Happy Easter!

That's a pic I took at Annapolis yesterday, but I thought it would be appropriate for today.

Okay, we've got a lot to cover and not a lot of time, so let's get started:

- I've slipped into the whole "eat till you're sleepy, sleep till you're hungry" mode. That's usually some defensive mechanism that kicks in when things are not going right. I just wish I knew what that was.
- Add in the fact that I've been eating late, I've been having the weirdest dreams. I woke up the other morning just quivering mad at one of the guys who works for me. I was lost in Africa and trying to get back to the ship but I didn't have any money, nothing. And then I see this guy who works for me, he's on vacation in Africa, and won't help me get to the next city where the ship is going to be. Missing the ship when it leaves port is a HUGE deal, so I was really upset and just getting madder when he wouldn't help me. Hmm, where did that frustration come from?
- My AC has been acting up so I finally had the repair guy come out. And after almost 2 years in my condo I discover that there is a secondary air filter to my AC unit. While I have been very good about changing the primary filter, I never knew about this one. It was disgusting. Ugh. We also climbed up on the roof to check out the main unit. Interesting views, especially into the condos on the top floor that have sky lights! But it's such a haze to get up there that I probably won't go up to often.
- Went to Annapolis yesterday for a quick road trip. It was fun. And had crab cakes for lunch. Yum. Walked about the Yard. Walked around town. Did a little bit of shopping. Wanted to hit the Mid-Store, but it was closed. Oh well.
- Not only am I not even trying to date, but apparently I can't even be bothered to go out. Both Friday and Saturday night I stayed home and just vegged and watched TV. The good news is that I've watches all of the Atlantis epsiodes and some other things I've tivo-ed. Still haven't tackled Battlestar Galactica. But atleast I can tivo new things now, like Love Monkey!

And finally, we've got to talk about Madge. Where's the love Madge? You put out a killer new album that just rocks, you plan a world tour to support it, but you can't take the time to come to DC? You've sold out the MCI Center every time you've been here. So where's the love? After looking at Philly (sold out), NYC (sold out), and Atlantic City (Atlantic City? Are you freakin kidding me? AC over DC? Madge, why have you forsaken us!!), it looks like No Karma Boy and I are off to the Windy City. Yep, I just put a serious dent in my credit card to buy the tickets. I'm hoping to scam some free air line tickets from United. And then it's just hotel rooms. So I think we'll probably make a weekend of it. But this definitely means no IML for Trey. Oh, I'll still have a very gay weekend in Chicago, but instead of leather men, it will be dancing men. And I'm okay with that.

Not So Much

After work I hit the gym, by myself, and got some decent cardio in. My stomach (and now back) hurt, but what's a little pain. Anyways, the endorphins kicked in and I was feeling okay. And I was sweating. Buckets. So I blaze out of the gym and get in the car which is freakishly clean for a change. I sit back against the seat and I can feel that cold, clammy feeling of the sweat in my shirt getting pressed against my cloth seats. Ew! So I decide to take my shirt off. I've almost stopped sweating, it's sunny and warm, so no big deal.

Except that I'm shirtless. Driving my Volvo. Through traffic in DC. Now, if I looked like this, I would never wear a shirt. But I don't. Not even close. (yes I know the hair is close, but back off!) Anyways I got a couple of strange looks before I realized that maybe driving shirtless isn't something I should do any more. I mean, it may not be appropriate for someone of my age and . . . um . . . body type. Note to self: Keep extra shirt in gym bag from now on.

Oh, and how appropriate. The word of the day is: aberzombies.

Back Online & Random Thoughts

Seems I had a little Verizon issue so I was sans internet all weekend. Which is not necessarily a bad thing.

Okay, some random thoughts:

Saki Bombs are not a good thing. Coerced by a good friend of mine I went out with the young turks at my company. Ah to have a young liver.

Will and Grace. I have to watch it to keep my membership up, but it really has been pretty poor lately. Wait, Will has a boyfriend for all of three episodes? Yeah, that's groundbreaking. Anyways, I tivo-ed an episode and watched it this weekend. Not bad, but not good. But there was one line that just killed me. Jack gets the lead for a TV show because he was the lead character: "a devastated narcissist careening towards a dismal future." Harsh, but funny.

Speaking of Tivo. I've got the complete second season of Battlestar Galactica tivo-ed so now I'm almost out of disk space. Which means I guess I need to actually watch it. But now it seems like such a commitment. Even speading through the commercials I've probably got a good 16 hours of TV to watch. Hello couch potato.

Speaking of, I did go to the gym tonight. My stomach still hurts but I needed to do something. My butt will soon need it's own zip code.

The Black Party. Joe did an amazing job capturing the look, feel, smell, and practically taste of the Black Party. I've been, a couple of years ago. Arrived a little after 1AM, danced till about 8AM, and then stumbled back to my hotel almost crippled for a few hours of sleep before I checked out and flew back to DC. I definitely would like to go and somehow manage to stay awake and fully functional to really be able to experience it. Joe describes a scene at 10 in the morning that is just so powerful that I need to quote it:

"The morning music portion of the Black Party is an entirely different vibe than what precedes. The sexual urgency and the aggressive cruising is removed. The men on the dancefloor are noticeably older. Many of these older guys sleep all night and arrive at the Roseland specifically for the morning music portion. We smile and acknowledge each other as friends, even though we only ever see each other at this time. We are survivors, all of us, a fact underscored, amplified, by the 20, 25, 30-year old tunes being played, each song removing us to a place and time back when we danced with The Lost. In the music, we find our truths, we find our souls, we find ourselves, we find The Lost. It's not uncommon to notice someone dancing with tears rolling down his face. Still, he dances. He dances in memory, in tribute. He dances with his hands up to heaven, channeling love, channeling spirit. He dances with a head full of photographs, full of touches. Certain songs may make his heart ache, his throat tighten, his tears flow....but he dances to that motherfucking record. This is no somber requiem dance, it's a smiling-through-tears celebration of memories. I've told friends that I go to church once a year, and it takes place during the last hours of the Black Party."

Joe rocks.

Umm, last little tidbit. Greek Boy and I hit Juniors on Sunday night for a little night cap since we both were losers on Saturday night and just stayed home. It's packed, but not necessarily in a good way. I see a little twink walk by and his t-shirt says: "I Hate Myself and I Want to Die." LOVE IT.

And the best line ever: "The Longer It Takes to Find Mr. Right, The More He's Going to Pay For Keeping Me Waiting." - Matt Groening - Life in Hell.

Good-Bye My Lover

Wow. And this reminds me that I need to go get my copy of BBM.

Pain

"Sometimes, pain is all that lets you know you're alive."

An interesting line to read at 4 AM at the emergency room.

So . . . . . wasn't feeling well yesterday. Just kind of put it off and didn't think about it. Busy at work and I just don't have time to be sick. Went out to dinner with a friend. Still not feeling well and realized mid-way through the meal that I was basically sitting on the edge of my seat with a stiff back so that I would not be in pain. Wasn't sure what the deal was, but went home and just decided to call it a night. When I laid down, that's when I realized that I really couldn't take a deep breathe without some serious tightening, cramping, pain in my lower right stomach area. I tried about a thousand positions, but nothing was working. If I breathed really shallowly, then it only hurt a bit. But I started to feel dizzy from trying to breathe so lightly. And the pain was just getting to the point where I couldn't take it any more. So around 1AM, I got dressed and headed down to the GW ER. The Ronald Reagan Wing. As a walking, talking, non-bleeding patient, I was immediately moved to the front of the line. ; ) At first they thought my lung had partially collapsed which happens a lot to tall skinny guys. Hmm, not so much. Did the chest x-ray thing and it was good. Waited for a couple of hours to see the doc and they finally determined that I've partially torn a muscle in my stomach that is basically aggravated when I breathe. So they told me to take it easy and drug myself until I feel better. The Dr was nice, but her bedside manner was a little off putting. Trying to get a cab home at 4ish in the morning in DC is challenging. I got home around 430 and found my last remaining percocete from a long time ago and took that so I could sleep a bit.

I blame my trainer. For many things. But I think the psycho side twist crunch things we did Monday night may not have been a good thing. My dad says, "A little pain is a good thing." I agree, but sometimes, a lot of pain is just a lot of pain.

Oh, the line from up above? It's from "Crossroads of Twilight" by Robert Jordan. Yeah, I took a book to the ER. I'm hoping the Tylenol PM works for me tonight.

White is the new Black . . . and other problems

So white is the new black. On the plane ride back from San Diego I caught up on my required homo fashion reading and apparently white is IN. And let me tell you, from my little stroll through the circle on Friday afternoon, I have to agree. Every other gay guy I saw was wearing white. Which pretty much sucks for me. White is not a flattering color on me. White makes whatever body part bigger. So it you have a larger upper body (I'm *not* saying a big ole gut), it will make it look bigger. And if you have a larger lower body (and I'm *not* saying a big fat ass), it will make it look bigger. Oh, and like everything else in the gay fashion world, it must be worn skin tight. So think of it as white sausage casing. Sounds sexy, doesn't it?

I discussed this problem with Mr. No Karma and he told me not to sweat it. White's really not in till after labor day and by then pink will be the new black. Again.

After a nice little jaunt around town enjoying my day off, I got a call from Greek Boy. He asked me if I had seen my car recently. Hmm, that's a bad way to start a conversation. He told me to go check it out. And I did. It seems someone had smashed in my windshield. I just sort of stood there dumbstruck for awhile. No damage to the car to the left of me. And no other damage to my car. I thought it was a baseball bat. But when the guy came to replace the windhshield today, he thought it was a brick. There was a little bit of red residue in the shattered glass that matches that color of brick. The odd thing is that whoever did it must have picked the brick up and put it someplace. Unfortunately I know where they got the brick. There's a slightly crazy lady in the next building who has a whole stack of red bricks in her yard. So I'm guessing it was just someone drunk/stupid/mean. Or all of the above.

It looks like I'll be traveling to Paris a lot in the next couple of years. My sister finally got her orders and she's going to be stationed in Paris. I can't wait. I love Paris and this will be a great excuse to go. So that's cool.

Back from Vay-Cay!

Okay, so it really wasn't a vacation. I managed to scam a boon doggle to San Diego supporting one of my projects. But just being away from the general madness was like a vacation.

Umm, I love San Diego. Why don't I live there?

Anyways, work was good. Lots of fun technical discussions. Learned a lot. The whole environment on this effort couldn't be more different that my other project. And I got to do more techincal stuff and not so much PM stuff. Which is nice for a change.

After the meeting ended on Friday, I drove up to LA with my co-worker. I was going to visit my sister, and he would visit friends, for the weekend.

Got to LA and was so looking forward to seeing my niece and nephew. My nephew saw me, said "Hi Uncle Trey" and then turned back to his robot thing. My niece pulled up the blanket and wouldn't come out from underneath it. So much love.

Saturday was my nephew's birthday. My sister, in a quite brillian move, outsourced the birthday party. It was held at a place called AdventurePlex. Only in LA I swear. This place had this huge multi-level jungle gym/fort/play thing. It was just unreal. But the hordes of little kids loved it. They could rumpus all they want and pretty much not get hurt. While my nephew had a great time, my neice was at a "princess party" and apparently Ariel was coming. When we finally got back home, she came in with a little tiara on her head and some cool face paiting. Then it was time for all of the gifts. Even though we had gotten some specific gifts for my niece, she still kept trying to steal her brother's toys. Madness and melt down ensued. They grow out of this stage, right? The next day we got up and went for a short hike before it was time for lunch and the trip back to San Diego. My sister rocks. I have no idea how she does it. I would snap. Often.

The second part of the work trip in San Diego was good as well. Even better because I had a kick ass view from my hotel room. It was awesome. I'm sure I wouldn't have this view if I lived there, but it's nice to dream.

The trip back was hellish. Flying these days isn't for the weak. Packed in like sarndines I was sort of bummed that I couldn't do any work. But I was more bummed by the fact that between the huge guy in the seat next to me and being on the aisle getting constantly bumped, I couldn't even pretend to sleep.

Anyways, back in DC. Taking a personal day to get a myriad of things done.

"I" Is for Introvert

"Hello, my name is Trey, and I'm an Introvert."

Yep, for all of those Meyers-Brigg fans out there, I'm an ISTJ. Please don't start to psycho-analyze me now, just sit back and enjoy the madness.

I think most people would find it odd that I'm an introvert. I'm a functional introvert, but I'm still an introvert. I can go out, and socialize, and be engaged and out-going when I need to be. But then I need to come home and just not talk with anyone, just shutdown, and rebuild my energy. It really does explain why I will go to a bar, hang out, and not speak to a soul. Oh well.

So I'm pretty sure my little melt down last week was just the end result of not having enough QPT (quality personal time) and some pretty intense crap at work pushing me to the frikking limit. And so I had that little snap.

I'm better, or will be soon. I chilled this weekend and it was nice. I did go to BlowOff with a friend, but didn't really mingle and left early. But over all, I did get some quality personal time in and I feel better. It also helps that I've got a trip to look forward to. I'm heading out to San Diego for work, but I'll be able to go up to LA on the weekend and will make my nephew's 7th birthday! So cool.

The Green Beans Are Money

Saturday. 1PM. Old Glory in Georgetown. Sitting at the bar ordering lunch. Trying to avoid the fries, I ask what my options are. The bartender, who's name is Flossie, I think, ends her littany of side dishes with: "The Green Beans are Money." Who uses the term "money" anymore. And to describe green beans?

I went with the mac and cheese side. It was okay.

While sitting there, this military guy comes up to the bar looking for his credit card from last night (St. Patty's Day). Flossie starts to rummage through a recipe box full of lost/left credit cards and licenses. She asks for ID and he pulls out his ID card. Yep, Army. And he couldn't have been more than 23 years old. I suspect it was a very good time last night if you were so drunk that you left your credit card at the bar. Ah, to be young and stupid.

Not Normal

Got up this morning. Showered. Shaved. Got dressed. Sat back down on my bed and cried for 20 minutes. Got up and went to work.

1. Not Normal.
2. How very Holly Hunter in Broadcast News.
3. I hate being a cliche.

I've written several posts about my current mental state, and then deleted them. So I've also got the whole self-censor thing going.

Hoping the weekend brings something different. I feel something drastic coming on, just don't know what that is yet.

The Phrase of the Day Is . . . .

"Task Saturation."

I'd blog more, but (see above).

Zeigfields & Secrets

Since the DC government and MLB finally settled on a deal, it looks like the clubs over in South East are on a death watch. Apparently eviction notices have been sent out, and despite some probably futile legal battles, it's clear that the gay adult clubs in that area are soon to be a memory. So Greekboy and I decided to hit Zeigfields & Secrets one last time. My thoughts in no particular order:

Ziegfields: Packed like you couldn't believe. Hot and smokey. And lots of drunk straight women( well the ones that were there were so obnoxious it felt like a lot). To be honest with you, I'm not a big drag queen fan. But you've got to give it up for these girls. They do work for their money. There was one who did a country western song which I had never seen before. And one who did a hard core hip hop song. Usually the drag genre is dance/diva music or lounge show songs, so the country western bit was kind of refreshing. Not sure about the hard core hip hop one. It just seemed a bit odd. As I said, the place was packed and as the drag queens strutted their stuff, people would give them dollar bills as tips. Now some of these people would sit at their chair and just put their hand out with their dollar in between their fingers. Some of them would stand in line at the front of the stage with their hand & dollar sticking out around waist level. Not sure what that was about. And them some of them would have 4-5 single dollar bills and go through this little act where they would give the dollar bills out one at a time. Even at a drag show, some gays need a little bit of attention. Kind of funny.

Scene for the night. Slender, slightly queeny guy in black pants, white long sleeve t-shirt, and a red sweater wrapped around his shoulders (a la preppy boy 1980s) is doing a partial dance thing next to the stage and singing/lip synching to the same music as the drag queen. Gee, come here much? He decides to bum a cigarette off the big burly guy next to him in a red "Marines" t-shirt that stretches quite nicely across his chest. The guy gives him the cigarette and little queeny guy flips his wrist with cigarette in his hand so the big guy will light it for him. Such a performance. It just killed me.

Secrets is the strip bar connected to Zeigfields, so when you get tired of the drag show, or just overwhelmed by the heat and cigarrette smoke, you can cross over and see young men dancing around just wearing socks. On their feet.

Now, here's my thing about strip clubs. I just don't get them. When I was forced to go to straight strip clubs when I was in the Navy (ok, I wasn't forced, but did it to fit in), I just didn't get the point. A bunch of guys, looking at naked girls, getting all hot and horny, surrounded by other straight guys, paying top dollar for crappy drinks, and then always going home all alone. Yeah, that sounds like a good time. Atleast at a gay strip club, you see hot (theoretically) naked guys, AND you're surrounded by other guys. So in theory you get all horned up, and you're surrounded by other guys who are horned up, and then the magic happens. Okay, so not really magic as much as hormones, but details.

Anyways, back at Secrets. Again it was packed. But atleast it was better air conditioned. The boys were up on the stage and I guess everyone just loves their Viaga. I can't think of a better profession where that little warning, "If your erection persists for more than 4 hours," is actually a good thing. The thing is, most of the guys were twinks. Thin, hairless, almost pre-pubescent types. Really, come back when you hit puberty. There was on guy who actually looked like he was over 21 and had some decent muscles. I gave him a dollar tip, in his sock.

We went back and forth between Zeigfields and Secrets a couple of times. And then after the drag show, they opened up the stage/floor to dancing and played some good music, so I danced a bit as well.

It was a good time. While I hardly ever go to the clubs in South East, I do think it is a shame that they are being forced out of business. You would think the the city would figure out a way to make a one time exception to the zoning laws to let them move some place, but this is DC. We never do anything that makes sense.

Indeblue and Cobalt

So I've been quite the social butterfly these last couple of days.

Thursday night I went out to dinner at the uber trendy, hip restaurant called IndeBlue. Located down in the Penn Quarter/Chinatown area near the newly named Verizon Center, it's part of the resurgence of that part of DC and specializes in french-indian cuisine. Yeah, think about that for a minute. I was invited by the Cool Couple, who are into such things, and Thursday night was also special as it was Dining Out for Life. It's where many of the restaurants in DC give a portion of the proceeds for that evening to Food and Friends, a really great organization that provides people with HIV/AIDS with meals and groceries in the DC, VA, and MD.

I tried to dress up. But my hip, trendy clothes do not really fit me anymore. But I managed to pull off a semi-decent ensemble so I wouldn't stick out like a sore thumb. I was glad I did. Indeblue is all about the beautiful people. They had a really cool lounge area which we didn't get a good chance to check out as we were promptly ushered up stairs to the restaurant. Seated in a little alcove in the back room, we sort of marveled at the decor and all of the different types of people we had passed. To be honest, the menu was a challenge to me. I've got a relatively simple pallette, so a lot of fusion cuisine is sort of lost on me. Plus, it seems that mushrooms rule alot of these type of restaurants, and that's not really my thing either. I ended up with the white tandorri shrimp with shaved fennel, chiffonade of romaine and artisanal goat cheese. That seemed the safest thing. For my main course, I had the chicken fricasse and morels with peanut potatoes and curry leafe pesto. Don't get me wrong, it was great. But I think I would have been just as happy with the burger. The evening was great as we had some interesting conversation and it just felt different/good to be out and about like a normal person.

Friday was another outting. I had re-scheduled a meeting I had at 2PM so I could escape and enjoy the great weather. Yeah, that worked. I ended up getting home around 630PM and promptly crashed. I woke up around 10PM only to find out that one half of the cute couple was already out and about and looking for me at Cobalt. But it took me about an hour to get my act together and then GreekBoy and I headed over to Cobalt. I haven't been there since my b-day party, but I had read on one of my favorite blogs that the DJ would be spinning some heavy vocals, so I was there. Plus, it looked like the homo-bloggeratti were going to be out in force. While Mr. BadKarma is an admitted celebrityf&^ker, I'm more of a blogger-stalker. I saw him, him, and perhaps him, but I'm not sure.. And even chatted with him. But that's definitely not the norm. Usually I'm the wall flower. It's the introvert in me.

Danced a bit. The music was okay. Greekboy doesn't like to stay out late, so I think we bailed a little before 1AM. Made the really bad decision to hit McD's. Yeah, I'm just full of bad decisions lately. Then did a quick pass through Juniors. It was weird. But then it was time to go home where I either couldn't sleep or had really bad dreams. No more frickin McDs. EVER!

Evolution vs. Creationism (or Intelligent Design) or whatever

I think they all suck..

Sick again and falling apart. Yes the warranty on this body is just about out and everything is falling apart. The countdown to 40 is rapidly approaching and while my mind is in denial, my body has just moved onto the express escalator going down.

If God did create us in his own image, I hope he's got the crappy ankles that I do. Not to be (overly) sacrilegious, but couldn’t God have done a little bit of a better job? Yes I’m whining about ankles, but there are other things I could bring up also.

I’m not sure evolution has done us any favors. The opposable thumbs so we can be the master of a joy stick. (And get your mind out of the gutter!)? I supposed the weak ankles are just nature’s way of making me fall further and further behind the pack so I’ll be easy to pick off by some predator.

Speaking of predators, went to a happy hour thing last night. It was okay. Interesting mix of guys. You know what I just love? (sarcasm) When two guys I find hot and interesting end up talking with each other and leaving together (/sarcasm). Oh, and I am so over the Ken and Ken thing. That whole premise just works against me. Unfortunately “the gays” rarely do the opposite attracts thing. Oh well.

My Resident Smart Ass

I’m a funny, witty type of guy. Atleast I think so. And then every once in while I get put in my place.

The rumor mill at work was rampant about some shifting personnel stuff, so I sent an email out to my team telling them to calm down and everything was okay.

I got a response from my resident smart ass (RSA) and the conversation was as follows:

RSA: So you're saying that we are not all being shipped out and replaced with a team of unicorns from Atlantis who are willing to work for tomato pulp? Cause that's what I heard from a highly reliable source.

Me: Hmm, my highly reliable source says the Atlantean unicorns only eat golden hay that has been sprinkled with pixie dust so they grow to be 6 feet tall.

RSA: Ok, so my source may have been a bit off on the produce types. Interesting that you didn't deny anything else in there.

Me: No the rest is absolutely true. The Atlantean unicorns are cheaper than our usual code monkeys, I mean, valued employees. How they can code so fast and so well with their hooves is just beyond me. Must be that unicorn magic.

RSA: Damn those Atlantean unicorns! This is the third job that I've lost to them. I think it might be time to look for another occupation. I hear there are plenty of openings in the golden hay farms.

Me: Yeah, but you don't want to know how they make the hay "golden". You'll never eat bread again.

RSA: I interned at one of those pixie dust plants a couple summers ago. Can't be worse then that.

Me: Did they make you wear the haz mat suits? If not, you might be contagious.

RSA: The operations necessary to extract the pixie dust from pixies were far too delicate to be performed with haz mat suits on. All I can say is that I'll never be able to look a pixie in the eyes again.

Me: I quit. You win.

And then I cleaned up the Coke I had snorted all over my computer screen.

Crippled and Crash

So walking down 17th St after lunch, I'm talking with a friend and not really paying attention to where I'm walking. And I pop my left ankle. Can you say "F%ck!" It's not too bad, but now I've got a matching pair of weak, tender, ankles. So I guess I'm not dancing anytime soon. On the plus side, I've been looking for a good excuse to not start running again, so there's that.

Just watched Crash. Good, excellent really, but in a really disturbing way. The whole multi-layer story is excellent and the unspoken commentary about race in our country was just over powering and made me think about my little episode outside of Whole Foods. ShouldI have reacted the way I did? Should I have just been the better person and walked away? My outrage and reaction was not going to change her mind, but at what point do you stop and say that type of behaviour just isn't acceptable. Walking away would have just re-inforced her perceptions and prejudices. Standing up to her felt good in an odd way, but in the end it probably didn't make any difference to her.

I Need A Better Poker Face

Seriously. I've had like four different people call me on my facial expressions in the last two days. Apparently it's clear when I think something is BS or when I'm starting to get annoyed. It's not very professional to have a sneer or look of disgust on your face in a meeting, but if someone is just tossing crap around, I'm not going to pretend it's all roses. I'm sure there's a fine line somewhere, but right now I'm just a little too obvious about my emotions.

And this is actually something I've been thinking about for awhile. I'm not sure if it's work or what, but I frequently feel like I'm just holding on to civility and the last smallest ounce of calm I have by my little pinky. I keep feeling that something is going to happen and I'm going to snap. Not go postal snap, but say something outloud that I shoudn't. To my folks, to my boss, or to my customer. I swear I've swallowed a gallon of blood from the times I've bitten my tongue about something. And I guess even though I don't say anything, my face gives it away. So that's still not good.

The irony is that for so long, I learned to mask a significant portion of my emotions. While in the Navy and deep, deep in the closet, I would not look at another guy. I would never do anything that might jeopardize my Navy career. So I learned to mask my emotions. But then I got out of the Navy, came out, and now I don't have to mask my emotions. But I wonder if the problems I'm having are the result of letting down the containment fields in my head (and my heart). I went from expressing no emotions, to expressing too many emotions. Somewhere along the line, I probably should have learned to balance my emotions and how I expressed them. But I didn't.So I've opened the floodgates, but I'm still trying to figure out how to deal with all of this stuff. Shouldn't there be a manual or something? ; )

The Quest, Child Abandonment, and Buying Body Parts

The Quest. So I'm totally in love with the new Natasha Bedingfield song, "Unwritten." I loved it when I first saw it on VH1. And then on the cruise at the last dance, they played this awesome remix of it and I was just overwhelmed by it. It was one of those moments that the music just completely resonated with me and just felt so right and so good. So I determined right then and there that I would get a copy of the mix of Unwritten. And so begins the quest. MSN Music: Nope. I-Tunes: Nope. Via Google I find out that what I'm looking for is a promotional CD that was sent to only certain DJs. Great. It's up for bid on ebay at $50. FIFTY DOLLARS?!?!? For one CD with 5 remixes of the same song? Aghh, I'm torn. In desparation I email this DJ I know from Ptown who emails me a copy of it. LOVE HER! And I am so rockin to this song right now!

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Child Abandonment. I totally forgot that my sister is coming into town and she shoots me an email. We're making plans to get together for dinner and in her emails she says that my 6 year old nephew had a meltdown the night before she left LA. Apparently he was just utterly convinced that she was moving to a new home and leaving them there. She said it was heart wrenching, but I just couldn't stop laughing. I know that's bad, but I can just picture it. Of course it's funny to me after the fact, I'm sure my sister felt like Mom of the Year as she packed her bag to come here.

Buying Body Parts. I can't wait for the future when we can buy body parts. Preferably online if possible. What's first on my shopping list? New ankles. Walking back from the gym tonight, I hit this one little piece of round concrete and popped my ankle. It hurt like a bitch and I've been walking on it all night. I just know that it's going to stiffen up tonight and I'll be limping tomorrow. So definitely new ankles. Then I'm thinking a new chest. Not Ah-nold big, but nice size. Oh and a size 30 inch waist. And since I'm working down that way anyways, I'd like a nice big . . . .

Another Whole Foods Altercation

(warning: foul language ahead)

Friday night. I go to the gym and on the way home I decide to hit Whole Foods. It's a weakness, I know. I grab some risotto and mediterranean pasta salad and I walk down to the express lane and I get behind a woman. A short, black woman with very short hair. And a grocery cart full of food. FULL. In the express lane. I'm tired, but I've got the whole post exercise zen thing going, so I'm like screw it. I don't care. I'll wait.

The poor checkout clerk is trying to explain to the woman that this is the express lane. But the woman won't hear it. "It's been a long week, I don't want anyone talking to me me, can you please not talk to me, I just want to buy my food and go home, can you please just ring my food up and not talk to me, I just want to not talk to anyone. . . ." and she continues to babble on. The checkout clerk is overwhelmed by the tirade and just starts ringing her up. And the whole time the black woman hasn't stopped talking. I think if she thinks if she stops talking then she'll have to listen to someone explain to her why she's not supposed to be in this line. I stand and watch and listen. She's buying some good stuff. Flowers, cakes, some salmon, etc. It's Whole Foods and it's not cheap and I think from her accent she might be an embassy person. Not sure.

The checkout clerk finally gets her to sign her credit card and she turns to me and starts to apologize for the delay, etc. I just shake my head as the short black woman wheels her cart out of the store. I tell the clerk it's not a big deal. But I add, "You know for someone who didn't want to talk about anything, she sure did talk the whole time." That got a chuckle from everyone in the two lines that had seen the little situation.

I pay for my food and I go to grab a Blade and I hear someone say, "Just mind your own business, faggot." I stop. And I turn around and there is the short black woman pointing to me. "You can keep your fagotty comments to yourself becuase I don't give a shit about what you think."

Now, my post exercise zen is gone. Evaporated. Now it's all about my post exercise adrenaline. And as K would say, "Oh hell to the NO!"

"I told the clerk that for someone who didn't want to talk that's all you seem to do." I replied. There's a stubborn streak that I have that's not pretty and I will not put with this crap.

"Well you can kiss my cunt you faggot."
"Gee, that's why I'm gay, becuase I don't want to kiss your cunt." I reply.

The conversation, if one wants to call it that, went downhill from there. I'm so glad there were no children nearby as I think every curse word I knew flew out of her mouth as she tried to denigrate, shame, and intimidate me. And it wasn't working.

She said that she would beat me. And I asked her if she was going to hit me. I was taller and bigger than her, and there were people around. I was thinking "Bring it on bitch!" But she said she wasn't going to him me, that she was going to "fuck me up." That's a nice general threat.

She brought up the race issue. "I'm a black woman and you can kiss my pussy." Yeah, I'm not blind. I think we've established that I'm gay and not going to be eating any pussy. "You think you becuase you're some white faggot that you can say what you want." Actually, I think I'm an American enjoying my freedom of speech.

The filth continued to spew from her mouth and I finally realized that she while technically not crazy, was pretty screwed up. So I started to walk away. Which only emboldened her. So I turned to her and said, "Have a good night. God Bless You!"

As I walked away, one of the guys who had been in the other line and seen this whole altercation said, "Wow, she's insane" as I walked by.

Ah, another routine evening in my diverse and friendly neighborhood. BTW: the sun dried tomato risotto. Fabulous!

Navy Leadership Part II

After about 10 months of daily abuse for the never ending battle against rust, or the problems with lead based paints, or the anchor, or the ship’s boat, or whatever, I was finally relieved as First Lieutenant. I had taken the ship through the final stage of overhaul, ship trials, and two major inspections, so I was rewarded with a new job in the Combat Systems Department. I was going to be the new Missile Officer. Which was perfect, so I went from one high visibility job, to another. All of the missiles had been offloaded prior to the overhaul, so now we needed to reload. Add to the fact that the previous Missile Officer had messed up the requisition and that we were in Hawaii (the end of a very long supply chain), it was a hassle. But I could deal with it. Sort of.

That summer coming out of overhaul, we participated in various fleet exercises including RIMPAC. RIMPAC is a multi-national exercise that includes the navies of several of our allies that rim the Pacific, to include Japan, Australia, and that year I think Singapore. Since the USS Reeves had previously been stationed in Japan, we got assigned to the Japanese battle group for the exercise. The only US ship in the battle group, we were sent out on point, very far south in the OpArea where there was basically no one around. We were definitely out of the ship traffic lanes and we would go days without seeing any merchant ships.

The problem is that for the exercise, the Captain had assigned three officers to each bridge watch. There was the Officer of the Deck, Junior Officer of the Deck, and then the Junior Officer of the Watch. The Junior Officer of the Watch was pretty much the flunky of the bridge team and got stuck riding the radar console, doing mo-boards during maneuvering drills, or breaking communication signals during the exercises. So it’s not like you were bored when there was stuff was going on. But when you are the edge of no where and not really involved in the exercise, it got boring. Quickly.

One day while the bridge team was sort of slacking off and just shooting the sh!t, the Captain came out onto the bridge. “The Captain’s on the Bridge” the Bosun announced. I went to go look at the radar while the Captain got up in his chair and looked out the window. It was a bright sunny day and there was nothing around but miles and miles of deep blue water. After a few minutes of fiddling with his papers, he turned and looked at me and said, “What do you do now LT R?” I was sort of confused by the question. I had been missile officer for a little over a month now, he surely couldn’t mean that. But I couldn’t think of a better answer, so I said, “I’m the Missile Officer now.” And that Captain smiled and said, “Yeah, that’s right. I’m going to need to check out the missile magazine. I haven’t had a piece of your sweet ass in quite a while.” He chuckled. Picked up his papers, and went into his at-sea cabin. “The Captain’s left the bridge” the Bosun announced to an oddly quiet bridge. No one said a word and everyone was looking at me. It was awful. To break the silence, I laughed and said, “He likes me, He really likes me.” A bad Sally Field impression, but it was all I had. Everyone laughed, but it wasn’t really that funny.

At the end of the watch, I ended up going down to the mess deck to eat lunch. An officer has to “sample” the mess every day to ensure the enlisted guys food is decent. And to be honest it was usually better than what we ate. But I got a tray of food and sat down on the mess decks to eat when one of my old M division guys sits down next to me. I asked him how it’s going. Not bad he replies. And then he says, “So how’s that sweet ass?” I paused, fork in mid air, and looked at him coldly. “I’m sure Petty Officer Second Class X that I must have mis-understood your question. Would you like to think about how you would re-phrase a question like that to an officer.” My voice may have been a bit louder than I thought because all of a sudden it was very quiet on the mess decks. Very quiet. Yes the tale of my little incident with the Captain must have gone from the bridge, into Combat, and then to the rest of the ship in record time. If the snipes had heard the story already, everyone must know about it. Great. Nothing like being known as the Captain’s bitch. I still caught a lot of sh!t in the wardroom, but after awhile most of the crew forgot about it. I think.