Delusional Paranoia

I have dumped the chump, at last.

What began nearly five years ago as an exciting sexual adventure became a hideous disaster. The lumpen creep living on my sofas, eating my food, drinking my liquor, smoking my bud had to go.

If two or more persons choose to be in a relationship, i.e., relate to each other, they will either need to both change or neither change at all. For one person to change and another to stay exactly where they were, or to regress to a pre-verbal state, does not bode well.

It would be hard to believe that pictures "before" and "after" are really of the same guy...

Before:
















After:

Marriage...and going all the way

I'm just thinking that heterosexuals take the whole marriage thing way, way too seriously...and way too casually at the same time. Little girls are brain-washed into thinking that they have to get a husband, that their wedding day is going to be their "special" day and the most important day of their lives...ick.

My friend Nathan nearly married a harridan who was incredibly hateful toward his 8-year old daughter. This gal has three children by her failed marriage, and there was no way she was going to give Gracie any motherly attention. When I first asked him how things were going, he got all excited and said that he had been thinking about things and was going to ask the woman to marry him.

Ooof. I suggested he wait a bit, see how they get along, see what happens when they've blended families for a time...so he moved her and her kids into his house.

They trashed his house, filthed it up, and showed him a total lack of respect. The woman takes her own career much too seriously to give any thought to Nathan's. She likes to shop, and she drained his bank account with her old debts and some new ones. She broke his mother's heart, took his truck and made his dog fat. To top it all off, she continued to show blatant favoritism toward her own children, especially her youngest daughter who is just a year younger than little Gracie. It broke Nathan's heart to hear the woman and her daughter giggling and sharing in the next room while he tucked his little girl into her quiet bed at night.

Well, during one discussion with Nathan (prior to the move-in) we were talking about his daughter, who is the center of his world. He exclaimed that her wedding day would be the happiest day of his life, and punched the air with his fist in anticipated delight.

"A wedding is fine," I offered, "but isn't it more important that the person she chooses to spend her life with, if she chooses to spend it with someone, loves her and cares about her? and what if she can't marry that person, because it's against the law? Isn't it more important that she grow up with coping skills and social skills and the ability to be happy in life?"

I love me some Nathan. He's always happy to explore new ideas.

Dog Stuff

As I was enjoying my Cincinnati Bowtie, I realized that while dogs may lick their balls because they can, dogs sniff another dog's ass because that dog allows it. Stick your snout up the wrong bung hole and you risk getting it bitten off.

Someone suggested that the dog sniffs another dog's ass to get rid of the aftertaste of the previous one. Very guy type thing to say, don't you think? The dog was probably an unneutered male, too.

Oh, and after my earlier posting I googled the expression, and discovered that there is a brown version, which pops up in first place. Secondarily their is a hyphenated version that involves penetration of the partner's tracheatomy.

I assure you all that it is the third most popular definition of the term that is the only version that I shall ever willingly re-acquaint myself with.

Had to Say It

So I was enjoying a post-concert Frenet at my favorite slate bar a night ago. A recent acquaintance, who lives-in with a friend on staff, swung by to offer her a ride home. Since it was a symphony night, naturally the conversation turned to musical instruments.

"Do you know what a 'rusty trombone' is?" Eric asked.

"Of course!" I explained, "I used to play the trombone in school."

The topic of sports was hopeless, so we quickly moved to fashion.

He asked me if I had heard of a "Cincinnati Bowtie" and I answered, honestly, that I had not. Well, it's a move that puts the supine partner face up, with the testicles of the dominant player resting on the supinates larynx, hence the reference to neckwear. In Eric's version, the decorative neckwear is simply a secondary note behind the chief purpose of this position, which allows for intra-boobular frottage.

"And where is the sitter's be-hindage?" I asked, horrified by the answer that I already knew.

"That ties it! Susan, YOU have to do all of the cooking in the house! NO BROCCOLI FOR YOU, ERIC!"

Little did I suspect that within a few short hours I would be wearing just such a bowtie. Shudders (of delight)!

One thing I absolutely learned tonight, when two guys go at it you really can end up with man juice EVERYWHERE. Jeez'n'cheese.

I've also become more ponderously intrigued by experiencing orgasm as a full-on banquet, and not just the dessert. Yum! I'm stuffed!

Drama Major

Tonight I saw a fantastic production of "The Pillowman" at Berkeley Rep. The play is Martin McDonagh's second work produced under the spot-on theatercraft of The Berkeley Repertory Theater.

McDonagh explores the role of the imagination in creating stories that are more interesting than the simple re-telling of things that happen in everyday life, and the responsibility of the story's creator for a story worth acting out by others who perhaps are only seeking to raise the level of their personal experience out of the humdrum and ordinary.

...and how about Shakespeare and that Pygmie in a box?

M

Honest Encounter

A Group of middle life women were having lunch, and were admiring the scenery wharfside on a drizzly winter afternoon.

Down at the water's edge, a surfer had suffered a twist or a break in his foot or his leg. As he sat on the shore waiting for the medical professionals to arrive, a small cluster of surfers kept him comfortable, warm and hydrated. Several feet away stood a concerned clutch of observers, and further back passersby glanced over curiously.

The women couldn't take their eyes off of the scene. The three with their backs to the action kept flipping their heads around to keep up with the action.

Said one of the gals, in disgust, "Oh, look at those two guys on the pier. One of them is looking over there with binoculars!"

The other gals clucked in shared disgust.

"Hey - there they go!" said another woman. "They're cutting off his pants! Why do you suppose they always cut off their pants?"

The women all sighed in unison.

It's NOT "TV"

Tonight I relaxed with the pugz to catch up on the second season of "Rome." I was completely behind, and my DVR was getting backed up.
Further research will be required to verify this theory, but isn't at least one episode a straight transposition of a screenplay for "Deadwood"?

Ramblings at Bedtime

Rene Richards is going to be on “Talk of the Nation.” I think she’s worried that Veronica Klaus is stealing her spotlight.
I also think that she killed Anna Nicole Smith, if putting a hit on your adopted Chinese daughter’s lesbian lover’s credit card carries any responsibility any more.
I personally bore the news of the tragic death of Anna Nicole Smith to the good women of the Concord Costco this afternoon. My large-breasted and jovial black cashier was stunned into citing Paula Abdul as another celebrated woman who has recently appeared to be intoxicated on some televised interview. I say, consider the source. If a slurry Paula is getting’ sloppy on a broadcast signal that’s only going to be seen by sloppy boppies, then wtf? I remarked that Ms. Abdul had made her career as a dancer – a top-heavy dancer – and her use of pain pills are perfectly legitimate.
As for Anna Nicole Smith, the recent death of her son of a drug overdose meant that there would be a greater supply of that drug for her. Rumor has it (well, I’ve started it, at least) that it was the lawyer/lover, Howard Stern, the self-professed father of the naughty girl-child that burst forth from Anna Nicole Smith’s loins (or thereabouts) just two months ago, who did her in. First the son, then the mom, leaving the infant as sole inheritor of the cash-o-la from ole’ oil-rich whatzizname. Once he has established paternity (which I discovered could be established fairly easily, if Howard had ejaculated on the glans penis of his boyfriend, and the boyfriend had penetrated Anna Nicole Smith’s vaginal cavity (vast) then Howard’s lil’ swimmers could have done the job. Just a few thoughts on current events.

I had dinner with my friend Connie last night. Now that she’s moved into a rented apartment in San Francisco she’s…more boring than ever. Hopefully this will turn out to be a short phase. The job sounds worse than horrible, and she’s looking a bit worse for the wear, and smelling even worse than that. I complimented her on her "eau de freshly exercised lame race horse" cologne, but I don’t think she took it well.
It was her first time at the SFSymphony. She spent a lot of effort critiquing the décor, and seemed especially amused at her comparison between Davies Symphony Hall and the settings for the film, “Logan’s Run.” Dumbass didn’t remember Carousel, and insisted that there was a space ship involved, which just shows that he really is exhibiting early stages of Alzheimer’s Syndrome. The fact that he contracted with his brother Matt to perform yard maintenance on his real estate empire serves as further proof.

I mentioned to my favorite bartender/waiter and my favorite chef/waiter at Citizen Cake that I was thinking about renting a house on Maui for a week or two toward the first two weeks of April, and I was hoping to secure the services of a chef and bartender/server, they beamed. Then I heard that I really had better discuss this with Elizabeth, the owner, if I want to keep my reserved seat at the end of the counter. More will be revealed later, rest assured.

Since returning from Mendocino this week, life has been so jam-packed and fun-filled that I could scream! We’re settling into several days of rain, so I think I’ll hang tight for the duration. Jeremy cut out just minutes after my arrival, and as he flew into his sister’s waiting car (which I didn’t see, but which sounded for all the world like Jeremy’s dilapidated Cadillac limousine. Hmmm…..) he asked me to have his xBox fixed. No “please” of course. I told him that I would be happy to set that up for him, with his help, so as soon as he comes back we can get right on that.

I’m looking forward to a very peaceful weekend.

And more planning for Maui! Yippee! Jeff was completely surprised when I mentioned his upcoming show at the MAC. Mark Cortale handles all of the booking details, so Jeff can spend every waking moment performing this show and writing the next one. Such an easy life! He just did a weekend in Palm Springs, and he was SO disappointed – “It was awful!” he said. “How was the theater? Was it a nightclub? Was there a stage? Were the audiences moved?” “It was a RESTAURANT!”
Ish.

I hope Maui is ready for Varla Jean Merman.

Damn, damn, damn...

Toast your tootsies, it's gettin' hot!

First Time at the Rodeo

I've dabbled in online prose over the years, mostly in the personals. I'd spend hours laboring over the proper wording for my profile, selecting the most flattering picture, pumping up the adjectives to describe...me.

Then there were endless hours I devoted to composing thoughtful responses to profiles that I found to be interesting. I would be candid, and totally myself, and I never received a single acknowledgement for my efforts.

Subsequently I have removed my profile. I decided that the time could be better spent on other things, like cleaning out the closets to make more room for me.
Oh, just kidding about the closets. I wouldn't fit in there even if there were nothing else hanging around.

So I've also experimented with keeping a diary, or log, but never kept it up. Partly that is because while my fingers may fairly fly over the keyboard, my mitts sometimes become like palsied stumps when I pick up a pen or a pencil. Go figure!

Friends of mine have written blogs...acquaintances, even. There seems to be a wild separation between "flesh friends" and "online buds" and you know who you are -- some things are just easier written into a blog than spoken to another person.

Then, again, for me I seldom have trouble speaking even about the most heinous, unspeakable subjects...adult diapers, kinky sex acts, multiple homicides, politics, religion, nothing slows me down. Perhaps for this reason I often find myself with the most, to me, hysterically funny thoughts, and yet nobody within earshot. This is especially disturbing because I have an honest-to-goodness undergraduate degree in drama, and my voice can carry over quite a distance.

So what do you think? I'll start a bLog! Not the most unusual idea in the world, but it seems to be working for a lot of people, on both sides of the screen.