Tobin Hill Art Walk

Although, initially, I was forced to live in this neighborhood because it's cheap and close to work and school, I've grown to love it.  The past couple of years have brought some nice changes like a river walk extension, The Culinary Institute of America Food of the Americas school, several top notch restaurants, a farmer's market, and various art venues. 

Now, there's some icing on this residential cake.  The Tobin Hill Art Walk!  I'd hear of it a few months back but never went until last night.  I invited a date, Charles, to go with me, and even though art is not really his thing, we both had a pretty great time.  First stop, The Hightwire Art Gallery.  I've been to this place before for Jazz Poetry on Tuesday nights, but this is the first time I'd been for an exhibition. 

There was some really great art, in my humble "not versed in art appreciation in the slightes" opinion.  Sheck it out:

SOCK MONSTERS!!

I got a couple for my fave biatchas.  I hope they like them.

Also on the walk, some performance art by drama students at San Antonio College, where I'm also a student. 

There was a hat for tips.  Starving artists.

AND, there was the cute fire boy.

La Mala Educacion

I hate San Antonio College right now. 

They can kiss my narrow brown ass.

They can take their new registration system and shove up their asses as far as it'll go.

I spent the greater part of June and July trying to register with the fucking new system.  I'm finally registered, on a payment plan, and on schedule. 

I've even paid for my books.

Today I went there just to get my student ID.  A minor thing.  Not urgent or essential but nice to have to get access to SAC perks like use of the gym and computer labs not to mention kick ass discounts at the movies.

But in order to get the ID, I need to show proof that I'm current on my payments.  I was told there were computers on the second floor of the building I was in.  All I needed to do was print proof of said payment schedule and then I'd be ready go.  Sounds simple, right?

Fuck no.

Turns out the new registration system (ACES which I think should really be called ASSES) doesn't have a record of my payment plan.  They have a record of the $177 dollars I coughed up last month as a down payment.  AND, they have a record of a balance that's double what is was before.  SAC is charging me for 4 classes when I'm only taking two.

I sez to mahself, I sez, "Roman, take a deep breath.  I'm sure this is just a minor glitch that can easily be dealth with at the Bursar's office".

Thing is, the line at the Bursar's office is out the door and the average wait time is 1 1/2 hours to 2 hrs...I was on my lunch break and had about 40 minutes left of it. 

I'll have to show up at 7:45 am tomorrow morning to try and get a good place in line. 

I'll tell you this much.  If they've disenrolled me I'm going to make a scene.  I'm going to make a scene and not leave there until they fucking fix this mistake.

So make sure to tune in to the evening news tomorrow.  I'll be the skinny little mexijew that's cuffed himself   to the Bursar's office and is refusing to leave.  I don't own cuffs, you'd think I would but I don't. I guess I'll have to take them from the security guard that will undoubtedly be called to deal with the situation.

I should probably get my hur did just in case there's cameras.

Rapin' erbody...

See more funny videos and TBT Videos at Today's Big Thing.

Gross

Wanna hear something gross?

You know, I was asked that question as a kid all the time by my friends, my brothers, and the occasional adult.  I always said "yes". 

No one asks me anymore.  And, no one says "yes" now. 

Damn adulthood! 

Wanna hear something gross?  Yes?

Good.

So I was riding my bike on Friday night.  Because anything can happen, I carried my backpack which contained my wallet, my phone, and my keys. 

Now, lately, we've had an infestation of crickets in San Antonio.  Big, fat, creepy crickets. 

I hate bugs.

Not only are they everywhere but they seem to always jump at you.  I totally queen out when that happens and me queening out is not pretty. 

So, I was riding my bike around the 'hood, the infestation having completely slipped my mind.  After a very satisfying ride I get home and pull out my keys.  As I pulled the keys out of the mesh pocket on the side of my back pack I felt something mushy.  Something akin to a banana.  I thought to myself, "I don't remember putting a banana in my back pack".

I didn't put a banana in my back pack.  It was a cricket...literally "was".  It would seem that in grabbing my keys I also grabbed a stow away cricket and crushed it in my hands...I had the remnants of a cricket and whatever it's filled with ON MY HANDS!

I totally queened out, screamed, ran inside, washed my hands, washed my keys, and almost threw up.

I had to clean cricket remains out of the mesh pocket on the side of my back pack...do you know how hard that is?

I think I have PTSD now.  I may never recover.  You can now proceed to feel sorry for me.

Thank you.

Left Field

I can't sleep.  I just got back from the animal hospital with Doodoo and I can't sleep.

I have words swimming around in my head that keep me awake. 

Old Fracture
Enlarged Kidney
Mass
Fluid
Amputation
Pain
Metastasized
Biopsy
Cancer

I thought he had a bladder infection.

It's amazing what a full body scan will show you. 

Like necrosis in the hip caused by an old fracture. 

Like the fact that my baby has been in pain all this time and I didn't know it.

It shows you all the evidence that points to a cancer that started at the necrosis and then metastasized to the heart, lungs, and kidneys. 

No diagonsis.  A biopsy would be needed for that.  But, before a biopsby - amputation from the hip down.

But, the look on the doctor's face told me everything.

He gave me pain meds, antibiotics, and an enema.  An enema because on top of everything else, he was impacted which would explain the chronic diarrhea since the day we found him.

That body scan.  Doesn't miss a thing.

My regular vet doesn't do body scans and cats don't let on that they have pain. 

But, today I noticed that he could only walk a litte while before he'd have to lie down.  Up until today, he seemed perfectly fine. 

Necrosis.

I rushed him to the hospital.  1 1/2 hours of tests...

I wanted to ask the doctor that if the mass and organ inflammation turned out to be cancer, would it be treatable. 

But, I just nodded my head while he pointed his pen at the mass on the screen because the words would not come.

Do you see this here?

Nod.

Do you see how large this is?

Nod.

Do you understand?

Nod.

He asked me to take Dewey back in 2 months...to see if the antibiotics made a difference.  If not, then he'd like to amputate to see if the mass and the inflammation are cancer.  I'll have to ask the following questions: "If it looks like cancer and has all the tell tale signs of cancer, what else could it be?" and "If it's cancer, can it be treated?" 

Should I have my cat amputated only to find out that he has cancer in his lungs, kidneys, and heart that cannot be treated?

I don't want to cause more pain than he's already had to endure...especially if nothing can be done. 

"The necrosis itself is painless.  The cancer, however, would be excruciatingly painful", he said.

He's a doctor, not a poet.

I have two months. 

When I make the bed to go to sleep, he'll play with the sheets like normal.  He'll attack my feet at night.  He'll wake me up early to feed him. 

Two months.

Life.  She's a bitch sometimes.

What does yours say?

...in bed.

...in bed.

This cannot be happening...

Cold sores:  Ugly.  Painful.  Stigmatizing.  Gross.  Embarrassing

They're caused by a virus called Herpes Simplex 1, not to be confused with Herpes Simplex 2, which causes genital herpes.  Most people with cold sores acquire them as children and the virus lays latent in their bodies FOR EVER!  Due to stress and illness there are breakouts.  What does one look like?  I'll show you (take the children out of the room):

Big enough for 'ya?  Are u okay?  Do you need to sit down, a glass of water, maybe some smelling salts?

 That's what I have to deal with for the next 10-14 days.  Fuck.  Remember the last post about how stressed out I've been and how I had a stomach bug not too long ago that I'm kind of still recovering from?  You 'memer! All that is the perfect recipe for this:

Any questions? 

It's very embarrassing.  I hate leaving the apartment when I have one.  Even worse, I'm a receptionist so everyone that walks through that door gets a gander at it.  I've had all kinds of reactions from complete indifference to looks of alarm and disgust.  For 10-14 days, I'm a leper. 

I see my doctor today.  I'm soooo going to beg for a prescription for the generic form of Valtrex.  Everything I've read says that you can take a dose when you first feel the tingle (it all starts with a tingle) and there won't even be a blister!  Que nice.

And for the record, here's a list of all the celebrities that stand in solidarity with me on this:

•Alexa Chung
•Alyssa Milano
•Anne Heche
•Bill Clinton
•Billy Idol
•Brad Pitt
•Britney Spears
•Colin Farrell
•David Beckham
•David Hasselhoff
•Derek Jeter
•Elle Macpherson
•Fred Durst
•Janet Jackson
•Jessica Alba
•Jessica Biel
•Katie Holmes
•Kim Kardashian
•Lauren Hutton
•Liza Minnelli
•Lucie Arnaz
•Mariah Carey
•Mary Kate Olsen
•Michael Vick
•Moby
•Nicole Kidman
•Paris Hilton
•Pamela Anderson

Okay, so there are a few sleaze bags on this list but some of these folks are very respectable people...I mean, Bill Clinton...he was leader of the free world for 8 years!  I think you get the point. 

So, it's off to work.  Without a car as it's in the shop.  But, I won't stress out about it.  No.  Or I'll end up with another one of these:

Really?

So I pooped and I'm not going to die...yet.  Good news indeed.

But, I have to say that life is a little shitty right now. *drum roll, cymbal crash*

I've had a series of unfortunate events lately.  It all started with my trip to NY during which my luggage was stolen and I lost some nice clothes, a camera, and an innocent monkey who I'm sure did not want to spend the rest of his life fighting against coalition forces with Osama Bin Laden and his posse.

Then, I get sick.  I have the stomach bug from hell...diarrhea, cramping, fever, and a generally ill disposition. The cats hated me for a week.

After that, one of said cats gets a bad case of cystitis and he has to go in to see the extortionist...er...vet.  Bitch was not cheap.  The vet, I mean.  I'm glad it wasn't anything serious but every morning after that has been a delightful one trying to get this kittie kujo to take his meds.  He's a biter. 

Then, my intestines decide to take go on strike.  Ugh...we're still in negotiation.

AND FINALLY, my car has started smoking out it's ass end when I drive it.  I'm pretty sure it's something minor that my mechanic can fix for a reasonable price (at least that's my sincere hope) but I'm gonna have to bike it until it's fixed which is a real pain in the ass in this weather...

So, I'm going to bitch about it on here and you're gonna take it...take it bitches.  Take it.

Okay then.  Much better now.  No more complaining.  Done.  Don't laugh.  I'm serious.

Blogging can be so liberating sometimes.  Here's something I found on Christian Nightmares that me feel a little better today.  Watch it and laugh, my sweet sisters.  BAAA!!

 

I miss it...

...pooping, I mean.  I haven't pooped in 5 days and I'm going to die.  I'll miss sitting on a porcelain throne reading what otherwise would be uninteresting reading material.  It feels like it was just yesterday...'cept it was actually Wednesday of last week.  I KNOW!  And it hurt like a motherfucker that time!  Oh Lawdy did it hurt.  I said to myself, "I'll never be top gay scout"....

So, now I'll sit here and wait to die a violent death.  I knew this day would come.  But, not like this.

I've already told the cats.  They took it pretty well.  A little too well.  I could have sworn they were looking at paint swatches and carpet samples when I left this morning...

It would seem that fiber has failed me.  That bitch.  That lying bitch.   

So, this very well may be goodbye.  Yes, you can have my porn collection.  Be good to it. 

So, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll walk toward the light now...

I said to myself, "Hot diggity damn!"

Sometimes I wonder if I'm too sex obsessed.  I think about it pretty often.  It's my understanding, however, that most men think about sex all the time.  And, I think it's especially true of the gays.  Men, Men, Men!  All the time with the men!

Sometimes it's exhausting. 

Now, I don't want to be vulgar but you all are a bunch of nasty bitches anyway so here's goes.  I've heard of couples that are able to have sex more than once consecutively and spend hours doing it.  I've never had this experience.

Until now. 

I soooo earned my badge.  Now, if I can just get my "bottoming" badge, I'll be top gay scout.  Gay scouts, you ask?  Yes, it's true.  We have den drag mothers and we go on camping trips that are very environmentally friendly as we all sleep in the same tent and the same sleeping bag.  We even sell cookies.  But, not just any cookies.  They're laced with liquor and bitterness.  We have 'Thin Twinks', 'Hung Samoans', and 'Fagalongs'.

The 'Hung Samoans' are best sellers.  But, you have to break them in half to eat them if you're a gagger.

Soooo, yes.  I met a guy online about a month ago and after meeting I got the distinct impression that he had very high nerd levels.  But, he was kinda cute, very sweet, and it was totally obvious that he worked out - he had great posture and very nice forearms. 

We had a few dates and we both had a great time.  He has a garden, he has a cat named Baltimore, he makes his own ginger ale, and he does a side splitting impression of Julia Child.  He told me from the get go that he liked to take things slow.  Which, for a pair of gays, we did.  But, I guess after taking it slow, he runs like Forrest Gump...Forrest Fucking Gump! 

We are VERY, VERY, VERY, VERY, sexually compatible.  Now, I like a good 'ol fashioned, sweat inducing, wake the neighbors, make the bed creak, sore muscles the next day romp in the hay.  I do.  But, three times in one night and then again first thing in the morning?  I was a little scared after that.  I was afraid my dick would fall off. 

Then what would I do?  I'd be top gay scout, that's what.

So, this morning, we had breakfast and talked for about two hours.  Then, we got a little frisky again, but not aerobic.  We went for a nice walk and then he went home.  Which was actually kind of nice.  I had the rest of the day to myself and I probably won't see him for a week or so.  Absence makes the dick...er...heart grow fonder. 

That's what they tell me.

Soooo sex.  Sex, sex, sex.  How much of one's time should it take up?  How important is it really when you're dating?  I think it's one of life's greatest pleasures and I feel sorry for the poor suppressed souls that never have it.  So, I guess I place quite a bit of importance in it. 

Why do I ask?  Well, a while back I met a guy that was a great catch.  But, after a few weeks of dating, I realized that the sexual attraction wasn't all there...at least not for me.  I felt guilty for it.  But, I just don't think it would be fair to the other person if I tried to make something work without sufficient attraction.

Well, for now, I'm still basking in the afterglow.  Aside from being an animal in bed, he's very affectionate and he left quite a good impression on me.  We'll see where this goes.  As for me, I'm going to go soak my sore muscles in a nice hot bath...eat your hearts out jotas.

I'm gonna get mines...

I want this t-shirt.

Because I am.  I don't believe in a heaven or hell so this is all I have to look forward to. 

AND, I have a list.

*ahem*

1. My uncle George (minister uncle who hates gays and free thinkers and who was recently caught stuffing dollar bills down some greasy stripper's thong)
2. My brother Pablo (who called me a faggot during our last conversation and is delightfully superstitious)
3. The Texas State Senate and House of Representatives as well as the Governor's Mansion if it's ever rebuilt (because they want to make being gay illegal again and make marrying gay couples a crime and because as far as I'm concerned, our whacko governor should live in a trailer house) 
4. Sarah Palin (because she just so happens to be Sarah Palin)
5. Gerard Butler (because he won't sleep with me)
6. Oil company executives (because they're ruining the world)
7. People who drive Hummers (because they're putting money in the oil company executives' pockets)
8. Terrorists (because they need to calm the fuck down already.  For these nasty motherfuckers, I'll bring the ghosts of all the people they've killed and we'll deal some justice)

It's a tall order, you say?  It'll take an eternity, you say?  Well, that's exactly how long I have to get it done. 

Be warned.  DO NOT PISS ME OFF...or you'll end up on this list.  I'll be the cucuy that haunts your nightmares.  Fear me.

Vyvanse: When you just need to calm the fuck down and get shit done.

Soooooo....I have ADHD.  Wait, what was I saying?  Oh, yes, ADHD with a big 'ol "H".  I forget everything, miss important details, lose things, run everywhere, talk really fast, interrupt conversations, and procrastinate in the worst way.  Diagnosis confirmed.

But, I have a friend on my side.  His name is Vyvanse and he looks out for me.  I took this little pill yesterday and today and boy did I get shit done around here.  I actually enjoy finishing tasks and making lists and planning ahead.  I WANT to do it.  I can ignore outside stimuli until I've finished what I'm working on.  It's weird but wonderful.

However, the medicine makes me feel like death warmed over.  The withdrawals are a bitch.  I have a hard time sleeping, sometimes I get chills, and I have no appetite, and I have to drink water like a fish or I'll get really dehydrated.

What's a girl to do?

I've been trying to get away with only taking the medication when I'm especially distracted.  But, I'm beginning to think that it might benefit me to take it daily, minus the weekends of course.  I know there's ways to cope without the medication but they don't work for me.  I can keep calenders and planners and lists but they usually get lost or ignored.  I can meditate, but it's never even put a dent in the hyperactivity.

Catch-22

Cystitis, leave my baby alone!

I have two cats, Dewey and Oliver.  I've never thought of myself as one of "those" pet owners.  You know the ones I'm talking about.  They buy their pets expensive sweaters and only give them bottled water and take them to see animal counselors. 

Not mis gatos.  They walk around the house buck naked, all they get is tap water, and they're pretty much responsible for their own emotional and psychological well being.  I'm not a good listener. 

Oh, but I love them.

People say that cats are cold and aloof.  Some are.  But, not my cats.  They greet me at the door and snuggle with me at night and sit with me when I cry.  They're my buddies.  AND, they love strangers.

Yesterday, I had to take Dewey to the vet.  He has cystitis, which is an inflammation of his urinary tract due to an infection.  It's the second time he's had it in 6 months.  At first, the vet thought he might have diabetes.  The tests came back negative, but I was worried there for a while.  The vet said that he might need to go on a prescription cat food that will prevent any further bouts of cystitis.  Can you say, "high interest loans"? 

Let me take this opportunity to tell you about my Dewey (or DooDoo as he's know to his closest friends). My ex and I found him one day outside our apartment building.  He was very loudly and very boldly begging for food (which he still does).
We fed him every day for about a week.  I'm a soft touch.  What can I say?  Finally, my ex convinced me that we should take him in.  We did.  For that reason, he was always more my ex's cat than mine.  When we broke up, however, he didn't want to take him because he proved to be quite the handful.  Bastard.  My ex, I mean, not the cat.  You see, Dewey meows too loudly, he runs around the apartment at 1:00 in the morning making all kinds of noise, he attacks my legs at night when I move them under the covers, he's forever starting fights with Oliver, and he has occassional bouts of diarrhea that reek to high heaven. 

So, I took him and now I can't imagine my life without him in it.

I hate it when he's sick and he's not his usual self.  He's so uncomfortable.  How do I know?  A mother always knows.   

He's still strong enough to fight taking his pill, though.  I've had to butter it up, put him between my legs, and shove it down his throat.  (That's what she said).

I hope you get better soon, mijo.  Papa loves you.

Heeeeeee's back....

...to the great relief of my nonexistent faithful readers.  So much has happened since I last posted but I'm not going to tell you about it because it would take too long and it's really not that interesting. 

Alcoholics Anonymous.  Does that ring a bell at all?  It should.  Because you all drink to get through this blog.

I know all about it.

Alcoholics Anonymous.  There's a big convention here in San Antonio this weekend.  50,000 sober individuals are expected to attend.  That's one big ass bandwagon.

AND *whispers* apparently there's a big gay and lesbian AA party tonight at La Villita which is this quaint little village area downtown that's supposed to be the remnants of the first settlement that would eventually become the fabulous metropolis we now call San Antonio. 

According to my sources, or rather, source, which is my friend "AA" who used to be in AA but realized that he totally didn't need it but is still in contact with someone on the inside, gays who can't drink are total sex fiends. 

It's true. 

I'm one AND I drink.  I can't imagine if I was a dry gay.  I'd pounce on anything with a penis and a five o'clock shadow.

So, my friend is going to this little alcohol free shindig and he'd like for me to come along. 

I'm totally doing it! 

First, *still whispering* I cannot fathom the idea of gays congregating without the presence of alcohol.  It's like Pentecostals having a service without the Holy Spirit who I imagine is exhausted afterwards and totally thinks about calling in for the following Sunday.  Anyway, this alcohol free idea blows my mind and I want to witness it for myself.  I'd take pictures for proof but some bastard of a cab driver took my luggage during my trip to NYC.  Didn't I tell you?

I hope the transmission goes out on his car and he loses his career as a cabby and is reduced to selling diarrhea inducing hot dogs from a greasy cart in Central Park.  *spits*

Second, he assures me that there's a disproportionate number of hotties at these gatherings.

Third, I want to try one. 

Speaking of, have you ever been to a gay tasting.  It's great.  Most hottie gays pair very well with whipped cream, ice, hot candle wax, and jock straps.  Sometimes, there's wine with cheese and crackers.  Unless it's an AA affair and then it's just cheese and crackers with tonic water or Sprite.

I wonder, though, if my plan is unethical.  I mean, this gathering is a celebration of sobriety which I'm sure has been a matter of life or death for some of these individuals.  I'd hate to desecrate the sacredness of this gathering.  But then again, you know those gays.  Most of us can't turn off the cruisy even if we try.

Also, I wonder if they'd be able to smell the alcohol in my life.  I mean, there's gin and tonics at Sparky's, wine at Candlelight, Margaritas at Mexican food joints, and Dos Equis (dressed of course) everywhere else.  They'll think I'm a sham, an imposter.  Then, no one will sleep with me.  Ugh.

Well, no harm in giving it to the 'ol college try.  My plan is in place.

Head in the clouds...

Sometimes I wonder if I've loved enough and lived enough.  I worry that I spend so much time with my head in the clouds that I miss the important stuff on the ground.  There are moments when I realize that living life to its fullest and nurturing friendships and even family relationships, has become another thing in the back of my mind that I plan to get to eventually.  Things like putting my financial house in order, cleaning out the pantry, getting a tire pump for my bike, opening all the unopened mail I've accumulated over the course of several months. 

I don't want that to happen.

Tonight I think I'll call my cousin Sandra and my mother, go for a ride to the park on my bike before dark, enjoy something tasty for dinner.  And, most of all, try to remember how lucky I am to be alive and how short sighted and selfish it would be of me to not look forward to tomorrow.

What has made me ponder my life so much today, you ask?  This:

http://www.65redroses.livejournal.com/

I said to myself, "It's so big..."

Have you ever heard of the Muffin Monster?  No?  Then let me tell you....

It's an old Mexijewish wives' tale.  It is said that it stalks it's victims at lunch time.  Once it finds a weak link, it pounces and smothers the hapless victim with its chocolate icing of death.  Within a few seconds it's all over.

There has never been any concrete evidence of the Muffin Monster's existence...until NOW!!

Behold!

Oh the humanity!  It's as if it happened yesterday.  But, it actually happened today.  There was nothing I could do for the victim.  May she rest in sugar and carb laden peace.  May this freak of pastry nature meet its end within my lifetime.  Until then, beware, and use protection:

I'm just saying...

Why are people so freakin' ungrateful?  What is the classiest thing you can do when you're scheduled to receive free stuff that you really need?  Well, you complain about how ridiculous the organization that's helping you is because you're not attended to right away of course.  Dealing with people who have an offensive sense of entitlement is not something new.  I can usually take in stride.  But, today is just a little bit hectic and my patience is running thin...2 1/2 hours to go.

Back then, I saw a castle...

and now, I see a silo that stores cotton seeds. 

When I was a little boy, I would look out the kitchen storm door and see this at night.  My imagination told me that it was a castle.  It told me a story of a princess (of course) that lived there surrounded by her family and faithful servants. I would stare and stare and stare and imagine what it was like to live in that castle. 

My grandfather always told me, good naturedly, that it was a silo where cotton seeds were stored.  I didn't believe him.  My stubborn streak was strong enough, even then, to make me skeptical of what my grandfather knew.  That and the many instances in which my grandfather would sit at the door and stare with me.  It made me wonder if he was just kidding about the silo. 

Then one day, before bed, he found me staring out the storm door, again.  He gently put a coat on me, took me to his truck (I remember that he had to carry me and place me in the seat) and drove me to the cotton gin so I could see the truth for myself.  As we approached the gin, I was excited because my granfather was going to see the castle and believe.  I even thought we might get to go inside.  But, as the truck approached my castle, it slowly turned into the cotton gin that we passed every morning on our way to school.

I couldn't believe that what looked so much like a castle from my house could be something completely different up close.  I don't really remember what happened when we got home, being the drama queen I was even then, I probably fanned myself rapidly before fainting onto the sofa.  After that, I'd still look out the window trying to see the castle, but it was gone.  The silo had taken its place.  Still, it's one of my fondest memories.  That ride in my grandfather's truck, the sound it made, and the feeling of safety and trust that was such a natural part of me back then, is something I've always clung to.  Especially, when I realized many years later, that my grandfather wasn't staring with me because he believed my story, but because he cherished those simple moments that have no use for words.  We had many such moments.  I'm rich with such moments.

So, today when I was on the website for our class reunion in July, I came across this picture and remembered the castle.  Maybe I'll make a stop at the my childhood home one night and try to see the castle again.  Who knows?  Maybe it's still there.  Maybe it really was there all along. 

I think we all need our castles.  I believe this drive to have faith in something greater than myself that forever verges on dilusion is universal.  I still haven't found my "castle"...but I'm still searching.  For now, I think I'll hide in this memory from time to time in those moments when I feel lost and when I tire of searching.

I'd like to announce...

...our engagement.  I'm the luckiest jota in the world.

Yeah, once the divorce if final. 

Wishful thinking? 

Hell yes.  Wouldn't you?

Canada, OH my, Canada.

First of all, let's get some important old business out of the way. 

I love Ginger Beer...mmmmmmm K? 

Watch:

See? 

It's sweet.  It's spicy.  It's fizzy.  Muy, muy bueno.  And, killer with some whiskey or rum thrown in for good measure. 

So, what have I been up to since my last blog?  Let's see, I was officially welcomed into the temple as a new member even though I've been a member since June of last year.  I got some gifts also, a mezzuzah, a cookbook from the temple sisterhood, and a T-shirt that says "Shabbat Rocks". 

Because it totally does.

Um, The Electrician Affair has fizzled out, by all appearances. 

Met  a strange Asian guy with a wine cooler in the trunk of his Prius.  I know, weird.  That's just the tip of this Asian iceberg.  He says he's 27, but on paper he's 42.  He looks 20.  Despite his age, he claims to have lost his home during the Chinese invasion of Vietnam, which I thought was in the 60's and early 70's.  AND, he owns a restaurant in Houston that he works shifts at from Thursday to Sunday.  Otherwise, he works as a computer programmer for City Group.  Quite the character, that one.  He bathes in cream once a week and has his anus waxed in Canada every three months.  I'm NOT making this shit up.  Why Canada?  Because despite having been born in Vietnam and now living and working in the US, he's a Canadian citizen and he still gets free healthcare there...which includes having your anus waxed. 

Is that why Canada is so clean?

I say it is.  I'm going to call my congressman about this.  I want free anal waxing for every American.  I have a dream....

OH, and he gave me several hickies.  Mind you, I could've prevented them if I was really paying attention.  I had to borrow make up from a co-worker to cover them up.  She said I could keep it which is a good thing considering I'll have the hickies for a while. So, now I have a bottle of "Caramel Beige" L'Oreal Visible Lift foundation in my messenger bag.  I'm one roll of butterscotch flavored Life Savers away from having a purse.

Eh.  I was headed to the drug store anyway....

I kicked ass and took names....

which I then proceeded to spell correctly...except for Wildebeest...which I spelled W-i-l-d-e-r-b-e-a-s-t...wrong much?  Ya.  I missed out on the $40.00 tab.   Still I won two kick ass bundt (according to K, it's pronounced boont) cakes and two lesbianish golf visors. 

Why the weird face?  Weird, w-e-i-r-d, weird.  Because my friend, Raquel, asked me to pretend that the bundt cakes were my boobs...and that, folks, is what appears to be my "boob" face. 

And, apparently my boob face makes me look like Roger from American Dad.
 

Yup.  Dead ringer.

Oooohhh, guuurl...Shabbat is going to be pissed!

Check it out.

I know.  What a mess.  Look at the shame on Oliver's face.

My apartment was so messy in fact, that I regressed back to my ghetto roots and busted out the Pine-Sol.  You heard me, Pine-Sol...not that weak ass lemon scented shit.  I mean business.

Good thing is that I'm almost done.  I'm working on getting the place nice and spiffy for Shabbat.  For all my new imaginary readers, there's something you should know about me.  I'm Jewish. 

I know.  Shocking.

You know, I was thinking today about one of the traditions regarding Shabbat (besides cleaning the house, of course).  Traditionally the Shabbat is likened to a queen that's coming to visit.  What does one do when a queen comes to visit?  I don't know, I'm the only queen that lives here.  Parum pum. 

Seriously though, what I do is clean up the house, put on the Shabbat table cloth, put out the candles, and buy some flowers.  Oh, and a nice bottle of wine for the Kiddush ( the blessing over wine). 

Shabbat, guuurl, you fine.

There's so much about Shabbat that I'd like to tell you, but I'll keep it simple today.  Gotta go, Bitches.  If Shabbat is a queen, she'll be pissed if I'm not ready for her grand entrance and she'll cut me in my sleep.

A "What The Fuck?" kind of week...

What a week.  Seriously.  I don't really know where to begin.

I guess I'll start with my brother.  He made his way to New Braunfels to attend his aunt's funeral (we're half brothers) and ended up staying for a few weeks.  But, after a while, he started to have problems getting along with his cousin, Jesse.  As my brother tells it, Jesse threatened him with a knife.  So, my brother did the logical thing by tackling him and then beating the shit out of him.  Appropriate, as always, that brother of mine.  In a nutshell, he was kicked out, had only enough bus fare to bring him to San Antonio, and is now staying with me until I can send him back to Lamesa.  He's not a bad house guest, necessarily, other than not having a penny to his name and a voracious appetite. 

Then, on the same day, I get a mass text from my ex that reads as follows: "Hey guys.  I just thought that you should know that my dad's death wasn't accidental.  He was strangled.  Please keep me in your thoughts."
Such a sad thing.  For a while before the break up, my ex's father disappeared.  He sold his house, changed his number, and left with some fundy Christian lady named Rosemary.  So this was just creepy and so so sad...I feel terrible for him.  Both of his parents are gone now.  He said he was having a hard time with it.  I told him to call whenever he needed to but I've not heard from him.  I can't imagine what he must be going through. 

As if that weren't enough, my Jewish friend from Mexico has been having some severe stomach problems for the past month...by severe I mean terrible diarrhea....for ONE MONTH, 10-15 times a day, everday.  She went to the doctor and they gave her an antibiotic which seemed to ease the symptoms a little.  Now, they're back worse than ever and this time there's lots of blood.  She's having tests done and she said she'd let me know what happens.  I'm worried.

SO, I hope next week is a bit more uneventful....

You say that like it's a bad thing...

Sorry I haven't written in a while, I just haven't felt like it.  But, I do now so here goes.

The other day I was at the doctor's office (my eye doctor to be exact) and while he was examining me he called his nurse in to take a look...it wasn't the "I need a second opinion" call or the "I need you to hold the scapula" call.  No, it was the "Oh my God, you'll never believe this" call....yup.  After the bitches took turns gawking at my eyes for like a century, the doctor finally turns to me and says, "You have dirty eye lid margins as a result of poor eyelid hygiene."

What.  The.  Fuck? 

I shave regularly, I shower regularly, I floss and brush my teeth, I even wash behind my ears!  Poor eyelid hygiene?  Seriously?  Am I going to have some Southern Baptist missionary come to my hut and teach me how to properly clean my eyelids who will then try to steal my children and take them to the Dominican Republic?

I didn't know what to feel.  I felt ashamed, confused, worried,and dirty. 

Like my eyelid margins.

Shit.

Oh, and he mentioned something about how I rub my eyes to much.  Pff...he must not know 'bout me.  But it's true.  I do.

And THAT is the reason my contact lenses feel so uncomfortable.  So now I have to use a warm compress every night and then wipe my eyelid margins *snicker* with a special solution.  According to my sadistic son of a bitch doctor, this is temporary and with proper eyelid hygiene I'll be just fine...*sigh of relief* 

Still, I don't think I'll be able to look my eye doctor in the eye again.

Seriously?

Soooooo.....I have some very vivid memories of my grandfather, driving around, refusing to ask for directions and my grandmother yelling at him to stop and ask someone, ANYONE, for directions. However, I also remember my grandmother getting lost, very often, even after having asked for directions.

Why can't we just learn from our mistakes and be willing to ask for directions and then shut the fuck up and listen to the directions and then actually follow them? Porque why?

I often have to give directions here at the front desk. I usually don't mind...really. Unless you're a person with no sense of direction. However, I find it's a very specific type of person that has the most problems. I know I'm going to get so much heat from this but it's true.

I previously worked at the front desk for three years and now I'm back. I've given directions to women and men. The only time I've had a situation in which the caller will not listen to the directions or will not actually follow the directions is when the caller is a woman. Oh, and they get really mean when they get lost. It's not all women, mind you. But, the men seem to get here just fine. No problems.

I don't want to perpetuate some stupid stereotype about women drivers. I'm just venting about one of the more aggravating aspects to working the front desk...I'm just sayin'. Please don't come to my house and cut me. Or hit me. Or tear me a new one. Or torture my cats and make me watch. Please.

Playing Catch Up...

I haven't written in an while but I'll try and give a quick run down because I'm too distracted right now to try and put more than a few paragraphs together...

Here goes: I'm dating three guys (now two, more on that later). I drank a whole lot this week and weekend at the new gay Irish pub called Sparky's...lovin' it!!! Finally hit pay dirt with the electrician and boy was it worth the wait. Hubba Hubba. Oh, and he makes fucking bad ass fried chicken...that's hot in my book. If he makes good biscuits, I may bottom.

I had a great time at M's birthday bash with the lunch crew and I met one of M's boyfriend's friends "Afghanistan Contractor" who I secretly hope (and suspect) is bisexual or gay. He suggested that we need to get together soon and get really drunk...I agreed wholeheartedly. He also said that in Afghanistan I'd be called "Beautiful Man"...he told me the Afghani word for it but it escapes me. Overall, I had a great time and laughed my ass off. Boy do I love hanging out with those biatchas....

Saturday I went to a new place here in town called Bin555 for a birthday for one my friends. It was amazing and surprisingly reasonable. Had a great time, ended up at Sparky's again, and finished the night off dancing my booty off with Twing 1 at HEAT. OH, and one of the guy's at the dinner is friends with my ex....AWKWARD. After a while he talked to me and everything seemed okay. Then, my very close friend of several years, MK, looked at me and then looked at my ex's friend and said "We need to get together and talk."

He's coming over tomorrow for dinner. I wonder what he wanted to dish about.

And, today I met my brother at the Greyhound station. He texted me this morning and said he was passing through on his way to New Braunfels to a funeral for one of his Aunts (we're half brothers). It was good to see him and he looked good...I was glad; I worry about him.

Last but not least, Smokey Jesus broke off our dating arrangement yet again. This time because I'm dating several people. He knew this early on, but unbeknownst to me, he was wrestling with his "moral conscience". Today, just today, he decided that he couldn't violate his morals any longer and that the idea of dating more than one person was foreign to him.

So, I deleted him from Facebook, deleted his number, and I deleted our text stream from my phone. I gave it another chance but obviously he's a little fucked up.

That's it in a nutshell. I'm going to start taking Vyvanse for the ADHD tomorrow. Maybe then my blog entries will be a little more cogent...but please don't hold me to it.

Flamenco, take me away!

Booooy, am I excited! I'm going to Flamenco tonight with Smokey Jesus...oh Flamenco!

There's this place near my apartment called Carmen's De La Calle Cafe. Very nice place. Eclectic, intimate, comfy, and sexy....me encanta.

They have delish tapas and their Sangria is to die for. To. Die. For.

But, the best part of it is the live Flamenco on Friday nights. They move the tables from the center of the cafe and put down a tabla which is the board the dancers dance on. The singing, guitar, and percussion are all live...

I'm always completely taken by the dancing. It's an unleashing of passionate expression brilliantly reigned in by form and rhythm.

It's always the same.

I get there, I get comfy, drink some sangria, nosh on some tapas, strike up a conversation with whoever is sitting next to me (it's a very small space). Once the dancing starts, I let it take me away for a little while. And, I especially like sharing it with someone else.

Especially if that someone else is a hot date. The combined effect of the Flamenco and the wine is utter and complete...if I'm there with a date, you better believe we'll be rocking the boat later...*rubs hands together* Mwuahahahaha....

This time I promise to take ze pikchurs...and I'll post them tomorrow...late...'cause we'll be snuggling in, putas!

How awkward....

I've been feeling socially awkward lately and I'm not sure why. Just yesterday at the front desk, I was talking to two co-workers and I made a really bad joke...it didn't make sense although it did to me at the time. I haven't blushed like that in quite a while. My face got all hot.

Today, I feel very shy and timid. I'm also very irritable. Eh, I guess it's just one of those days.

And, OMG, it's cold today. What the hell, when did I move to Wisconsin? This is San Antonio for crying out loud! The low tonight is 18 or something terrible like that. I'm glad I wore a padded braw.

So, in an attempt to ease the frosty cold, I'm making mulled wine tonight for Smokey Jesus and me. I haven't had mulled wine in years and it's super tasty...although I better be careful. It sneaks up on you and I work in the morning. I think this cold snap is pretty much hitting the entire country...stay warm putas! As for me, I'll be snuggling with my date...bien calientitos y empalmados!

I suck at this....

breaking up I mean. I must be terrified of loss. My ex friended me on Facebook today and I accepted quite against my better judgement. Thank goodness for honest friends with dirty looks or I would have kept him as my friend and become obsessed with his "post me" life. Having said that, I also unfriended his ass on myspace. I figured I might as well...confession: I check it everyday to see what friends he has and who's making comments.

It's not right.

I hope I'm better at this the next go around.

And why can't I stop eating? I may be with child. Although, to be honest, I'm skeptical due to my not having a uterus...but one never knows.

So while I'm on the subject of my missing uterus, let's talk about old people in crowded grocery stores. Because they're totally related.

I was at the grocery store yesterday getting groceries. Oh the joys of grocery shopping. Not being able to find anything, children crying for something their parents refuse to buy, the smell emanating from somewhere in the seafood section, and (worst of all) slow senior citizens that will not get out of your way.

Don't get me wrong. I love the elderly and I'm fully aware that someday I'll be one. But what the hell are they doing stopping up the progress at HEB at that hour? It's not safe.

Which is why I have an idea! Grocery cops. Yes, grocery cops. Hot mens in tight uniforms with big sunglasses that will direct traffic, silence children, ticket slow pokes and speeders, and

come up with delightfully clever ways little mescins like me can get out of tickets.

So, who do I have to kill/ sleep with to get this done? Sigh.

Tonight, I'm making dinner for short blond electrician guy, to be known as "ShortNSweet" from now on.

I like hanging out with him but I'm kinda bummed out that I'm missing a free showing of Pink Flamingos at the Alamo Drafthouse with my friends and beer. I love beer. Oh well, I told myself that the next time I watched that movie I'd be high. So, I guess it's for the best.

OMG, I think I have un Estalker...

I barely slept last night...I went to sleep late with my overnight guest...tee hee...and I wasn't able to fall asleep. Remember Twing #1?

Of course you do.

Since the last time I wrote about him we've gone out two more times and he was over at my place for New Year's Eve. Last night he came over for dinner. It was great. We watched a movie and then some episodes of Little Britain on Netflix. He laughed at all the parts I did.

So we took the logical next step and he spent the night last night...very good lover that one.

And what the hell is up with everyone sounding like phlegm ridden smokers in the office today? Geez.

ANYWAICE. I recently found out that there's a nest of squirrels in the attic of our building over my apartment (what luck!). So all last night I heard them running around, scratching, squealing, playing loud music...evil, evil squirrels.

However, every once in a while I heard something very heavy on the ceiling and what sounded like human foot steps. Uy cu cuy.

Now, I've heard this before. When I had my landlord check it he said all he saw was the squirrel nest...not a sleeping bag or empty cans of beans or any other type of hobo paraphanalia. So what the hell is it that I'm hearing?

I think I have a stalker. But who is it? My ex? Jesus? Gerard Butler? The Rythm?

I don't know. But, last night I was pretty scared. It helped that I wasn't alone but tonight I'm going at it solo (sleeping I mean) and I'm kinda dreading it. Sustame!