When you are unemployed, which is to say when you are underfed, harassed, bored, and miserable, you don't want to eat dull wholesome food. You want something a little bit 'tasty'. There is always some cheaply pleasant thing to tempt you. Let's have threepennorth of chips! Run out and buy us a twopenny ice-cream! Put the kettle on and we'll all have a nice cup of tea! That is how your mind works when you are at the P.A.C. level. White bread-and-marg and sugared tea don't nourish you to any extent, but they are nicer (at least most people think so) than brown bread-and-dripping and cold water. Unemployment is an endless misery that has got to be constantly palliated, and especially with tea, the Englishman's opium. A cup of tea or even an aspirin is much better as a temporary stimulant than a crust of brown bread.
- George Orwell, The Road to Wigan Pier

"Caution: Especially those who want to start practicing the two yoganga’s “Asana” and “Pranayama” without following the aforementioned niyamas, following drawing charts and practicing on their own freewill will not receive benefits but may also be responsible for tarnishing the name and bringing disrepute. " http://grimmly2007.blogspot.com/2013/08/krishnamacharyas-house-recommendations.html?m=1

Want to know a secret?

I start out every single one of my yoga classes with a dynamic warmup, just like how we start a CrossFit class at Balance Gym.

Around my parts, we call the warmup “sun salutations,” and there are as many different varieties of sun salutations from tradition to tradition as there are accents from location to location.

A ”dynamic warmup” implies that the warmup changes based on neccesity. It would seem to me that this is why you find different salutations– making sure that everything is primed that’ll be used, and not wasting time on what won’t.

Ask any lifter who has trouble opening up their chest what its like to do an overhead press, cold: not so easy/safe. How about getting a yogi to place their forehead on their shins, immediately after starting practice? Oft-times, not likely. This is why we heat the body up and acquaint ourselves with correlated movements. I mean, c’mon! It’s called a WARM UP!

One of the most common sequences that you see in salutations also happen to be two of the more common movements you see at the start of a CrossFit class: Urdhva Mukha Svanasana and Adho Mukha Svanasana. You probably know them as upward facing dog and downward facing dog, respectively.

Why so popular? These two little movements work to create a flexible, strong back, improves posture, firms the buttocks, stimulates your abdominal organs, improves sciatica, and can be therapeutic for asthma. Getting movement back into your chest, shoulders, improving grip/wrist strength, aaaaaaaand improved breathing? That’s a lot of bang for your buck.

Knowing how to come into and to exit this posture, though, is important to receive maximum benefits. So how do we do this warmup effectively?

Lets start with Updog:

Step 1:

Start out lying on the floor, flat on your belly. Walk the legs back, making them as long as possible). The feet should be hips distance wide, lining up the center of the foot with the frontal hip bones. Place the hands on the floor next to your chest, keeping the middle fingers pointing straight ahead, in line with the deltoids.

Step 2:

-With an inhalation press the tops of the feet and the palms into the floor. Raise the head and chest.

Step 3:

-Straighten the arms and lift the waist, hips, and knees a few inches above the floor. Pull the trunk and legs forward.

-Turn the arms out, widening the collarbones, and curve the trunk back between them. Bring the coccyx, sacrum, and lumbar forward.

-Avoid firmly contracting the glutes– instead, firm the quads and lift the kneecaps. Stretch the front of the body from the pubis, feeling as though your frontal hip bones were reaching for the backs of your wrists. Raise the sternum and top ribs. Take the shoulders back and press the shoulder blades (and the muscles around them) in.

-Take the head back, without constricting the neck or straining the throat. Gaze back to intensify the curve of the trunk.

What else should I know?

First and foremost: keep your low belly drawing in and up. This will help keep you safe!

Sometimes, there’s a tendency in this pose to “hang” on the shoulders, which lifts them up toward the ears and “turtles” the neck. Actively draw the shoulders away from the ears by lengthening down along the back armpits, pulling the shoulder blades toward the tailbone, and puffing the side ribs forward.

Your legs should do the work, not your back. To increase the strength and lightness of this pose, push from the backs of your knees along thecalves and out through the heels. The tops of your feet will press more firmly against the floor; as they do, lift the top sternum up and forward.

Be aware here: Keep the elbows and knees locked.

It is also important to allow the abs to relax during any backward bending pose. The back muscles are what flex here and a relaxed forward side of the body helps allow for this backbend to happen.

So– what now?

To transiton into “downdog“:

-first engage the legs, then the tailbone, then the sacrum. Try to feel as though you were moving from the pelvis. Let your thighs pull back and your hips reach up, rolling over five or ten toes at a go.
-Pull in the head and neck last. The gaze is at the belly button, and the ribs tuck. This is the way to synch the postures without putting stress on your neck and shoulders.

Try it. Legs first, then tailbone, then sacrum, then the relaxed, dangling neck and head.

Need more help?

Hands and Feet:

A high plank hold, an upward facing dog, and a downward facing dog all have the same hand and foot placement. Keep the hands in line with each other and the feet hip distance wide. You needn’t fidget.

The Transition:

As you move from updog, tuck the toes under (either by rolling over the toes or by flipping each foot), raise the head and trunk; bend the legs to raise the hips. Straighten the arms.

Finding Down Dog:

-Press the palm heels into the floor, stretch the fingers and clutch at the earth as though it were a globe. Wrap the back of your armpits down towards the mat as you roll the inner arm up. The inner armpit should feel hollow.

-Lift the pelvis nice and high. Keep the coccyx and the bottom of the pubis pointing up, pulling the pubis between the legs.

-Without losing the height of the hips, stretch the heels down. Move the thighs and shins back to bring the weight onto the backs of the legs and the heels. You’ll really want to feel the thigh bone pressing into the back of the leg. Spread the toes.

-Continue moving the trunk towards the legs. Keep the ribs anchored in, and let the collarbones widen. Relax the head and neck. If possible, rest the head on the floor (with active, unbent arms).

For Further Reading:

Yoga Anatomy, Leslie Kaminoff

Yoga: The Iyengar Way, Silvia, Mira, & Shyam Mehta

Yoga Journal, Updog

Yoga Journal, Downdog

From the NYT Article, “A Yoga Manifesto“:

Yoga is definitely big business these days. A 2008 poll, commissioned by Yoga Journal, concluded that the number of people doing yoga had declined from 16.5 million in 2004 to 15.8 million almost four years later. But the poll also estimated that the actual spending on yoga classes and products had almost doubled in that same period, from $2.95 billion to $5.7 billion.

“The irony is that yoga, and spiritual ideals for which it stands, have become the ultimate commodity,” Mark Singleton, the author of “Yoga Body: The Origins of Modern Posture Practice,” wrote in an e-mail message this week. “Spirituality is a style, and the ‘rock star’ yoga teachers are the style gurus.”

Well, maybe it is the recession, but some yogis are now saying “Peace out” to all that. There’s a brewing resistance to the expense, the cult of personality, the membership fees. At the forefront of the movement is Yoga to the People, which opened its first studio in 2006 in the East Village on St. Marks Place, with a contribution-only, pay-what-you-can fee structure.

Lets make a few things really, really clear:

• Yoga on a mat without intention is simply exercise (albiet good exercise).
• Being an adept teacher (regardless of craft) does not automatically make someone a style icon but it will make that teacher a shaper of impressionable minds.
• Being free doesn’t mean being better, nor is the inverse true.
• Identifying with a teacher is not a bad thing, never has been, and it should come as no surprise that good teachers become well known.

So, what does it matter if you enjoy doing yoga in $108 yoga pants? It doesn’t.

What does it matter if you prefer sandy beaches over Manduka PVC? It doesn’t.

What does matter? Your attachment to these things. Me and my water bottle alone have no bearing on you as a yogi, but how YOU relate to me and my water bottle does. Luckily, if you practice yoga on the mat with good intention, you’ll be prepared to practice off the mat, too.

Pardon the platitude, but: practice, and all will come.

Yoga is a mind game, a breathing exercise, a way to prepare ourselves to be better for what lies ahead. That said, if you’re confronted by a sexy ass in a pair of something lulu, or caught up in envy of the mat (or pose, or person or…) to your left, you’ve been given some excellent obstacles to overcome in order to enrich your real yoga practice. Your own indignation is a reflection of the work that lies ahead for you.

This whole article struck me as indignant.

The goal, the main aim of (what I believe to be) true yoga is to stop the fluctuations, the churning, of the mind.

With the right intention you can charge how ever much you want for whatever you want and pay as little or as much as you want for whatever you want and it is yoga.

Everything else is yoga-based exercise.

It is the mission of Mid City Yoga (my company, for which this blog is a joyful supplement) to bring what I believe to be a transformative, ancient practice to new places and spaces. I’ve been calling it guerrilla yoga for the past few years, but in reality, its just another name for the same thing: yoga.

So, what does this have to do with finances?

At the end of the day, wear what you want. Do yoga on what you want. And do yourself (as well as the universal self of which we are all a part) a favor and don’t judge others for preferring to do their practice how and where they care to– whether its on a statue in the middle of a circle, in a pay what you can class at the end of the block, or in a mirrored room at the Sports Club LA with a private teacher and a $900 water bottle. Seriously, dude, just get out and practice.

Two more quick facts:

• Jealousy ain’t cute
• The paths are many, the truth is one.

Now, in regards to the “rock star” yogi business… well, I’m a teacher, and I have people who like my pedegogy. Call me biased, but I’m glad for that. I love sharing my practice, and couldn’t do that without my students. The very same students who, not so incidentally, challenge me daily. I take pleasure in seeing my students progress in asana as well as seeing their world views shift based on their realizations fostered by simple mat-bound exercise set.

I would not be upset if more people wanted to share with me.

I have worked with many excellent teachers (including the aforementioned Bryan Kest), but I have very few people for whom I allow the term teacher to take reverence. Kristen Krash and Kristina Maze have both been very instrumental in my development as a man, a yogi, and a teacher for very different reasons. We have a relationship that is commonly called a parampara. Don’t worry if the term is new to you, it simply denotes a teacher who teaches a student directly from a specific lineage.

My paths?

BKS Iyengar to John Schumacher to Kristen Krash to Me.
Swami Sivananda to Swami Vishnu-devananda to Kristina Maze to Me.

Would I call either lady my guru? Probably not, because much like the term parampara, that word has some boogidty-boo baggage with which I’d care not to associate directly. Perhaps its the American in me, but whatever. I’ll confess I’ve got hang ups around the notions of a guru.

A better question: would you call Iyengar or Sivananda rock stars? I’d call them world renowned teacher. I’m hard pressed to relate them to the Beatles, Lars Ulrich, Madonna (as much as I love her), or Robert Plant.

Is it really this articles assertion that their is a movement suggesting you knowing who my teachers have been (or heck, just knowing I’m going to be yours) make me less effective?

I don’t think so. I would argue the opposite but again, the paths are many.

One last thing: I practice, in my personal life, the yoga of syntheis.

From wiki:

Swami Sivananda’s approach to Yoga was to combine the four main paths – Karma Yoga, Bhakti Yoga,Jnana Yoga and Raja Yoga …. This is reflected in the motto of the society that he formed, The Divine Life Society…. “Serve (Karma Yoga), Love (Bhakti Yoga), Meditate (Jnana Yoga), Realise (Raja Yoga).” In his own words, “One-sided development is not commendable. Religion and Yoga must educate and develop the whole man – his heart, intellect and hand.”

Back to the money: Serve comes first.

I know we shouldn’t expect free things everywhere, but if you have a teacher not giving of themselves selflessly somewhere (in some way), then I’m hard pressed to believe they’re practicing fully off the mat. No judgement, just seems like common sense. Selfless service, Karma Yoga, is an essential part of a practice.

As I enjoy teaching (and might be better at it, than, say, collecting trash), I find that my volunteer hours are often well spent doing just that. So, it comes as no surprise to me that their are free classes all OVER the place. And you would be well served to take one. Just remember to give back, too. Teach your nephew wheel or something.

Practice yoga in line, in Stroga, and in the sack. Yoga everywhere. Yoga anywhere.

Everyone will be better for it, and it doesn’t have to cost a dime.

During the super sweaty and grunty high intensity portion of today’s CrossFit workout, we worked in two heats. I found myself in the second heat, and subsuqently was able to observe other people doing what I was about to go do– and the free few moments to wonder why I was about to put such a great set of physical demands on my body.

But then soon it was my turn, and soon I was done. And before even that? The thought had passed. As I read this evening, I came across some words that answered the question I had forgotten:

“We are still animals — our physical existence is, in the final analysis, the only one that actually matters. A weak man is not as happy as that same man would be if he were strong. This reality is offensive to some people who would like the intellectual or spiritual to take precedence. It is instructive to see what happens to these very people as their squat strength goes up.”

-Mark Rippetoe

I think he’s right. I am happy.

Have you ever sucked in your gut to create that creepy too-big-rib-cage effect? Then odds are good you’ve used a muscle called the Transverse Abdominus. The TA is an important link in the deep kinetic chain of the body that allows for power from the low body to relate and transfer into power for the upper body (and vice versa) via increased stabilization in the pelvic girdle (and how it relates to the shoulder girdle).

As many of you know, I spend a ton of time throwing heavy stuff over my head– like, um, my body. If I want to improve, how do I go about it? Accessing the TA. It’ll seem obvious when I say this, but bear with; the more consolidated the core, the more control we have in all sorts of actions (olympic lifting, handbalancing, keg-standing).

Think about your core:

What do we have hiding underneath the skin?

First, the obvious:

• The big-sexy-six pack: aka the up-and-down rectus abdominus.
• The Side-abs: the external obliques.

These guys are all associate with torso flexion. They allow the body to “crunch.” Thats all well and good, but it doesn’t neccesarily speak to stablizing during the “crunch” or, heck, any other activity that might require you to not wobble (I think I can think of a few).

Much like my friendship networks of yore, the stable buddies can sometimes go less noticed in leiu of the louder (erm, less “stable”) friends.

Who handles the stabilization, then? The less obvious nonsuperficial muscle:

• The internal obliques: You can think of them as Patrick Swayze’s hands on Baby’s torso during the lift scenes. They function like that, cradling and lifting. The fibers of this muscle run perpendicular to their external brethren.
• The multifidus: Weaves along each disk of the back, and works to stabilize the joints at each segmental level. The stiffness and stability makes each vertebra work more effectively, and reduces the degeneration of the joint structures.
• The transverse abdominus: beneath those, we find a corset like muscle going around the bottommost portion of the spine (lumbar) and connecting all the way up to the low ribs.

When you draw the navel in towards the belly, you’re engaging your real core, your inner corset. The transverse abdominus contracts inwardly, bringing everything internal closer together. This is required for consolidated movement and efficient energy usage.

The multifidus is very small, but it has a unique design that lends stability to the spine , as well as working to keep you upright. When the multifidus is put on a stretch, as when you bend forward, it actually gets stronger. This is unlike most muscles which, when lengthened, lose their strength. The multifidus also brings space to the disks of the back, and brings the pelvis into a more powerful alignment for bigger (safer) actions.

The internal obliques are our same-side rotators. . It acts with the external oblique muscle of the opposite side to achieve this torsional movement of the trunk. For example, the right internal oblique and the left external oblique contract as the torso flexes and rotates to bring the left shoulder towards the right hip.

So how do we strengthen these good muscles and program ourselves to engage them regularly?

This method is super easy, but also not the most exciting thing in the world. Truth be told, at any given point, you can contract your transverse abdominus, internal obliques, and work your multifidus.

Egg Timer Method:

Draw in your innermost layer of abdominals without collapsing the chest. Draw up and in with the navel until the ribs splay, and then draw back in. Avoid slumping the shoulders. Imagine a zipper from the low back that goes to the navel, and zip it up, too. This will work the multifidus. Hold this contraction for 30 seconds. Repeat after a brief rest. Do this 5 times. Include one legged standing tilts (such as Warrior III in yoga). Repeat a few times a day. Next week make it 45 seconds. Third week? A minute.

String Method:

While drawing in the TA, tie a string around your midsection along the natural waist. For the rest of the day, every time you notice the belly flesh digging into the string, draw the belly back in. Do this consistently. Full disclosure: I haven’t done this yet.

The Benefits:

• a (dramatically) smaller waist line
• confidence in strength
• good balance
• safety in “big lifts” and “big jumps”
• decrease in low back pain

I’ve been asked by my students if yoga is a religion, and I’m hard pressed to answer. If religion is concerned with the cause and nature of the universe, then yes, I guess yoga is a religion. But, then, so too is string theory. It seems everyone wants a piece of the yoga pie, and folks are indignant if they’re left with crumbs. So, to whom does yoga belong?

The Washington Post Online has a read-worthy article from Aseem Shukla on the “Theft of Yoga”:

“Yoga is identified today only with Hatha Yoga, the aspect of yoga focused on postures and breathing techniques. But this is only one part of the practice of Raja Yoga that is actually an eightfold path designed to lead the practitioner to moksha, or salvation. Indeed, yogis believe that to focus on the physicality of yoga without the spirituality is utterly rudimentary and deficient. Sure, practicing postures alone with a focus on breathing techniques will quiet the mind, tone the body, increase flexibility–even help children with Attention Deficit Disorder–but will miss the mark on holistic healing and wellness.”

Mr. Shukla sits on the Hindu American Foundation’s board, and they released a position paper decrying the “theft” of yoga from Hindu culture. If you ask me, it sounds like a lot of sour grapes. Don’t we want everyone to have access to the divine? After all: Namaste means “the divine in me recognizes the divine in you.”

If you were to ask the American Yoga Association about all of this business, they’d tell you that yoga predates Hinduism, with tales of stone carvings with people in asana:

No one knows exactly when Yoga began, but it certainly predates written history. Stone carvings depicting figures in Yoga positions have been found in archeological sites in the Indus Valley dating back 5,000 years or more. There is a common misconception that Yoga is rooted in Hinduism; on the contrary, Hinduism’s religious structures evolved much later and incorporated some of the practices of Yoga.

Why are we being so grabby for a piece of the yoga-as-religion pie? Why does a study of the self with the aim of simply being the very best version of ourselves we can be need to be owned by any one world religion? I mean, even some Torah, Quran, and Catholic inspired yoga is popping up:

The idea of combining yoga and the rosary came to him in late 2002 while he was working on an Advent calendar. One window said “Do Contemplation.” Another said, “Pray the Rosary.”

“It happened in prayer,” he says. “Sometimes in contemplative prayer I would just try to rest in the presence of God.”

Conventional Catholic breathing and praying traditions, such as saying “in God” while inhaling and then “out me” while exhaling, inspired Galentino. The idea of incorporating Hail Mary occurred to him almost by accident.

“I found myself combining the two,” he recalls, “contemplative prayer with the rosary.”

The eights limbs of yoga are all about finding truth, the self, and our relationship with universal oneness.

I’m not a catholic, a hindu, a secularist, nor a heathen. Neither am I christian, pagan, nor orthodox anything. I’m just a yogi.

I’m a firm believer in the transformative powers of yoga, and the powerful effects of adhering to the system of raja yoga. Not lying, being disciplined, and not holding on to more than you need: these are the principals to which I adhere, and these are the principals of yoga.

Heads up Hindus, Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists and Bad Mamajamas of all colors and ilks: I love you. We can share yoga.

Om!

I'm going a little bit batty. It's been five days since the marathon and I want to go running terribly. I'm craving a nice hour of pavement pounding, but unfortunately I could do real damage to myself if I were to actually go out and about. So, I'm just fantasizing about it.

Jon Jon sent me a pic of his Halloween costume, all black trenchcoat goodness, a sleek set of matching .9mm's, and black hockey mask goodness; an inspired Black Jason. Also in the email? A picture of Josh and me. Aside from the fact that I need to stop seein old pictures of the two of us, I also don't need to be reminded of how fat I had gotten then. I looked a bit muppety with the weight. Oh, sure, not Kirsty Alley fat, but I was definatly chunk-o. Another reason I want to get the turf under my stride sooner rather than later.

But, ya, Tuesday was a good Halloweenin'. I rummaged through my clothes bins and pulled out my ancient football practice jersey and threw on Chris's green track pants. A nice black line done with old halloween lipstick under each eye and I was set to go. Football player it was. Nothing for ol' Guinness's books, but when an intoxicated tommy-gun totting moll asked an inebriated me (on a drunk bus, no less) what team I was on, I screamed "YOU KNOW WHAT TEAM I PLAY FOR!"

Fun. Fun. Fun.

I'm not here to judge the happenstance drunkenss of others, but I think that Team Sketch did very well. Puja played shortly after noon until right around dusk, her in a football jersey with the same lines as I had under my eyes. We were adorable. After that, we ended up at Toledo Lounge with (roll call!) Jordan, Nelina (bartending), Geoffery, Chris, Jason Lemon (Geoff's friend), and Rose (also G's buddy). From there, Chris and I hit up Tonic (after some minor barhopping), catchin up with Steve and Lisa.

Copious consumption continued until I was face down on steve's bed-- the same place I awoke November 1st.

There will be pictures shortly, with any luck.

What part of growing up means you feel less? I've lost track somewhere of how emotion places in the great race of life. When I was a freshman in college (hell, when I was a senior in high school) and Phoenix and I broke up, I thought I was going to die. I loved him so much. So very, very much. When Trevis and I ended things, I thought I had risked my life for him and deserved a better ending. I was so very naive, and so very, very young.

Age. Wisdom. Adult Emotion. They're not the same thing. It seems obvious, but it sometimes has to be said. Youth and naivity are intrinsicly different things, though they do frequently go hand in hand.

You haven't heard from me in the blogosphere in months because I've been dating. I've been actively seeing someone. I've been falling in love. And, my dear reader, as of now, it may be dunzo. I prefer to think it isn't. Without a sugar coat, things are very much undone and in the air. Over time, things may (and I hope they do) find a positive resolution that includes two people bedside.

I hope so. His name is Joshua. Josh Giamichae[l] to be exact, and one of the most amusing thing about him, to you my dear reader, is that he is (up till now) ungoogleable. Here it is. Find him on your whims-- this is his first post of placement. As of this hour, and on this day, I love a man. As cliches go, he's a good one to believe in. So, I'll ad hoc him into the 20 years from now stigma-- I expect to still love him for who he was to me. I (and here's how you know you love) hope that I still love him for who he is in 20 years. But for the here and for the present, I know a good man. I hope things work out for the best. I'm not sure what that is, but I've got faith it'll rear its head.

I've been gone because I've been chasing the ideals of love. I'm back now.

I plan on staying, love or no.

The paparazzi have been out in full effect this week, but I haven't gotten the photos to share with ya'll yet. I'm a slacking bastard, mostly, and haven't followed through on the follow throughable. Whatever, they'll get here when they get here. The photogs snapped a click-click or two of Krista and Myself in various regalia ranging from matching deconstructed looks to daniel and I as Truman Capote and Cowboy Queer. Three guesses which I was. Krista's visit coulda gone better, the poor dear. Her tire blew out, we never found einstein bagels, and our appointments ran long.

On the bright side, we did make good in the fat-kid section of Target.

Ugh, couple the negatives with a fabulous Mother Dearest-y hissy fit I threw on Tuesday, and I'm a raging star of self abuse and self involvement. I've been less than 5x5 for the past week or so, kinda down, less than bubbly. I don't know why, exactly, but of course it means that I'm a bit distant and cold. As someone who is both warm and mean at the same time, its often hard for those around me to know that when I'm cold and mean, it has little to do with them. Thats gotta be hard to take, and kinda just plain wrong of me to ask. And of course, a good rule of thumb for that, don't add alcohol.

So, I've bundled up nicely. Bought some pot. Stayed in. Went dancing on Thursday. Spent the weekend stoned. Its been nice. Lots of television catch up, and time to take care of the sick puppy.

He doesn't know he's sick, but he is. He's got really bad diarreha and whatnot. It could be from all of the shots he got last Monday, but I don't know for sure. Daddy's worried, and taking him to the vet tommorrow if he doesn't have consistantly firmer stool throughout the day (it was better yesterday). I'd take pictures of that, but honestly people, me in a daisey dukes is a far better sight. And besides, wait 'till you see Seb in his superman t-shirt Daniel gave him-- soo f'n cute, you won't know what to do with yourselves.

I love the smell of spray paint. It harkens back to a younger era of me in the country, bein' bad. I can always tell when someone's done a really fresh tag or when they've marked up the sidewalks somewhere for maintanence-- it throws me back to Colonial Beach before they paved the roads. A smell that I know equally well is that of ganj, a scent that harkens back to, oh, I dunno, about twelve hours ago.

I got all Taint-y with Alex on Sunday, and she had to twist my arm to get me there. I was zonked the fuck out from working all week, and had it not been for her insistance, I wouldn'ta made it. We were gonna go for a little drinky-drink, a little dancey-dance, and then just be-out. Two Sparks later, I had found my energy.

If you ask Alex, she'll tell you it wasn't the two Sparks, but the two boys, who got me moving.

Oh yeah, Alex and I got taken home from Taint. The boys, Joe and Dave, were both service industry folks. Joe's a little older, maybe early thirties, balding but cute, with a personality that was too blunt to be called catty and to catty to be called blunt. Facial hair and gauged earrings, light skin and darker features, he just wasn't quite my type. He checkeed a few boxes on the list, but really, his lack of boyish charm, and my Kathy Oversaturation, somehow warded off whatever spell he wanted to cast on me.

Dave, on the other hand, was much closer to my age. He was also much closer to Alex's height-- and Alex isn't a spectacularly tall girl, by any stretch. Not quite a stepladder makeout, but closer to 5'8 than to 5'10. Great arms, dark hair, and a fun smile. Funny as it is, Dave barbacks at Saint Ex, and remembered my drink that I had ordered all of once. Dave was being the wingman for Joe, and asked the normal litney of questions. I didn't give the answer Joe probably wanted. Thats okay, 'cause I'm fairly sure I gave the answer Dave wanted.

Puppy kicking and cruisey gym humor later, we had both made each other laugh. We moved from family guy to adult swim, and then he fessed up to liking Teen Titans. I told him that I dug on the Trigon storyline, and he misheard Trigun. We had both succesfully outed ourselves as nerds.

He invited us over, and on our way out (to his car), he told me that someone had to take shot gun.

"Shotty," says me. Like duh.

Alex, Yama (a third in their circle), Joe, Dave, and I smoked a ton of pot and watched a coach bag full of TV. We laughed our asses off, and enjoyed more Kathy Griffin on Bravo. "...Not Nicole Kidman" is a scream, and comes recommended. I didn't end up with either boy's number, but I liked my sit-next-to-session with Dave on the couch. I feel like following up or something, but we'll see. Its the start of the work week.

oh, speaking of work, I went out on Monday and saw The Aristocrats with a bunch of heads from work. Since we work at the Improv, we got invited to the sneak preview session. Enjoyed it fully, but the best part was with the old batty bitches midrow couldn't take the vulgarity anymore and dipped. That alone was as funny as the movie.

I was cranky all day Monday, but made it through. Feruza Balk and Return to Oz helped. Six Feet Under didn't. The second anniversery of Emily's death came and went, and I didn't totally break down. I was just salty at strangers. I also went a-googling Emily's name, and found out that the truck driver who hit her totally got four years in jail. Mary Washington also established a scholarship in her name.... the funny thing? She wouldn't have qualified.

She'd drink to the irony of all that.

There has been a sketchy-scary in my neighborhood harassing me for about the past week. I'd say he's roughly 39, looks 29, and is hella ripped, if on the lean side. His body is developed enough, and he's shirtless in the neighborhodd enough for me to have noticed, that I can't imagine he got that way outside of a gym. I believe him to be homeless, and with that said, I see him three or four times a day. He's been threatening, verbally abusive, sexually offensive, and just downright scary on more than a couple of occasions. We've had a yelling match (or two) and for the past few nights I've carried my mace securely in my freehand, safety off.

I shoot off my mouth and have to back it up-- he doesn't get away with talking shit to me, but I'm not out to pick a fight. I don't want to get fucking stabbed.

Last night he apologized to me on my walk home from Geoff's. Weird. He thinks we run into each other too often to have animosity. I don't disagree, and appreciated the sentiment, even if I'm still scared shitless. How do you take something like that at face value?

You fucking don't.

We ran into each other once again today while I was out running errands. He asked me, "Do you wanna hook up?" "No," I replied, not into fucking those that scare me (excluding for now the empirical evidence that proves otherwise). "It doesn't have to be sexual," he countered, finally saying "Do you place chess?" I again answered no, and told him that those weren't the kind of things that I was looking for. He wished me luck on finding the things that I was looking for. I wasn't rude or standoffish-- He then hit me up for a dollar, and I gave it, pleased enough that I didn't feel as though he was an immediate threat any longer.

I say "immediate threat" without any sort of color coded Ashcroftian slant, but if there was one, I'd still say that we're on level lemon. I managed to make lemonade once, but I don't doubt that this could still end sour.

(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)

[setup]I saw this great little movie that a few people have been talking about...[/setup]

(photo lost to time)

So, ya, Mark and I made it to the midnight screening of Star Wars on Wednesday night. I wasn't super duper impressed, but then again I'm not a Star Wars Junkie. Shiny pretty glimmering funshows always hold my interest, and if I were stoned, I'd definatly watch it again; high praise for someone who thought the first two of these steaming digital dogpiples were nigh on unwatchable (even during the shiny pretties). I'm hunching that if you really dig the heck outta the original 70's SW, you're gonna bust a geek nut all over this one.

Midnight screenings always bring out a hodgepodge of folks, and lets be blunt: Star Wars fans are wook-tarded. I could link my little heart out just showing you a small percentage of that point fifteen times this way of tuseday, but I had my own little bit of asshattery right here in the District. Some drunk bitch totally caused a scene.

(photo lost to time)

Not only that, get this, the bitch totally had to be escorted out with the aid of two managers, a handful of security guards, and even an undercover cop. After she was thrown out, her toolshed boyfriend didn't bother to leave or even see if she was okay. He stayed for the show. Can you blame him?

In the web of all things leaving, I've now left Bertucci's. No more chain pizza for me. We'll see what happens between me and the day job scene. The money lost, while certianly not entirely negligable, isn't make or break for me. This should prove to be a good oppertunity for new things-- outside of the resturant service industry. I guess I'm going to have less friday nights free for a while, but far more long nights out. This could prove fun.

I've been swirling around the month of May in a cloud of happiness and self reflection. I'm now 22 (22 on the 22nd), the same age as all the oldest "older man" from my dating days. I'm Trevis's age, ya know? Thats a little weird. Also a little cool. As a boy told me this week: Welcome to The Race for 30.

Yesterday was indeed the birf-day, if you happened to check the date, and it went off swimmingly. I spoke to all sorts of peeps on the phone, and I did some spring cleaning with Geoff-- good lord if le Cheatu de Ghetto didn't need it. We got it to a state of presentability that worked for a small soiree. In the evening, Miss Lauren, Pam [from Hawaii], Geoff, Nills, Lee, Alex, and Derrick[Alex's Twin] stopped by.

Oh, girl. Lots and lots of good chat-- we left the telecrack off all evening. It was totally a "That 70's Show" pana-rama-cam type o' night. Beers, Rum, Joints, Jokes, Bongs, Stories, and Bowls. Chatting and chilling for hours

The world is good, ya'll. So good, your find your imagination in high gear, and the urge to
tie a towel around your neck and run around a friends apartment overpowering. Being young and full of wonder is still okay, too.

When the streetlights outside hit the trees, and the shadows reflect onto one my windows, sometimes it looks like a monster waving just inches from the pane. The trees on P Street really are comforting, both in the day and at night. I don't mind the monster waving at me-- its like an old friend saying "Hey."

The snow has melted quickly, though its not as if the inclimate weather made much of a dent on my weekend. I made it to the National Aquariam with Marky, and we saw some excellent fatty invertibrates. Petrochirus diogenes, apparently. Just a good long day with a friend who I haven't spent a helluvalot of time with in a while. We even made it up to Adams Morgan to attack Toledo Lounge, catching up with Jordan and the boys. Mark and I won bragging rights by guessing the most Oscar Winners correctly AND we also have the high score on Q-Shot and Wordster. Granted, we were playing against straight men, but whatever. We're winners.

Good stuff. I guess this has been a swimming week for good buddyness.

Hawaii in two days.

Gosh, once upon a laxidazical, the idea of a lounge and a dentist’s office were wholly disparate notions. Alas and anon those days are gone. On a drunken stumble home, I noticed that Exhale Club and Lounge (motto: “Come in and Exhale”) was literally within two feet of an emergency dental office. The proximity conjured to mind other venues that maybe shouldn’t necessarily be so close: Amphetamines and glass blowers; ketamine and cat hospitals... that sort of thing. I expect more from my Adams Morgan, frankly! Adams Morgan should provide Cocain and Chimay; Sparks and Darvocet. Big Slice Pizza and self induced vomiting. But that’s it.

For all cotangled crackheadings, I am still glad that I can be honorable and worth knowing to a variety of people who have seen me falling down drunk (or otherwise out of my ever loving mind) in a massive way. Especially if those people caught that same state within a day of each other (re: I have a black eye still). At my most embarrassed for myself, its good to know that those friends who got to see you at that point of inebriation will still ask for your company to a movie or your company as a roommate, should they need it. All within two days of making an ass of yourself. Thank goodness.

I remember a thing from back in grade school when I was being bullied: negative attention and positive attention. Guidance counselors can’t be wrong– and a car that stalks me for two blocks, rolls down its window and has its driver shout to me “You need a ride” is clearly one of those aforementioned types. I’m gonna guess its negative, but I still like to think of it as postive... Without a valid quandary, I am left with two immediate and disparate thoughts: reach for your mace; be flattered. Both are equally valid, if not good. Important, if not right, as well as honest enough to each column of thought to allow myself pride and pleasure in going on my own skippy way. Without the ride.

I made it home safely last night.

I'm sore, banged, and bruised. But I'm happy.

No, I'm not sleeping with anyone on a regular basis: tanning has made me feel like its summer! Its amazing! I'm amazing! It really is time to herald the return of SummerDrunk!

Thursday didn't see me making it to all-you-can-drink-a-rama at JR's; instead I opted for the safety of straight men, and went to the improv to hang out with the boys. I can’t seem to escape the trap of ending up in bumfuck whenever I go out and play with them– the time it was Chris's in Alexandria. I woke up pretty much still baked. Shocking. I made it back to the District in time to party at Lee and Nill's with Ashley.

I was apparently more trashed at the party than I can recall myself (not blackout drunk, just feeling spectacular enough that I had no idea that I was tipping over my beer repeatedly for the sake of stories). I love shots, I really do, and at a point they stopped giving me real shots, switching them with water. It took me a few (3) to realize this fact, at which point I asked for another. Even I know that water is a good idea!

I was horizontal on my couch with my feet still on the floor when I awoke the next morning. There was no Ashley in sight, meaning she made it home safely. Attagir! last thing I remember from Friday night was the vane efforts at watching Alias. Sadly, we were both entirely too trashed to comprehend a whole episode. We must of start and restarted three times.

Umm, ya, it took a lot to get me to work on Saturday, seein’ as how I was still drunk when I woke up. It definatly required Lauren and I getting coffee... I love it when the coffee guy sees me at 4:30, blurry eyed and less than bushy tailed. He gives me my coffee for free! Hee! Anywho, when I got off work, I made it over to Shacha's for a lovely little party. It was already two, but that didn't stop Chris and I from goin' over there and having an absolutely fun time. Or so I think we had. Cause, uh, yeah... I got plastared at Sacha's.

I was drunk enough that I had to call around to find my keys on Sunday morning. I couldn't for the life of me figure out where I had left them. Apparently I put them in the sink, and Chris moved them for me. He knew exactly where they were...

My Drunky McSherlock powers of deduction tells me that Chris knowing where my keys are also means Chris had to put me to bed. Uh oh. This complicates things just a smidge-- on Sunday a friend of ours informed me that I may have "weirded" Chris out. Hee!

It damn well could have been anything. I am just as likely to have fallen asleep with my head in his lap as I am to have tried to make out with him. Either one of those could weird someone out, and either one is as likely as the other to have occured. He hasn't brought it up, and I'm gonna just let my own curiousity on the matter subside, and maybe just forget about it. Maybe. I am awful bruised up and my eye looks like I may very well have been punched– but that could have come from a domestic disturbance with my stairs.

I can’t wait to find out what really happened. There is nothing better than true gossip about yourself that you don't know.

So, anyway, like everyone else in America, I was doin the Super Bowl thing on Sunday. Drinks aplenty, but moderation, too. I clearly had been excessive for days and pace finally started to matter again.

I began my Super Day over at Caitlin, Ashley, and Jeremy's place, but I eventually had to make my way out to Glover Park for Bill's big shindig. Tons of people tons of fud, ya know? Bill’s all the way out in Glover Park, so it makes it a little tricky to get home, 'specially when I don't like waitin' around for the bus. I managed, with the aid of the lovely and wonderful Lil Miss Smokey.

Anywho, after my lovely ride home, I go to play more with Lauren, and she had Kelly in tow. Yay for snuggle buddies! Just snuggle buddies for a little while, though, cause this boy had to go to bed and get up eaaaarly on Monday.

This boy had the catch the Open Bar bus to Pennsylvania at 8 AM. Bailey's took the Improv skiing at White Tail providing us with the yummy open bar bus, ski rentals, lift rentals, a meal, and even booze in the lodge. Fred (Standsinsauce Movetocleveland), Bill, Chris, and I spent all day playing together. We provided the bowl hits on the side of a mountain, the good music, and the great comradery... It really was amazing, we had a wonderful time. See, ya’ll? Booze gives back!

I made it home early enough to go to Showtunes at JRs with Eric and his friends Kaari and Matt. Such a lovelier bunch of people than that one group I went with a couple of Thursdays ago. I practiced pace all day, and managed to not hurt myself or anyone else all day. Kaari and I even got a high score at one of those pushbutton-y games you place at Bars.

So, now after this remarkably long tally of events, lets discuss the damage done:

Ankle: Twisted.
Knee: Cut
Right Eye: Bruised
Right Cheek: Cut
Back: Scratched
Right Wrist: Scratched
Thighs: Sore

Damage from Skiing: 1
Damage from Drinking: 6

I'll let you guess which is from what.

I couldn't walk down 14th Street this weekend without walking into a large, scary looking leather daddy, a slave sans ballgag, or a horrified tourist. Good Times. Yeah, the Mid Atlantic Leather Conference was in town, and I actually went on the "Meet the Meat" bar crawl this past friday. I knew that I could have gotten myself into real trouble, seein’ as how I dressed up like a gay 70’s teensploitation movie character. I was all sorts of varsity football jersey, shaggy hair, and rope handcuffs. Lets not forget the belt buckle in the back that Caitlin decided was just straight up “pornographic.”

Bitch was right, and I was hot.

Miss Meg came with me dressed in a sequened scoopy bra and leather pants. She looked hot as fucking hell, and honestly, the girl's body is ridiculous. I couldn't have asked for a better drinking buddy, seein' as how the minute we go to the Washington Plaza the straight bartenders were buying us rounds. We made one hell of a pair, tricked out football player and awry cheerleader.

We stayed at the Plaza long enough to get macked on by older gentle men, but no one of note decided I was the hotness, so we moved on. My fragile little ego needed to be stroked (yes, ego, not that) so we hit the Green Lantern and Titan, too. Lantern was excellent, and I made out with a boy for fun. Figures, he was the only one there who was clearly not there for the leather scene. He had gotten lost on his way from JRs, I imagine. Poor cute, tallboy.

I’m lame enough that the fact that his name was also the title of a Newbery award winning book made me want to make out with him even more. I suppose if I was going for the self-referential grade school sex look, a Newbury winner would be perfect.

Alas, bad kissers sometimes have great names, so it was back home and back to Yums for detox and rehashing. Meg made her way to the bathroom to relieve herself of a cocktail or two, and managed to sleep for a short bit on the bathroom floor. Yikes. I passed out somewhere between the Tivo and the radiator, with a jug of water next to me. I found it in the morning, but couldn’t find my voice. I reckon that’s why the slaves didn’t have ball gags, one night out, and even this loudmouth couldn’t talk the next morning.

One of the hot things about last night is that there were quite a few pictures taken of Meg and I, so somewhere someone is ogling us in posterity. Hot.

Where the fuck is Paris Hilton when I need her?

I could really use her black amex right about now. If I'm going to Hawaii, I need a few things: rock hard abs, a well furnished apartment to return home to (no one likes coming from paradise to la chateu de ghetto), and some new clothes.

Margaret Cho once upon a time ago revealed the true secret for perfect abs: sucking cock. The only way to get the perfect washboard is through repetitive waist-bending motions, something that I hadn't, until recently, been partaking in. Since my sex drive died out somewhere around the time of my crystal meth addiction, I assumed that it was the drugs and not the dick that caused me to disappear into a lithe, toned, concentration camp Ken look. The gym has taught me otherwise, showing me that I can have good arms and pecs without nose candy. I'm actually not allowed back at my gym, so theres no way to know if it would have eventually supplied me with the washboard I want. That said, I'm left with one option: the only way to discover which variable, dick or drugs, was at work for me two summers ago is to reestablish an active, healthy sex life for myself.

Logic's fucking fabulous.

That brings us to point two: My apartment. While mostly well furnished, the old girl could use some help in the bedroom. Long neglected from lack of use by more than a stumbly drunkard (read: me), I think its time to make it a saddle worth getting back into. Bookshelves, artwork, maybe even a bigger rug. An ottoman to be bent over.

If only I were 18 again... oh, the wistful days of having more than a passing resemblances to a high priced twink escort and the number of sexual suitors to match. Oh, the days of having boyfriends to just steal cothes from.

Alas, now I've some how become indie meets Bloomies, and I'm actually the person I would have stolen clothes from.

Sun-drained and deeply tanned is how I'm spending this third of july. Krista and Crystal came down the day before yesterday to visit, and we went over to Playbill for drinks and for karokee. When we arrived, there was this amazing singer doing her rendition of "The Greatest Love" by Whitney. She rocked the fucking house. The next few singers were no less stunning.

Who knew that they were from two musicals over at the Kennedy Center? "Beehive" and "Sheer Madness" have been playing for a little while each over there, and I guess the principals made their way to my little dive bar for fun and laughs.

Poor Crystal, the one member of the family who can really sing didn't even get a chance to show her chops, since the Karokee machine broke half way into the evening. The other half of the evening was filled with acapella-ness.

We left, somewhat appropriatly, on "Empty Chairs" from Les Mis.

We had finished off my big ass bottle of Vodka before going across the street, so when we got back and danced in my apartment for an hour, it allowed us some sobering-up time. It also allowed for some hardcore emotional bonding... over the words and music of Dar Williams. We hugged, cried, and remembered why we were so glad to have each other.

LOVE them.

After the hour or two back at the apartment, we hopped our way over to Apex and did some dancing. A cute boy in a hat danced with Crystal, and Krista and I just rocked our shit. It was one of those nights where I wasn't feeling dance shy at all, so I grabbed the girls by the hand and led them to the up-stage area, and the crowd cleared for us. Its a satisfying feeling to watch people watch you, and know that they are making desirous looks. It feels good, its fucking empowering, and it makes me want to shake my dance shyness altogether. If Krista and Crystal are the antidotes for it, maybe they should just be around more often... just a thought. 😉

Anyway, we came down to the country the next morning, ending up at my folks bright and early; we left at 8:45, and made it here by like 11ish, including the stop at McDonald's.

We drank lovely frozen drinks and swam in the pool all day long. I'm a red-tastic light-burned thats going to fade into a gorgeous tanned, which is more than I can say for Ms. Crystal, who missed spots all over herself with the suntan lotion, and thusly looks like a bizarre picasso. No big thing. Its just funny shit.

We had been up for so long, drunken no less, that as soon as 10:30 rolled around, we were crawling into the tent to pass out.

Oh, ya, with so many heads in the house, we just pitched a tent in the back yard and pretending to be pioneers. It somewhat matches another portion of the day's activities... we decided to put go trapsing through the swamps around here like we did when we were little.

Muddy and yucky. Totally my childhood.

Right, so yeah, at 10:30 we were crawling into the tent, and being the person I am, I went ahead and checked my phone for messages. I had a text message from Bville Boy. Bville is an old coworker of mine, and someone I once considered a really good friend. When I cleaned up my addictions, I ended up losing my friendship with him.

He and his then-boyfriend were Lauren's roommates in the Holmead House, and they really sorta scewed over the member's of that home. Lauren, of course, is living with me now, but the reason she moved into the apartment with Jess in the first place had a lot to do with having to move out of the Holmead House-- when half of your roomates, Bville and BVEx, aren't paying, you sorta have to get the hell out.

So, Bville Boy revealed to me that he was at court for his eviction proceedings, and during the trial or whatever, he had a heart attack. A real, honest to god heart attack. He's fine, from what I can tell, but having his heart stops eems to be what he needed to kick start his quitting. BVEx has decided not to kick the habit, nor has his BVille's best friend... and to my shock, the ex and the best friend (who is a lesbian) are living with someone new... Justin...

I've mentioned Justin here previously. I hold massive distrust for anything/anyone associated with that boy, and damn it, I'm honestly thrown through a loop. How do you trust someone who is tied to the person you most intimatly tie in your head to your abuse?

Bville Boy was crying on the phone with me, and he told me he missed me. I'm the only person he knows who's actually cleaned themselves up, and he wasn't sure if he should contact me or not. Kate told him to. She said I'd be a good person to talk to about this... Kate. More old ties.

He informed me he's living with his parents, and I told him to stay there. I told him that's the best place to be (his parents are apparently helping him a ton, being supportive, etc). I promised we could get coffee, and that we could talk about anything he wanted to. He was grateful. He asked me how I did it, how I quit-- he said it was so hard. How did I quit? Because I had to! Because my life was called into question, and I chose togo on living... and to him I swore, swore on my life, that it was worth it.

I want to call Kate and fact check. We'd spoken fairly recently, had a real chat, and I think she's on the path to "un-broken." Even when we were both broken toys, we still had an underlying bond. I feel like I can talk to her about whats going on without there being any pretense of sketch.

Justin also makes me so paranoid, so fucking sketchy, that when Bville told me that his ex and his old favorite lesbianwere living with Justin, I immediatly thought that this was a trick, or that Justin was trying to somehow "get" me.

A well placed call to Tara calmed my fears and squelched the paranoia, thank goodness. She provided me a superb Crazy Check, bringing me back to reality. She pointed out what I needed to have repeated, and reiterated the arms-length embrace philosophy that I was already thinking about.

I want to know so much more about whats going on in this situation. I'm curious how Bville, BVEx and Justin could have crossed paths to the point that they'd be living together. I want to know how much Kate is involved with Justin. Argh. Nothing I can do from here. I know I need to not think about it... just calm the fuck down and just tan more. A good tan solves so much. And besides, if I'm gonna see Bville I wanna have a tan, just 'cause I'm vain.

Speaking of vain, I did have steak and crabs today for dinner... I'm going to get soooo fat visiting my parents. Just thinking about these associations from my past make me feel obese. Isn't that awful? I wish Krista and Crystal didn't have to work on the Fourth and could just be here tomorrow, too. They left tonight to go back up to their respective states, and somehow I don't mind bein' a True Fatty when they're here...

So, so busy.

Lets see, what happened in the past month?

I got the apartment I wanted so badly. I live at 14th and P... I'm officially Mid-City Mike. So much has happened in the past month, its fairly daunting to decide what it is I should share.


We'll list them.

School gets hectic, so does work, so does moving. My gym-goin' slacks off.

School ends. It will be my last semester at George Mason, as I plan to transfer to the University of the District of Columbia. UDC.

The conversion van I used to move my stuff from Colonial Beach to here had a bad transmission requiring (and resulting in) some slow moving.

Pauline returns to California.

Robyn got married.

Tara moves to New York.

Dan and I put things to an end. We are too different.

I got a bike, which leads to funny drunken bike rides.

Got a boot on the ol' blazer, to the tune of $700.

Mark got a purple-flavor.

My bag (containing my wallet, keys, work clothes, Lauren's ipod, and probably someone's soul) got stolen.

Jarret and I scaled my fire escape, and in the midst of a fairly hot moment later on in that evening, the police decided to scale my fire escape, too. There's something creepy about the police looking into your room.

The neighbors, one a city planner, both under twenty nine, bought me a bottle of wine in apology for callin' the police on me.

Sacha's friend recognizes me at work. Calls her on the phone. We talk, and return to one another's life.

Phoenix and I actively speak more, returning in a friendly capacity to one another's life. He has a fantastic boy in, of all places, harrisburg.

Krista came down, went home when I didn't answer my phone (the night my bag was stolen), realized her err and came back down.

Paid to have new keys cut by a locksmith for my car. $200.

Krista and I have a fan-fucking-tastic couple of days runnin' the city for all its worth. We never make it to Haine's Point.

Jackie, Sacha and I reunite for two-day party. As it should be.

My wallet arrive in my parent's mail. The $120 that was in it is not there any longer, but my ID is. I no longer have to relive my pre-21 adventures. Also attached are my keys, negating the $200 spent on keys.

Lauren and Jess come to an end. Lauren comes to stay with me.

My CD player is stolen out of my car.

The people who sent me my wallet (the Washington Metro Area Lost and Found) do not have lauren's ipod, my bag, or anything that would have been with my wallet.

My savings have been thorougly drained.

Sacha finds in the newspaper an ad to drive some man's car to Tampa on the 25th of June. Will pay return air fare home. Blocks begin to be put into place for a spur of the moment to trip to Tampa.

My apartment is still fabulous.

I developed a fake crush on Jenny Lee's roomate, Alex (he's cute!).

Jenny Lee, Alex, and I go dancing. I develop a not-so-fake crush on Alex. He can discuss Oprah's effects on middle america. Applicable pop culture? Swoon.

Saw "De-Lovely" with Sacha. I'm imagining a vauge obsession with Cole Porter rising from this viewing for both Sacha and I.

I'm going back to the gym today.

Today has been a day of reflection unlike any I've had in recent memory. We celebrated Easter with the typical trappings of baskets and fake green grass that has been the tradition for every year I've been alive.

A lot of time has passed since 1996. Krista, Aric, Aunt Karin, Uncle Mark, Mom, Dad and I were reminded of it as we watched old movies of bygone holidays. We've grown up so much, we're so different, we're a million other cliches, but we're also very human; and thus, we're susceptible to a million more.

I taped over a part of Easter '97, which took place in Ohio, at some point. I'm an asshole. How was one episode of a stupid soap opera more important than my family's history? I guess I wanted to replace those years so badly that I not only removed the entries from my mind, I was cavalier about erasing them on tape, too. I didn't even think about who's feelings and memories it could hurt.

Such an asshole.

No grudges were held for my indiscretion with a tape. So little fear of retribution from my kin, in fact, that Krista was trusted with putting a hole in my body. A second cartilage piercing to match hers. Krista did it with a needle and an orange... my first new piercing since Trev, Matt, and I went and got my nipple pierced in July or August of 2001.

The hole in my nipple is still open, but no ring resides in it. I lost the metallic memory marker in a boy named Sebastian's apartment this summer. I met him in a dimly lit hotel party where a drag queen named Simone held court, and the party goers reveled, tweaked, and made complete asses of themselves, myself included. I swirled, passed out, and was taken care of by Sebastian at that gathering, one of the few times I needed Mike-sitting at a party. He kept the drag queen away from me, I reckon claiming me as his own in some sort of sick drug addict ritualistic way. I hadn't slept in 5 days.

We had hit it off earlier, I was taken by the glint his eyes displayed, though they were nearly covered by an angora kangol hat. He was the type of boy you weren't sure whether to hire to paint your fence or invite inside to paint the town, the kind who might use his knife for your defense or for worse. It didn't hardly much matter which you desired more, there was no short end to his stick. There's little question to those that know me why I was drawn in; He was a cup game, quick figure eights and tempestuous transition, daring your eyes to blink.

No, I should have known. I liked that he wrapped my mind up in wit, tied it up, and held it dear. I liked how the shadows ended before his lips began, leaving me with the anticipation of each well formed word. I wanted to listen, I wanted to taste.

He wanted me, too. My time in Sebastian's company in any capacity was around two months, and he led me to the social pools in which I nearly drowned. He himself proved to a horrible floatation device, one who preferred to sit at the bottom rather than rise to the top. He was a drug addict, with a far more ferocious addiction than my own.

He was also missing pieces of his soul that I could never repair; parents, best friends, a traitorous nature, and tina.

He left my life easily enough, an amputation necessary and grotesque for all the ways a mind can quiver and become weak for a drug that was flesh and blood.

I saw him online today. His bio said "4 Rnt."

There were rumors that got back to me almost as soon as I started speaking about him to others. All signs pointed to the fact that Sebastian had escorted previously. I checked my facts. They all pointed to prostitution, but I wanted to believe him when he told me they were untrue.

I can't make light of my own allowed delusions... I did, actually, believe him. I let myself be lied to. I let him meet my mother. I let him sleep in my bed, and told him he had a place to go if he needed to clean up. I wanted to believe I could help wash away the filth of addiction as easily as one wipes oil from the bridge of their nose. I wanted to believe that I wasn't feeling deep emotions for a liar and a whore.

I couldn't care less if he sold his body for money. I wish he hadn't sold his integrity. I wish he hadn't sold me out. I wish he hadn't lied to me.

I wish that holes in my body weren't reminders of holes in my soul. Holes in my own integrity. Holes in my own honesty.

I might have a thousand wishes, but I'll be damned if I'll rub a thousand lamps. Let him do that.

I can't tape over last year any more than I can erase myself. Let the sty in my third eye see skewed versions of myself, they can't be any worse than lies I believed or the lies I told myself and then repeated to others. Fuck Sebastian. I hope everytime he blows someone, he remembers blowing out the candles in my room before climbing to bed, remembers what my face looked like as I went down on Justin, and I hope he feels in his sleep, when he does sleep, what my lips felt like on his.

I hope he waits in anticipation for the taste of me. Let my only vengeance be my very lack of it.

Hit play.

Not a bad trip to New York, I gotta say.

Dan and I finished up our classes last Monday and hopped onto the bus and made our way up north to DC to meet up with Lauren and Jess. The original plan was to just crash there for the night and get up way early to catch the $30 round-trip chinatown bus, but as it turned out, there was a bus that left at like 3:30 in the morning. What'd we do? We caught that one.

Why not, you know? As the bus approached the other chinatown, the sounds of mandolins and gongs could be heard playing through the busses sound system. We were the only white folk on the bus, so lest I make some sort of offhandedly offensive comment, let me just say my asian brethen on the bus didn't seem like the blithely happy beats, nor did it seem to make them any happier than they made me.

We got off the bus and meandered through china town, making our way down to Chelsea. Do you have any fuckin' clue how hard it is to find a coffeehouse in china town? Once we all had caffeine coursing through our veins, we treked through the lands of lore: The Village.

At 9:30 in the morning we were in a 24/hour pleasure store purchasing a Fuckuko that the old lady on oxygen recommended. Well, clearly Dan and I didn't purchase it, Lauren and Jess did. They also had Pussy Whip in the flavors of Blackberry Brandy and Strawberry Wine. Both were in fact flammable. Seein' as how I don't have a pussy, I didn't bother purchasing any. I don't think I want to put anything that has the potential to catch on fire near my junx, thanks.

After we rode the subway for a bit, we ran into Jess's only family member in the city: her cousin. She's like 45 or so, and really cool. How random is it that we just ran into her on the metro? I was pretty impressed. Also on that ride there was this black couple, who were singing really, really well. Lauren swapped them a dollar for a photo, and they invited us to a free show at the Cafe Vivaldi.

So, after the stint on the sub, we arrived in Times Square, where Jackie's folks were staying. They were staying in the Iroquois, in a 3 room suite that was habitated by James Dean from 1950-1953. How deliriously swank. And cool. James Dean was probably fucking his tricks in the room I slept in... that’s so fuckin' bitchin'. Mmmm...

We actually ended up going to the show at the Cafe and hearing Chocolate Thai and Jubilee sing. They cafe had plenty of seating, as it was an 'unannounced' show, but there were still a number of heads present. Throughout the show, CT and Jubilee kept referring to us as their "DC Friends." It was really sweet. After the show, we walked around the borough we were in smoking a joint and gabbing. As it turns out, they are going to be on Sesame Street! I need to make sure I'm paying attention so that I can tape it. I would love to see someone I smoked with chillin' with Grover.

I kinda absent mindedly just left out Dan's friend at NYU, Adrian. I'm annoyed with her, and was annoyed with him about her. Long stories short: She was supposed to be out of her class and call at 2:00. We put ourselves in Union Square to meet her. She never called. Dan called, and she didn't answer. Dan apparently didn't make super solid plans, but never made that clear. Then Jackie wanted us to pick her up a handle of Jim Bean. No big deal-- we asked Adrian when the store stopped sellin' liquor, and she told us midnight. The show finished at 10:30, and we asked where we should go to get some, and then she said that they were already closed. I don't know if she's just super-self-absorbed or what, but I'd rather not believe she purposefully lied to my friends and I. She also didn't really say a helluva lot to my friends which pissed me off. I realized Dan hadn't seen her in ages, but I'd never treat his friends the way she treated mine, or at least not without apologizing to Dan for it later. No such apology came. It wasn't even the apology from him that I wanted, it was an awareness that maybe he is some how accountable for his friends actions.

Accountability is a big issue for Dan. Whenever something happens, its the worlds fault, or someone elses. He also is aimless and has no direct ambition. He's totally inactive in any decision making process regarding his own life. It grates on me so badly because I know what it feels like to be there, in that space. I was in that space not so very long ago, and being around it now feels almost like a step backwards. I've talked about it with him, and I'm optimistic, but darn it, shape up.

I talked to Mara about it, and she gave good advice-- stick it out. Be a responsible, mature person, and watch it wear off. I guess she's right. My annoyance with it and my readiness to drop him immediately for it is nothing more than my own self defense mechanism showing up... but it is a valid issue, and one worth paying attention to.

Anyway, back to New York, since I've gotten that tangent out of my system. Adrian neglected to tell us that getting into NYUs buildings required a Driver's License and a Driver's License only; Lauren only had her passport, and thusly couldn't be admitted into the dorms. Jess and Lauren were rightly pissed at this point. Afterall, Jackie, one of the sweetest (don't tell her I said that) girls in the world had let us stay at her folks suite in NYC, and all she requested was some liquor. She requested it of Jess, and because of Dan's friend's flightiness, we couldn't get it.

Jackie was on her way down from midtown on the subway when we discovered our inability to enter the dorms, so we waited outside for her. I told Dan to stay behind and play with his friend. When Jackie found us in Union Square, we bought beer and hopped back on the metro.

At the hotel, Lauren and Jess quickly fell asleep. Jackie and I drank a beer or two and then diddybopped into Time Square. We walked around in the neoday that only Vegas and Time Square can seem to replicate. We wandered, talked, bonded, and fell into the almost sensuous serenity of being nearly native. The city envelopes, controls, and somehow still stays in the background... We felt like we belonged. We shared months worth of emotion and unlocked the emotional toolchest and got to work on one another, listening, wandering, talking, and bonding some more. I love Jackie. We finished off a few more back at the hotel, never getting drunk, and just talked until the sun was nearly ready to come up. The next morning we got a hold in Jackie's Chin, bought a bowl, had cream of asparagus soup, tried on sunglasses, and caught a china town bus home.

When we got back in the car, I was expecting Dan to mention his friend's behavior. It never came. I grew annoyed with my own thoughts, and wanted to sort them out, so I had planned on going home. Dan could see that something was pissing me off, so he asked what it was. I expressed to him my concern with his lack of awareness and lack of accountability. The discussion was short-lived, however, because bad news came. The bust for Pot that had occurred had managed to get Dan kicked off campus, though he had no official wrong-doing. His lack of grounding annoyed me even more after I worked really hard to get his police report released. I pretended to be Joel Kelly, of Billingsly and Snead, while talking on the phone with one Margaret Jones, from the Police records office. I convinced her that I was a paralegal, and was helping Mr. Snead work on a case where time was of the essence. It took convincing, but she agreed to release the records so that Dan could have them for his appeal... which had to be turned in literally two days after he got the notice of eviction.

Anyway, all I had to do was fax Ms. Jones the info she requested, which Dan had. Dan should have been just about ready to go to his next class when I called him to get him to fax the information over... but guess what? Instead of following through with any of the shit he needed to get done, he went to the mall, while his friend Meg and I helped prepare his stuff. We were both annoyed. My annoyance lasted a solid couple of days, and I told him to just go back to Delaware if he's not bettering himself here. He's just so friggin young in so many ways. Kelly calls 'em Boy years. She says he's not even a child in boy years, that hes still a baby, and in many ways I think she's right. Ahh, dual influence... Mara has validity and so does Kelly. I think they're both right in the words they've spoken. I need to watch out that I'm not dippin' out on this kid because of my defenses, and also not taking more than I should, as per Kelly.

Speaking of Kelly, she invited me to a fund-raiser/house party on Saturday night that was bein' held by a bunch of greenpeace-ers. It was up in NW, so I drove up from Colonial Beach and picked up Dan along the way. We grabbed Jess from her Cosi and checked into what will (hopefully soon) be my Cosi so that I could say Hola to e'rybahdy. We got to the house party without too much effort, and wouldn't you know it, the party was fuckin' hoppin'. Two kegs were going, the dancefloor was bein' held up beat-to-beat by one of the dudes from Thievery Corporation, and the ghanga was waftin' all through the top floor. We had a smoke session and Jess, who no longer smokes, caught herself a lovely-lovely contact high. So lovely, in fact, that as we were walkin' out the window to the rooftop area, Jess almost took a second face-plant of the month... this time over the roof. Luckily balance was caught, but whoooo booy, was it funny/scary/ridiculous.

For the Greenpeace party, I decided to make a pair of jeans. Well, not make, so much as modify, but anyway, I had these jeans from Gap that I slit up the side nearly to my midthigh on each side and on the inner side, up to my knee. For Madonnarama last year they were safety-pinned together and made into a neuvo-prince kinda look. Loved 'em. For this event, I attacked an old garter set, and made different sized strips tapering from shorter strips to longer, and stitched them into the slits. Then I took my mom's curtain decorating rope and fashioned a belt that does this in the front: //\ And comes around into the back and cups my ass really tightly. The jeans turned out to be a smashing hit, they got talked about in a positive light on a couple of occasions. This, of course, stroked my vanity like no other, and made me grin from ear to ear.

I mentioned earlier that I pretended to be Joel Kelly, of Billingsly and Snead. Well, I got to tell Caroline that I was pretending to be her father’s paralegal (Snead, get it) the other day. She and I took Anabell for a walk that was only supposed to be around the block, but ended up taking about two hours. I guess we had a lot to talk about. Caroline’s lookin’ well, and feelin’ better, too, from what I understand. They just readjusted her thyroid medication, so we’ll see what that brings. I told her that I was trying the Atkins Diet (which I am, btw) for a while, and she was totally supportive. Until she showed me this three layer dessert she made. It was so rich that even the enviable appetite of the Snead Family couldn’t finish the dish in one sitting. She told me to chew it up and spit it out, it was that good. I did. It was.

Also from the vaults of Caroline… she had found this stray a few months ago that she named Jake. He was a good puppy, but Papa Snead wouldn’t let ‘er keep it. Anabell was enough fur in his house as-was, so she hunted around to find a new owner. One of her bookclub buddies stepped up to the plate, and the puppy shipped off to Caroline County. Well, the dog got loose from the new owner. Its fine, no worries, but one of the neighbors called the police on the cute little beagle for dog vagrancy. She had to go to court for it and everything.

So, there this girl is, in court, when they announce the Honorable Charles Snead presiding. Andrea, the new dog’s owner, thinks to herself for a minute: Caroline’s last name is Snead. Caroline’s Dad is a judge. She sees the judge, and he’s a large man. Caroline’s Father is a large man.

Can you believe it? The man who turned away the vagrant dog to begin with is now presiding over the case. Poor Andrea is so honest that she didn’t mention it at the time to him, but Papa Snead got rid of the charges anyway. So, when Caroline told her daddy what happened, he about lost it with laughter. “Why didn’t she say somethin’?” he bellowed with laughter. “I liiive for letting people go for no good reason. All she had to do was say ‘Your honor, Caroline Snead gave me this dog, and I’ve just recently been learnin’ how to take the proper care this vagrant dog needs.’ And I would have said, ‘Of course! This dog has a history of vagrancy, one that I am very familiar with! There are extenuating circumstances! Dismissed!” I don’t know if Papa Snead would use that many exclamations, but I imagine that he would, so we’re gonna let ‘em stay.

Tomorrow's going to be a busy day... I'll discover whether or not I get my job at Cosi back fo' rizzle, I get a massage by Kelly, and then I get to take her out to lunch. Following that, fingers crossed, I get to go to work.

By the way, Alanis cut her hair. Love it.
(photo lost to time)

Mark has plans for an event for the two of us called Tequila Grande. Its a night of tequila-soaked escapades involving 7-layer dip, tequila-lime chicken, and margaritas. It seems to me there will be more time for that, since more time will be spent in DC as of today.

"Why, oh why," you may ask, "is Mike returning to the city?"

Because thats where I have become gainfully employeed (it seems).

On Monday night, after studying hard for and then ace-ing two midterms, it seemed I had a night of revel-ry ahead when I was informed of a certain friend's 21st birthday event. She turned twenty-one at midnight, and we were going to make our way to the Friday's in Fair Oaks for birthday love.

When we arrived, I informed the server that I worked at friday's, so that he would perhaps discount some of the appetizers. Total standard procedure. Well, when birthday shots were being ordered, he carded me. I didn't think much of it, figured I wasn't getting the drink, and that was that. He called me out for bein' a minor, and no spectacle was made.

When the shots arrived, there was an extra. I proceeded to take the shot with the group, and all was happy in friend-ville.

I got up in the mornin', rolled to work, and when I arrived, I was taken to the side and sat down. Last night at 1:30, whomever it was that called me out on bein' under 21 called around to all the Friday's in the Northern Virginia area describing me. I'm pretty easy to describe, it can be done in like three adjectives and maybe a noun.

They claimed me, and then were informed that I had drank as a minor and that they had informed corporate. Insta-termination, non-rehirable for 6 months.

I didn't let it dampen my spritis too thoroughly, knowing I had yet another midterm to ace on wednesday. I spent most of Tuesday with Michelle just bein' a fatty and relaxing.

Wednesday I aced the next exam (for Comm 380) and goofed off further.

I went with Ashley today to DC to speak with the GM of Cosi to ask for an application and an interview. All things went well, now I just have to get a schedule and I should be golden. There don't seem to be too many terrible hitches in the plan, so I'm optimistic.

I don't know yet exactly how the commute is going to work, but Mom supported me goin' somewhere else to make more money. Cosi has negative connotations in her mind, slightly, due to the atmosphere that used to be employeed there, but good heavens, that is no longer the case.

That crowd has came and gone, and the new crowd is wonderful. Dedicated, sober, fun folk who are students and working actively towards success. A far different crowd than the aforementioned "atmosphere."

I look forward to working with Lauren again. I look forward to making good money at a place that has the capactiy to treat me well. It changes my routine a bit, but I also put down day-shift hours to work as a barista, which I think would be neat, as well as allow me to continue rising early for a reason.

I think I'd miss the AM now.

I'm really enjoying my life the way it is now, busy yet also laid back. I'm doing the best I've done in school in a loooong time, and I see people who love me unconditionally every day.

As quick as Fridays came into my life, it goes out. I can't help but look towards kismet as perhaps the reason I got called in to work at Cosi on Friday. It set up a decent doorway for re-entry.

I didn't mention it on Monday, since I was preoccupied with preoccupations (*grin*), but other stress-me-out-ers arrived on Saturday when a dorm I was playin' Uno in was busted for marijuana. I was with Dan visiting Chrissy on Saturday night after I finished studying and napping, and the dorm room got clambaked. There we a few of us in there, but Dan and I didn't have anything on us. He got a violation for being involved with a room that contained paraphnalia, but he wasn't in the actual room it was found in. We were hanging out in the suite's living room.

Oh those crazy-ruckousy Uno players.

Anyway, he had his meeting with the housing folk, since he does live on campus, too. He should be fine, so we'll see. Still, I'm worried for him. Not too worried, though. He's never had an offense before.

Work being interrupted looks like it will only inconvience two days worth of actual work time, and even still, I make about three times a night at cosi to what I was makin' on average at Friday's. There's good reasonin' out there for me to not be fretting.

Speaking of fretting, I think its almost time for Dan to meet one or two of the cousins. I like the boy muchly, and he's endeared himself fantastically with my local support network, and I suppose now its time to expose him to another huge aspect of me: my family.

I'm sorry I missed getting down to Florida with Krista to visit Mara and Dana. I've not heard from Krista since she got back, so I'm curious to hear the stories of yonder. It now seems that I'm doin' a good job at missin' out on my trips because of work. This weekend will be spent at Cosi or at home saving money, as was last weekend. This weekend's lock-down will keep me from seeing Jackie in New York, but I've gotta do what I gotta do.

Recent concertation internally comes from my thoughts on Dan's naiivity. He prioritizes partying more than I do now a days, and that worries me. He's no where near how party-oriented I was a couple of years ago (heck a couple of months ago), but I think about. I decided to actually talk to him about it, and he was really receptive, and knew exactly what I was talking about. We talked about a lot of things relating to it, and I'm not really concerned about it anymore. He recognizes that he's doing it, and just that very recognition means that it won't go too far, or last for too much longer.

I feel like I know, cause I've been there.

His friend Emily, the girl that set us up, and I spoke about a couple of those concerns, and i was glad to know I wasn't the only one who noticed it. Calling someone out less than two months into dating them isn't kosher, but I was glad to have someone to discuss it openly with. She could say exactly what I was thinking. It made talking about it with Dan a lot easier. I'm tickled. It seemed like a good time to discuss such things, what with the bust and what not.

That, and him seeing my own need to find a job based off of consequated actions. He saw how hard I worked and how dedicated (an non-flakey) I was, and saw how one stupid action could effect something that was goin' really well. Its weird for people to view me in a really responsible light again. I'm still king sketch of team sketch, but I'm also up every morning going to work, and studying like anyone else at exam time.

I feel like I did when I was seventeen... and thats really got me smiling. I've said for along time that I've never been happier or known myself better than I did when I was seventeen.

A classmate who's intelligence and input to the class I've really, really appreciated and enjoyed all semester asked me how old I was today. I told him 20, and his response was one of a a slight shock-- "Wow. You're reeeeeeally smart."

It made my day.

Things feel tangible again. Word.

It was lovely spending time with Lauren this weekend... I hadn't seen the girl in over a month. We dropped a friend of Dan's off at the airport and then proceeded to make our way over to the mall on one of the days we were together. We spent like four hours shopping with the majority of the time bein' spent at H&M.

God I love H&M.

Anywho, on the way there Lauren told me about the new girl at Cosi, Anusha, who didn't know what a Mop was.

Anusha: What is this?
Lauren: A Mop.
Anusha: What do you do with it?
Lauren: You Mop.
*later, anusha sweeping*
Lauren: Are you almost ready?
Anusha: Yes. I just have to broom some more.


"When the Left is right and the Right is wrong" -- Washington Post Media Notes

The comparisons between Rosa Parks and Gavin Newsom, the San Fransisco mayor who is allowing gay marraige, is a little stretched, I'll admit. However, criticizing Chief Justice Roy Moore, the Alabama judge who wouldn't take down the ten commandments, couldn't be more validated. The San Fran Mayor is a hero, he deserves to be praise as such.

Saying that he gets lauded and hero-cized because he has the 'politically correct' mindset is ridonkulous. He's getting praised because he has the correct, nonbiggoted view.

The reason that Mr. Bama Judge is getting mocked should be abundantly clear: we have a seperation of church and state. He's not being "politically incorrect," he's defying one of the tenets this country was built upon, not a neo-1950s imagined one we like to believe. John Locke never said a damn thing about two kids and a dog, and neither should our constitution.

k thx.

In the four hours I was on the phone with my cell phone company getting all the kinks straightened out, I actually made friends with the girl on the other end. Her name was Lauren, and the call center was based out of Nova Scotia. We gabbed, chatted, and she fixed all my problems. One of the subjects we eventually came to was gay marraige. We joked about how as soon as school was done, we'd have to go out and get ourselves hitched, and I told her I'd have to go up her way to get that taken care of.

She told me about her aunts who have been together for twenty years and just got hitched. They're also expecting their first-- its very, very late in life for one of them to be sproutin' beans, granted, but they couldn't be happier. It made me all wistful for a better country.

Oh, Canadia.

The weekend wrapped itself up nicely, and that did nothing but lead to Monday classes. Things are goin' how they should be, so no worries gentle journal... though, one prof is worthy of mention today. Her name is Dr. Sparks, and blonde, tall, power-suited sexy-fierce chica that comes complete with a winnning smile and a vicious glare. Only the former has been fixed in my general direction, but for more reasons than just the latter her class may go down as the "Comm that Made Men Cry." Its a research methods course where the fail rate is almost the same as the actual passing rate.

Fear.

Little rumblings of better judgement be damned, I'm ready for it. Sometimes you get surprised: in a class of 250, one of my friends from Freshman year spotted me; Kumbi, ganked the seat next to me. She makes the wole class less intimidating... shes totally my african goddess. Imagine a study buddy who can dance like the wind, has mini dreads, leather earrings, and will kick your ass if you don't know the answer to question 47-C. That's my Kumbi.

I had plans with Ashley after we both got out of our classes, and seein' as how I was a little early, 6:50 instead of 7:10, I just stuck my head into her dorm and waited... then procced to wait and wait some more. I trusted in her to remember me, she's the type of girl that doesn't forget about appointments with folk, but it was starting to get a little later. 7:45 rolls around, and the dorm door flies up, with her bounding in shocked as hell to find a Mike in her house.

"I called your phone-- its off; I thought you forgot our plans!"
"Nope, been waiting here."
"Get your shoes on and get outside then, bitch!"

Who was out there? Lindsey and Omar! Ashley came back to her room because she had a strange gnaw in her gut-- I guess that was me gnawing! Lindsey came up to surprise folk, and Ashley dipped out on her class. Omar arrived in tow, with the announcement that Omar and Lindsey had decided to rekindle their relationship!

They may not get invitations to "Down With Love"-- but I'm really excited for them. I like the two of them together.

Such a fantastic evening commenced, filled with laughter, smokin', old jokes and new... su-fuckin'-perb. We go to get dinner and who should we run into at The JC but Puja, her old roomie Noukla, our friend May, Carriell, Carriell's roomie (and Dave's friend) Liz, and a host of their assorted friends. Huge reunion again.

Kismet. Unconditional Love.

w00t.

That night I slept at Carriel's, cuddled up, and Carriel taught me how to wrap my hair before bed. I can make the cutest little wrap now! Hehe! Just ya'll wait, you're gonna see me runnin' around with my lil scarf all tied up and talkin' bout my wrap... I can't wait.

Anywho, got up and drove to work, and did about 10 hours on the floor. Made just under 90, but had to give about 30 of it away for the Host/Hostess and for the 20 bucks I borrowed for shoes. Either way, its nice to have a few bones in my wallet again.

Work flew by, except for my last party of 6, which were old renn fair folk, so they tipped well, but ran the shit outta me. I told them I used to work their which may explain both the runnin' and the good tip. Le Shrug.

Speaking of work, I'm getting less shy around Dominick. Our friend Pam is heading to Colorodo for two weeks, and when Dom heard he looks at me and goes "You're stickin' around, right?" "Of course!" "Good-- someone I like'll still be here."

Look-at-me-now-mutha-fuckah! We've progressed into chatting about cars, conditions, cunts, and cuties. In a word, w00t. I still have a silly-stupid crush on the boy, but wordy-mc-word, I'm happy that he digs me and that I'm not just some quivering jello mold around him... just picture the floating fruit, and you'll know how incapacitated I felt around 'em. I don't know why it feels like a big accomplishment to get a boy to laugh, but it does/did. I'm not even interested in him in a sexual capacity, I know he's taken, but still, 'complishment stands. Now that I've loosened up, bein' shy was kinda momentarily neat.

Who knew I could get clamy?! ::grin::

I got to chat with Ashley about boys and their effects, including my silly crush on Dominick, and I got reassurance that for all the steps and stages I'm going through, she has as well, and that they're normal, cute, and healthy. I love Ash.

I was so tired when I got home (was it the 10 hours, or the boy?) that I kinda just tucked myself into bed around 11, and called it a day. Who am I, goin' to bed at 11? Ew.

Ahhh well, wash-rinse-repeat, I guess, 'cause here I go, gettin' back on the road to head to school again.

Kansas's right to discriminate against fags upheld.

I wasn't 15, but I was a month away from 16-- and in Kansas, that meant that I would have sent my suitor to Jail had we been found out. I wouldn't have just sent my comely cocksucker to jail for a year or two, as would have been the sentence for his straight counterpart... oh no, he would have been sent to prison for 17 years, much like the poor man in the article.

Oh, and it was consenual-- and they were both developmentally challeneged, incase you didn't catch that.

When are you motherfuckers going to stop discriminating against me? Every crime against my people is a crime against me-- and I may as well be an asexual creature right now. I don't even like gay men these days, but I wouldn't send one away for 17 years... jeeze.

We enter in the midst of house warming party held for John and Liz (dating); more correctly, we enter in the midst of a conversation being held by John and Phil (college best friends, now 26) conversing on the matter of why Phil has left his amazing job. Phil responds, only half flippantly, "I left, because I plan to Save the World."

4.18

"And how do you propose to do it?"
"Well, Lungless labs; thats for a start.
We'll picket it, disrupt it, sue it--"
"Phil, Lungless LAbs won't give a fart.
They'll slam you straight into the slammer
Where you can practice Russian grammar
Until... (By ones and twos a knot
Grows round the disputatious spot)...
Sense penetrates your soft ingenious
Cerebrum." "John, you've missed the point,"
Says Phil: "The world is out of joint;
And such acts, though they may seem tenuous
To you, give heart to us; whats more,
Bring new peace fodder to our door."

4.19

Speech strained and clarified by passion
--His S's remain S's still--
In unantagonistic fashion,
Eschewing escalation, Phil
Resumes: "John, take a look around us.
Imagine that the first bombs found us
Just as we are-- as here we stand
A glass of liquor in our hand.
There by the door is Van Gough's painting
Of Sunflowers. Here are all our friends.
And suddenly, our small world ends,
And our vile dust is swept up, tainting
The hills, the vineyards, and the seas
With irredemdiable disease.

4.20

"So tell me, how much will it please us
That mankind with its crazy ways
--Bach, Rembrandt, Socrates, and Jesus--
Will burn to ash and swivelizing haze?
Will it console us to be knowing
In the swift instant of our going
That Red Square, like our children's creche,
Will soon be charred or ulcerous flesh?
And then, when the soft radiation
Descends on what's not been destroyed
--Trees, whales, birds, wolves-- the birthless void--
Think how the crown of earth's creation
Will murder what which gave him birth,
Ripping out the slow womb of earth.


4.21

Is it just 'we' who feel this terror?
Do you think 'they' can't understand
What will come down through aim or error
Upon their great and fragile land?
We must stop--...(Caught by sudden sadness
He fumbles)...-if we can- this madness,
We common people of goodwill..."
A young man stands and stares as Phil
Says, "...Fallout can't tell Omsk from Reno..."
He stands there wordless, half in love,
Drinking Phil's speech, the image of
El Greco's Felix Paravicino:
The same pale, slender, passionate face,
Stregth and intensity and grace.

4.22

It's Ed. Now Liz has introduced him
(At his request). Ed, rarely short
Of words, finds Philip's have reduced him
To numbness. On the tennis court
Or with his advertising rabble
Ed spouts forth a distracting babble
Of witty entertaining trash
Till his companions long to smash
Their rackets on his simmering cranium
Or seal his lips with editing tape;
But two sure passwords for escape
Have been discovered: One's Uranium,
The other, God. All talk of these
Causes Ed's babbling brooke to freeze.

4.23

Now host and hostess, drawn by duty,
Have vanished, but-- to stay with Ed--
At twenty-three, though quite astute, he
Seems easily dispirited;
Although his energy's appealing,
It serves the function of concealing
Rifts of anxiety so deep
Some nights he finds it hard to sleep.
(Liz thinks this trait comes from their mother.)
Both Sue and Liz adore Ed: he's
Warmhearted, fun, and quick to pleace;
But neither understand their brother
When his designs and words are skewed
By what they term his godly mood.

4.24

Phil looks at Ed: intese, athletic,
Silent-- the sort of man whom he's
Uneasy with. But Ed's ascetic
Tension betrays his own unease;
And by now Phiil's free-floating status
(Bouyed by spiritiuous afflatus)
Projects goodwill on all mankind--
And so, in half an hour, we find the pair engaged in conversation,
Which now that he's gained his cool
And half slipped back to playing the fool,
Revolved round Ed's prolonged narration
Of how he happened to procure
A green iguana from the store.

[Phil and Ed continue a fun, light conversation before being interrupted by Jan. Jan, a college friend of Phil's ex-wife is not pleased with an off-handed comment about woman meant only in jest. Phil options to leave, and Ed offers him a place to crash in town so he doesn't have to drive home drunk. They arrive at Ed's.]

4.31

Phil looks around at Ed's housekeeping.
Ed yawns, and strips off shirt and shoes.
Silence outside. The iguana's sleeping.
This quiet grid of avenues
With red-flowered gum for decoration
Lies deep in slumber and sedation.
"It suits me, Phil. The flat's quite small,
But there's a garden, after all--
And a small pool for the iguana..."
Phil's bleary eyes rest on a bowl
Of fruit, a crucifix, a roll
Of film, a photograph of Lana
Turner, who smiles across the floor
At Holbein's sketch of Thomas More.

4.32

"My patron saint." "Which one?" Ed, grinning,
Says, "Go to sleep!" and turns to pray.
He asks forgiveness for his sinning,
Gives thanks for the expended day,
Consignxs his spirit to God's Charity...
Now Philip, with exiguous clairty
And some bewilderment, sees Ed
Cross himself twice, then come to bed.
Lights out. Phil mumbles, "What a party!
I really blew it then with Jan.
Ed, thanks a lot. I mean it, man--
I haven't yet met a Dorati
I didn't like... (Across the bed
He reaches out and touches Ed)...

4.33

... Good Night." Ed fears to answer. Trembling,
He moves his hand across the space
--What terrifying miles--assembling
His courage, touches Philip's face
And feels him tense up and go rigid.
"I'm sorry," Ed says, in a frigid,
Half-choking voice, "I thought you might--
I didn't mean-- I mean-- good night."
Taut with cateleptic tension
They lie, unspeaking. Phil thinks, "Why
Be so uptight? He's a great guy.
I've never bothers with convention.
God! It's a year that I've been chaste...,"
And puts his arm around Ed's waist"

4.34

Now, just as things were getting tenser,
And Ed and Phil were making love,
The imperial official censor
--Officious and imperious-- drove
His undscriminating panzer
Straight through the middle of my stanza.
Now, GentleReader, is it right
This swine should put my Muse to flight,
Rooting about among my pearly
Wisdom till he finds orts that he
Can gobble down with grunting glee?
Forgive me, Reader, if I'm surly
At having to replace the bliss
I'd hoped I could portray, with this.

Today was a lot of fun. I got to go to work today, which I honestly was really excited about. I started training at Friday's in Fredericksburg, and Pam, the shift leader, is doing the training. I LOVE Pam! Becky used to call her Momma Friday's, and its soooo true. She's really the only person workin' in the front of the house from when I was originally employed there.

However, as of today, thats no longer completely true. They fired the GM that was there when I went in last week for sexual harrassment, and brought in a new one today. His name is Jay, and he was the FOH manager when I started at Friday's. Weird, huh? So, thats two more GMs in my tenure there, for a total of five. Crazy.

I also got my hair cut today, and I'm tickled with the results, as I got a Central Park discount which brought my grand total to only a 7.95. Its the best haircut I've had in ages, too.

On the way home it was sleeting and gross, but I made it all the way into Colonial Beach before trouble arose. Only in Colonial Beach do people stop in the middle of the street and gab from truck to truck. I'm not sure what sort of inbred mentality they have that in the middle of a fucking ice storm its a good idea to stop and chat, but it landed me in a ditch. In what was surely an act of charity, they proceeded to roll up there windows and drive away as I got out of my Blazer. Bastards.

Before I could hate humanity entirely after this, the guy who's yard I landed in came out and helped me dig my truck out of the ditch, and his neighbor brought over a bright flashlight so that we could find something to attach the tow cable to-- the guy had a 4x4 and pulled me outta the ditch. No damage to me or to my vehicle.

They've not announced yet whether or not I'll have class tomorrow, but I reckon not. Eitehr way, I'm getting up at 8am to find out; I wanna be in Fairfax fairly early tomorrow if I have to go at all.

Krista and I gabbed a bit today, and we've decided she's coming down Valentine's Day weekend, and we're going to have a "Down With Love" party, complete with 60's theme. She convinced me into the theme, but it lets me go get the pair of cute-cute Chanel glasses I wanted.

Yay!

Some interesting news today:

Adderol/Ritalin, Study Drugs? Clearly.

Cheney's Allowed to Make Judges Partial.

So we send him to try to con the pope.

And finally, some good news: Virginia Introduces Bill to Open Liquor Stores on Sunday! Yay!

I Said Gah-Dayum, Gah-Dayum.

Fuckin adventures out the wazoo in the past two days. For Christmas, my brother Trey gave me Capitals tickets. I couldn't have been more thrilled, the only time I make it to a Caps game is when he throws tickets my way.

And, of course he has seasons tickets, and the seats were amazing. That said, I got to the stadium, and suddenly I'm a star. I'm sitting in Trey's section getting looks, and he hasn't quite arrived yet. I'm there maybe 10 minutes and he shows, headed to his buddy's section.

He calls me over, and we shoot the shit for a bit. I have to fess up to circling the wrong date on the calander, so I was like a half an hour late, and dateless, but I think it was better that way. Why you ask? Cause Trey and I got to do some major drinking and some major bonding.

Everywhere I went, I got treated like VIP, and whenever Trey would say "that's my little brother" people would come up to shake my hand, or tell me how wonderful my big bro is.

Weeeeeird. So, Caps won, and Trey kept grabbing me Tanqs and Tonics-- I love that my brother knows exactly what I like to drink.

But, either way, we had a really nice time just bullshitting at Nick and Stefs, and then made our way down to Rosa Mexicano. Of course they had to be booked, so we diddybopped right on down to Zola's.

Its Resturant Week in the city, so it was all sorts of packed, but we got this swank-ass booth in the back. I had this awesome pepperoni fondue, a veal dish, and a chocolate fondue dessert... oh my god was it fuckin' lucious. It was all very hoity-toity, and I of course ate the atmosphere up with a spoon.

Hell, I woulda sopped it up with a biscuit.

I parted ways with my brother and then made my way to Cosi. I hung out for a bit, smoked some with the Nuvia, and met the members of Stomp!

They were eating in Lauren's section, and then we went out together. We headed down to Ben N' Mo's where we partook in an apple hookah and watched the MC Battles. There was this one little white girl who was off the chain... and she was punkin' the big dudes left and right.

You know I gotta cheer for my underdogs.

Out with me was Lauren, Jess, Jarrett, and the guys from Stomp... and after we parted ways with the Stomp-Heads, we went back to the house on Holmeade and smoked. Lauren and I proceeded to make our infamous Grands Biscuit (which we make EVERY time we're stoned in that damn house) and egg sandwhich. Yessah, it was good.

Jarret drove me back to his place and I had a nice sleep. I also have come to the realization that Jarret and I just aren't sexually compatible. He's a great, amazing guy, but he just doesn't do it for me.

I can sleep next to him without getting hard. Its done.

I'm concerned that we may lose our friendship, and I'd hate to see that happen. I love spending time with him, and hanging out with him. As a matter of fact, Jarret's done a great job of always being there when I needed him, and he makes me feel good. All that said, he still doesn't do it for me sexually. I won't call him a bad kisser, thats not nice, but he sincerly doesn't work me out. I wish he did. It would make it easier.

Either way, its the next day, and I'm giving Nuvia a hand in upper Northwest. Picture it: Martin Luther King Day. Empty, but car lined street. Me driving. Car *reversing* out of a parallel parking spot. Crunch.

I manage to tag the back of his car and seriously fuck up the front of mine. The muthafucker was drunk and stoned, and didn't speak english-- but get this, Nuvia knew him. He fucking sells heroin apparently, and she knew a boy that owed him 15Gs. She told me not to give him my real info, and since she was translating, I was sure not to.

Attafuckingirl.

We walk a few blocks up and catch a bus down to the Fort Totem metro stop, from which we caught the red line down to Dupont South. Nuvia made it home safe and sound, and Jarrett came and kept me company all day.

Thats partly one of the things I'm worried about with the Jarret, for the record. He's a good buddy, and I don't wanna hurt him. I know that he once had trouble dating another boy because that boy just wasn't me, and as ego-inflating as that is... I wouldn't wish that shit on anyone. I know what it feels like. Men suck.

Um, yeah, bitter faggot shit aside, I called dad, and he comes up to tow my lovely car away. He gets it all set up good and tight, and I tap the gas just a tiny bit to align it all properly, and we're all good to go... when my car goes over the edge of the dolly, falling and wedging itself now *on* the dolly. Yah, thats a fucked up chasis. Somehow, Dad and I managed to fix it with the help of two extra jacks and some 2x4s.

Let me just also repeat that I have somehow fucked a heroin dealer and we are in the sketchiest neighborhood around. I'm scared shitless by my city for the first time ever, and I'm just glad that we're ready to go.

Oh, thats when the tire on the dolly pops. My father's a bright guy, he knows when I'm around to expect the unexpected, and he just so happened to have a spare dolly tire.

Which pops, too. So, my dad's now towing my car through Georgia Avenue on a rim, just praying that a gas station appears. The dolly's shaking like crazy, and I'm nearly in tears for my poor car. We've travelled maybe 2 blocks with a tire, and now maybe 7 more on the rim.

When things are starting to get a little bleak, and the dolly's begun ratttling crazy-style, we look and see a "Now Entering Maryland" sign. And, then, like the fuckin' burning bush, a BP appears, and lawd-love-ya, it had a service station. AND it had a 13 inch tire to fit the dolly.

Yeah, we made it home alive... but now that I've decided (oh, you may not know this) to stay home and not move to DC until prolly August, I don't know how the fuck I'm gonna get to and from class... argh. Its a 2 hour commute each way, and I can't exactly take the bus.

Ahh, well, we'll see. I refuse to let this strip away my clarity and good mood. I forged the beginings of a real friendship with my older brother, decided exactly how I do and don't wish to live out the next 7 or so months, and have found a way to actually discuss things with my father when we have differing view points without either one of us feeling attacked-- I don't know what silly braid the universe is trying to weave with these incidences and calamities, but I refuse to let it be anything other than a bright knit.

Huzzah.

Grumble, Grumble.

I spent the morning lying in bed until about 2. I also stayed up reading until about 5, so I feel absolutely fan-fucking-tastic about my decision. Normally when I'm in low spirits, I like to stay in bed alllllllll day long, occasionally getting up for sorbet or dulce de leche.

Today, I was in high spirits everytime I woke up, yet I still curled my toes around the slightly indian-themed comforter and tucked myself back in for a nap. Every single time. And it happened like 4 times.

But, anyway, I got up at 2 and spent the afternoon helping my dad out at his shop, runnning cars back and forth from fredericksburg for 'em. No big deal at all, really.

Nothing, in fact, to grumble at. Ohhh, but there's more. I got an academic warning my freshman year that carried over to the first semester of my sophmore year. When you are a freshman and get a warning, it is also a probation, simply 'cause of how its set up. Well, now it looks like I've royalled screwed myself, because I got a warning this semester. That combo warning-probation has managed to land me my first Academic Suspension. Argh!

There seems to be an override I can request. But, that means I really, really have to get on the ball! I guess things could be worse, cause they're not really so bad.

I did find the override info, and I called ATT today and found out where the hell the phone they were supposed to be sending me was. Its in transit. In (you may laugh now) Chantilly. I'm gonna just let them deliver it to the Dirty House, and I'll go back and get it later. I think thats the best thing for me, cause I truly don't feel like dealing with the drive to Chantilly again, or anything involved in that area. It seems I'm going to be making a cameo at Mason to hand in my override... now I just have to figure out what the fuck I do to turn it in. If there is anything to turn in at all.... Yes Virginia, I can be a fuck up.

I think its gonna have to be hard 'cause I need to *want* it after I've gotten it, ya know? But, in an effort to clear my head, I've been taking online quizzes.

Quick! Learn!

Evil Quiz: You're totally evil. When you wake up in the morning and look in the mirror you say, 'I'm gonna be evil today!' You know you're evil and you love it.

(photo lost to time)
What Type of Lunatic are You?

(photo lost to time)
(photo lost to time)
Which Dysfunctional Care Bear Are You?

(photo lost to time)
Your soul is bound to the Burning Rose: The Rapture.

"I go where my heart beckons me, and I go
with my head high. But sometimes, I get a need until I bleed so my heart swims above my head.

The Burning Rose is associated with passion, intensity, and desire. It is governed by the god Eros and its sign is The Flame, or Physical Love.

As a Burning Rose, you can get lost in the moment if you let yourself. You are a very physical person, be it in relationships, work, or play. You may be driven by your hormones sometimes, but you know it's because you have to follow your instinct.

What Rose Is Your Soul Bound To?



Lots of quizzes! I needed a little self involved time, and I feel much better! Oh, for the record, I also would have rolled a "Gay Bear" and a "Tramp Bear" on the one quiz, should I have changed just one answer in the last question. Same with the first question. There were two answers I *really* liked in both, and changing them at all gave me 4 distinctly different bears.

Though, really, I suppose Tramp Bear and Gay Bear go hand in hand. As do Stoner Bear and Raver Bear. Whatever.

Prince Ali, yes it is he...

The city called to me on Wednesday, and I coudln't not heed the call. I had to go. And so it was.

I just got back from a really good time in the city; terribly wholesome, horribly healthy. I'm so glad for it. Major recharge time. I went up on Wednesday night, and stayed with Jackie. We drank with her friend Bagels, who I also worked with at Peace Actionjob. Jackie knew him from Grenell College, which is in Iowa, but his family was from the District, too.

I crashed at Jackie's, she kicked my ass at pool a good couple of times, and we slept. We woke up the next day, she took me with her into Cosi to hang out, and so we did. After work that day we went over to our friend Sasha's friend Shana, and we drank at the Statemen. Wooo Statesmen... sooo gorgeous. Its gotta be one of the nicest buildings I know anyone in...

The next morning, in the yucky snow, I drove out to Chantilly from GW, where Sasha goes to school. I didn't sleep much the night before (okay at all), but when the dawn came, I was in the car driving out to the middle of nowhere. I left right around 6am, and I didn't arrive until 7:40. It should have taken less than a half an hour.

No grumbles, as the day was spent with Jackie in the city after watching "Finding Nemo" with Shana. YAY Finding Nemo. YAY for getting real shit done in the city. After Friday was all but over, I went over to visit Michelle. Wonderful time. Michelle lives in "The Hen House," seein' as how JC and Suzanne have moved in with her now. Michelle is Mama Hen, and since Jace and Suze are both old roomies, the whole thing feels like my family.

Anyway, Saturday-- I proceeded to go out with Michelle and her friends. I was so incredibly high the whole time.... Sheesh. Clearly, Saturday became Sunday, and I had a relaxing day filled with Family Breakfasts and group deserts. My car tire had flat, and the lugnuts were so tight that when I stood on the piece that you turn to loosen the lugnut, the car tipped off the jack.

All sorts of bam-crash-bullshit. So, dad came to my rescue this morning, thank goodness. Everything was put where it should be.

Go watch the Surreal Life, btw.


I still have a bunch to do tomorrow that involved just phone calls, but errands are about done. Sometime this week my mom and I are gonna go take care of the the apartment in DC, and I'm gonna call the UN and decline. I can't commit to the time they want from me, and I can't work for free, as it looks now.

I'n gonna talk to the guy in charge about it first, to say everything I have, and see what happens. We'll see.

Also, Potential Boyfriend Critera #4305, in steps:
Step One- Listen to "In Public" by Kelis.
Step Two- Find Me.

Just a little inspiration suggestion to any boy smart enough to get it.

Today I moved out of the Dirty House for good. Mara and Krista left at around 3:45am to get Mara to the airport, and I decided against tagging along. It would have been silly for Ristika to come all the way back to my house from balitmore to drop me off and then diddy bop back up past balitmore again on her way home to Jersey... it would have been silly just so I could say goodbye at the same time.

I'm a mushy boy insofar as that I cried when my ladies left. Not bawling or anything, but definatly streams down the cheeks. How big of a geek am I? I couldn't help it, I had such an amazing time this week.

Krista and I came down to the Dirty House, then proceeded down to my folks for a financial pick-me-up as well as to retrieve my car. Of course my car didn't bother to start when we got there (dead battery), so we just hopped in the Krista Mobile and returned back up the Fairfax. I reckon its a good thing we took her car anyway, 'cause its so much easier to parallel park than my Big. Red. Boat.

On our first night out in the city, Krista and I went to Cosi (you'll see that as a developing pattern) for dinner and to celebrate the arrival of my bag of Holiday Greens. We ran into my friend Nuvia, and she was on the prowl for Santa's Good Stuff, too, so we drove around until she saw a dealer on the corner that she knew. Krista and she bonded over the pains of ugly puerto ricans, and we all rolled a festive blunt and walked through Dupont smoking. I couldn't have felt more Gang-Star.

On Christmas Eve Eve I called my friend Markie and we went to his place to hang out. He lives up by the convention center, on 10th and M, and so we ended up taking our Chariot (the G2 Bus) into Dupont after we pregamed with an entire bottle of our friend Jim Bean. Lawdy. Needless to say, the bus ride was particularly drunktastic, as was running into Mark's ex Brandon, who I had met previously. I had actually met Brandon on my own and realized his relationship to Markie via the powers of the Triumvarate. Poor ol' Brandon didn't realize that we have some sort of freak ability to triangulate people on the greater eastern seaboard... he couldn't have known that his exboyfriend's best friend is a SuperTwin.

Anyway, we decide that we're going to go to Cobalt after we find out that Apex is closed for the night (who closes on Tuesday? Ew), and we proceed to get in the middle of the herd. A drunk Maneuver was going to have to be performed to get Ristika, myself, and Markie into the venue... but at the last minute the maneuver had to be aborted as one of us got caught. Defeated, we headed for Cosi....

As luck would have it, Mark noticed a door slightly ajar. Printed on a small sheet of paper taped to the door is "Employee Entrance Only", and we realize its to Cobalt. Without much hesitation or delibaration, we're sneaking in the door and shimmying up the fire escape. As we arrive at the final door into our RetroNight, Mark tells us the game plan: sprint to the center of the club as fast as you can. Stay in the crowd. We may as well have synchronized our watches.

Oh yes, we danced to Step By Step and "The Last Song." No need to even question whether we got in or not! Speaking of synchronizing, I got to synchronize my hips with a cute boy's on the dancefloor... I'll never know his name, but doesn't that just make it better? I was on my way to the bar with Krista and Markie, and the boy pulls me over to him, allowing my cabal to venture further forward. About 20 feet ahead now, Markie looks back and stops Krista... "We've lost one."

It didn't last long. The sheer combined force of the three of us that night was probably too much for most mortal men to stand, 'cause Markie and I shortly discarded him back into the pile of boys.

On our way out, however, Krista broke the heel on her leather boots, and proceeded to throw 'em into the Trash and walk 10 blocks back to Mark's in her bare feet. Atta-Girl! I was soooo proud of my gurl! Anyone FRC enuff to throw their Leather Boots out and highstep their ass golden style through dupont gets props. We earned our Denny's Breakfast at 5am.

The next day Krista and I are preparing to get my Supertwin, Mara, from the airport when we notice that the car is overheating. We had to make the executive decesion to have her come in via the train to Union Station, as we returned home to take my cousin Tabby (tabitha called Tuhbabitha much to her chagrin) vehicle into the city.

Tuhbabitha and Charese came down for new years, and I could talk about it at length, but there is no need to. Tabby was ragging and bleeding through and bein' ultra-snotty. Charese is just so young. Bleh. I can't fuss too much, cause Tabby let us take her car into the city to wait for Mara, who, the poor thing, had a delayed flight as well as less than perfect flight companions.

I want so badly to go into stories or yarns and talk about Mara, but I don't really know how-- she's my supertwin, so knowing my reaction means you prolly know her reaction. Something you Replace that begins with an "H"? What would you put down? In the last game of scattergories we played, we both had "Helium Tank." Thats the best way I can put it. I love her with all my heart.

So, that said, we shopped around at Union Station for a while for her, but then grew tired of the wait and bopped over to Le Cosi to grab a sandwhich. I grabbed one for Miss Mara, too... I had to. I'm a fatty... I know the only thing that fixes these sorts of delays is food, so I had to get her one, I just had to. But I was left with a condumdrum: what the hell type of sandwhich does mara prefer? The only thing worse thing worse than me not bringing a sandwhich would be me bringing a yucky sandwhich. I had to get it right.

Turkey. Its gotta be turkey. You can't go wrong with turkey and cheddar. Who doesn't like turkey and cheddar? To not like it would simply be UnAmerican.

I think she liked it =)

Anyway, New Years was spent in Silver Spring at one of my friend Jackie's friends house... I didn't really know 'em at all, but by the end of the night, we were the definition of "the life of the party." They practically took notes and fought over who got to tell the story of our family. Huge house, Jewish Dentist Dad. Nuff Said.

So, Crababitha bitched at the party. She bitched in teh city. If bitches were hammers, she'd have had a folk hit. She and Charese disappeared from whence they came the day after they came down.. really, it was less than a 24 hour visit.

Clearly I'm upset. Clearly.

So broken up that we actually made it out *again*, and we went to two different college night events, one at Platinum, the other at Apex (Gaypex). At Platinum I saw a cute boy talking to Mara, and apparently the conversation started as such:

Dude: Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?
Mara: No, I don't really dance like this! I'm just having fun!
Dude: Thats not what I wanted to ask you.

It turns out he was asking about me =) The only fags in the place found the other one. They wouldn't come up and dance, though, they said it was better to admire from afar. "admire"
Whatever.

I love dancing with my cousins. It makes me so happy. They're goofball chowderheads and I love it. Love Love Love it. I am so blessed that I get to share blood with my best friends... you can't choose family, but I wouldn't choose anyone else.

Anyway, the next few days were spent bonding... we made it to the hirshorn (the hub of all things is awesome), to the cosi, and around scott circle and dupot circle countless times. We ate at the GhettoStarChineseWok... In fact, we ate just about everywhere. Cause we ate a lot. A lot a lot. Mara made alfredo. Brownies. Krista made Jello. We made 10 mile long trips for ice cream. In fact, though we failed at our attempts to get ice cream a couple of times, we really did make like 3 efforts for 3 different varieties. Gosh we ate.


But, eventually it had to be done....and my girls left today.

I don't even wanna talk about it, 'cause then I'll start missin' them again. I also don't want to talk anymore about the food we ate, 'cause then I'll be haungry again.

Mm...haungry...

Oh! About the move: I left sooo much shit behind at the Dirty House... my poor fuckin slumlords. If they didn't suck so badly, I sure would be upset about leaving them with all that junk 😉

So Krista and I left The Dirty House II, also known as my former townhouse in fairfax. I arrived home to absolutely no clean dishes... yikes. My roomates are so creepy and scary at times I want to just leave all of my things there and never have to go back to the house. My one roomate, Chris, was tryin' to sleep with all the potential applicants from roomates.com... this lead to us not being able to fill the initial vacancy in the house.

I caught him in a lie after I had spent like 2 months out of the house, and all of his other lies unraveled. Including how 'hard' he was looking for the new roomate. I personally threw him out.

We proceeded to fill the next vacancy with someone who has so few social skills, and who is so creepy, that it makes *me* uncomfortable to talk to him for more than .2 seconds. I don't even like "Hi"'s.

My neighbor once told me that I could talk the legs off an iron stove, so don't doubt my ability to gab. Yah. He's that fucking weird.

So, two months have passed since Initial Creepy Scary (Chris) was thrown out. He proceeded to sneak into the house while everyone was asleep and then leave before everone was awake so that he could sleep on our couch.

Cause, yeah, his girlfriend was our landlords daughter. I'm sure she was thrilled to learn what her then boyfriend was doing... I can't feel bad about any of it. If you're a Creepy Scary, I'm callin' ya out.

Which is what I had to do the other day to Secondary Creepy Scary (Mark). I told him that I did not like speaking with him, and that in the future we should make a point to do it as little as possible. It was as he was trying to ask me to find him pot. Idiot.

So, yeah ICS's girlfriend's parents wouldn't pay to fix a damn thing after all of this went down, and JC and I got stuck trying to fix all this shit.

SCS proceeded to not clean a damn dish he dirtied after our conversation. I should know better diplomacy, I realize, but if your a CS, you're a CS. Its the only defense I have, but those fuckers need to live elsewhere. And since they won't, I will.

Oh, and about the guy I threw out? He didn't give his key back, and for a week before Xmas

Only 4 more days 'till I'm done for good with the Dirty House II.

Then, it should only be a month before I'm into my new condo or townhouse... one potential I've actually dubbed 'the Sushi Spot'... better title than Dirty House, right?

This is a link to exterior...

And here is the interior or the building it shares.

We'll see.