Tuesday, May 30, 2006

A.M. conversation

As Jaisen and I were getting up and dressed this morning to go to class, the following conversation took place (totally randomly):

Jaisen: You have some hot man waiting for you back in Austin?

Me: Uhh...no.

Jaisen: Are you gonna try to hook up with any Mexican dudes while you're here?

Me: I seriously doubt it.

Jaisen: Racist.

Me: Whatever. I've had sex with more Mexican dudes than you have. Plus, here, I
don't really know what the mores and stuff are. I'd be sorta scared to.

Jaisen: Yeah, it's a lot more taboo here. Plus it's harder, because everybody
looks.... (Jaisen trails off)

Me: Everybody looks gay? Cause they're all skinny and dress well?

Jaisen: Well, I was trying to think of a nicer way to put it.

At this point, Jaisen and I are both only about half-dressed, sharing a sink, while he brushes his teeth and I apply Neutrogena facial moisterizer with SPF. This is after having applied my eye and face stress gel.

Jaisen: At least it would be easier for you to actually do it, since you can have
other guys in the room.

Me: What about you? What if you walked in in the middle of it?

Jaisen: You could put a sign on the door: Having sex. Come back later.

Me: That would work.

Jaisen: Well, one of us should be getting laid.

So I guess I now officially have permission to have sex in the dorm room should the occasion ever arise. Good to know.

Monday, May 29, 2006

Lost in Translation

Anybody who wants to hear something funny should have been in my room this morning when the maid walked in to clean. They come in every morning around 8:30 or 9, and ever so gently rap on your door, then use their keys to just walk in. I guess there's no other way to do it, really, but almost every morning they've walked in on Jaisen and me still sleeping. (Last night he said we should sleep naked on top of the covers and see what they do. Well, if you insist....) Anyway, it was just funny listening to me try to tell the maid to come back in one hour, at 10:00, and that I needed towels. She spoke not a word of English, and I speak about 2 words of Spanish, so the conversation took about 4 times as long as it needed to.

A couple of nights ago we also discovered some kind of strange flashing red-light on our ceiling that appears to be a motion sensor. Neither of us can figure out what the hell it's for, so we decided it was probably a web-cam for hotgringos.com or something.

Me and Jaisen, posing for the web cam.

Last night we watched Like Water for Chocolate and I loved it!! It was so good, and it made me want to read the book. Our professor said he might let us write a short paper on the origins of the story for class, for one of our papers if we want to. Which might be fun. There's a very nice metaphor in the movie about how everyone has a matchbook inside of them, and something, or someone, has to come along eventually and light the matches for you, to light your fire inside, or else the matches get soggy and dissolve. But if the passion is too strong, all of your matches get lit all at once, and you quickly burn out.

And then after that, we watched The Rules of Attraction. Which has no meaningful metaphors.

Bunches of people started arriving last night, and campus is starting to feel more full of people. Classes start tomorrow. ¡Necesito el cafe, malo!

Sunday, May 28, 2006


Horsetail Falls

Yesterday we went to Horsetail Falls state Park, which was pretty stunning, except for if you hiked up the mountain behind the waterfall, there's fucking mounds of trash everywhere. It's really sad, but the place was beautiful. But I also had my first taste of churro, which made me want to live in a house made of churro all the time, so I could eat it, the rebuild it, then eat it again. I can't believe I'd never had it before, but everyone there said that the churro you get in Austin didn't compare to this churro.

Some girl, enjoying my churro. Also, not in Monterrey.

I also finally found some coffee this morning. I've been lamenting, nay, constantly whining, about the lack of coffee here, which I found shocking. You can get it in the cafeteria of the Tec, but it's from a Nescafe machine, and it's watery and tastes like toilet water. And there are no coffee shops. There are 2 Starbucks in this town of almost 4 million, but they're both in the rich part. I don't even need Starbucks, in fact I'd prefer not to have Starbucks, but give me something!! One of The Girls, Sandra, whose family is from Mexico, told me yesterday that coffee shops aren't something that middle or lower class Mexicans do. They might grind some in the morning for breakfast at their house, but that's it. Which would explain why there are no coffee shops in Monterrey. *Sad Face.*

Buy there is a chain of restaurants here called VIPS, that's just like Denny's, and there's one about a block from campus, so Jaisen (my roommate, and yes that's how he spells it) and I had breakfast there this morning and I finally got some coffee. And it was exquisite.

There are also a lot of other Texans on this trip. I met one the other day named Matt, who's a native Austinite, and judging by the looks of him, King of the Hipsters. He has not only a slight mullet, but also a rat-tail, that he braids, HUGE, dorky glasses, a scumstache, wears t-shirts that are 2 sizes too small, with the sleeves cut off, and rolls his pants halfway up his calves to show off his Sauconys. It's pretty extraordinary.

There are about 3 other Texans, however (I mean, there are a lot of Texans, actually, but these are the ones that stand out), that are ruining it for all of us, I swear. They're totally fat, beer-swilling, backwards baseball-cap wearing assholes. They call each other "fucking faggots" a lot, say things like, "Dude, you are so fucking gay!" and are otherwise very loud and obnoxious. I went into the TV room this morning while I was waiting on Jaisen to take a shower, and they left it totally trashed last night while watching some game. There were empty sodas, bags of snacks left laying around, and trash on the floor. I ended up cleaning it all up, partly because it grossed me out, and partly because I was embarassed for the maids to see it, lest they think all the spoiled Americans just leave all of their garbage everywhere for the maids to clean up. And the boys, of course, are from fucking Baylor. Explains a lot. Jaisen's funny because he first brought them to my attention, and pretty much refuses to be within 100 feet of them. We took 3 buses out to the falls yesterday, and he refused to be on any bus that contained the "Texans."

I'm ready for classes to start. There's not really a whole lot to do around here without pretty much striking out on your own, and most of us are too big of pussies to do that just yet. I actually started kind of feeling the disconnect yesterday for the first time and got pretty lonely last night. I ended up going out barhopping in the neighborhood around the campus for a couple of hours last night with all the St. Eds girls, just because I was really bored, but eventually they all took cabs down to the Barrio Antigua, and I didn't want to go. The Barrio Antigua is pretty cool, though. It's a huge bar/restaurant/nightclub district, but it's all in the old, colonial part of downtown. Most of the buildings and cobblestone streets were built very early 16th century. We went Friday night, though, to some club there, and I was pretty unimpressed. Except for all the security, which is insane. Huge, beefy dudes in suits; about 5 at every entrance and exit, and talk about getting frisked when you go in! They leave nothing untouched, believe me. They're not fuckin' around.

Barrio Antigua

Mine and Jaisen's suite-mate moved in last night, too. He seems cool, and is actually a local, from Monterrey, which is exciting. I really want to meet some locals and maybe have them show me/us around the city a bit. That seems like the way to do it. He said by Tuesday there would be people everywhere. Cool. The campus has been so empty these last few days. I'm glad more people are arriving.

Friday, May 26, 2006

We All Feel Better in the Dark

Earlier today I got quite a scare when I tried to withdraw money from the ATM, and it wouldn't let me. Of course stupid Bank of America froze my account as soon as they saw funds being withdrawn from Mexico, even though I had already given them a heads-up about it. It wasn't too much trouble to call them and tell them they were morons, but it freaked me out for a bit.

The Tec took us on a bus tour of Monterrey today that was nice. I already knew that it was the richest city in Mexico, but it also contains the richest neighborhood in Latin America, which they drove us through. It was nice, obviously, but honestly, I wasn't floored by the wealth or anything. Maybe we just didn't see enought of it or something. It seems like a fun place to go spend an afternoon rummaging around in the shopping, though.

On the tour, I sat next to Denise, one of The Girls. She's a tiny little Vietnamese girl that wears gigantic sunglasses and makes snide remarks about the general student body at St. Edwards ("It's mostly a bunch of really rich kids with daddy's credit cards, but they don't take showers, so they think they're cool.") We also got to talking about TV, and of course we both love Sex and the City. One of the other girls brought a bunch of the DVD's, so we decided we needed to start having a Sex and the City night once a week. There's a movie theater on the bottom floor of the dorm that you can reserve and watch whatvever you want on DVD, so maybe that would be a fun place to do it. My professor also brought a whole box load of DVD's I'm curious to thumb through.

For dinner a bunch of us went to this hamburger stand in the parking lot of strip mall about a block from campus, which was pretty tasty. I got to sit next to the really hot French guy that everyone's whispering about. After the course is over, he's traveling through Latin America for another 6 weeks, then going to New York, about which he is very excited. I told him he would love it, and that I'd never been to Paris, but that I'd heard they had a very similar feel. He looked at me skeptically and said, in his adorable broken English, "We will see."

Tonight we're going to another dance club, and then tomorrow it's >Horsetail Falls State Park. I'm very excited to do that!

All right, gotta run. The bus waits.

No Clever Title

So, ladies and gentlemen, the unspeakable has happened, and just what I was afraid of: my fucking shitty-ass Apple laptop has pretty much died. My second day here. When I get home, I'm gonna walk into their fucking Genius bar and beat somebody with it. So unless I can get it to start back up, I'm going to have to use the computer lab from now on. Which might not be such a bad thing. That will mean in my room I don't have a computer, a TV or a radio. I think the sensory deprivation will be good for me, frankly. But I'm still going to try to fix it.

Last night a bunch of students went to some crazy lounge called AVA. I couldn't find it on the internet. It sort of reminded me of Club de Ville, but it was mostly inside. Everything was red, including a tiny red dance floor, that was about 4 feet x 4 feet. Otherwise you couldn't really dance, and the music was too loud to talk, and no one really knows each other anyway. But "The Girls," as they will heretofore be affectionatally known as, got very excited last night about going to a gay club and seeing a drag show. So there you go. I guess we're gonna try to make that happen eventually.

It's true, I guess, that Monterrey is very Americanized. I wasn't sure what people meant by that, and I'm still not totally sure, except that there are Wal-Marts and HEB's, and the club we went to last night was in some upscale part of town that looked like any American city. It looked like the Arboretum, in fact. Our professor took us to Wal-Mart yesterday to buy some groceries and stuff, and it looked just like any American Wal-Mart as well, except actually cleaner than any American Wal-Mart I've ever seen. I really want to write about some of my first impressions of Mexico, and how I've been feeling, and what I've been observing, but I can't really think of much very meaningful or profound to say about it. Maybe Monterrey does feel too much like an American city for me to be struck by any kind of deep culture shock at this point. one thing that made an impression, was when we first crossed the border, and right next to the highway were these incredibly dismal shanty-towns, really, just shacks and shacks and dilapidated shacks everywhere. But stuck around in between these shacks in various places were billboards for very chic products like perfumes, with sprawling naked white women hawking the stuff. Among some of the worst poverty I've ever seen. I wasn't exactly sure who these advertisements were intended to reach, unless it was just the people on the highway, but how depressing.

My schedule here is going to be horribly easy. I'm going to have a Spanish class from 11-1 every day, and that's about it. Yesterday when I was in my professor's room helping him move furniture (don't ask), he said our class was only going to meet once a week, and then mostly just to talk, and that he wasn't really going to make us do anything. More than teach us history, he just wants us to go out and live in the culture and go to museums and learn things that way. He pretty much said everyone's going to get an A. So that's cool. There's this dude in my group who's been dying to go see X-Men, so I think we might do that tonight. Or whoever wants to. There's also another club outing tonight.

Last night my roommate had a nightmare, apparently, in the middle of the night, and shouted and jumped out of bed, and of course I woke up, and was totally freaked out, but once he realized it was a dream, he was fine. I also grew a cold sore on my lip yesterday, which totally pisses me off.

Thursday, May 25, 2006


I learned today that there is a big difference between "tengo mucho hambre" and "tengo mucho hombre."

The first one means "I am very hungry." The second one means, basically, "I have many men." Although literally, it's "I have many man," it's still embarassing.

You seem pretty young to be searching for that kind of fun

Yesterday, amidst our touring of downtown Monterrey and museum-going, these, like, 4 girls decided to adopt me. They're from St. Eds, but I don't know any of them, and none of them are over 21. When I told them last night I was 29, they were all, like, whoooah, like they'd never met a 29-year-old before. One of them replied, "We must seem like little kids to you." No comment from the peanut gallery. I like them, though, and it's nice to have more or less complete strangers approaching me, asking me if I want to go get drinks with them after dinner. So I do. We go to a bar where I buy a pina colada for 60 pesos that's the size of my fucking head. We pass a group of men on the street that all whistle and hoot (common Mexican behavior, I'm already learning; the men literally leer), and one of the girls says, "I don't know, Ryan, maybe they were whistling at you. You are excessively pretty." And the girls laugh. Um...awkward. And there's "club night" tonight, apparently, and tomorrow night, and saturday night, and they've all insisted that I come with them.

So here's what I don't know, and probably it doesn't matter: do they know I don't go to their church? Have they decided to befriend me because they can smell the gay and they like that, or is it because of more prurient interests, or is it maybe neither, that maybe they just thought I seemed nice and standoffish, and they're being friendly? Am I being ridiculous for even caring? Probably, because they're nice and they make an effort to include me, and I appreciate it, and despite the fact that not one of them is even 21, they're pretty smart kids. It just gives me this weird feeling of being the camp counselor or something. Like, I have to walk this fine line between sort of being the responsible example, and just totally cutting loose. Not that I plan on getting shitty and stupid in a foreign city, but you know what I mean? Maybe not. In other words, I guess, I feel that if I don't act like an adult, and act like the 10 years older than them that I am, then I seem pathetic or something. Anyway, way overanalyzing.

My roommate also arrived last night about 7:05, just in time to wake me up from my accidental 2-hour nap and get to dinner. Which started at 7. He seems real nice. His name's Jason, he's from Birmingham, but goes to school at Carnegie Mellon and hates it, because they don't encourage anyone to actually think, and he calls it a "factory of mechanized thinking." He also hates people from the Northeast, he said. He described us as "two friendly southern boys." He's shy, and kind of mumbles, but he seems cool, and easy to get along with. We're already talking about maybe taking a bus to the beach some weekend while we're here. Assuming there's any time.

Not much else to tell at this point. I registered for my Spanish class this morning, and I think my professor is taking us out again this afternoon, but I don't know where anyone is. Maybe I should go see if I can find anyone.

Wednesday, May 24, 2006


I'm here. I've been having a serious internal debate about whether to actually start "blogging" or not yet, since I don't have a whole lot to say at this point, but I am. Mainly because i've gorged myself on breakfast (food here is cheap! I got eggs, bacon, a huge bowl of fruit, a bottled water and a large coffee for $4.50!), had a tour of campus, taken a relaxing shower, and I don't have to be anywhere for another 30 minutes. I'm exhausted, and I'm afraid if I lie down on my bed I'll never get back up.

I managed to get some sleep on the bus here, mainly between about San Marcos and Laredo, but not much after that. And somewhere just before dawn, the bus driver turned on the radio. Really loud. It was just talk radio, and it was in Spanish, so I could sort of drown it out, but not really. Not to mention the bus was about 20 degrees. My muscles were literally tensed up when I finally got off from my excessive shivering.

But other than that, everything's great. Our professor arranged for the St. Eds students to arrive a day before everyone else, so the campus is fairly empty, and my roommate won't be here until tomorrow. Which is great, because that means I'll sleep well tonight, and I can sit here and write in my briefs, comfortably. Just like I would at home.

There's a lot I want to say, but I'm lazy, so I won't. I'm already incredibly glad I'm here, and am so excited about the prospects. The professor gave us an informal campus tour (this campus is amazing; there are peacocks and ducks and deer just walking around; they just live here). His enthusiasm is infectious. He started this St. Edwards-Monterrey summer program 13 years ago, so it's his baby. And you can tell he just loves doing it, and sharing his experiences and knowledge and youthful energy. We have registration at 1 today, and then some orientation tomorrow, but tomorrow afternoon, he's going to take us downtown and show us around. They also offer free "recreational" classes while we're here, like salsa dancing, guitar lessons, sports stuff, whatever. I can't wait to check out that list. I guess I'll get to do that tomorrow. And within a mile of campus are many restaurants, 2 movie theaters, a large supermarket, tons of shopping, and a mall.

I'm gonna have a good time.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006


So, I figured out today how to post photos in this thing, so watch out!!

The picture is of Monterrey, in case you hadn't figured it out yet. The football stadium at the bottom left is the campus of the Tecnologico de Monterrey, the school where I will be staying. Not sure which tower is mine.

I'm leaving a little less than 5 hours. I'm very excited. And very restless.

That's Just the Way it Changes, Like the Shoreline and the Sea

I'm sitting in my now empty apartment, with nothing but a small table and my computer and my stereo, blaring some Leonard Cohen. I love Mr. Cohen. I find his music incredibly depressing, and not in a good way. But still fantastic. During a certain relationship from which I extricated myself about a year ago, there was a lot of Mr. Cohen played when we were together. It was something we both deeply shared. I haven't been able to listen to him in almost a year. The combination of his inherent sadness, and the associations I now have with it, were a little too much. But I'm okay with it now. It's nice to have my friend back, though I'm still a little uneasy around him; still a little guarded.

I'm leaving in about 12 hours. I feel almost like I'm going to be leaving forever, like I'm moving away or something. I guess that's silly. I've been looking forward to it a lot, though with a lot of anxiety and trepidation. Last night, packing up my stuff, I was struck with an incredible sadness and feeling of displacement. I'm pretty thoroughly sick of Austin. I love it, and it's my home, truly, but I need to get out for a bit. I guess I was blindsided a bit by the desperation of this feeling last night. It's funny how when you leave someplace so familiar to you that you could drive its streets with your eyes closed (I don't recommend this, however), when you return, how it feels both the same, and completely alien to you at the same time. I'm already looking forward to returning and sort of wandering aimlessly around my new house, sort of lost, maybe, and not sure what to do with myself, but so grateful to be back and have that luxury again. I don't know if that makes any sense at all. It does to me. The idea of just "disappearing" has always been a little romantic to me as well. Having no one know where you are, just being "gone." of course, everyone knows where I am, but I can sort of fantasize about that.

I spent my hatred every place
On every work on every face
Someone gave me wishes
And I wished for an embrace

Monday, May 22, 2006

How much does one actually have to hate oneself?

Thisis really the most depressing thing I've read about in awhile.

I honestly don't even know what to say about it, except that it shouldn't really be so shocking to me that America can still create a climate where young gay men still grow up so cynical and full of self-loathing, particularly young black ones. It makes me want to weep.

Saturday, May 20, 2006

I think I know what my father meant when he sang about a lost highway

I've been experimenting this week with not drinking, which, in my vernacular, means in 4 days, having only 2 beers. To someone who's used to having at least 2 drinks a night, and often 3 or 4, and actually getting drunk at least 3 or 4 nights a week (beer, wine, whisky), is a pretty big deal.

I'm not sure what finally clicked in my brain this week, but it happened on Sunday night, after seeing United 93. I'm not saying United 93 had anything to do with it, but maybe it did. Somewhere around there, I just decided that I don't like, nay, am terrified of, the person I am becoming. Drinking alcohol for me used to be something I rarely did, and it was always joyful, usually in celebration of a birthday, or something special happening, or some kind of holiday. But now I hate it. I hate how it makes me feel, I hate the person I become when I drink now. They say that when you drink, your true personality shines through. Well, remember when I used to get all cooey and hang all over everyone and send out mass emails about how much I loved everybody, and how corny it was? Well now when I get drunk I get angry, I go to bed depressed, and I wake up cloudy every fucking morning.

I've been reading this book, Healing Through the Dark Emotions: The Wisdom of Grief, Fear, and Despair, and I'm not quite halfway through, but it's been very helpful. (It's also funny because she actually makes a lot of arguments against this book, which I read last summer, and learned a great deal from. But her arguments make a lot of sense to me.) It's hard for me to say too much about it at this point, except that it's becoming so clear to me how much I repress, and how much I always have. I guess growing up gay in a small town, and growing up, from day one, feeling almost completely rejected and loathed by all of your peers, for reasons completely unknown to you, except they don't like the way you walk, or talk, can implant some pretty serious neuroses in someone. I'm not blaming anyone, or saying that there aren't people who grew up in MUCH worse environments than I did, who turn out just fine, but I can say that the one survival tool I learned very early on was repression. Keep your chin up, fake it, don't let 'em see you hurt, or they've won. Or, in some extreme cases, pretend like you enjoy the abuse. That'll show 'em.

I always had friends growing up, but the only consistent friends I had were girls. It honestly wasn't until I was in my almost mid-20's that I truly made really close male friends that stuck. All through my childhood, I would make male friends, but they would all decide eventually that I was boring, or too much like a girl to hang out with, or in slightly later years, befriend me, and then turn against me when their friends gave them shit about it. Some of my most vicious tormentors in school were boys who had started out as my friends. I guess I have some pretty serious trust issues. It's also come to my attention recently, that I think I might also have some pretty intense abandonment issues, arising from family situations.

It's funny how when you start really digging into this kind of stuff (basically, once you reach some kind of threshold, or breaking point), how much it seems so fucking glaringly obvious. I've always felt bad about being depressed, I think, or ungrateful. I never wanted the people who gave me my anger, and my sense of smallness, to have the satisfaction of winning, so I never wanted to give in to those emotions, to admit that they had any power over me, or that they had actually affected me in any way. It's only been recently, I think, that I've been able to admit that I was affected, affected very deeply and profoundly, and will probably struggle with these feelings of rejection and fear and rage for the rest of my life; that not having any strong male bonds when I was growing up has seriously impacted my relationship with men, and how I relate to them, and influenced who I'm attracted to in a romantic way, and how I sort of view all of my male relationships as tenuous. Men are cruel, men turn against you, men leave. That's just what I learned.

But in order to overcome these crippling emotions, you have to face them, and admit that they exist, and as the book says, befriend them. Which is what I've never been able to do. But I think I'm ready to start giving these feelings the credence they deserve. The book argues that those "dark" emotions exist in your body for a reason, that they're there to teach you something, to lead you someplace new, and the more you repress them and ignore them (alocohol, drugs, sex, whatever; yes, please), the stronger they get until you pay attention to them. I guess I never thought about things that way before. But it's so clear. And I'm ready to make some new friends.

Friday, May 19, 2006

I Like to Watch

Heather Havrilesky has a great wrap up in Salon today about the season finale of The O.C. last night. It sounds atrocious, and it seems that Marissa was finally killed off in the last 10 minutes of the show, which, even though I stopped watching the show a season and a half ago, I'm thrilled to hear about. I couldn't stand Mischa Barton, and agree that she and that Ryan guy had about as much chemistry as a rock and a blade of grass. Although that might be giving them a little credit. Mischa Barton's idea of acting was to basically stare blankly at the wall/ocean/toilet into which she was puking and look confused. Heather's money quote:

all she could muster was wide-eyed looks of desperation and tears, lots of 'em. Barton could really turn on the waterworks but that was about it, and every scene with her in it had a way of reminding you that you had a Pop Tart in the toaster or laundry in the dryer.

Last summer when all I wanted to do was lie on my couch and watch TV and drink whisky, I started watching the first season of The OC on DVD, and was totally hooked. Their over-the-top hysterics and overwrought drama was just what I needed at the time, and in the finale of the first season, when Ryan goes back to whatever ghetto he came from, and Seth sailed away into the wild blue yonder on his sailboat, and Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" wailed out of the soundtrack, I have to admit, they really got me. I totally wept, for them and for me. Yes, I felt their pain, and despair and loss. I loved it. (Yes, I'm being melodramatic; but I'm serious.)

But somewhere around the middle of the second season, when the porn tapes from the 80's started popping up, and Ryan just kept getting into fistfights, and kept getting bailed out by Sandy, and blah blah blah, I totally lost interest and stopped watching. Apparently season 3 was just more of the same, and many have speculated that this will be the last season. Heather makes a point that the show, despite being called "Douglas Sirk on acid" by some idiotic and uninspired critic somewhere, never really went far enough, that the kids were actually quite bland and boring, and too goody-goody for their own good. I agree. In a show like The OC, you really wanna see the blood and guts and mean-spirited backstabbing that truly make up teenage life. Also, the adults could have been much more interesting. Julie Cooper was a pretty wicked villain (and HOT!), but ultimately, all she really cared about was money, and that just gets boring.

So, I have no idea how to wrap this up, because I have no idea why I'm writing it in the first place. I'm bored.

Sunday, May 14, 2006

United 93

Remember how I said after seeing Brokeback Mountain that it was the only time I've really openly cried in public? I take it back. Bryan and I went to see United 93 today, and throughout the first half I felt like I was gonna throw up, and throughout the entire second half, I convulsively sobbed. Not a few tears running down my cheeks, but a torrent, chest heaving, stomach in total knots.

After everything that's happened since that day, it's easy to forget just what it felt like: the terror and fear, the sadness, the confusion, the helplessness. United 93 brings it all back as a grim reminder of what that day felt like on a purely visceral emotional level.

I'm fucking exhausted. It also makes me want to tell every person in my life how much I fucking love them.

So, if you're reading this, I love you.

Thursday, May 11, 2006


I got a fucking B in Spanish. A's everywhere else.


I just got home from work and I'm chowing down on a burger from Billy's on Burnet (dee-lish!! They're fast becoming my favorite burger in town, and that's really saying something), watching the news, and they're doing a piece on lake safety for the summer, and they're talking to an "expert" on ways to stay safe, and I swear to God, she actually said:

"Humans don't have gills, so if you're out in the water, and you get tired, you can't just stop and rest like you can if you're on land."


They also just did a story on a woman who was a teacher at a private Catholic school somewhere who couldn't conceive with her husband, so she got in-vitro fertilization and was fired from the school because becoming impregnated that way went against church teachings. "It's not so much the fact that she got pregnant outside of the proscribed method of procreation within a marriage," a spokesperson said, "but it's the method she used that we have issues with." Or something to that effect.

I wonder if they'd have a problem with my method of shoving my fist up that guy's ass. The teacher and her husband have stopped attending the Catholic church. Thank God.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Kitty Kat and Grandma

I talked to my mom today and she told me my little kitty Allie (short for Allegro) had to be put to sleep yesterday. Apparently for the last couple of weeks she's been dryheaving horribly, and when stuff finally comes up (this is really gross) it's like these giant masses, like chunks, and my mom said it smelled like poop. But then afterwards, she would run to her food and eat ravenously.

Turns out, she had cancer, with a mass the size of a tennis ball blocking her lower intestine, so no food would digest, which would explain why her vomit smelled like poop, and she she was starving.

Allie was the only kitten of a litter that my other cat, Easter, had when I was in high school that I kept. I gave the rest away. She was born with one of her eyes sealed shut, and everybody thought it was ugly, so naturally that's the one of the litter I wanted to keep. The vet eventually discovered that her eyelid was just turned inside out, so after a couple months' of maturity, they popped it back the way it was supposed to be, and she was fine after that. She started out very tiny, and about halfway through her little life, she started getting really fat and mean. But I loved her anyway, because I felt a kinship. Last fall, her momma, Easter, wandered away from my parents' house and disappeared. They haven't seen her since. Either she got carried away by coyotes, because my parents live a bit out of town, even though it's encroaching in all around them in the form of these hideous, gated subdivisions, or she wandered off somewhere to die peacefully and alone. I hope it was the latter. I miss my little kitties. Easter would always curl up on me and fall asleep every time I came home to visit. And almost every night, Allie would curl up between my dad's feet on his recliner while he was watching television. I think they had a special bond as well.

In happier news, my Grandma, who has advanced Alzheimers, is doing slightly better. She was in the hospital for weeks and weeks following a horrible fall she took last winter which resulted in a broken hip. She had to have surgery (twice, because the first time the wound didn't heal properly and was leaking fluid and infected) and then rehab, and she's a bad patient to begin with, but when you throw Alzheimers into the mix, she was kind of a nightmare to deal with. But she finally went home, and my mom and uncle hired a live-in nurse that my grandma just loves, apparently. They tried to do that once before, right after they had to take away my grandma's car keys, and my grandma absolutely hated the girl. She was a really sweet little early-thirties nurse, very quiet and demure, but my grandmother resented her very presence, and she was duly done away with. But this new lady is about 70, not a whole lot younger than my grandma, and my mom said they've become great friends, just driving all over town, and shopping, and baking all kinds of stuff. I'm so glad and relieved, both for my grandmother and my mom, who was doing most of my grandma's caretaking, on top of working about 70 hours a week and taking care of my brother. It was times like when I would talk to my mom when my grandma was in the hospital, and my mom was about to absolutely collapse from exhaustion and stress, and just not knowing what to do anymore, that I would feel so guilty about not living at home and helping out. So in some selfish way, I guess I'm also relieved that I don't have to feel so guilty.

My oldest brother Jeremy, who is married with the kid, is also moving up to Rogers with his family at the beginning of June. He lived in Little Rock, about 3 hours away, and my mom is just ecstatic. She'll finally truly be able to see her grandson grow up, and she already has plans to enroll him in Suzuki cello school this fall. The kid is 3 years old. I love it. I can't wait to see him play songs on his tiny cello that will probably be about the size of a banjo. Maybe he'll grow up to be just like me!

Oh, wait. Well, if nothing else, he'll probably be a better cello player.

Monday, May 08, 2006

The Bride Wore Black

I got assigned my dorm today for my Monterrey trip. I will be living in Edificio #3. Hot.

I had a great time this weekend at the Kat & Mark extravaganza. I forgot about half of my toast for Mark because I started getting a little choked up, and then it was all over. I have issues with crying in front of people (I know, I know; I just need more therapy), so once I could feel it coming, my brain froze up and I had to quit. But it was incredibly sweet and romantic. Overall, it was a VERY emotional day, and by the end of it all (it was a 15-hour day!), I was so exhausted, I was totally useless. Of course, I'm sure it was not nearly as emotional for me as it was for some people, but it was all good. Every second.

Friday, May 05, 2006

Even I'm having wedding anxiety

I had a dream last night that it was time for me to give my "best man toast" and I totally flubbed it. My mind went completely blank, and I could think of nothing to say, so I just starting making stuff up, but it was all horribly inappropriate and I was cussing and everyone was totally scandalized and mark and kat got SO angry at me.


Thursday, May 04, 2006

Whatcha gonna do with all that junk?

Thismight seriously be the grossest/stupidest thing I've ever seen. Can you imagine looking like that in public??? Vile.

Oh my god, I just published the post and made sure the link worked, and then realized it's out of stock!!!!!! That means a whole bunch of people bought it. Let's hope they either only had, like, 5 in stock, or they were all bought as gag gifts by frat boys for each other.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

I found what I needed on the seashores of old Mexico

Tonight at work there were a bunch of fat, Mexican workmen hanging around doing some much-needed fix-ups to the bakery. One of them, however, I have to say, really caught my eyes. Which brings me to reveal one of my strange, idiosyncratic turn-ons: which is stocky, 30-something Mexican men. I don't know why, but for some reason, I often find them very attractive. I think it also has something to do with the fact that most of them work in physical labor, and again, blue-collar: fuckin' hot. Ultimately for a relationship, mental labor is much more attractive to me, but a man who makes a living with his hands is really, really sexy.

So this guy was shorter than me, pretty built, had a slight beer-gut (which I also find sexy in very small doses), and had some kind of crazy scar on the left side of his face that looked maybe like a burn, which just made him that much hotter. He also took a weird liking to me, and kept talking to me in very fast, almost staccato, broken English that I could barely understand, but I kept playing along anyway, laughing at his jokes and trying to make my own without looking like a complete idiot. When he left, he forgot his cap, and when he came back in to get it, it was right next to me on the counter. It had the Longhorns on it, so he started talking to me about how long he's lived in Austin (25 years), and how he was "Texas til I die." Or something. I couldn't quite understand. So then he starts talking to me about how he has two grown children, and even a grandchild and how old he is. So I ask how old he is and he tells me 40, but then adds that his girlfriend is 19. He started laughing about how she gets really jealous and checks up on him constantly, and he was all, "I'm just an old, ugly man, I don't know why she gets jealous. I guess I got something she wants." He then leans in very close to me and says, "She wants my dick. And my tongue." And then laughs hysterically.

1. I found this both repugnant and arousing. As I do with most things.

2. I really wanted to say to him, "You better be careful what you say around me; you're talking to a very lonely man."

3. It always sort of amazes and mystifies me when I can effectively "pass" for straight, no matter how short a time period it may be. I feel like I just pretty much walk around with a neon sign above my head, flashing QUEER! QUEER! over and over again. But I guess if you don't actually know me, and you don't really think about such things, it may just never occur to you. But I feel like these days it occurs to everybody all the time. But maybe not.

Which brings me to my next Mexico item, which is that George Strait's new single is one of my favorite songs ever. It's called "On the seashores of Old Mexico," and tells the tale of a man running from the law in Tucson who crosses the border into Mexico, escapes, meets a young senorita also escaping (but from her husband), and they live happily ever after. The chorus goes:

But she loved a gringo
my red hair and lingo
that's all that I needed to know.
I found what I needed on the seashores of old Mexico.

It's so fucking good. There's also an Eddie Raven song I hear a lot, but I think it's old, about a man whose girlfriend leaves him, so he goes to Mexico. What is it with country singers and Mexico? Is this a new thing, or has it been around awhile? Is it the whole outsider image that country singers like so much to portray when they're not singing about God? They're all convicts and rebels and America is just too small and staunch to hold them or something? Anyway, the chorus of the Eddie Raven song goes:

I'm eatin' right and I'm feelin' good.
Doin' everything I said I would.
I shoulda left a long time ago.
Who needs you, I've got Mexico?

Hmm. Very prescient for me. Maybe I'll find what I need in the mountains of old Mexico.

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

I Don't Get It

Will someone please explain Jake Gyllenhall to me? Seriously. What am I missing?

Monday, May 01, 2006

Yes, I'm ODB, as you can see

I had my first of 3 finals this morning, and I think I did okay. It was in my Lit class, and we had short answers and then had to write essays about the book Borrowed Time by Paul Monette, which I hated, and Angels in America, by Tony Kushner, which of course I love. We also got our last paper back, a drama review we had to write, on which I got a 97. He called it a "top notch review from someone who obviously knows theater." WTF? I guess it's easy to fool some people.

I also bought my bus ticket to go to Mexico this morning. I can't believe that's only 3 weeks away. It's scary and intimidating, but I'm really excited. I've never been away from home for 6 weeks before, especially in a foreign country, but it'll be great fun. I'm really looking forward to it.

Now I'm off to Barton Springs for an afternoon in the sun, and to (theoretically) study for my Spanish final tomorrow.

pee-ass - A VERY large thanks to you-know-who for so eloquently reminding me of Who I Am. It's easy to forget sometimes, and occasionally I make colossal errors in judgement, but thank God for people like you in my life to bring me back down to Earth. I am forever in your debt.