Our Lady J

It happens after every Big Gay Cruise. I become obsessed. 

I become completely obsessed with one of the entertainers on the ship, and turn into a crazy fan girl for the next year. Kylie Minogue was first introduced to me on a gay cruise, back in the day. Deborah Cox was on another vacation. Even Dixie Longate was the subject of one of these obsessive episodes. Dixie spurred on driving across the countryside months after the on-board Drag Queen Tupperware  show,  with seven other homos just to see this drag Tupperware show again. That might be considered kind of crazy. 

This last vacation was no different. 

I have been living and breathing the music of Our Lady J. 

Born a fay boy in a Mennonite style upbringing within the Pentecostal Church; it seems her only outlet was the piano. Fueled by her own obsession with Dolly Parton, she delivered an amazing show on board the Big Gay Cruise. Since then, I have lived and breathed her music. Yesterday I caught myself singing along, out loud, to her song Elegance at the gym. Picture it, a line of dudes at the mirror pounding away at the free-weights, and a bearded queen in the middle in an Oregon Wrestling t-shirt burning out the 55lb dumbbells on bicep curls singing… 

I stand for elegance. I live for elegance.
I breathe for elegance. I’ll die for elegance.
I stand for elegance. I live for all things beautiful:
Taste, culture, polish, performance, grace, and dignity.*

That will learn those gym rats something. I highly recommend checking out this amazing singer. 

iTunes

Our Lady J website Where you can listen to her new album

Facebook

*http://www.ourladyj.com/Our_Lady_J/lyrics.html

Home Again

I woke up this morning reeling with what just happened. The whirlwind dream vacation I had just participated in, was over. Back safe and sound on my down pillows, in my bedroom, with a Chinese Shar-pei standing on my back. 

For the last twelve days I was in gay paradise. I’d wake up to toss on running shoes and baggie shorts to find my way to a full-spread buffet breakfast. Inhabited by attractive men. A environment where the chafing dishes matched the number of men to kiss. I could sit a table alone, or join any number of close friends that were also on this journey. The floor To ceiling windows bathing my world with Caribbean light. 

This morning, I had to give an extra long ear massage to the dog. Then, drag my extra thick sweatpants and Uggs on to my tired frame. A long walk down to our local green space was in order. Harley and I have done this walk countless times. Today I seemed different. True quality time with the pooch I had missed. 

On the Big Gay Cruise I had signed up to have a massage every day.  I had facials, seaweed skin treatments, and hot steam saunas. All while meeting new friends, and reconnecting to old ones. Today, It’s me and the pooch remembering how to operate the coffee maker, sitting at the dining room table clicking away on the computer, and listening to the music I had purchased while on the great ride. 



It is great to be home. 

Don't Eat Me, Mister Bear

Wednesday night on any cruise seems to always be "Lobster" night. The night when the ship's main dinning room serves up amazing lobster dinners. 

I had been looking forward to this dinner for awhile. Dressing up and having  a formal dinner with the family. My mouth watered as three large lobster tails were gracefully served in front of me. As we began our culinary masterpiece, the table of friends started to discuss the hilarious stories of attempting to cook the pinchie crustations. You know the stories, having lobster races, the screams as they get tossed into the boiling water. 

Within three bites I started to think of what I was eating. An un-lucky lobster that had his dreams and aspirations ripped from his massive and pincher like claws.  Maybe he too had dreams of completing some-sort of nephropidae type of crustacean college. Who was I to take part this this murder? 

I handed my plate to a table mate and ordered another salad. 

After telling this tale of tail to Patrick, this appeared on my cabian door...

Pool Time

I can't tell you how much I enjoy laying naked on a pool float in the middle of a gay guest house pool. I might be the only person in history that goes to Florida and does not visit the beach. I for one, think the beach is over-rated. Why get sand everywhere when you can lay in a clean pool with naked gays on lounge chairs casually masturbating. It is ironic how one can do that and complete a crossword. Multitasking at its best. 

I've discovered a couple of things; South Florida is home to most of the gay fifty year old men with chain arm-band tattoos, and there are more gay sushi restaurants then in Japan. I'm not complaining, just an observation. Who am I to judge, since landing in this stat I've only eaten chicken fingers and ranch dressing. I am now being compared to a seven year old. 

I'm enjoying the guest house, even if it has many rules. No "play" I'm the hot tub. And one must remove the "good" sheets before play. It's like staying at your aunts house. If she was running a gay guest house. 

Day One

First day of vacation. We arrived to a massive Florida style rain storm. As we pulled in to the front parking lot of the Guest House late in the evening, and listened to the voicemail from the owner stating the keys to the room were in the mailbox, I was "elected" to get out of the car and locate the room. As a drowned rat, I carried the luggage into the guest house. Officialy the vacation began. Yay! 

I set out today with a trip for the gym. God, I've missed an all- gay gyms. I worked arms, as Fuzzy worked the gym. Upon leaving, he knew every guy by name. 

Now it's time for some clothing optional pool time. I won't be posting photos. 

Florida!

Vacation time starts..... Now! 

After staying up all night packing my suitcase, then helping the homosex partner with his, I am ready to catch a plane. I'm so ready for this. 

 

Coffee Break

Let me just say, there is stress that happens before any big trip. The planning, the packing, fake 'n bake visits, and the wondering if you have enough tank-tops... It's stressful. I had attempted to start the packing process yesterday, but that process was quickly halted this morning.

In Fuzzy's sleep deprived state, he had left a half-full cup of Starbucks on his night stand. This is strictly firbidden in our house hold. This is due to past experiences when the dog has helped himself to the forgotten/forbidden fruit. 

This morning as I entered our office to toss one more item into my suitcase, I found to empty cup. In the middle of my suitcase.  Harley, the precious,  had pulled everything off the nightstand to get to the coffee. He couldn't get the lid off, so he forced his tongue into the little hole in order to get coffee out. At one point, it seems, his tongue got stuck. Hilarity ensued. As the dog chose to stand atop my suitcase to remove his tongue. The contents of the coffee is now in my suitcase. And, the dog is ramped up on caffeine.