So I’m kind of clumsy. As a kid I had cuts, scrapes, trips, falls, broken bones galore, you name it. Not that I’m not coordinated. I think I just get lost in my head and collide into things. At least that’s what I like telling myself because it makes me sound pensive instead of clutzy. Years ago I was trying to open one of my niece’s birthday presents. And c’mon, it takes the freakin’ jaws of life to get a kids toy open these days. Am I right? So I reached for the closest sharp object near me. The cake knife. Covered in cake and frosting. Now, if I hadn’t been so determined to get that damn toy open so I could play with it, I mean wait, uhhh, so my NIECE could play with it, I would’ve considered the fact that a slippery giant knife isn’t the best thing with which to open tiny zip ties. And then… SLICE. Pain. Red. Everywhere. My right forefinger had been sliced to the bone. 20 minutes later as the blood continued flowing prolifically, and as I was getting woozy from shock, we hopped in the car for the hour-long drive to Fresno. Six stitches later, I was fine. Except for the impairment of not being able to use my right hand in its various important work and recreational activities. And of course for the impact said incident had on my reputation within my family. To this day, every time I’m using a knife at home my niece or sister or mom says, “Don’t let Uncle A use the knife!” Hardy har har guys.
All that to say today I used a straight razor to shave for the first time ever today. To be fair, it’s a cool old-timey safety razor setup. I’ve owned it for about a month and have been hesitant to use it until today. All that joking about me being bad with sharp things must’ve finally made me insecure about my own abilities. Anyway, I’m happy to report that nary a knick or cut on my cheeks or neck. Hooray! Take that family. Now please hand me that big knife so I can open this super tiny object… 😉
Moving on, I bought kitty litter yesterday. I know, I know. You’re all like, does this guy have a point to any of his damn stories?! Hang with me here. This is going somewhere. The litter I buy is that cool salt crystal stuff that desiccates and evaporates so it eliminates smell and lasts super long and is good for the environment. I bought a 50lb bag of it and just as I was lifting it into the trunk of Jean Luc, the bag split open and blue and white glittery crystals spilled everywhere. Luckily I moved quickly, flipped the bag around, and only lost a couple of cupfuls. But now the trunk of my car is glitter bombed with sparkly blue and white crystals. I kinda like it. And it’ll absorb odors and look cute at the same time. I’m sure the novelty of this will wear off fast as these crystlas break down into powder and then I’ll just be annoyed at having a dusty trunk. Okay, I lied. No real point to this story either. My bad. #sorrynotsorry
So that’s the story of my last 24 hours: sharp things and glitter bombs. The end.
You all know I’m a planner at heart. I’ve always looked one step, nay ten steps ahead. I booked my July vacation back in December. It’s just how my brain works. With that in mind, I’ve decided to look out into the future again and plan accordingly. With the Kill the Gays Bill advancing toward the ballot in California, I’ve decided to change my ways. If it passes, then every citizen will be legally allowed to execute anyone known for having participated in gay behavior by shooting them in the head with a bullet. I’ve decided I like my brain just the way it is, sans bullet. So. From this day forward I’m renouncing my former hey gurl hey ways. No more gay sex. Oh man. That’s gonna be really tough. Because let’s be honest. Sex is amazing. But gay sex is stupidly ridiculously fucking amazing. I’m just not sure it’s worth a bullet in the head. Well… maybe *some* of it is. Am I right? But I digress. I’m going to have a ceremonial jockstrap burning party in my backyard next weekend. I invite all you homosexuals to join me in saving your souls (and your lives) by burning your sex toys, jockstraps, and other sundry gay-themed props and costumes that could identify you as a dude who digs other dudes. (We won’t be hassled because people burn shit out here in the Bayview all the time with no problems from the po-po.) I’m also looking for a library to which to donate my decade-long collection of adult-themed entertainment. Someone’s bound to make good use of it (for research purposes only, obviously). I’ve also decided to spend more time in the Marina befriending the straight bros up there and learning some their bro-y gestures and phrases. And no more gay bars. Instead I’ll be spending more nights at straight parties and clubs. Maybe some of the stinky rude pushy straightness will rub off on me. And I’ll simultaneously find out what straight dudes wear at da club (What else DOES one wear besides a tank top that you strip off less than 5 minutes after arriving at the party? Inquiring minds would like to know.) And finally, if all else fails, I’m going to buy the book “Being Straight for Dummies” on Amazon and study up. All this begins today. Wait. Make that Monday. Promise. Oh wait. Crap. Maybe next weekend. Seriously guys. Soon. Pinky swear. No not pinkies. Pinkies are soooo gay. You know what? Keep checking back in. I’ll create a Google Calendar with important dates charted along the straight-conversion-pathway and share it out soon. Stay tuned.
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So a few years ago I hired a maid. Vilma. She’s amazing. I love that she’s as sweet as can be. And that she walks around all day saying, “Hola GATO” to Puck. She loves that I try my darnedest to speak to her in Spanish. But there are the most amusing little quirks.
Like how she never matches my protein shaker bottle lids with the color of the bottle. Or how she hangs up my workout shirts with my tank tops. Um…. While my workout shirts are sleeveless, they are certainly not tank tops and they go in a drawer not on hangers. Ugh, straight people will never understand this important difference. And how when she hangs up my tanks and workout shirts, she clearly doesn’t recognize the ROY G BIV color coding system I’ve put in place and she gets it all messed up. And of course there’s the constantly swapping of towels between my roommates bathrooms and mine. Now, to be fair they are both charcoal grey. But mine are longer and theirs have different embroidered texture lines in them. So it’s an easy mistake. I guess…
But the most curious thing to ever happen in these many years is the random disappearance of my plaid pajama bottoms this week. I can’t find them anywhere. I’ve looked high and low. In drawers. In the closet. In the linen credenza. Under the bed. I even looked in with the tank tops in case she got really confused on that whole topic and hang them up out-of-color-code (because, lesbihonest, where would you hang up multi-color plaid? Um. Wait. There’s totally an answer for that. Never mind.)
Anyway. Nada. Desaparecido. I mean… They’re totes cute. And comfy. And I miss them. I know she stashed them away somewhere. Ooooh, maybe I should check with my mismatched shaker bottles? Or in the pantry? Or in the guest room?? I might start posting missing pajama bottoms signs around my house in case the cat spots them and can report back to me. Stay tuned. More to come on this developing story…
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Little known fact. The Sound of Music is one of my all-time favorite movies. I’ve watched it on the order of 100 times or more. So much so that for years at 43 Norfolk Dre, James, and I would sing these lyrics to each other when we went to bed (to the dismay of our other 6 roommates):
So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, adieu
Adieu, adieu, to yieu and yieu and yieu
Do do do do do do, do do do do do
So long, farewell, au revoir, auf wiedersehen
I’d like to stay and taste my first champagne
Do do do do do do
Lady Gaga did a damn fine job last night, tho I still think we gave her a run for her money all those years ago in our warehouse…
Most of the time I drive Jean Luc (yes, my car has a name, and yes it’s named after Jean Luc Picard) around this congested city like I’m in a combination game of Frogger and Tetris. Zipping in and out of the constantly changing road landscape, neatly fitting into tight spots. Occasionally, as many of you know, I throw in a touch of Speed Racer as I see a series of openings down the road and slam my foot down and my very sporty engine catapults me in-and-out of cars, to the front of the pack.
Lately, in my mind’s eye I’ve been imagining a touch of Mario Kart seeping into the equation. I mean, I would *never* get aggressive or violent on the road or cause any damage or harm. I’m not a roadrager. Not outwardly, anyway. But sometimes people just do the dumbest things. I take it back, not sometimes… Every. Damn. Day. Let’s get real. Driving is like a game of chess. I’m generally looking six, eight, ten moves ahead. “Ok, I need turn left a few blocks from now, I should probably start looking to get over into the left lane. Except that there are always delivery trucks blocking the left lane on this upcoming block, so I’ll cut over just after those and be in the right place at the right time.” Which apparently is not how my oh-so-attentive road mates think about things, “Oh I need to turn left RIGHT NOW but I’m in the far right lane at the intersection. Ok, might as well go for it and cut across three lanes of moving traffic. Oops my bad. Sorrrries.”
Did they forget? Not care? Enjoy inflicting momentary dread into the hearts of dozens of other drivers? Enjoy hearing the sound of brakes squealing? It seems most of them aren’t even looking at the one move directly ahead of them on this chess board of city driving. Probably because they’re too busy texting, talking, or picking their nose (no judgment, but if you can’t pick your nose and drive at the same time, save the green-gold excavation for when you’re not wielding several tons of metal around innocent bystanders).
Oooooooh! Speaking of chess, this gives me an even better daydream. Instead of Mario Kart, it would be so badass if driving were more like that awesome game of Wizard’s Chess that Ron, Hermonie, and Harry had to play in the Sorcerer’s Stone. The one where the pieces would smash into each other and destroy each other… where the Knight slices the other piece in half. Oh damn. That would be SO. MUCH. FUN. “Siri: How much would it cost to install a giant metal-slashing saber on the front of my car…? No, Siri. I’m not trying to buy a used Buick LeSabre. Sigh.”
Which reminds me. I’m terrible at chess. So maybe I’ll just stick to driving. And daydreaming about Mario Kart instead.
I’m wearing the first pair of my Socrates socks today. (Yesterday’s post explains it all.) So far, they’re comfy, haven’t slipped an inch down my leg, and are super cute. And because you were wondering, that’s my left calf in the picture because I’m pretty sure he’s more photogenic than his right-sided brother. That is all.
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