I think I may have woken up my roommate last night laughing at this. I find Stephen Colbert entertaining but I rarely laugh out loud at his show. This was hysterical.


Colbert's DeLay Ad

Today was a better day. Not great but better. Actually felt like a real human being. I'll keep you guys posted as time passes.

Yesterday I was reading this blog about mistaking a butch lesbian for a guy. Which reminded me about the time I met my friend M.M.'s roommate M.

M.M. lived in Chicago for a number of years. I would visit as often as I could. I loved the city, the night life and spending time with M.M. After living there a couple of years she decided to get a roommate. It was several months after M. moved in that I came to visit. The night I got there M.M. and I went out and I got more than a little tipsy. We stumbled into the apartment in the wee hours of the morning and I passed out on the couch.

Several hours later I was awakened by someone moving around in the room. I rolled over and standing in the foyer with their back to me was the cutest little boy I had ever seen. He was about 5'4" with short cropped hair and tight little body and from what I could see he was tying a tie. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why there was a boy in M.M.'s living room, but I dismissed it and went back to sleep.

Several hours and a hangover later both M.M. and I pulled ourselves out of bed. As we were sitting sipping coffee I mentioned to her that there was a boy in her living room this morning and I wondered if maybe M.M.'s roommate wasn't as much of a lesbian as she professed. She looked a little panicked but I told her he wasn't stealing anything but was just getting dressed. At this point she didn't believe me, so I described what he looked like. She then began to laugh. She then got up and went in to her roommate's bedroom and brought back a picture. I was stunned and couldn't believe it. Her roommate was who I had seen that morning. She looked just like a 19/20 year old boy.

Of course M.M. couldn't let it rest there. She had to share the story with her roommate and the two of them spent the weekend jokingly trying to fix me up with their other butch lesbian friends. To this day when I see M. the roommate she reminds me of the story and we get a huge laugh out of it. And just for the record she still looks like a hunk of a boy when she is standing with her back to you.

For the past three weeks I have been in a funk. I have told myself that it's dealing with all of the transition that's been going on in my life. In the past few months I have graduated from grad school, moved cross country, lost my health insurance, left my friends and support, sold my car, put all of my belongings in storage thus I am living out of two suitcases for the moment. I am sure if I thought about it I could think of 25 other things that I have been dealing with since graduation.

My response to these changes has been to sleep a lot. When I say a lot, I mean a lot. On Monday I didn't get out of bed until 3:30 p.m. This has been the norm since I arrived in New York. I get up around 10:00 or so. Check my email, read the news online, see who's posted on their blog, then go back to bed until the early afternoon. This really wouldn't be much of a problem if I were independently wealthy. But the truth is my savings is dwindling and I am no closer to having a job in NYC than I was a year ago.

Today I helped out on a show that I am doing in San Diego at the beginning of September but the catch there is that I am not under contract for this part of the work so I don't get paid. Granted I will learn a lot, and I am kind of looking at it as an unpaid internship. And at least it got me out of bed today. Unfortunately by noon I was looking at my watch hoping that I would be told I was finished for the day. Don't get me wrong what I was doing today is something I love to do...I just wasn't feeling it.

That's been my mantra for the past several days. I am just not feeling it. I am not feeling like working. I am not feeling like walking. I am not feeling like eating healthy. Basically I just don't care. Tonight on the subway I realized that all this amounts to...I'm depressed.

This doesn't come as a surprise. Depression has run rampant in my family my whole life, and I have been treated for it for the past 6 or 7 years. I actually had an amazing doctor when I was in NYC the first time (recommended by a good friend) that worked with me to get me on drugs that actually helped for the first time. I was actually put on a series of drugs that worked in tandem to help, and for the first time in my life I felt like a normal person.

I continued taking these drugs while I was in school under the guidance of a doctor in San Diego. Nice doctor but he was not Doctor B. Unfortunately, I graduated from school. For those of you who are not aware of it, every student enrolled in a college or university is required to have health insurance. You can either provide it yourself or the university provides it for you. It's not the best coverage but it's better than nothing and it covered my prescriptions. Well sort of. I ended up paying about 125 bucks a month but it was better than not having coverage at all.

So since I graduated, I haven't had health insurance. Yeah for Universal Healthcare. But I digress. Since I didn't have insurance, I talked to my doctor and we decided that the best thing to do would be to wean myself off all but one of them, the one that has done the most good. So that's what I have done. Since mid-April I have only taken one drug a day. Of course I don't know how long that one will last either since it's more than 300 bucks a month for just the one prescription.

I stopped taking the drugs. I got depressed. And now what the fuck do I do? I have called Doctor B. in NYC but he's on vacation this week, so nothing will happen for a week or so. The real problem is the money though. I don't have the money to see the doctor and I certainly don't have the money to get my other prescriptions filled. And I don't have the money for therapy which is always recommended while being treated for depression. Am I just going to have to suffer through this?

This is where I am today. Who knows what tomorrow (it 1:00 a.m. right now) will bring. I do know that I am working again tomorrow (for free) so at least I'll have to get out of bed and function as a real person. And I know that I can continue to talk about it on here and just having any outlet helps. I guess I'll just have to wait and see.

Thanks for listening.

I use BlogRolling to tell me when the blogs I read have been updated so that I don't spend time wading through the ones that haven't. However, I just discovered that it only shows the blogs from Blogspot, not the blogs that are attached to someone's personal website. Is there a way to fix this?

Tomorrow will mark the two month anniversary of my starting to blog. I am still amazed that I can think of things to write. Which brings me to today's post.

I was on the train home at 12:30 tonight, thinking about what I would post. I have lot's of ideas about things to write but many of them are super personal and I don't know if I yet feel comfortable sharing my whole life here. I am sure it will get a little easier as time goes on but for now that's how I feel. Which brought me to why I started the blog in the first place.

I started reading blogs back in February, when I happened upon Scott-O-Rama's blog while doing an image search for Mike Piazza, the baseball player who played for the Mets but was traded to San Diego. If you don't know what he looks like you should Google him, cause he's hot, hot, hot! I began reading Scott's blog and through his blog began reading blogs he links to, which led me to other blogs and now I have a nice collection of people I follow day to day. They are like mini soap operas only they are real which is far more interesting.

As I read, I discovered that everyone used their blog for different purposes. Some posted their daily routines so friends could keep up with them. Others posted political rants about the Bush Regime. And still others used their blogs as journals posting thoughts and feelings and problems for others to see and comment on. These were the blogs that interested me most. I found them compelling and interesting, and I found myself completely taken by a few people who were posting their deepest darkest secrets.

I used to journal religiously. Every night I would write about my day, what I was going through, my secret crushes, and my secret life that no one knew about. I did this for years. And then in 2001 I moved to Brooklyn. I journaled there as well. Only what I didn't know was that my roommate was reading it. I only found out because one night we were drinking and watching movies and the drunker he got the more he talked. While in the middle of a long winded speech, he suddenly ask me about something I had never told anyone. When I questioned how he knew he admitted to having read my journal. I played off my anger. If you knew J.A. you'd understand that it would have been useless to get angry especially when he is drunk, which turned out to be most of the time.

I felt violated knowing that he had read some of the things that I had written. That night, I hid my journal away so that he couldn't find it and that was the last time I wrote. Since then I let things play out in my head and keep them to myself. That is until I started blogging. I realized from reading on line that perhaps an online journal might be the answer I was looking for. I could post on line, and I wouldn't have to worry about hiding it because it would be there for the world to read. I could remain somewhat anonymous. At least I like to think that, so if any of you know who I am don't tell me, I want to live in my bubble.

So now I write here. I tell you guys what I am thinking. I share my story with you. And hopefully I will reveal my deep dark secrets that will allow me to let them go and move on with my life. In the meantime, I will keep you posted on what's going on in my life and I'll listen as you guys share your experiences and thru all of this I hope to become a better person.

As I post, you'll come to realize that there are a number of things that cause me anxiety. For the most part I figured this out long ago and have learned to deal with it. I just wrote about my battle with claustrophobia. I just take deep breaths and tell myself that I am not trapped and everything will be okay. Of course my worst fear in the world is waking up from some horrible accident and finding myself strapped to a gurney. I know the odds of this happening are not great but I think about it.

So another thing that causes me anxiety is being late. I am habitually early to everything. If you tell me to meet you at 7:30 for dinner, I'll probably be there at 7:15 and sometimes it'll even be 7:00. I have to work at not showing up for parties at the time they start. I know intellectually that a party that starts at 9:00 translates to 10:30. But my body doesn't work that way. Why would you tell me to show up at 9:00 if you didn't mean it.

This little anxiety of mine is rarely a problem for me. I am never late getting to the airport, I was never late for class, I always make doctor's appointments, and my jobs have always loved me because they knew that if I am more than a few minutes late something was definitely wrong. Sometimes when I am running late, usually because of the trains or traffic, I have to tell myself that it's out of my control and just let it go. This works 90% of the time unless it really is that airport then my heart starts to pound and I sweat and really have to work to stay calm. The catch there is that we are supposed to get to the airport 2 hours in advance these days so late for me means an hour and 45 minutes in advance.

As I said, my being early is not a problem for me. I know that I'll have to wait, and that's just the way it is. The catch is that I really like for my friends to be on time. I accept that they probably won't be early, but if you say 7:00, then you should mean 7:00. It causes me almost as much anxiety for other people to be late as it does me. Is it really that hard to get to a restaurant at the prescribed time. I should mention here that I usually let others pick the time so it works for them. I'll be early anyway so it doesn't matter to me. And yet I have friends who couldn't be on time if their life depended on it.

My friend S.G. was late to every meeting we ever had. Dinner. Theatre. Parties. Movies. It got so toward the end of our friendship (It ended not because he was late but for a variety of other reasons that I'll tell you about later.) that I knew that if dinner was planned for 8:00 not to show until 8:45 because he wouldn't be there until 9:00. My best friend M.M.'s ex-girlfriend once met us for the theatre at intermission. She was so habitually late that she missed about 75% of all the flights that she booked. I finally had to explain to M.M. that although I loved her I wouldn't make plans with the two of them again.

So why do I bring this up. I was at an event that had a speaker tonight. The event started at 8:30 which is somewhat late for a Sunday night. And yet there were people showing up all the way up to 9:00. I just don't understand it. How difficult is it to look at a piece of paper, see what time something starts and then get your ass there in a timely fashion. At one point I was unable to listen to the speaker because I was so distracted by the people coming in late. I wanted to...I wanted to kill them. But I knew that wasn't very neighborly so I sat there and tried to focus and reminded myself that it really was about my anxiety and not about their being late. That is except for the guy who entered the room, looked around, left and then came back 5 minutes later. Him I wanted to kill.

I realize that based on my post from a couple of days ago you might think that I don't like riding the subway. That is far from the truth. I actually enjoy riding the subway and am amazed at the breakdown in class that occurs when you take the first step down into a subway station.

For the most part in NYC unless you belong to the very wealthy elite it's impossible to exist without the aid of the subway. With both buses and subways combined the MTA moves more than 7.5 million people each day. We rank 4th in the world for most passengers moved per year. It's truly a grand experiment in the human condition. Once you swipe your subway card and head into the depths of the city several stories below street level, you leave behind the material world that represents you. There is no first class seating. There is no special rope to keep the less desirables from your part of the train. Everyone is equal.

This is what I admire. I sit (or stand if it's crowded) and watch the people around me. How they react to each other. Do they acknowledge each other? Do they ignore everyone around them. Do they talk in a whisper or with no regard for who's listening? How they sit. Do the sit with their legs crossed? Are they open and inviting? Are their belongings and clothing pulled tight around them as if in fear? How they stand. Do they hold on? Are they brave or do they clutch to the bars around them? Do they read? Is it the paper or the latest best seller. I notice many times they are reading books to learn the English language. Do they listen to music. More people listen now with Ipods than I remember from before. But I have noticed people recently that still listen to cassette players.

And of course I notice how they are dressed. Are the clothes loose fitting and comfortable? Tight and sexy? Gang related? Target? Macy's? Saks? Bergdorf's? Or from the homeless shelter?

Time of day also plays a big part of the experiment. Are people on their way to work? A night club? The theatre? Home? Dinner? The Park? Or are they riding because they have no place else to go?

I could sit and ride for hours. Often I will take the local train because it takes longer and affords more time people watching. People live on the subway. They take it to work. They sleep in the corner. They greet friends they run into on their way home. They fight over who gets the seat. Get off of my foot! Get out of my way!

In all the time that I have been riding I have never seen more than a shouting match and for the most part people live and let live. Occasionally you'll get the homeless man or the drunk teen that decides it can also be used as a urinal. And there was once the man who was masturbating at 4 a.m. But he was cute so I didn't mind. And the people who throw their trash onto the floor of the car.

For me it's learning to be compassionate. And understanding. And open to listening. And to be a better person. That's why I never mind shelling out my fare. I figure it's the least I can do for 30 minutes of instruction on how to treat my fellow man. Plus, every once in a while you get the little old man who plays the trumpet, or the break dancing teens, or the singing trio that entertains you while you make your journey thru life.

I was reading the news today online and discovered there's a new "gay" fad out there that no one told me about. According to this news story Guy Adams an organizer for the conservative group Renew America says that the newest trend in Chicago is having sex...with infants. Seems the perversion that is homosexuality is like an addiction and we will eventually have to move on to something else. Animals. Sex in the streets. Infants.

Although I don't doubt there are people out there who abuse infants. You'll be hard pressed to show me a gay man that wants to have sex with someone whose penis doesn't exist yet. I don't mind small dicks, but I would draw the line there. All joking aside, I am amazed at the crap that is attributed to the gay population to incite hatred toward us. If people actually believed everything said about us we would surely have been rounded up and thrown in prison years ago.

Of course there is no evidence to support this claim. There never is. They make this stuff up because they know that if they can convince just one more person to hate us then their job is done. What surprises me is that they continue to get air time. If I went on the air and said this same thing about any other minority group people would be up in arms yelling for my head on a pike. But because it's just us gays, it doesn't matter because what do you expect from a bunch of sick perverts

I think the part of the story today that bothered me the most was that Adams dismissed the contributions to society by gay people. He responded by saying what contributions? AIDS, Pornography? I am amazed at how many people don't realize the great accomplishments that have been made by "gay" people. I know I am preaching to the choir, but in my own little world I believe that everyone contributes to society in some way, shape, or form. Everyone has a purpose and it's up to them to discover their value no matter how small or insignificant they think it is. And to have anyone discount that contribution is doing a disservice to everyone.

Seems our new cable modem was not very happy. It was so unhappy that it decided not to work. So once again, no blog posting last night. But it's all fixed today, so I am back.

I have been claustrophobic most of my life. For the most part I have dealt with it without thinking much about it. Growing up about the only time it was a real issue was riding rollercoasters. I love them, but hated being strapped in. It takes all of my concentration not to freak out waiting for the ride to start and at the end waiting to be released. I also have an aunt who as a teenager babysat my cousins and me and thought it was funny to tie us up. I became so violent that she usually gave up before she could get me tied up.

What I have noticed is recently I seem to be more aware of it. When I get into an elevator I am conscience of how many people are on it, whether it appears to be working properly and I think to myself how will I deal with this if the power goes out and I am stuck. I've started taking the stairs more often using the comment that I am just trying to lose weight. But I am starting to wonder.

The one place that I am definitely aware of being claustrophobic is the subway. I get my train at the beginning of it's journey headed downtown, so when I get on it's usually empty. I always try to get a seat next to the doors and never sit next to someone else. By the time we make a couple of stops the subway begins to fill up. This is when my praying starts. I say little prayers that no one sits next to me. I eye the people who are getting on and hope against all hope that they sit elsewhere.

Before I moved to my new apartment I usually just stood. I don't feel as trapped and feel as though I can move around as necessary. When I'm seated I feel trapped. I feel like it would be rude to get up when someone sits next to me so there I am jammed into my seat waiting for my stop so that I will have an excuse to get up. This doesn't seem like such a big deal but it causes me great anxiety and I fear that it will only get worse and eventually I won't be able to ride the train at all.

One of the reasons I hate being trapped is that many people on the trains are oblivious to what they are doing and the discomfort they are causing. You would be surprised at the number of "large" people who try to squeeze into seats that were designed for people much smaller. Or they arrive with all of their luggage and pile it in front of you. Or perhaps they behave like the man I was mesmerized by on my trip home last night.

I have friends scattered all over the city. One couple I know from school have started inviting people over to watch Project Runway. It's a great time, but it takes me two trains and about an hour and a half to get home. Last night as I boarded my second train I watched a very overweight man push his way onto the train and claim a seat beside a 20 something girl. Subways have two different types of seating. One style is just a bench on either side that seats 6 to 7 people. The other style seats 5 people on an "L" shaped seating configuration. This is where he was sitting. He had the girl beside him and an middle age guy in front of him. When he got on the train he had an over stuffed backpack with him and he almost hit the girl in the head getting into his seat. Just watching him force his way into a seat much to small for him with his huge bag that didn't fit sent me into waves of panic.

But that was just the beginning. He couldn't sit still. He was also carrying a plastic bag and he kept moving it around, taking objects out then putting them back. Then he took out his newspaper and started to read. That lasted 45 seconds and then he got into his backpack. Then he changed pages on his paper and read some more, then the plastic bag some more, then the back pack. The entire time he's doing this he keeps elbowing the young girl in the back. She is visibly upset, but she tolerates it. He's also hitting the guy in front on him in the head with the paper. Finally the seat in front of him opens up and he only spreads out more. This continues for the next hour.

The entire event made me realize even more why I don't like being trapped. I see people like this guy on the train everyday. The subway has been provided to serve them and only them. No one else matters and we are mere inconveniences they have to tolerate. Even trying to remember the events make me start to get anxious. I'm really going to have to start working on this if I am going to continue to ride the subway. Perhaps I should just always stand. I'm perfectly fine then and have no anxieties.

I will finish with this. When the 20 something girl finally got off, I realized that while the old man had been sitting there he had completely undone his pants. His belt was opened, his pants were unfastened, and his zipper down. He wasn't exposing himself, but it was completely inappropriate. It's almost as if he thought he was in his living room. Just before his stop he did up his pants gathered his belongings and got off the train. I will also add that this happens to to be my stop, so I will almost definitely see him again.

It seems like months since I posted. Especially since I have some serious guilt about not doing this everyday, and since I don't want to lose the few readers I have I think it's important to post as often as I can.

I do have a good excuse though. I posted my rant on tipping last week and then went off to have dinner at my favorite restaurant in NYC, City Hall. My friend M.L. and I have been trading voice mails for what seems like forever and in the course of the voice mails he's been promising to make time to have dinner. Sounds easy right? Not so for him. He splits his time between the two coasts. One or two weeks in California (not San Diego), One or two weeks in New York, depending on his work requirements. It also didn't help that for most of the time I've been back in NYC he's been on vacation in France. So we had finally agreed on Thursday and since he was already going to be in the Financial District why not meet there.

I at first said no to City Hall, because it seemed a little fancy for a catch-up dinner and I hadn't ironed a shirt since I left to come east so i wasn't sure what I was going to wear. He finally persuaded me and we agreed to meet in the bar at 6:00. I got there and it was as great as I remembered it. I can't really explain why I like it so much but I think it has more to do with the occasions that have spent there rather than the restaurant itself. M.L. and I have celebrated many occasions there and it represents the good times in our relationship. That being said, the restaurant is damn good. The service was perfect. The food was perfect. The wine was perfect. The dessert was perfect. The coffee and after dinner drinks were perfect. It was a great evening.

We finished dinner and I started my journey home. I was in a great mood when I got off the subway and was walking home. I checked my messages and had one from my friend S.H. I called him back and he was just passing my street in a cab. I persuaded him to get out at my place and that we could go the gay bar down the street and have a beer. Well one beer became two and two became four and the next thing you know it's late and I'm drunk. We finally left after I bumped the two inch by two inch square they called a table and I knocked an empty beer bottle to the floor where of course it shattered. I stumbled home a very happy, tipsy camper.

Friday morning was awful. I had to be up early to go to C.Z. and mine's new apartment for delivery and istallation of our new air conditioners. I got to the empty apartment that was about 10,000 degrees, opened all the windows and fell asleep on the hardwood floors using my backpack as a pillow. Of course the delivery wasn't at the beginning of the time frame. The air conditioners landed on our doorstep about 3 hours into my nap. But wait there's more. Turns out the guy delivering them doesn't install them. I have to wait some more. So I go back to sleep and wait almost two more hours before the guys come and install the units. Only wait, the large unit for our huge living area won't fit in the window. It's about an eighth of an inch too big. So after pushing and shoving they finally admit that there's no way to make it work. They leave and I get on the phone with my roommate who has a friend who's husband works at one of the big electronic retail stores in the city to see if they can arrange to deliver a smaller unit and take away the big one. By now my day is almost gone.

Friday night, is spent moving a lot of small items to our new apartment to make ready for the big move on Saturday. But before I get home Friday night, the internet at my apartment is officially disconnected. So not only did I not get to blog on Friday night I didn't even get to tell you what happened. To make a long story short, which I realize is about 5 paragraphs too late, we moved on Saturday, and the new air conditioner was brought today, and the cable guy also dropped by and now we have Project Runway and internet service. By the way, the cable guy looked exactly like what my fantasy of the cable guy looked like except that when he was finished hooking things up he didn't strip to cool down a little.

That's it. I am in my new apartment in the Northern Regions of Manhattan. It's great. It's two or more times bigger than the initial apartment and the rent is the same. The only thing now is for me to fly to San Diego and get my belongings and drive them back to New York City so that we can finally begin to settle.

It feels good to be back.

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.