Funny and Cool

Funny:
Okay, I don’t think these guys will be up for the nobel prize in science for their fight against SARS, but it’s funny as hell. Thank him for the link.

Cool:
If George is such a compassionate conservative, why don’t we have one of these days here in the states? Why? Because if you are George or any other ass-wipe lunatic fundamentalist, intolerance is perfectly okay, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your tax cut. Thanks to Ray for the link.

2 loft showings tonight. Wish me luck, I wanna sell that puppy, and soon!

1 great run to the ocean for lunch, off to eat left-over meatloaf, YUMMY!

1 new insight as to why mornings are hell lately – I’ve been running in the evenings, and I think it’s made it really tough to fall asleep. I guess all those books that said not to exercise before bed weren’t kidding. I’ll see if today’s lunch run makes sleeping easier tonight.

3am eternal

I just returned from Ft. Funston, where Pete and Kevin joined Britton and I and all the dogs for a beautiful, glorious, postcard-perfect walk along the beach.

I am taking a few minutes to let the dogs settle down and for me to chill before I head off for my afternoon run. I was originally thinking long run up to Ft. Point and Land’s End, but now I’m thinking shorter run.

Today feels like a holiday. It’s just this vibe in the air. Or maybe its my vibe. I dunno, but after two days of fog and yick, today is a sunny, calm, blue sky day in the city. How many times have I said glorious?

Last night went dancing with the above mentioned Pete. Our husbands stayed at home and misbehaved, and we went out and misbehaved. Well, not really, we were actually quite well-behaved.

I think it qualifies as my first trip to a nightclub when I haven’t been under the influence of, um, anything. And I was kind of dreading it, thinking, how could this possibly be fun?

But it was. I had a great time people watching (I want to be an antrhopologist for the gays when I grow up), dancing, chatting, people watching, etc. And by about 1am, when we are out on the dance floor, surrounded by swarms of sweaty boys, I’m thinking to myself, “how natural is it to sweat at 1am?”

It’s kind of strange. I can’t name any off the top of my head, but I’ve always heard of cultures where people can kind of dance themselves into a trance. I’ve always thought that would be good fun. And I think the whole strong physical exertion and sweating at a time your body doesn’t really expect it must be part of the recipe.

One great song stands out… I have no idea what it was… but the words either had something to do with “sun’s up” or “surf’s up” but it had this great melody and rythym. You couldn’t help but crack a smile and shake your groove thang.

Tonight I’m off to make an experimental meatloaf. I’ll be using pork and chicken as my base. To be accompanied by a tomato/cucumber/red-onion salad and veggie #2, maybe broccoli.

Hope everyone had a great memorial day weekend!

What’s my score?

Ray’s World makes a good point. It’s easy to feel completely lost in this world.

Until recently – very recently – I had this paradigm of the world that was pretty much like a school classroom.

God is the teacher. She hands out assignments. If she likes you, you get the good ones – like being a CEO. If she doesn’t like you, you get the crappy ones – like being a migrant worker picking blueberries all day.

Tests come on a regular basis. If you do your homework, study hard, and pay attention, you will get a good score on your test. Tests are scored out of 100 points.

God keeps track of how you do on your tests. Then she posts it on a global bulletin board for all the world to see. Fail that monogamy test – it’s on the bulletin board. Pass the “be nice in traffic” test – it’s on the bulletin board, and God always knows.

Each decision or outcome leads to one specific exact next action. If you do well on “Accounting 1-2-3″ you will be led to “Accounting 4-5-6″. There is a linear and logical explanation for our lives and the paths they follow. Curry favor with the teacher and you will be rewarded.

Take everything seriously, skip recess to work on special projects, and study hard, because there will be a TEST!

But ya know, it’s all bullshit. If there is a God, I doubt she’s keeping score. Life isn’t a test, it’s life.

And Ray, to answer your question, you should go to San Francisco. For Pride weekend. I’m sure of it, absolutely sure of it.

Tuesday, The Genius, Perhaps?

So if you haven’t figured it out by now, I’m crazy about Tuesday.

He says that I’m like a little kid who just got a new dog, and wants to play with it all the time and dress it up and snuggle with it. He’s pretty much right.

I bought her saddle bags, and now she can carry all our stuff to the park. It’s just the best!

She got a new bed, and sleeps next to me every night. She’s the first dog I’ve ever had that sleeps by the side of my bed. Fred sleeps on me, but that’s another story.

Last night was her first night of dog school. She’s really, really, really, really good at sit. But that’s it.

She refused to do down, and she refused to stand from a sit.

So much for my genius dog.

I was convinced we’d be in dog shows before long, winning blue ribbons, cashing prize checks, negotiating for the front of Purina 1 bags, and thinking about advances on my dog training secrets book.

Unfortunately, I don’t see things working out that way.

Oh well. She still has the saddlebags!

Don’t Scare me Like That!

So I get out of small group tonight, and have a message.

It is from my mom. It sounds like she is crying…. “Matt………. your mom………… call me” and it is marked urgent. This freaks me out. So I urgently call home.

And Dad answers the phone, like “hey, how are ya” and I’m like, “mom called sounded like something wrong where is mom???”

And so my mom gets on the phone, and she’s like, “oh, I was in the tub, damn cell phone wasn’t working, how are you, I just called to chat!”

“Just called to chat????!!!!!”

Jesus Christ, I’d just imagined that 12 of my closest relatives had died in a fiery school bus crash. Chat?????

I think she’d seen the post about the two adoptions that weren’t ours today and just called to chat, but I was in such a state when I called her that I wasn’t really up for chatting.

Communication…

What do we expect to hear? How do we expect to hear it? How does that impact what we actually do hear? I hated all those slacker communication majors in college… but it really is an interesting question.

I called home expecting to hear death, and when it was just day to day stuff, I was an awful communicator on the phone.

No family members are dead, not even in a fiery bus crash! Cheers!

Random Background Noise

If you’ve never had an $85 bottle of Pinot Noir, go do it now. You’ll thank yourself for it. I promise.

Tonight was a dinner party at a friend’s house in twin peaks. Had to go to the bathroom after drinking several tasty margaritas. Closed the door. Thought to myself, I could go sit on the floor against that wall, and just have this personal and totally private moment. And no one at the party would know. I loved that. But I didn’t, although it sounded like a lot of fun at the time.

Moving to San Francisco was a personal dream, a personal goal. I didn’t move here because of a relocation, a transfer, or some other 3rd party influence. I chose to move here. I chose to quit my job, spend our savings, and pursue a dream.

In high school, I had a girlfriend (stop laughing now) named Jennifer. I remember being at the Taco Bell when I was running for student president. It was one night after volunteering at the domestic violence shelter. And she was so worried about all this shit. Life, family, grades, school, community, volunteering, sister, etc.

I was so zen. Like, fuck it – worry is a waste of energy. You do, you don’t, you make whatever happens work for you.

My freshman year of high school sucked. I felt so alone. So wanting to be “someone.”

I went to a student government meeting. I realized, if they can fucking do it, so can I. The next year I signed up to be a representative. Which positioned me for an elected position my junior year. Which led to being student body president senior year. It was so clear, so focused, so calculated. I work well in 4 year time structures. I knew, my freshman year, the day I handed in my agreement to be a representative that I was doing it for the sole purpose of being elected student body president in my senior year. But you can’t tell people these things. It makes you sound cocky, and the world loves to see the mighty fall.

But in that moment at Taco Bell, I was right. Worry is a fucking waste. You do. You don’t. You move on. You can’t worry things into happening. You can’t worry things into not happening. You just can’t.

Lately, I’ve been a little too focused on worrying. Worrying that because I chose SF, and to take some risks, it’s all going to come crashing down on me, and the world will grind to a collective screeching halt to laugh at me. Yes, these are the things I sometimes think.

Maybe it will come crashing down. But worrying about it won’t make it happen or prevent it from happening. My life was meant to be lived, not to be worried about.

I’m finding my groove all over again, and I love it.

The Walking Wounded

Fred looks like he got hit by a bus. While we had him under, we also removed a skin tumor, had his teeth cleaned, and had some polyps removed from his mouth.

Poor guy.

But he’s home, YEAH! And now the 60 day countdown starts, hopefully in 2 months we’ll have a nicer dog that doesn’t pee on everything.

Bye Bye Balls

Tomorrow, Fred get’s his testicles removed. He’s become somewhat of an aggressive and territorial dog, and his marking behavior (read, peeing on everything) has increased. There is a 90% chance this will fix the problem, and if it doesn’t, I’m in deep shit with the husband.

I’ve been an advocate of neutering since we got Fred as a puppy. Brian has not shared that opinion.

As I explained to Fred, “tomorrow we are taking you to the doctor’s and when you come home in the afternoon you’ll be a nicer dog.”

Keep your fingers crossed that I’m not lying.

Uniforms

There are a wide range of sexual interests and subcultures in the world, the gay community included.

Some guys are into uniforms – you know, I’ll dress up as a cop and pretend to arrest you. I think the cop outfits make for the worst bar wear, because inevitably someone wears a pair of those ridiculous Ray-Ban aviators to the bar, and instead of looking like a hot cop, they look like a cop school reject that is desperately seeking to hold on to some shred of their masculine image by wearing sunglasses that are eight times too big for their face. But whatever.

Some guys are into military outfits. This is a wide ranging group. We’ve got the Coast Gaurd, USMC, Air Force, Army, Navy, Special Forces, Green Berets, The Boy Scouts, and any number of variations using international forces. Like, you know, we’ll be Navy bunk buddies and it’ll be all hot and discreet like. The unforunate thing about these outfits is, unfortunately, when you are wearing camoflauge at the bar, I can still see you.

Some guys are into the whole cowboy thing. Let’s dress up and you can hogtie me while I’m wearing spurs. Quite frankly, wouldn’t you be really nervous having sex when someone was wearing spurs? Of course the flip side to this is dressing up like an indian, but after that one village person tried it, he was laughed out of the gay community and we’ve been pretty safe from bad indian drag since the 70′s.

Some guys are into wrestling singlets. Which I think is just about the silliest thing, ever. But whatever floats their boat. I’m not judging, I’m just saying that I’d never wear one.

Of course, construction workers are another hot uniform outfit. Along this same theme of rugged outdoorsmen we also have the logger outfit. With thigh high boots, flannel, and a mustache.

But for a moment, let’s talk about the uniforms you don’t see. At least, the uniforms I have yet to see a gay man wearing.

Public Transit? Who really wants to dress up as a bus driver and try to get sex?
Oh yeah, Mr. Bart driver, smartly turn into the bus stop, turn on your hazards, and help the old lady get on? I mean, it just doesn’t have that ring…

Public Service? Cable Companies, DirecTV, the sears repairman, the Maytag guy. No, I don’t think so.

Vetranarians? No, and for good reason, if you ask me.

Sanitation Engineers? It’d would be really funny if they wore a whole lot of cheap obnoxious cologne. But funny at their expense, not funny ha ha.

Gardners? Fast Food Employees? Dog Catcher? Forest Service Ranger? (which, when you think about it, should fall into the rugged outdoorsmen category, but I think we all have an image of friendly, helpful, kind of nelly, Forest Service Rangers.)

But really, of all the list, I still have to say the best is public transit employee. It just makes me giggle to no end.

Always on My Mind

So in a recent comment, my mom wrote:

“Who the hell wants their mother in their head?”

But if you think about it, our parents are always in our head. In some way. At some level. They just are. In fact, I’d venture to guess that they are so ingrained and comfortable in each and every one of our brains, that most of us don’t notice it.

This is 4 posts in about 4 hours, which just confirms my hot or cold personality.

I’m off to eat Pizza.

No really, I am.