on fat fingers, a phat niece and phony flatulence

A couple of the fingers on my left hand had an unfortunate run-in with a car door this weekend. Fortunately, nothing is sprained but my middle and index fingers aren't quite as bendy as they could be. In other words, Part 13 will be coming along as soon as my crippled fingers can type it up. Thanks for your patience.

In brighter news, I taught The Adorable Five-Year-Old Niece the art of the breakdance-off... using an American Girl doll.

See, we took my mother out for a birthday lunch yesterday. To keep the niece entertained in the car on the way there, I sang an a capella "Din Daa Daa" while making her doll do The Worm, The Running Man and several dope back and head spins. I then pointed the doll's hand in the direction of the niece and said, "Now you!"

The niece didn't miss a beat. She sang the song, caught the vibe, thrashed around a bit and then challenged my younger sister by stylishly -- and fiercely -- pointing at her. Wee girlfriend put Ozone and Turbo to shame. It was all really quite fabulous and made me just a bit verklempt.

Oh and she also recently learned how to do armpit farts. I swear I had NOTHING to do with it. No seriously, I can't even make that noise myself so there's no way I could teach her. When I try to do it, the only thing you hear is flapping and slapping. Therefore, I am not responsible for the armpit farts. Palm of the hand farts, on the other hand...

judge not

I have something to confess...

I totally snogged a 22-year-old girl tonight.

A woman 10 years my junior.

With a limited knowledge of English, no less.

But then again, there ain't no such thing as language barrier when your lips are otherwise engaged. N'est ce pas? Can I get a whoop whoop?

Now you might think that whole age difference thing would have given me pause but to that I say, FUUUUUUUUCK DAT! She was hot and I have a baby face and therefore it all balances out.

Shut up, it does too.

So now here's where the shame comes in... The impetus for said smooch? After a couple of hours of flirtatious chit-chat and the occasional cheeky grope, I found my oral opening, as it were, during the chorus of "You're the Inspiration" by one Peter Cetera.

Yup, the former Chicago frontman was temporarily the meaning in my life, the inspiration, if you will, to totally mack on a cute wee girl.

You know, I never thought I'd credit Peter Cetera with anything other than, you know, annoying the piss out of me but, well, he really came through tonight. I have a new appreciation for the man.

So, thank you, Peter Cetera. Thank you.

re: the muppets (part twelve)

Here's the next installment of my lengthy tome. Please click here for Parts One through Eleven.

~ Part Twelve~

I went back into her room. I had no intention of fighting with her. I got my answers. I had to put up with her one more day and then that was it -- I'd soon be gone forever.

She was sitting on the floor reading. She looked up when I entered the room.

"Wow, you were in there a long time."

"Yeah, I was just chatting with Rice."

"About what?"

"Oh, you know, stuff."

I grabbed the newspaper and did the crossword puzzle and every other time-wasting game and activity I could get my hands on. I pretended to be engrossed. I needed to. I didn't want to talk to her. I just wanted to keep myself occupied until she went to bed to reduce the chance that we'd have to converse. Or worse, that I'd have to look her in the eye.

She got under the covers shortly after.

"Aren't you coming to bed?"

Without looking up from the paper, I muttered,

"Soon."

I felt her bristle. I could tell she was processing the change in my demeanor. I was no longer needy and fragile. I was no longer trying to do a desperate patch job on our broken relationship. I didn't seem to care anymore. I was stiff and cold. She totally picked up on it.

I climbed into bed and made a beeline for the far corner. She inched closer to me. I don't know if her movement was to get more comfortable or if my distance made me more attractive to her. I didn't care to find out. I shrugged her off, rolled over and hugged the wall. I put as much distance between us as possible in that small bed.

"Good night," she said in thin voice.

I grunted a reply. Her body stiffened.

At some point the next day, I took a nap. I was bored and hot and trapped in a dorm room. I had the choice of reading, watching a television with no antenna or sleeping. I did the latter in spades.

I awoke to the feeling of something cold and wet against my leg. I opened my eyes to see her standing over me smiling and holding a bottle of water on my thigh.

"I bought this for you. I know the heat here is killing you."

"Thanks," I said and rubbed my eyes.

"I got you this too."

She reached into a plastic shopping bag and removed a bag of Reese's Mini Peanut Butter Cups.

"Because I know how much you like chocolate."

"Thanks. I love those."

"And this too..."

She handed me a funky cardboard picture frame with a paisley design on it.

"I saw it in the bookstore and thought it would look perfect in your bedroom. Of course I expect you to put a picture of me in it..." she said with a smirk.

"Nope. I'm putting a picture of my hot new girlfriend in there."

"Shut up. What do you want to do today? Your last full day in Columbia?"

"I don't care."

She tousled my hair and smiled at me. She was being all sweet and thoughtful. She was almost acting like the girl I used to know. I was so confused. Was this really her? Or was it an act? I once knew her thoughts without her even having to speak them. Now? I was at a loss. She once told me that I knew her better than she knew herself.

"You see inside me. I can't hide from you. You find things in me that I didn't know were there. No one knows me like you do."

But this person was all over the map. She fluctuated between her old and new selves at an alarming rate. She was trapped between both versions of herself. I could see her trying to find the best fit and stick with it. Or was she? I no longer knew for sure.

Was she reaching out to me for help? For some semblance of the stability I used to provide? Or was I seeing things I wanted to see? Who was this girl? Was I made a fool of? Or was it the rest of the world that she was fooling?

I decided to maintain a safe distance and not return the flirtatious patter. And then my cell phone rang. It was Best Friend Since Kindergarten. My tone changed considerably. I laughed freely. I smiled easily. I didn't have to put on a game face. I was naturally light-hearted.

She sat on the bed and listened intently to the one-sided conversation. I noticed her absorbing everything. She played with her fingers and gazed into her lap.

My "Uh... I'll tell you later" and "Wait until I get back" responses caused her to wince. She wasn't used to an edited version of me. I never sanitized my speech in front of her before. And as much as she claimed she wanted me to be more accessible across the board, she cherished her exclusive all-access pass. My censored conversation stabbed her in the heart. She no longer cast the magical "Open Sesame" spell that got me to open up. My emotions were liberated. The floodgates were opened and I wasn't going to shut them. I couldn't. And it hurt her. My ability to trust her and reveal things to only her was her crowning achievement all along. But her hard work came back to haunt her. I transferred her powers to my friends. She didn't enjoy being stripped of them.

I hung up with BFSK. She patted the bed and motioned for me to sit beside her.

"I don't want your friends to hate me."

"They don't hate you."

"I just feel like they're judging me and they don't even know me."

"Frankly, it's not you they're thinking about. They're just looking out for me. It's me they're concerned about."

She digested my statement and then her eyes teared up.

"I don't want you to leave tomorrow."

Her voice cracked midway through and she started to bawl. It was the first time she showed any emotion since sending that letter.

"I'm so scared that you're going to leave here and I'm never going to see you again."

She lay down on the bed and just let go. I had never seen her cry like that before. I knew she cried for me and because of me in the past but this was the first time she did it front of me. Despite my anger, I couldn't help but feel sympathetic. I returned to the mindset that she was nothing more than a scared little girl. And I realized that it wasn't just about my hurt feelings -- she lost something too.

Rice's words echoed in my mind. It was tempting to give into the anger and revel in her sadness and wield it like a weapon and beat her senseless with it. Part of me wanted to exact revenge for thosse days and nights of agony I suffered at her hands but her tears snuffed out the flames of rage and bitterness. Instead, I felt pity for her. And a sense of sobriety. I was still confused but there it was before me -- a frightened little girl. I still wrestled with the desire to punish her. It did a seductive dance in front of my eyes and I almost gave in. But my intuition screamed at me not to wallow at that level. No good would or could come of it. I was 26 years old -- still a kid in many ways but old enough to know better. As much I wanted to keep her ass twisting in the wind, I didn't. I had some responsibility in all of this too. And she was pleading with me to stay in her life. She was adrift and she needed support.

I lay down next to her, leaned over and kissed her on the forehead and said,

"This isn't the end."

She looked at me hopefully. I held her face in my hands.

"You know how much I love you. I haven't ever stopped, no matter what you may think. I can't stay away forever but I do need to go now. You're doing your own thing and now I have to go do mine. You have to let go too, okay?"

She nodded and then unleashed a torrent of new tears.

I watched her cry. Her tears teetered momentarily on those glorious cheek bones I loved so much and then cascaded down her cheeks. I wiped them with my thumb and then did a second sweep with the back of my hand. She inched closer so I put my arm around her and we fell asleep in a tight embrace.

The next morning she drove me to the Amtrak Station in Jefferson City. I didn't have time the night before to say a proper goodbye to Rice so I wrote her a letter and slipped it under her door on the way out.

I thanked her for her honesty and her kindness. I thanked for being a bright spot in an otherwise awful experience. And I asked her to take good care of my special girl. I gave her some instructions similar to what a nervous mother leaves a babysitter:

Sometimes her stomach hurts so you need to rub it to make her feel better. And make sure she eats better and lays off the cigarettes, okay? That's why her stomach is bothering her.

And if she can't sleep, tell her a story. You can totally make one up on the spot. She likes that.

But you know this stuff already. Just promise me you'll take care of her, okay? And let her know that despite everything, I'll love her always.

She wanted to wait with me at the station until my train arrived. The departure time came and went and there was no sign of the train. After about 30 minutes, a delay was officially announced.

"This could be a while. You should get going," I said.

"Are you sure? I feel bad leaving you here to wait around."

"I'll be fine."

"Be careful, okay? Please call me when you get to Chicago tonight."

"I'll be fine. I'm a big girl, remember?"

"Please just call me tonight."

"Okay. Now go on. Get out of here. Beat it. Scram."

"I guess I'll see you... I don't know when..."

"Yeah," I said quietly. "One of these days, I guess."

She kissed my forehead and I gave her cheek one last stroke.

"See ya," we said in unison.

I walked back into the depot to wait for the train. My anger had subsided but my hurt had resurfaced overnight. I wanted distance from her -- physical and emotional -- to figure things out. I didn't know if I ever would see her again. And at long last, the thought of that didn't paralyze me like it did before.

I stared out the window of the train and watched rows of corn, cows and silos streak by. At one point, a two-lane stretch of road ran parallel to the train tracks. I saw a tan sedan motoring along. I pretended it was a red two-door with Rice at the wheel and her hanging dangerously out the passenger-side window trying to get my attention and hoping that I'd see her and pull the emergency brake and the train would stop and we'd be reunited.

Our romance borrowed heavily from movies. We were inspired by the over-the-top gestures in the films that had shaped our childhoods and we tried to work them into our relationship. In a world that could be dark and shitty, we managed to provide each other with a reprieve from the lowly day-to-day crap. I wanted her to reach into that bag of tricks and rescue us from this gloomy fate. I believed in our ethereal connection. It was so much better than our flawed, mortal one.

I continued to stare out the window willing that red car to appear. I started to lose hope when the St. Louis arch came into view. She was gone. So was the magic. It was time to make new magic with someone else. Her image was tarnished. She wasn't infallible. And, for the first time, I allowed for the possibility of a replacement. She was amazing and stuff but we didn't last so that meant THE ONE was still out there and she would blow her out of the water. I was excited by the possibilities.

Instead of being crippled by the pain, it recharged me on that journey home. I stepped outside of my experience and momentarily forgot about the circumstances that led me to that window seat in coach on an Amtrak train rolling through the Midwest. I decided to let go of the pain and embrace the adventure.

A little while later I got up to stretch my legs and use the bathroom. On the way back to my seat I caught the eye of a man who was maybe about eight years older than me. His head was clean-shaven and he had a muscular build and a handsome, friendly face. I returned his smile and took my seat. A few minutes later, he moved to a seat across the aisle from mine.

"So are you visiting Chicago?" he asked in a ragged, smoky voice dripping with a Chicago accent.

"No, I'm connecting to a train to New York... if this one gets to Chicago on time!"

"Yeah, this one is really running behind schedule."

"I know! It arrived an hour and a half late this morning."

"Where'd you get on?"

"Jefferson City."

"Is that where you're from?"

"Nope. I'm from New Jersey. I'm on my way home."

"What the heck were you doing in Jefferson City?!"

"Visiting someone."

"You're going all the way to New Jersey by train? Wow, that's a long way to travel."

"Yeah, I know. It's not by choice, believe me. I had to cut short my vacation and head back home. I couldn't change my plane ticket so this was my only option."

"I"m sorry to hear that. I hope everything's okay? I don't mean to be nosy or anything but I hope nothing bad happened to make you go home early."

"No, it's okay. It's a long story. I don't want to get into it but no one's sick or died or anything..."

"Oh, that's good. Again, I didn't mean to be nosy..."

"No, not nosy at all! Thank you for asking. So... you're from Chicago, I presume?"

"Yup. Chi-Town."

We exchanged names and pleasantries. I think his name was Chris. I can't really remember. I do remember that he visited the Lake of Ozarks every summer and was on his way back to Chicago after a week's vacation. He was a really nice guy. He was a bit shy. Despite his good looks, I had the feeling that he didn't do so well with the ladies. He was sincere and earnest and all those other qualities that send us jaded types fleeing for the hills, unfortunately.

He rested his weight on the left arm rest and looked at me intently.

"I just have to tell you, Curly, that you... you have amazing hair. It's just... incredible."

I reflexively and self-consciously touched my curls.

"I mean, it's just awesome."

"Thank you! That's so nice of you!"

"I bet you get that a lot, don't you?"

There was nothing slimy about his approach. He wasn't feeding me a line and trying to butter me up. He dug my hair and wanted to let me know. After a week of getting my ass kicked, I needed kindness and he provided it. After the ultimate rejection, I needed to feel attractive again and he gave me that too. We exchanged email addresses but I lost it several years ago when my hard drive crashed. (Sorry, Chris!)

I arrived in Chicago with about five minutes to spare. I sprinted through the station with my rolly suitcase skidding behind me. Once on the train, I called her as promised and chased her off the phone when she wanted to start chatting. I was out of breath, tired and wary of pissing off the passengers I would be trapped on a train with for the next 24 hours.

I fell asleep shortly after pulling out of Chicago, slept through Indiana and Ohio and woke up the next morning in Pittsburgh.

On the first day of my two-day journey, I likened my experience to that of Jack Kerouac's. I thought I'd see a few states and meet some interesting cats along the way and write about them. By the time we rolled into Harrisburg, my attitude had changed completely. Fuck On the Road! I was fidgety and restless. I was confined to an uncomfortable seat on the aisle in coach and the only book I had with me -- Tuesdays with Morrie -- was depressing the shit out of me.

Just as I busted out my Walkman, my neighbor in the coveted window seat thought it would be an ideal time to strike up conversation. Rule of Thumb: If you want to prompt conversation with a stranger on public transportation, simply slip on a pair of headphones.

She was a nice woman in her 60s. She was a frequent Amtrak rider because she was afraid of flying. After some polite-yet-dry banter, she went back to her knitting and I resumed stewing in my own juices.

At last, the train pulled into Penn Station. I never thought I'd say this but I was really happy to see Newark.

I got home and took an extra long shower to wash two days of train off of me. My answering machine was loaded with messages from friends checking up on me as well as one from her.

"Just wanted to make sure you got home okay. I miss you already."

I was in no mood to call her back. I was tired, grouchy, pissed and still smarting from the whole experience. I sent a quick email.

Got your message. I just got home. My trip was fine. Long but fine. I don't recommend traveling by train that far. Have a good night.

-- Curly

No "I love you" or funny recap of my journey. I did love her and did want to keep her posted on all of my minute details but I couldn't. We were in a new phase. I had to begin the process of reclassifying our relationship and retraining myself -- and her -- that we were just friends.

>> Go to Part Thirteen

-- Part One
-- Part Two
-- Part Three
-- Part Four
-- Part Five
-- Part Six
-- Part Seven
-- Part Eight
-- Part Nine
-- Part Ten
-- Part Eleven

how well do you know your ham & cheese on wry? -- the answers revealed!

So this post is geared to all three or four of you who actually took the quiz. Oh how the rest of you disappoint me! Those of you who did take the quiz legitimately (and no, Grace, you don't qualify), I'll be contacting you about the wee gift you'll be receiving. The rest of y'all can suck it. And I mean that in the nicest way possible, of course.

1. Which condiment do I loathe?
(a) Mustard
(b) Ketchup
(c) Mayonnaise
(d) All of the above

I have an irrational fear of mayonnaise. I cannot be persuaded to like it. So don't try. End of discussion.
Related Link: things I'm not ashamed to admit... but probably should be

2. True or False: I like stucco.

False-a-rooni! If I may quote myself, "Texture freaks me the fuck out." So cement bumps? Ewww!
Related Link: weirdo

3. Where did I buy my bike?
(a) REI
(b) Modell's
(c) K-Mart
(d) Nowhere. I totally stole it from Lance Armstrong.

Lance's titanium lock foiled my attempt at theft so I got over my shame and made a purchase at K-Mart. J'adore my Kick-Ass K-Mart Bike.
Related Link: curly's big adventure

4. Which term did The Lovely Jess and I coin to describe a straight woman who is the platonic friend of a lesbian?
(a) Less-bian
(b) Rug rat
(c) Sapphony
(d) In denial

The Lovely Jess solicited suggestions from her readership and then I wrote up a wee press release announcing our tacky term. Even if no one else cares, I for one am proud of our joint effort to represent this minority. If we don't speak out for the rug rats, who will?
Related Links: hear ye, hear ye and curly's platonic girlfriend

5. Which NY-1 personality do I think needs to be beaten?
(a) Pat Kiernan
(b) George Whipple
(c) Shelley Goldberg
(d) Gary Anthony Ramsay

George Whipple would seem like the obvious answer but that man needs to be tweezed more than beaten. I don't like him very much but Shelley Goldberg, the parenting expert, makes me positively irate. If I were to encounter her in the street, I can't guarantee that I wouldn't inflict severe bodily harm. I suppose I just ruined whatever chances I had of making the NYer of the Week...
Related Link: things i've pondered in front of the tv this morning while drinking my chock full o' nuts

6. True or False: I like Creed.

Hate them with a passion. But I love the fact that Scott Stapp is having a really bad week.
Related Link: frequently asked questions

7. Who is my favorite Beatle?
(a) Ringo
(b) George
(c) Paul
(d) Dung

Listening to "I Dig Love" right now as a matter of fact.
Related Link: george and remedy

8. Where was I when a stranger sucked my toes?
(a) Nine West
(b) Central Park
(c) Fetish convention
(d) NYC subway

I thought that would be easy to guess even if you didn't know the story. It's the subway, for fuck's sake...
Related Link: my left foot

9. Which singer did I compare myself to (looks-wise) after perusing high-school era photos of myself in a family album?
(a) Corey Hart
(b) John Oates
(c) Englebert Humperdink
(d) Kenny Loggins

My dark, curly mullet and hint of a 'stache made me look very similar to the shorter half of Hall & Oates (unfortunately). Although, I have to say that John's aged better than Hall who now looks eerily similar to Vincent from Beauty & The Beast.
Related Link: on bridal showers and bad fashion sense

10. What television show inspired a precocious 8-year-old me to ask my flustered parents, "What's a virgin?"?
(a) The Facts of Life
(b) Family Ties
(c) Romper Room
(d) The Love Boat

I learned that word during a vignette starring Erin from The Waltons and the curly-haired brunette dude from CHiPs. He was the cop who drove a patrol car, not a motorcycle. He wanted to get into Erin's pants but was stonewalled by her decision to not give up The Big V. Needless to say, my parents did not appreciate my recap and follow-up questions.
Related Link: long before the fcc...

11. What song did some kid in Prospect Park sing to me?
(a) "I Am Woman" by Helen Reddy
(b) "Thousand Miles" by Vanessa Carlton
(c) "Ten Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed" by Unknown
(d) "You Can Do It (Put Your Ass Into It)" by Ice Cube

I was serenaded by a little boy to point out my obvious whiteness. That kid totally housed me. I had no good reply. Well played, fucker.
Related Link: this here sucka got served

12. True or False: Someone found this site by Googling "comebacks for if someone calls you a freckle fart"

That term and "diapered by younger sister" still make me giggle.
Related Link: in the merry old land of oz

13. Which hirsute actor did I have an erotic dream about?
(a) Robin Williams
(b) Steve Carell
(c) Alec Baldwin
(d) Mr. Snuffleupagus

Oh how I wish (d) was the right answer. What a blog entry that would have made!
Related Link: here's an interesting question for ya...

14. Which of the following cartoon characters did I call "a cunt"?
(a) Penelope Pitstop
(b) Alexandra from Josie & The Pussycats
(c) Betty Rubble
(d) Peppermint Patty

Don't front. You know she totally is.
Related Link: on thanksgiving and why i think peppermint patty is a big ol' bitch

15. Which of the following cartoon characters did I call "a total douche bag"?
(a) Tom from Tom & Jerry
(b) Albert the Mouse from 'Twas the Night Before Christmas
(c) Mr. Slate from The Flintstones
(d) Elmer Fudd

See above.
Related Link: the alan alda sensitivity project: holiday edition

16. Which of the following TV dads did I call "a bit of a buttinsky"?
(a) Tony Micelli from Who's the Boss?
(b) Jason Seaver from Growing Pains
(c) Steve Douglas from My Three Sons
(d) Charles Ingalls from Little House on the Prairie

Mejack disagrees but I still maintain that Pa totally had a God complex and wasn't shy about spreading God's love in the form of a good ass-kicking.
Related Link: the alan alda sensitivity project or what i learned from TV

17. Which of the following celebrities does NOT have bad breath according to me?
(a) Bill O'Reilly
(b) Frances Sternhagen
(c) Christopher Guest
(d) Jeff Goldblum

Christopher Guest can do no wrong in my eyes. I don't have it on good authority that the rest of them have stanky breath but they just look like they do. Work with me.
Related Link: olfactory onomatopoeia

18. Which cereal did I magically produce from my pajamas one morning?
(a) Total
(b) Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch
(c) Grape Nuts
(d) Cream of Wheat

I've pitched this trick to David Blaine but so far, he hasn't returned any of my calls. If I feel like slumming, I guess I'll give David Copperfield a ring.
Related Link: watch me make this peanut butter cap'n crunch disappear

19. Which brand of beer did I throw at a roach in my apartment?
(a) Rolling Rock
(b) Pete's Wicked Ale
(c) Leffe
(d) Brooklyn Lager

I wouldn't waste good Leffe or Brooklyn on a pest. No, I lie. My fear of vermin exceeds my beer snobbery by a mile. Or snobbery of any beverage, really. Hell, I would douse a bug with Cristal if I had to.
Related Link: extermination alternatives

20. True or False: I had a childhood crush on Bobby Vinton.

Shut up. His mastery of polka tunes was hot and you know it. For those of you who have NO idea who I'm even talking about, click here.
Related Links: roll out the barrel and things I'm not ashamed to admit... but probably should be

Thanks for playing!

an open letter to the building facilities person(s) in charge of ordering paper goods for the bathroom at my job

Dear Building Facilities Person(s) in Charge of Ordering Paper Goods for the Bathroom at My Job:

While I don't expect my tush to be treated to the gentle and forgiving cotton of Quilted Northern here at work, I was just a bit chagrined to discover a new brand of parchment-like T.P. occupying the stalls today.

If I wanted to roll out some phyllo dough or draft a new version of the Declaration of Independence, this would be suitable paper stock. It is less than ideal, however, for wiping one's backside.

Lest you think I'm being a prima-donna, I assure you I have the greater good in mind when lodging this complaint. I dare say that scratchy toilet paper cannot be good for long-term company morale. It's simple math, really: A sore ass = a disgruntled employee.

And think of the potential absenteeism! And the cost of all the hemorrhoid doughnuts that will no doubt appear on numerous employee expense reports!

Please take this under advisement when placing your next order. If not, kindly plant a big wet one on my chapped, irritated ass. No, really, please kiss it as it might help soothe the burn.

Sincerely,

Curly McDimple

how well do you know your ham & cheese on wry?

Who's up for a wee quiz? Why not test your knowledge of this here blog and increase my page views -- and ego -- in the process?!?! I'll start out with 20 questions. If there's a good response, maybe I'll do more. But that's up to you since y'all might not even give a crap. We'll soon find out, I guess.

Some of these are multiple choice. There are a few true/false scattered in there as well. Some might be obvious but there are quite a few tough ones, I admit. You might need to dig a little bit but keep in mind that there's a search box* in the right sidebar on all pages. Consider it a scavenger hunt... uh, a scavenger hunt with no real reward or incentive to complete. It's a good time-waster though! That I can promise you.

Ready?

1. Which condiment do I loathe?
(a) Mustard
(b) Ketchup
(c) Mayonnaise
(d) All of the above

2. True or False: I like stucco.

3. Where did I buy my bike?
(a) REI
(b) Modell's
(c) K-Mart
(d) Nowhere. I totally stole it from Lance Armstrong.

4. Which term did The Lovely Jess and I coin to describe a straight woman who is the platonic friend of a lesbian?
(a) Less-bian
(b) Rug rat
(c) Sapphony
(d) In denial

5. Which NY-1 personality do I think needs to be beaten?
(a) Pat Kiernan
(b) George Whipple
(c) Shelley Goldberg
(d) Gary Anthony Ramsay

6. True or False: I like Creed.

7. Who is my favorite Beatle?
(a) Ringo
(b) George
(c) Paul
(d) Dung

8. Where was I when a stranger sucked my toes?
(a) Nine West
(b) Central Park
(c) Fetish convention
(d) NYC subway

9. Which singer did I compare myself to (looks-wise) after perusing high-school era photos of myself in a family album?
(a) Corey Hart
(b) John Oates
(c) Englebert Humperdink
(d) Kenny Loggins

10. What television show inspired a precocious 8-year-old me to ask my flustered parents, "What's a virgin?"?
(a) The Facts of Life
(b) Family Ties
(c) Romper Room
(d) The Love Boat

11. What song did some kid in Prospect Park sing to me?
(a) "I Am Woman" by Helen Reddy
(b) "Thousand Miles" by Vanessa Carlton
(c) "Ten Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed" by Unknown
(d) "You Can Do It (Put Your Ass Into It)" by Ice Cube

12. True or False: Someone found this site by Googling "comebacks for if someone calls you a freckle fart"

13. Which hirsute actor did I have an erotic dream about?
(a) Robin Williams
(b) Steve Carell
(c) Alec Baldwin
(d) Mr. Snuffleupagus

14. Which of the following cartoon characters did I call "a cunt"?
(a) Penelope Pitstop
(b) Alexandra from Josie & The Pussycats
(c) Betty Rubble
(d) Peppermint Patty

15. Which of the following cartoon characters did I call "a total douche bag"?
(a) Tom from Tom & Jerry
(b) Albert the Mouse from 'Twas the Night Before Christmas
(c) Mr. Slate from The Flintstones
(d) Elmer Fudd

16. Which of the following TV dads did I call "a bit of a buttinsky"?
(a) Tony Micelli from Who's the Boss?
(b) Jason Seaver from Growing Pains
(c) Steve Douglas from My Three Sons
(d) Charles Ingalls from Little House on the Prairie

17. Which of the following celebrities does NOT have bad breath according to me?
(a) Bill O'Reilly
(b) Frances Sternhagen
(c) Christopher Guest
(d) Jeff Goldblum

18. Which cereal did I magically produce from my pajamas one morning?
(a) Total
(b) Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch
(c) Grape Nuts
(d) Cream of Wheat

19. Which brand of beer did I throw at a roach in my apartment?
(a) Rolling Rock
(b) Pete's Wicked Ale
(c) Leffe
(d) Brooklyn Lager

20. True or False: I had a childhood crush on Bobby Vinton.

Kindly put your answers in the comments. Thanks!

--------------------------------------------------------
* I changed some file names several months ago and Google is still returning some results with the old names. Translation: Error pages. If you view the Cached Snapshot of the error page, you'll see the original. Sorry for the inconvenience.

sexual highjinks and a sticky hymn

I loves me some WYSIWYG, rally I do. Last night's "Worst. Sex. Ever. III: When Bad Sex Happens to Good People" was as hilarious as I imagined it would be.

Once again, my hooting-type laughter blew out the eardrums of those unfortunate enough to be sitting near me. Uh... sorry 'bout that, guys. Let me know if I can kick in a few bucks to help defray the cost of your sign language lessons.

The entire line-up was amazing but Emily Deprang really had me howling with her tale of oral sex gone just a bit awry. I mean, to be able to somehow equate her technique with a pantomime seen on Who's Line Is It Anyway? Well, that was just genius, in my opinion. Well done, Emily.

I look forward to checking out all of the bloggers showcased last night. Here they are if you'd like to do the same:

-- Todd Levin

-- John "Jonno" D'Addario

-- Hanne Blank

-- Greg Walloch

-- Desiree Burch

-- The Assimilated Negro

-- Audacia Ray

-- Emily Deprang

-- dj:ayden

On an unrelated (I think) note, I have "Nearer My God to Thee" stuck in my head this morning. Um, make of that what you will...

one of those days

If someone would be so kind as to hook me up with this here apparatus, I promise to love you forever... or at least until the coffee runs out.

Tee hee hee. I said "apparatus."

re: the muppets (part eleven)

Here's the next installment of my lengthy tome. Please click here for Parts One through Ten.

~ Part Eleven ~

Each day was more painful than the next. In one moment she was hugging me, holding my hand and running her fingers through my hair. In the next, she was snapping at me and brushing me off if I dared touch her. If there was to be affection shown, it was to be her call. It seemed like she had outgrown me and was resentful that I hadn't enjoyed a similar "evolution."

I was demoted from in-demand rock star to dreaded barnacle. Lowercase Ed was her source of excitement. I was a mere pain in the ass.

My friends from home called me regularly and emailed me every day with words of support and promises to go to "girly gay bars" with me when I got home. Their rallying from miles away compared to her bitchiness close by made me so homesick. It was a complete role reversal. Just months prior, I felt ill at ease with my friends and completely at home with her. I was grateful for achieving new heights with my old friends but I wished it hadn't come at such a dear price.

It was so bizarre to feel strange around her. I tried to look in her eyes and find her and reclaim that space we once shared but it was pointless. This person wasn't her. This girl was mean, cold and heartless. My little Okie girl was nowhere to be found. In her place was The Bad Seed.

Another day went by and her attitude again kicked what was left of my tattered, bony ass. I sat on the roof of her dorm with her and Rice, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. It was the roof she often told me about. She'd go up there and sit under the stars and think of me. She'd close her eyes and imagine that I was there with her holding her in my arms. On that night she stared off into space, no doubt dreaming of Lowercase Ed's embrace.

I tried my best to make the most of the situation but she was testy and impatient with me. At one point, she left me and Rice alone and went off to sit on her own. I officially had enough. Reconciliation seemed elusive but I could at least rescue my pride.

"Is there a Greyhound station around here?" I asked Rice.

"I don't know. I'm sure there is. Why? Wait, you're not thinking of taking the bus home?!"

"I am. I can't take this anymore. Look how she's treating me. I can't stand it."

"You can't take a bus from here to New York!"

"What choice do I have?! I can't change my plane ticket and I can't afford to buy a new one. Greyhound can't be more than $200, right?"

"I'll ask around and find out where the bus is. But don't make any decisions yet. Just sleep on it. Maybe tomorrow you'll feel better. You shouldn't make any decisions when you're this upset."

On the way back inside Rice pulled her aside and told her I planned to high-tail it out of Missouri on four wheels. She confronted me about it in bed that night.

"Curly, you can't take the bus home. That's retarded. I took it to Tulsa once and it was awful. You can't go all the way to New York. We'll figure this out. But you're definitely not taking the bus home."

"Well then I'm getting a hotel room or something. I can't stay here with you anymore. I hate it here. I just want to go home but I'm stuck in this fucking place! I want to go home so bad! I don't know why I ever came here."

And then I covered my face with my hands and bawled bitter, flowing tears. I don't think I've ever wept so openly in front of someone like that.

"I hate seeing you cry," she said with a mix of impatience and shock.

I could tell she was scared. Whether she wanted to admit or not, she knew she was partly responsible for the anorexic-looking shattered mess of a woman weeping in her bed. She didn't say much but the look on her face spoke volumes. Isolating her feelings for me and treating me like shit were coping mechanisms for her and up until then, they were working. But her conscience started to eat away at her. She thought she successfully removed our history and memories from her mind. If I stayed far away, she never would have faced the repercussions. But there I was to remind her of them.

I was glad she finally got that much-needed slap in the face. She had it coming after all. She had the right to break up with me of course, but she didn't have the right to conveniently forget why I was in such an emotional tangle. What was once her goal -- my love -- was now a source of scorn. It was like a big, hairy wart on the tip of my nose that made her look away in disgust. She was so caught up in the fun and excitement of her budding relationship with Lowercase Ed that she forgot that it might cause me pain.

But my protruding bones reminded her of responsibility in the whole messy affair. My tears were evidence of her complicity. She no longer had the neat, tidy ending she envisioned and convinced herself of to rationalize being with Lowercase Ed. My presence there reminded her that delusions were nothing more than a brief mental vacation, not a permanent residence. And she hated and resented me for it. I was a shattered, quivering wreck in part because of a decision she made.

In fairness, I was an accident waiting to happen. I can't blame my complete emotional collapse on her. I was a delicate ecosystem to begin with. Her method of breaking up with me and her behavior afterwards were both atrocious but I do claim responsibility as well. It's unfair and erroneous to only blame her. This exercise isn't to crucify her. She was a young, confused girl. It doesn't excuse her asshole-like behavior but at least it makes a bit more sense. She was 20 years old. Hell, I don't even remember being 20. I can't comfortably say that I would have acted any better at that age.

I continued my crying fit until I exhausted myself and fell asleep. The next day, Monday, I looked up fares on Amtrak's website. While not an ideal means of travel, it was better than a bus. I purchased a coach ticket (couldn't afford a sleeper car) departing Jefferson City, Missouri on Wednesday morning and arriving in Newark Penn Station on Thursday night.

At her request, I didn't leave right away. She wanted a little more time together since the trip thus far had been awful. Once my ticket was purchased, I was noticeably happier. I couldn't wait to go home but I granted her one more day to try to end things on a better note. I was feeling better at least. And I had gained some perspective at last. I was disappointed in the outcome but her behavior towards me further illustrated just how young she was. I reminded myself that I got involved with her against my better judgment. She was a little girl who got into something way over her head. She probably wasn't gay. She was just experimenting, blah, blah, blah. I don't know that I fully believed that but my mind craved reasoning and logic before it could begin the process of moving on. The truth I created in my head was painful but it was at least substantial and made some sense. I felt like I was ready to start the process of moving on.

Later that night, I sat down with Rice and had a long talk. She and I had really hit it off during this trip. She made me feel welcome and comfortable while my ex-girlfriend treated me like the plague. She was bummed that I was leaving early and under sad circumstances. She wanted to keep in touch with me so I stopped by her room to give her my contact information. What was intended to be a quick exchange of email addresses turned into a lengthy discussion.

Since the day I arrived, I spoke to Rice and Breezy under the assumption that they knew I was their friend's ex-girlfriend and that our relationship was of a sexual nature. It wasn't a silly assumption on my part because she told me that she had finally confided in her friends.

When Rice talked to me when I first arrived, she looked a bit perplexed when I alluded to the break up. It turns out my ex-girlfriend had left out several key details, namely the "girlfriend" part. The perspective I gained earlier? Shot to hell.

Rice and Breezy had their suspicions all along but she denied it when they asked her. After Lowercase Ed arrived on the scene and I had my meltdown, they were led to believe that I was just a friend who developed romantic feelings that were in no way returned. It was just a "close friendship." So, until I cleared things up, Rice and Breezy thought I was a closeted lesbian who tried courting their straight friend. Understandably, Rice didn't appreciate her friend's deception nor the awkward position it put her in.

"I am so livid right now," Rice said. "She lied to us. Repeatedly! I'm also sorry that I had to be the one to tell you this, Curly."

I was angry, hurt, confused, pissed, outraged and sad. But mostly I felt defeated. She betrayed me. Her. Of all people. Dumping me for someone else was almost understandable but to deny the existence of our relationship was unforgivable.

"This is so fucked up," I said while shaking my head in disbelief. "I cannot believe this is happening. I didn't imagine this relationship, Rice. I swear I didn't. It was real!"

"I know. I know. She has a lot of explaining to do. She's been lying to us all this time. And I've asked her repeatedly if there was anything going on with the two of you and she denied it time and time again. And I've been observing you two for the past few days. I see what she's doing to you being all cold one minute and touchy-feely the next. It's not fair to you and it's not fair to Lowercase Ed. I'm friends with him and I don't think he'd appreciate the fact that while he's in Arizona [attending grad school], she's here acting all flirty with her ex-girlfriend. Clearly, he doesn't know about the two of you."

"Well, she didn't tell him about me at first and when I found out, I went OFF on her. So she called me the next day and claimed that she told him everything. But then again, she also told me that she told you and Breezy the whole story..."

"What's scary, Curly, is that I think she actually thinks she told us the whole story."

"That just further proves what I've thought all along -- she's living in her own warped reality. I've been so upset mostly because she's being really selective with elements of our relationship. Like, in her mind, her version is true. She's recreated our history or something. It's one thing to tell you guys that version but she's trying to get me to go along with it. That's what made me so crazy. I couldn't accept that and I did my best to fight back from so far away. I mean, that's why I came here... I think. I don't know."

"God, what was she thinking? And, she knows you're in here with me and we're practically whispering. Isn't she curious? What the hell does she think we're in here talking about?"

"I don't know. Isn't she afraid that you and I are going to put two and two together? Or maybe she doesn't care. I just don't know anymore. God, my head is throbbing."

"I'm sorry, Curly. Are you okay?" Rice asked sympathetically.

"I... I'm just stunned. Never in a million years did I think she was capable of this. Never. I mean, I wasn't a complete fool. I allowed for the possibility that we might break up one day but oh my God, never did I think this would happen. She's totally denying being in an actual relationship. And she was! I swear on it, Rice!"

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. What I do know is that leaving here just got a whole hell of lot easier. I needed closure and I think I got it. I mean, I have a lot to deal with still, obviously, but at least it's a start. It's hard to see it right now but there's a lesson in all of this. Bit by bit, it's unfolding. But the major thing is that I've finally dealt with the fact that I had a lesbian relationship. I came out to most of my friends. Unlike her, I'm no longer living a lie."

"God! I can't tell you how many times me and Breezy asked her if you two were girlfriends and she denied it. The thing is, we don't even care. That would never matter us. She knows that. I'm pissed and really offended that she wouldn't trust us. I have SO many gay friends!"

"Well, in her defense, it's no reflection on you or your attitudes. I kept it a secret from all of my friends. I did not want to admit that I was gay. I didn't want to say it out loud. It was just easier to project my own fear onto my friends. I justified my secrecy by repeatedly telling myself that no one else would understand. But it was MY problem that kept me silent, you know?"

"You never told anyone?!"

"Nope. No one. God, it was hard. And not just after she broke up with me. It's hard to be so in love with someone and not be able to tell anyone. I was so happy with her and part of me wanted to scream it to anyone who would listen. But I was scared. And it took its toll on me and us. She was scared too and at times, she checked out of our relationship. But other times, she was SO proud of it and was all waving the rainbow flag and wanted to do all these lesbian things. She was always talking to Lesbian Friend from School about us."

"Okay, now that REALLY pisses me off. She's not even close with her! I'm supposed to be her one of her best friends."

"She's scared, Rice. The girl's got issues. I mean, so do I but she's taking it to a whole other level. At this point, I don't know who she's being honest with. She told me repeatedly that I know her better than anyone else. She's been pleading with me to understand that. It's like she wants me to acknowledge that she's living a double-life and just accept it. I'm trying to be understanding that she's young and got in over her head but she's not taking responsibility for her actions. She just wants me to somehow magically be okay with this. Like it's a pill I can swallow or something. Maybe she can do that but I can't. And I won't."

"Are you going to go in there and confront her about this?"

"I don't know. I mean, what's the point? I'm absolutely disgusted with her. I didn't even want to come here but something told me I had to. And now, thanks to you, I have the answer."

"I'm so sorry."

"No, don't be. I came, I saw, I got my ass handed to me by a confused, little girl. I've got one more day here and then I never have to see or speak to her again. I'm tired, Rice. I tried to fight for her -- for us -- but there's no point now. I don't even want friendship at this point. I never thought I'd say this but... she's shady. I don't trust her. She's selfish and I kinda can't stand her. I mean, I love her -- which is a problem -- but I don't like her. At all."

"She's really confused, Curly. I know she loves you more than anything. And I know that she wants your friendship more than anything in the world. But, well, she has to learn that actions have consequences. She made a decision and she has to live with it."

"Yeah, and that's the thing because, so far, she hasn't taken responsibility for her decision. Whatever, she's entitled to not choose me but I'm entitled to not like it. But she hates the fact that I'm not following her lead. Instead, I'm actually feeling this, you know? Yes, I'm a complete mess but I'm at least dealing with this. But, whatever, it's time to move on. I have to go home and take care of myself. If this is how she wants to live her life, fine. I want no part of it."

"Just so you know, I'm going to approach her about this when you leave. All of it."

"Be my guest. I stand by everything I said. I'm not embellishing or exaggerating the nature of our relationship. I mean, I'm not one to kiss and tell but well... she might not consider herself a lesbian now but she sure as hell acted like one. And quite believably, I might add. Again, it's not my style to discuss my personal business but I wasn't some lecherous lesbian on the prowl. She instigated things just as much."

"I don't doubt it. She would light up whenever she spoke about you... which was ALL the time!! And she used to say to me and Breezy, 'You know, I don't need a husband. I could live with Curly the rest of my life and be completely happy.' In her own way, she was telling us, I guess. But don't worry. I do believe you. I saw how happy she was with you."

"Yeah. We were really happy. I mean, it wasn't perfect and obviously, we had a lot of problems but it was really remarkable at times, you know? If I could have married that girl, I would have."

My voice trailed off and my mind wandered into something akin to a slow-motion tribute, similar to those ones shown on the Olympics that are always set to Sarah McLachlan's "I Will Remember You."

"What are you thinking about?" asked Rice.

"Her. And how this is so NOT where I imagined us. Ever. I wonder what she'll say when you confront her."

"I have no idea."

"I'd be interested to find out. I better go back before she gets suspicious. I'm tired and I don't want to discuss this with her tonight. I just don't."

I returned to her room projecting an appearance of cool detachment while inside a rage festered and churned.

>> Go to Part Twelve

-- Part One
-- Part Two
-- Part Three
-- Part Four
-- Part Five
-- Part Six
-- Part Seven
-- Part Eight
-- Part Nine
-- Part Ten

i'm lame

Guess who got scared off by a bit o' snow? Yes, my friends, I missed out on the highly-anticipated Blarg Hop. The idea of me staggering home drunk in a foot of snow or doing doughnuts on the Brooklyn Bridge in a cab was less than appealing. So, instead, I ate Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch while watching Naomi Watts get her lesbo on in Mulholland Dr. That shit was h-o-t, yo.

Anyhoo, I'm anxiously awaiting reports from the hearty souls who made the trek down Christopher Street. Sorry I wussed out, guys. Here's hoping another one is in the works!

re: the muppets (part ten)

Here's the next installment of my lengthy tome. Please click here for Parts One through Nine.

~ Part Ten ~

In the weeks in between receiving the letter and going to Missouri, I dropped about 20 pounds easily. One hundred pounds on a 5'8" frame is not attractive. I was gaunt and sickly. I had no appetite whatsoever. Dreaming about reconciliation nourished me. Figuring out where it all went wrong was my food source. Memories of her sustained me. It got to the point that even when I did eat, I couldn't hold it down. My body rejected what I ate. The pounds melted away. I was but a mere skeleton.

My parents had returned from their cruise. I avoided my mother as much as I could. Even without my dramatic physical change, my mother always knew when something was wrong with me. I avoided conversations. I came home, went to my room and stayed there. I spoke to my friends and that was it. For every new opening I had given them, I closed that many more with my immediate family.

There was a knock on my bedroom door one evening. It was my younger sister.

"Whatcha doing?" she asked.

"Nothing, really. Just watching television."

"Mind if I watch with you."

It was more of a statement than a request. She took a seat on my bed without waiting for a reply.

My younger sister and I used to watch TV all the time together. Beverly Hills, 90210, Melrose Place and Party of Five were events in our house, not because of the action on the small screen but rather because of our running commentary throughout. Each week, we starred in our version of Mystery Science Theater 3000. But work, life and TV execs got in the way and schedules changed and shows were cancelled. Appointment television became extinct. Her desire to watch some non-descript sitcom struck me as odd but I agreed anyway.

She tried making small talk but my answers were rushed and curt. She persisted anyway. And then she clutched her knees, pulled them close and said in a soft and almost cheerful voice,

"Curly, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm fine. Just tired."

"I think something's wrong."

"No, I'm fine... I just..."

And I looked at my sister and her facial expression told me everything I needed to know. She was giving me a chance to open up. Her look suggested I should take it. I've always said I know who I can tell. I don't just blurt out my secret to just anyone because that's not how I operate, with any facet of my life. It's not always deliberate. I'm not wired to be completely forthcoming. If I know you, like you and most of all, trust you, I'll give you some insight. I may even refrain from biting your head off if you get impatient and start asking questions before access is officially granted. But there are no guarantees. Most people who know me understand that they must let the mountain come to them. Or, at the very least, they don't get all bent out of shape when I tell them to stop being nosy.

"Curly, tell me."

And so I did. I told my sister. I broke down and cried my way through it but I told her I was gay and I told her who my girlfriend was and filled her in on the whole sordid tale. Oh my God, it was such a relief to have someone in my family know. That was by far the most cleansing conversation I had. My younger sister, my best friend, now knew the story. She understood why I was such a wreck.

And she was amazing. She was sympathetic. And she told me she already knew but wanted to hear me say it myself. She figured it out when I came back from Oklahoma. And it weirded her out a little bit but she couldn't discount the glow I emitted during that time we were together. She told me she thought to herself repeatedly, "Oh my God, my sister is lesbian." But then she realized that I was finally happy and that was enough for her.

She had her concerns about the age difference. She wondered if that young girl was really gay. My sister sized her up when she came to stay with our family. She thought to herself, "She better not be confused. Curly is the wrong person to be confused with." My sister knows I'm not silly. She knows I don't develop crushes easily. She knows that when I invest in something, I don't do it half-assed. When something captures my imagination, I go full-throttle. She knows I tend to become like a speeding car and she hoped I'd avoid a devastating crash.

"You know you can't tell Mom and Dad, right?"

I nodded through my tears.

"Just do me a favor... Tell Mom you're okay. She's really worried about you. You've lost so much weight and she's scared. She's asking me questions. Just tell her something."

"I'll make something up. I'll tell her I'm just frustrated with my career or something. I don't know. I'll think of something."

"Promise me you'll start eating again. You're too skinny!"

"I'll try. Each day it gets a little easier to eat. Now that I'm not dealing with this by myself, you know?"

"Who else did you tell?"

She teared up and smiled as she listened to how each of my friends embraced me when I needed it most.

"How did Best Friend Since Kindergarten take it?"

Best Friend Since Kindergarten was a hawkish conservative who was known to say things like, "Sorry but homosexuality is just not natural." We were at a club on/around my 21st birthday and two girls stood on a platform and started gyrating together and making out. BFSK was beside herself with outrage. I grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around so that she couldn't see the two women.

"Jesus, relax! It's not like they're hitting on you."

"Yeah, seriously. Don't flatter yourself!" piped in another friend.

"It's just disgusting! I don't want to see that," BFSK protested.

"So don't look!" the rest of us screamed in unison.

"You know, BFSK, they say that the reason some people become so agitated and feel so threatened by homosexuals is because they're repressing their own latent homosexual des--"

"OH SHUT THE FUCK UP, CURLY!"

But BFSK was remarkable when I came out to her (as discussed here). I was so scared to tell her but she was beyond amazing. Confiding in my friends and my younger sister was a huge help. I was still a sobbing bag of bones but somehow, it was still an improvement.

She called me up one night.

"I just wanted to let you know that I told Rice and Breezy about us."

"You did? What did they say?"

"They're sad. They looked forward to getting to know you better. They want us to still be friends."

"I told BFSK."

"Wow. BFSK, really?! How did she take it?"

"She was incredible. All of my friends are. If anything good has come out of this, it's that I discovered what awesome friends I have. I'm really lucky."

She was still campaigning to be my best friend so every mention of my improved relationships with my other friends reduced her stature as my go-to person for everything. I knew it stung. It was the only ammunition I had so I flung it at her. She hesitated and then spoke haltingly:

"Well, I'm... glad you were able... to tell them."

"Yeah, my friends are unbelievable. I also told DD and she cried."

"She did?"

"Yes. She's never known me to have a broken heart. She's always cried to me about things. When she heard me so upset, she was crushed. She held it together for me on the phone but broke down when we hung up."

"Wow."

"Yeah and then her husband asked her why she was so upset so she told him. By the way, he's a tough guy from Long Island and he wants to come to Missouri to, and I quote, 'Kick [your] ass.'"

"That's not fair. Those people don't know me."

"Maybe so but they know me and they've never seen me so upset. They're pissed."

"I didn't do anything wrong."

"I disagree."

"Curly, I don't want to get into this again. This is getting us nowhere. Look, I have to go. Please, just promise me that you'll still be my friend..."

"No. You gave me up when you chose to be with Lowercase Ed. You lost all rights."

"I need you. I'm scared, Curly. I need you in my life."

"You've got Lowercase Ed now."

"That's not what I mean. I need YOU more than ever, as my friend. You're the only person I can talk to about things."

"No, I'm not. Don't you see?! You gave that up! That's gone now."

"Curly, it's still ME."

"Stop! Just stop! I don't know who the hell you are anymore. You told me in that letter -- that fucking piece of shit letter! -- that I know you better than anyone else in the world. Well, I don't know you. Not anymore."

"Don't say that. You do know me."

"No I don't! You are so far gone. I have no idea who you are anymore. You're cold and callous and completely indifferent to my feelings. You fucking disappeared for God only knows how many weeks and left me alone. You were off gallivanting around with Lowercase Ed while I was here in agony wondering where the fuck you were! The person I know wouldn't do something like that. And as far as being my friend... you call what you did to me being a friend?! Well, fuck you! I don't know what kind of friendships you have but my friends?! My friends don't act like that."

"Okay, then. It was stupid of me to think it was possible. You're right, Curly. There's no hope for us!" she yelled in exasperation.

"Fine. Have fun with Lowercase Ed."

Dial tone.

After that, we had limited contact. We figured it was best to leave it alone and deal with it when I got to the Midwest. Sending emails and having hysterical phone calls was not going to provide the answers. We had to hash it out in person.

I regret going out there. But I guess I had to. My friends were concerned but they all agreed that it was something I had to do. Some even offered to come with me. But I had to go by myself and figure it out. I had to know. Maybe she'd take one look at me and the old magic would kick in. Or maybe she'd stand firm in her decision.

I called her the night before my trip to give her my flight information.

"Hey, I was thinking... is there any way you can cut short your trip?"

"What?"

"It's just that you'll be staying in the dorm with me and it's going to be hard to sign you in and out. When I'm in class, you'll have to leave with me or you won't be able to get back in..."

"Oh my God! You just realized this NOW?"

"I didn't know the policy was so strict. I want you to stay here the whole time but I don't want you to be cooped up."

"Jesus Christ! Why am I even coming then?"

"I want you to come."

"God. Why did I agree to this? Well, it's too late now. We'll see what happens. I'll call the airline and change my ticket if need be."

I was mortified. Somehow, it seemed that the sign-in/sign-out policy wouldn't have been a problem if she was still my girlfriend. I was already dreading the trip and that conversation added another layer of shit.

The last time I was on a plane to see her, I was a good kind of scared. This time, not so much. She picked me up in Kansas City. I don't even remember walking off the plane. I just remember her leaning up against the wall. She had her hair in braids and was wearing a baseball cap and overalls. She looked adorable. I wanted her to look ugly and unappealing but it wouldn't have mattered if she was tipping the scales at 800 pounds and covered with fever blisters. I loved that girl. The fact that she looked good only complicated things further.

She reached out and gave me a hug. Her touch no longer felt familiar. It was no longer mine. It belonged to him. I processed so many thoughts in that quick embrace. I broke free and we headed over to baggage claim.

"You're shaking," she said as we waited for my suitcase to surface.

"I'm fine," I snapped as I tried to steady my hands.

We stood in silence. I concentrated on the squeaks and rattles of the gyrating carousel.

"There's my bag."

"I've got it," she said while reaching for the navy blue suitcase.

I cut her off. "I can do it myself."

"Stop being so ornery. Let me help you."

Normally I'd kid her about using an Okie word like "ornery" but I was in no mood to joke.

"Just leave it. I've got it!"

"Fine."

We shuffled to the car and headed towards Columbia. We drove past Kauffman Stadium and I thought about a conversation that we had where I told her that when I moved to Missouri, we would have to go see my beloved Yankees whenever they played the Royals.

"Will you be grossed out if I eat a stadium hot dog?" she asked.

"No, just don't expect me to kiss you afterwards... you know, unless you rinse your mouth with a beer first."

"What if I put mayonnaise on my hot dog, take a big bite and then plant a big juicy one right on you?!"

"I'd kill you before I'd ever let that happen."

"You couldn't kill me."

"True. But then again, I wouldn't have to kill you. I'd run away the minute I saw the mayo. I can spot it from a mile away."

"What if I snuck up on you? Or had a packet in my pocket that you couldn't see? Then what would you do?"

"You'd be so dead, toots. But then I'd be so distraught, I'd kill myself afterwards."

"Yeah, you'd miss me too much."

"No, I would be distraught about the mayo. That shit makes me suicidal."

I looked at the large KC on the stadium and pondered how the Royals almost became my local team. And how the highway we were driving on almost became an interstate I would travel often and well. I almost gave up the Turnpike, the Parkway, Route 3, Route 46, etc. I almost traded in Willowbrook as my mall of choice. I almost gave up everything to be close to her. The reality hit me and I realized that all the things I took for granted, all the familiar comforts -- my parents, my three sisters, my beloved niece, my friends, Chuck Scarborough and Sue Simmons, Shop Rite, 24-hour diners, Aldo's, Point Pleasant -- would have been replaced. I would have been so homesick. I would have had a hard time adjusting. But I would have done it all -- gladly -- for and with her.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"Just thinking about how I almost moved here."

She didn't respond. Instead, she concentrated on the road. The rest of the ride was quiet. We were both wary of getting into a fight so we avoided all triggers. For the first time in the history of us, the conversation was dry, dull and lifeless. We couldn't joke with each other. If she was in the mood to be goofy, I wasn't. If I felt like lightening the mood, she wasn't having it. Our rhythm was completely off.

It was hot as fuck in Missouri in August. I immediately changed into shorts and a tank top when we got to her room. She grabbed my hands and lifted my arms and said softly,

"You've gotten so thin. God, Curly, look at your arms."

I indignantly shook her off.

"I'm fine."

She wasn't used to being rebuffed by me. I wasn't used to rebuffing her. We were trapped in simultaneous shock.

"Are you tired? Want to go to bed?" she asked.

"Where am I sleeping?"

"In the bed with me."

"l'll sleep on the floor."

"You're not sleeping on the hard floor. Get in bed."

Shortly after our first meeting, I sent her a "box of me." She had remarked that she loved my scent so I sent her an ounce of Body Shop White Musk Oil, a container of Body Shop Coconut Oil Hair Shine and a bottle of Bath & Body Works Herbal Mist body spray. She had a voracious appetite for all things concerning me so I sent books that I loved, copies of things I had written and the piece de resistance -- half of my security blank. I cut it down the center and entrusted her with this precious holdover from my childhood.

As I surveyed her dorm room, I noticed the blanket folded neatly on her pillow. She still slept with it. I climbed into bed and cuddled it since it was the only thing that felt familiar. It was so strange to be so close to her and not have our hands all over each other. To be so completely out of sync. I wondered what she was thinking. Did I still cast a spell on her?

"So do you think you can change your plane ticket?" she asked.

Any desire I had to touch her melted away with that question. My presence wasn't enough.

"I'll call tomorrow."

I rolled over to get as far away from her as possible. I didn't sleep a wink. I tossed and turned all night. My mind was active, the heat was oppressive and the sound of crickets was deafening. I used to spend my summers in the Catskill Mountains but the insects in upstate New York had nothing on their Midwestern counterparts.

The next morning I called the airline to ask about changing my ticket. Unfortunately my discounted ticket through Priceline meant that it was locked. I couldn't make any changes. I was stuck with it unless I wanted to buy a brand-new ticket. A one-way fare was way out of my price range. I shopped around for a cheap round-trip but the short lead time meant that nothing was under $600. Normally, money would be no object if it meant the end to my misery. But months of charging my exorbitant phone bills courtesy of all-night phone calls with her plus putting gift after gift after gift on my Visa had finally caught up with me. I had about $250 of available credit on my credit card. A new plane ticket was out of reach. I had to live out the 10-day sentence, like it or not. I was already embarrassed and humiliated. I felt like I was just punched in the stomach as further punishment for loving her.

>> Go to Part Eleven

-- Part One
-- Part Two
-- Part Three
-- Part Four
-- Part Five
-- Part Six
-- Part Seven
-- Part Eight
-- Part Nine

blarg hop

Whatcha doin' this Saturday night?! How's about hoisting a few stiff drinks with your favorite blogging 'mos and some of the breeders/half-breeders who love us? It really will be a gay old time. I shamelessly lifted the following details from the illustrious Joe.My.God.:

Event: Blarg Hop (blog + bar hop = blarg hop)

Date: Saturday, February 11th

Place: Christopher Street

Time: 10PM

What: A old school bar crawl down Christopher Street

Who: A veritable cavalcade of gay bloggers and friends, including: Blather And Bosh, CircleInASquare, Glennalicious, Joe.My.God., Moi, Perge Modo, Someone In A Tree, The Lovely Jess, The Ninth Circle Of Helen, Tin Man, The Mark Of Kane, VelleityNYC, We Like Sheep and doubtlessly some others. Bloggers interested in joining us, email Joe.My.God. to add your name to his roster.

Itinerary: (We start at Pieces at 10pm. The bars will be visited in the following order, at least one cocktail per bar, but we allocate no specific duration to any venue in case they like, suck and stuff.)

1. Pieces - 8 Christopher Street
2. Stonewall - 53 Christopher Street
3. Duplex - 61 Christopher Street
4. The Monster - 80 Grove Street
5. Boots & Saddles - 76 Christopher Street
6. Ty's - 114 Christopher Street
7. The Hangar - 115 Christopher Street
8. Chi-Chiz - 135 Christopher Street
9. Dugout - 185 Christopher Street

The rest o' the details can be found here. Join us!

cottonmouth au jus

I'm not dead, I swear. I was away for the weekend and didn't have access to a computer for longer than maybe five minutes at time. As you can imagine, those are less than ideal writing conditions for moi. I did, however, manage to write... on a legal pad. I haven't done that in a while. I felt so retro. Once I transcribe it, I'll have Part 10 up.

The weekend was good. But, as usual, my numbers (8 and 5) in the Super Bowl box pool were bad and I won bupkus. Why do I even bother to gamble? Lady Luck thinks I'm gross and stays far, far away. I should stop trying to court her, no?

Oh and in keeping with the tradition started last Super Bowl weekend, The Adorable Five-Year-Old Niece uttered a priceless statement worthy of a blog entry. It was out of the blue, completely lacked context and said with a dead serious face:

"Sometimes my mouth feels like I just ate roast beef."

The thing is, despite my veggie leanings, I understood exactly what she meant. I ask you -- is there a better way to bond with a child than by explaining the finer points of a Tic-Tac? I think not.

on waving my private parts at your aunties and the birth of a drama dork

I just saw Monthy Python's Spamalot with my father. It was his first Broadway show ever. I don't know what I enjoyed more -- the musical itself or his reaction to it. (For the record, I ADORED the show. I urge you all to grab your coconuts and go!)

If you don't understand the magic of live theater, go see a Broadway show with a first-timer. Your enjoyment will increase exponentially. I got such a kick out of my Dad. He laughed so hard he cried. I inherited his loud, wheezy laugh so the two of us put on quite the show for our neighbors. It sounded like we were engaged in a bout of dueling harmonicas with our chesty chuckles.

I watched my father excitedly flip through his Playbill during intermission. I noticed that he paid extra attention to the "How Many Have You Seen?" section. Methinks a new theater geek was born tonight! He'll soon be drinking his decaf out of a Phantom mug and adorning the fridge with Miss Saigon magnets. He'll no longer host barbecues but rather Jellicle Balls instead. But through my snobby guidance, he'll eventually learn to scoff at Andrew Lloyd Webber (wanker!) and before long, he'll be tsking over the Tony nominations and second-guessing the selections of the Drama Desk.

I cannot wait. Ooh and now I know what to get him for Father's Day! However, I think it wise to maybe break him in a bit more with the big-budget musicals before dragging him off to see, say, Naked Boys Singing, n'est ce pas?

P.S. Part Ten is coming soon. I promise.