Ushering in a New Decade. . .

It's early on New Year's Eve day. I'm listening to Taylor Mac singing songs and thinking back on the year and looking to the future. In 2010, I will look for a job. I've lost and regained motivation, but now it's with a deep skepticism.

Reading Maya Angelou has been good for my soul. Inspiring to read about a woman determined, but she fell so many times. Ups and downs to the extreme. She went along trying. It inspires me to try. Even though times are different. She always wanted a second son named Iguana. So I believe that I am Maya Angelou's long lost son. We have so many similar feelings.

My resolution is to have a job. A simple request, that has proven so difficult and unfair. I will persevere and do what I must do. As Maya's mother used to say, "It's it's worth it, then it's worth working for." Something along those lines. . .

I accomplished my soul flushing this year. I found a doctor. I temped. I found therapy. I graduated. I got a kitten and a boyfriend. This has been a productive year indeed. It's the small rewards that make life worth working for.

In The New Year

Oh the new decade is almost upon us. It's the end of the tens and into the teens. A Depression takes time to begin, but once it's started we'll all look back at 2009 as the starting point. I spent two and a half hours in an office today, going through trials that most normal people will never experience. Seeing the people who live in the lowest of the low already. Knowing that I could be one of the few right now, but perhaps soon enough, there will be more.

I have one more day in the apartment until I return Upstate through Sunday. Oh holiday of holidays. Escape? Hardly. Reminder of failures? Possibly. I will return to a temporary job and then more in between jobs. With the New Year I hope for new jobs, that last and are worth working for. I ask for stability as it's been happening, with perhaps a little less worry. These are optimistic requests. I hope they are granted and not made difficult.

In the Depression, was I depressed? Nowhere, near. I meant a big financier. . . and I'm here!

Jewels. JEWELS!

This week from 9 AM to 8 PM I spent working at a famous jewelry company. What did I do you wonder? I put tags on the jewelry, wrapped it in tissue paper and then put it in a plastic bag. For 10 hours a day. I lost my voice this week, so I sat there and listened to music mostly. I enjoyed the voicelessness as a way to not have to be nice to the people there. I'm embracing this whole temp lifestyle. Meaningless jobs, for long hours and being paid more than it's worth. It takes a little swallowing of pride, but once you get passed that, the money is fun.

I handled jewelry that was so fucking expensive.


This little number is worth $10,900. I was so close to strapping it around my dick and blaming the beep on my belt buckle when they searched me on my way out. That's more money than I will probably ever have at one time. It's also so tacky looking. I remember the days when a diamond was a diamond. You didn't need 15 other gems on it to show how wealthy you were!

This coming week is the holiday season. My grandfather is in the hospital, he had surgery. Followed by a second emergency surgery. In between those surgeries, he apparently had a few strokes. 'tis the season!

Hanging On By a Thread

There are good times and there are down times. There are the high times and small times. This is the time of year where everything dies. Where seasonal depression is created and pushed onto people. Where the pressure for holiday spirit is around, but you really do not feel it.

I got a call from my job, well the job I've spent the last month interviewing for. The homo-receptionist called to let me know they would hire me. Yet, the union is pressuring the office to hire someone in their Union. So I'm in limbo. I was accepted and rejected in the same breath. There is hope, but it will take time. With the possibility that I may lose out, cause a union is pressure and loyal. . .in difficult times. In these oh so difficult times.

Then in the same breath, I went to my fair hearing yesterday. Iguana took the stand to fight for his right to not pay $2,004 dollars. That he allegedly owed the government from one month of working. I made a time line printed out and was planning my speech in the waiting room. 2 hours of waiting, being the last white boy in an office filled with the poorest of the poor. I watched a man dry out a huge stack of newspapers on the bench. I could only guess they were his bedsheets or he was going to recycle them for money. I could only wonder.

To hours of waiting for 5 minutes of actual action. I sit down and take out my time line. Across from me sits a black woman, who once again can barely speak English. The judge turns on his phone and begins speaking legal jargon. I'm taking in the scene and wondering if I should cry or not. Do the poor black women with head wraps sit in this chair acting humble or yelling out, "I let him suck my titty so he'd love me!"

Then the judge informed me that a notice had been sent from the office telling them to ignore the existence of the $2,004 debt notice. A wash. A complete wipe. Months of worry and anticipation for one sentence. I danced out of the room and performed my best rendition of Singing in the Rain. We must celebrate the good moments.

Seeing Family

I saw some aunts and cousins last night. We went to a expensive dinner in an overrated restaurant in Time Square. Then we saw In The Heights, which I noticed really failed to impress anyone in my family. I enjoyed it, but I could tell no one was jumping for joy. I think the show was a little to fast moving. Speaking in hip-hop lyrics can get very confusing to a crowd from Upstate. Not to mention the entire vocabulary that is confusing to them because they "no hab-la S-pan-yol". My one aunt, who doesn't prefer crowds made us wait until the entire mezzanine leave before we could get out of our seats. Then when everyone had gone, we walked out and ran into a crowd. "They wanted to rush out! Now we have to wait!"

My family's logic is based on fantastical ideals. Do people actually sit in theaters until everyone has left? As I left them, once again that ONE aunt had to say, "We're so lucky to have your aunt Sue here so we can keep in touch with you." I promptly left on the next R train that came to the station.

Am I the only person in that family. The only one. Who has ever wanted to leave? Is there some kind of curse on my family? Isn't that the typical path for the homo-relative. They leave home and rarely see their family. So I feel a little liberated over the whole thing. Not so much pressure anymore.

A Moment to Type

"I'd like to dedicate this song to the bartender, B***e, who I spent 25 intimate minutes with in the bathroom last year. . ." That's how I opened my version of New York, New York this year in New Orleans.

It was a mild year. That moment though was a good closer to the vacation. It was a small enough bar, filled with enough locals that I think I'll be remembered by both the bartender and those people who go to sing karaoke for a little while.

I sit here eagerly awaiting a phone call, that at 8 minutes to five, I am pretty sure won't come. Do I wonder if that means I got the job? Or that they have told someone else. Is no news good news? It upsets me that I haven't heard anything, though I'm trying not to take it personally.

This game tires me and one cannot be expected to have much more motivation than I have been putting out there.

No news is good news. . .no news. . .

I Need This Job, oh God I need this Part!

Tomorrow is my third interview for an administrative assistant position for a non-profit medical center. The third and final showdown. To come so far and to compete with only my words and my charm.

I have this job, I know I do. This job belongs to me and I would kill for it. . .

Well not exactly kill for it. I would enjoy finding out that I have a REAL job for the first time in my life. An adult job at that! Oh, all I need to do is ace this interview. It's between myself and a second competitor.

I wonder what he is thinking, What his talents are. Is he more powerful than I? Does he have skills that surpass my ability to do mindless office work? Are his social graces better than mine? Of course these things can't be determined, but I must wonder.

I will sleep and wake to shower and shave the face. I have the dry cleaning all set and my tie is pre-set in a Half Windsor Knot. . .

Good luck.

Hopes Up and Go

These days of leisure couldn't be more filled with nothing. Yet, it always seems like I am trying to accomplish something. If I wasn't, I wouldn't have ridden my bike over the Brooklyn Bridge multiple times this week.

I was traveling for some reason. Perhaps it was just to save money, or to get exercise, to cleanse my mind. When I ride my bike there are thoughts that I have at my disposal that I normally feel I wouldn't. Feelings of raw emotion. The wind blowing into your eyes and making them water. You are listening to a song on your iPod and wondering: is it the wind or the song that makes me want to weep? or is it the simple fallacy that I experiencing a real moment in this bike ride. Being in the here and now. I am actively moving towards nothing. Towards something that I can't for tell and never knew was going to happen.

I weep. I feel tears falling down my face as I peddle across the bridge. Tourists get in the way and I want to run them down. The lanes are clearly separated, but they insist on standing in my biking lane. This brings me out of my reverie and dreams. My pathos have been haulted.

I am trying to keep a demeanor of optomism, but with these lack of callbacks and third interviews. You hear of people who are moving away. Even the Israeli is moving back there. He's failed and I love it.

New York City harbors the residence who can make it. People who leave it are banished, never to return. They couldn't figured out the game that is play. I sometimes wonder if I've yet to figure out this game. I've met enough people, but the game aspect of it seems so odd. What rules am I playing well?

Rant done.

Working 12 Hours. . .

I am alive, I have been temping from noon to midnight for the last week. It has not left me feeling very invigorated. I wake up at 9 to go to the gym before work and then do data entry for 12 hours. If you can imagine what 12 hours of data entry must be like, then you have the most boring personality. . . ever. I am grateful that I can listen to my iPod, and catch up on all the musicals I have been ignoring for the past months. I listened to Bravo Giovanni (finally) and am obsessed with this flop and with a young Michelle Lee. Who is more masculine than I will ever be.

I have a second interview on Tuesday. It came as a surprise to me and I am hoping for the best. I would like you to hope too. I spent all Friday thinking of what it would be like to have a normal work schedule, as well as a salary, not to mention working for a non-profit company. To be able to get stable work during the recession too will also make me just feel merry. I sit for hours (12 to be exact) and constantly hear other temps discuss their hopes to have real jobs. I see the temps who are swallowing pride and working for this company. Spending all day removing staples and entering data. I don't want that to be my life for ever. I would like to have the respect that comes with being a fellow employee, not just a temp.

Hallowaning

Halloween was actually very mild this year. Most of my friends went to the other coast to celebrate. Since I'm in that dating mood I have been spending it with the Construction Worker. It's all very calm, but the nights go until 3/4 AM. In these days of unemployment, it is fun, but slowing down is in order. He does pay for most of it, which is kind and I appreciate. I do throw in cash every now and then.

Yet, dating the Construction Worker is like having a discount card. I can have a nice meal for 20 bucks instead of $50. I can take taxis home for 5 bucks instead of 30. Of course there is more to him that I like than that.

We went to two mild parties and a bar that was crowded. I asked this homo if he was Bea Arthur and I won the prize of his company to the diner at 2 AM. He was drunk and it was the end of the night. He took of his Dorothy apparel and was wearing gold la-may underneath. Was this supposed to be his sexy outfit underneath? He had a voice that was borderline grating. Now, I am not one to judge people's vocal inflections. I of the loud mouth and the obvious comments. He also was drunk and I was not, yet I was wearing short shorts and here I am making judgements.

Why Do I Do Things, I Never Mean To Do. . .

I am utilizing the Google Task bar in hopes of motivating myself to do more. If it's written down and constantly reminding me. I will be less likely to ignore the things I put off with a hand gesture. It's so difficult though when no one returns your phone calls or acknowledges your existence at all.

I cannot sleep right now because I feel nervous. Odd, nervous because tomorrow is Monday. The beginning of another week. Maybe the work will come in, maybe the feelings will lift. Maybe. There's so many maybes. There's a lot of wonder. If I could only take life by the balls.

As the Construction Worker simply said, "It's only phone calls." Phone calls with people who don't speak proper English. I will admit openly, I am not the brightest star, I can follow a direction and carryout protocol to perfection. Get a grade and I have it, read a book and I'll do it.

Expect me to make up my mind and choose what to do next. Are you mad? I was raised to follow rules and directions. There's no one to follow but myself now, and I just want things to be. I don't want to make phone calls, phone calls terrify me. The things I'm looking for are not taught in any classrooms. Oh goodness.

Scratched Nose

I once had a dream. I think you can call it my childhood. It involved hallways and simplicity and slower days. I have been trying to keep the glass half full. I feel like people are checking up on me and that makes me nervous.

There was a time when I could picture myself doing any job. I would do any job, but it doesn't even seem possible to get any job these days. I was raised to believe that I could do anything, but I'm entering a Depression. My generation is entering a Depression, but we're not ready to give into it, just yet.

The other day, when I wasn't looking for jobs because I applied to them all. I didn't want to leave the house yet, for fear that my temp agency would call me while I was shower in the gym or running on the treadmill. I decided I would take a short nap on the couch. It does not feel so lazy if I do it outside of my room and on the couch.

I closed my eyes and 45 minutes went by. My naps usually only last less than an hour, for that is about the time the furnace that lives in my body fully warms up and I burst into flame. Around minute 40 of that nap I was attacked by the Kitten. He saw my nose peaking out of the nap [the way I sleep on my stomach and fold my arms under my head. It allows me nose to peak out]. He saw that nose and dove for it. I now have a nice little scratch on my nose. He is a curious kitten, very curious indeed.

I need to take him to get his shots today, but the worry lies in the fact we're not supposed to have a kitten. It doesn't necessarily matter, because everyone else who lives in our building has a dog or cat. I just don't wish to get another set of bad news. I am going to disguise the carrier, as a giant Halloween basket I've made for my neighbors! They will never catch on. Never!

I Must Keep Optomistic.

Getting an elusive interview. For a 15 minute meeting, smiling and thinking about how you want to be happy to fold shirts for the next three months. Everything is temporary these days, no one is permanent. It's something and it's saving up money for better things.

I would love to fold shirts all day. Be enthusiastic all day. Smile, smile. I just want a paycheck. I'll smile till my fingers bleed. Though the correlation, I may even work through Christmas if I can. I know it may be cruel, I just don't want to think about things. I've acquired all a married woman can take. Except a job, so work is fine with me.

I Shall Remarry. . .

He called me his boyfriend. Tra-la. For the first time in years. Will wonders never cease? He's invited me to Greece come this June. Oh mamma, I may be going to Greece. I need to save up money!

It's all so trivial, but simple and nice. We enjoy the company and he's quiet, but he likes to have me around. Oh we shall see, we shall see.

Vannnnnilllllllaaaa iiiiiiccccceeeeecrrrrrrreeeeeaaaammm.

It's Fall

I've been getting all the biking I can, while the weather permits. It's been very chilly, but there's something nice about the lack of people I deal with while riding a bike. Not to mention the sweating. The sweating just feels refreshing.

I've been actively applying to jobs daily, which is both annoying and productive. I'm just trying to make my time useful while this trial continues. Hopefully by the end of this week it will end, we are going onto week three.

I went to the Equality March in Washington D.C. I really enjoyed being with my friends and marching to make a point. My favorite speakers were Angela Green and Charles King who spoke on HIV and AIDS. What upset me though was that all the people left after Lady Gaga spoke, and though I liked her little speech, it was nowhere as powerful as the other speakers.

King and Green both talked about the war on HIV and AIDS. How it's not dead and the infection rates will continue increasing if nothing is done. I've decided I am going to write them an email telling them how much their speech affected me, and how I want to partake in this fight. King said at the end of the speech that he was declaring today that AIDS is our fight. I want to help in that fight. We shall see where this brings me. For the first time in months I felt something that made me excited.

This Halloween I am going to be a version of Little Red Riding Hood. This idea came to me because the construction worker affectionately calls me Little Red and I call him the Wolf. He just looks like one, but in the sexist of ways. Unfortunately, all my friends will be in California, so I need to find a place to show off my costume.

Switched Off. . .

The trial goes on and on. Oh it's truly to much to take, unfortunately until a verdict it reached, that's as far as I can talk about.

Tomorrow I am going to Washington D.C. for the Equality March for Same-Sex Marriage. It will be my first time in Washington D.C. and for such a reason as this, one can only wonder how this trip will turn out. I'm expected to find a bus in midtown (a location that I still do not know where) at 6 AM. I have an online ticket and Maya Angelou to keep me company. As well as some fun friends and their mothers!

The kitten is in this stage of hate. I purchased a spray bottle and have had to use it on several occasions. Bumble seems to have taken an angry response. He won't really go near me or let me pet him anymore. Yet, I can't let him bite wires and nip at my fingers. Therefore, when he sees my hand is justifiably terrified that he will get spritzed in the face with my ray gun!

I suppose a swift and just parent is better than a parent a lazy and parent who spoils. Oh well, I hope he accepts the fact that I am his benefactor as well as his disciplinarian.

Last night I saw a one woman show with the Construction Worker and an older friend of his. Along with that friend's sorted gay friends. Oh, the gay life! He then spent the night and we slept together. It seems so simple. He's a busybody and he works most days, he never hangs out at the apartment. He has buildings to build and contractors to deal with.

We cuddle and I try to please without spilling to many tears. It seems so easy and calm. He's turning 40 in March and he wants to rent a yacht and take several friends on it to some place warm and far away. I have until March, but was he inviting me? Or simply throwing out the suggest, "Save up kid. I don't stay for breakfast and I won't cover your tab on this adventure."

What's a Yacht? Some kind of dragon? People can rent Yachts with kitchen staff and crew! That fee is in someone's pocketbook? I can handle the price of two tickets to a one woman show, but to an island. Let me call my temp agency for extra work. . . I'll see you in March. It's curiously simple and I don't necessarily want it to become complex.

I will not worry about a yacht. A yacht is about as common of a used word as taint. Everyone recognizes that it's a dirty word, but no one really know how to properly describe what it actually is.

There is A Sadness. . .

There's been a lot going on these days, but strangely enough nothing has been going on. There is the kitten, Bumble. He's funny and a nice companion. I'm trying to get him to stop nipping me when I try and pet him.

I have been applying to jobs. This legacy that I am leaving is building up. A futon and a kitten. Oh and the Construction Worker. Trying to build trust in me, which is comforting enough.

The trial is happening and happening. I'm not allowed to discuss it, so I'll keep all the details until this ends.

Now Is The Moment

The Construction Worker is laying in my bed, puking and trying to calm a hangover. He's a hot mess, which makes this the first time I feel somewhat in control. Which makes it sound maniacal in this twisted way.

Alas, it's what it is. I should just keep quiet, he's conscience but drunk. This I have never experienced with someone I'm dating. It's all new, the entire thing is new. Oh so much to take in this. Wifely duty.

The Normalcy . . .

What did my parents teach me about life? What did I ever learn about becoming an adult from them? It perplexes me as to why I thought there were some lesson plans they taught me, like in school. About dating, work and love. All that crap. The question of the hour is "What does Iguana want?"

He wants a kitten. He got one and now it's like that movie with Diane Keaton gets a baby. She uses the baby to her advantage and makes a fortune off of baby food. I wish to use the kitten to my advantage and teach it to dance with me. Then tragedy will strike. Right now he's sitting next to me curled up and loving the heat coming off my thigh.

I never figured myself a cat person. I never figured myself much of an "any kind" of person. As my therapist tells me, "Who told you there were rules to life?" My parents. My suburban life.

So I like cats now. If he'll always be like this and not scared of me, then I gladly take on the responsibility.

Iguana also wants a boyfriend. The Construction Worker has been making himself more known. Which is not unwanted. He comes and spends the night and tells me there's no need for sex every night. I stop and pause at this thought.

It's an old thought to me. I remember a time when I could happily live with this idea, but I have rubbed away those thoughts and instilled a nervous sexuality.

Trying To Write More. . .

Than I have been lately. Even if it's nothing important (like is used to be, remember those days?), just to get some things out.

I worked a 10 hour shift again today and almost got into a fight with a guy on the subway this morning. My hatred towards the MTA is building again, I must be holding some anxiety. Also it's annoying when you paid $89 for a month long pass and the pass breaks way before the month is up. You yell and kick the turnstile. You say, "Fuck you MTA!" Out loud to no one and consider jumping the turnstiles to make it to the train that is leaving right before your eyes. Yet, despite the social activities just mentioned, my social graces get the best of me and I think, "It's illegal to jump a turn style!" Oh what a foolish mortal I can be.

Little things have been happening. Like the rude man who pushed by me in the subway today. As if my holding onto the rail was rude because it got in his way. He scowled at me as he rushed by, but not before I gave him a mild push in the back and said one word: Don't. He turned more to fight, but then realized he was looking into the eyes of God and turned back to his seat.

I won that round.

Then is seems like I'm given these mundane tasks. Stalpe these papers. Scan these stacks of papers. Date stamp these documents. Paperclip these sheets to that sheet, but not that sheet. . .

Simple SIMPLE tasks. Yet, I manage to find a way to mess them up. Which I find odd, but a character trait that I seem to repeat. I am not dumb, I just get confused because I follow the instructions given to me and rarely change until someone demands it so.

I'll be paperclipping papers for hours only to discover what I was shown is incorrect. Paper clips and staples aren't allowed in these batches. . .It's somehow my blame because when I was told the instructions of, "Paperclip this green paper to the documents." I did just that, but that was supposed to be before I destapled it and actually never should have used paperclips in the first place! Oh it's like Alice in Wonderland.

Enough for tonight.

Ends Justify . . .

I was taught at an early age that I will never been what I want to be. I will go to college and thought I may study for a specific major, but probably will never practice it. I went through college being told that I owed thousands and thousands of dollars in loans.

Today, I spent 10 hours putting paperclips on paper. It all sort of made sense in that moment. I feel such a weird anxiety in trying to be a dresser. Maybe because if I try and if I fail, as I have been raised to believe anyway, then there will be nothing. Nothing except putting paperclips on paper for hours at a time.

I look around my office and watch the temps who stayed behind from my last job. They work usually from 9 to midnight each day. That's the most extreme and sure they are being paid hourly, but is this their dream? Opening junk mail? Putting paperclips on paper?

Maybe I'm the odd one out. I thought you myself, "I want to be a dresser! If I have paper clipping in my future, then I need to change it." I usually laugh about now, because I remember my resume.

The other day I was called for a 6 month long paralegal job from my temp agency. The conversation is as follows:

HE: Hi, I'm calling cause Joe recommended you for this job. It's 6 months long, paralegal work and well . . .do you. . . have ANY interest in this at all?

ME: Um. . .

HE: Tell me why Joe would give me your resume.

ME: (As if recited) I'm a young college graduate who got high honors. Also I am bright and open to trying new things right now. I'm very excited to test my wings in a lot of options.

HE: That's exactly what he told me, the one thing that's missing is. . . Do you like law?

ME: Ummmm [I should've lied here, but I was a little stoned, instead I laugh.] I have plenty of lawyer friends though. . .Paralegals are like temps right? I can do that.

HE: (Begins to laugh hysterically over the phone, I join in to alleviate the fact he's mocking my answer) I'll be right back. . .

At this point I figured he was asking Joe, why the fuck would this kid ever get picked with his resume. He returned:

HE: So you wanna go to law school?

ME: Nah.

HE: DO YOU WATCH LAW & ORDER?!

ME: Oh, yes! With my friends. [At this point I know it's too late].

This was soon followed the next day by applying to a job fair and giving my resume to someone to looked at it blankly and said, "you could work in reception. . . do you speak Spanish?"

No, but I do have incredible skills in paper clipping and making photo copies!

Postcards from the Edge

How have I been doing? That's a good question. A good question indeed.

I have spent hours in waiting rooms, I have more temp work. I've been trying to overcome this unconscious fear of applying for dresser jobs. My bike broke, then I fixed it. I think.

I went upstate this last weekend and ate more than humanly possible. I've been seeing the Construction Worker more than the Georgia Peach. I don't want to narrow it down just yet, but I do feel I'm giving more attention to one than the other.

There's this uncertainty in the air, perhaps it's the fall weather. I don't know, things have shifted. Weights and balances in the universe, I guess they shift. Things are wilting and dying. It's mildly depressing in this beautiful way. The color that is created through the death of leaves.

I watched the MTV Music awards and think that Lady Gaga is the best performer. . .ever. What was the blood dripping down her chest. That was planned? How brilliant.

Escape Upstate

I am escaping upstate. I owe my parents the visit and need to get away from the bad moods this US Open lack of work keeps putting me in. I will forgo the rest of my opportunities to not work at the US Open into a more productive thing like visiting the family.

I do not give my family enough credit and I have avoided most of the summer without spending more than 48 hours with them. I should see them for longer than a hello and goodbye. The whole unemployed thing makes it better and worse. I expect lots of "it's almost November, what now?" Speeches. In the summer there was a sense of optimism, but now as the plants wilt so do all these ideas.

I am trying my damnedest. I just can't be expected to sit around anymore. I may as well go some where I am fed for free. I can visit my sister and my brother. There is a jet ski that needs to be tried out. There's plenty of movies to see. Friends to say hello to.

I do not enjoy the trips home, I shall begin to try though. . .

Futon Paradise

I purchased a wonderful futon from Ikea the other day. The old one seemed to be cursed and would not come apart no matter how much I tried to dismantle it! Then Elizabeth came home and waved her hand and it fell to pieces.

I'm a little pissed off because I was supposed to be selling Ralph Lauren clothing for the US Open this week, but it seems I am not needed. I haven't minded the week off and I've been incredibly active in doing things. I just can't call my temp agency and say, "The work I was assigned isn't being given to me, can I have more work." In one more week this will be through and things shall return to normal. They said next week will be busier and I will be ready!

I may be getting a kitten soon. This is astounding and thrilling news. The Wounded Soldier's cats had five little kittens and he is offering them out. I have 4 weeks to decide this, but I think it will happen. I'm nervous, but I think it could be an amazing adventure. . .

So I have been very silent for weeks because I have been dating. A lot. I don't know how it happens, but I'll go through these periods where men want me from left and right. Then nothing for weeks. I know that may sound like bragging, but in this new era where I am not being a Manhunt whore, a date is appreciated. Even 4 dates at once.

Though there have been multiple men. There are two that have caught my attention. Both similar and vastly different in their mannerisms. There is the Georgia Peach and the Construction Worker. The things they have in common is that they are both from masculine backgrounds. I love my masculine gay men, as a friend says, "Straight acting is still acting. . ."

It's funny because between the two of them there is a tie for who I would rather spend more time with. If I had it my way (and perhaps I will get my way) I would keep both. The Georgia Peach is a beautiful southern boy. He has no baggage this time, there is no small child in sight and he has a good job. He loves weed and doesn't do hard drugs. He's only been out for a couple of years, before that he was "fucking girls". Apparently not everyone comes out at 15, well for those of us who do. We laugh at the idea of that. Fucking vagina . . .heh.

He's been kind and cuddly and then quiet and distance. It's too soon to really decide anything, but he's an Aries, which I've been told is dangerous to caring people like me. I see it though.

The Construction Worker is older [39] but is beautiful too. He owns his own construction company that is green. He has a large SUV and comes from a half-Italian/half-Lebanese family. I will never be invited to a family dinner. He's quiet, but I enjoy the silence. The same goes for the Peach. There's no incessant talking. I can talk incessantly with my friends. He too came out later in life and no doubt fucked bitches before he was officially a homo. Unlike the Peach though he seems to have been around with more men. He was born and raised in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. I find that hot.

Honestly, I find the idea of gay men who still wear baggy jeans hot. They both wear unfitted jeans.

The Peach and I have slept together. It happened suddenly and without warning. It's hot and quick. Dirty and fun. Then we cuddle while we sleep. In the morning he promptly goes to work and kicks me out like a trick. I ride my bike home and wonder if he'll ever call me until to do something.

The Construction Worker and I have not slept together yet. Even though I long too. We've hung out more though. Seen movies, drank until we were funnily drunk, seen movies. Then he drives me home in his large SUV and we make out in his car. I cannot tell if he's waiting for me to invite him up. He tells me there is no pressure. I also have the slight doubt that the moment I sleep with him I may never see him again.

Time will tell with all of these things. . .

There, I have got you caught up with most everything that's important these days. Now we sit and wait. . .

There is Always a Man

I have been absent from writing, this is due to enjoying life. The fall begins and for the first time I don't have to worry about college. I picked up my degree the other day and it's official! I am a college graduate! I graduated Cum Laude too, which I didn't even realize was an honor.

I am working the U.S. Open for the next two weeks. I still don't know if I'm working tomorrow, but we shall see. It will be an experience to say the least.

Catch Me I'm Falling

I would like to record the last few dreams I have been having. My therapist says that they are significant and my unconscious has been telling me something. The last several nights my nightmares have been distressing and though I wake up relieved they are not real, it's still disturbing nonetheless.

1. My first dream is that I am in my apartment. My roommate, our friend who is subletting and myself are in the living room. A giant python is slithering across the floor from inside the radiator into my room. I am distressed and telling the other two we should get rid of it. I mean there's a GIANT FUCKING SNAKE in the apartment! Yet, they do nothing. At one point the snake slithers by me and touches my leg.
2. Alice Ripley's Tony speech is playing from every direction. She is angry and screaming about art. I am offered a job and I say, "That's fine as long as I have a week before the drug test." heh.
3. An acquaintance of mine is trying to murder me. He is a schizophrenic and one personality is nice to me, while the other is trying to murder me. I am the only one who realizes this and I tell my friends and roommate about it. No one believes me, but thinks that the acquaintance has a twin brother who is insane. They tell me he must be the one and I should find him. No one believes that they are the same person.
4. Last night I dreamed that I missed my registration for the Wardrobe Union. I woke up (in my dream) and it was 1. I couldn't tell if it was 1 AM or 1 PM. If it was the day of the registration or if I had slept through the day and it was the next day. I look outside and it's dark and I just cannot tell what day it is.

The last dream was actually a sleepwalking occurrence. On Sunday morning I woke up in my roommates bed and had no idea how I got there. I went into my room around 6 AM and noticed that my bed hadn't been slept in. Apparently I came into the room and was convinced someone was in the apartment.

These have been my dreams. Weird, right?

Moment to Remember

Tomorrow I will be registering with the Wardrobe Union Local 764. It does not mean I will have a secured job, but it means I'm one step closer to joining the union and getting a job. This is how it works I suppose. These steps that lead to what I've been working toward for the last year. It's a slow uphill climb, but I'm getting there.

Childhood Memories

The other day while talking to someone I had a rush of nostalgia. It was odd and surreal, to have memories that I had entirely forgotten come rushing back into my mind.

While I was a young child growing up and moving around from house to house. We had a temporary stay in a camp. The house we were building was not through, but we had sold our old one. So we lived in this camp that was in the middle of the woods.

I don't remember how long we lived in this camp, or why we were even there. It was old and musty. It was far away from everyone we knew, but it was so odd. I do remember sitting in the living room nook. I was reading the comic book version of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. I also remember something to do with being soaking wet, but that is all beyond me now.

The Last Five Years

Today is the day I moved down to Brooklyn and have been living in the city ever since. Hurray!

Country Side

It was a planned weekend, and it was the makings of a short story at best. The Film Critic has moved upstate. I spent the weekend with him, we saw movies and swam in lakes and ponds. I met Sophisticated people and I ate fresh strawberries.

The Film Critic and I have fun content and passionate times together, but where is the warmth? I'm fine with it, that's what makes it such a short story. It's a memory in the making, there really will never be a future in it. I will enjoy it while it lasts. It was a nice getaway and a fun little trip. I got a tan out of the whole thing and to get to know another person.

The Diary of Judas Iscariot

As I showed the list of facts the Dumb Girl at my temp job had written earlier to the two stocky girls and the head temp at lunch. I never expected my betrayal to ever get back to me. Ah, karma.

The stocky duo were dangerously annoying when they were together. The gossip flowed like a deep spring when lunch came along. I was naturally the source of all the gossip because I always kept my ears open and my intuition going. Plus, no one gets to know people better then I do. I let them create the topics, then I set my ears to find out all about what they wanted to know. In retrospect, I never realized that my sneakiness would ever backfire. I made one fatal mistake, I allowed a straight man to get involved.

The Head Temp is one of those people that has douche bag written all over him. I'm convinced he is a repressed homosexual, which just adds to his large file of obnoxious facts. He has a girlfriend, but it's a long distance relationship and he tries to be as witty as me, but fails most often. This makes him being my superior even more difficult, it's my issue with male authority over my life. Naturally I set off on a schemer campaign against him.

He was the ruler and we were the bourgeois! He was the reason this job was terrible and the Latina Woman knew all our faults! He must fall and I was going to lead this revolution, but from the dark. So the story continues on . . .

I was preparing for my speed dating by writing a list of facts about myself and the dumb girl thought it would be fun to write her own list:

Dumb Girl's List—

1. I am 23-years-old
2. My favorite color to look at is green, but my favorite color to wear is black because it's neutral.
3. I like people who are good looking.
   
4. I have/ have had 11 piercings.
5. I think most people are lazy and eat unhealthy.
6. I like to people watch.
7. I love my father, so don't even try to compare to him, because you cannot.

Needless to say, this is the kind of information that the Stockier girls would love. So I saved the list and waited until lunch to reveal my information. They thrived off it and went off, then along comes the Head Temp. I was in such a whirl of success I showed him the list, because I knew he disliked the Dumb Girl. How silly now to not realize my fatal move.

We returned from lunch and I was glowing like a bride to be. Dear friends, karma is a bitch and I will learn this at a later date. I sit down next to the Dumb Girl who is attempting to look perplexed. Before I could utter a word, the Head Temp appears and says:

"So, I saw your list of dating facts." Two things happened between the dumb girl and I in that very sentence. For her, she became confused and for me, I gained clarity. Did this hetero-anal-douche see how this was the first rule of gossip etiquette! Never tell the person who you talk trash about, find out!

"Who . . .Wha. . .?" The dumb girl began, the little thoughts she had were beginning to form.

"Oh, he saw it while it was on the table this morning!" I quickly interjected. Should I take my cyanide capsule now or in the men's room?

"Ahhh. . .Wha. . .t did you think?" She added and I felt calm again, I would have my life for one more day!

"If I heard any of those I would probably run away from you. . ." He added and my eyes grew wide. "My favorite color to look at is green, but I like to wear black because. . ." He quoted and I stood up, my office chair flew back. I held out a pointed finger and screamed!

"That's cause you're a fucking faggot! Shut up you repressed butt pirate! You are a condescending and manipulative homo and I will not let your need to be as funny as me give me away! If you finish that setence, I swear I will leave this office and in two hours! TWO HOURS! The entire city will know you're a queen! Especially that GIRL who you keep hidden in a different state!"

He fell to the ground weeping.

In spite of everything, I still believe that people are good at heart. . .

It Dawned On Me Today . . .

That if I were ever to become famous, suddenly everything I've written here will seem relevant. Until then . . .well that is just irrelevant.

Destroying the Tower of Label

It's brilliant, this temping atmosphere. I think it works on a sliding basis. They let you feel calm for a few days and then they threaten you. Today's threat was brilliant and terrifying. . .

We all arrived to work finding out that the Sassy Black girl had been let go. There was a shock in the group, apparently yesterday she messed up majorly. It's like the And Then There Were None. Everyone was expecting her to be booted out, but what terrified me was now that she's gone. Who is next?

The Sassy Black Girl was the "shoe in" for worst worker. I had one personal moment with her really, no two, now that I realize. I'd like to share them with you now:

Moment #1

IGUANA: I'm seeing a guy.
SASSY BLACK: U da top or bttm?!
IGUANA: Excuse me?

Moment #2

SASSY BLACK: We gotta wurk 2getha! We be-so funni!
IGUANA: Are you literate?

Needless to say, I will miss her.

Everyone worked and I had to work with the man from the post office. He is straight and moved here to be a comedian. His hair is graying at 25 and he has a homophobic tone in his voice. He is from Virginia and probably voted for Obama. He is here trying to be an sketch writer. He promptly stopped to chuckle about "Tom Queen" while reading the names. I asked him if he had made many friends since moving to the city in December?

He quickly muttered with, "I have a girl I am currently dating."

I shot back, "That's the only person you hang out with?" He chuckled to himself and then punched me for being a fucking faggot. He wouldn't laugh at anything I said, so we sat in silence for the better part of the 8 hours. Labeling and silence. On top of it all we were at a table that was behind a huge pillar. So we were hidden from most of the small talk from other tables.

Throughout the day people chatted while labeling. Making jokes and texting on their phones. They did this proudly because the Head Temp insinuated that texting was okay . . .The disaster was obviously going to happen, and here I was hiding behind a column. Actually doing solid work! Ironic Gods!

The Latina woman came in, looking pregnant as usual. She promptly yelled at all of us for using our phones. The morale in the room plummeted and everyone stood around like scolded children. Scolded students, when in fact we all were. Newly graduated from college and this the first work we'd had in months. The first job in a year! And we couldn't label correctly? What kind of cruel play was this?

Somewhere deep inside, I chuckled at the Latina woman's poor grammar. But I was behind a pole!? Why must I be reprimanded too? I am not guilty. . . today. What was more interesting was how everyones insecurities appeared. I saw people I've watched for weeks turn into animals. . .

The Head Temp looked like a sad puppy because something had happened in the hall. The Latina women spoke to him and he no longer cocky and arrogant. People's minds and insecurities were running wild. One girl in the group who was quiet and perfect, she always smiled. The entire day felt like anything you talked with her about, she was always agreeing with you. Always being modest in someway. A creature who means no harm to the world, I saw her smile drop. Since she smiles more often than she frowns, her frown somehow curved upward. Still happy for her mistakes.

Another girl's complete insanity came out. The nervous office girl, fearing for her job. She was told this was the only temp job that hires long term! Did the Head Temp name names? She had her phone out only a second before the Latinas entered the room. Was she on the cutting block! She could kill the Head Temp!

People compete in temping? When did this happen?

I took a lexapro and calmed down. It's ridiculous, but it's a job. It's probably just a threat to put you in your place. I keep repeating: I'm a Temp. I have to believe that and not feel like my integrity is challenged because I'm not fit to put labels on a paper. That because I may have been making a small joke to make people laugh and some angry Vice President walked by and wondered "Why is that temp smiling?! They must go!" Then I must walk to my doom, but today I was behind a pole. A survivor of a horrible explosion because of this pole. I was behind a fucking pole not making small talk, not texting and talking softly. The bomb went off and I should have been the one talking loudly, but the other temp homo was. I looked to him and saw he suddenly looked sick.

An endangered spieces! He may be next to go!?

Or was it all some little joke. A warning? We're not a Hive Mind.

The Tale of the Wounded Soldier

I feel like this story should begin with, "Once upon a time. . ." because when I sit and think about what I'm going to write about. Involves a relationship, a small child, revenge, poison and a "mildly retarded faggot. So you'll allow me a moment to open this with that lovely phrase.

Once upon a time there lived an Iguana who lived in the Land of Sunsets. One day he met a Wounded Soldier who carried around way to much baggage. These were bags filled with goodies from all the wars he had been in. There was the War of Iraq where he'd gotten shrapnel in his back and hurt both his knees. This made the Iguana feel warmly toward the soldier. There was the War of the Divorce where he'd gotten a small child and a jilted wife who hated him beyond belief. So much that she'd have him arrested for not being able to pay child support. This made the Iguana a little uneasy, but a child in a different state is a child that the Iguana never sees. Then there was the War of the Homo where the Soldier got mixed notions on what being a homosexual is, a crazy Ex-boyfriend who was hit on the head with a brick and now was unable to tell the difference between wrong and right, and all other kinds of silly things. This made the Iguana laugh because: Who would let that kind of thing into their life?

So the Iguana and Soldier stayed together for a month, living contently. When the Soldier left his immense burdens in the other room, things were good. The Iguana smiled and the Soldier felt content, because a Soldier without an army wife is like an Iguana without an eccentricity. The two cannot exist without the each other.

Then one day the Crazy-Ex boyfriend began to come around more and more. You see the Crazy-ex was gifted . . .literally. He was a sob story within himself. For when the Ex was a young boy someone hated him enough to hit him in the head with a brick. That seemed to have damaged his sense of what was right or wrong. Then when the Ex was a little older he dropped out of school in the 6th Grade. That seemed to have damaged any chance of him being socially adept or remotely tolerable. Then through his whole life the Ex grew up with seizures and brittle bones that broke from even a gust of wind.

Into the woods we go again! We have to every now and then!

With all these problems in his past, the Iguana could not help but feel slightly sorry for the crazy-Ex. The Iguana had a special power though, something that the Soldier in his kindness seemed to lack. The Iguana had the most special gifts of all: Common sense and little empathy.

One day when the Iguana and Soldier were having a picnic, the Crazy-Ex appeared in a puff of smoke. In his hands he had two apples, the Soldier was hungry and quickly took a bite. The Iguana though, slapped the apple from the Ex's hand and yelled, "I only eat organic!" After finishing his apple the Soldier began to sweat and feel dizzy. The crazy-Ex went on discussing his last trip to the land of Divorce and talking to the Queen.

"But you're not allowed into the land of Divorce!" Cried the Iguana to the Soldier. The Soldier remained quiet and let the crazy-Ex berate him more. Then the Soldier began to throw up.

"I've been poisoned. . . again!" Shouted the Soldier.

"Oh my. . .Wait, again?"

"Yes, again!"

"You let a mildly retarded man-child poison you, twice? I'm supposed to understand this? Wait and why is your Ex-bf still hanging out after a month we started seeing each other?! I mean you dated for like two months? What part of his absolutely disgusting and childish attitude did you not catch onto first? Why is he even here offering you edible and drinkable things? Why is there the possibility that he poisoned you. . .for a second time?! And why does he have your ex-Wife's phone number?"

"And I just found out your home address too, one of my Goblins got it for me." The crazy-Ex cackled.

"Excuse me? Okay you know what. I have three rules and they've all been broken in one swift move. First, I don't do drama in my life. I have enough and this, my friend, is a little more than I would ever want to get involved in. Second, I have my own affairs to tend to and as far as your Crazy-Ex is concerned. I don't exist anymore, if I get a knock on my door, I will have him arrested and I don't have any backwater shit for him to threaten me about. You got poisoned twice?! And third, I do not involve myself with people who believe that poisoning is something that enters an equation."

And they all lived happily ever after . . .

The End

The 24th on the 18th at 12th and 5th Ave

My party was a success I do believe myself. About an two hours before the party, seven people called and canceled on the entire night consecutively. Apparently there is a bug going around these days and it's called "I'm-to-lazy-to-travel-into-Brooklyn-itus" and it's going around. Some of the excuses were legit and others were cop outs, but you know who you are.

The people who assembled were a fun and interesting mix of people. Margaritas can bring people together and when you are all characters out of a Noel Coward comical farce, the night makes for a lot of wonderful little moments.

The only issue was the Wounded Soldier. I knew the night would end up in this situation. It was a three act play that began this morning and ended tonight. Tennessee Williams in real time, he threw up and talked to much. He brought drama into my life and at my birthday party.

That does not sit well. Which has not been sitting well for the last week, but that's oh-kay. Then I had my dream last night.

I dreamed that I got accepted to a very prestigious Graduate program in a private college in the middle of nowhere. It was this beautiful building with old but sturdy dorm rooms and I was going to college with my roommate. I guess that means she also went back to school for her Graduate degree, since the college probably would not let her live in the dorm unless she were a student.

My dreams are a little to realistic sometimes. My dreams consist of real life scenes that could happen, but are slightly absurd because nothing quiet makes sense. In the dream there was a lot going on with meeting other people in the class and figuring out the room situation. Watching sunsets and I think the season was spring. It was like a scene from a Lifetime TV Movie—an Emmy nominated one—and then there was the Wounded One throwing up into the bushes and showing me text messages I did not need to see.

These thought bombarded my good dream and I awoke quickly in shock. It was also extremely cool this morning, which was wonderful and I fell back asleep. I just did not like waking like that.

Today is a new day and I am going to handle the issue as I feel comfortable. We shall see.

The party was a success otherwise. People got along, there was levels going on. It was loud and funny and enjoyable. Then I remember Wounded Soldier by Tennessee Williams (2009).

For now I am sitting and listening to the mix CD Mr.Marx made for me. That marries my musical taste with his. Which makes me excited and I am only half way through! Today is a day of meditation and the gym. Oh I'm running. Tra-la.

A Temp'ting Affair

The temping job proves to be more and more worthwhile. You have to understand when I say worthwhile, I really mean ridiculous. We have graduated from date stamping to labeling the 270,000 pieces of paper. According to the laws of time and physics, labeling should take about the same length, if not shorter than it does to date stamp. Yet, this process may go on for a number of weeks because we are basically proofreading the documents as well. In short it hurts my head and I'm not able to really listen to music while doing it.

I also need to watch my mouth cause it is easier to make cynical comments to the temps who don't quiet seem on top of their game. Like the Southern Belle, who is from North Carolina and will add, that's what she said to anything anyone says.

Me: I work fast and efficiently.
Southern Belle: That's what she said.

Or the sassy black girl who asked me immediately, "Are you a top or bottom?" When I mentioned I was seeing someone. Excuse me Sassy Black, but I did not ask you how you were able to put so much makeup on every morning and false eyelashes and somehow manage to paint your eyelids three different shades of purple. pink and I believe burnt s every morning and still make it to work before 9 AM.

Me: We should lower our voices or else we will get in trouble for being to loud.
Southern Belle: That's what she said.

There have not been anymore firings, but the Latina woman keeps whispering with the one temp that they seem to have put in charge. There is this odd heirarchy they have created and the Head Temp seems to think that because he does not date stamp like the rest of us he is somehow higher. This much is not true, just because a Latina lady favors you over the rest, does not matter in the grand scheme.

Me: I'm gonna go to the break room and have a Cliff bar.
Southern Belle: That's what she said.
Me: *blink*

The things I have found odd are two of my fellow temps are both from neighboring towns that I grew up and graduated in the same class as myself. What are the chances of that? It's weird to actually say my hometown's name out loud and have someone recognize it. What is weirder is that Harry Potter 6: The Half Blood Prince came out yesterday and none of the other temps were excited for it. In fact, most of them mocked my excitement for the movie.

Me: None of you are planning on seeing Harry Potter?! Did you not read the books?! They were amazing!
Southern Belle: That's what she said.
Me: I HATE YOU!

Trying Times of Temping

The last two days I have spent eight hours date stamping. Being a temp is not a glamorous job, now is it mind boggling. It's numbing in fact. You're given the worlds most mundane tasks and are expected to do them for hours at a time. I have been stamping thousands of papers over and over again with the date Jun 29, 2009. Over and over again.

It gets me out of the house and gives me a little spending money. It's not my life's calling, but I am doing it because it seems that no real jobs will hire me to do work that involves, you know. What's it called? Oh, yes. Thought.

A week ago when I came into this company and was asked to sort junk (or as they call it there BAD) mail for 8 hours. Stamping in a room full of about nine other temps seemed like a blessing. When I first started date stamping I apparently sucked because I would mess up a stamp every thousand pages. You'll be happy to know that after 16+ hours of practice I can stamp for without messing up one stamp. That may go on my resume. I have also perfectly a way of stamping so many palm does not get sore so quickly. For the other temps who pound viciously on their stamp will wake tomorrow with a mild case of carpal tunnel syndrome. Yet, they laughed at me because I took my time when stamping and rested my hands every now and then.

Here's the secret other temps. Listen to me closely . . . You listening? We have 270,000 pieces of papers to stamp. Did you hear that? You're not getting paid by the sheet, you're getting paid for accuracy. You finish 9000 pages in one day they won't care if some of the dates are smudged or redone. That's why at the end of the day. I was asked to stay and work a little later and the rest of you when home exactly at 5.

I'm taking the simple triumphs and making them my own. Because when you're a temp, the simple wars have the greatest victories. Especially at the end of this day . . .

It was a group of about 12 of us Temps in one room. ALL date stamping. Some people listening to music and two temps talking. Two talking temps who chat and talk and gab and never shut up. They talk about anything they can think of. You simply would need to open your mouth and say a word. They would jump on it and it was gone!

Michael Jackson, VHS Tapes, 9/11, the blackout of 2003. This one temp had the uncanny ability to link a personal story to each and every topic someone brought up. It wasn't just a comment, it was the truth as he told it. And the voice he had was loud, his volume control seemed to be broken and he could only speak in a deep booming voice about everything. Thank God we were all date stamping, or it would've carried across the office. This man's life story is told through a series of stamps and clamps made while he spoke.

I saw there before lunch enthralled with his complete lack of awareness of how far into the office he could be heard. He had to have an idea that the President of the companies office shared a sliding door with ours. HE HAD TO!? He kept openly saying, "How can a 6-8 week job suddenly change to a 3 day job?" He boomed this out loud and to no one in particularly. Every other temp merely shrugged. We'd all been told various things. I was told it would only take 2 weeks, others told 3-4 weeks. The loud temp was told the job would last from here to eternity. . .

All of this drama playing out amongst the drumming sounds of stamps hitting a table. There's no beat that's formed because people move at different speeds, they stop at different times. It's a John Cage wet dream. The day wears to an end and the supervisors enter the room.

When these Latina women walk onto the stage a transformation should be made. The gabbing goes and the sudden interest in date stamping commences. That should happen when anyone who is not a temp enters the room. Yet, the loud temp (in his age) doesn't seem to understand this rule yet. He keeps talking and talking and talking.

We're all a bit antsy. It's ten minutes to 5, but I have been asked to work later. I agree, because it means they like me and know I am dedicated to working. My ethics are in place and I'm not annoying.

A different temp offers to stay later too. She is an annoying on and is quickly brushed away, but not before they take the loud temp in the hall way and tell him he is fired. He walks back in and loudly declares to all the other temps (packing their bags to go home and intent on hopefully returning tomorrow), "We'll that's it. I'm a goner. It's been real."

There's some panic in the room. The Latin renters the room and says, "You can pack up and leave for tonight. Don't forget to fill out the time sheet." I stand up to ask her if she wants me to stay late and she points a finger and says, "You're not going anywhere!"

This causes more panic in the room. I have obviously been selected amongst others. It's A Chorus Line all over again and I feel just like Cassie. The ones leaving are nervous and manic. "Am I returning tomorrow?" I hear them whispering, "I stamped well enough. . ." And the loud Temp simply ponders, "I don't know what I did wrong." How about being annoying? That may have tipped the scale.

I feel nervous that they will not return to this office again. I feel secure that I will be returning to work. For more date stamping. Did I really win out in this power struggle?

Transformers 2 with Trannies

Tonight I watched Transformers 2 in a room full of trannies. It just feels symbolic in someway. They were baffled with the incomprehensibility of the plot. Just look for the subtext in all this, you'll find it's intense.

I worked again today, sorting and sorting mail. The good news is the company I'm working with (sorting mail) wants me to continue working for them into next week. Possibly something different from sorting mail! It's like a scene directly out of How To Succeed in Business Without Really Trying!

Yesterday my Wounded Soldier made me a birthday dinner.

I call him my Wounded Soldier because he's an Iraqi War Vet. Yes, I kid not. I am enjoying this whole caring about me thing. He gives me a lot of attention, which is nice and I appreciate it. Though he has so much baggage that I get so nervous. Except, in the right way he works for me.

I wanted to try and see Shakespeare in the Park and my roommate went at 4AM and didn't even make it to close to 2PM. They sent her home and she entered the apartment at 8AM. They were sending people away by 8 AM. I'm sorry, but Ann Hathaway doesn't even had an Oscar yet.

I'm 24 now. I need to be off to bed soon so I can do the gym thing at 6 AM. It's not impossible, I have done it before. . .

Insomnia and Birthing

Ambien seems to have no effect on my body anymore. I'm also feeling pensive and worried about something. I guess it's the aging thing that's finally settling in.

I have been sorting junk mail for the last two days. I asked for a temp job and my boat came in. Sorting returned mail to a company that helps bankruptcy. I get paid $12 an hour to look at envelopes all day. The only person I can speak to is a small Chinaman who stutters and mutters. He's a little daft, but I like him. He seems to speak in riddles, but they're not that difficult to solve.

I apparently can sort junk mail faster than any human being I've ever known. I remembered financial printing and how when a job came in you did it. In the Temp world there's a feeling of lethargy is key. I finished today [granted it was my birthday] an hour early, I was in overdrive. I've been sorting mail since I was a boy working in my mom's office. The Chinaman looked at me and said, "But you won't get paid for the last hour . . ."

He had a point. Yet, it was my birthday and I was eager to actually be out realizing it, rather than starring at a bunch of envelopes declaring bankruptcy to people who no longer live at their addresses or are deceased.

People called and facebook messages! So many facebook messages! It was nice when people I cared about wrote stuff. Yet, there's a ping of wonderment when someone like The Tall Man writes: Happy Birthday Iguana!!!

We're facebook friends. So I suppose there's no hostility. He's engaged to his boyfriend, the one he got after he gave me that phonecall that ruined my mindset. He's getting pleasantly chubby again, but his boyfriend. . .I mean fiance remains muscular. I am sure they are immensely happy. Okay, there's some hostility, but I'm working on my own happy ending. I deserve happiness too.

So I'm 24. Ridiculous. 24 and filled with insomnia.

Happy Birthday

As Tradition goes. . .

Did I Die?

Am I even here anymore? Let's see shall we. . .

There was pride and then the 4th of July. Then my birthday is coming up.

I've been looking for a job, it's such an upsetting notion. I am trying temp agencies and the last week I got two calls from the temp agency basically saying, "I have a job here. . ." They then proceeded to give me the statistics and my mouth began to water. The first time I was offered the woman paused and said, "But it's in Long Island City, that's so far from Brooklyn. . . You don't want to travel out there. . ." That ended that.

Then the second one was waiting for the woman to call her back for the job and she never did. It's upsetting to feel like you may get work. Then suddenly it's nothing. I'm giving myself a little while longer before I decide that I am going to get just any job.

Then I've sort of been dating someone. I do not know how to really start this whole discussion. He has a lot of baggage and that makes me nervous, but I've talked about it with my therapist and we both came to a conclusion that his baggage is what helps me like him. He sort of makes me feel normal when I'm around him. My roommate told me to dump the chump, but the thing is I know what it's like to reveal yourself to someone and then never hear from them again. It's depressing. Plus, I've made it clear that I move slowly and though he makes me weary at times, I think this man means well.

During this time when I'm so unsure about so many things. It's nice to have one thing that's sort of grounded. He makes me dinner and it tastes good. On July 5th when I apparently drank to much (though I only had 3-4 drinks) and I spent the entire day puking. He played Dead Space while I threw up all day. It was sort of sweet in this little way. . .

Who knows.

My berfday

Is less than a week away. That's all for now.

Lilac Wine

This job hunt via temp agencies has been a little frustrating. I've gotten two phone calls that proposed nice opportunities, but then were snatched away from me before I could fully get the job. It's a strange setup, the whole thing.

It's nothing I am doing wrong, but yet, I feel I am going about this all wrong. I missed another job call as I went into my support group. I thought it would be rude to jump up and leave the room. In short, I missed another job.

My mother asks me about my jobs and I get tense and angry. She gives me advice and I appreciate it, but want to scream. In a way of calming myself I tell her, "Yes. YES! I will do just that. . .Look I have to go."

My dad calls asking me how the job search is going. No doubt he has been sent by the queen to discover more information. I am complacent and he asks when I'll turn to taking any job. I respond with: In the fall, when the leaves began to turn colors and I don't sweat when I walk down the street.

I go to therapy and he offers suggestions of networking and I finally said, "I am feeling really anxious about all these suggestions. . ."

It's true, I would much rather listen to solutions. I want people to tell me what I should be seeking. Not what I can possibly do. I feel like I'm being given tomes that are easy to read, if you know the native tongue. While here I am, having just bitten off my own. I need to learn by talking to people. Then gathering all their suggestions into a big pot, mix for 4 days and I'll pull up a solution!

An answer to all this fogginess. A fan-like apparatus that will blow off uncertainties, leaving only direct responses that are clear of indecipherable bullshit. I need to invent this machine and change this quest I am about to partake on. . .

Another Week

The weekend was good and full of little surprises. I saw a double rainbow. It's a rare occurrence and I saw it! I almost expected a gateway to open up and suddenly gay marriage would be passed in NY state.

Then it was Pride this weekend. I drank so much beer, I am home at a normal hour because I am hoping that my Temp Agency will call me tomorrow with work. I light a candle every night praying that work will come my way. The double rainbow is a sign of luck, of this I am sure.

I have no appointments this week, I am but a bore. I am running to Coney Island, but it's not as romantic as it sounds. I bothers me to walk by the Ringling Bros. Circus and to be heading to the unemployment office. Oh to run away to the circus and to actually run away.

Happy pride and double rainbows!

An Ending Drama

Today has been a strange, but mildly optimistic day. I started it off with another interview at a temp agency. This one was bustling with people and more than the place I went to. My coordinator/guru/giver-of-jobs looked at my resume and asked, "Well, the question is what do you wanna do with your life?" The man was round, shaped like a boulder and had a red face. He looked like he was filled with possibilities to the point of bursting.

He then proceeded to go through my resume and make changes. Move this here, take this out, the title of "financial printer" is a dead term to him. I was a project assistant. I then took tests for my skills at know Microsoft Office programs. I scored 28 out of 30s. I can only type 52 WPM, we call that speed typing in the business.

My round sage lead me around and introduced me to a woman who looked like Barbara Walsh in the revival of Company. A man out of a Mamet play and a woman who offered me a chance at working at the US Open in Queens some August. Just like that! I stuttered and asked her if she was an illusion.

My shoes, they give me pointed toes. I look like the devil come down to Georgia with them on.

From the Temp Agency I went to the GMHC to get my free lunch. I stripped off my work shirt and wore a tank top. I seem to be into this idea of being trashy, but I don't think I look ridiculous. A man then asked me if Anita Morris presided on my arm, the discussion began and I smiled. Piano music played in the background, something by Gershwin.

I went to a second job search and met the opposite of my round wizard! A small black lady, but with lots of sass. She seems to be new to social work and wants to do good for all. It's a positive match.

I moved on to the YMCA and saw the cute trainer naked in the locker room. It's the little things in life these days. I think that's a good sign too, I'm hoping at least. I went to therapy and spoke of something that I have been milling about in my mind. I'm not ready to open it up to the world yet.

Then I returned home and listened to some Barbara Cook and played some Dead Space. Those things don't necessarily go together.

The Quick Trip Home

The trip home has been quick and harmless. I am glad, I will not allow myself to get upset. The pills fix that. No one asks me about getting a job cause they understand this current situation. We had a family portrait that involved white shirt and jeans. My alcoholic aunt created a scene and was promptly pushed out of the picture, literally.

It was awkward to say the lease.

I chose to ride with my father to the party. I told him that he's become a good dad and my mother has become the antagonist. I spot it and I see, but I can do better than that. I face problems. I have to keep this optimistic outlook.

I don't know, I'm improving myself. Keeping an idea, realizing that I can do it. I know I can. I made a pretty penny on graduation money. So, I'm going to invest that into a future trip, but put away the rest for a bit. Hopefully someday the work will come rolling in. I can feel it in my bones, these legs will be dancing again!

Graduation Party

I'm upstate this weekend. I wish I felt more inclined to write anything these days. There just has been nothing much to write.

Unfortunately, I do not.

A Bought of Sadness

Oh what a night. I ran the gamut, it was my first quiet night at home for a while. It's a Friday night and Friday nights at home always ring my emotional ties. I felt like a Barbara Cook Medley. First, I was crying on the fire escape (which I'll get to in a moment) and then I lost my glasses [Where's my other shoe?] and I topped it off by eating ice cream [that one is obvious]

I feel better because I cried out my anger. My roommate is nowhere to be found, which is no fault of her own. It seemed that everyone was busy, except for Bradley, he's always there. I'm proud of myself though, for getting through this and not getting to upset. There was a moment that I did get upset. It's a good step in all directions.

There was a moment tonight. Where I sat out on the fire escape and saw my super and his friends drinking Whiskey and laughing. While above them I wept, and they had no idea. That is the strangeness of life. Someone is crying, while others are laughing, in the same building and the same night.

I will remember one moment that I can take with me forever. Before the tears, when it was closer to sunset, I sat there looking at those men below me. Like some benevolent God and I saw the purple of the sky meet against the green of the leaves. I heard the children running and screaming playfully down the street. It was so peaceful and real. So colorful and simple. . .

The above was written two nights ago. . .

This Is Life . . .

I've been lazy. I've been lethargic. I have been active, that much is true.

I have been looking into several job placement kind of agencies. Why not? Rather then madly looking around, I'll look into stuff that will bring the work to me.

I was walking home today when the strange realization came to me, "This is it. . ." There's no homework or projects. Just looking for a job, getting my hair cut, going to the gym, etc. Simple things, easy tasks that need to be completed.

I went to a Rooftop Potluck dinner last night. Saw a film, been going to the doctor and therapy. This is life. . .All there is to it. To realize that now. heh! I still try to maintain my schedule.

I have been lazy, but in my the way I know, which is not really lazy at all. This is life . . .

All These Blank and Tranquil Years . . .

Moving, moving, moving along.

After two breakdowns this week and endless discussing of my graduation. I am putting that one to rest. Done!

I have been going to therapy and enjoying this little adventure of exploding emotionally once a week. The support group is back too. I joined the GMHC and will soon be getting free lunches every time I am in Chelsea. Oh to be poor and in a system.

I'm getting over the fact that I feel like I'm using the system. I am poor and unemployed. The government has systems for me. I will use them. I am slowly applying to jobs, nothing serious yet. I have an interview.

This is a plus. A possible job so quickly. I know how to survive this jungle. Tra-la! So much to do and the Tony Awards are coming up. Oh hurrah, they have become more sad than ever.

On a Sweaty Night

Printing up resumes and getting my teeth cleaned. I'm being as productive as I can be.

Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. is hiring

I was told last night that I should take time to think about a bigger goal for five years in the future. A simple suggestion and I will gladly take it, but I just need to figure out what that thing is. Perhaps it's the Wardrobe thing, so until then I must look for a job.

American Apparel is hiring.

Temp work is in my cites, I would not mind being a receptionist either. Perhaps I'll work on getting that. Or lie a little and get a waiting job. Oh, Christ! I'm a college graduate! I should have more of a plan than this. I live day-to-day and I cannot foresee the future, I am trying.

This weekend I went to the country and saw the sun and leaves. I felt the green of the grass and opened my mind. I laughed and slept and danced. To have fun in such dire times! I find that a little difficult. I'm working through it all.

I had a splendid time, that much is true. Then real life begins and it's a slight shock. Suddenly there is nothing, endless hours really. To do nothing. It hit me today, I sat on my couch not moving. I have to find a job, that is true. Yet, right now nothing is due. No classes to register for. No bedtimes are officially set yet.

All that's left is open time. Free hours to waste away into anything I want. I continued sitting on the couch, not moving, but only realizing: here we are. Oh well, you saw this coming. How thrilling, the whole of it!

Group Session 2: Another Cycle

Tonight at the second cycle, I broke down. That's all I really wish to share. Goodnight.

The Graduation Weekend

It's been enjoyable. Friday, I got free drinks, in this harsh economy I had to squeeze them out of drunkards. It worked well, cause tipsy people usually are ecstatic that you are moving into a part of life.

Then there are those who start off with, "It's a tough time to be going into the job market. . ." I usually try and counter with breaking into tears and falling to my knees, cursing God above. The second most common responses have been, "Grad school is a wise choice." These people are the ones who are older, have lived for sometime—They feel panic—but still maintain their employment. No one has denied them anything yet, except perhaps a raise, but they know that it's bad. I just wish I knew what I wanted to do for Grad school.

A strange BBQ in Park Slope brought delicious grilled food and more congratulations. I feel excited, but in this terrified way. I have my prospects lined up, a business card to a temp agency. A meeting on June 23rd with the Wardrobe Union about registering. That may sound less than stable, but this is life. I can't know more than 36 hours in advance of my life. . .

I've been on the go all weekend, sitting down for hours at a time, but only hours at that. I will not be kept still for more than 3-4 hours maximum. For the next appointment begins sooner rather than later.

Tonight is dinner with an English man and meeting friends for a steak that is $9.95. I can't resist that, especially on the first weekend of graduation, when tonight my drinks shall all be free. It's okay, things continue on for at least another six months. I look for a job and find one. End of story.

As for the Film Professor. The awkward night in bed together has sealed the fate. I went to therapy and discussed the events and was given a mild solution. If I'm busy though, I never have time to think about my loneliness. So I will keep moving, after just finishing my marathon.

Everyone has a degree these days, so I'm just following along with everyone else. I am reviewing my resume and going to appointments. I had a tooth filled and I helped some friends around the city. Busy, busy busy. People call on me and I have to run to them. I hate having to reel it in though. People do so many things that involve money and I have a limited fund. Oh, well. Sacrifices must be made.

Post College Afterglow

Nineteen, a hot day in August. My parents move me to Brooklyn in a hurry, but with enough downtime for my father to make annoying commentary. This makes me wonder if his soul purpose in life is to annoy me. My mother is sobbing and my father wants to get home. Unlike other parents, they are not planning on spending the weekend of my orientation with me. I am not aware of it at the time, but my parents expect me to return home in a couple months. Defeated and upset about the way I am treated in this harsh city. There is no reason to prolong this goodbye, when we will be reuniting in a couple of months. My hair is much blonder back then.

Twenty, a cold day in January. I'm in my second year at Pratt and just discovering all I can about myself. I am losing focus in computer graphics and feeling suffocated from having lived in such a small town my entire life. I have met a boy who is introducing me to a new world--sexually. It's all so thrilling and exciting. I wonder how much of it I can explore and how I never really discovered any of this before. I want to have sex with as many different people as I can and I want to try as many drugs that I can get my hands on. I have lived such a sheltered life up to this point and I have this urge. I feel I am so behind everyone else, I need to catch up as quickly as possible. My pants were much baggier in those days.

Twenty-one, a cool afternoon in September. I am a theater major at Brooklyn College. I have part-time job and make good money. I am a mild drug addict. I am a big time sex object. This is the life I wanted to achieve and I could do it all in balance. I was doing it all. The thoughts I had then, seemed so logical. Yet, when I rethink them, they all seem so insane. I went through homelessness, scabies, HIV scares, etc. I had to survive by laughing and realizing how insane it all was. My life was a joke and that was the beginning of the problem. I began to find it more funny than serious. I found a lover who allowed me to be wild, but gave me the support I wanted. My glasses were rather thick back then.

Twenty-Two, a warm day in February. I am becoming a functional stoner. Life is good in so many ways. I've seen the other side of the world and I am almost through with school. I am seeing someone who is less ambiguous than the last man who broke my heart for a little while. I am clean off from drugs. Things are in a solid and comfortable place. My hair was much shaggier and unkempt.

I am on my way to Come Back Little Sheba and I get a phone call. Time changes and I lose focus. The days pass and more information is gained. The certainty of life begins to decieve. The relationship ends. I have no time to reflect on any of the events that have happened in the past few months. I breakdown and lose motivation. I want to sink into nothing. I want to get through because I have to. I don't give up, but my body begins to go into auto-pilot. I cry and brood. I don't know of a day when I can tell I will ever fully trust life again.

Twenty-Three, a hot day in May. I am sitting here in my room. I finished my last final in a record of 30 minutes, I think I did well. All the answers just came to me. I am lost in thoughts of the last five years. The ups and downs. I cannot help it, it had to happen eventually. It's been five years and what is five years in a life that is supposed to last at least fifty? At least fifty, probably more.

How did I develop into this person? I know everyone changes. For better or for worse. It's a journey we all take. Do other people have this simple story? Five paragraphs (maybe six) that you can draw key points, but skip on all the other stuff. There's so much more that happened. Yet, I can't remember it all. I will hold the things worth remembering and I will forget the stuff I wish to forget.

Keep on moving along. Nothing to see here.

On This Eve Before My Last Day

Tonight is the last full day I was a student, if you will. After tomorrow I will be through with college. For the time being.

To sit back and think of the ups and downs of the last five years would be enough to cause mental collapse. Last night I had the film professor spend the night and it was a dire mistake. I freaked out again. I feel bad, it was a fault on both sides. What was nice was I went to therapy and actually just talked about it and it was done.

I will send him an email telling him that I am emotionally retarded. I am torn down the middle. Go to LA and leave me here to heal myself. When you return perhaps I shall be a different person, but let's keep the short time that we had together as memories. Memories of what could have been. Let's not try and make it into something that cannot be.

Then it will be more poetic that way and less upsetting.

Onto other things. Like that of the end of college. It's over . . .I was told I need to pick the right exit music. What do I leave the campus, as my last thought? Rose's Turn? I'm Going Back? I can't decide. It'll come to me tomorrow after the final. I will find it. Probably something Nina Simone. It must be appropriate though. Just must.

Now some stream-of-conscience —
I see a door, it's a plain brown square with a single knob. It's nothing frightening aside from the large imposing shadow it casts towards me. Beyond the door is unknown, which is the terrifying part of it all. I know I need to go beyond this door, but I am afraid. Nervous. People say it's silly and that I look around and see everyone else has survived. Yet, this door has been something I've been working towards for years, weeks days and months. I will go through the door, but I am still nervous.

The Day Approaches

Two more finals. Then it's through! I have nothing to report.

Tonight is the first night actually being home in almost a week or so. Just going to sit in tonight and relax. I need that, to relax.

I missed the gayest day yesterday. The AIDS walk and the Pro-Gay Marriage Equality Walk where Audra McDonald did this:




I would have love to have been there. She's such a beautiful songstress. I'm glad she's on our side, but why wouldn't she be?

My roommate returns from Florida soon. That's exciting. I go to the Poconos sooner than that. I graduate college soonest of all. Now I'm finally going to sit down and watch Volver and increase my love for Penelope Cruz. Oh have I mentioned this yet and how excited I am . . .