It's 12:30, and I'm getting ready to run over to Halo. I'm gonna guzzle some booze before I get there, out of neccesity this time around. I can't afford to be drinking all of my money, as per the norm, because I just bought tickets to Hawaii. Lauren and I are gonna be there from March 3rd until the 10th.

Fucking stoked. Pam's gonna have no idea what hit her.

That said, I totally missed work this morning. I slept through/never set my alarm last night. I'm not sure which it is 'cause I did my very best to entertain yesterday evening on what became a two event night. Kelly [straight] came over with her gayboyfriend Matt and I cooked us all dinner while we watched the two hour premier of Alias. We might start doing that regularly, Kelly and I. God Bless Tivo.

Speakin' of the Lord, god bless good sex. Neighborsex rules.

I don't know who the fuck this quiz thinks she is, startin' out all fantastic, and then cuttin' to the quick of my crazy like its her job. Fidelity, abuse, and pathological lying? Fuck that bitch, I will mace her ass. She don't even know me!

From here on in, no more quizes!


To wit:

You are a XSYG--Expressive Sentimental Physical Giver. This makes you a Sex Bomb.

You are sexy sex sex sex! The sexness! You are the sexiest, hottest and most charismatic of all types. You are a captivating speaker and a great dinner date -- relaxed, self-effacing, charming and generous. Your type probably has origins in something sad -- trying to keep the peace in a tough family situation, or an early heartbreak -- and you'll probably want to address and resolve that at some point, but in your relationships that heartache is pure gold!


You lie effortlessly -- not necessarily a bad thing. You can have problems with fidelity. You need frequent praise and validation, and in seeking it you can make decisions that aren't consistent with your general good judgment. In other words, don't cheat on your significant other just because someone is paying attention to you.

You strongly dislike conflict, and will avoid it. Like an XPYG, you give so much of yourself to your partner that you feel dismissed and unappreciated if you don't get the same in return. But you internalize your feelings more and have a hard time getting over them. You don't *want* to cheat -- you just keep finding yourself in vulnerable situations. But you'll stay with your partner in the long run from guilt and a desire to please.

Your sex life will always be hot. You are one of the rare people who can keep the fires of passion going forever -- if you find a good match. Find another XSYG and you will never need (or want) anyone else again.

Of the 175447 people who have taken this quiz, 8.2 % are this type.

I woke up just now very upset... I had a very vivid dream that I forced myself out of.

The dream starts in an apartment, and someone in that apartment is telling me how truly talented people are always crazy. He then began discussing a woman who could speak french, and then about this same woman's painting, and how it wasn't even what she was most amazing at. I can't remember (now) what she was supposedly best at. In the dream, I recognized the art work as my neighbor's, Caitlin's. We're a little older in the dream. Some things had changed.

I identify the art to the man as Caitlins, and return to working on my own painting. Caitlin is there now. It begins to rain, and the paintings begin to become wet, both caitlin's and I's. Shes there, and faces appear in the paintings that are getting rained on. Its beautiful, unintentional, and lovely.

The dream itself feels like complete reality. There is something going on across the way, in the dream, that requires caitlin and I's attention. I immediatly fear the worst, that something's happened to ashley. I think, in the dream, that she's dead. We run to where the ambulances are. Dream Caitlin is very worried, too.

We get there, things are fine, and the homes that have the emergency are rows of trailers, not unlike the trailer parks I recall from my youth. Caitlin chats up the firefighter, I chat up the other, nothings wrong. I realize I can't remember anything from Real Now to Dream Present Day (the dream, again, is in the future).

The dream goes on, I don't remember now for how long, and I'm now with Caitlin's mom. We're having an intimate time together, the three of us, I think over dinner. I confess that I may need a shrink. I also admit that I don't remember the past four months or so. Not a thing.

I ask them to tell me what happened, what had transpired in the time that I'd lost.

Her mom worries that it will upset me greatly. She, in the dream, is very close to me apparently.

I ask what happened, what I was missing.

They agree it might be time to tell me.

Caitlin hesitantly tells me that a very close friend betrays me. I am told I have nothing to worry about anymore. She tells me it happens on Feburary 22nd. I, in the dream, think thats Mark's birthday. She doesn't confirm or deny anything. She relates that I fell off crystal wagon, hard, and that I'm lucky to be alive. She also tells me that I don't have anything to worry about anymore. I ask if its what I fear, and she says yes. I think that means (in the dream) that I'm HIV +. I, in the dream, get upset, and she tells me that I am just plain lucky to be alive. It is implied that the betrayal and the HIV are related, I believe.

I realize, in the dream, that this can't be real. That I can't have lost THAT much time. I force myself to wake up, and I do.

I go to the kitchen, now in real life, and its flooding. At some point I left the kitchen sink on, or I slept walk and did it.

Weird, right?

Do I start fearing Feb 22?

Ugh. I woke up at 8:30 this morning, after having gone to bed at midnight.

Since the skitrip I've been waking up early for a variety of reasons, but on my day off I shouldn't have been wide awake so fucking early. Does this mean I'm going to be trapped on a too-early sleep cycle for a few days? Boo on that.

I've got some good news. The woman responsible for the sherry enema is pleading not guilty to manslaughter. Thank goodness! Atta girl! I was worried for her well being, the mans been addicted to enemas since he was a child. Heck, he even had recipes-- the man was legitimatly a mixologist for the ass.

Who can't respect that? Who? Who!



Lad-da dee la da da.

Today is laundry day here in the land of Mike, so I have to find something rewearable and not heinous to do laundry in. But first, I need to shimmy up the fire escape and get clean. Why up the fire escape? I haven't had hot running water in nearly a month and a half.

The UN says that running water is a basic human necessity, so basically, I live in Apartment Rwanda right now. I've had to go to Uganda (re: Cait, Ash, Jer's) to hygienate my self. Yum! At least I've been able to call my living room Gitarama in good jest.

The light at the end of the tunnel (or more appurtenant, the water at the end of my pipe) is that the plumber will be here on Tuesday at 9am. I'm so fucking thrilled. I may actually be able to have a normal, clean, bath again. Honestly, the water pressure in the tub wasn't a damn thing worth writing home about in the first place, so now that I'm getting all new pipes, I really am looking forward to my new Bath-Time Barbie abilities. Yay!

I had tasty steak today for dinner.

I can't remember the last time I had red meat. I think it was this summer at Hamburger Mary's-- a freakin' hamburger. I grilled and seasoned my steak all by myself this time! Word!

Mark had to help me dethaw chicken the other day, and today he brought me fresh baked rye bread made from scratch. Jeeze, he's talented.

Anyway, red meat for red blooded boys. I'm off to the bar to flirt unabashedly.

Inbetwixt the haze of smoke and the yummy manjo fruit salad, Puja and I spent a whole day catching up, gabbing, and basically giggling at one another. Hell, we even made that fruit salad. And went to dinner. HUGE dinner. God it was good.

Good, good stuff.

Puja told me that I need to leave the opening of ethnic fruits to her. She's wise, that one.

The folks had their 23rd Wedding anniversery last night; it doesn't get more romantic than the first day of spring, ya'll. They're coming into the District this evening to hang out and have dinner and I'm really very excited, not having seen them in a few months and all. They should be here around 7:30, which means I am gonna miss happy hour on my only day off. I'll manage.

Puja is going to be returning my cell phone to me tonight after I go to dinner with the family. She's had it since February 26th-ish, so I'm really, really excited to have it back. I can't believe I went nearly a month without it, without killing myself.

I've spent most of my time with the improv kids, the neighbors, or the neighbors and the improv kids together, so its made the lack of phone calls much more tolerable. I know what its like to just go a knockin' on my friend's doors now. Its like the olden days!

Mark and I shook out the shag rugs today. On my corner. You have to go outside for an event like that, regardless of where you live, but in the country its much easier. Your back yard distinctly belongs to you and only you, but here in the district my back yard is the neighborhood’s posh grocery store. People get uglypissed when they’re attacked by dirt launched from what looks like a dead llama being beaten by a fag in the middle of the sidewalk.

Fuck ‘em. Fifteen shaken, beaten, dirty lookin’ minutes later, and I had clean carpets.

My apartment’s now a cohesive whole, if you couldn’t tell from the shag-shakin’ anecdote. I highly recommend looking in my windows should you find yourself on the yonder side of P or 14th. You can see a giant glowing “M” coming from my bedroom. I hung, oh I dunno, about eighteen feet of super bright rope light behind a 6 foot asian rice curtain that’s stuck to the wall about 14 feet up… so, now everyone’s left with my monogram starin’ up Northwest. It feels good, and is also incredibly, absolutely self important. Word.

I’m no longer inhabiting the Apartment Rowanda—its blossomed. Its all fourteenth amendment up in here, reconstructions going down right here on fourteenth street.Yah, Le Chateau de Ghetto is now a little more chateau, and a whole lot less ghetto. I’ve got curtains, the floors are mopped and the art is not only on the walls, but in frames. Carpets are clean, surfaces are dirtless, furniture is matching, and I’m even cooking in (though, that has more to do with the weight of my wallet than with the allure of local eateries).

I wish my apartment were more of a physical avatar for my inner feelings, ‘cause then my head’d be feelin a little less messy. Unlike my carpets, I still feel weighed down by something. Even going to the gym and going tanning feels like a chore. Maybe its me that needs to be taken into the backyard for a good pounding, ‘cause my sex drive is nill. I’m left to wonder, of course, whether its me that’s down about my sex drive or my drive that’s responding to me. Chicken or the egg, kiddies?

Ugh, listen to me. ”Who is it that I want? And why don’t they want me?” Lord. Sorry to go all Joey Potter on you, but it’s a problem. And that’s prescientology crooked smile Holmes, not the arm candy to crazy couch surfing superstar creature that the Star keeps telling me about. (No, I haven’t seen Batman Begins yet)

I could wax celebrepoetic all day on the vast neurosis of my inner angsterreha, but I’ll let it end here—for the time being. Only boys with boyfriends, both connected to the Improv, seem to want to flirt openly. I can’t (with a clear head) go a nookie-nooking behind some dudes back knowingly. Its just yuck-o. I should totally just go get cats and take up knitting. Uuuugh, I actually already know how to knit. I’m halfway there. Sidebar—Trev, who I learned how to knit with, got a hold of me this week. We chatted. I don’t trust myself not to cry at the end of our instant messages, and I secretly loathe myself for that. I haven’t yet cried, and odds are good I never will, but oooooh if my shrink were here….

Enough, enough, I said I’d stop.

Shits good. The world’s calm. This is no hurricane’s eye, there is no monsoon approaching. Its just stability. Stability is new and really, really scary. Terrifying. Setbacks give you a reason to sprint, and forward momentum is exhilarating, but stability feels way too much like attrition. You wanna know something else about stability? Its boring as fuck. Yah, uh huh, you heard me-- it’s totally not at all interesting. I’m really surprised you’re still here.

Lemmie see if I can figure out something good to tell you. What is interesting right now? Lauren’s gone to San Fran for the week (its pride!), Geoff’s in Boston (for training), and I’m workin’ every show this week at the club. Erin had her Birthday last night at the Ugly Mugg, and I now dig the fuck outta Eastern Market. I had a phenomenal time. JD wasn’t there, but that’s okay, cause I think he and Nelina deserved some good nookieing in their new place (which is in Erin’s building, overlooking Meridian Hill Park). Kelly is back from South Korea, and I’m stoked to see her. The neighbors got a new kitten that’s taken to shitting in their laundry basket. I almost got the kitty, but I decided against it since they liked him, too. If he’s shitting in laundry baskets, maybe I made the right call (but I do want one!).

What else? I worked on my resume and sent it out to a variety of Craig’s list ads in the marketing, PR, and promotions section, and what do you know? Someone’s interested in me. The gigs for coordinating and creating events for a GLBT crowd at straight bars. Bring it the fuck on. I’ve spent so much freakin time getting bombed at the Hunt, the Fox, and the Front Page instead of JRs and the Fireplace, and now I get to refer to all that time as research and interning. Bitchin.

Back to my internship.

(photo lost to time)

Ahoy Hoy!

Sebastian Cole takes after his daddy more and more every day. Aside from runnin' all goofy-like, he also has an interest in gardening. Yes, little Bashers decided that he just couldn't stand my schaflera tree any longer and decided to dig it up. Seven and a half gallons of potting soil later, my kitchen looked like the start of a mud wrestling ring.

I had moved the ailing flora to the kitchen hoping that the better lighting would allow it to thrive, and now in hindsight, I'm glad I did. Much easier to sweep and mop the kitchen as opposed to the shag.

I've got no clue as to what time the puppy started digging, 'cause I found the mess this mornin. It had to be after Mark and I had dinner, but before the puppy was crated. I'd have a better idea if I hadn't already tied one on that evening-- Bellinis are delicious.

Speaking of bellinis, Mark and I have crafted an easy and delicious sparkling treat that also will fuck you up. Nothing like class and trash, right? Mash up about two slices of frozen peach and throw them into the bottom of a champagne flute. Add a shot of Absolut Apeach (delicious in everything!), and then fill the flute with your sparkling wine selection. Perfect-o and delicious. You can prego me later.

Oh, also in the naughty pet department, the neighbor's new little kitty decided to shit on Caitlin's bed this weekend. It was my fault, I didn't shut her door all the way when I went and raided her stencil stuffs. I made Lil Miss Mo a birthday stencil for the back of her work shirt so that she could roll in a little extra dough for working on her b-day. The shirt came out okay, but I wish it hadn't been at the expense of Caitlin's new sheets. Alas and anon, I'll be washing her linens this evening.

Back in the land of Stencil and Mirth, I'm almost done with my Sebastian stencil. I'm totally gonna put him on a wifebeater. I may also tag his likeness in some spots around town now that the infamous BORF has been caught-- someones gotta get prolific with the guerella art.

For now, this one's definatly going on a shirt and a wall:

(photo lost to time)