On a Lighter Note ...

I'm sure my friend, Michael, is dancing in the streets over this one. Martha Stewart is now a free woman! Yes, as of today, that not so attractive piece of jewelry, her ankle bracelet is being removed and Miss Martha can now come and go wherever and whenever she pleases.

NEW New Orleans? ...

Sadly, Hurricane Katrina has proven that mother nature has the power over man, but will man ever truly realize this?

It is a widespread fact that hindsight is 20/20, but at what cost? New Orleans has been around since the beginning of the eighteenth century with the Mississippi River winding around it like a noose, Lake Pontchartrain to the north and the Gulf of Mexico to the south. Yet it was designed and laid out below sea level. Sure, they have a state of the art, best in the world, pumping system, but hasn't the last 72 hours, between the storm surge and breaks in the levee system, proven anything? Under 20 feet of water (as of this writing, 2 days after the Katrina paid a visit) and still rising. Nearly an entire city is left homeless and the rest of the country will soon be suffering economically.

But all of that destruction aside, what happens next? The entire city will have to be rebuilt. The question is: how? According to the pictures and videos on the news reports, just about every single home north of downtown is completely submerged and will have to be torn down. Street after street after street is looking more like the lost city of Atlantis than a bustling modern day metropolis. When the rebuilding begins, will the same mistakes be made? Will the philosophy of "Katrina was the 'Big One'" make developers and the people of New Orleans make the same mistake twice?

The World Trade Center's construction not only changed New York City's skyline, but also the geographical layout of Manhattan Island itself. The World Financial Center and much of Battery Park City is literally built ontop of The Hudson River, the foundation being landfill excavated from the WTC during construction (the picture on the right shows the Hudson and it's piers coming right up to the West Side Highway, where the World Financial Center and it's three towers now stand). The Marina District in San Francisco also stands on faux ground, built ontop of the the rubble and garbage piled up and left behind from the 1906 quake.

It may be a far reaching and very costly solution for an entire city (or maybe even the more residential areas), but for a city who's infrastructure is so important to the rest of the country, this is something that should be seriously considered.

My heart goes out to all those who are suffering in New Orleans and the rest of the gulf coast who have suffered Katrina's wrath. With waters continuing to rise from Lake Pontchartrain and bodies floating down the streets while other people are most likely still trapped in poorly ventilated attics waiting to be rescued, this situation seems so surreal. It's hard to believe that, in this day and age, in the world's most advance industrial country, we're slowly watching an entire city being washed away.

Not Walking on Sunshine ...

Just a quick note to any readers from New Orleans and surrounding areas:

What the hell are you doing sitting here reading??? Run!!!!!!

Seriously, my thoughts are with those many tens of thousands of people down along the Gulf Coast running from the path of Katrina. Latest report puts it at a Catagory 5 with sustained winds of 165mph. Landfall, no matter where, will be catastrophic.

Please be safe and sane.

Just Havin' Some Fun ...

So... Just for the Halibut, I did a google image search for "big penis". This is what popped up. Look closely. Study all of the images. And see if you don't laugh out loud.

Icon Wars ...

Ever wonder what's going on with your computer screen when you're not around? Find out here.

Ooops...My Bad ...

I'm sorry, but I just can't let this go right yet...

The founder of the Christian Broadcasting Network (right) has released a statement in which he says, "Is it right to call for assassination? No, and I apologize for that statement."

Robertson suggested that killing a dictator may sometimes be morally justified, citing the example of a German theologian who was executed for plotting against Hitler.

So I guess that it may be morally justified for Juan Valdez, or whoever the hell this dictator is (I know...Hugo Chavez) to have Pat Robertson executed? I should certainly hope so.

This is supposed to be a "man of God". Howard Stern is banned from the airwaves for taking sexual references a little too far and yet this asswipe is allowed to vomit his hate-filled views to millions of idiot followers (I mean people) across the country, including suggesting the assassination of a political figure and blowing up state office buildings? I don't care who this dictator is. It's not about that. It's about the hypocritical hatred spewed forth from these god damn televangelists!!! They preach the bible and then support those viewers who go out and blow up abortion clinics, killing and injuring people in the process. And no one give me that "eye for an eye" shit or embryos are babies garbage. Again, it's not about what you believe in or what I believe in. It's about a man of obvious power (if he didn't have power, it wouldn't have made the headlines) and his desire to spread his hatred of others to the masses.

And people wonder why this country is slowly being ripped apart??? It's not violence on television. It's not Roe vs. Wade. It's not drugs. It's people who are too weak minded to be able to make decisions for themselves, so they base their opinions on assholes like Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell, who's campaign to "out" a Teletubby should've clued the damn bible belt in and made them realize these idiots shouldn't be on the air to begin with!!!!

Swoon ...

Country's newest heart throb:

Keith Anderson


PERFECTION...

F*&$%NG YUM!!!!!!!!! ...

I love it when I bond well with a client.

An old client of mine stopped in out of the blue today and he remembered what he used to do a few years ago every time he dropped by.

In he walks this afternoon with the oh-so-familiar yellow and white bag from the Cheesecake Factory. In it, a nice thick slice of chocolate chocolate chip cheesecake.

Oh man, I'm gonna need a cigarette.

Mad Cow Disease ...

This video shows the true horror of this horrifying Holstein sickness. Watch at your own risk...

The Right Wing Christians Strike Again ...

Religious broadcaster Pat Robertson is suggesting on-air that American operatives assassinate Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez to stop his country from becoming "a launching pad for communist infiltration and Muslim extremism."

"We don't need another $200 billion war to get rid of one strong-arm dictator," he continued. "It's a whole lot easier to have some of the covert operatives do the job and then get it over with."

"You know, I don't know about this doctrine of assassination, but if he thinks we're trying to assassinate him, I think that we really ought to go ahead and do it," Robertson said. "It's a whole lot cheaper than starting a war ... and I don't think any oil shipments will stop."

Robertson has made controversial statements in the past. In October 2003, he suggested that the State Department be blown up with a nuclear device. He has also said that feminism encourages women to "kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism, and become lesbians."

The Bush administration quickly distanced itself from Robertson's suggestion to "take out" Chavez.

At the Pentagon, defense secretary Donald Rumsfeld (left) said the US doesn't do that kind of thing, adding, "It's against the law."

Rumsfeld says Robertson's a private citizen, and private citizens say all kinds of things all the time.

Now I ask you, This idiot has been making these (to put it bluntly) terroristic comments on his television show for years. Where's the justice here? You can get arrested nowadays for refusing to take off your shoes for inspection in an airport (you might have a really bad case of athlete's foot), yet some evangelical asswipe can broadcast his hatred and suggest assination and nuclear explosions of government buildings in this country across the airwaves and the White House turns a blind eye????

Some People Will Do ANYTHING for a Little Free Advertising ...

Here's a deal.

Dish Network, the nation's second-largest satellite television provider, says it'll hand out ten years worth of free service to every household in a town that renames itself "Dish."

The service will include a receiver, standard installation, and a programming package for every household in town. In exchange, the municipality must change its name permanently, including buildings and signs.

The deal would be worth about $4 million for a town of 1,000 households over the ten-year period.

Interested towns and cities have until November 1st to submit a proposal.

Speaking of Legos ...

Sit back, relax and click here. You've never seen Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video until you've seen it done entirely in animation with Legos!! The quality is poor, but you'll be pissing yourselves when you get to the part with all the zombies dancing!

Some Great Lines ...

Taken from t-shirts, bumper stickers, etc.

“How much deeper would the ocean be if sponges didn’t live there?”

“Don’t upset me. I’m running out of places to hide the bodies.”

“Dyslexics of America – Untie!”

“100,000 sperm and you were the fastest?”

“I saw a woman wearing a sweatshirt with ‘Guess’ on it. I said, ‘Implants?’”

“My honor student can drink yours under the table!”

“Don’t Blame Me… I was in a drunken stupor on election day”

“I’m not an alcoholic. I’m a drunk. Alcoholics go to meetings.”

“Whose cruel idea was it for the word ‘Lisp’ to have an ‘S’ in it?”

The War of the Rodents ....

I have mice!!!

A few years ago, when demolition began on an old abandoned property at the end of my block to make way for several overpriced townhouses, everyone on my side of the street started to have a terrible mouse problem. I had contacted my landlord and he sent someone out right away. Of course, there wasn't a mouse to be found when he was there and he set some poison (industrial strength that they ate up like candy with no effect). The mouse problem got worse and I called the landlord again. He sent someone out a second time and he pulled out the oven, sealed up the space between the counter and the wall and explained to me that this was an old house. Without ripping apart all the of cabinets and resealing the walls, there will always be an entrance for a mouse. He set out some sort of powder under the oven and behind the dishwasher. The powder was an industrial strength ant and roach killer.

All of a sudden, the mice disappeared! No more hearing the scampering across the livingroom ceiling, no more droppings on the countertops in the kitchen, no more hearing some crunching noises coming from some dark corner. They were GONE!!!

And they stayed gone for well over a year and a half. Until last night.

I walked into the kitchen and there, on the floor just sitting there, was a tiny little mouse...just a baby. It wouldn't move (I don't think it developed the instinct to run yet). I had bare feet and wasn't prepared to do battle. I yelled at it and it took off running under the oven.

This morning, I had forgotten all about the mouse until I saw it again, darting out from behind the dishwasher, just barely running across my feet. It scared the crap out of me and I nearly spilled the fresh brewed coffee onto my hand.

This ain't happening, I told myself. Not again. I turned around and saw the mouse on the carpet chewing on a crumb. I took a sip of coffee and was surprised that my movements weren't scaring him away. I was only standing a couple feet from where he was. The last family of mice I had were more nervous than Bobcat Golthwait on crack.

Then I spotted a second one, just as small as the first, standing over by the trash can. I set down the mug of coffee and stamped my feet on the floor, trying to get them out of the way. I had to take out the garbage anyway.

I set the garbage out front and grabbed the broom from the closet. I swept the kitchen floor, being sure I got as far under the stove as I could and pulling out the fridge to get under it. I dumped the dust and crumbs into the trash and vacuumed the rug. For the moment, the mice had vanished. I know it's a stupid thought, but I figured, maybe since there's nothing on the floor now, they'll leave.

PFFFFFT! Yeah right!

I turned around and walked out of the kitchen only to catch a glimpse of one in the living room, sitting smack dab in the center of the carpet, staring back at me. As I neared it, it took off under the sofa. Then I heard a noise from the kitchen again. I grabbed the broom and hurried in, immediately spotting a hairy tiny critter hurrying along the base of the back door. Like a major leaguer pumped up on steroids, I swung the broom around and slammed it down. When I pulled it away, I thought the mouse got away, or maybe it was caught up in the bristles (which were now over my head). But then I saw it on the floor, on it's side, doing circles like Curly (a-whoo-whoo-whoo-whoo). I opened the back door. My intention was to sweep it out into the back yard and let the neighborhood cats have at it. But it tried to suddenly run away again and i quickly brought the broom down on it a second time. This fucker just wouldn't die! I finally got it outside, where I swept it up into a dust pan and dumped it over the rear fence.

When I walked back into the kitchen, I saw yet another mouse running behind the fridge. I don't know if I was seeing the same 2 or 3 or if the rodent world had suddenly declared war on me and they were planning an attack, getting their instructions from Osama Bin vermin, hiding somewhere in a cupboard.

I decided to call my landlord. I stood in the dining room, facing the living room. This is pretty much how my message in his voice mail played out:

"Karl...This is Chris...I got some bad news. My little furry friends are back and they're back with a vengeance. I saw one last night, but this morning, they're all over the place...In the kitchen, in the livingroom, in the diningroom -- oh great! They're on the furniture too!! One is sitting on my couch just staring at me. Karl, I need you to call me ASAP. I don't wanna be waking up in the middle of the night with one of these damn things sitting on my pillow."

I took all the cushions off the sofa and piled them on the dining table, along with my shoes. I'm sitting here at work patiently waiting for a return call from my landlord. I didn't have his cell phone number, so I had to leave a message at his home. I probably won't hear a word from him until late tonight.

As cute as they might look I fucking HATE mice!!!! And these are just babies. I haven't a clue as to the average number a mother can pump out at once. UGH!

Saving Ryan's Privates ...

I recently came across another blogger's post concerning the relative ease of "hooking up" in the retail industry. I'm here to verify that fact. I swear, I'm seriously considering combining a bookstore and a bar and naming the place "Read Between the Lines" because I get more phone numbers at work than I do at happy hour, and they're mostly from the types you would never even see let alone talk to in a gay bar. I'm talking the married, the closeted, the "straight" guys. The guys who's, when asked point blank, usual reply is: "I'm straight, but I experimented." I've seen some of these "experimental" types. Circus freaks can take some lessons for their sword swallowing act from these guys.

My most recent account happened just two days ago. I was bored at work and stepped out into the main concourse of the mall. The watch repair kiosk across the way had a few people milling about, including a hot little number with dark hair and glasses. Outside of noticing him, I really didn't pay too much mind. It looked to me like he was in line. A few minutes later, he came quickly walking into my store. I nodded casually and said hello. He walked past with a greeting and disappeared into the store.

Between the watch shop and the eyeglass place next door, there are several people who come into my store and just hang out, looking at the artwork with no intention of buying anything. That's what I figured this guy was doing, so I let him walk around a bit as I did my own thing.

A few minutes later, I found him in one of the side rooms, just staring at a piece of art. He looked at me and said he really liked the art. I figured okay, I better go into sales mode. And so, I started explaining all there was about the artist and the piece. I only stumbled briefly during my monologue when I caught him mindlessly adjusting himself. But I stared more intensely as I spoke, paying more attention to his body language. He was definitely a hot guy. About my height, dark military-style buzz cut, nice tanned muscular body, deep voice, glasses (unfortunately hiding very intense green eyes).

We talked casually for a bit, before I decided that this wasn't going anywhere. I let him alone to look at the rest of the art, saying I'll be in the back doing some framing if he had any questions. While I was back there, he passed by the doorway several times, smiling at me with each pass. I went back out into the main gallery and was trying to figure out what to say that would make what I was sensing accurate. I didn't have to say much.

"What time do you get off?" He suddenly asked.

I looked at my watch. "I should be gone now, but my replacement must be running late. That reminds me. I have to jump on-line to check the bus schedule."

"Where do you live?" He asked, following me up to the desk.

I sat down, logged on and looked up at him. He was standing on the other side of the desk. He adjusted himself again with a smile. Even through his baggy shorts, I can make out substantial meat he was moving around.

Around that time my replacement came in. I quickly said my hellos and good-byes to her, gathered up my crap and headed for the door. Mr. hottie was now hanging outside the store, waiting for me.

"Can I give you a ride home?"

I mentally started kicking myself almost immediately with my reply: "I'm supposed to go to a party tonight, but I don't even know what time. It's nothing big. Just a birthday for a bartender in a bar. You're more than welcome to join me."

"I'm not really into that. Maybe I'll swing by here again tomorrow if you're not too busy."

Did he want sex right there at work? I told him to hold on a second and I ran back into the store. I quickly jotted down my name and cel number and gave it to him, with a typical "give me a call sometime" line. We parted ways.

That night, at the bar, I was telling anyone who'd listen about the "hot military stud" who tried picking me up at work. I had no idea if he was or not, but that's what he reminded me of.

I never really expected to hear from him and was surprised the next morning when my cell phone rang.

"Hey, Chris," came this incredibly deep and sexy voice. "It's Bozz." (what a fuckin' hot name too, huh?)

"Hey, what's going on?"

He tried to make small talk, asking me how the party was and blah-blah-blah. I think he was slowly trying to figure me out as much as me him. I asked him what he was up to.

Very hesitantly, he said: "I'm....watching some...porn."

"Oh yeah? Cool...what kind?"

"Oh man, it's hot..." He went on describing the guy-on-guy scene he was watching while stroking. "Man, I had to go into the bathroom and stroke out a big load after meeting you yesterday." He told me. This wasn't really turning me on, but I pretended otherwise. I can tell by his voice that he was jerking off on the phone right now. This was something I wasn't really into. I wanted him though. I kept inserting the idea of getting together as he described the movie.

"Ever fuck a marine?" He asked me. HOT DAMN!!! My instinct was right (unless he was lying).

After a few more minutes he announced, with growing breaths, the...ummm...climax of the conversation. "I'm gonna cum! Oh man, I'm gonna fuckin' shoot!! AAAAAAAAAARRGH!!!!" He screamed into the phone. I held it away from my ear. He continued to scream. I wondered how much was for show.

"Maybe I'll swing by later." He said.

"Okay."

"Seeya."

Just out of curiosity, I tried calling him back several hours later from the caller ID. The first time, I got a strange busy signal. I tried a 2nd time about 30 minutes later and it sounded as if someone had picked up and then quickly disconnected.

I decided to wait until I got home and try him on my home phone. I just wanted to know if this was something that was going to happen or was it some married guy who's wife was out buying eggs and milk and he needed a quick fix (not that I provided one). I forgot to call him when I got home. I'm wondering if I should try now? hmmmmmmmm......

Nah.... hot marine or not, it's about time I start giving the orders around here. He'll...ummmm..come when I say.

Next on Fox: "When Good Karaoke Goes...." Wait...Is There ACTUALLY Good Karaoke? ...

First there was Kinky Quizzo, but that was cancelled (although I hear it's coming back in the fall sometime). Now The Post has joined several other bars across the country in an effort to let drunken talent shine. That's right! We now have Karaoke Thursdays!!!

Of course, to show my support, I attended this top notch, American Drunken Idol event. I mean what better way to enjoy a night out than to view the painful suffering of others? Or was it me who was painfully suffering?

Anyway, the first time they had it was last week. They set up the machine in the back bar (which is only open on Fridays and Saturdays) and it was a poor turnout. This past Thursday was the bartender's birthday so, seeing how much he detests karaoke, a group of guys decided to celebrate with a rich chocolate cake (from one of the best Italian bakeries in South Philly) and moving the fun up to the front bar where the poor bartender would have to suffer through an entire evening of slurred lyrics.

It turned out to be a halfway decent crowd when the first performer grabbed the mic. I can't remember what he sang (I think I blocked it out), but it wasn't very good. However, the next one up blew us away!

A very attractive woman, with short dark hair and wedged into a slinky black cocktail dress, her breasts standing at attention like the Royal Guard outside of Buckingham Palace, belted out a sexy, sultry, smoky rendition of Grand Funk Railroad's "Some Kind of Wonderful". She knew the song. She didn't look into the monitor. She performed like she was standing in some smoky New York lounge, swaying her hips to the music, sauntering seductively back and forth, guiding the mic cord behind her like a cobra rising out of a basket to the sound of her voice. Did she even know she was in a gay bar? Of course. But I can tell you, her moves would probably make Richard Simmons pop a tent in those little silk shorts of his. She had us screaming out for more and she kindly obliged later in the evening.

(simmer down, Brico - LOL)

Another friend got up quite a few times and sung some old classic tunes, mostly Led Zeppelin. His was a voice that shocked the shit outta me. He was hitting notes I couldn't come close to without being kicked in the balls. He had even sung the old stoner anthem, "Stairway to Heaven" and towards the end of the 15 minute song, when it reaches its crescendo... "And as we wind on down the road, our shadows taller than our souls..." he was hitting every note with suprising accuracy.

Again...we were all blown away.

Later, he and the sexy sultry lounge singer sung a duet: "Paradise by the dashboard light". Outside of a couple innocent flubs, since they've never even met before let alone sung together, their rendition was very well received.

My friends, M, O and J-F, after many a martini and coaxing, got up infront of the crowd and sung the theme song to "The Love Boat". They wanted to sing something, but J-F has such a deep (and sexy) voice that he said he was very limited to what kind of tune he could carry. Outside of laughing my ass off watching them, I stood off to the side and did my impersonation of Issac, the bartender, in the opening sequence of the old show.

But the creme de la creme of the evening was our own birthday boy, the bartender, who despises karaoke to the point where he watched some of the "more unfortunate" singers with the same shocked awe as stumbling across some skeletal remains during a hike in the woods. He finally got up there with the other bartender and sang Kiss' "Rock and Roll All Night". It brought tears to my eyes....quite literally. First of all, the other bartender really couldn't be heard outside of a few words here and there...but the birthday boy... Well, the only way I can accurately describe his singing would be to say that I felt he was suddenly fighting a losing battle with turret's. He would mumble through most of the song like the father in that old cartoon "The hillbilly Bears", but then shout out "Rock and Roll all night...and party ev-er-y day!!!!!!!"

All in all, it was a fun-filled evening and I'm looking forward to it again next week.

I guess, by now, you're all wondering how I did behind the mic...

Are you kidding??? My momma didn't raise no fool!!!

LOL just kidding....maybe next time...

Mi...mi...mi...mi...miiiiiiiiiiiiiii

Next on Fox: "Cats" ...

(Cue Theme Song)...Bad kitty, bad kitty...Whatcha gonna dooo...Whatcha gonna dooo when dey come for youuuu...

"All felines are innocent until proven guilty in a court of law..."

Cris Angel Link ...

I talked about him before. Here's a video link of one of his street illusions. It's pretty cool.

The Confrontation that was Bound to Happen ...

I ran into him on the street last night. I saw him walking towards me and I know he saw me, but quickly looked away. It has been an entire week since he broke the news that he was leaving town (which turned out to be a lie--at least at that time). I walked past and said "Hi...See ya!" He turned around and said "Chris? I didn't even see you." Then he started motioning me to come back to his place. I told him no, I had to get up for work. And I walked away.

I didn't get more than 100 yards before I started kicking myself. This was what I wanted: answers. So why was I running? I quickly dialed his cell phone and said: "I changed my mind. We have to talk. I'm waiting outside your apartment."

As we walked up to his apartment door, he pointed to an empty spot in the hall where he usually kept his bike. "Just one more dilemma going on in my life." He said.

"It's not really important right now." I replied, knowing full well that he gave the bike away. It wasn't stolen, but I knew he figured, since I had already identified the bike as mine that was stolen a few years before (no he wasn't even in town when it was stolen, but it was given to him a few months ago), he didn't have the balls to say he'd given it away or sold it.

"It may not be important to you, but..." He let the sentence drop as he unlocked the door and I walked past him into the apartment.

The place was a mess to say the least. Piles of clothes and all sorts of other crap heaped on every piece of furniture and the floor. I've seen it in this condition before, but quite frankly, there didn't appear to be any real packing going on (last I heard, his moving day was set for this Sunday). I told him I needed to use the bathroom and while I was in there he made his way into the bedroom, where I found him sitting silently in the chair at the computer desk. I plopped down in the chair opposite him and said: "I just want to know why... Why, after all I've done for you, after all I've gone through for you and with you, why did you feel a need to fuck with my emotions like you did?"

He stared back at me with big brown eyes; eyes that resembled the startled look of a deer caught in a set of headlights; eyes that were unblinking; eyes that were dilated from an entire day of smoking crystal meth. I knew this conversation wasn't going to go well. Little did I know how bad it was actually going to get.

"H-how did I fuck with your emotions?"

"Well, first you call me up at 10:00 at night with the announcement that you were leaving town for good, that your sister was on her way down from New England to pick you up as we speak. You then invite me over to talk and three minutes later, when I arrive, you've got a little mini-party going on. You barely acknowlege me even being there and you're all laughing and drinking beers. Then you get pissed at me on the phone for leaving and then you don't call me for a week. I wanna know why?"

Deer caught in headlights...no reply...

"I have been there through thick and thin for you and what do I get in return? What did I say or do to you to make me rank so far down on your priority list of people to talk to?"

"I have alot going on..."

I can see the unfocus in his eyes. He didn't know where to look. He didn't know how to respond. He was trapped. Usually confrontations between him and anyone else generally happens on the phone and he can hang up. But now, he's stuck here trying (very badly) to defend his actions.

"You have alot going on, but you can set some time aside for 'R'. You can set some time aside for 'T'. You can set some time aside for your drug buying friends. But you were never going to say anything to me! I know that, when you get out of here, you're never coming back to this city. There's nothing that keeps you here. So you were just going to go without saying anything to me? I know people have told you that you needed to call me. I know people have told you that you needed to talk to me. So why the silent treatment?"

Deer caught in headlights, hands shaking (either drug-induced or nervousness). He nods. I don't know if it was just something for him to do or if he was in agreement with what I had said.

His front door opens and his neighbor comes in. He's told to go back upstairs. He's hoping that I would keep my mouth quiet until his neighbor leaves, but I didn't care. I wanted answers and I wanted them now. My voice grew louder.

"Is this how you treat your friends? You use them for whatever purpose suits you and then throw them out with yesterday's trash?"

"You're right. I'm an asshole. It's all my fault. And you'll never have to worry about me again."

Typical cop-out. Avoid confrontation by overaccepting responsibility. I wasn't going to fall for it.

"Why? Why did you use me? I knew about you and 'T' dating, yet when I asked you point blank about it, you deny it. Yet the entire bar knows about the two of you? So why lie to me? I've been completely honest with you and have never lied to you. I never judged you or told you what you should or shouldn't do. I never came down on you about your drugs. I was there for you when you needed me. So why the game playing?"

"I never asked you for anything, so your worries concerning me are your own problem, not mine."

His comment was a kick in the balls. The anger boiled over. How fuckin' dare him to twist a friendship around to make it look lie an act of pity to be thrown back in my face.

"You don't even know what a fucking friend is do you?" I knew there was no getting through to him. Not in his state of mind. He was too fucking wired out on drugs. "You don't even give a shit about me being here talking to you, do you? You don't give a shit about what I'm saying, do you?"

Deer caught in headlights.

I stood up. I had enough. I didn't want to stoop to his cold-hearted level, but something inside me snapped. I stopped and stared down at him, still sitting in the chair, still wearing that same wired bug-eyed expression.

"I really hope you are serious about cleaning yourself up. Maybe after you're straight, you'd realize what friendships mean. If not, you're going to use everyone around you until they've had their fill of your lies and games. Then you'll find yourself completely alone and probably hanging out of a six-story window ready to kill yourself again." I walked out of the bedroom and out of the apartment, slamming the door behind me.

~~~~

I was thinking about all of this this morning and I really wouldn't be surprised if this is just another one of his games. Things just don't make sense. He told 'R' last week that he needed to get out of town in order to clean himself up. He was petrified that someone would talk him into staying. First of all, it's not like he doesn't have a place to go. He has his sister up in New England who apparently is ready to take him in. If he's afraid of someone talking him out of moving and was so hell bent on cleaning up his act, shouldn't he have packed a suitcase and gone to see his sister for a week or two, to get his act together? Then he could've returned for more of his belongings or better yet, have someone pack them up and ship them. Instead he's already put off his departure twice and made absolutely no attempt to clean himself up.

Secondly, his place shows no signs of packing. Sure, there are piles of clothes strewn about, but not a single box to be found.

Third (and the scariest). His sister has 2 little kids. I've seem him when drugs have gotten control of his temper. Is this drug addict willing to put his withdrawal and all of its ugly and potentially violent symptoms out infront of small children who look up to him?

I really don't think he's leaving the city. I hope I'm wrong because I really don't want to run into him. But I think he's going to be hiding himself in one of 3 places that I can think of. This guy is not ready to give up drugs, which means he's not ready to part company with his source.

While in Texas ...

CRAWFORD, Texas (Aug. 16) - A pickup truck ran over wooden crosses erected at anti-war protester Cindy Sheehan's campsite on Monday night, in the latest sign of tension over the peace vigil outside vacationing President George W. Bush's Texas ranch.

This is just the first paragraph on the latest news coming from "Camp Casey" as it's come to be called. All she wanted to do was talk face to face with dubya. What the hell is he afraid of?

Well guess what, Georgie. It's YOUR neighbors down there who are becoming violent. It's YOUR neighbors who are firing threatening shots into the air and telling police they're practicing for the upcoming pigeon season and saying "What do you expect? It's Texas". It's YOUR neighbors who are running down the wooden crosses in the road. It's YOUR neighbors and YOUR brainless supporters who are causing the problems for one mother who simply wants to ask you why her son is dead because of your decisions.

Instead you drive by on your way to a $20,000 fund raising pig roast at yet another neighbor and you completely ignore the woman who wants to talk? A five week vacation you're taking that is going to result in fights breaking out at your front door. Why can't you do something? You try to show a tremendous set of brass ones when attacking another country and killing thousands of civilians, yet you're afraid to talk to one single woman who has lost her son defending said brass ones?

It just doesn't make sense.

Alien Autopsy or ...

Does this picture remind any of you of anything? Anything at all?
Hint: If you give me grief or any kind of crap, then your mind is ALSO in the gutter and you DON'T have any room to give me crap.

Click here if you think you know...

Lego-Mania ...

This was one of my FAVORITE toys growing up... Little did I know how far people went. Here's a Link you MUST check out. I've always loved Legos, but this woman has gone overboard. I'm almost waiting to see television cameras on the balconies and lego people suddenly being "healed" of the painful six-pack bumps they all suffer on their backs.

Her work is amazing, however, and the detail so incredible...but it was all done in honor of a CAT!!!

Can you say "therapy"?... I knew you could...

Another Story ...

Well, nothing new on the homefront so I figured I'd just tell another story to help pass the time here. This actually isn't anything funny, but rather the scariest thing that has ever happened to me.

Two years ago (July 9th to be exact - it was my parent's wedding anniversary), I was on the first day of my vacation and I was returning home from visiting a friend. It was about 11 o'clock at night and I had to get up the next morning for a job interview in New Jersey.

I live on a small quiet tree-lined street just south of Rittenhouse Square. It's a neighborhood that has been on the upswing for several years, with houses being refurbished as doctors from the neighboring Graduate Hospital and professionals from Center City and nearby University City started moving back into Philadelphia. Although it bordered an "iffy" neighborhood to the south (now seeing its own revitalization), I really never had any problems in the six years I had lived on the block...

Until this particular night...

It was a warm summer night and the walk home was calm and uneventful, I walked up to my door and pulled out the keys. I unlocked the wrought-iron gate and slid the key into the door, unlocking it and stepping inside the threshold. As I turned to shut the gate, I suddenly spotted a tall husky dark skinned black guy a few feet away from my stoop. The only thing I remember outside of his size and skin color was an oversized blue football jersey with big white numbers on the front.

I had one hand on the gate and the other holding the key, ready to put it into the lock. I still wasn't thinking much of the guy standing at the foot of my stoop. People walk back and forth on my street all the time.

"Are you Angie?" He asked.

The question threw me. Did I look like an Angie? What kind of an "Angie" would sport a buzz cut and goatee? "What?" I replied, still in the same position; key in hand, holding the gate closed.

"Are you Angie?" He repeated the question.

It had all happened in the matter of seconds and before I knew it he was grabbing the gate and was trying to pull it open.

"NO!" I yelled, trying to pull the gate back to me. Thinking about this after the fact, I realized I should've just jumped back and slammed the door shut in his face, but my mind was telling me that this wasn't actually happening. In fact, several things started racing through my head at once, but I figured this guy would give up quickly and head off down the street.

Unfortunately, that wasn't what happened.

He pulled the gate open and pushed me back into the house. "Get in there!" His voice was a deep, harsh whisper and I could see now that he was a good six inches taller than me and easily out-weighed be about 60 pounds. He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and kicked the door shut behind him. "Gimme your money!"

Being summer, my livingroom window was open, but unfortunately, since I overlooked the street and passersbys always seemed to glance in, I had the blinds drawn. I screamed for help, all the while trying to push him away and break free from his grip. With one hand clutching my shirt, my eyes grew wide in panic as I saw him reach into his back pocket and pull out a large knife.

"Get down on the floor." He commanded.

I continued to pull away until he wrapped an arm around me and pushed me down on the ground, face down. His entire weight was put on me as he layed down ontop of me and whispered into my ear: "I don't wanna hurt you. Don't scream." I can feel the knife against my neck, but I couldn't shut up. I screamed again, my yells muffled in the rug. I felt a pressure around my neck as my screams were suddenly cut off. I realized with a rapidly growing fear that he was strangling me. "I said I don't wanna hurt you. Don't make me. Just shut up." I tried quieting down, but every time his grip relaxed around my neck, I would yell again and his grip would tighten again, harder that previously.

I remember seeing white spots infront of me and feeling his free hand rummaging through my pockets. I knew I had no money on me, but I couldn't tell him this because every time I spoke, the hand around my neck would tighten more. He pulled out my wallet and emptied on the floor around me. He pulled out my cigarettes out of my front pocket.

There were two scenarios going through my mind while I lay there with his fingers clutching my throat: he would realize I had no money on me and leave or he would realize I had no money on me and kill me.

The answer came quickly enough...

"Let's see what you got upstairs." His hot breath was on my ear as a new thought and a greater fear entered my mind. My bedroom was sealed off. I had the air conditioner going up there and, if no one was hearing my pleas from the first floor open window, there was no way I was going to survive being taken up to the second floor and into a dark bedroom.

He grabbed me by the collar and dragged me across the hardwood floors. Across the back of one of the dining chairs was a pair of dress pants. With one hand gripping my shirt, he grabbed the pants with his free hand and quickly felt the pockets for anything before tossing them onto the floor. Then he got a better grip on me and started dragging me up the tightly winding stairs towards the second floor.

As we neared the top of the stairs, it became apparent that this was going to be my last day on earth if I didn't do something. On one hand, this guy was much bigger than me and I was no match for him. I was exhausted from my struggle already and I was convincing myself that this was it. I was a dead man. Random thoughts of my friends, family and my ultimate demise floated through my head like confetti in a ticker-tape parade. Who would find me? Would it be painful? This would destroy my mother. Would I suffer? Will it be several stabs or a quick slashing of the throat?

On the other hand, something very strange entered my head among all the fears and images. Guests that I've had in my house, I had always had to warn them of the steps and their head. It's not a spiral staircase, but a tightly wound circular set of stairs and, if you weren't careful, you can easily bang your head on the ceiling or take a spill if your feet weren't properly placed on the tread. My last hope for survival was knowing my stairs!

We reached the top of the stairs. All the while he was dragging me up, I tried to make myself as much dead weight as possible. The guy was strong, but had tired himself by the time he reached the 2nd floor. The hall was dark. It wasn't even a hall really, more so just a small landing about 5 feet by 3 feet with my closed bedroom door to the right, a 2nd bedroom door at the top of the stairs and the bathroom to the left.

The guy slipped on the last stair and fell on his ass on the landing, but his grip was still on my arm. I figured what did I have to lose at this point. I was either going to die in the bedroom or right here on the stairs, so I may as well give it all I had left in me.

Screaming, I started swinging my free arm every which way. I was on the stairs and he was on his ass on the floor. In all the commotion, I had forgotten that he had a knife. I saw him reaching behind him, searching the floor. He dropped it!! This was my very last chance. I swung, punched, pulled and yelled. Every ounce of adrenaline pumped through my body in a last ditch effort to save myself. I blindly swung my fists and suddenly felt him release me. If I had been smart, I would've run at that time. But smart wasn't happening. Fear and anger kicked in and I continued swinging on the guy. He was still on the floor and trying to get himself up, but I remained on the stairs and continued punching. I wasn't even sure if I was hitting him and I really didn't care.

Finally, he squeezed by me and shoved me up against the wall. This was his chance to do some damage, but he shoved me aside instead and rushed off down the stairs. I sat down on the step and watched him head for the front door. My chest heaved, trying to catch some air and I felt a dull throb on the side of my head, but it was over. I couldn't believe what had just happened, but I survived!

"You scream like a bitch." He said over his shoulder as he reached the front door and pulled it open.

Something inside of me snapped at that point. In one second, I was thankful to be alive, but in the next, after he had the balls to call me a bitch, a blinding rage took over. I screamed at the top of my lungs and went running down the stairs after him. All thoughts of what I had just been through had vanished. All thoughts of his size or the weapon he carried. All of it was wiped from my mind as I went running after him.

He calmly walked outside and threw the gate closed behind him just as I was reaching the doorway. The metal gate banged inside the frame and I wrapped my fingers around the bars.

"Fuck you!!!!!!" I screamed at him as I watched him running down the street. I slammed the door shut and twisted the lock before running to the phone. I quickly dialed 9-1-1.

"9-1-1. What's your emergency."

"I was just attacked!!!" I screamed into the phone.

"Just calm down. We have your address. I'm sending police there now. Are you okay?"

I don't know what my reply was. I paced back and forth through the livingroom trying to tell the operator what happened.

-Was he in the house?
-Yes.
-Is he in the house now?
-No.
-Are you injured?
-Yes...no...I don't know.
-I'll stay on the line until the police arrive.

I then saw the knife.

It's amazing how much detail you can give when telling a story, but how quickly you can forget things while all sorts of emotions are coursing through your body. Remembering seeing him pull the knife out, remembering the knife to my throat, remembering him searching for the knife on the 2nd floor, I had completely forgotten about the weapon as I was speaking to the 9-1-1 operator. There it was, lying on the sofa at the bottom of the stairs. When he had dropped it, it must've toppled over the landing and landed on the sofa. It was a kitchen knife, the blade about 8 inches long. I imagined it slicing through my neck.

"Oh God!"

"Sir? Are you okay?"

"He had a knife!"

My legs turned to jell-o and I fell onto a chair just as five or six police cars pulled onto the street.
A policeman drove me around the neighborhood looking for the guy, but he was never found. They took the knife and my wallet (since, other than me, the guy didn't touch much of anything else) and checked for prints. Nothing was found.

I spent a couple of hours at the police station giving a statement, but nothing was ever done. I don't know how much (if any) effort was put into looking for the guy. Being a gay man, I suspect they probably figured this was a casual hook-up gone bad, but there's nothing I could do to prove my suspicions accurate. I'm just glad to be alive.

I spoke to some of my neighbors and, although my next door neighbor thought he heard something, most were ignorant to what had happened. A block meeting was scheduled for the following month and the block captain had written a really nice story of my struggle and how I had defended myself. I am proud of that. Here was this guy who was taller and bigger than me, probably high on drugs, and carrying a weapon, and I was able to fight him off and survive the attack with nothing more than a few scratches (from the knife or nails, I don't know) and a bruised throat.

I never let the attack scare me away from the city or the neighborhood. I still live in the same house, although I'm a little more vigilant when coming and going, especially after dark. My only hope is that the guy had overdosed on drugs and died somewhere in some dark alleyway.

Brush With Fame ...

Last night I was at the bar and met a guy who's company I really enjoyed. We laughed, talked and drank. After a couple of beers, my old personality started to surface and I started telling one story after the other. One of those stories was my brush with fame with a short little English celebrity of long ago.

One night several years ago I was out with a friend barhopping until the wee hours of the morning. Our routine after a night drinking would be to go to Little Pete's, a diner in Center City Philadelphia that serves greasy eggs and the best burgers around. It was around 3 in the morning and we settled into our booth and placed our orders.

I had the sudden need to take a leak, so I headed off past the kitchen and down a narrow hall to the bathrooms. One of the best feelings in the world is relieving yourself of a drunken piss. As your bladder empties itself, you get a rush of calmness that seems to envelope your whole body. That was the state I was in cramped up in the tiny little bathroom. Drunk and hungry, I found relief and tranquility as I stared at the small white porcelain tiles on the wall infront of me. My mind was at peace and my thoughts drifted away from my bladder and back to my waiting plate of eggs and sausage.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"I'll be right out." I mumbled softly, not wanting to disturb the delicate flow.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"I'll be right out..." I repeated, alittle louder and slightly more annoyed this time.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

"Jesus F. Christ!" The peaceful moment gone, I forced the rest of the beer out, stuffed everything back in and zipped up. "I can't even piss without being bothered." I yelled at the closed door as I quickly washed my hands.

I threw open the door and stepped out into the narrow hall, coming face to face with a guy much shorter than me with a surprised, but cocky look in his eyes. "You can't wait a couple minutes, can you?" I yelled in his face.

With a mousy English accent, he said: "I'm sorry, I didn't know anyone was in there."

I stormed off down the hall, through the kitchen and out into the dining area. And I suddenly stopped. Slowly, I turned and looked back the way I had just come. A look of confusion on my face, I tried to place that familiar voice.

The waitress was just placing our food down on the table and I slid into the booth. I looked at my friend sitting across from me.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"I think a Monkey just tried to get into the bathroom when I was in there."

He looked at me through bloodshot eyes, a forkful of scrambled eggs raised to his mouth. "Huh?"

"I was taking a leak and a Monkey tried to break down the door."

"You're fucking drunk!"

I looked off towards the direction of the bathroom, half convinced that I had some strange hallucination. Then he appeared.

"Look!" I pointed.

My friend turned his head and he immediately recognized the has-been singer. He looked back at me and then back at Davey Jones. As the Monkey walked past our table, my friend looked once again at me and burst out laughing. I started laughing and couldn't stop. Tears streamed down my face, my stomach ached and I couldn't catch my breath.

It was probably one of the most surreal moments I've ever had. Here's a guy who, although I liked the old TV show, I couldn't stand him. Even at 4 years old, he skeeved me somethin' awful. It's a guy I haven't seen or thought of in probably 25 years and all of a sudden he's banging down a bathroom door in a 24-hour dive diner at 3 o'clock in the morning!

It was almost as strange as my mom casually announcing at the dinner table one night that a big black man tried to hit on her in an elevator. My dad nearly fell off his chair, not at the fact that my mom was hit on, not at the fact that she was hit on by a "big black man", but at the fact of how she casually made the announcement as if she were asking someone to pass the butter.

Turns out, the "big black man" was James Earl Jones.

Thank You All ...

I just wanted to take a quick moment to say thank you all for the responses and emails concerning my latest couple of postings here. And especially thanks to my good GOOD friends, Scott, Michael and Ozzie. Y'all know I've been going through some mentally tough shit the last couple of days and having you guys there to talk to means alot.

Latest word is that the guy is still here in Philly and won't be leaving until next weekend. I have yet to hear anything from him which leads me more and more to believe that, somewhere between entering adulthood and now, he has lost a set of balls along the way. My emotions have run their course (I think) and right now I'm pretty much accepting the fact that I'm not going to be able to close this chapter the way I wanted, so I'm going to have to find another way or just turn my back on the whole thing and pretend the last eight months never happened.

Well, that's pretty much it for this little saga....at least for now

Coooo-La-La ...

Ripped Apart from the Inside ...

Well, I talked about my latest frustration here the other day and my friends are going to kill me over this, but I can't let it go!!

I went to the bar last night to see if there was any further information on my friend's move to New England. By the time I had gotten there, I had convinced myself that I didn't care what he did anymore. I was still pissed off at the fact that he had deliberately toyed with my emotions when making his initial announcement that he was moving that very night and, not only did I walk in on a little party going on, but he had no intention of leaving that night.

When I got to the bar, I saw the boyfriend who said that they got to spend a few hours together yesterday afternoon to talk. He is moving to New England and he's leaving tomorrow (Sunday). He also highly suggested that I call him to try and settle things. I told the boyfriend that I was extremely mad and upset and had no intention of calling but, after a few beers and a couple of shots, I started to reconsider.

I'm mad, but I don't hate him and the days of closing doors behind me with issues being unresolved are in the past. There are certain things that need to be said. He needs to know how angry he's made me, how much I feel used. I can't just let him leave town without one last face to face meeting. I have no idea what I'm going to say, no idea what I'm going to do...but I can't just let it go.

So, after a few drinks I told the boyfriend to make sure he passed the word that I wanted a phone call today. And here it is....after five in the afternoon and still no call.

Was he told to call?

Was he going to call?

Are we going to talk?

It's tearing me apart!!!!

Five Possible Things Being Said ...

1) After the game, how 'bout you 'n me try on each other's jocks?

2) Let's just show these 30,000 fans what they really came to see.

3) You've been doing squats, haven't you? It shows.

4) From the first time our eyes met I knew this ass would be mine.

5) I think I lost my ring.

Get Sigourney Weaver on the Phone!! ...

I Finally Found Waldo ...

A Battle Bathroom Break on the Death Star ...

Anyone Got a Book of Matches? ...

Bitter Reason #123 ...

I was told differently by several of my closest friends but, as they say, love turns a blind eye.

Several months ago, a guy came into my life and, although I thought he was attractive, I never really talked to him much outside of ordering a drink. Yes, he was a bartender (warning bell #1). We were friendly towards one another and laughed and joked. Little did I know that he was attracted to me. I didn't find this out until one day, as he was getting off his shift, he whispered into my ear: "I am so tempted to just kidnap you." I had never expected that kind of comment from him and wasn't quite sure I heard correctly, but he just gave me a mischievous grin and walked away.

This little flirtatious battle went back and forth for a few weeks until one evening when we had decided to meet up for Kinky Quizzo at the Post. After a few drinks and alot of fun playing the game, we were suddenly lip-locked right there at the bar. This isn't something I'd normally do and all the other regulars were taken back by both our actions. We were both drunk and we ended up spending the night together at his place.

We played together one more time a week later and then, when my attraction became apparent to those around me and questions were being asked as to where this was leading, I was suddenly introduced to his boyfriend (warning bell #2).

All things considered, we became good friends. It had surprised us both to realize how similar we were and how much we had in common. But then, a few weeks later (this would be sometime in April), he disappeared from radar. He wouldn't return my calls. He wouldn't pick up his phone. He didn't go to work. I had no idea what I had said or done, but I sent him an e-mail stating simply that I've tried to contact him and have gotten no response and that the e-mail I was sending was going to be my last attempt of any contact.

Then I had a dream about him. In it, he had called me up in the middle of the night (after no contact for more than a week). Something was bothering him, but he wouldn't get into it on the phone. The dream seemed so real that, when I awoke, I was actually expecting him to show up at my door. It was a dream that had bothered me so much so that I had decided to make one last effort in contacting him. I showed up at the bar on the next night he was scheduled to work. I had every intention of asking him if everything was okay in his life; that I actually had a dream about him and it had disturbed me quite a bit. When I arrived at the bar, he seemed to be his old self and we did a couple of shots and I kept my mouth closed about the dream.

Three days later, I get a call out of the blue. It's him. He called to just say "hi", but I can hear something in his voice. I ask him what was wrong and I can hear him break down on the other end. I pleaded with him to tell me and suddenly his phone dies. I tried calling back, but just get his voicemail. For the rest of the day I call and call, but get the same result. After work, I walk by his apartment and see the shades drawn and the lights out. The next day, more calls, more voice mail. It's killing me, wondering what had happened to him; what he was about to tell me before getting disconnected.

I show up at the bar a few days later, expecting answers. The answer I had received wasn't what I had expected. His boyfriend tells me that he was in the hospital. I asked what happened and basically was told that it was a "mental breakdown".

(Flash Forward...)

It's now summer. Several months had gone by and our friendship grew stronger. In that time, he had broken up with his boyfriend. His own life was the important thing right now and a relationship was just adding stress. We grew closer as friends go and, although I never acted upon it since those first two drunken romps in the hay, my feelings for him continued to grow.

He was constantly throwing me mixed signals (warning bell #3): telling me that it's good we were friends, but that's all it should be, but then flirting with me and asking me to sleep over. He had actually said to me once: "How come you never asked me out on a date?"

Then he started to secretly date another friend(more like bar-buddy) of mine. He tried to deny it, but I had caught him in a number of lies and mixed-up stories. Sure, I was jealous, but it wasn't my place to say anything. I kept my mouth shut. He then told me one night that he got dumped. When I asked by who, he gave me a look that said I already knew (which I did).

Then he tried reconciling things with his old boyfriend. I think that lasted a day. Then one afternoon, the topic turns back to us. We started discussing all the things we have in common and how well we know each other. He told me he thinks about what it would be like if we dated, but was afraid it would damage the friendship if something should happen. I told him I agreed, but deep down inside, what scared me most was the fact that, as much as I cared for and loved this guy, I knew he would eventually hurt me. It's in his nature (warning bell #4).

But again, love turns a blind eye. I've helped him through some trying times over the last few months. I would come to his aide at the drop of a hat, leaving whatever I was doing for a later time. I've been a good friend, a good listener and a good shoulder to cry on. I never once asked for anything in return from him except honesty.

The other night I witnessed another breakdown. I held him and wouldn't let go, while whispering into his ear to relax. I walked him to a friends, so he wouldn't be alone that night. I called him the next day to make sure he was okay. Everything seemed fine (for the most part).

Alittle after 10 that night he called me with the sudden announcement that he was leaving town, moving to New England as soon as possible (so soon that he also said his sister was driving down as we spoke to pick him up). All he planned to take were his clothes and money. He didn't care about anything else.

My heart was being ripped apart. Not only was I on the verge of losing my best friend, but also someone I had fallen head over heals for (even though I knew it was wrong). He knew the news had upset me. He mentioned moving away before, but decided against it. He said he wanted to explain things to me and asked me to come over. When I showed up there a few minutes later, there were 3 other guys (including the "bar-buddy" he had been/was dating) and him in his apartment, all laughing and drinking and watching some dumb-ass drag queen video on his computer. I was floored by what was going on. He knew I wanted to talk yet he barely even acknowledged my presence in the room (just a nod and a pointed finger towards the beer). I pretended to get a phone call and quickly made my escape.

About a half hour later he called me: "You're supposed to be here." My response was cold, basically saying that I had to take a phone call and I hope he has a safe trip and a better life in New England. I could tell by his tone that he was either taken back by my response or was angry with me. I hung up, but called him back several minutes later and apologized, telling him that I was hurting and felt very uncomfortable walking into a room full of people when I thought it was just going to be us two talking.

That night I barely slept. I kept wondering what could've happened in those 24 hours that would make him up and move, leaving everything behind. I wanted to talk to him, but at the same time I was kind of pissed. I felt I deserved better than this. After all the times I've been there for him, all the talks we've had where I helped him through one problem or another, all the times I've held him when things were bad. I deserved a helluvalot more than a couple of hours' notice and then being invited into a roomful of people when I was expecting a talk.

I deserve an answer dammit!!

And last night I got it...

I was at the bar again and ran into his on-again/off-again boyfriend who "accidentally" let it slip that he never went to New England the other night. He never even left the city. He's been holed up in his apartment for the last 48 hours. I still haven't gotten a phone call. In fact, as of last night, I'm one of the few people who the boyfriend was specifically instructed not to tell of him being in the city.

The anger inside of me is boiling over. I've exhausted my time and energy on helping him get passed his own problems while putting my own at bay. I've fallen for a guy who I know is a game player, but I try to see beyond it. I've been there for him time and time again.

And this is the fucking thanks I get?

WELL FUCK HIM!!!!!

Help me to Understand ...

I'm probably gonna receive alot of "anti-American" crap for this but, in surfing through the net, I've come across a series of blogs about a particular subject: photography. This photographer was apparently harassed by a security guard when taking photos of a downtown San Francisco building, as well as a photographer found in this story from Pittsburgh. It's happened in New York, Washington, Atlanta and probably nearly every major American city since 9/11.

Since day one, almost four years ago, we've been told that, in order to prove to the terrorists that they haven't won, we should live our lives as we normally would. It took many people months before they could fly a plane again or go up in a high-rise building, but slowly, lives began settling back down into at least something that resembled a bit of normalcy.

We're in a war we shouldn't be in in a country we shouldn't be in and for what? To date, there have been up to seven different reasons Dubya has given us as to being there, from WMD (proven to be false) to his part in the 9/11 attacks (proven to be false) to (my personal favorite which Bush had stated to the U.N. last year) "Saddam likes to play head games". Meanwhile, the madman who is responsible is off somewhere playing Dig-Dug and making teasing video tapes.

It's the redsagainst the blues from the Mom n' Pop diners to the political chatrooms. Everyone has something to say to the person of the opposite color, but no one has any answer because the answers they get only come from a source the believe in.

There have been more terrorist attacks in the four years since September 11th than in all the years prior to that fateful morning. Just because there hasn't been one on U.S. soil since 9/11 doesn't mean that we are any safer than when we were on 9/10. And if you believe we are, then you are living your life with your head stuffed up your own ass.

But I digress ...

Back to living normally again.

We are asked not to live in fear to show the terrorists we will not be controlled. We are asked to be wary of our surroundings and the people around us and report anything out of the ordinary to the proper authorities. We are asked to travel and fly to help promote tourism and keep the economy rolling.

But leave your cameras, binoculars, camcorders, sketchpads, and anything else you may have with you to remember your trip by home.

Enjoy your stay, and have a "normal" vacation...

My Name is Chris and I'm an Addict ...

I was addicted a few years ago, but I guess it just never really goes away.

I became withdrawn from my social life. I nearly lost my job due to being late (only by minutes most times, but accumulatively noticeable). Whenever I was on vacation, I would first find when and where I could score. I was getting my fix two, three, sometimes four times a day. Under the influence, my life always looked brighter and I realized things could definitely be worse. But that was the high talking.

I quit cold-turkey and, although it was tough, I thought I had finally gotten that monkey off my back for good. I had never spoken of my addiction until this writing. I was too embarrassed to let others (especially those I've hurt in the past) know of my weakness. But I must now let my voice be heard. I must fight this battle and not let it ruin my life as it had done before.

The monkey is back.

The temptation had always been there, I know. When it's all around you and so easily accessible, it takes all of your energy to turn the other cheek and not let it grab hold of you. I figured what the hell, one time won't kill you. That one time has quickly become at least three times a week now. The monkey grabs you before you have a chance to realize it's happening, and it's usually when you're at your weakest point; when you realize you're fighting a losing battle with everything in your life. The monkey grabs you and puts you into that place where you start to see things differently. You begin to realize that all of your problems aren't nearly as bad as you think. But again, it's the high that's talking and, unfortunately, the high doesn't last very long. And that's when you go searching for more and you desperately seek out your next fix.

At first I would satisfy my addiction only on my days off. Now it has become mornings when I don't have to be into work until late. I must fight this battle now, before it's too late for me. I know there are others out there in this situation and it's time to stand up and be counted. Let it be known, from your local representative right on up to the White House, that this is a growing epidemic in our society and something must be done to put an end to it. Follow my lead and let your voice be heard!

My name is Chris, and I am a Springer-holic!

I am addicted to The Jerry Springer Show!!