AN ENIGMA, WRAPPED IN BACON AND STUFFED WITH A DATE

Doing a search yesterday for “how to make enchiladas”  I came across the Google results of “How to Be an Enigma” on eHow.com so I thought I’d share the article with you so you can be an enigma just like me.


HOW TO BE AN ENIGMA
Being mysterious is something alluring to many people. Movies, books and the media are constantly cultivating an aura around characters that always leaves you wanting more. So what is it about certain people that makes them so alluring. They are enigmas. Follow these few steps to be an enigma to your friends and family, and be alluring to all you meet.


Instructions


Step 1


Practice saying as little about yourself as possible when interacting with others. Ask other people about themselves and listen intently without interrupting too frequently.


Step 2


Try to stay away from places where you will run across many people you know. Create a sense that you shop, eat and socialize somewhere no one else knows about.


Step 3


Dress in an understated and fashionable way. Cultivate a sense of fashionable difference to what is trendy.


Step 4


Be nonchalant about most things. Say unexpected things that people wouldn't expect you to say then return to being nonchalant and aloof.


Step 5


Limit access to your home and personal information. Take time to cultivate interests in different and off-beat things that others may not know about or think that you would have knowledge of.






Read more at: How to Be an Enigma at eHow.com


I hope this article helps you become more of an enigma to your family and friends while they still put up with your crap. That or a creepy uni-bomber type that lives in a shack and has long painful arguments with light posts. Meh, whatever.

GOTTA WEAR SHADES

In 1984 America was swept up in Olympics fever. It seemed that the whole country was wearing Red, White, and Blue including my twelve year old self. I also begged my Mom for swim lessons. I was strangely drawn to the Men’s Olympic swim team. For some queer reason.

At our community pool on my first day of swim lessons I met Rick, the boys swim instructor. He came to class everyday in a red, white, and blue Speedo and matching mirrored sunglasses. His tanned washboard abs was oddly enticing for a twelve year old pasty white farm boy. But at my young age I knew well enough to always ask for extra help with my stroke. Rick would help me by using he’s enormous hands against my fish belly white stomach guiding my arms as he watched my form. We clearly were in love.

Towards the last days of class I was over zealous to get a new form correct. So excited to have him “coach” me that I knocked him in the head. His American pride themed sunglasses flying off and into the water. I was of course first to dive after them. At the same time as he did, snapping the frames and we knocked heads under water. Rick hid his anger. But, at that moment he broke up with me and broke my young heart. We completed the classes without speaking.

Several weeks ago Dalton and I were getting back into my car after lunch. For some reason I had laid my Ray-Bans on the driver’s seat instead in the sexy car holder. CRUNCH! As my tookus smashed them to bits. My brain immediately went to Rick, how we broke up over his glasses.

I hate buying new sunglasses, it must stem from Rick and the pool. I have over the last five weeks bought or tried to buy a half dozen pairs of glasses. Last night was another episode. Trying on pair after pair. What I’m really looking for is a pair of red, white, and blue mirrored glasses with an Olympic symbol in the side.



*Creepy! I found the exact glasses online for sale here.

HOW WAS MY WEEKEND?

Garfield minus Garfield

FLOP

It's flip-flop day in the old cubical ghetto.

I DO NOT WANT A FAT WIFE

I went into our local floral shop yesterday to buy a dozen roses and some balloons for Fuzzy. It’s our anniversary and since I always forget stuff like this I figured that flowers would be an extra surprise. I hate walking into these types of stores, I feel like the old proverb: A bull in a china shop. Years ago I went to the MAC store (cosmetics not apples) and as I walked in I was mistaken for the air-conditioning repair man and shown to the back room by a little gay boy in blue eye shadow. That was the last time my friend Michelle got MAC from me.

I pointed to some flowers and stated that I wanted some HAPPY ANNIVERSARY balloons. As the huge banged trailer-park debutant started to blow helium into my balloons she also started to sell me extra crap.

“We have some lovely chocolates that your wife would just love!”

“Uh……. No thanks.” I said. Forcing some gay into my voice.

“I guess you don’t wanta fat wife.” She said with chuckle, making her love handles move like a sleeping baby pig having an enthusiastic dream.

“Uh….. I don’t even know what to say” I returned soaked in sarcasm. “No. I do not want a fat WIFE.”



Note to self:

Buy this stuff online and have it delivered.

BACK TO REALITY

It’s probably not healthy to wake up singing Kylie Minogue’s All The Lovers. And by “not healthy” I mean not exceedingly butch. Meh.



I would like to say I’m damn proud that yesterday I never got around to showering. I spent the entire day in the gym shorts and a dirty t-shirt. Man, I love working from home. The only humans that had to experience the beauty that was my personal persona where the UPS lady and the smoldering hot, high school dropout guy at Burger King. Neither had an opinion either way on my tanned, muscular arms or the coffee stains running down my smelly, stained shirt. The UPS lady brought me a gift from Dalton, a Doctor Who themed T-shirt (now I am Super Geek) and the smoldering hot drop out gave me a grilled chicken sammach. So, on both fronts this manna from heaven was just what I needed for the slow-paced day.

Today it’s back to life, back to reality……

Did I just quote Soul II Soul lyrics? Damn.

A PRIDEFUL BURRITO

The only picture I took during this weekend’s Pride parade was of a burrito balloon. I guess I was hungry. It also shows my priorities, tens of thousands flock to down town Denver, Colorado to celebrate being out and proud and I’m thinking “Mmmmmm, Chipotle.”

It was an amazing weekend; the parties and parade for Colorado's gay pride were first rate this year. The last remaining survivors from En Vogue per formed on Sunday and I heard some great DJs. The weekend was really about great times hanging out with friends, incredibly hot guys walking around shirtless and well… a lot of tasty burritos. So, it all works out.

BEAR HANDS

Punny here

STEVIEB GETS SCRAPPED

Have you ever been to a metal scrap yard to sell a car for scrap? Yeah, me either. Until yesterday.

I hadn’t spoken to my Mom in awhile so it was out of the blue when she called yesterday. She finally broke down and bought herself a new car. A top of the line Champagne Chevrolet Impala. What the call was about was her luxury Pontiac Bonneville. Luxury for 1990. She wanted me to come over after work and drive it to the place that was buying it and since it sounded simple I agreed.

The place which I thought was a dealer was completely across town. At what point to tiny eighty year old women just stop taking the interstate? It’s probably for the best. So, I followed her an hour across the city at thirty miles an hour. I was fine with this because at this point in her Bonneville’s life cycle the Charlton Heston is my president Bumper sticker had faded away.

Turns out the “place that was buying” her car was a salvage yard. As we pulled in I quickly had a twinge of sadness for the ol’ Bonneville. I was the one that picked it up and drove it home. But, then I realized that it was a NRA branded luxury automobile and realized it had to die.

The yard was huge and smelled on oil, stolen copper wiring and broken dreams. We parked and I helped the Momster into the sorely under-decorated yard office. This is where I met my dance partner for the occasion, Duke. Duke whistled through his missing teeth that he would most appreciated it if the car would make its way to the scales. Showing his disappointment in our relationship when I didn’t know where the scales were or how I couldn’t hear anything he said over Whitesnake blaring out of his headphones.

I took the keys and left the Momster in the office to drive to the scales. Duke wanted me to cut through two lines of massive semi-trailers and cut in front of another to get to his scale. This is when the car realized where it was heading. To the back room to put down. It promptly died. In the middle of the entrance with six large trucks ready to plow over me and the 1990 example of American luxury.

It didn’t take long for large men to start yelling at me to “Move my car!”

“This isn’t my car! They think this is my car." I’m wearing a Barneys New York polo shirt. I have an iPhone. I’ve been to white parties! This is not my car. I look over to see my Mom waving at me through the bullet-proof glass of the office window.

“Old woman, you may have given me life but not to die inside of the 1990s best example of General Motors engineering. That’s for damn sure.”

So sitting in a dead car in the middle of a scrap yard being swarmed by gentlemen that didn’t speak English and trucks ready to back over me at any second? What did I do? I opened up Facebook on the iPhone to see where people were going on Saturday night. Eventually a fork lift rammed me from behind and pushed me to the scales then to the row of other deceased cars. When I got I out I thanked the non-English speaking forklift driver for the ramming. I then walked back to the office to pick up the other outdated piece of American engineering to drive her home.

LOOKING FOR PRIDE

It’s Tuesday and already this week I feel like I’m in a slow paced Kobayashi Maru. At any point War Birds might swoop down and attack my cubical. Sorry, too nerdy of a reference? Yeah, I thought so.


So, let’s just say I’m looking forward to this weekend. It’s the big pride parade here in Denver. Not that I'm even that prideful. Cuz I'm not.  I have worn the same T-shirt to pride for eight years in a row. Sad, but true. There’s nothing special about it. No clever slogan. It’s just a worn-out white threadbare shirt. It just happened to be they only one clean. For eight years. This year I made an effort to buy a new “pride shirt” and after losing eighteen pounds I’m kind of excited about walking around in the sun eating fried things. Deep fried stuff, Mmmmmmmmm.

The highlight on Sunday is a concert by En Vogue. Not to mention the cast from RuPaul’s drag race. If you need me I’ll be in the food line.

MY LIFE....

Pearls Before Swine

DAMN YOU, ANDERS CELSIUS!

We’re starting our 90 degree days here in Denver, our fair city. This means coming out of the gym soaked with sweat to feel the sun bake it into my skin.

I was standing by the free weights in the gym yesterday; I had stopped to wipe the sweat that was threatening to blind me from my face. In mid forehead wipe one of the hot college jocks came up to ask if “Dude” was I using this flat bench that was right in front of me. When I said it was “all his,” he came back with “Well… I am going to be bent over in front of you.” Without missing a beat I came back with “dude, you can bend over in front of me anytime.” This kind of shocked me, coming out of my pie-hole this way. But, he didn’t miss a beat when he said “that would have been the best line ever, if it wasn’t wasted on me.” I smiled, “I know right! The best pick-up line I’m ever going to deliver and it’s totally wasted on the wrong person.”  We both laughed knowing it was all cool as I went back to my self-induced rubdown.

The hot June days also mean at our house it’s the time of year to throw another blanket on the bed. When the days get super-heated the better half decides it’s time to crank the air-conditioning down to negative 40 degrees Celsius. This indicates two things in our house, the feather comforter comes out on the right or my side on the bed and we spend three months debating whether it’s “turn up” the air-conditioning or “turn down” the air-conditioning. As in “Dear God! It’s freezing in here; can you turn up the air-conditioning? Wait! Turn it down?”

I can’t wait for September.

SEATTLE

Man.

Finally a vacation planned.

Around six months ago Jerrod and Mike mentioned taking a vacation to Mike’s family vacation house on an island across the bay from Seattle. Jerrod suggested a group trip to spend a week at the beach spending long nights on the deck drinking beer. Sounds frickin great we thought.

Now after some amazing procrastination and watching the flight rates go up and up, we have our tickets virtually in hand. Yippy. Although now, it’s all I can think about. The last weekend in July, touring the gay bars in Seattle then a week in a beach house hanging out with the buds.

Any place we haf-ta haf-ta see in Seattle? Outside on the “first Starbucks and the farmers market” that is. Best sit-and-have-a-beer gay bar?

Can it please be July 23rd now?

SHOWER WITH DUDES?

It's funny because it's true.




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So.... Just because everyone has been asking me this lately. I'm Rose. And don't make me tell you about The Great Herring War.

THE DUST COVER PHOTO

I’m looking for the right picture for the back cover for my upcoming autobiography. Something that exudes integrity but more importantly expresses the dignity I have towards my position in life. I think this is my best so far taken by Dalton….

My Life As It Has Been Lived With Dignity. Notice how I’m looking toward the future.



LOOK! New Pumas.

CAKE OR DEATH?

I went to a great Memorial Day soiree yesterday. My addition was dessert, so I made a chocolate cake and a peach cake-ish thing. I forget how much I actually enjoy baking; don’t let that get around though. I’ve got a rep to maintain.


This garden party was half for Memorial Day and half a going away party for Dalton. In case you haven’t been playing along at home, Dalton is my Ex, turned super kawaii bestest friend. Tomorrow he’s heading back to Brooklyn to a De-lux apartment in the sky-ie-ie. To say I’m going to miss my best-friend as he heads back to the big apple is gross understatement. Lost might be a better word. But, this way I’ve got a free place to crash when I go to NY. So yeah….. cool.

What better way to send off a friend on a bon voyage then with a lot of chocolate cake. Cheers mate! Return to NY like a bunny rabbit being released back into nature. And to quote your idol, don’t fuck it up!