Wedding Bells

Times change and people change obviously.

I say this, because my mother is going to a fucking Dweezil Zappa concert later on this month which I am about 99% sure is because of the influence of my stepfather. In fact I am sure of it. It's just so damned out there if you ask me! Last Thanksgiving I had a field day loading up my iPod with music from my stepdad's music collection. He and I have a lot of bands/musicians in common that we both like: Morrissey, The Smiths, The Sex Pistols (I was thrilled to finally have that horrible version that Sid did of "My Way" originally by Sinatra), The Cure, and the Velvet Underground.

I wish a camera could have captured my reaction to the whole thing, when I was informed of the venture into Zappa-land. I've never been a fan of his father Frank Zappa (though I would be foolish to not acknowledge whatever his contribution to music might be and that is about all I can admit) but I do remember the 80's and the theme song (sharing the title) of the movie "Valley Girl" which featured his interestingly named daughter Moon-Unit, contributing "Valley Girl" one liners (does the term "Gag me with a spoon" ring a bell to any of you?) in the song. Ultra cheese if you ask me, and very much of the times. So, my mother will probably don her best Jil Sander or Helmut Lang sweater and join in the festivities. I'm just cracking up at the whole idea! If you compare the music collections of my mother and my stepfather, you will see that my mother loves her 60's girl groups and classical music. I can only laugh at the whole idea. It should be interesting nonetheless because I wonder what other whack jobs she'll encounter while there. This being a concert of one of the Zappa's, one can only guess.

Thanksgiving, it sounds like will be (unlike the quiet one of last year) a repeat of the
Woody Allen-esque Thanksgiving of 2007, which was the first holiday I had spent with family in almost a decade, after my time of life of being out of control. My Great Aunt (drenched in her classic perfumes), my sweet softspoken and adorble Grandmother will be there, that's a definate. Then of course, we will have the ex-wife of my stepfather as well as her new husband (a Jewish lawyer from the East Coast), my step sister and her family, my mom and stepdad, Carolyn (a woman my mother has been best friends with since she was 8) and then moi. I can only imagine that my mother is probably wringing her hands wondering what haircolour I will have this holiday (last year's forest green, was a hit with everyone except the holiday gathering) and I am probably going to cause as much shock having it be shaved to the scalp...my whole head. Keep 'em on their toes is what my motto has always been. Though I am going to have to cover up my arms, due to the tats I got just over a month ago for the very fact that I don't want to listen to my Grandmother bitch about them and plus I don't want to explain what the significance of my biohazard symbol stands for to me.

I know, I know. Here is someone (myself) who is very outspoken about his being HIV+ (I just passed the 7 year mark) but my Grandmother would just worry herself sick and get extremely upset. I figure that for all of the heartache that I put them through the last decade, I really don't need this to be one more thing for her to get upset over. She's 82 and I would just rather her be happy to see me and enjoy the time, then let something like a tattoo ruin the whole thing. HIV aside, she would get upset if she knew about the tats and I don't think a holiday dinner about coming clean about my illness would be proper. I would just rather enjoy my time with her and my Aunt, as well as whatever time I have left with them. Now, my mother on the other hand I will have no problems being non-chalant about it, because I will be the first to admit that my sense of (or lack thereof) of style is still an indirect jab at her after years of being under her roof. She doesn't approve of my piercings or my ink, and she only knows of the one that I got over a decade ago...so I will just be casual about the whole thing before family arrives just to hear her squawk (which is always a hug from God) about "Why the hell did you do THAT??" so I can give her my tried and true response of "Well, you said when I turned 18 I could do whatever I wanted to myself as long as I wasn't under your roof. Perhaps had you let me go through this whole "phase" that you think I am in still as a teen, I'd look a lot more conservative today."

I'd honestly be lying if I was to say that half the reason I have done or experienced a lot of what I have done in my life, is because it would ruffle the feathers of my mother. If you were to compare what she looked like at my age of 33 to me, you would see a WORLD of difference. My bastard of a father (dead since I was 19) sure aged the poor woman by the time she was 30. So, I cannot help but doing things to get the response from her. Childish I know, but it is very amusing to me and it is a timeless way for me to irritate her. I'm just me, I don't know any other way to be.

Lily of course will be joining in on the festivities, and it will be entertaining to see how my mother's Shih-Tzu (Heidi) reacts (strange, my mother and I share the same star sign and taste in exotic breeds of dogs..no wonder we drive each other nuts) as Heidi is 11 years old and pretty mellow in the sense that she also doesn't like other dogs. So, it should be very entertaining considering the two of them will have to compete for lap space, no matter how many different laps there are. I was also hoping to see Govinda, who has Lily's biological father so we can get together and hang out for a spell, but she'll be seeing our friend Jennifer up in Washington for the holiday. Oh well, I am glad that I get to see everyone that I will be seeing reguardless. I also most likely will get to see Jenn, Justin, and Abby as well as Justin's brother and his family whilst there as well.

I babysat Austin on Sunday, and he was so well behaved the entire time. He even stuck to our "deal" that even though he is just over a year old, he wouldn't give me a shitty diaper. He wasn't fussy and played peek-a-boo with me, hide and seek, we read some books, and then it was time for him to go to bed....


.....and I got to watch some on demand TV.

Treating myself? Yes. I have a television, but I do not have cable.

Why? Because quite frankly, I see no reason to pay the amount of money that people pay for cable or satellite most of the time because no matter that you still have the hundreds of channels, I usually can never find anything of interest to me after watching select shows.
And because I am an insomniac, everything seems to turn into paid programming after midnight on those cable channels. Though one channel does run marathons of the show "Roseanne" which is always a treat, but still.

If I could sign up for BBC America, Comedy Central, Public Television, American Movie Classics or Bravo, for Kathy Griffin's "My Life on the D-List". MTV is a joke anymore (and didn't they create MTV2 because there weren't any videos being shown on the original channel? Now it mirrors the original MTV. VH-1 it is the same thing. A&E (which I remember growing up, always showed fabulous foreign films. After all it was the "Arts and Entertainment" channel) is reality show hell.

And it is reality shows that suck me in, EVERY FUCKING TIME. I hate to admit it. The shows that always attract me, are the trashy ones because nothing entertains me more than watching some idiotic person who is willing to make an idiot of themselves as a cable channel exploits them and their problems. Usually (of course) they have to do with uppity women who seem to have all this money, and it proves that no matter how much you have in the bank, you cannot buy beauty in any form be it inside or outside.

Case in point? "Bridezillas" was a complimentary showing of a couple episodes (which I devoured after catching up on some of "The Girls Next Door". I got to see my russian fave Dasha become the 55th anniversary playmate of the year) of which I got to see grown women acting like 2 year olds, all in the task of getting married. The one that was tops, was this Jewish American Princess (henceforth, I will have to refer to her in derogatory terms as a JAP, for the fact that she was a raving bitch) named Karen, who was just outright awful. NOTHING was good enough for her: hair, flowers, the limo (she refused to have a black limo, she wanted a white one which makes me think she is a crack dealer in her spare time when not tormenting society with her basic existence) and how she reacted to the seamstress who made her dress (which was a breathtaking dress I might add) when she noticed a nearly microscopic run/snag in the fabric. Now keep in mind, this snag would be something that someone would have to REALLY look for, well Karen found it and became unhinged. I was aghast at how awful she treated everyone around her: her father that was paying the (and I quote) "One hundred and fifty G's" and she was a raging cunt throughout.

Then to make myself feel better during all of it, I was going through pages of potential models for an upcoming shoot, and got SO annoyed by some of these girls on Model Mayhem. Ok, so go ahead and starve yourself to death, but when you suck your cheeks in to give the impression of cheekbones, it isn't flattering because it looks obvious and you then have a HUGE forehead to contend with.

I'm worse than Janice Dickinson sometimes.

Fags, Ghosts, and Videotape

Halloween was a fun evening, and I enjoyed seeing all of the kids in their costumes, and I even got to see a shitty movie in a theater in the process, which is always a "treat", because I get annoyed by teenagers talking throughout the movie.

In this case, I asked them to first to please be quiet. No avail. So, I got to throw ice at them and I threw an ice-bomb and then I let out a string of 4 letter words when I threatened another attack, which shut them up (Mature, I know!) which is why I hate going to movies in the theater.

Actually, I have seen several movies in the past couple of days, and a couple of them are not "New Releases" per say, because I put off seeing them for various reasons or whatever. I will go ahead and write about them, as I really have nothing to go into details about as far as Halloween: I didn't get wasted, I didn't dress up (I know, WHAT A LOSER!) but I did hand out candy and have a nice slice of vegan pizza with Debbie, Gloria, and Kevin, and like what usually happens on weekends because I live next door to a bar: I get to listen to the worst creation known to man that enhances and promotes the idea that every drunk thinks they are a star (Karaoke) whilst walking Lily and smoking ciggies in my courtyard.

Really, hearing some stupid person singing a Robert Plant song at 1am just doesn't make my evening, it never has. Though, the ONE time I myself sang Karaoke it was under the influence of a few Long Islands, and this is why I hate boozing it in public: you have to own up to tormented moments when you sober up. Sad, I do remember singing Liza! (then again, singing "Mein Herr" from "Cabaret" always brings down the house and I think any of my friends would agree)

Then my neighbour's and I caught the late showing of a "new release"of a movie in the theater that I read later was made a couple of years ago and took some time to find a distributor.

Ok folks, the past 72 hours has seen me watching quite a few films of different genres and I am going to share my opinions. One of them has been out for awhile and I will get to that one in a few, and I will justify the lateness in seeing it.

First off, after handing out candy I was dragged to see "Paranormal Activity".

Ok. Let me just say, that I appreciate a good horror film where there is a lot of suspense. I think all of the nasty blood and gory crap used to sell a film, is just boring after awhile (all of the "Saw" movies get more idiotic the more of them they come out with, though I am waiting for the third installment of the Hostel series) so I kind of say that I really want something that is going to be psychological and mess my mind up and scare the shit out of me.

Let's face it, it's that rush I get from my heart beating.

"Paranormal Activity" was shot, like most of the recent 'horror' films that have been coming out lately: as if they are shot in some sort of documentary style (think "Cloverfield" and "Quarantine") with a handheld camera style (and what really floors me is when I am told that these films who make cheap slasher 1970's exploitation classics like "I Spit On Your Grave" seem like cinematic masterpieces of direction) with budgets that exceed several hundred thousands?

In what, pennies? Peanuts?

Paying 10.00 a piece to go to a late night movie is stupid, and even worse because a popcorn that can be shared for two is nearly 7.50 in addition to the 20.00 spent, is sheer theft if you ask me.

Ok, the scenario:

Basically, some plain Jane type girl who's name I have blocked (because I found her boyfriend in the movie quite the tasty little number!) because she was so fucking annoying has some sort of paranormal haunting that seems to follow her wherever she goes, since she was 8 years old. True to form, her and sexyboytoy decide to get a video camera (a stroke of genius) and in the beginning of the film, you are told about the little "spooky" things that have been happening to her since she was a child. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing really that...oh how shall we say...scary (well, not for me. If I personally had a ghost that entertained me and dropped in from time to time for a card game or some chat, I wouldn't complain!).

Now all of a sudden, when the camera is up recording them sleeping all night (these scenes are sped up of course) and then the day after, little things happen as usual, but as days go on...the camera picks up more dramatic and intrusive harassments as the days go on (actually, the whole daily dates diaries that accumulate are a real rip off of the "Amityville Horror") until finally stupid shit that isn't really scary (footsteps in the dark, etc...) to me (my advice would be to buy earplugs and pop of valium) in the night wake them up (oddly ALWAYS between the hours of 1:30am and 4:15am) and they go investigate.

What does it all boil down to? I am tired of all these supposed hyped scary films coming out that look shot like a hand held camera. I know, I know...people will say that I am a hypocrite because I love Lars Van Trier films, but at least his characters have some sort of interesting shit happening to them, even if it comes across as mundane. You learn to forgive the flaws of his films and the dogma that he follows. But for fuck's sake, do NOT see "Paranormal Activity"! Do not waste your money on it, and if it is on cable, watch it then, but only if nothing else is on.

Then of course, I came home and watched "Orphan". No big stars in it other than Peter Saarsgard but of course the title alone raised a ruckus because it basically was about an adopted girl with a past (that you find out about later) who has a murderous streak. I actually endeared myself to the little girl and her penchant for wearing cute frilly little oddly doll like frocks and her aloof coldness in personality.

Not the greatest film, but in my opinion was much more fun than the one I saw earlier in the evening.

So, I resolved myself to watch 3 different documentaries to entertain me.

The first is extremely relevant to recent events, because it was about Roman Polanski. "Polanski: Desired and Wanted" was an extremely interesting film about the entire mess that he was or should I say he currently in: the sexual assault that happened in Jack Nicholson's house to a 13 year old girl in the late 70's, and the aftermath of what happened to the whole incident in legal aspects and the fact that Polanski fled the USA in order to avoid any prison time, which I have never agreed with: he should have served his time. It was a treat to see a lot of unseen footage of Sharon Tate (his former wife who was so savagely murdered by the followers of Charles Manson in 1969, thus ending the exciting 60's historically and sadly) in home movies and photographs. I have never been a fan of most blond actresses at all, but even as a young kid before my parents had ever told me of her horrible murder, when I came across her in films or in photos I always found her to be one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen: one of those women who was and still is a timeless beauty captured only in films and remaining photographs. I still to this day let out a sigh when I see pictures of her, enraptured by her beauty and knowing all of the things that people said about her: that she hadn't a mean bone in her body and how sweet she was. I have always believed that those events that happened in 1969, basically set Roman up for some eventual failure. How could you simply recover from something so horrid? He would never be able to be mentioned in an article or interview or review of one of his films without some mention being made about Sharon. How could you ever recover in the aftermath of a tragedy, when the media did nothing but try to slander the character of someone so beautiful that he had loved (even if he had cheated on her in their marriage) and made her out to be this horrible trollop? In the end, even the victim of his sexual asault forgave him and just wished that the whole thing could be put behind her, but of course the judge in that case was blinded by his own celebrity in the matter and it created toxic politics. Considering that Roman is now a captured fugitive, it is going to be interesting how it is going to played out and what will legally happen to him, and again the media still brings up that horrible murder that I feel started the game of domino's that lead to his current ruin and how it still is in the shadows of what will happen to him.

Next up: "The Celluloid Closet" about the last 100 years of how homosexuality has been portrayed in the american cinema. It was delightful to me, to see all of the vintage footage, including one of the very first "moving pictures" created in 1895, that was a test of the medium that showed two men dancing in an obvious waltz together. Then of course the silent era showed obvious references to effeminate characters in films that continued into the sound medium, and how during the censorship laws of the infamous "Hays Code" that deemed that "sex pervesion" was something that couldn't be discussed in films, yet the portrayal of stereotypes of the "flamer" could ntinue. It did make a valid point though, that even when it was obvious that if a character was an emasculated male, they had to somehow meet a tragic end or their life was marred by sadness. Then after the Stonewall riots of 1969, then gays came to the forefront, but still they were usually a stereotype again and again. Still though I see the validity of it all, due to the fact that it always seems like the fem homos seemed to be the ones who had no problems or shame in hiding who they were. I also rolled my eyes at the footage of gay protests of films like "Cruising" (a film with Al Pacino about a gay serial killer who kills gay men in leather and BDSM bars that Pacino is trying to capture) in the 80's and "Basic Instinct" and "The Silence of the Lambs" in the 90's because they portray a gay, lesbian, or bisexual character with a taste for murder. All I can think is "so fucking what?" for the sheer fact that it kind of goes to show that sexual preferance alone (in my opinion) doesn't give a person a step above anyone else for having a demented or serious disorder. I often wonder if it is because these films are fictional, there sure doesn't seem to be any protests by gay and lesbian groups damning fellow queers when they have obviously killed others: Aileen Wuornos, Otis Toole, Jeffery Dahmer, Leopold and Loeb, John Wayne Gacy, and I am sure scores of others in the media worldwide that we don't even know about. Sometimes the gay community and their whole anti-defamation stance really annoys me. True, not every homosexual is a serial killer, a lesbian with a mullet haircut who drives a motorcycle, a hairdresser, a leather daddy, a drag queen and so on, but the obvious visibility of these "types" and "subcultures" in our community do exist and they're a valid representation of us as a whole. Why don't these protesters protest the stupid gay "mainsteam"magazines for the images they portray for body dysmorphia or what is acceptable? Seriously, they far surpass magazines like Harper's Bazaar in their sheer shallowness and obsession with straight actors having to justify playing a gay character in a film as they reassert their heterosexuality. Big fucking deal, isn't acting just that?

Then I watched a collection from the Independent Film Channel called "Indie Sex" 3 different mini documentaries of various subjects pertaining to human sexuality and the silver screen and how it has been portrayed in the media, from it's censorship days of the early medium, no matter the sexuality as well as nudity in film, etc. Of course it was mainly concerned with American cinema, which is pretty prudent about it and how the MPAA rates films due to sexual content all through the years. John Cameron Mitchell of course was interviewed a lot because of his film "Shortbus" which was featured prominantly a lot when it came out this last decade, because it was a film that was considered "mainstream" that was basically a film with a storyline that featured explicit pornographic sex so of course he was one of the many interviewed and given a lot of camera time. I started to REALLY get annoyed by him quite frankly and kept waiting for Dita Von Teese to come back and give her two cents on how sex was historically done from a female perspective in movies.

I'd seen "Shortbus" ages ago and I have never understood why people think it is such a good movie. Big (and pardon the pun) fucking deal, it shows people fucking in it, both gay and straight. Whatever plot in it no matter how intricate (and I use that word VERY lightly) it was to the mechanical sex it portrayed, it has to be one of the most boring and stupid films I have ever seen. The plot and acting in it no matter how "deep" (again, no pun intended) the characters tried to be in their quest for happiness, it wasn't that much of an improvement over any other XXX film I have seen. The plot was just stupid and the acting was lousy. I thought that John Cameron Mitchell's earlier film "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" was a FAR superior film on an artistic level, and was fabulous (but I am not one of the obsessive fans of it that it has seemed to garner) so when I had read on gay.com in late 2001-early 2002 that he was casting what was then called "The Sex Film Project" (as Shortbus was called in the beginning stages) I was extremely curious as to how it would turn out. sex had been shown in European mainstream and other obscure American and international films for years and I had seen them so I had high hopes for this film and it took a few years to be made. Sadly it kind of made me question my original thought that Mitchell was an artistic genius, when I saw it. It has to be one of the dumbest excuses for trying to be an "artistic statement" I have ever seen.

"Deep Throat", made in the 1970's no matter how low budget is considered the first "mainstream" pornographic film ever made, not to mention the most successful and famous. I still think that despite the sex, it is one of the funniest films I have ever seen and has an awesome soundtrack (which I own, how could I not own a soundtrack with a song called "Pussy Cola" on it?) and the documentary on the film "Inside Deep Throat" is a fascinating documentary on how it was made. I really could give a shit about John Cameon Mitchell patting himself on the back thinking he made an artistic statement. He made a fuck film, plain and simple with a plot as stupid and boring as any porn film and I don't know why people made such a big deal about it. It featured no one of acting importance, and those who had had any acting experience hadn't done anything major (not unlike the thousands of XXX performers out there) and the actual gay actors he used either had been in adult films or had been in off broadway experimental gay theater work but maybe a commercial here or a quick cameo in a TV show there. I wish he would get over himself. I don't know why people consider him daring for doing it (they must be the same people who think Lady GaGa is of social significance) at all.

I'm glad someone like Bruce LaBruce doesn't come across as trying to say that the graphic sex in his films can be justified as of depth, but he gets the fact that his films are just as tacky as John Waters (whom I adore) and he gets the humour of it all.

Halloween

Yet another fucking holiday where I am not feeling inspired.

I'll be over at Deb's, handing out candy to the little ones this year. Should be fun. I am excited to see what all the costumes are on the kiddies plus on my fellow bloggers...

Have a safe holiday!

Puppies, LSD, Dreams and Nothing of Importance Really....

Dreams.

I woke up this morning feeling so fucking old!

Don't you bitches laugh at me, I know you've been there too!

What did I dream of?

Once in a great while, I like to watch a few films that feature an underground party in them: "Groove" and "Go!" and it is like my heart just drops and is gone beyond my grasp and I am left with a yearning that is paired with an empty hunger...for decent house music!

It's been 10 years since my days of going to see a DJ someplace out in the middle of nowhere and I spent my evening blissed out on a tab of Ecstasy with an LSD chaser.

Hmmm. I had a dream that I was at a fabulous party, someplace and having fun. It's so strange that your mind can mimic feelings that you have felt before when awake. Le sigh, and I was having a blast at this party!!

If I was to bring this up to anyone I went through rehab with, they would say that I was having a drug dream.

Oddly, not so much. Though I did do a lot of LSD and E at raves, there were plenty of times that I went to them sober as well to hand out lollipops, and water to people...all the while all painted up and having fun.

It makes me miss Liz a lot.

Dear sweet Liz, who of all the people dancing always stood out. She wasn't a sore thumb to me, because she was so elegantly fluid in her dancing (I don't know why she never took up belly dancing) and how her body absorbed the music and she was covered in sparkles like I was, while everyone else in their drugged out bliss chewed away on their pacifiers to cope with grinding their teeth and all looked the same dancing...not her, it was always the life of the party seeing her those nights out.

Halloween just seems almost like, uninspiring to me this year as it has for the past couple of years. Deborah, one of the ladies down the street that owns one of the many shops that Lily visits daily for treats has invited myself, Kevin and our canine terrors over to hand out candy and eat pizza.

I'm actually excited for that, because I had fun last Halloween watching all the trick-or-treaters when I handed out candy at Trina's and would smile and giggle were the little ones who were experiencing their first Halloween as they were just so in awe that utter and complete strangers are opening their doors and giving them candy...it seriously must do a number on a child any other day of the year when a parent tells them to scream and run away.

Poor fancy little shitheads, I feel for them!

I really want to be with Abby when she has her first Halloween. Every phone call to Jenn and Justin as they fill me in on all the things she is learning to do (not to mention say) and her being the little tyke that she is, just kills me.

I looked and looked at costumes for Lily and didn't find any that I liked at all. I have had a hard enough time finding a sweater for her. I finally did find one downtown the other day at a price that seriously was a steal (5.00) and it's adorable: grey with a little patch of argyle on it in shades of pink with some black.

The piece of shit didn't fit her, it's a size too small and it's a size larger than what was suggested for a Shih-Tzu. I just wanted it a little longer down her back and it is a few inches too short. Jonathan upstairs is going to be adopting a cute little puppy. He's on a list for one of two: a Chihuahua mix or teacup Yorkshire Terrier, so I when he brings one of them home I'm going to give him the sweater to the pooch as a welcome gift.

Anyone that knows me, can sure as hell bet I am gunning and rooting for the Yorkie. I have seen pics, and they both are adorable little girls (they're both 5 months old) but I love terriers of all shapes and sizes, and Yorkie's just make me laugh. We had a Yorkie mix from the time I was born until I was 4, so maybe I am slightly biased.

But then again, I'd be happy if everyone in the building had a dog...thats just me...I think that everyone should have a dog. We have weight restrictions in the building for the animals. Pets are not allowed, but we can have our doctor sign off for companion animals. The animals in the building are just as much a part of the building here as their humans, be they canine or feline.

When the rain isn't coming down and it is dry enough outside, I am still enjoying my long walks outside all bundled up to walk Lily. She's rather intrigued by all the piles of leaves in people's yards.

Last weekend, Lily and I went and visited Twana WAAAAY out in the middle of nowhere in Washington State (basically right across the Columbia River here from Portland) about 5 miles from East of Battle Ground, which is 30 miles NE of Vancouver off of I-5.

Twana really scored in finding a place to not only do her jewelery making and live, but her job is literally across a driveway.

And seriously, she has her work cut out for her and it is rather bittersweet (and I am bothered that my camera's battery died and I didn't have the charger and I only got one picture: of Lily and the adorable Boxer Terrier named Rusty...who followed me everywhere.)

The property is huge, Twana lives in a guesthouse surrounded by antiques and takes care of a depressed old woman named Dorothy. The house where her boss lives and the family, is absolutely beautiful. Dorothy is a "foster" Grandma as I like to call them, and she couldn't have a more beautiful setting. There is even an adorable

Usually I have a lot of fun with the elderly. This old woman misses her husband who passed away 7 years ago and her son lives in Vancouver and sees her 4 times a week. Twana is trying to get her more involved in doing something, because her bosses tend to the needs of Dorothy, but she feels like more occupational things need to be done.

Twana is kind of frustrated at not ever having done any sort of assisted living type situation before and is kind of stressed. I feel bad for her, because the setting is ideal but she is having to learn to bond with a very sad old woman and try to make her smile.

I engaged Dorothy in a few card games of Gin Rummy and Uno, plus a game of Yahtzee. Tried to lift her spirits. She smiled a lot at Lily and Rusty playing (of course Lily was all over the place playing and being lively). But mostly I just relaxed in the guesthouse and read. I very much welcomed the quiet and utter silence of being out in the woods.

Being a good friend and trying to be helpful, I photocopied the chapter for "Tips On The Elderly" from the book "I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence" by Amy Sedaris, and I intend on sending it.

Oh sure, people say. I have been meaning to send things to people for months. There is a mini shipping place not far from here and still I never manage to get the shit out of my apartment that is all packaged up, no matter what my intentions may be. There is a whole stack, well...only a few things. But here we go, just one more fucking thing to add on top my pile of unsent shit.

When I die, if the stuff never gets sent it may be the missing link to whatever I was thinking at the time when I packed the fucking parcels and my friends and family can maybe figure out something from the "one that was."

Who knows.

Hello

I'm back everyone!

I'll be posting something in the next day or so. But all I can say is thank GOD for sexy computer nerds and discount coupons!

Seriously am glad the damn thing is up and running again, scary how we come to depend on something after not having it in your life, and then when you do and it is taken from you, you go nuts. I have no way to blog without my damn computer!

Yay!!

Crash and Burn

My computer is down for awhile and I do not know when it will be up and running...but never fear, I will be back as soon as I can and will post from time to time...

Later!

Scarecrow

I can still remember that day very clearly in my mind.

It is very strange, because people that know me well are sometimes shocked at the things I remember, be they little details. Nowadays I am shocked at the things that I have forgotten.

When time passes, sometimes memories can shift in your mind or they stay as clear as glass.

Don McLean sings about the day that the music died for an entire generation of people when a plane went down, killing musicians Ritchie Valens, Buddy Holly and a disc-jockey who went by the name the Big Bopper. He sings about the sadness in the streets.

The day that his body was found tied to a fence; he was bloodied, burned, and beaten within an inch of his life. The person who found him remarked that he thought he was a scarecrow he had come across as he breezed by, overlooking the small hidden town of Laramie, Wyoming.

I was living on Capitol Hill in Seattle, and was getting off my shift working in a bakery and café in a business building right next to the Convention Center downtown. Hanging up my apron, and going out for a cigarette my friend Molly had just gotten out of class and as per usual our daily routine consisted of what we did on our paydays together: scored a sack of weed from my co-worker and took off to have a quick and late lunch at Café Minnie’s on Broadway (since closed), but today was more excitement: platform shoes and a pair of authentic Chanel sunglasses at a resale shop for myself. Then it was off to go smoke some reefer at a park with a view…where else would we want to watch the sunset fall over one of the most beautiful views of Seattle: Gasworks Park on the waterfront in the neighbourhood of Wallingford, a stones throw from the University of Washington.

I called my then boyfriend Chad from my apartment before Molly and myself headed to our destination and told him we’d meet him on the campus someplace, as he was working reception for an infamous chain of barbershops (Rudy’s) in the neighbourhood over from Wallingford: the Freemont area.

He said he was extremely depressed that day and that he wanted to meet at the Freemont Troll, a brilliant carving of mass proportions and artistic hilarity under the Freemont Bridge, and that he wanted to head to our favourite Irish Pub in Pioneer Square: The Owl and Thistle, with his roommate Cindy. “Get your flask and fill it with Ketel One.” He mumbled. “You, Cindy and I both are going to need it for the ferry ride back home (he lived in Bremerton a naval town across the sound from Seattle) and then we can cab it home.”

He seemed very distant. I knew something had happened and as I was kind of lost as to what he seemed so restrained about, that only seemed to upset him even more when I pressed for what was wrong.

That day on Broadway Ave, on Capitol Hill everyone seemed as distracted as he did.

“What in hell is with everyone today?” Molly asked and the phone rang. It was Jaedon, my roommate calling from his job as a youth advisor at YouthCare-Orion Center a downtown school and resource center for at risk youth. He was the mentor for the gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender youth.

“Haven’t you heard?” He was softly crying.

“No. But everyone in this neighbourhood is on Quaaludes.” I replied in my normal sarcastic self. “I just talked to Chad and he’s got something up his ass. Now you’re acting like someone made off with your new lip-gloss you bought at Barney’s.”

Jaedon let out a long sigh.

“Didn’t you hear anything on the radio? Or have you watched the news?”

I replied I hadn’t. We had a rotation of CD’s playing at work, and of course since he and I had just moved into the new apartment, we didn’t have cable yet.

“A college kid, a GAY college student was found tied to a fence in Wyoming. He’s been horribly beaten, he’s suffering from hypothermia, burns, and they’re transferring him to Fort Collins. It’s that bad. He's unable to respond, he's in a coma.”

(the fence Matthew was found on, stayed a memorial shrine for months after the murder)

I tried to look at both sides of the coin. Ok, a person was beaten, and he’s gay.

“Do they have any clues as to who or why it happened?” Molly was waving at me and mouthing a ‘what the fuck?’ in the process.

“A young gay guy was beaten up in Wyoming.” I whispered. "He's in a coma now."

“What are you doing?” Jaedon continued to sob softly. “I called Karla.” (the director of Lambert House, Queer Youth drop in activity center where Jaedon and I sometimes hung out and did social activities)

“And?”

“She’s trying to talk to her cousin, who teaches at the University there in Laramie to get more details. I gotta go. Michael and Tara are coming to pick me up, we’re going to watch the news and go light candles at the church. Can you come?”

“Molly and I are running errands and we have to meet Chad here in awhile. I’ll be with Chad for a couple days.”

“Check in with me while you’re gone. Karla said she might want you to network with people to find out if anything is going to be made as a public statement.” He quietly said.

"I'm sure Chad will make quite a statement. This explains why he's upset." I said.

Jaedon begged off and said goodbye.

When I said above that I was trying to look at both sides of the coin, I meant that I was trying to figure out if it was just by chance that this kid had been beaten up and happened to be gay or if it was actually a gay bashing. An activist by nature, I still was always leery of hearing fresh reports of a gay victim and tried to bisect and see for myself if it was hate related.

I called Gabrielle, a pal of ours at the American Friends Service Committee (she was part of that Quaker run organization’s gay youth outreach) to see if she knew anything. She agreed to meet us at Gasworks Park.

The unanswered questions came flying out of the mouths of Molly and I as we tried to make sense of it. This is just out of nowhere we kept saying on the way to the liquor store and to catch the bus across the city. “I want a milkshake from Jack in the Box” she said as we blazed the bong.

“It’s fucking cold outside already, it is going to be dark soon and you want a milkshake?”

“Yes, dipshit. I want some of that voddie.”

I guess I had forgotten in the near past, that if you’re underage and the majority of your friends are of drinking age (Molly was 18) you take a “nip” when it not only fancies you, but when it is obviously close by. How could I say no? She lived in a huge house with her senile grandmother who half the time didn’t remember her Molly’s name, so if Molly showed up and threw up on the baby grand in the music room I’m sure the old woman would have forgotten about it by the time she woke up at 6am to rake leaves in the backyard.

Molly and I blazed our minds out on THC and hopped on the bus after running to get that fucking milkshake.

When Gabrielle met us at the park, she repeated basically everything we had been told by Jaedon and that the details were still up in the air. But all over the news, in all forms of media was the story. As usual, the focus and emphasis was placed on this person’s sexuality first, and then of course came what details which from media outlet to media outlet varied. He even had a name: Matthew Shepard aged 22 years old.

The breeze was really chilly at the park on the waterfront, which in Seattle in the middle of October was normal but that night was even colder than any other night that I had in memory.

Molly dug into my bag and pulled out the bottle of Vodka and mixed it with her milkshake after drinking some of it and in the warmth of her hands on the bus ride had melted some, enough for her to mix the two. She poured as much in the flask as it could hold and Gabrielle guzzled about what amounted to 4 shots. Obviously if we had been busted for the lingering scent of cannabis had the cops happened to be prowling, the tickets would have been numerous: The possession of a (natural) drug, 2 minors in possession (Gabby was only 20) and me with my “whole life ahead of me” at the age of 22 could have been harassed for contributing to the delinquency of 2 impressionable minors.

“Why does this even happen?” was all we could ask. “Why?”

Later, by the time I had met up with Chad I was already tipsy and rather quiet. He was a bit miffed.

“What?" I tried to look all innocent and clueless. "Molly made me do it! Damn her and her fucking milkshake!”

His butch persona nellied up as he inquired if I had saved any hooch for him to drink from the flask as we rode the bus back downtown, and of course there was whole flask full for him to chug.

"For the pain." I sighed and he snatched the container of liquor from my hands.

He knocked back a couple and lit up a cigarette before kissing me.

Cindy was working late, and we left without her and headed to the Owl.

If anyone could use the word FUCK in any form, be it: a verb, an adjective, a noun, a pronoun, a fragmented sentence then it was my angst ridden boyfriend at the time Chad. The Wyoming incident and new information about candlelight vigils around the country were all he could talk about as he stared at the dirty floor of the bus and held my hand, chugging away at the vodka with one hand and holding my hand in his other.

What a pair we always laughed that we looked like.

2 very different guys united in our love for obnoxious hair dye, pop culture, and very different in manner. He was obviously more butch than I.

I’m sure I was wearing glitter that day, and a ½ pound of cosmetics…I always did in those days. What a contrast to who I am now.

For some reason I have always attracted drunks, and Chad was no exception. His being 6’5 and solid meant that he was going to be having LOTS of drinks tonight considering, and this was even more a reason to do so.

It was an attack on all of us, we both felt and said to one another. We still didn’t know what was going on with Matthew. The newscast by the time we reached the bar, said that he was suffering from brain damage amidst a myriad of other ailments, all so horrible for a body to endure. Various pictures of him popped up depending on what channel or newscast was showing as the bartender flicked through the channels. The people of Laramie reacted calmly, and sadly shook their heads in the ensuing onslaught of the media crowding into this isolated little working class town.

“This round is on me.” Roman the bartender said. “I wish I could understand why this still happens in this day and age.” And he gave us 2 shots.

“Something like this doesn’t happen here.” was repeated over and over by the innocent and shocked citizens of Laramie. “We’re gentle people who mind our own business.”

The victim looked harmless, and literally had the face of an angel. He was as “all American” like home made apple pie.

For the next few days, the media reports were constantly updated as we learned little clues here and there about who he was, the beatings, the theories, and his medical progress.

I was with Chad again, when we found out Matthew had been taken off of life support, and passed away surrounded by his family and the culprits had been found.

By the time I found out he had passed away, the brutality of what had happened to this virtual stranger and unwitting martyr had punched me in the chest.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

My mind began running over sequence of dialogue from the film (my mind is always running with dialogue of some sort) “Torch Song Trilogy” when in the cemetery the character Arnold is visiting the grave of his lover who has been murdered during a gay bashing while his mother, who had never accepted the fact that her son was homosexual was also there paying respect to her dead husband. She accused her son of being disrespectful to the memory of his father, at which he exploded about the incident of how his lover had been beaten to death and yelled “But it doesn’t matter right? Because fags can't love!”

Capitol Hill was without activity that night. The gay bars were open, but as music played the patrons could only stare at their drinks and we watched the progression of make-shift candlelight vigils walking all over the hill, and Chad held me very close to him as we spooned standing up at the Eagle, and drank hard cider.

“Fuck this.” He said. “We need to go up to the Cuff.” (the leather and punk bar up Pike street, a few blocks from Broadway) obviously he needed something a bit harder.

We ran into some acquaintances and made small talk and I walked up to the bar with the drink order. I saw a picture of Matthew next to a burning candle, with stuffed animals, some Buddhist prayer beads, a rosary, and flowers, at the corner of the bar.

No one said a word, and the music that was playing made absolutely no impression on me in the sense that I have no idea what was playing, which is odd because music to me has always been a memory trigger for me to recall something.

To change up the lyrics in that song “American Pie”, I honestly felt a part of me had died that day.

All I know is the response that happened all over the country and the world.

Tragic yes, but I also was upset that due to the nature Matt dying it is what took the world to realize that every day that there are people who are physically hurt, and some killed because of whom they choose to love, and that that very reason alone can ignite such a deep resentment that sometimes turns deadly.

When Matthew died, his seemingly non-descript and loving parents from a military background were thrown into the limelight to discuss two things that they knew very little about. They were immediately expected to know, understand and discuss two issues that involved their son: gay rights, which Matt had worked for every day of his life, and hate-crimes legislation due to his death.

Matt’s best friend Romaine Patterson became much closer to Judy and Dennis Shepard during those days as she told them about what their son was doing with his life before he was murdered, and his wanting to make the world a better place.

Yes, he did suffer from depression and used street drugs moderately but he had not one mean bone floating around in his body. He cared about other people.

I could only put my head on Chad’s shoulder, and stare off in that haze of noise that was music. For once, in our entire relationship (the best one I ever had, as we never fought…not even when I burned down his kitchen…but HEY! That is another story I will tell you someday!) we couldn’t speak.

“Fucked up! ROYALLY fucked UP!” were the only interchangeable words spoken a few times between my boyfriend and I each time we clinked our glasses, in a zombie toast.

The music would stop and we gathered around the television, to see live coverage of celebrities like Elton John, Melissa Etheridge, Ellen DeGeneres with her then messed up lover Anne Heche, Tori Amos, and then President Clinton all of them shaken by something so senseless making statements to the media.

And of course, what would any major media or natural disaster moment be without some sort of commentary from Oprah.

Patrons that night came and went, as we stayed a few hours and slowly drank ourselves into intoxication. They too had such emptiness in their eyes, and the name on everyone’s lips that spoke with such affection was for someone they had only known about for 3 days. Some of them even showed up carrying candles with them as they bellied up to the bar.

Their lips would tighten as people talked about the tragic circumstances in which he was found.

Over the course of the next several months, I read anything I could get my hands on about the arrests of the confessed killers.

Obviously white trash meth addicted guys, who had had previous minor scraps with the law had set Matt up in the bar, lured him away by pretending to be gay, and crucified him on a fence after the violence he had to endure and stripped him of his jacket and shoes to die there out in the middle of the prairie overlooking Laramie.

Sadly, the trial and aftermath gave a hate group led by Fred Phelps a mouthpiece and pastor of the Westboro Baptist Church and the beginnings of a cause to disrupt the funeral and trial as they announced that Matthew was burning in hell for being a fag. Finally Romaine and her friends made angel costumes for the first day of the trial, and in front of the media and the people holding signs whom were protected by cops saying “God Hates Fags”, Romaine and her friends spread their enormous wings and blocked Phelps and his church members so Matthew’s friends, and family and spectators could be seen entering the courthouse without disruption from another asshole intent on assassinating Matt again, but this time by his memory.

Oddly enough, Phelps and his fringe group of followers for a long time just harassed churches for scandals and gay community centers, in addition to anyplace in the USA or later globally that was holding a performance of the play (and later film) “The Laramie Project” media would report on it, usually from a local scale or when they would try to put Matthew Shepard monuments in public parks announcing the date of his death saying “Burning in Hell”, finally the media didn’t really say “enough” to the Westboro Baptist Church until the soldiers funerals being protested made headlines and they started also voicing a tried and truly racist tactic that has gone on since the crucifixion of Christ: that the Jews killed Jesus. In addition to Jews, we are told that God hates the following, equally: Jews, soldiers, Barack Obama, Fags, Catholics, Baptists, Sweden, the UK. The list goes on and on.

It reinforces in my mind, the backhanded homophobia of our media that not until they protested funerals (which the federal court has deemed legal as of recent) of soldiers, that they finally started getting more worldwide attention.

When the sentencing for Russell Henderson and Aaron McKinney were handed down, they were spared the death sentence because Dennis Shepard knew that no matter what, his own son wouldn’t agree with the death penalty. “I give you life. Matthew gives you life. I hope that every day you live from now on, you thank him for your life.” He told the men who murdered his son.

I wish at times in my own heart that I could be that forgiving…

The anniversary of his death is on Monday, but I couldn't wait any longer to write all of this out...Sometimes I wonder wherever he is, what he thinks of all of this and what his reaction would be. Would he have wanted to be a martyr?

We'll never know.

"Somewhere that road forks up ahead
To ignorance and innocence
Three lives drift on different winds
Two lives ruined, one life spent..."
-Elton John 'American Triangle' for Matthew.

New Tats

Yeah, I know...I am stuck with them for life...but that biohazard symbol will remain on me until they find a cure for HIV/AIDS. The day that cure has been found, if i am still living I will change it somehow. I have been inspired by what Diamanda Galas has said about the epidemic and how it has affected her work and also why she "inked" herself in response to the AIDS epidemic. Below is a blurb from wikipedia:

"Her work first garnered widespread attention with the controversial 1991 live recording of the album Plague Mass (1984 - End of the Epidemic) in the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine in New York. With it, Galás attacked the Roman Catholic Church (and society in general) for its indifference to AIDS using biblical texts. In the words of Terrorizer Magazine, "The church was made to burn with sound, not fire."^[2]. Plague Mass was a live rendition of excerpts from her Masque Of The Red Death trilogy which began as a response to and indictment of the effects of AIDS on the "silent class". After production of the trilogy's first volume began, Galás' brother, playwright Philip-Dimitri Galás, contracted HIV, which inspired the artist to redouble her efforts, resulting in the development of the aforementioned performance. During the period of these recordings, Galás had we are all HIV+ tattooed upon her knuckles; an artistic expression of disillusionment and disgust with the ignorance and apathy surrounding the AIDS epidemic. Her brother, who died during the trilogy's final production, reportedly appreciated her efforts."

I love the star especially..all that blue shading...Thanks to Trina!

Art Show and Celebrity Encounters

Twana had a wonderful showing of her jewelry at a gallery on what is known as “First Thursday” here in Portland, which means all the art galleries in the Pearl District stay open a little later than normal and chosen artists are there to show some of their work and visit with the patrons.

A few weeks ago, when she was in tears and just feeling horrible about how her work wasn’t doing well at the Native American gatherings, I finally just took her by the hand and said “I have an idea!”

Off to Quintana's we went (if you hit the hyperlink, you can see better examples of her work, how sweet they were to give her a show!)

In the Pearl District, there is a gallery that specializes in Native American artists. I have only met the owners a couple of times, because they own a couple of little dogs who would play with Ewok on the Park Blocks downtown, and when I used to babysit Ewok I would take him in there to play with them. I knew that if she took her stuff in there, that they would love it. All I did was take her in one day, and introduce them to one another.

I was right, and they were extremely enthusiastic about how she has taken the core ideas of Native American jewelry and turned them inside out with fresh new perspective and even though the core influence is there, she is extremely original in her work and I haven’t seen anything of the likes that she produces. She’s an original, all you have to do is look at her!

3 weeks later, she had a showing at that gallery and a very successful one at that. Some of her most expensive pieces sold (the most expensive being the necklaces) as well as several pairs of earrings and all through the night she called Brian in tears of joy and excitement because she had such a successful turn out.

I’m glad that rather than sitting on her ass and waiting for people to “come to her” and gush over her work, she applied herself and I told her she could do it.

“Put yourself out there and quit whining, you need to sell yourself.” Is what I told her and that is exactly what she did and she made some good money in the process!

I had a lovely time visiting with the owners, as Lily was with me and got to run around the gallery with the other dogs and I was so thankful for the fact that they took a chance on Twana, and gave her a showing. They so kindly made fliers announcing the showing and wonderful little forms with Twana’s biography and such.

Artists in my opinion are a fickle bunch and Portland is no different, with the hipster musicians and artists who don’t realize that in the pond they are just one fish who needs to stand out above the rest.

Either you have the ones who are so steeped in ego who churn out works like mad and then when the reality hits that sitting all around them is what they have created and that they might have to take the next step in selling themselves which can be frightening or they view it as “selling out” and get pissed off because people don’t start masturbating the moment they see a sculpture of theirs or you have people like Twana who realize that you won’t know the end result, unless you take a risk.

A risky maneuver is sometimes called for, and might just pay off.

Such is the success that she is now wallowing in, and she is truly thankful and feeling blessed. As she should be, she worked her ass off and managed to pull just one more shred of hope out of her ass to take a chance.

The other artists at the gallery were extremely encouraging, which was so kind and polite which kind of shocked me, because some of the handfuls of local artists that I have met would rather bitch about one another (along with thinking that their shit smells like roses and everyone else is a hack) rather than encourage one another, so it was refreshing to see a gathering of like minded people who may be competing, but were not afraid to be like “Oh, well if you like mine…you should see this that so and so did, isn’t it lovely?”

What a fun time it was.

All the while Twana’s 75 year old mother was buzzing around with her gays (myself, Brian, and Matt) and talking to people.

It was a lovely night nonetheless and restored my faith in Portland and some of the artists that live here. Again, I’m glad that she went into it with no expectations (but with her frustrations to fuel her) and in the end, she made a lot of money.

I of course was riddled with anxiety and couldn’t stay long (it happens around groups of people with me sometimes and I sweat bullets) and had to fly over to Powell’s City of Books, to be surrounded by books, a cup of tea, and find the perfect patterns for crochet.

Crochet has been the bane of my life lately.

Why? Because I basically have forgotten how to do it!

Crazy as it sounds. Well, I guess crazy is the word here for me to focus on.

When I was in the hospital for depression, I picked it up easily. I needed something to keep me occupied when I wasn’t terrorizing the other patients and arguing with the psychiatrists that showed that I had some sort of creative streak.

After churning out a few scarves and a few hats, I set down my crochet hook and when I lately have tried to start again, I was at a dead end. So I have been watching YouTube (which I cannot live without) and getting ideas and trying different techniques.

Fun for me, eh?

***********UPDATE on Twana**************

Famous ballerina Ana Laguna (from Spain but lives in Sweden) purchased some jewelry from Twana today!!! She's in town with Baryshnikov and came to buy some art at the gallery and Twana got to speak with her and Ana gave glowing reviews, bought some jewelry, and encouraged Twana to sell some of her collections in Stockholm! I am BEYOND excited for her!!!!!

Ana and Mikhail....

Creativity, Paint, Blank Walls, and Inspections

So creativity has finally hit, and I have projects lined up to keep me busy for awhile.

Since the agency that I rent from is notorious for not giving security deposits back to former tenants, I have bought the most obnoxious day glo orange paint for the one wall in my apartment that I am unable to put anything on, because it is a cement wall that is blank and needs something on it. Do I feel guilty about painting it without permission? Fuck no! I am tired of looking at a blank wall, much less one that my bed is up against that I cannot do anything with. Some new furniture that I am getting (vintage 60’s) and a cozy and cute chair with a footrest is a divine mossy green, and that is what has inspired me to be a tad obnoxious with my colours. Of course, I might change my mind and just make that wall a mural, using the original flag of Japan as the theme. I don’t care if it is wrong or looks odd, I am just sick of looking at a boring blank wall.

Personally, I would be happy if Emilio Pucci would come and vomit all over my apartment.

This weekend, I will be going through every magazine (all of them fashion magazines) and removing a zillion pages from them and then from there going through them and cutting away to my hearts content and then finally collage one of the other walls in my apartment, so I have an inspiration wall. I have been talking about it ever since I moved in and I finally am going to do it. The magazines are all stacked in a tacky book case that I am going to throw away, as I desire to get rid of senseless furniture and unwanted excess surfaces. Jeremy and Brian have been helpful with ideas, and are going to pitch in and help. We’ve all been on a creative kick and I have been helping them decorate their apartments and now it is my turn.

The idiotic and alcoholic neighbour that caused nothing but annoyance to the building was finally kicked out of the apartment complex (and he left his former apartment a disgusting mess in his wake…how people can live like that is beyond me but thank GOD we no longer have to hear the stupid fighting any longer of him and his loser drunk of a boyfriend) and left behind a whole porch of plants, planter/flower pots, etc, and Brian along with myself and Jeremy raided all that the boozer had left outside (one would need a hazmat to go inside his former lair of filth) and I acquired a lovely wooden pot that looks like a barrel, and 2 big terracotta planters that I’m going to paint and glaze for next spring.

Yesterday was hot and I was needing some crafting supplies for the collage, and Jeremy was sweet enough to go to the store and get them for me, as it was too far to walk (Lily’s breed doesn’t fancy the heat) and I didn’t want to deal with the bus and I was also busy cleaning so I dangled the gift card in his face and said he could also buy himself whatever he wanted from the remaining balance (The card had 40.00 on it, and I didn’t need a plethora of expensive stuff so I told him to treat himself) and that was all he needed to hear, and the deal was sealed. What a sweetie!

Normally most gay men irritate me beyond words, but those two have made for a very fun and pleasant summer. It’s nice to have creative minds that encourage and leave egos at the door when they come over. Now that nearly all of the bad seeds in the building have moved out, we all are enjoying a sense of community again.

I have been meaning to mention, that a welcome face from my past (his name is Doyle, I have known him since I was 21) that I lost track of moved in right next door to me a few weeks ago, so yet another creative mind with a green thumb to help me with my little garden fantasy next spring. The neighbour’s cat on the other side of me (the apartment that shares the cement wall with me) has already made herself at home in his apartment, as she has in my apartment too. So, obviously he’s a good egg if Annie and her feline intuition decided to grace him with her presence.

Let me bitch for a moment, that I am seriously annoyed at the management company of the apartment complex, as we have had a plethora of inspections of our apartments in the last 60 days. It’s obnoxious I tell you! I guess we’re getting new bathrooms and kitchens…how lovely. I’m sure my desires for eye catching colour will be nixed in any requests I make, so I will take matters into my own hands.

Any ideas will be welcome and considered by moi!

Inspiration

Lazy Daze and Feeling at a Loss

Sweetie!

You know who, and Jeremy on the rooftop of my building.

Fall came crashing down, the other day when Trina and I last spoke.

Her partner (Rae) of nearly 19 years must have a radical hysterectomy very soon. After having a surgery to remove some questionable tumor like masses from her reproductive system, another mass was found that was questionable: glands and veins working hand in hand.

A biopsy revealed that it is a mass of pre-cancer matter, and must be removed immediately. It frightens me, because she has been rather weak, working her ass off and bleeding a lot before the surgery was performed. She is still feeling ill after the surgery she had a few weeks ago to remove the benign polyps she had, in addition to removal of a lump from her breast (also benign).

I have had Trina’s family on the back of my mind for weeks now, concerning the above. But this next surgery Rae will be having, frightens me. I’m trying to keep as positive as possible, even joking that she should save her removed parts and we can have some little party in her backyard and give her reproductive system a little send off into the cosmos.

Cancer in its various forms has a footnote in Rae’s family tree so it is even more real and close to home for their family.

I am at a loss for words really, and can only really remain myself by being hopeful and trying to joke about it. Seriously, I am all for a splashy sendoff in the backyard just to make light of the whole situation. But then again, it reeks of being selfish because it is how I myself am choosing/fantasizing about coping with the reality of it all.

Spare Any Change?

R.I.P: Patrick Swayze.

Another one “popped their clogs” as the old lady in the movie “The Wedding Gift” once sighed, and yet another celebrity is gone.

I wish that I could say that I was an 80’s child who was forever changed by the film “Dirty Dancing”. I most certainly did not have the time of my life! “The Outsiders” and “Rumble Fish” are the movies from the 80’s that make me think of Mr. Pattycakes, along with “Ghost”.

But I love the fact that he poked fun at himself, on that episode of “Saturday Night Live” when he and an extremely tubby Chris Farley tried out for a “Chippendales” revue.

The oddest mix and unexpected passing of random celebrities is just insane, for the fact that I must be getting old if the screen idols and media whores of my youth are dropping like flies.

DJ AM passing away is sad as well, and still my government cannot agree to give people universal health coverage.

Planes are getting hijacked.

Michael Jackson was allowed his dignity back in the eyes of the world, the public, and especially the media. How sad it is, that he had to die for that acknowledgement.

Farrah flew up by her feathered hair up to the BIG salon.

Jay Leno asks Kanye West about what his mother would have thought about his ruining Taylor Swift’s first “Video Music Award” the previous night, on the debut of his new prime time talk show.

The mothers of 3 of my bloggers are very sick.

Osama graces us with his presence again, and more potential terrorists go to prison in the U.K.

I kind of feel guilty for going outside and enjoying the sunshine while I still have it so I can play fetch with Lily.

I cannot wait to hear what that douche bag Bill O’Reilly has to say on the affairs of the world, in his stupid “No Spin Zone” game that he plays with his testicles.

Uh oh, it’s time to get shallow because I am getting a little too deep.

I just wondered aloud as a neighbour walked by and he asked me if I always talk to the computer.

“Only when the stove is pissed at me!” is the response that flies out of my mouth.

Insomnia and yet another med that is going to be introduced to me, to battle my high triglycerides. I’m not thrilled and I refuse to have yet one more medication that I have to take.

I refuse to take one more pill, as something more drastic is in order.

I think in this case for me it is more of a lifestyle change, and it is happening right now.

If I was able to overcome an addiction to drugs (and I honestly believe that I have it beat, for once I have faith in myself as a person) then I am going to battle this head on.

The last time this issue came up, I attempted to make a stab ay introducing healthier foods. I have, but my whims hit me easily.

It is time for me to budget a months worth of menu planning, not only cutting my caloric intake but also certain foods. In this case, I am cutting out anything that is white: rice, potatoes, turnips, white sugar, bread, and pasta. I am only going to allow myself egg whites and cauliflower only. Fish once a week, and only salmon. I can only eat 2 chicken breasts a week, but it has to be steamed. Then the rest of the protein is supposed to come from tofu and nuts. I will only be snacking peanuts or almonds.

Lunch will be the biggest meal of the day and where I will allow my major protein intake for the day, with breakfast and lunch being only fruits and or veggie based. I am forcing myself to eat grapefruit, and I detest grapefruit (weird huh? I love all citrus but grapefruit) but I will have to eat it. To sweeten, I will use agave nectar.

This I discussed with my nutritionist today, and I will be getting acupuncture every day for 2 weeks.

I gave all my cheese away last night, and I felt like a dagger was slammed into my heart as neighbours got excited and mentioned all the things they were going to make.

Oh the humanity of it all…