The Glamor of Air Travel

I have Southwest airline miles in my account and they are burning a hole in my pocket. Not Literally of course, but damn it! I want to go on an airplane somewhere. 

I check in on my Southwest airline credit card frequently, and watch as the flight miles mock me. They know I can't fly right now, so they tease me and my grounded status. Yes, I know it is possible to fly domestically right now, but I can't. This is due to the lack of self-control of my fist meeting the nose of anyone I might happen to come across not wearing a face mask. I mean, if you cry it's your liberty and personal freedom to not wear the mask in public then it is equally (and just as much a right) to personal freedom for me to breakout a couple of your teeth with my left fist. If  a person feels so powerfuly drawn to stand up for their agency as an american, I have a balanced right to send them away in an ambulance.  I jest; obviously, but this is also why I can't fathom taking a vacation right now. Having to make my way through an airport with an unchecked and uncontrolled (on the federal leverl) virus, it's not possible. 

I have started to make plans for October and Atlanta Pride. To hangout with Patrick and have him meet Brian, the action-packed, super-cute boyfriend. So, there is that. By October I assume we will all be on mandatory COVID vaccination shots. And we'll be weeks away from saying "President- elect Bidan" Soooooooo, I guess I should cool my credit card points yearning. I mean, I guess I could buy tickets for 2021 Dragcon in LA; whenever that is? By then we will be saying "President Biden sure fucking saved us, didn't he?!"

"Have a Nice Life!"

It is funny; how relationships work.

The more relationships you have, the more you have the opportunity to learn. Learn what works, what does not, and test in action how developed you are as a human. You also have the opportunity to repeat bad behaviors that only serve and self-protection, but create more harm.

This week I reconnected with a friend, completely by accident. And, by accident, I mean by me stepping out of my comfort zone.  Monday, July 4^th Independence Day It was 7 am, and I didn’t want to wake up the boyfriend next to me in bed. I was clicking away on Facebook, via my phone. Grumbling as I always do, about how I should just delete my account, as it serves to only one good purpose. That being tormenting my roommate by posting inappropriate photos on his timeline. Truly it’s my life’s work, teasing my best friend Mike.  My mind wandered to how important he is to me, that we will be best friends for ever… then I started to roll back my life to other times I thought that. The feeling of safety that comes from have one friend that will never leave you. Then they do.

Jamie was the closest person to me for most of the nineties until 2002. Late fall, 2002. We decided to move to Dallas together, we lived together. We were inseparable.  But, a lot of dark stuff began to happen. It was as if a black velvet shroud came to envelop him. Pulling him from my reach, grasping for empty air were he once stood.  My Jeep Cherokee was packed and waiting as I sarcastically barked at him from the driveway, “have a nice life!” fully believing that he might be dead soon from drugs, or men, or both.

When some relationships end, a gaping hole seems to be the only evidence left where the other person is torn from your life.  You have to function in your day-today tasks, picking up Chinese takeout, waiting for your number to be called at the DMV, all the while, this dark red wound is there, slowly scabbing over and healing. It took by brain and body so long to heal, it was just a couple of years ago that I opened my eyes and discovered that Mike was going to stand next to me, regardless of the weather. Soon, forgetting the pain of any past relationship.

I thought about my relationship with Mike, how oddly adult is was, treating each other with respect and using open communication, when I suddenly wished I had those mature skills back in Dallas, late fall, 2002. I entered Jamie’s name in to the Facebook search bar. Almost automatically, my mind not realizing what my hands were doing. In seconds his face popped up. “God… I thought you were dead?” I sent a message, “Uh. Hi there.” I am so not eloquent with the written word.  Within seconds he responded with an avalanche of messages. Quickly we were speaking on the phone. We were Jamie and Steve again. But this time around, fourteen years later, it seems we have the maturity to function.

It is funny; how relationships work.

It took Mike to teach me how to be a friend, and I have taken those tools to heal a broken relationship from my past. But, Jamie seems to have taken my advice, he is having a nice life.

No Selfie Control

I’ll admit it. I have no selfie control. This year the term selfie was added to the Oxford Dictionaries* online site where it is defined as "a photograph that one has taken of oneself, typically one taken with a smartphone or webcam and uploaded to a social media website."* Something that gay men, and fifteen year old girls, have been doing since cameras were invented. 

If there is an empty room, with a mirror of relative cleanliness, I’m gonna start pumping my biceps to snap a picture. Patrick, of http://pacspad.blogspot.com fame and I have a text history that is a jumble of self-archetyped, self clicked modern kodachromes. followed, typically by “yeah, wear that shirt...” 

Typical "I just ate nachos,
look at my belly"
gas station selfie.

Yet even with my endless bathroom self-aggrandizing turned vaingloriousness, I have one rule... check out what is around me in the room. One slip-up and a snapshot in someones bathroom will lead to years of the image having a huge red circle pointing out the rubber fist that blended so well with the decorative soaps above the commode. 

That is why I was puzzled by a post on OMG Blog. Former One Life to Live actor, and openly gay, Scott Evans has the same fondness for selfies.  The photos do reveal all, so don't follow the link if you are at work. OMG Blog.  Yes, he’s hot, but my first impressions was on how filthy his bathroom was. He couldn’t kick the gym shorts behind the door? really?

I always take windex to the shiny surfaces before I snap. 

Inspired Alignment

My dear friend, Tamlyn, has a Facebook group page called “Inspired Alignment.” This group is designed to deliver inspirational messages, and to engage participation around a daily topic.  Tamlyn encourages anyone who wants to share, to write about what they feel helps them live an authentic life. Normally I would steer far away from this type of “Woo-woo” touchy-feely stuff as it normally seems like a bunch of malarky. Yet the philosophy of this Facebook page is to simply share what works for individuals, in hope that it may help others. 

So what do I believe?  

I believe in growth, physical growth. After the work day is over, and I leave the office, the opportunity to grow as an individual presents itself as a choice.  Upon heading to my car, I have a daily decision to make. I can head home to raid the refrigerator and plop down on the sofa, I can head to my favorite fast-food place for my favorite burger, or I can take a small amount of my day and head to the gym. Even at forty, I still have this power that manifests itself as a lazy, self-defeating voice that thinks that heading home is the better choice. That a stop off at my favorite fast-food joint will be much more gratifying. As fast food equals happiness. This is when I say “NO” to that voice and head to the gym.

Why is the fear of succeeding so strong inside of us?  The fear of happiness. The fear of success. The fear that the other people working out at the gym are just better people? I talk to so many friends that declare they could “never go to the gym” as they would be judged as unworthy. They seem to be scared of what complete strangers may/or may not be thinking. The simple fact that you are at the gym, attempting your best to improve yourself, means you are on an even playing field. 

Another excuse that comes into my head, I also hear from others. The convenient excuse of time. “There’s just not enough time in the day to go to the gym.” I do; however, have time to eat cheeseburgers. More time than improving yourself?  Well, short-term, the act of eating a burger may be more gratifying, but...

“Those who think they have not time for bodily exercise will sooner or later have to find time for illness.”  -Edward Stanley, Earl of Derby (1826-93), British statesman. The Conduct of Life, address at Liverpool College, 20 Dec 1873.

Physical activity is what sustains us in life. To not work towards being physically fit is to welcome illness into your life. The tiny amount of time it takes, in respect to our allotted time on this planet, is minuscule considering the most important key to life is a healthy body. 

The act of bringing physical activity into your life is an act of over coming the fear of happiness. The fear of success. It in-fact empowers success.  The confidence that is gained by  meeting exercise goals, even small ones, can boost self-confidence. It also makes you feel better about your appearance. To feel good about your physical appearance is a right, not a privilege. Exercise is a distraction that can get you away from the cycle of negative thoughts that feed anxiety and depression. The instant gratification you get from food, sex, or liquor falls away because you are doing something positive to manage anxiety and depression.

Tell that little voice that keeps repeating that you aren't worthy of being healthy, that instead you choose to go for a walk. 

Escape to Beaver Mountain

Hi there, what’s been happening?

I didn’t realize it had been so long since my last blog post. After school ended I just went into non-think mode. In case you were following along at home I got a “B” in my Philosophy class. Taking my long held 4.0 down to 3.8. I’m okay with this, because at least I tried. That big ol’ Queen of philosophy, David Hume would be proud. If he felt I existed which I don’t according to him, but I digress. So did my 4.0.

Hey! Did you hear that fellow blogger and all around funny person Patrick came to visit me? I can’t really remember when Patrick and I started chatting. I think we first started to bond (as all good girlfriends do) over a weight-loss program for the iPhone, Lose-it. It was that or my constant blogging about Puma running shoes. 

For the record, my love of running shoes is not a fetish, I just like running shoes the way Viktor likes Louis Vuitton. Long story short, we started texting. Thus began one continuous conversation since... Apple released that iPhone 4 with the non-functional antenna.

Patrick uses his iPad to locate Beaver Mountain
on our hike in Rocky Mountain National Park

The strange part was finally meeting a close friend, one who you share everything with, face to face. The strange part was that it wasn’t strange. He summoned me to his boutique hotel, and I walked in to his room as if we have hung out a countless number of times. The conversation flowed.  A funny and warm conversation that only comes from friends that have truly bonded. A conversation that didn’t end until we had to say good bye. Then we just started texting again. 

The weekend went so well we decided to plan another get-together. Well... to buy $1,300 gym bags together anyway. 

Tea for Steve

Over the dinner table my friend Michelle announced that she would attempt to give up Starbucks for a month. An amazing feat for a woman that announces her daily arrival at Starbucks on Facebook. A daily treat for her, and a great check-in for Facebook friends. When she announced this change for better health, the wheels in my head started to turn.

That hot pink Tupperware pitcher,
behind the "sports drinks" and soda...
is my tiny stash of iced tea. 

Could I really give up my four daily helpings of Diet Coke? 

The life giving elixir that brings sun shine to my day, yet also brought a little padding to my middle. We all have read the articles on how diet coke isn’t better than regular sodas. In fact it may be worse. Tricking your body to release even more chemicals to absorb the unnatural chemicals directly into your fat cells. 

My self-declared challenge was to cut out the cola, and switch to iced tea, the real stuff, un-sweetened. Although at some restaurants I'm finding that I do have to drink the strange powdered mystery tea. So far, so good. 

Xmas Recap

How was all y’alls Christmas/Feastiveness? Despite not having vacation time at the new job, mine was pretty damn good. Christmas Eve looked like this…

You’ll notice the gentle ubiquitous and ironic snow falling like a Thomas Kinkade painting. Just less icky. Most importantly Christmas Eve brought this…

An anglophile Christmas pudding. I can still taste the delicious treat with its massive amounts of tasty liquor. Christmas morning brought this….

Incase you are not schooled in the art of identifying Dyson vacuums in the wild, that is a Dyson in the middle of the Xmas explosion.  I also got this…

In case you’re not a raging nerd, this season I’m sporting a Doctor Who scarf. Nerd.

 

My Furry Happy Weekend

We had three great days of sunny, warm weather over the weekend. Maybe our first truly warm days since fall, fell. You can tell that everyone was jumping on the chance to enjoy the great weekend by the hordes of people spilling into the park and jumping at the chance to go out on the town for dancing and mischief-making. Visitors to Cheesman Park were trying their best at soaking up the sunny weekend, not knowing when they’ll get the chance to feel it again. The running path in Cheesman was crowded as runners gave up the treadmill and ventured out into nature.


I watched all this unfold from behind the plate-glass of the coffee shop on 9th and Downing Street. I spent my weekend writing a paper on the topic of homosexuals and how they were portrayed in mid-century media. How movies and literature portrayed homosexuality as a sickness, something to be feared or pitied. As I typed away on the topic of self-loathing in the GLBT community, two twenty-somethings sat at the next table hatching a plan to raise funds to bankroll an awareness campaign for our local meal delivery program for people living with HIV.

I did put down the lap-top long enough to attend Bearracuda: A fun, friendly party for Bears, Cubs, and other wildlife. It’s like a circuit dance party for the happy, furry set. I’ll blame the weather, but I had an amazing time. My good friend Gary Givant was DJing and it's always a great to dance to his tunes. Gary is a Billboard.com DJ and constantly has his feelers out for new tunes; he seems to always have new, upbeat songs before anyone else. My opinion may have been skewed by the hot muscle dudes tromping around, but it seemed like just the perfect prescription to top-off the weekend.

The thesis of my paper was how our GLBT community had their identity originally formed by fear mongering, agenda driven media types. This was an attempt to drive self-hatred down into our very collative soul. It may have worked for a while, yet this weekend proved to me that we have come a long way.

Choosing the Right Family

In the summer of 1993 I stood in the middle of my Mother’s hotel room. Six months earlier I had come out to her over the phone, and this was our first face-to-face meeting. Purchasing a couple of books, I had hoped to give them to her on her visit. This was my attempt in some way to help her deal with the fall out of her nice Mormon son “turning” gay. She spoke of damnation and conversion therapy. I handed her Don Clarks’s book, Loving Someone Gay as a starting point to bridge a gap in communication and understanding. She picked up the hotel wastepaper basket and tossed the books inside.


I closed the door to her room slowly; as I did I realized I was closing another door. As I walked down the badly decorated hallway to the elevator and out the castle themed hotel, one thought came to mind:

“My Mother is a raging A## hole.”

This is when I learned the meaning behind the Maya Angelou quote, “The first time someone shows you who they are, believe them.” This is also around the time that I began to formulate my theory that you make your own family.

Out of the blue today, Dalton the BFF, sent me a text from his office in mid-town Manhattan. He needed a hug while working on a stressful proposal to revamp the image of a mens clothing line. It got me thinking; true family isn’t in titles, it’s in actions. True family isn’t how often you see each other in the bar, or link to each other on Facebook; it truly is in walking the walk. The idea that when something goes wrong, like your car breaking down, family will stand next to you and give you unsolicited support. The concept that you will get unconditional and never-ending ending support when you need it, or even when you don’t want it.

Those are the relationships that make up the family you choose.

Dream of P90X

“Come on! Do it with me! We can totally do it together and no one will know. We’ll share the pain. “

Somehow I had fallen asleep during the afternoon. I usually don’t nap, can’t nap actually; however, on this lazy day I managed to fall asleep fully clothed in the middle of the bed. Stretched out like a swastika. What I was not aware of, at the time, was that I had fallen asleep to a never ending, relentless, P90X commercial. Two hours of a P90X announcer with his smooth subliminal stimuli communicating under my threshold of conscious perception. Without being aware, I became a P90X zombie.

Now, if you don’t watch the “higher channels” of US cable programming, or have not been trapped next to a P90X zombie at a party, P90X is a workout program they sell on the idiot box. This workout program bombards you with images of normal people that look just like you using the system and within 90 days end up with washboard abs.

“Must have washboard abs” I started to chant in my sleep. The zero percent body fat “Jim Jones” leader of this cult is Tony Horton. His smooth talk and ease of explaining the process had me awake and reaching for my credit card to hold up to the screen. “Here! Take my money! All of it, just give me those abs, I must be beautiful!” I slammed my Visa against the TV screen, “Dear God, affirm me and firm me.”

I stopped. Startled awake, I found conscious standing with my face pressed against the Television. Credit cards scattered around me. Tony Horton still bouncing around on the screen explaining how his six pack is actually very easy to get. I then did what I always do in these situations. I texted Patrick of Pacspad.blogspot.com and started to convince him to do the program with me.

“Come on! I’ll do it on my side of the country, you can do it on your side of the country and it’ll be just like we’re doing it together.” Before I knew it, I was back on my bed texting away to Patrick on how groovy we were going to look in our new six packs. How we were going to walk around on some gay beach and have all the boys stare at us. Before I knew it, the infomercial that was going to change my life was done. The Forever Lazy infomercial started and Patrick and I moved on in our conversation as well.

Patrick and Steve on the beach this summer.  



THE 5th OF JULY

The Fourth of July weekend always has its own flair to it, a more relaxed summer vibe. The weekend started for me at a long table in a Chinese restaurant as the friends decompressed and set the tone for the upcoming three day weekend.

Saturday began with the ubiquitous trip to Home Depot then over to BFF Carl’s house to help him move furniture around. In the process of changing the living room in to the dining room, Carl likes to sit fifteen down to dinner at a moment’s notice. Before you could say Antique bone china it was time for a night hanging out at a local pub.

A night at the breaded boy bar equals a quiet easy starting Sunday of coffee and potato pancakes. This was followed by Puma and flip-flop shopping. By the time the thermometer reached the high 90s it was time for Beer Bust with the bears.

Yes. That is the BFF Carl in the background. Yes. He is doing that on purpose. No. I have no earthly idea as to why.

The Fourth was marked by the huge annual BBQ at BFF Frank’s house. It was a nice way to relax and enjoy the day as the heat subsided and the massive amounts of food and beer were slowly consumed. I made a couple cherry pies, finally giving up my high pure butter standards I broke down and made the crust with lard. The choice yielded the best crust I’ve ever baked.

Today is back to the spreadsheet game. I did however; go for a long run around our tiny village this morning to help burn off the weekend of over indulgence. Every street corner was littered with the burnt out shells of fireworks and scorch marks from long dead glowing snakes

'TIL TUESDAY

Every New Yorker coming to town says the same thing. “Take me to a Mexican restaurant!” Corvette, my first boyfriend (yes, that’s his name) said that with the enthusiasm of a kid walking into Disney land with the goal of meeting Mickey.

We met at La Loma in the Highland; he sauntered in swinging a Louis Vuitton overnight bag and wearing combat boots. He hadn’t changed one bit. We then spent hours telling the tales of our lives since high school. He was involved with the real story behind the movie Party Monster, lived above a fisting club and at some point, as you do, started working for Madonna. The typical NY dream.

After eating an enchilada plate smothered in green chili and dropping Corvette off at a local vinyl record store it was just enough time to have a run in the park then meet Jim from Jim’s Stuff blog for dinner. However, the report I thought I had completed for work last week came back to haunt me. No run or nice dinner with Jim. Today will be spent indoors slaving over a hot spreadsheet. The wonderful weekend of meeting and cavorting with good friends as just a memory.

RELAX, IT'S FRIDAY

I worked hard this week to close down the corporate office and set up the logistics of working in my gym shorts. I really hate when my work interferes with my blogging.

Today was a huge exhale in my world, one last trip into the office to help a project close down. Before I knew it was time for lunch and the quick drive downtown to meet the famous blogger from Blobby’s Blog. In town for work he graciously made time to meet me for lunch. He was witty, charming and all around just a great guy. I was immediately smitten by his warm demeanor.

After a great time getting to know this nice guy and fellow blogger it was time for the weekend to begin. Until I received a phone call from Fuzzy, the homosexual life companion partner.  He has taken the cruiser out for a ride with the local gay biker group and now they were hungry. Very hungry.

Soon I found myself following a large group of gay motorcycle enthusiasts to a gay biker BBQ. Which of course included a stop of Whole Foods for a wide assortment of pasta salads.  Let’s just say that you’ve never had an in-depth conversation about rims jobs until you’ve had one with a Harley rider sipping on a Riesling.

So, let the weekend begin. I get to meet Jim from Jim’s Stuff blog in town for the Renaissance Festival and I have a lunch date with my high school boyfriend in town from Brooklyn. This weekend will be about making new friends.

MEAT DREAMS

A typical text message conversation I had yesterday…

Carl: “I had a dream last night. So you and I were in a corner of a house party in Dallas. We were sitting in the corner because everyone was wearing starched Dallas outfits but I wasn’t. I had an ear hair that was several inches long and you told me to pull it out.”
Steve: “And? What happened?”
Carl: “After ducking behind a partition wall (because of what I was wearing) I stretched out the ear hair and it was 8 inches long. You shrieked and ran way leaving me behind the wall. I just wanted to say thanks….”
Carl: “Did you get the part where I said thanks?”
Steve: “Nice to think I’d ditch you with man-grooming issues at a high-gay Dallas party.”
Carl: “Yeah! For shrieking and running. Leaving me to sit on the floor alone behind that partition wall. In a room full on starched Dallas fags. I couldn’t follow you because of how I was dressed. Just as I worked up the courage to walk out of the party in my outfit I woke up.”
Steve: “Wow. You’re under a lot of stress.”
Carl: “I have the oddest dreams after eating meat…. Last night… you were there…”
Steve: “…being a jerk. Sorry.”
Carl: “Thanks. I feel better.”


Later that day....

Carl: “I wish I had worn cuter clothes."

Ray

The first man I ever loved is dead. Okay, he died in 2004 and I’ve known about his death since last fall. I hadn’t seen his face since June of 1990 and never told him that I loved him. But I did. I did love him.

I started messing around with boys at an early age. In Houston my Mom worked nights and as soon as she left the house I would sneak out and head to Montrose Avenue and the Ripcord. I’d stand outside waiting to be noticed. Thinking about it now I’m surprised I didn’t get killed.

When I started high school I quickly met him. Ray. He was seriously and literally from the other side of the tracks. But, It didn’t take long before the friendship we had to turn to lust then desire. Even though I had been with a lot of men, I had never stayed awake watching a boy sleep in my arms. He was from Louisiana; his thick accent covered everything he did. We soon found every free moment to be at his house in middle of his teenage boy bed, listening to his heart thump quicker and quicker as I ran my frame over his.

It being high school it didn’t last long. We moved on and just never kept in touch. Right after the graduation ceremony completed and I was walking towards my family Ray stopped me. He wanted to tell me he was going into the Marines. To fight in Desert Storm. That was the last time I saw him. I watched just for a moment as he turned to run towards his family.

Ray did go into the Marines. He had what I’ve been told an exceptional career. Until he came down with the flu, then had to take a discharge for medical reasons. In the fall of 2004 Ray died of complications from HIV.

David, the friend who broke the news to me last fall sent me an e-mail containing the plot and row where Ray’s headstone sits at Fort Logan National Cemetery. It now sits in my e-mail inbox. Waiting.

Why am I writing about this now? He’s been dead since ’04 and I’ve had this information since October. Let’s just say it takes me awhile to tell people that I love them. This week I decided it might be time to print out the e-mail and go search for a headstone.

FB

I’m finding that Facebook is a weird little land. You can quickly connect with people from your past that just pop up into your friend request box. Refresh you page and suddenly there’s your roommate from 1997.

I am now FB friends with my first and only girlfriend Tammy, I escorted her to the Junior High School prom. Don’t worry, I was a perfect gentleman. She’s now in a triad living near Boulder, CO. I then had a friend request from a random Nicole. I had no idea who the heck she was, upon further review I found out that we went to High School together, One of the three I went to. After looking at her profile I had no clue who she was, and since she had the tack to not identifying herself I just responded back say that I wanted to take this opportunity to apologize for ditching her at the prom but, she was really drunk and embarrassing me. She hasn’t responded back.

On the flip side I reconnected with the only guy to plow me in at Ford Mustang. Picture it Denver, 1988. Dave now lives with his longtime companion in Kansas. Is doing amazingly well and has some great video blogs, or vlogs posted.

A month ago I would have said that the only real purpose of Facebook was to find your old classmates and judge how fat they’ve gotten. That and to cyber stock other bloggers but, no there really is better purpose. That being, to find the folks in your life that you should of not ignored whilst you were trying to figure out who you were.

HE'S A RIGHTEOUS DUDE

I’ve recently received a review of my blog, well part review and part reminder of why I flunked out of VCR repair trade school.

"When in the hell did you become so... literate? I have gone to the blog now, like, twice and cannot believe I am friends with you in your newfound state of celebrity. I remember the days when you only grunted and gripped a pencil between your toes, couldn’t remember the correct spelling of your own name, and would wake up in stranger's homes without memory of exactly how you got there. Well, perhaps I can explain those things. But the blog? I love it!"

This comes from Nick via my Facebook page. Nick and I were gay waiters together at a health food restaurant back in ’93. Nothing like your friends to remind you of what a complete slut you were.

If you want to review my blog, or just call me a slut please do so by leaving a comment or shoot me an E-mail here.

PORK CHOP JENGA

You be glad to know that I’m now friends with Miss Ellie Ewing on Facebook. A sigh of relief, I’m sure. My next step is to weasel my way into her life at Southfork to get invited to the next Ewing BBQ. Back in the day, on the….what was it called? Fake-titted-stripper named Amber space? Or My Space? All my friends were gay porn stars. Now my coolest friend is a fictional character from the 80’s TV show Dallas. I’ve grown as an individual.

Saturday we went to Union, a restaurant in Castle Rock, Colorado. It was one of those high end restaurants in a small mountain town. American Bistro yet trying too hard. They practiced the vertical stacking type of food presentation. I had the Pork Chop Jenga. So I spent ten minutes trying to figure out what to eat and still win the game.

“If I move the apple chutney infused olive oil grilled Virginia ham spinnettes, then the blanched pear and pesto artichokes may fall. Damn! If I eat one more bite of the nine-cheese and date blackened potato and salmon crocates with mango foam then the whole tower will topple over.”

This went on for about two hours and four glasses of wine.


Sunday was a great morning run in Cheesman Park. I found that the best album to run to is Jody Watley’s The Makeover. It’s completely energizing and, it's fun to run too with spirit fingers.

MISS ELLIE HATES ME

You’ll be glad to hear that I sent a friend request to Ellie Ewing on Facebook.


I've been waiting days for a response, yet haven’t received confirmation of our friendship. I’m beginning to think that maybe she doesn’t want me as a friend, sad but true. Just the thought of this makes me want to toss my muscular body onto my bed and sob into my pillow.



Now, this isn’t a fan site for Dallas the TV show or a Barbara Bel Geddes group. This is actually Miss Ellie Ewing. On Facebook. Huh, I thought. As you well know, the fictional Miss Ellie left South Fork to travel the world with Clayton years ago. This is why I found it odd that she popped up on Facebook. I’ll keep you updated. Sue Ellen Ewing hasn’t responded to my friend request either, but I understand. She drinks. Maybe she’ll see that I belong to the JR’s bar in Denver and Dallas Facebook groups. Because you know, she drinks.



Don't you just love that she's reading War and Peace in the above photo?

--------------------------------------------




Are you friends with J.D. Hoodie on Facebook? You Oughta Be! He’s just the coolest hooded, sweat shirt you’ll ever be friends with…… Uh….Um…..

See….He’s a hoodie that’s traveling the world. You can follow he’s travels, and even chat with him. If you’d like you can sign up to host him. Show him your town and take pictures of the two of you on adventures.

Ooooooh fun hu!?

He’s Down under now hanging out with the Mutant. Check him out.

FACEBOOK

Okay so, way to go Facebook. I know right, Facebook. Go figure. In the last week I’ve reconnected with my super-hunky friend Nick, which then got me reconnected to super cute friend Susie.

I always thought the only good use for the site was when you’re feeling down; the best way pick yourself up is to find the Facebook group for your high school. Then go down the list of all the people you graduated with. You soon realize that they’ve ballooned up and each has four kids. And there you sit, with the same high school waist size and all that disposable income.

Gets me cheered up every time.

But wait; now there seems to be a better use then giggling at the guys that once laughed at your flock of seagulls hair cut. Reconnecting with hot guys and ex-coworkers who thought you were dead.

During the “college days” I worked as a waiter at a vegetarian restaurant. I was a really bad waiter. To this day I have a recurring dream that I’ve forgotten a table in station six. I wake up with shivers. Then I start to think what happen to the only people who could feel this pain. Kind of like A Deer Hunter, but without jungle rot. Now I know, and next time at three in the morning when I wake up screaming “Spice tea!” I can put an update status on Facebook and somewhere, someone will get me.