Hi my name is Maddog and I'll be your server today.

I read a post this morning that's had me a little pissed off all day. In the post the person was discussing bad service and whether to leave a tip or not. Before I start, I should probably say that I was a waiter for more than 8 years at a number of different restaurants. I have worked fine dining, chain restaurants, and even a diner. I've probably seen it all. But it's a rare occasion when I don't tip 15% or more when leaving a restaurant.

In U.S. News and World Report about 10 years ago it listed waiting tables as one of the most stressful jobs you could have. Anyone who's ever waited tables would surely agree. First you have to deal with the public and their food and the lists of ways they want to be treated. Second, you are dealing with a back of house staff that can be temperamental to say the least. And then there's always management and they are all over the place in ability. Then, when it's all said and done you have to hope that the people you are waiting on leave you money on the table because 3.35 an hour ain't gonna pay the bills.

So what about bad service. I have to admit there are people out there who shouldn't be doing the job. But there are also teachers, doctors, scientist, reporters and you name it who shouldn't be doing their jobs as well. As expected they ruin it for the rest of us. But I also know that everyone's definition of bad service differs. I don't like it when my empty plates are left on the table. A response to the post this morning said they didn't like having to wait more than 2 minutes to be greeted initially. I once upset a man very badly because I removed his wife's plate and he wasn't finished eating yet. This was a sling hash sort of place and we weren't following fine dining standards. Before we even get to the table we are at a disadvantage because I have no idea what you are looking for in service. So I try and do them all, and hope for the best.

So what's bad service. I don't know. For me it depends on the restaurant. If it's fine dining I expect one thing. If it's the Bennigan's down the street I expect something totally different. What I don't expect is to be treated like a king, and yet I have waited on those people who expect just that. I do know is that it's not always my fault. Do you want to know why I didn't get to your table in two minutes. I was in the basement getting ice for the whole restaurant. Do you want to know why your drinks from the bar took 10 minutes. The bartender was having a smoke break. Why didn't I bring your side of honey mustard dressing and mayonnaise? The kitchen guy hates me because I'm a "fag" and won't give me anything I ask for until I get a manager. You think I'm making this stuff up but it's all stuff that's happened to me.

And then, when it's all said and done you get to decide how much money I make. I sit in the kitchen hoping that you are generous because rent is due. I hope that even though your table of 8 ran me in circles the entire time you were sitting there you take pity and leave 15% of the $400 bill you ran up. I hope that you understand the reason your food took 60 minutes to get to your table wasn't my fault and there was nothing I could do about it. I also hope that you understand that I asked the busser three times to swing by your table and remove the dirty dishes because I was too busy dealing with the party of 8. And I sit in the kitchen and I hope.

I'd love to say that most of the time I was taken care of, but there are too many stories that go in the other direction. I once waited on 40 sorority girls with another waiter and together we made $4.00. I had a party of 12 once leave me an $8.00 tip in change. I've had other tables where things went so wrong in the kitchen they got more than $100 in free food and they left me nothing. My favorite part of this is that at the end of the night I get to tip out .02% of my sales to the bartender, .015% of my sales to the bussers, .01% percent to the food runner and claim 8% of my sales to the government for taxes. So for every table that stiffed me or left me less than .04% it cost me to wait on them.

So what do you do about bad service? Here's what I do. I try to put myself in the place of the server. My favorite comment is maybe their dog died. Or even worse a relative. Or their boyfriend had broken up with them. Or their car died on the way to work and it's going to cost $1500 to fix. Why is that my problem? The truth is it isn't. And as the poster this morning said "that is what we go out to eat for, service, NOT dealing with someone's emotional home life and problems." It's true you don't. But the minute you entire the outside world you are faced with the world's problems. I like to think of myself as human and understanding. I don't know what's going on in their life and I don't want to know. What I do know is that waiting tables is the one of the few jobs where someone else gets to decide whether you pay your rent or not. And if the person tipping can have the tiniest bit of sympathy and compassion it might in a small way make the persons day.

All of the things mentioned in the above paragraph have happened to me. I have had to work after being called and told my grandmother had died. I've had to work, when my boyfriend called me and told me on the restaurant's phone that he was leaving and wouldn't be there when I got home. How would you feel the next time you went to work and your boss told you that you were working today for 80% of your normal salary because you just weren't yourself. The post this morning insisted that he'd be sent home without pay. But most jobs, with humans for bosses would understand, and if you were sent home it wouldn't be without pay. Most restaurant jobs don't have sick pay, or leave, or any other kind of support. It's either work or not get paid.

Which brings me to the end of the meal. It's tip time. Not leaving a tip is always an option. But I beg to differ with the post that it'll teach the waiter a lesson to be better next time. Truth is you'll be written off as another idiot who doesn't know better. And there are far more idiots out there than people teaching lessons. If you don't think the service was up to par speak to the manager. A decent manager won't fire the waiter they'll try and find out what was going on. Or even better speak to the waiter. Tell them you weren't satisfied. The thing to remember is waiter's have long memories. And we remember that you don't tip. And next time you come in, you'll be pointed out to everyone in the restaurant. You'll get service but it won't be award winning. And no one's going to go out of their way for you. There entire goal will be to get you in and get you out so you don't take up anymore of their time than you have to.

I don't remember the last time I didn't tip, and I eat out practically every day. The truth is it's usually only a couple of dollars. If I eventually got my food, and it's what I ordered and no one was rude to me, I'm happy. Life's too short to get all bent out of shape because you weren't waited on in two minutes. Or that there are 8 empty glasses on the table. Or that no one has taken away my empty plates. With all that's going on in the middle east, and here at home these are luxury problems. And is it really going to hurt to leave 15 or 20 percent on the table. Who know you maybe helping pay for the education of the person who will cure AIDS. Or be the next president. And maybe they're just a little stressed from school and your 8 dollars will make their day. Who knows. I've seen a lot less make someone happy.

There is nothing sweeter than getting on the "A" train headed up town to Albany, as my friends like to say, at midnight and discovering that it's making express stops. There is nothing worse than getting on the "A" train headed up town, to Albany as my friends like to say, at midnight and discovering that all "A" trains stop at 168 and you'll have to take a shuttle the rest of the way home. The joys of being at the mercy of someone else to get where you're going.

Speaking of the trains. I can't for the life of me figure out what barn some of the people who ride the train were raised in. In the past week, I have watched more people throw their garbage on the floor of the train as if some little fairy is going to swoop down and pick it up. Tonight on the way home there was a 2" pile of sunflower seeds on the floor. Would you do this at home? Do you really think that someone cleans up after you?

My other NYC pet peeve which is not really all that New York specific is: Why do people not realize they should get their wallets out of their purses/backpacks/pockets before they get to the register. I waited at least 10 minutes today for a woman to find her purse, get the bills out, scrounge for the correct change, realize she didn't have it, look for another bill, and then get her change. MY GOD, it's money. Most of us start using it at around 7 or 8. These things should not be that difficult. Just get the money out and pay. It's a simple one, two, three.

Now I feel better.

It seems that weight loss is the issue of the day. I read at least 4 or 5 blogs today that dealt with losing weight. I did my part today. According to a rough guesstimate on Mapquest I walked about 5 miles. My goal isn't to bore anyone with my talk of walking it's just that I'm tired of being fat and it's one of several things I know that I can do about it, and since I write about my life here, you'll just have to listen.

I have no idea what my weight was when I moved to NYC. I had banned myself from the scale several months ago, and now that I am doing something about it I don't have my scale with me. It's conveniently still in San Diego. So instead of focusing on weight loss, I'm trying to focus on what I can do every day. I don't have the money for a gym membership at the moment and so walking it is. For the past two weeks, and even while I was in Maine, I have made a point of trying to get at least a little walking in every day. I get off the subway many stops before I need to, or I walk several stops before I get on, and once I am down in the heart of the city I don't use the trains at all. I walk everywhere I need to be.

I can tell that I have lost weight. My clothes don't fit as tight and well trust me you can just tell. It would help to know how much, but I am trying not to focus on that at the moment. It's one step at a time...literally. And so I...
Walk on through the wind,
Walk on through the rain,
Tho' your dreams be tossed and blown.
Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart
And you'll never walk alone.

Sorry, got lost in my gayness there for a moment. Nothing like a little Carousel to pick you up and push you over the edge. But I am certainly thankful that I am not doing this alone. Weight loss without support can be a difficult thing to do. So for everybody out there pulling for me...Thanks.

Thanks for the feedback and support concerning D.L.C. I appreciate what everyone had to say. If anyone has any advice on how to proceed I would greatly appreciate it. What really sucks these days is how much time I spend thinking about it. I argued with him for at least two hours today...in my head. If I could just let this play out the way it does in my head I would leave him speechless and wondering what the fuck he did by breaking up with me. But unfortunately, I don't argue well in real life so we'll have to see how it goes.

As I mentioned a few posts ago, I have been walking my ass off lately. My best guess is that I walked about 5 miles today. I took the subway to Battery Park and then explored the Financial District. I checked out South Street Seaport, Battery Park, and Wall Street. I lived near the Seaport in 2001 so I walked by my old apartment and was amazed and how much it had changed. From Lower Manhattan I walked north along Broadway and West Broadway to Greenwich Village and then continued north to The Empire State Building at 34th Street.

I kind of felt like a tourist today. I had my camera and snapped pictures of things that caught my interest and just wandered along. I had originally planned to ride the Staten Island Ferry since it's free and anything free right now is exactly in my price range, but the crowds were insane. I think I'll wait until after school starts and some of these people have gone away.


The whole point of all this walking is to lose weight. I gained a lot of weight after D.L.C. dumped me and I am ready to get rid of it. Unfortunately, I can't afford a gym membership until I become a little more professionally stable, thus the walking. It's free and with the heat we've been experiencing it shouldn't take long to sweat my ass off. At least that's the plan. Now if I could only lose the weight before I run into you know who.

Something I've been wanting to write about, actually needing to write about since I got to NYC is D.L.C. I've mentioned him in a couple of other posts but mostly as my ex. That he is. We broke up on August 2, 2004. Now most of you are thinking enough already get over him and move on. Well there are some extenuating circumstances as to why it's still an issue.

When I left to go to San Diego to start graduate school, I asked D.L.C. to come with me. He was done with his course work at Columbia and could have easily gotten a job there for the three years I was going to be there. He chose to stay in New York. So 3 years ago today, I started up the U-Haul and started my journey cross country. I got settled in California and we began our long distance relationship. It was obvious from the start I was going to put more work into making sure it lasted. I called often. I sent cards. I sent care packages. I was lucky if the conversations lasted more than a few minutes, but I knew he was busy with his dissertation and so let it ride.

Then Thanksgiving was approaching. I couldn't come back to NYC because of a school project. Actually 90% of the students in my program were required to be there that weekend. So of course I asked D.L.C. to come west. He thanked me but told me there was no way. He had to get work done on his dissertation. This was a conversation I was tiring of. He was constantly scheduling time to work and then someone would call with a better offer and he would put aside his writing. So when he said no about Thanksgiving I was a little pissed. Finally I said ok. Stay home. But please, please spend your time writing. Obviously I wouldn't be writing about this if that's what he had done. Nope. He spent the entire weekend out with friends. If I remember correctly we barely spoke all weekend because of his busy social calendar. I was more than a little angry.

I figured this could all wait to Christmas and we could discuss it. Well, I mentioned in this post about D.L.C.'s reaction when I got to his place on Christmas break. It wasn't exactly the welcome I was expecting but I got thru it. We spent the break together which ended with my appendix bursting and me spending 8 days in the hospital. So we never really got to discuss my anger over Thanksgiving.

There's more to discuss but I am going to fast forward. Summer is coming and it's time to make plans for what I am going to do. D.L.C. tells me I am welcome home for 2 weeks and that is all. Once again it's about his dissertation. I don't take this news well. As it turns out I am going to spend about 2 weeks upstate so we agree on two weeks before and two weeks after and then I am to head back to San Diego. I am not happy about this but I don't know what else to do.

So I spend my two weeks here, my two weeks upstate and my final two weeks back in NYC. We decided the last morning I was here, August 2nd, (I have an 11:00 flight) that we would get up early, get breakfast I would come back finish packing, shower and leave at 9 a.m. When I wake up it's well past the time we were supposed to get up. It's almost 8:15 and the car will be picking me up in 45 minutes. He's sitting at his desk reading something on line. I ask him why he didn't wake me and he just sits there. Finally he gets up, gets me a cup of coffee and sits down on the couch next to the bed. He just sits there staring at me. I ask what's up and he just sits there. Finally he says that he can't do this anymore. He proceeds to break up with me. He tells me it's because of the weight issues and that he doesn't want to be a part of it anymore. It's now 8:35 and I have 25 minutes to shower and pack. I get up and go to the bathroom. I am stunned. I would never have guessed this. I take a quick shower in which I begin to cry. I cry until I am done. I won't let him see it. I get dressed and come out of the bathroom. I finish packing.

About that time, the phone rings and it's the car. It's now 8:55. I get my bags together. Ask him to mail the things that won't fit. And we go down stairs. We hug goodbye at the curb. I get into the car and leave New York.

August 2, 2004. I haven't seen D.L.C. since that morning. I have to admit I haven't wanted to. We talked for a while after the break-up. I tried to be nice, but on one occasion he backed me into a corner and it was the last time I was really civil to him. I haven't talked to him in well over a year. I don't have much to say. I think he's an ass. I think he's a coward. It takes a small man to actually break-up with someone 25 minutes before they have to leave your apartment for four months.

Now the problem: I am back in New York. He still lives in Chelsea, I assume. We haven't seen each other in almost two years. And I am terrified that I am going to run into him. I don't know how I am going to react. Will I be civil? Will I punch him in the face. I know that's what will happen if he makes a comment about my weight. I hate that I have given him such power, and yet every time I feel strong and venture into his neighborhood I feel my pulse speed up and I get anxious.

I know I should take the high road. Be the bigger man. But I just get so angry. One because of how he did it, and two because "I had gained weight". It's not like I was obese. It's not like it was out of control. When I make a commitment to someone it's not something I do lightly. I take it very seriously. I accept you warts and all. And if something's not working, you talk about it. You don't just walk out.

I'll stop here. I'm sorry this post is so long, but sometimes you gotta say what you gotta say. Unfortunately because my social outings take place in that area, I have to deal with this daily. And I know it's only a matter of time before we run into each other and I have to choose how I am going to deal with this. I hope when the time comes I have the strength to be polite and just move on.

Went to dinner tonight with a friend of mine and four of his friends. I didn't know the other guys but since I'm new again in New York, I thought it would be a good chance to meet new people. All four of the guys were nice although I think one of them might be certifiabley insane. But it was a first impression and most often for me those turn out to be far from reasonable. So I'll hold off on judgment too soon.

At one point during dinner the discussion turned to cell phones and students who use them in class. Two of the people at the table were teachers and they both told stories of calling students out who used their phones. All of us thought this was reasonable, thinking time and place for everything. Then one of the teacher's phone rings. And he answers it. And has a conversation at the dinner table. Time and place, hmmm.

Perhaps it is just me, but unless it's of absolute importance I never answer my phone during these types of gatherings. That's the reason we have voice mail. The person calls, they leave a message, we return it later. I thought it was as inappropriate to answer the phone during dinner as it is in class. And if it truly is an emergency, then apologize before you take the call, or after. Or at least explain that it's a call you have to take.

Not two minutes later someone else at the table answered their phone. Am I completely over-reacting?

I signed my lease. I didn't know it but C.Z. had arranged for it a two year lease. So now I am really stuck here. It wasn't as stressful as I thought it would be. I did it without much thought at all. I signed and initialed where I was asked to and that was that. Now it's done. We move next weekend. I mean I take my two suitcases from this apartment to the new apartment. My actual belongings won't be here until mid -October when I return from San Diego after doing the two shows.

Now that the lease is signed I really have to get on the ball looking for work. I have lived in this little dream world for the past two months that the money I have in the bank will last forever. In truth it's dwindling fast. I am not even sure if I have the money to actually move my stuff east. I am going to have to do some serious investigating and checking to see what's what. I do have some retirement money that's been put away for years that I could dip into, but I am trying not to do that.

So tomorrow, I need to get out of bed at a reasonable time and start sending out some emails to contacts I have in the city looking for work. It's really just about getting my name out there. People have to know that I am here, that I am good, that I am reliable and the rest will take care of itself. Right now, no one knows I am here (except you guys...and you're not hiring) and that's a problem. It truly could be worse. I could have no one to contact which was the case when I moved here the first time. That's why I went almost 5 years without designing anything. And although I had a real job making more money than I had ever made in my life and was finally able to go to restaurants based on reputation not on menu price, and I was able to travel to Europe 5 times in two years, and see Broadway shows, I was also the most miserable I had ever been. I hated going to work. Hated everything about it. On another day I'll tell the story of how I got myself fired for the severance package. It's very funny.

I'll of course keep you posted on the progress. And just to let you know. I have walked about 3 to 4 miles each of the last two days. I can already feel the weight starting to fall off. So at least something is going right.

Stole this off this guy's blog tonight. But it was fun and I thought I would share it with you. All round cute gay guy. That means I'm never getting laid.

You scored as The all-round cute gay guy. YOu are a cute guy who many would die to be with..........lucky!! The all-round cute gay guy 70% A Big Bear 50% Raging Queer 40% Straight Acting 40% S + M guy 20% Straight 20% Straight Queer Basher 0% What type of Gay are YOU? created with QuizFarm.com

In about 30 minutes I am going with C.Z. to sign the lease on our new apartment. And suddenly I am scared to death. What if I can't do it? What if I can't make a go of it in New York? Maybe I should have stayed in San Diego where people already know me and I didn't have to work so hard. Maybe I shouldn't have given up on getting a teaching job. If I sign the lease I am stuck here. And it's a two year lease at that, so I'll be really stuck here. Oh God!!! What have I done?

I have been feeling these feelings since last Friday. I haven't said anything about them because I thought if I ignored them they would go away. In fact they haven't, they have only gotten worse. I have spent the last week being almost paralyzed by fear that I am going to fail miserably in New York. That no one will want to hire me and that I'll end up temping or waiting tables again to make ends meet. I have to admit, it would be a fate worse than death. Not to mention all those student loans I have to pay back on an education that is clearly now going to be worthless.

AAAAHHHHH!!!

I am not like this often. But when I am, it's awful. I can't think straight. (No jokes please) I just want the answers and I want all the work to be done and people to be calling me asking me to design for them. That's all I want. Oh, yeah and to be paid. A livable wage. When I made the decision to go into theatrical design I knew that I would never be rich but I was convinced I could make a living. Now I am not so sure.

What's funny is that I am good at what I do. I don't know if I am the best, but I am surely better than average. It's just a difficult profession to break into. And there's no one holding my hand telling me how to do it. It also doesn't help that I have discovered I am more of an introvert than an extrovert. I always thought it was the opposite. But as I get older I realize that's not the case and in fact I have a difficult time talking to people I don't know. So getting up the nerve to call people and ask them for job is a bit frightening.

The phone just rang. It's C.Z. Gotta go. Will blog more on this later. By the time I get back, I'll be the proud renter of an uptown apartment.

I took the easy way out last night. I saw the politics test on a couple of blogs I read and stole it from them. It's not that I didn't have good intentions, it's just that I went to a Project Runway viewing party. I actually went to see some friends I hadn't spent time with in forever. They are people I went to school with who graduated before me. So I got on the train and headed to their apartment in Brooklyn and watched the show.

I hadn't expected to like the show. But it sucks you in. One minute you are a civilian, the next minute you're wishing the bitch that can't draw would just shut up and help. You're suddenly picking someone to root for. And yelling at the TV and everyone is talking. And then it's over and your sorry that Malan, the undertaker is gone from the show because he was so creepy he was funny. And I didn't think his dress was nearly as ugly as Vincent's. And now I have to wait until next week to find out what happens next.

The real problem here isn't that I liked the show. It was more that I was in the middle of Brooklyn and had about an hour plus on the subway to get home. Which involved switching trains, and having to pee. So let's just say it took more than 2 hours to get home last night. It was almost 1:30 by the time I was home and I was more than a little tipsy. So writing was a little difficult...so I cheated. And now I feel bad. What to do, what to do.

So I am apologizing to anyone who has shown up here today to read something, and I promise I'll try not to let this happen often. Here's a middle of the day post to make up for it.

I am not very surprised at the results...a socialist...hmmm?

You are a Social Liberal (83% permissive) and an... Economic Liberal (8% permissive) You are best described as a: Socialist Link: The Politics Test on Ok Cupid Also: The OkCupid Dating Persona Test

When I moved to New York I discovered that my roommate subscribed to the ultru-deluxe-all-channel cable package. I don't mind this, having had cable in San Diego for the past 3 years. However, I remember living here before I hardly ever watched TV because I was barely home long enough too. So when C.Z. told me we had cable I was so-so about it. That is until he told me we have DVR. I can record anything? Including an entire season of a show? Just by pushing a button? YAAAAAAYYYYYYY!!!!

I still haven't quite figured out how to use it but I am working on it. So far my favorite is being able to watch The Daily Show whenever I want. I am a huge Jon Stewart fan and I love his show. When I lived in San Diego I actually scheduled myself to be home by 1 a.m. so I could watch the repeat of the day's episode. Now I don't have to worry. I can get home whenever I want and watch it whenever I want.

Tonight we watched the movie Queer Duck that was aired on Logo on Sunday night. I was a huge Queer Duck fan when it was around on the internet, and I was very curious as to how they could stretch a short comic into a full length movie. Well I have to admit it was a stretch, but it was damn funny, and very inappropriate, and C.Z. and I laughed our asses off.

My favorite part of the movie was the baseball song. Did I mention it was a musical. And what would you know, when I checked on You Tube there it was. So now I am sharing it with you. I hope you enjoy it as much I do.

Queer Duck Baseball

I've got a question for the other bloggers who read this...all two of you. When you sit down to write do you actually know what you are going to write or do you just let it pour forth?

For the past couple of days I have actually put some thought into what I was going to write, actually thinking it all out in my head. And then I sit down at my computer and it's off to the races, in another direction. I don't actually mind this. I tell myself it's because what I am writing is more important to say than what I thought I would write. Who knows. It'll all come out in the wash.

The weather here in NYC was insane today. I have no idea what the high temperature was but it was HOT! Don't get me wrong I am not complaining. I spent the last three years in San Diego where it's a balmy 73 degrees most days. So I have been loving the humidity. Of course I have great air conditioning as well so it is tolerable. So hurray for the heat.

In honor of the weather today. I walked from W. 4th Street to 95th Street on the Upper West side. According to Mapquest it's almost 6 miles. Needless to say I AM TIRED. But I also feel great. It felt good to be outside sweating, working to get this weight off. Of course I was a little wet when I got to the meeting I was going to, but it was casual and no one seemed to notice.

One day down. Many, many, more to go.

I'm tired. And my feet hurt. I have walked about a million miles since I got to New York on Tuesday. Now anyone who's ever been to New York knows that unless you hire your own personal driver you're going to have to walk. But I have been walking about 10 times more than that.

When I moved to San Diego I weighed 180 pounds, which is a great weight for someone 6'0" tall. In truth I was in almost the best shape of my life. I had spent the year before running and working out almost everyday. Of course it's easy when your boyfriend gets up every morning to go to the gym and drags your lazy ass with him. So it hadn't been a lot of work. I have always been very aware of my body and have never had the best self image. So when I say I was looking good. I was looking good. So much so that when I got to San Diego I spent a month on Black's Beach, the nude beach, before school started.

The catch to all of this is that I had broken my foot in July before I moved to San Diego, so any kind of physical activity was limited and I was stuck on crutches for almost 2 months. So needless to say there wasn't much running or working out. Thus started the weight gain. Now I have battled my weight my whole life. When I graduated from undergrad I weighed 237. And then lost it. When I moved to NYC the first time I weighed 268. I managed to get that off and keep it off in the first year thanks to my friend M.L. But that's a story for another day.

By the time I got back to New York for Christmas I had gained enough weight to notice. At least that's what my boyfriend D.L.C. said. The first words out of his mouth when I opened the door were "You've gotten fat." A hello or I've missed you would have been nice but that was not the case. Then December 20th rolled around and after being sick all weekend my appendix burst and I ended up in St. Vincent's Hospital where I was to remain for 8 days. Now if any of you have ever suffered thru this I don't need to tell you the pain. If you haven't. When it started I thought I was giving birth to quadruplets...at the same time. After the surgery, not so much pain thanks to a clever little morphine drip. I was so high that week that I don't remember much of anything from the first two of three days.

When I was released from the hospital I was forbidden once again to do any physical activity and with the pain that I was still feeling I wouldn't have considered it. It was almost three months before all the effects of the appendix and surgery were gone and it was now almost nine months since I had last worked out. I had put on more weight.

By the time I got back to NYC for the summer I had gained a total of about 25-30 pounds. D.L.C. was not happy about it. He didn't say much but would throw out little barbs every so often. The reason he didn't say much, he was saving it up. On the morning before I was to leave to go back to San Diego to start my second year of school, he tells me he is breaking up with me because of the weight that I have gained. He gave me about 15 minutes to process this and then the car picked me up and took me to the airport. (I have never seen him again.)

By the time I got back to San Diego I was a mess. And I remained a mess for almost 3 months. How does someone who has told me he loves me, break up with me for such a little reason. There is more to the story but I'll share that later.

Fastforward almost two years. I have returned to New York and now I weigh what I think is more than 270 pounds. I refuse to step on a scale. I hate the way I look and do everything I can to hide it. But it's hard to hide a cow under a shirt. The point is I am tired of it. It's time to be thin again.

Back to the walking. I don't have the money for a gym membership right now. And I am too fat to run. So I walk. I have been walking several extra miles a day since I got back. I don't know how long it will take. But this is something that I have to do. I don't like looking like this. I don't like seeing people I knew before I moved seeing me like this now. And more than anything I don't want D.L.C. to see me like this. It will only prove his point and my pride won't allow that.

So wish me luck. And I'll keep you guys posted as to how it's going. As I said I don't know about weight loss because I don't want to know what I weigh. However, soon the clothes will be fitting looser and I start to look better, which will make me feel better, and before you know it, I'll be my old happy thin self.

I haven't heard from the boy all day. I don't know if that's a blessing or a curse. I had wanted to have a little chat about the many reasons I don't think this is going to work. But I suppose it will wait till we talk.

My roommate and I looked at a new apartment today. I think we are going to take it. The deal when I moved in was we would use his management company to find a new place. One that my furniture would fit into. It's about 20 blocks north of where we live now, but it's the same price and twice as big. The neighborhood isn't as nice. We actually just got back from visiting there (it's 12:30 a.m.) and it's a little on the iffy side. But for the price and the size we don't really think we can pass it up. We are going to discuss it again tomorrow. Then decide what we are going to do. I'll keep you posted.

Did take a trip to the Costco in Brooklyn today. It took almost two hours to get there but my friend S.H. had never been and he was like a kid in a candy store. The only problem was we had to carry everything we bought home on the subway so we had to pick and choose carefully. Finally after several stops to decide we got thru the checkout and headed home. A little less time on the return trip since we discovered one of the trains ran express. I won't be going there a lot. In fact the only reason we went at all is so I could get a prescription refilled and since I have no health insurance and it saves me about 150 bucks to get it there. Ah, the life of a recently graduated student.

That's it for tonight. Talk to you guys tomorrow.

The Date. Ah, The Date. How can something that started so nicely turn out to be so __________. I'll let you fill in the word when I am finished.


The plan was to see Superman Returns, have dinner, come back to his place, have sex, sleep together.

The best laid plans...

I met M.N. at his house and as I said the evening started nicely. We chatted while he changed out of his work clothes. I was in a bit of a hurry to get to the theatre, because I like to sit on the aisle. I'm kind of neurotic about it. The anxiety stems from that fact that I almost always have to go to the bathroom during the movie and I don't want to interrupt anyone to do it. We got to the theatre in plenty of time, in fact we were the first people there. Which gave us time to talk about the things that had been going on in our lives for the past 3 years. We joked around gently teasing each other and having fun.

We watched the movie, which going against the opinions of most of the blogs I read, we both loved. It was fun, the action sequences were exciting and Superman is mostly definitely not bad to look at. Neither of us are huge comic fans though, so that may be why we liked it. After the movie we took the subway back up to his place to a Mexican restaurant. We sat outside on the sidewalk, people watching while enjoying dinner. We both ate far more than we planned to, but the food was good and the company was nice.

From there we walked back to his apartment. And then. M.N. decided we should talk. And talk we did. He proceeded to give me the rules and guidelines of dating him. First and foremost. He would never, ever, bottom. Now this wasn't such a big deal except in the way the he approached the subject. He was adamant about it. I was not to touch, play, or even think about his ass. He became almost belligerent in the discussion, if you could call it a discussion. I tried to explain to him that it was only the second date we could see how these things played out but he felt that I had to be willing to accept that.

The issue I have is that I have been in relationships where I am the bottom. I have been in relationships where I am the top. And if I have to choose. I don't want to. I want sex to be something casual, that just happens. Something that's not planned out. That might be one way this time, and another way the next time. I don't want rules before I start. I respect his limits, but there are a million better ways to approach it.

Issue number two. I am to have sex with no one else without telling him first. At this point he makes it clear that if I want to date him, it's him and him alone He's HIV+ and doesn't want me bringing home any unexpected diseases to share. I understand and respect that. BUT IT'S ONLY THE SECOND DATE!!!!! I'm not ready to register for china patterns. I'm not ready to suddenly be in a monogamous relationship with him. I don't even know if I like sex with him. What constituted sex on Wednesday, was barely more than mutual masturbation. I'd like to know that I like it before I sign on for good. On this rule as with the first he's not willing to discuss, or negotiate. It's his way or the highway.

Then number three. There'll never be sex if were not freshly showered, with teeth brushed. I'll revert back to the discussion of sex not being planned. Maybe my thinking is too simple, but I like sex to be spontaneous. Sometimes at night. Sometimes in the morning. Sometimes in the middle of the day just for the heck of it. I don't want to have it be an event where I have to schedule it on his calendar so that he can make sure he's ready to go. I could understand a little more if he were the bottom. But we've already discussed that, so that's not the problem.

At this point I just wanted to go home. But I was committed so off to bed we went. There wasn't even any making out. He turned off the light and went to sleep. I lay awake for what seemed like hours trying to figure out what had just happened. I wanted to not make a big deal out of it. I want to just accept it and go on. I finally fell asleep but awoke before the sun was up and continued to lie awake. Finally he woke up, and we got up. Luckily I already had a legitimate excuse for being home early so I dressed and left.

What do I tell him when he calls for Date #3?

I had forgotten how annoying New Yorkers were. Actually, I'd be willing to bet most of the people who annoyed me today were tourists, but since they are here we'll consider them New Yorkers. I actually spent about 15 minutes contemplating starting a post called pet peeve Thursdays but really don't want my blog to be a negative experience for anyone.

But just for today. Pet Peeves.

Why is it impossible to get real customer service in Manhattan? I spent the day looking for places in the city to get new business cards printed. I have had the worst luck on line and want a place where I can proof them before they are printed. I went to several places today and getting someone to talk to me and actually answer questions was next to impossible. I just needed to know cost and in what form the artwork needed to be submitted. Finally at a Staples, someone actually stopped what they were doing to help me. Needless to say, I'll be there tomorrow to place the order.

Why must people stop immediately upon exiting the subway to determine where they are going. Don't they realize there are 400 people behind them that have exactly 30 seconds to get off the train before the doors are closed on them. If you must stop and look around, take a couple of steps in one direction or another and keep moving. The stations not going anywhere.

Why do 20 year olds think the subway is a playground. I couldn't hear the music on my Ipod today because of the 3 guys at the end of the car that were doing chin ups on the poles and yelling and pushing each other. If asked I would have sworn they were drunk but I think it was too early in the day for that. But it is NYC so that might have indeed been then answer.

Why do you need to push me aside to get in front of me while I am waiting in to cross the street. In busy intersections there can easily be over 50 people waiting to cross the street, and one lone soul will push his way, or in today's case, her way to the front of the line so she can be first to cross. We are all going the same way and once the light changes the flow will be so fast you can maneuver around most anyone in your way.

I could go on but I think I have made my point. Don't get me wrong, I love New York and am incredibly excited to be back. Just some things I noticed today. Of course I didn't point out any of the wonderful things I saw today. Like the 70 year old man wearing the mesh shirt looking like he had just stepped out of 1976, with his hair dyed and ready to go. Or the beauty of the 1 train subway station at 168 street that looks the way subway stations were probably meant to look. Or the fact that if you take the local train it's not so crowded. It takes about 15 minutes longer but you can relax and enjoy your ipod and not be distracted. Or the insane number of hot men that I saw today. New York has beautiful people of all shapes and sizes. Some of them even look like the guys in the magazines. And about half the men I was checking out I caught checking out girls who were in front of me. I always think that's funny. When I am checking out a guy, who's checking out a girl, who's oblivious to the whole thing.

Enough rambling about New York.

May not post tomorrow night cause I have a second date. And I think I am spending the night. I'll keep you posted.

I had a date tonight. And as my roommate pointed out I haven't even been in NYC 48 hours yet. And what's even better, I wasn't even looking for it or expecting it. And the best part. There was sex involved. Fully respectable, lying down in a bed, sex.

So now I suppose you want the details.

In January 2002 I met M.N. at my gym. Actually he followed me from my gym to the Starbucks down the street on a very rainy day and we had coffee. Well, he had tea since he doesn't drink coffee. But it was the beginning of a very short lived love affair. M.N. is physically very much my type. He's short, and brown skinned, and smart (think PhD from Columbia) and well, my type. Unfortunately when we met, he had just seroconverted. I was and still am negative and this was more than he could deal with. He had studied every inch of the disease and could actually tell you down to the cell the specific strain in which he had. He knew the details of every med (even the ones he didn't take), how and why they worked, who made them and how much they cost. He knew just about everything there is to know about HIV. Every discussion was about his disease. Every joke about his disease. Every ounce of his life about his disease. There was no room for me, especially being HIV-. It was on again off again for several months but I just couldn't deal with it. It was never his infection, it was instead his obsession with his infection. We went out on my birthday and he started going on about the disease and I lost it. I said some very mean things that ended with the statement, "You'd be a nice guy if it weren't for your HIV infection."

Needless to say we didn't talk much after that and I think he really thought the reason I broke up with him was because of his status. He learned differently a year or so later, when he discovered the guy I started dating right after him was also positive and I had no issue with it. We have stayed in loose contact with each other for the past several years talking/emailing once every couple of months. We have even talked about that last date and we both realize that we were wrong. Him for not letting me into his life. And me for not being more understanding.

Fast forward to tonight. I called him today to give him my new NYC cell number and suggested we meet for dinner soon. We scheduled it for Thursday night and hung up. He called back 5 minutes later and said he had changed his mind and wanted to know if tonight was still an option. I said yes and the date was planned.

I met him at his house at 6:30, and it was if we had never been apart. I hadn't seen him at all since moving to San Diego three years ago so I wasn't sure how he'd react to the changes in me. I have gained a little weight (if 70 pounds is a little) and was expecting him to see me and make an excuse and leave. He acted as if he didn't even notice. He hugged me and told me I looked great. Showed me his apartment, we talked for a while, made out for a while and then went to dinner.

After dinner we went back to his place and well you can guess the rest. We had sex and then talked. Mostly about what was happening. Whether it was good. What to expect. I don't know if I want a relationship right now. I don't know if I want one with him. I do know that if felt good to be found attractive. It felt good to have sex with someone who wasn't a stranger. It felt good to be lying down, instead of kneeling in the booth of an adult theatre.

So where do we go from here. We're going to see each other again on Friday night. Since it's not a school night I think I'll spend the night. Both of us are on a tight budget so I think it'll be renting a movie, ordering in and just hanging out. We'll take it slow and I'll see what I think. In the meantime, I am not going to write it off. I'll let what ever happens happen.

And don't worry I'll be careful. Both physically and emotionally.

I am here. After months and months of planning, I arrived in New York today. Of course it would be great if it was as easy as that. But my whole afternoon/evening was a little screwed up and rushed because my plane was two hours late. Not only was it late, but at one point we were diverted to another airport on Long Island where we landed refueled and then sat on the runway for 45 minutes waiting to take off. I wouldn't have really cared except that I hate the take off and having to do it twice today for a 55 minute flight is bit much.

So I got here 2 hours late and then was picked up by the world worst driver working for the worlds worst limo company. I highly recommend not using Mirage Limousine Service in Manhattan if you don't have to. Because of the flight being late they charged me $171 to get into Manhattan. Luckily for me it was charged to my friend M.L. but he's going to freak when he gets the bill.

I got home dumped my stuff in my new apartment, grabbed a Diet Coke from the fridge (gotta love my new roommate) and headed down to Time Square to meet S.H. from San Diego and see Sweeney Todd. I had a great time, drank too many beers before the show, which was great, ate dinner at a diner and then went to one of my favorite piano bars in NYC where I serenaded S.H. I didn't last long. The woman at the piano was talking more than she was playing and I was tired so I walked S.H. to her train. Walked to my train and headed home.

I was a little disappointed tonight to learn that the Christopher Street Bookstore had closed. I walked by tonight contemplating stopping in for a little R and R but as I rounded the corner I discovered that not only is it closed the entire building is under renovation. It's not like I really needed to go there tonight, it's more about the fact that it's part of my history of living here and like everything the city changes. Not for the better. Not for the worse. It just changes.

When you grow up in Kentucky, the closest you get to a lobster is the Red Lobster, and I have to admit that I have never eaten there. I also have to admit that because of a bad incident with crabs (insert joke here) when I was 10 I have avoided shell fish most of my life.

Flash forward a million years (31 to be exact) and I arrive in Maine. The home of the lobster. The place I am told you can't come and not eat the native food. So it was decided since today was my last day in Maine that L.M. would cook lobster for dinner and I would try it. There would be chicken for back-up, but lobster was dinner. I was willing. I am always open to trying new things and what the fuck it's just lobster how bad can it be.

What I was not expecting was living creatures being boiled to death. What I was really not expecting was L.M. apologizing to every lobster she shoved in the pot. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! She cooked ten lobsters and she repeated this little dialogue ten times. Then repeated it some more when she had to rearrange them in the pot. The were family pets before they had even begun to cook. Still I was doing okay. She finished dinner and we sat down to eat.

It started okay. There were actually six of us. M.M. and L.M. M.M.'s father and step-mother, and L.M.'s grandmother. L.M. walked us thru the process of obtaining the meat from a lobster. Pull the little legs off and suck out the juice and meat. I did it and thought I was going to throw up. It tasted fine. Better than I expected. But I couldn't get past the idea that it had been alive 30 minutes earlier. It had little eyes. I forced myself to continue. One claw. Then the next. I continued, each bight getting harder than the last. The only thing that kept me going was the vegetables on my plate and the Corona I had to drink. Finally all that was left was the body. And I was done. I could do it no more.

I don't remember the last time I ate something that I had seen alive. I supposed I did as a kid since my dad hunted and fished. But it's been YEARS. I just couldn't do it today. M.M. who's a liberal vegetarian has convinced herself this will make me a vegetarian. I don't know. I know the thought of meat right now repulses me. The thought of eating anything that was once living and breathing repulses me. Maybe I just need to get a good night's sleep. Maybe, I need to order a big steak tomorrow night and just do it. Maybe meat filled days are a thing of the past.

In the mean time, my Vanilla Heath Bar Crunch Ice Cream is hitting the spot and I know no one and no thing died in it's creation.

Ate dinner at Silly's tonight. Fried Pickles: Delicious. Sweet Potato Fries: Delicious. Fish and Chips: Delicious. The Diesel: Delicious. Corona: Delicious.

A scale to weigh myself in the restroom: Priceless

Let me repeat that. A SCALE to weigh myself. In the restroom. Whatever were they thinking?

Sorry about not posting last night. Was a fun filled evening which mostly involved drinking beer. So by the time I got home I was far too intoxicated to write any thing intelligent.

Actually the evening was kind of a bust, although it started kind of nice. We started the evening by having a picnic of sorts out by Maine Head Light (a lighthouse). Nothing too fancy just some chips and salsa, cheese and crackers, and most importantly beer and wine. There were 9 of us total. M.M. and L.M. and their friends which included a toddler and an infant. We sat around made stupid jokes, laughed at the kids and enjoyed the beauty of the water.

From there we came home had some more beer (at least I did) and then walked downtown to The Asylum to attend a Beth Orton concert. Before I go on, I should point out that I have no idea who she is, although I have been told I should. I wasn't even going to go to the concert but M.M. and L.M. already had tickets and their friends told me I didn't get a choice in the matter, I was going whether I liked it or not.

So we get to the Asylum wait in a line that goes down the block and around the corner and continued down the block. This was the line for everything: will call, ticket purchase, to get into the bar. This wouldn't have been such a big deal except I had to pee like nobody's business. We ended up waiting about a half an hour and then we were let in. We all ran like crazy to the restroom and then moved on to our most important task, getting more alcohol. The really convenient part was I was the only one who brought money so I ended up buying for everyone all night.

After we got our drinks we moved to the dance floor where the audience was going to be for the show. What no one had told me, or them for that matter is that there were no seats. It was standing only and as time progressed we became more and more like sardines. By the time the warm up band started we couldn't move. Further more, even being six feet tall I couldn't see the stage and M.M. and L.M. are short so they could see even less. By the time the warm up band ended we had had enough. We pushed our way to the back of the bar and out into the waiting area. From there we moved to the bar next door where we waited for the rest of their friends to come out.

We didn't have to wait long. Seems Beth Orton was sick so she played two or three songs and then they carried her off stage and the concert was over. Our friends joined us and we finished up our drinks, went down the street and got dinner, and called it an evening. What's funny, is that I still don't know what Beth Orton's music sounds like. But I did have an interesting discussion at dinner with the 7 lesbians about circumcision and whether it's good or bad and what I preferred, which didn't compare to listening to what they preferred when they were still dating men. Hmmmm, do I hear a little penis envy?

M.M. was supposed to work tonight but got her shift covered this morning. I'd tell you what she does, but she'd cut off my balls and feed them to me and then where would I be. Kind of interesting that she doesn't mind me showing pictures of her in drag but doesn't want people to know what she does.

She didn't get home until late and then lesbian friends came over to get power tools. It was kind of scary. All those drills and hammers and things. You could do real damage if you didn't know what you were doing. So once they had gathered their tools, we headed out to dinner. Now, I wish I remember where we went for chow cause it was great. The food was delicious and even better were the margaritas. And were they ever strong. I had one and a half and I am still feeling the effects three hours later.

The best part of the evening though was getting to spend time with M.M. and her girlfriend L.M. M.M. and I have known each other for 11 years this month. And we have had lots of adventures together. She has sat with me thru 2.5 break-ups. Dealt with me getting arrested (a story for another time), gone to Europe with me twice, driven cross country with me twice, visited me in San Diego, Cincinnati, and New York, loaned me money, yelled at me when I needed it (the Grand Canyon doesn't count) and been there for me whenever I have needed it. She has always been supportive and loving and if she's judgmental she's never shown it. We talk about everything. From why our families are insane to why we can't marry our spouses.

Tonight we shared many of these stories with L.M. Although they have been together for three years, because of our schedules and L.M.'s fear of flying, L.M. and I have only met face to face once before. She is a great person, and I think she realizes how lucky she is to have M.M in her life, which makes me happy cause I love M.M. more than life itself. So tonight M.M. and I shared stories with L.M. from our past. The story of getting kicked out of a hotel in Paris for coming in drunk. The night M.M.'s ex-girlfriend decided to confide in me that she hated gay men and all they stood for. Our experience visiting the nations/worlds? tallest cross. Our one and only fight that took place in the Grand Canyon after we were out of water and panicking about getting out of the place alive. Our landlord (how we met) that we both took to court to get our deposits back and how the judge laughed at him even though he was an attorney.

I could bore you with more. But tonight at dinner we shared these stories with L.M. and reminded each other why it is we love one another. She is one of the most beautiful, giving, wonderful people that I have ever met and I count myself lucky each day that she is my friend.

So when I finally let her read this I want her to know how much I love her and how glad I am she talked me into coming to Portland before I moved to Maine.

Is Diet Coke really bad for you?

As most of you know I am currently in Portland, Maine visiting my best friend M.M. and her girl friend L.M. I am actually not a bad house guest. I sleep until after they leave for work, get up, shower and get out the door without bothering anything in the house. I am gone until they get back from work. We have dinner, I play on the internet, and go to bed. That's been my schedule since I got here on Sunday. Except for one little request. I asked M.M. to get me some Caffeine Free Diet Coke in the can.

It's been the only thing I have asked for since I got here and M.M. was happy to oblige. L.M. on the other hand not so much. She is convinced that Diet Coke is the devil and that I am currently working on a brain tumor the size of Rhode Island. Now, I have to admit that I drink a lot of it. For the past three years there have been very few times that any of my friends have seen me without a Diet Coke. Usually it's in fountain form since that is my favorite. The place of purchase varies depending on who's selling it cheaper. McDonald's. 7-11. Jack In the Box. I like me some Diet Coke.

Since being in Maine, although I have had a fair amount not nearly as much as I usually drink. But this doesn't appease L.M. She scorns and lectures whenever I open a can. She stopped at Wendy's yesterday so that I could buy something to drink and shrieked when the cashier gave me my Biggie size Diet Coke. I finally had to ask her to drive a way since both the Cashier and I were getting embarrassed.

Now my real question is: Should she really make a big deal about it? She's been known to smoke one or two cigarettes. More than one or two on Monday. We had a whole conversation tonight about the drugs she's done in the past. My standard response whenever anyone makes a big deal about my Diet Coke is that I could always be doing heroin, or coke, or crystal meth, or crack. You get the idea. Granted too much of anything is not good for you. But there are far worse things I could be doing.

For today, I am not willing to give it up. It makes me happy and I like it. And think how fat I'd be if I had the same amount of soda in the sugared variety. I'd weigh 8,000 pounds. So how do I convince her that it's okay for me to drink Diet Coke and that she should really not make such a big deal about it? Or do I just ignore her until Tuesday when I leave for New York?

This past weekend RcktMan's father passed away. I don't really know much about him because I have only been reading his posts for a very short time. What I do know is that losing a loved one is never easy. Today he blogged about the intense loss he felt and suddenly the grief I felt when my own father passed away was brought home.

My father passed away on May 17, 2003. He and my mom were eating lunch in the kitchen when he slumped over in his chair. The doctors told my mom later that he was probably dead before he hit the table and no amount of speed on her part in calling 911 or speed in the paramedics responding would have helped at all. One minute he was there. One minute he wasn't. I remember the day as if it were yesterday.

I had spent the night at my boyfriend's house and needed to go home and change. I remember my cell phone beeping that I had message as I got off the subway but I didn't check it right away. I went home, showered, changed clothes and was packing some things to take back to his house when I thought to check my messages. There was a message from my brother telling me to call home, that Dad was sick and had been taken to the hospital.

I must give you some background here. In 2000 my mother suffered a heart attack. I didn't get the message about her being ill until the next morning and the message my brother had left on my home voice mail was "Jeff, mom's had a heart attack and is in the hospital." Click, nothing. The voice mail said it was from 10 p.m. the night before. There were no follow-up calls. Nothing about what hospital she was in, how she was doing...nothing. It was now almost 12 hours later and I had no idea what was going on. This was before we all had cell phones, and I ended up calling 5 hospitals before I discovered what hospital she was in. Needless to say I was pissed. I didn't speak to my brother for weeks after this happened.

So when I got the message from my brother about my father I was a little annoyed that there wasn't more information. So I called my brother. His boyfriend (He's gay too.) answered the phone. I asked how my father was and there was a long pause and then Jerry said, "He's gone." I hung up. I couldn't cope. I couldn't comprehend what I had just heard. I went to my living room and I sat down on the couch numb. I wanted to crawl into a hole. I didn't know what to do. So I called my friend D.C. who had just lost his father. I wanted someone to tell me what to do. Of course no one was answering, not even my boyfriend D.L.C.

Finally, I called my brother back and I got the details. He told me what he knew and then gave the phone to my mother. I calmed her as best I could, told her that I would be home as soon as I could and hung up. It was then that I lost it. I went back to the living room sat on the couch and cried until the phone rang.

The rest of the week is a blur. I don't remember much of it at all. I know that D.L.C. went home with me and we got there that night. I remember the next day was spent making arrangements. The next day was visitation and the next day was the funeral. But the details are gone. I put myself on auto-pilot to get thru the long days ahead. It wasn't until after the funeral was over, all of his affairs put into order and I was back home that I really started to grieve. I was standing in D.L.C.'s apartment and I started to cry and sob hysterically. I cried for what seemed like hours.

I still miss my Dad. We had had a love/hate relationship while I was growing up. But had come to an understanding of each other in the past few years and actually enjoyed each other's company. I still wish that I had gotten to say good-bye. I wish that he had lived to see me finish my graduate degree. I wish a lot of things.
The one good thing that has come out of his dying though is that I truly treasure my mother. She drives me crazy sometimes but I realize that our time together is limited so even though I don't always feel like it, I call her several times a week. And I let her be as much a part of my life as she wants to be. When it's time to say good-bye to my mother I don't want any regrets.

Happy 4th of July. What a great day to celebrate our freedom. Of course this is assuming that a couple of years from now we'll still be free what with everything our government is doing to keep us down these days. That's enough though. I promised myself I wouldn't get all bitchy today, since it is a holiday celebrating our country.

My 4th was mostly a waste. Slept until noon, which I needed after last nights events that included drinking most of the day. Met up with my friend M.M. and her friends who were cleaing up S.'s garage. Then walked down to where the water was supposed to be, but the fog was so heavy you couldn't see across the street, let alone the water. Ate some lunch, walked the dog, ate some more and then just as we walking down to get a place to watch the fireworks the skys opened and it began to pour. So much for the festivities. The rain however didn't last long so we walked down to the water, ate some dinner purchased at a "street vendor" then decided that although the fireworks would be fun, it wasn't worth braving the west nile virus we were surely catching from the attach of the mosquitos. Ended up at a M. and E.'s house where we watched Munich. We were about half way thru when the explosions from the fireworks began and so we stopped the movie and discovered that we could see most of the display from their yard. So we watched the celebration, called it a night and came home. Of course by then M. M.M.'s dog was a mess. The explosions scared the shit out of her and she'll probably be on Prozac by the end of the week.

One of the things I did today was download my pictures from the drag show last night. So I promised you a few and so here you go. Please let me know what you think about the boys. They worked hard and the show was great. If you've never seen a drag king show, I highly recommend checking one out.

I'm a little tipsy. We have been drinking since about 1:30 this afternoon. We consists of M.M. and her friends D., D. and S. I don't know their last names since they are my brand new B.F.F.'s. For anyone just tuning in I am in Portland, Maine visiting my best friend M.M. and she and her friends had decided that a good way to celebrate the 4th was to put on a drag king show. So today that just what we did.

I was brought in to do lights and sound. Lights I know about...sound not so much. But I promised to do my best. After getting up at 7 a.m. to start my day, we ended up running around till just after lunch getting all of the things we needed for a drag king show. This involves fake hair for beards and moustaches, ace bandages to bind their chests, jock straps to hold their fake penis's, and mucho, mucho alcohol.

With all of our items in tow, we went back to the house they were performing at, and sat up. We installed some lights to light the stage, figured out the best place to put the sound system and then started a run thru. We ran thru the whole show start to finish and were able to work out any last minute issues. Then home it was to shower and change then back to finish setting up.

About 40 - 50 people actually came to see the show which was a great relief since the girls spent the afternoon panicking that no one was coming. The show started at 8:30 and the audience loved it from the beginning. I don't think some of them knew how to behave. Was tipping appropriate? Could they touch? Was screaming and general obnoxious yelling okay. As the evening wore on, the reservations became less an issue and everyone started really having a good time.

Overall, it was a huge success. And already there has been talk of BBQ Theatre's next production. Hopefully, with any luck I'll be able to come back up and work on that as well. Anyway, I am a little tipsy since I have been drinking for 12 hours, but I promise that I'll post pics in the next day or so of the show and you all can let me know what you think.

I am no longer a San Diego resident. At 1:00 p.m. my plane taxied down the runway and took off. So long dudes.

I am now in Portland, Maine after flying all day. It was really uneventful. All my flights were on time, I actually got to Portland 15 minutes early and so here I am.

I don't really have much to say tonight. I am tired and I have been told that I have to be up early in the morning to help set up for a little gathering that's taking place tomorrow evening at a neighbors house. My best friend M.M. is a lesbian. Living in Maine. Wearing flannel. With a short hair cut. No stereotype here, nope no way.

Anyway, she and several of her friends have decided to put together a Drag King show. Yes, women dressed as men, lip syncing songs. If you haven't ever seen a Drag King show, they are hysterical. I have laughed my ass off everytime. It even involves putting money in risque places. So now think Judy Garland and Andy Rooney. I have a garage let's put on a play. So the girls/guys are having a party in a garage with a stage and lights (that's where I come in) and tomorrow at 8:00 p.m. the curtain goes up on the show and they are expecting a crowd of about 50.

However, on my first day of vacation I have been told to be downstairs at 9:00 a.m. sharp to begin my day. There is equipment to pick up and set up. The is rehearsal to be done. There is a sound system to be figured out. There's booze to buy.

Since I am a boy and can't lift heavy things you can probably figure out what I have to do. I have to figure out if the stage configuration works. I have to set up the lights. I'll probably even end up cutting up fruit for the Sangria that's being made for the event. And the best part, I am running sound for the show, which means I can't get drunk until after the last person performs...maybe.

I hope this doesn't sound like I don't want to play. I can hardly wait. It sounds like the show is going to be a blast based on what I have heard so far. And I would do anything M.M. asked of me, so there's that. And well, plain and simple it just sounds fun. Not to mention, by this time tomorrow night I plan on being well into tipsy.

So wish me luck that I don't make any mistakes running the show and get beaten up by a lesbian who's pissed off that I played the wrong song at the wrong time. And wish me luck thaq I am not too drunk to blog about all of this tomorrow. Perhaps if I can get their permission, I'll post some pictures to show you what I am talking about.

This is it. My last night in San Diego as a resident. My belongings are all in storage, my suitcases are packed and tomorrow at 12:35 I board a plane for the east coast. I have been contemplating how I feel about all of this all day. It's not really sad. San Diego has never been "home". It's just been a place where I lived, worked, went to school, and played. But it wasn't home. That's not to say I won't miss it, but it's really about the people I've met here and not the place itself.

The only place that's ever seemed like home was New York. When I moved there in 1998, I immediately knew that I was where I was supposed to be. It was a hot, beautiful September morning and I had driven all night. I pulled up in front of my new apartment and said this is it...I am home. And I knew it. I am hoping I have the same experience this time.

So I said goodbye to the few people that are still in town today. Saw a play several of my friends worked on. Met B.Y. for drinks at Bourbon Street. Went out for appetizers with A.N., J.T., L.P., and C.A. And now it's time for bed.

So when I talk to you guys tomorrow night I'll be in Maine and it'll be the beginning of my life on the east coast.

Have a great Sunday.

I woke up today as tired as I was when I went to bed. I felt as though I had been beaten with a bat and left for dead. Unfortunately, my day did not allow for me to stay in bed so up and at 'em I went.

I had a million things to do today:

Return the cable box. This was as bad as the DMV. I had to take a number and then wait half an hour. It was in the middle of no where, and it's funny, one of the reasons I have been saying I want to leave San Diego is because it's not very diverse. We have whites, Mexicans, and Asians. There are only about 3 black people in the whole city, and I went to school with all three of them. Except, I discovered today, it's not that there are no black people it's just that they are all kept south of the 94. Who knew.

Return the bolt cutters. I had a storage closet above my parking space and for the life of me I could not find the key that fit the lock. So I borrowed bolt cutters from school and Wednesday night at 2 a.m. I ripped the lock off the door. Notice I didn't say cut the lock. The cutters ripped the latch right off the door. There goes my deposit. I really wished I had just left the stuff behind there was absolutely nothing I needed.

Returning the bolt cutters required going to school, so while I was there I picked up the last of my belongings and turned in my keys. I am no longer a grad student in San Diego. It might have been sad if anyone had been around but the place was deserted.

Mail my printer to NYC. Spent 30 bucks mailing my printer to New York so that I can print resumes when I get there and perhaps find a job. It would have almost been just as cheap to buy a new one.

Buy a new digital camera. I wanted a new camera that was small enough to fit in my pocket that I could throw in my backpack and not worry constantly about. So off I go to Best Buy to by the camera. And then to Costco. Then to Best Buy. Then to Costco. Then to Best Buy. Then to Costco. I knew when I started the day what I wanted so I went to Best Buy, checked out the price discovered it was no longer on sale. Went to Costco bought the camera, but they were out of memory. Went to Best Buy to buy memory and was told by the cute camera boy that my choice might not have been the best one. Went back to Costco to see if they had the better choice. When back to Best Buy to get a second opinion and then ultimately bought the recommended choice. It came backed by not one but two cute Best Buy camera boys. So at this point I own two camera, which required one last trip back to Costco to return the original camera.

There is a point to all of this so please keep reading. So as I said I started the day tired. So tired I ran a red light on the way to the cable company and almost rear-ended another person. I felt like I was driving drunk. So on my last trip to Best Buy at 4:30 I was talking to my best friend M.M. We were discussing my trip on Sunday to Maine to see her, her psychotic girlfriend that she loves very much but is driving her crazy, my camera escapades, and life. So in the midst of this phone call I realize that I have to pee. So I head toward the restroom and am finishing up the call. As I am saying goodbye I have walked up to the urinal. I unzip, tell M.M. I love her and begin to pee. Except, I haven't pulled my dick out. I immediately feel warm water trickling down my leg and freak. Luckily, I have loose fitting shorts on so the pee missed the short but really soaked my boxers and made a mess on the floor. I was/am so embarrassed. How could I pee and forget to take my dick out of my pants. The best part was, I was on the wrong side of town to go home and change, I had half an hour to pick up my friend J.G. for dinner, and my boxers were soaked. So I spent the next couple of hours sitting in wet underwear hoping the heat didn't cause them to start to smell. It was really quite disgusting.

So I think I should get to bed now, so I don't end up doing something far worse tomorrow.