direct quote):

Hope you are having a great week! I am sorry for our last conversation - I know it ended a little weird! Hope to talk soon!

Hmmm. Really? Are you really sorry?

i guess time will tell.

how soon i forget.

On a recent trip home to Warrensburg, NY (Queen Village of the Adirondacks), i was reminded why I have such impeccable taste in ear candy. Thank you eqx. Thank you.

Listen to EQX

[no comment]

despite fear of sounding like Meatloaf:you took the words right out of my mouth.**begings scribbling secrets on postcards**

Finally ... a god to believe in

I've found Him. All my answers now have questions! Join in my faith and find yourself in Him.
(be sure to find the testimonies at the bottom and also the humor therein)

Thanks to R *texas yankee* for the link and for being a lefty in texas.

who do you think you are?

I covet my choices.

I covet that i have choices.

So why is it that i always get sad when it's me that someone else doesn't choose?

Me or anything else. . .

Doesn't seem like a fair thought process.

Me as the only other choice?

Me as THE choice.

The nerve.

My arrogance sickens me sometimes.


Demotivational Posters

READ THIS BOOK!

Oprah has her book club [not to mention the world on a plate], so i'm starting the "B*o*B Read this book!" list. Corny, yes, but i want to be oprah and this is but a step towards that dream.

Without further ado, the first book is:

Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Fienberg.

In line with my recent facination of gender, the novel's endearing protagonist Jess tells of her life; from nieve tomboy dressing up in her fathers flannel shirts to a butch woman hardened by barfights and everyday bigotry.She struggles passionately to find her identity, sacrifices security for survival, and tries to find intimacy in femme lovers who battle similar demons. Finding in herself insecurities that are so identifiable, I read most of Feinberg's complelling story through tears (and I still have 25 pages left). You walk away from Jess's story questioning the ethics of gender and the secular pressure to fit into a homogeneous file catalog of man and woman, feminine and butch.

So what are you waiting for? READ THIS BOOK!

"Sex and the City" or "Swandive"?

Once in a while i wonder whether "sex and the city" is like my life or if having watched every episode thrice i have created a self fullfilling prophecy of complicated relationships. If so,

WARNING:i'm having a VERY Carrie Bradshaw moment.

How well should one know the dating history of a new flame?

I subscribe to the mindset that as long as the ex doesn't have a name or face then i can maintain a healthy, objective, uncomplicated, and un-jealous outlook on the potential situation.

What if the dating "history" isn't history at all?

What if the ex still lives with him/her? How honest is this guy being if he says that there is nothing there? Is he lying to us both? Is he lying to himself? How is this going to impede moving along in a direction that is healthy for me?

Whether i was looking for these answers or just looking to see if i should have reason to probe further, i Googled the son-of-a-bitch. (I warned that i am having a Carrie moment.) I found exactly what i was at the same time hoping to find and avoid: pictures of him and the ex at various fundraising events. Crazy? I think i'd rather err on the side on lunatic than risk giving this muscle in my chest to any mother fucker that comes along spewing poetry and plesantries.

However this is happening in the exact opposite order than i would've expected: I usually Google pre-date. This guy gave me no reason to need to. He is honest, up front, and sensitive. And honestly, i am more suspicious now than i have even been in any situation. I can see why he would wait until the third date to drop the i-still-live-with-my-[21 y/o]-ex bombshell. HOWEVER, the shit that goes along with that (i.e.: having a new beau over to the house -- read: "us making out on the couch") is all his. i don't want that (read: "ex boyfrind") to be a part of whatever it is that he and I are building. Is that selfish? Sheltered? Overly optamistic? i honestly don't give a fuck. I am tired of expecting too much, and then settling for something under par.

Now ... do i tell him all of this? I've had four days to think about this situation. I'd like to avoid it. Do I tell him that i'm not sure i can be totally into someone who is still battling demons from his [recent ... still sharing a flat with me] past. On top of this, there is still reason to believe that they share a room!! UN-FUCKING-BELEIVABLE! I JUST WENT THROUGH THIS! Why do i always put myself in this situation. Do i have a poster on my back that reads:

BOYS!!! If you're on the rebound from a extremely damaging relationship: talk to me. Buy me dinner. Tell me that you want to spend your life with me. Don't worry about me, I'm superhuman and realize that I serve the short-term function of stepping stone to the rest of your life. I will never require you to put even a fraction of the energy into our relationship as i am putting in. For extra fun, avoid being completely honest with yourself about your mental/emotional state: this serves as a buffer that prevents you from getting hurt, and ensures that i will follow like a studid puppy dog until you take a quick left turn and i continue walking straight off of the cliff.

Oh ... and feel free to check out of this agreement at any time. No questions asked. There are other broken and hurt men that need my services.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE ... someone take this off of my back. Give me something useful:

Warning: THIS IS ONE HARD ASS BITCH. DO NOT FUCK WITH MY HEART!

Ani--saving the over-emotional minority (read: women, momma's boys, and [most]gay men)with her potable idea on this kind of relationship:

i've got a lack of inhibition
i've got a loss of perspective
i've had a little bit to drink
and it's making me think
that i can jump ship and swim
that the ocean will hold me
that there's got to be more
than this boat i'm in

'cuz they can call me crazy if i fail
all the chance that i need
is one-in-a-million
and they can call me brilliant
if i succeed
gravity is nothing to me, moving at the speed of sound
i'm just going to get my feet wet
until i drown

and i teeter between tired
and really, really tired
im wiped and im wired but i guess its just as well
because i built my own empire
out of car tires and chicken wire
and i'm queen of my own compost heap
and i'm getting used to the smell

and i've got a lack of information
but i got a little revelation
and i'm climbing up on the railing
trying not to look down
i'm going to do my best swan dive
into shark-infested waters
i'm gonna pull out my tampon
and start splashing around

i'm cradling the hardest, heaviest part of me in my hand
the ship is pitching and heaving, my limbs are bobbing and weaving
and i think this is something i understand
i just need a couple vaccinations for my far-away vacation
i'm going to go ahead and go boldly because a little bird told me
that jumping is easy, that falling is fun
up until you hit the sidewalk, shivering and stunned