Back from the brink.....well, not really, just Toronto, actually. This was the highlight. That should that be "highlite". Good, but I can still remember everything I did, which means it wasn't that good. From what I can gather, T.O. men equate dour hostility with unabashed sex appeal. Like, "fuck you, I'm so hot, no, I mean, I'm actually going to fuck you 'cause I'm so hot". Except these poor guys have been so overbred to avoid rejection, that this phallic chutzpah usually exists for only a fleeting nanosecond. They stare, you blink, they run. Picture wimps with pecs. Ick.
And then there's the whole sex-with-a drunk issue. Fellas, get 'a hold of and use breath mints before you decide to debut your unimaginably sexy self in the bathouse universe. Or, watch carefully if you still insist on drinking around others.
Speaking of shameful semi-public behaviour, how hysterical is this?
For once, just talk to the person you fuck - you might learn something new.
Hi, and a Happy Sunday to you all. Get up, Stand up, Cheer up. Your life is here - so do something. Reign Supreme. Here's a deeply satisfying dose of four-on-the-floor. To give you that special lift. I'm dancing as we speak. It's all good 'n tight, baby.
Listen, this gal could use a little support, by the sounds of it. Bad boss, cancer scares, stuck in mushroom hell. So send her money, OK?
I had an evil boss once, with big bad hair. She was a waste of skin. I take great solace in the fact that she will always be older than me (snicker snicker).
Be nice - you're thinner than you think.
Wednesday, May 22
Oh, hi.....you have to build a relationship with red, darling, it's just not an overnight thing...
Today's perky aphorism is: "In with anger, out with love".
I guess I kinda hope she's reading this, poor thing. Everybody pays when you're that irritating, I suppose - but Miss Scream-on has certainly become the heat-seeker du jour.
Very anxious day....ghosts from the past are definitely present, in the present. Fuck. Which means I'm on my 9th mug of coffee. Which means I'm becoming even more jittery which means I'll problably drop something really important, break it, and, instead of just apologizing, blurt out insensitive gibberish which will offend those around me - you know, all those people who count.
Yes, of course, everyone counts...(barf)....maybe I'll just lay-off the coffee for a while.
On a way less neurotic note, this is fun if you're psycho-stressed, have run out of ativan, and need a diversion. Or, for a tasty bit of schauffenfreude (sometimes it's cool to mis-spell, OK?) to lift spirits and soothe nerves, this guy has it WAY worse than any of us. Well, at least, so I hope. If you're anxious re: flying, a positive attitude/altitude is often the best solution (check out the gay plane).
If nothing helps, use one of these affirmations;
a)Remember, tommorrow is another day (Gone with the Wind, last line)
b)Remember, tommorrow is the first day of the rest of your life (common phrase heard during acid trips...you can just imagine)
See? Everything'sgonnabejust fine.
Monday, May 20
Reality used to be a friend of mine.....(love the song, but that was way too maudlin)
No, it should read "waking up on a damp Sunday and having an ill-lit reflection of your age-appropriate face confronting you is no fucking party" is more to the point. Got to move that damn mirror from the foot of the bed.
This is my point...;
a) I am quite good-looking, have been all my life. It runs in my family. Friends have expressed (sexual) interest in my father, tales of my sister's stalkers are legion, mom fair defines the word "cute". In this genetically-abled atmosphere, I was raised by my parents to regard comeliness somewhat dispassionately, and with a certain amount of nobless oblige - ie., you're lucky & better, but it's not that big a deal, so be nice to everybody else (read = the unwashed masses), come down to their level (never the opposite) and act like you have no idea what's going on.
b) I was also pretty much brutalized in High School for being (obviously) gay, so I developed an acute awareness of how one's appearance has....further ramifications, shall we say?
c) I lack/am unable to acquire certain common social skills (chit chat with strangers, random smiling, knowing what is going on in a given conversation, etc.).
Thus, without the least trace of vanity, I've become, I think, more than normally reliant on looking good to function. It's way easier than talking. Thus, people generally like me (at first), and are more than happy to make mostly positive assumptions concerning my personality, fun quotient, validity. Of course, I often have no idea what others are thinking at the moment, but, if I just keep my mouth shut, things usually turn out OK (getting work, fitting in, being liked). Obviously this pose-vs-talk behaviour has it's pros & cons ( but, frankly, in this case, talk is cheap). My problem is how to learn a new way of functioning....especially in my sunset years.
Did you know you can search for states of mind on the net? Nirvana is only a click away.
Saturday, May 18
"Hello? God, it's me..Margaret."
I used to think most everyone I knew from the past (we're talking college - any earlier and I'd have to be an archealogist) was, at this point, either dead or in rehab.....boy, was I wrong.....
*She was my roomate - cool name, eh? - we were the first non-fucking mixed gender roomies the administration had to contend with. Suprisingly, people were shocked. People still don't get that straight women and gay men make the best co-habitants. Anyways, I used to help Nigel take pics of dead flowers in the Vermont countryside, usually while we were on mushrooms. So much fun....
* This cutie was the first Quaker (look it up yourself) I had ever met. He had/has(?) those perpetually blushing cheeks, it's either endearing (eg. Czech porn) or looks like a rash. Who knew he could write?
* OK, everybody knows the writer of this. Uh, we didn't exactly get along, he thought poorly of the crowd I attached myself to..so, in an act of petty revenge, here are a few things you won't find in the PR - he's not "bi" (he's gay), he didn't do that many drugs, he was already rich (hollywood mafia), and no-one had sex with him. Sorry, but I am mentioned, by name, in the book which is the basis for that linked item above, and, gee, it probably would have been an edifying experience for both of us had he actually decided to talk to me, instead of constructing this bullshit character. Oh, and Hi, Brett....
*She was a sweety I drank with, because She hung with Vinnie (where the hell are you?)....perfect makeup, always. An 80"s Dorothy Parker.
*He was really funny, and always lent me money. Used to be a roadie for Devo and decorated all his apartments to look like motel rooms, complete with Gideon Bibles. Sexy, but claimed he was asexaul because he took, as a concious act, Depo-provera (kills your sex drive). Kind of boy-next-door-from-Mars.
* Best friend lived here when at home from school. Kind of crass, I guess, to describe someone by their abode - except there are no other references I can use and you should've seen the place. The three top floors, terraces for days. Now, he helps dying gay men find housing, and visits them, on his time off, because he gives a shit. He's gorgeous. He's straight. He's a prince. Hi David!
*Her cousin, Rob, I sort of knew - but I spent an inordinate amount of time making fun of him because he got a bit part on Days Of Our Lives, where he appeared for 3 weeks, mostly without a shirt. Didn't talk about Edie much, big family uh-oh, I guess
* This band provided much of the background to various goings on with those mentiond above.....just wanted to link them, that's all.
* Had the sheer luck to share an apartment in NYC with her for a while. As nice in real life as you think. I wrote her out of the blue not too long ago, got a charming reply the next day.
Anyways, this is about as fabu as it gets (today).....but I'll be sure to publish anymore flashbacks.
God knows it's a daily occurrence.
Monday, May 13
A very blaahh day.....stared out the window, listening to oh-so-French sounds of this, from the comfort of our beige study. Speaking of Beige, I went to NYC a few years ago to visit this guy with whom I (mistakenly) thought I was going out. In a fog of anguish and pain (well, not really, he was kind of dork), I sought relief in the form of some serial bar hopping. So, I ended up here. Shortly after I'd ensconced myself on a chair on the Brady Bunch patio (no mean feat), I noticed this cute couple sitting directly in front of me - I thought he was her awfully attractive gay best friend, and since I needed to feel like a Superstar and Highly Desirable, inwardly gloated over the fact that he was staring my way. A lot. Then she starts to approach me and I'm like "shit-Girl-with-problems-wants-me-to-cease-any-further-stare-action-with-gay-friend-she-can-never-sleep-with-....and-that's-not-my-fault-sweety". Of course, I was totally wrong - they were madly in love, had just flown from Scotland, were completely overwhlemed by the City, liked my pants (taupe satin-esque flares with large Chinesey Dragons above the cuffs, last BF stole them) and wanted me to guide them, because, well, they liked my pants.
So then we went to one of the last nights (it turned out) of this superfantastic place. We had a great server, although she too couldn't keep her hands off Angus (the Lad). Afterwards, they wanted to go back to Flushing, Queens (Ick!) where they were staying, but I, uh, demurred (read = wanted to go to bathhouse instead). Felt ever so much better the following day.
Who doesn't love New York?
Sunday, May 12
Yo mama....uh, whatever. So, because there are at least two official mothers around me, we had a quiet, sumptuous dinner en famille . My direct mom hates the word "sumptuous", so I say it to bug her. Salmon poached in butter & cream (with lots of this so that we could practice CPR on each other tommorrow), asparagus, tiny rich-person baby potatoes.
Finally shaved myself, and feel mostly attractive again. Often when people discover I'm jewish, and, therefore, most definitely not a skin-head, they look at me like I'm into the most abberrant fetish ever. It's wierd. Most times I gather they'd prefer I was a skin head. Everyone wants to fuck a nazi at some point, I guess.
Brandy (Brandy?) - yes, Brandy, has this mix of "what about us" (e-smoove mix), that'll make your eyeballs sweat, darling. Listen to mix 133 here, it's like song # 9 or something. Love her (....) now. Shalom.
Saturday, May 11
This morning, I tried, without success to locate a long lost best friend. Her brother Paul was a writer for this show, but she is way much funnier than Paul (even my mother thinks she is funny). Her name is Christine, and she was, among other things, my roomate and constant side-kick on jaunts thru Toronto's gay jungle (scrub brush?). I would not have survived that gauntlet were it not for her a) witty, ascerbic assessments re: the meat on sale and b) her watchful monitoring of my perc/vodka-tonic intake. We use to drive to Buffalo every second weekend and buy Princess Marcelle Borghese facial products, because, well, we liked saying Princess Marcella Borghese. She is one of the few people in front of whom I feel comfrotable crying. She makes a mean rissotto, and likes gay male porn...I could go on, Christine's that cool.
She had a party once for this character, and her reaction to a particular incident which occurred in her bedroom during said party was one of the funniest ad lib stand-ups I've ever experienced. Christine wrote well and was published in a collection gathered by this woman, after merely sending her a quick note. Then she got married, and we lost touch...
Christine, if you're out there....
Friday, May 10
Today, a charming Mennonite named Jacob followed me around the supermarket, wearing floods, suspenders, a serious black hat. Funny, normal, quick to smile, and his scraggly beard was clean. Sexy hands. He even made deprecating comments about his wife - which, in retrospect isn't exactly fair, since it's not like the women are allowed to chose their mates, as I understand it...I asked him what he was doing in a regular, secular, Sodom &Gomorrah IGA - he said he was one of their vegetable suppliers. Like, that means I've been eating almost-feudal veggies for some time. So much for boycotting California lettuce.
Just when you think there's just way too much cyber-hype, along come a few gems like this and this and even this. Ok, well maybe not that.
I guess I've watched a lot of TV in my life - although I don't anymore. TV was like a Narcotic (numbing, perfect for the Eighties), whereas computerdom is, right now, becoming another form of Crystal (perfect for the Naughties - "Naught", British word for zero, you stupid tool). One "tweaks" a motherboard, cpu's/websites take "hits", systems "crash".
What on earth is my point?
Zsa Zsa could write! Who woulda thunk it? Some teasers....
[Kermal] Atatürk was one of those rare men whom I believe the Lord sent to save their country. A masterly politician and fearless warrior, he was half-man, half-god . . .
Now in his early fifties, his sexual exploits were still the talk of Turkey . . .
I was throbbing [oh lord....] with excitement as I opened the large oak door and found myself in a cobble-stoned courtyard shaded by an ancient olive tree . . . Mesmerized, I complied. He offered me his pipe and, unquestioningly, I took it. Then he passed me a gold and emerald–encrusted [ well, it was the free jewels, duh ] cup filled with raki, .... I sipped from the cup.
Until now, I have never before revealed what happened next, what happened when Atatürk .....dismissed the dancing girls and the two us were alone. Sometimes I think it happened in a dream, sometimes that I was in an opium haze or a stupor induced by the raki. All I know is that day, Atatürk, the conqueror of Turkey, the idol of a million women and the envy of countless men, took my virginity . . .
Ok, not only does she have the same figure as Chi Chi LaRue, she has the same brain. Oh, and Hi!
Thursday, May 9
She's way more up-to-date than anyone gives her credit for. My mother gave flowers to her once, when she visited Ottawa...a while ago. Let me make that perfectly clear, when my mother was only a wee child
You never know who reads these things....uh, who does read these things?
Making music with this is becoming a serious obsession. It can't be that hard to toss off little funky techy housey ditties (and make a lotta cake) and, besides, Moby and I cruised each other on the street once last summer.
Seriously, I'll show you mine if you show me yours....
What a wierd day. Wizard of Oz weather - and my house is all wood, to boot.
When I was a teenager, the only thing which could soothe my (as I see now, horrific) bouts of depression, was the Merv Griffin Show. He used to take video tours of his friends' - Zsa Zsa, Eva & Betsy - Beverly Hills estates, feature Farah each time she had her hair enlarged, and host Grace Jones repeatedly. I said Grace Jones. I recall pummeling the shit out of my little brother (sorry, Jordan) so that I could gain control of the remote, thereby preventing him from watching Hogan's Heroes re-runs, and attaining for myself some measure of emotional respite.
I wonder if staying at his hotel is a fabulous experience?
Wednesday, May 8
Help, I'm being swarmed by the ICQ terrorists again...
I was talking with my mother about what makes a good cook. She mentioned how a really good cook can make sump'un outta nuttin. My brother, who is a chef, has instant Kraft Dinner in the cupboards of his kitchen. I mean, the kind you don't even have to cook
I just wrote a pompous-ish email to someone re: open relationships, yea or nay, etc. Well, it sounded pompous, but I didn't mean it to be - but, in these jaded times, if you say what you think, the earnestness comes across as preachy. I guess being detached can seem more real. Time to play more, I guess.
Actually, I'm no-one to give advice on relationships, really, except through sheer dint of having survived so many. These guys were all different, yet shared a knack for not knowing who the hell I was (am). Which was largely my fault, because I hate talking about myself (in person). Also, I 've always gained weight when I've relationshipped, because sometimes there's nothing else to do when you're trying to, uh, relate.
What's happened to Linda Evangelista? That big comeback last summer got all fucked over by Osama's issue with New York, and she'snowhere interesting. I live 20 minutes from where she grew up (not even worth a link, believe me), a lot of beautful people are spawned in hell.
After a necessary 2 month hiatus from nearly 5 years of non-stop clubbing, I'm going to spend half my next paycheck on a recce to TO, & see if I can put past demons of that (so-called) city behind me. Would be ever-so nice to find something close to the mellow skank of Vancouver.
People keep telling me I don't look 38. So I guess drugs have nothing to do with it.
OK, God give me the strength to insert a link properly here's the Shurrrley Link
May something - same day as above - I forgot to give the Shurrrley Q. link...here it is
May something, 2002;
Well, here goes.....Geeze, now the pressure is on, what if somebody actually reads this? Who cares, I don't actually exist anyways, this is all entirely fictitous. I spent the afternoon listening to Shurrrley Q. Liquor , laughed so hard I thought I'd pee my pantses. I got this link from RuPauls' home page, which rocks.
ICQ sucks, all I get are horny closet cases from Taiwan, who send really personal pics and declarations of love, after, like, one message.