Monday, October 31, 2005
I would love to share my views as a Christian. (Dzer—not a word!) First of all, my faith in God was from experiencing His presence. It wasn’t from my parents, because we never went to church. I come from an Italian family. They are non-practicing Catholics. I turned to Christianity when I was twenty-three years old. My journey on learning about Jesus was amazing. I had to learn about Him first to experience the wonderful outcomes of his miracles. Not only have I experienced Jesus’ works by myself “alone”, but other people witnessed His presence while they were with me.
A lot of people believe that there is no scientific evidence that there is really a God. The whole concept of this is ‘faith’. “Blind faith.”
Jesus said, “You believe because you have seen me. Blessed are those who haven’t seen me and believe anyway.” ~John 20:29
Science is of this world. God, and spirituality is “not” of this world. God would never reveal His secrets of His plan. He created science, so it never correlates and will never hold weight as far as proving that God does really exist. It’s a test per se. A test of one’s faith.
Does faith in God comfort us? Of course it does. Whether or not you believe that God exists, studies have found that people are much healthier in body and mind when they have “God” in their lives.
People love to debate me on the existence of God. This is okay. I can only share ‘my views’ with you, as a believer. I once had someone try to get me into believing ‘the universe’ is our creator. My thoughts on this is, “Who made the universe?”
1 Timothy 4:1-2 Now the Holy Spirit tells us clearly that in the last times some will turn away from what we believe; they will follow lying spirits and teachings that come from demons. These teachers are hypocrites and liars. They pretend to be religious, but their consciences are dead.
There are other people who believe that “The Universe” is their God. If you rely on the universe to guide you, then who made the universe to begin with? This goes for people who rely on astrology and the stars in order to go about their everyday lives. Yes, I think it is okay to study this, but as a guide to live life by? I guess everyone is 'different'---and I respect that...My guide in my life--is God--Not the universe or how the stars are lined up. (This is "my" belief)
There is a passage from Job that I want to share with you. Read this carefully, this is God talking to Job in the bible:
Job 38:1-39 Then the Lord answered Job from the whirlwind; “Who is this that questions my wisdom with such ignorant words? Brace yourself, because I have some questions for you, and you must answer them.
Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth? Tell me, if you know so much. Do you know how its dimensions were determined and who did the surveying? What supports its foundations, and who laid its cornerstone and the morning stars sang together and all the angels shouted for joy? Who defined the boundaries of the sea as it burst from the womb, and as I clothed it with clouds and thick darkness? For I locked it behind barred gates, limiting its shores. I said, ‘Thus far and no farther will you come. Here your proud waves must stop!’
Have you ever commanded the morning to appear and caused the dawn to rise in the east? Have you ever told the daylight to spread to the ends of the earth, to bring and end to the night’s wickedness? For the features of the earth take shape as the light approaches, and the dawn is robed in red. The light disturbs the haunts of the wicked and it stops the arm that is raised in violence.
Have you explored the springs from which the seas come? Have you walked about and explored their depths? Do you know where the gates of death are located? Have you seen the gates of utter gloom? Do you realize the extent of the earth? Tell me about it if you know! Where does the light come from, and where does the darkness go? Can you take it to its home? Do you know how to get there? But of course you know all this! For you were born before it was all created, and you are so very experienced!
Have you visited the treasuries of the snow? Have you seen where the hail is made and stored? I have reserved it for the time of trouble, for the day of battle and war. Where is the path to the origin of light? Where is the home of the east wind?
Who created a channel for the torrents of rain? Who laid out the path for the
lightning? Who makes the rain fall on barren land, in a desert where no one lives? Who sends the rain that satisfies the parched ground and makes the tender grass spring up?
Does the rain have a father? Where does dew come from? Who is the mother of the ice? Who gives birth to the frost from the heavens? For the water turns to ice as hard as rock, and the surface of water freezes.
Can you hold back the movements of the stars? Are you able to restrain the Pleiades or Orion? Can you ensure the proper sequence of the seasons or guide the
constellation of the Bear with her cubs across the heavens? Do you know the laws of the universe and how God rules the earth?
Can you shout to the clouds and make it rain? Can you make lightning appear and cause it to strike as you direct it? Who gives intuition and instinct? Who is wise enough to count all the clouds? Who can tilt the water jars of heaven, turning the dry dust to clumps of mud? Can you stalk prey for a lioness and satisfy the young lions’ appetites as they lie in their dens or crouch in the thicket? Who provides food for the ravens when their young cry out to God as they wander about in hunger?”
I person I knew well wanted me to wear a pentagram. The five pointed star. I always assumed that this was the pendant of the devil. They assured me that it wasn’t, and that it represented the five elements of the earth. The five elements symbolize wood, fire, earth, metal and water. Those five elements are of this earth…God is not. *In my belief* all humans are not of this earth—we are spiritual beings created by God.
There are so many faiths, religions and scientific theories that people rely on. If it works for you, then that’s “okay”. I respect that...I refuse to argue with someone who is a non-believer or of another faith. I can only share my thoughts and beliefs—that’s it. I’m not going to sit here and say, “Oh that’s ridiculous! Your feelings and beliefs aren’t valid!” We all come from different backgrounds and have our own thoughts and opinions.
I get flack for being Christian, because I’m gay. I get questioned a lot about my lifestyle and my faith in God. I don’t let that discourage me, because God made me the way I am. People will debate that, I know this, but He made me like this for a reason.
How terrible it would be if a newborn baby said to its father and mother, “Why was I born? Why did you make me this way?” ~Isaiah 45:10
The contradiction between sharing love with another woman and being a Christian, has stirred up some criticism while I was attending church. They wanted to lay their hands on me and make me a heterosexual—to ‘be fruitful’, to marry a man. Although I have no problems with men, I just can’t see myself living with one in an intimate relationship. Love between two people of the same gender is not the same as being promiscuous.
Why do many people think this?
This hasn’t changed my faith or discouraged me from my beliefs. I stand strong, knowing God loves me the way I am.
Finally, all of you should be of one mind, full of sympathy toward each other, loving one another with tender hearts and humble minds. Don’t repay evil for evil. Don’t retaliate when people say unkind things about you. Instead, pay them back with a blessing. That is what God wants you to do, and he will bless you for it. ~1 Peter 3:8-9
I think that’s a great message from the bible, even if you’re a non-believer. It gives a general message that we should all be kind to one another, and not retaliate just because of differences.
Let’s just keep an open mind, and an open heart…
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Many of us ask this question when we find that things aren’t going our way, or something terrible has transpired in our lives. Some people even lose their faith in God, due to negative circumstances that occur in their lives.
“If there is a God, then why did He let this happen?”
God does things in mysterious ways. No one can see the ‘big picture’ of what God has in store for us. In fact, God will put a situation in our lives, or a person, that will produce a negative outcome. Why? Any negative experiences we have almost always produce a positive one.
“What the heck are you talking about Deb?”
Think of it like this… Artists, writers and musicians…what do they all have in common? Most of these people do their best work when they are in a depressive state of mind, or when they are on an extreme emotional high. Their talent is an outlet for them to express themselves.
“Sorrow is better than laughter, for sadness has a refining influence on us.”
This scripture talks of the learning experiences that we can absorb while going through a rough situation. It develops our minds, our souls and helps us to see ‘why this happened.’ Old cliché, “Everything happens for a reason.” It does. We go through certain things in life in order for God to teach us something. Lessons learned are through our experiences.
The other morning, I slipped back into a bit of a depression. I guess from staying home with my back out, I had way too much time to think about things. I thought about the turmoil I went through two years ago with my ex-girlfriend, and felt a little sad. I wanted to know why I went through such a traumatic event with her. The pain and sadness started to flow back. I wanted to know why I still feel hurt till this day, and why my ex, who says she wants to be friends, still puts me in this state of ‘torture’, by playing games. Maybe she doesn’t even realize she does this… There’s no game to play if the one party isn’t willing, right?
I thought to myself, I treated this person the best I could, and even today, I still treat her well, and she still has a way of putting me in a bad state of mind. Is it that I simply let myself go through this ‘bad state of mind’? Or is it that she just brings back bad memories; times of when I didn’t even value my own life?
I can honestly say now, that I am happy I went through what I did. If I hadn’t, I would have never written a book. I would have never written and composed songs that were through my anguished mind and torn heart. These things I feel grateful for. A positive result came out of it.
There is this documentary-type story out on the Discovery channel called, “I Shouldn’t Be Alive.” I’m not sure if any of you watched this, but it was about five people whose yacht flipped over during a storm in the Atlantic Ocean. They used their life raft and were out in the middle of the sea. Three people didn’t make it, and the two who did survive got to tell their story on television. Not only did they make a movie out of this, but Deborah Scaling Kiley wrote two books about what she and her crew went through.
Hearing her speak and tell her story of what happened, sent chills down my spine. To face death in such a slow and excruciating way, and yet survive it, really makes you think about life in another aspect. Her courage and her will to live says a lot about her strength.
I guess this weekend I reflected on a lot. I’m realizing more and more why things happen. Not only does my past open my eyes up a little, but it makes me appreciate the person Madelene is. How thoughtful, selfless and loving she is. I find myself having so much gratitude towards my life “today” than I ever did before. I guess hindsight is 20/20 and I feel very fortunate.
I would be curious to know what negative experience you had, turned into a positive one for you…
Thursday, October 27, 2005
“Please! Take my money, take all my credit cards—take the purse!”
“Put the seat back, now!”
“I promise I won’t say anything to the police, just take anything you want!” She screamed.
“Now!” He demanded.
Dawn quickly opened the car door and screamed so loud, that it scared off her attacker. She wasn’t sure what he wanted. He didn’t want her to drive, he didn’t want her purse or money, and he wasn’t carjacking her… So we can only assume it was one thing.
When I walk down the street, or walk into a store, or even dining in a restaurant, I am so happy to see cameras installed. I know this is a huge controversy for some, but for me, I feel ‘safe’. I know a lot of people think it’s an infringement of their privacy. I think it’s more of a safety net. They have helicopters now watching the George Washington Bridge---three miles away! That’s huge. Their image is so clear, they can see people walking on the side of the bridge and view every detail of what they are wearing. It’s incredible. They can view any wrongdoings or the threat of someone plotting a terrorist act.
Here’s where it gets a bit too much for me. This year, I discovered something I thought was pretty neat. After utilizing it, I was scared... There is this website that you can go onto. You basically punch in any address you want, and the satellite will bring you to that person’s house or business. The view is incredible. You can see what cars are in the driveway, and if there are people standing in the parking lot. I used it to determine if my gym was busy or not. I would zoom into the gym’s parking lot, and if I saw that the parking lot was packed, I would wait an hour or so. Then I thought to myself, “Oh my God, I can actually zoom into my own house!!!”
My question is, why are “we” allowed to use this? Aren’t government officials the only ones allowed to access these things? The question is-- are we at risk for stalkers terrorizing us now? Technology has become so advanced, that it’s scary. I’m still apprehensive about walking outside of my house due to this device that’s available on the internet. Someone had mentioned this site to me, and I didn’t believe her. Then she told me, “Go check it out if you don’t believe me.” When I did…my heart sank. The scary part is, if they don’t know your exact address, they can just simply follow the road to the designated house… It’s just as if you’re in a helicopter with huge binoculars.
One of the many reasons why this scares me is because when I was around sixteen years old, I dated a guy who didn’t take the break up so well. Vinny stalked me for years. I would find him parked outside behind our garage. Sometimes I would catch him driving his car down my driveway with his lights off… I would go outside and scare the crap out of him.
“What are you doing???”
“Ughh, I had no where to smoke my weed, so I knew your road was a private one…What’s up? Do you wanna hang out?”
“Why didn’t you call me and ask instead of sitting here all shady looking…?” I asked, wondering why he was just sitting there in the dark by himself...
When he found out I had a ‘girlfriend’ at the age of nineteen, he was now obsessed. Vinny knew that my bedroom was on the bottom floor. My girlfriend would stay over on the weekends. One evening, while my girlfriend and I were in my bedroom, we had the window open because it was a nice evening. My girlfriend and I heard rustling of leaves. I thought it was an animal. I pulled my shade up, and I saw Vinny run like a deer! My girlfriend was a bit spooked by this. I didn’t fear Vinny though, because he really was harmless in my eyes... He was a goofy Italian kid who was just obsessed with an ex. Believe me, I just had this gut feeling that there was nothing ‘threatening’ about him. But on the news, they always say, “Oh he was such a nice guy…” Right?
I ended up facing my fear, and invited him over for drinks. He was so happy. We talked and talked, and he admitted to me that he had an interest in men. Was this to throw me off? Or was this true? He did have a flamboyant way about him. I wanted him to not stalk me, but to call me whenever he wanted, ‘as a friend’.
One evening, when my ex-girlfriend was over, we were upstairs getting ready to watch TV and then go to sleep. As we were lying down, I heard little taps on my window.
“Do you hear that?” I asked.
“Is sounds like someone is throwing rocks at the window.”
“Yeah, it does…”
I went over to my window out on my deck, and there was Vinny. Throwing rocks like a little kid who was trying to get a girl’s attention. If only I had blonde hair, I could have been Rapunzel. My girlfriend and I decided to just go downstairs and hang out with him, just to see what he wanted. No, I wasn't about to throw him a rope so he could climb up...if I did, I'd make sure an anvil was attached to it!
We had a good time, talking and catching up, but there was something eerie about his visit. He asked strange questions and seemed a little too interested in my new relationship with this girl. The questions became annoying and unsettling. This visit had to end. I explained that we had to wake up early the next morning, and that we needed to go to sleep. When we returned upstairs after Vinny left, we shut all the blinds—tightly… We also made sure we locked the doors like two OCD patients gone wild.
A few days later, he knocked on my door frantically. I was in a robe, I just got out of the shower. With the towel on my head, I asked through the door, ”Vinny, what’s up? I’m not dressed.”
“Just open up, I’ve seen you before Debbie! I need to talk to you!”
“Vinny! I’m not dressed and I need to get ready right now, can you call me later?”
“NO! Open the door!”
I opened it, let him in, and he immediately went to sit down on the couch.
“What’s up?” I said…sitting there with my towel wrapped around my head and a long red robe.
“I’m upset. I just got back from my psychiatrist, and he says that it’s unhealthy for me to speak to you, because you seem to get distant and then never call me for months upon months.”
“Vinny, you can always call me, sometimes I’m busy…doesn’t mean anything other than that..."
“Well, I just want us to be good friends like we used to and not go without speaking for months, it upsets me very much and I’m depressed.” He said, in this manic depressive tone.
Not for nothing, but this guy needs to get over this! I felt bad for him, but he’s dwelling on a relationship that happened when we were sixteen years old. We were twenty-eight years old at that time. I didn’t know how to handle this situation delicately. I decided to cut all contact with him, because it was too dramatic. His behavior was odd, and becoming more alarming. I kept seeing his car pass by my street, I kept bumping into him at my old stomping grounds—where he never hangs out…and I saw him almost everywhere I went. Then it stopped.
Fast forward to three years later, Madelene and I saw Vinny in the mall a few weeks ago. He passed by without saying a word. He didn’t even look our way. I’m not even sure if he saw us... or did he?
I’m just hoping he hasn’t discovered that new satellite website.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
From fairies who give you good luck, to dancing leprechauns who gives you a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, to the dirty jokes-- as well as the St. Novena prayer that grants all your wishes. If you don’t pass it on to eight or more people, you’ll have bad luck for the rest of your life. If you send it to ten or more people, you’ll get a phone call from a loved one telling you how much they love you too...........at 11:11pm.
Why do we fall for these forwards? The real question is--why do some of our friends “only” communicate with us through forwards?
Here are three rules of mine:
1. Open forwards that are only from friends who actually send you ‘real emails’.
2. Delete forwards from the people who just want to put you on their mailing list so it appears as though they have a lot more friends…
3. If this person keeps forwarding you, without any other types of communication, spam their butts with a bunch of crap, so they know how it feels to get useless no good senseless forwards; like the ones they are sending to you.
Don’t get me wrong, if I have a funny forward or something I think is worthy of passing on, I will do so. I just can’t see passing on every single fricken piece of garbage that comes floating in my inbox.
Like, “Ah, junk mail, let me pass this on to Jen, she’ll love this!”
Come closer the screen....so I can punch you for each forward you send!!! You know who you are!...
Come on! Let’s communicate the old fashioned way and stop the madness. I’m at my wit’s end with these forwards, because they mean nothing to me. I’m actually receiving a ton from one person who refers to dating ‘men’. Errrr……I’m a lesbian you nimrod!!!... Get me off your mailing list NOW!
Is anyone else having this problem???
“I can’t move. I can’t drive myself alone to your office, no less walk down the flight of stairs without locking up.”
“Oh.” The doctor said in a ‘not gonna make a sale sort of tone’.
What do these doctors want? I then went to call my masseuse.
“I’m so sorry to cancel, but I can’t even get off the couch or move. I need someone to drive me in, which won’t be till the end of the week.”
“Because my back is out.” errr.... ????
Did you not hear what I said to you? Do these people literally think that if you snap your back that you can maybe jog over to their office so they can massage you for one hour? Are they smoking crack? Believe me, there would be nothing better right now than to have big strong magical hands rubbing my back, but under these circumstances, if I did go out, I’d probably make it on time to the morgue.
Whatever. They don’t care. It’s all about the dollar bill.
So what was the idea Deb got into her head today? Where is the best source to look up massage therapists, chiropractors and even EMT services (if need be) ??? Yep, I went to the message board for my local gay pride organization. Have you ever noticed that a lot of lesbians are into the massage therapy careers, chiropractic line of work, and the biggest career goal---the EMT workers. I posted a message up on their board.
Subject: In need of a massage therapist..................
email@example.com Send Email
Hi,I know this is an odd request, but my back has been out for a whole week. I have visited the chiropractor...(nothing) And now, I can't even move out of my house in order to get some treatment. Do any of you know anyone who is a massage therapist or knows how to treat back pain-- that will venture out to other people's homes? I knew one person, but unfortunately, she has moved to FL. (quite a trip for me) I live in the town of Sasquash. If you can suggest someone, that would be great. (Please NO escort service people either!!!!) lol!
Anyway, please let me know if you can help! (212)555-1212 ...or you can e-mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org ...
Hopefully this will bring some responses my way. I actually put up my real phone number on their board, so far---no calls. Hmm….
Okay, I’ll be around in pain, watching the message board light up with tons of massage therapists willing to rub my back.
Wish me luck!
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
This is how it started…
I was helping a friend out at a bar & grill. I started bartending for a little while to make extra cash, and of course, have a little fun. I didn’t realize all the ‘behind the scene’ work that went into bartending. I have a whole new respect for bartenders now—as I always did, since they were handing out my medication. I always assumed that they merely just “served drinks”… I didn’t realize that all the stock-- bottles of liquor, 50 lb bottles of wine packed in boxes and tubs of ice were all brought in by the bartender themselves. All the lemon, lime and orange wedges all cut up at 10am. Celery sticks cleaned and cut fresh for those delicious bloody marys… It’s just like getting ready for a huge party. Everything has to be perfect. Glasses stored in grates have to be brought up from the kitchen, which is located downstairs. These grates of glasses are about thirty pounds or more. Taps have to be replenished, juices have to be two bottles ahead for mixed drinks, and clean dishes and silverware have to be stored under bar, so that your drinkers can eat while they consume massive amounts of alcohol.
Even though this was just a casual bar & grill, I wanted to look good for the part. I dressed up and wore high heels. Three inch high heels. Why? First of all, I’m short, 5’3, and the liquor was quite high on the shelf. I couldn’t reach them without wearing heels. Little did I know that I would pay for it later. Standing for seven to eight hours each day, I came home with my feet pulsing. There wasn’t a moment of sitting down…until I got home. I always wear high heels, but why are they bothering me now? I run around all day in heels, go shopping in heels, except for when I go to the gym… Sneakers are a must while working out…
My back started aching…but I still continued to bartend. Ah, what’s a back ache? I really never experienced back problems before, so I didn’t realize how much I took for granted. One week of back pain turned into two weeks, and then into three weeks. I even had back pain while on vacation. Walking helped ease it, but once I went to bed, I would lock up and feel the aches all night.
I get out of the shower and go to flip my hair over to put it in a towel. Once I flipped my head over, my back locked up, and I went down.
“Madelene!!!” Luckily Madelene was off yesterday, or I would have been lying there all day wishing I had one of those 911 buttons hanging off my neck.
“Oh my God!” Mad says, as she runs over to pick me up with a towel half on my head, as I laid there like a wet chicken. She put a towel around me and helped me up, as I was screaming and crying in pain. I was hysterically crying like a two year old baby. This pain was so excruciating, that I started to feel dizzy. I thought I would pass out.
At 3pm, I headed off for an emergency appointment to the chiropractor’s office. Madelene and I sat in the waiting room.
~^~ClicK! ClicK! ClicK! ClicK!~^~
I looked at Madelene in fear. The thought of hearing bones cracking all the way out into the waiting room made me shiver. I went to a chiropractor once before back in 1998, and he twisted and manipulated my body, as my bones cracked furiously. No, get your minds out of the gutter…
~^~Click! ClicK! ClicK!~^~
“Mad?” I whispered. “Do you hear that?”
“Are those bones?”
“I don’t know.”
I kept flipping through my pages of People magazine to see all the new celebrity break ups. I know what you’re thinking—my OCD would never let me touch magazines sitting in a doctor’s office… My thought is, this is not a ‘doctor’ per se, and people don’t come into that office because they’re sick with some kind of bug.
I saw a man walk out of there smiling. I was relieved to see that expression on his face. I really thought I was about to see someone crawling out of there, by the sounds that were coming out of the examination room.
“Debbie? Come with me.” The receptionist says.
I sat there on a Frankenstein-like table, waiting for a man to literally ‘jump my bones’ back into place. Ironic, huh? I finally heard someone flipping through papers outside the door. I knew it was doc looking at my chart on his clipboard seeing what kind of mental disorder meds I was on.
The door opens, and a man comes in, shorter than me! How cute this little man was.
“Debbie? I’m Dr. Greenberg, how are you?”
“Hi, fine thanks.”
“Stupid question on my part, huh? You’re not fine, you’re in pain!” He says, as he chuckles.
“Where’s the pain Debbie?”
“My lower back.”
“Here?” As he rubs my lower spine.
“Yeah, but more by my tailbone.”
“Here?” As he is practically rubbing my @ss.
“More on the right?
“Stand up please?” He asked.
Doc starts rising the table vertically.
“Face the table, and put your face in the hole. Hold on to the bars as I recline the table back.”
I was about to place my face into the hole of this leather table, when I noticed----to my horror---FACE MARKS! It was almost moist with someone else’s face marks! I was going to vomit right there. I wanted to run out of there screaming! I even smelled cologne coming off the table from the previous patient. This was unnerving to say the least. When the table was horizontal, I held my face up with my hands.
“It appears to be that you sprained your hip. One leg is shorter than another, due to muscle tightness. It’s not a slipped disk or anything.”
“Great, I’m crooked and I have hip problems at my age…” I said, as my voice projected from under the table.
I felt a little shock of something poking my spine and side area. It didn’t hurt at all, but it felt sort of weird.
“I’m using a specifically designed instrument that enables me to make the needed adjustments.”
He showed me what he was using. It looked like a little silver gun that had a trigger. Each time he pulled the trigger, a blunt flat surfaced rod came out to give me a jolt. He wasn’t cracking bones at all!
“I’m going to leave an ice pack on your back for about ten minutes. Just lay here, and I’ll be back…”
Still the dilemma remains—the face marks! I can’t put my face in this hole. I lifted my head, and somehow, while the doctor was helping another patient out, he peeked back in the room and asked if I was okay.
“Oh I’m fine…just adjusting.”
I couldn’t take much more of the smell of someone’s cologne on this table. He must have been sweating or something, because it was still moist. This was disgusting. I couldn’t take it any longer.
Doc came back in, gave me a new ice pack to use at home, and told me to rest for three days. I was just glad to get out of there. I thought going to a chiropractor’s office would be ‘germ free’ and safe, but I was wrong.
Tomorrow I have an appointment with a massage therapist at some clinic-type spa. Some of these masseuses use some really wacky hocus-pocus voodoo-like treatments on their patients, so I’m in for a real treat tomorrow.
I’m just hoping for a clean table. Is that too much to ask for?
Sunday, October 23, 2005
“Oh, sure…” I said, to the boy behind the counter.
“Okay, your photos didn’t come in yet.”
“Huh? Isn’t this a one hour photo? I gave you twenty-four hours.”
“Yeah, but it sometimes can take a day or two, depending if we have to send them out due to an overload.”
“I see…You need to do some major fine printing on your sign then...Can I come back tomorrow?”
“Yeah, it should be ready by then.” The boy said, in an uncertainty in his voice.
The sign “should” read:
ONE HOUR PHOTO
Please be aware that
your photos may be delayed
a few days due to high school
kids handling your precious
Has anyone else ever experienced this before?
Friday, October 21, 2005
Driving down to Rehoboth Beach, DE for a much needed vacation, I should have put sails on top of my car. It was torrential downpours with side-swiping rain making the roads literally a raging river. Overturned tractor trailers, major traffic delays and ambulances rushing on the side of the highway passing through for emergencies made me feel very uneasy about this trip. It got to the point where we had to pull over at a rest stop because it was now zero visibility. It’s supposed to be a four hour trip, and we’re used to driving much more than that—so it wasn’t a big deal to make a pit stop.
“I have to go to the bathroom anyway, let’s go inside for a little while.” I said, as I parked my car.
“Want me to get you something to eat? You hungry Deb?”
“No, I don’t want anything on this trip for the sake of stopping again, but get yourself something if you’d like…I’ll be right back.”
Okay guys…are you sick of my bathroom stories or what? Yes, I am about to explain what’s inside
"THE LADIES ROOM”… What a horror!
I walk into the little foyer. The bathroom stalls were a mile long. There must have been a hundred of them. So many to pick from!
*It was clearly obvious someone had urinated, yet didn’t use any napkins to clean up. Totally yellow water. I wasn’t about to flush out of courtesy. Why should I? There were ninety-nine toilets left to choose from.
*This taught me a valuable lesson: Never eat at a rest stop’s Mexican pavilion. The look of refried beans is so not appealing.
*Mama always taught me to put down those paper towel toilet seats so your butt doesn’t get marinated in someone else’s DNA…But she also told me to flush that down too. This person only learned half the lesson. I was not about to push that in the toilet myself. No courtesy calls on my part.
*Why do I hear the music from psycho? I hear it loud, and I hear that music damn clear with this stall. Fecal matter was all over the seat, all over the walls, and for the love of God, the amount that was still in the bowl was enough to fill up the septic tank for one year.
No more doors. I’m not going to gross you out. I did slip into door number eighty, and it was alright. Leverage and balance was all part of the ‘don’t slip and get wet game’…I was pleasantly surprised to see that the soap was that hospital foam along with clean sinks and sufficient paper towels. My OCD was happy.
“Ready?” I asked, as Madelene was waiting outside the bathroom.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale,a tale of a fateful trip.
That started from upstate New York,
aboard this SUV.
The mate was a mighty sailin' gal,
and Maddy was brave and sure.
Two passengers set sail that day,
for a three hour tour, a three hour tour………
The weather started getting rough,
the SUV was tossed.
If not for the courage of the fearless crew,
the Explorer would be lost; the Explorer would be lost.
Ah, finally…our destination. We got there safe and sound. Now the only obstacle was to unpack. Ugh. My back was hurting from a previous injury, and the weather was turning me into a ninety year old arthritis-stricken witch from hell. Guess who did most of the hauling up four flights of stairs with luggage?
Oh shut up! I would have done it if it weren’t for my back!
We were greeted by two charming gay men who owned the guest house. Flamboyant and excited that we were staying for a full week, they were eager to point out all the hot spots of the area and where to go, and not to go. As one gentleman was pointing out sites on the map to Maddy, the more feminine guy was making it quite obvious he was taking notes on my appearance. He first started glancing at my hair, down to my jewelry, down to my manicured nails, and of course—what else? My shoes. What gay man doesn’t look at a nice pair of shoes? I didn’t think anything of it, it’s his house, and he’s just curious of what types of people are staying there. I’d do the same thing too.
Since we made it to the guest house sort of late, we ended up eating take out and relaxing that evening. The next morning, the sun was beaming through the crescent moon shaped window, and I started jumping on the bed like a little kid waiting for Mad to get up so we can go out and play. Mad took off her satin blindfolds and started laughing.
“Come on! It’s sunny and the weather channel says it’s going to be close to 80 degrees and sunny all week! Let’s have breakfast on the deck!”
I went downstairs to pick up the food and coffee, and I see a bunch of gay men talking amongst themselves, however looking over my way as well.
“Oh yeah, total Fran Drescher. Has anyone ever told you that before sweetie?”
“Uhh, yeah…a few times…” I said, as I laughed over the nicknames my ex and I had. People used to call us Fran Drescher and Winona Rider.
“Well, sh*t—I wish I had her body!” I said, chuckling as I was pouring my coffee.
“Don’t we all hunnay, don’t we all…” The guy said, in this drag queen-like voice.
I gave them a huge “Fran laugh” as I walked back upstairs…then I heard them cackling like a bunch of wild hens in heat.
The rest of the vacation, I have to put in another post, because I haven’t yet developed my film yet. Yes…MY FILM! I forgot my digital camera! I had to use a pharmacy disposable camera. I will pick up my disc later so I can explain every single funny detail of this trip. Believe me, to much of my surprise, I have too much to blog about with this lovely vacation.
Did I have fun? I absolutely enjoyed myself immensely. Madelene and I laughed so much on this trip- it was all worth it. Photos are coming up either later tonight, or tomorrow. You gotta see some of these pictures. I hope they came out alright. I hate the fact that I forgot my digital camera.
To be continued…
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
“Check…” I said, remembering the most important thing...
“Madelene! My bloody mary mix!”
“Check…that was first on the list, Deb.”
I never leave home without my famous bloody mary mix. This ensures me that I can drink like a fish every single night of my vacation. No holding back here. We’re finally leaving tomorrow for our vacation. Our plans have changed a tad, due to circumstances--but it worked out well, because we are heading south, to a gay community that our friends suggested.
Work is off my list of ‘things to do’. No more men telling me I give great head---on their pints of tap beer; for I’ll be on the other side of the bar telling some female bartender the same tacky innuendo. I’ll be in the company of my two closest friends, and my Madelene. No time for flirting with the bartenders---it’s time to have my annual good time with my sweetie!
Madelene and I were supposed to leave for our ‘previously planned’ vacation last Sat, however, we’re very happy we didn’t go that week. It poured the entire time. The rain was nonstop, and still is nonstop. The forecast promises for some great sunny days ahead. I’m really looking forward to spending some much needed ‘alone’ time with Madelene. I want this to be a romantic getaway where we can get to rediscover one another all over again.
Female “musts” while vacationing:
Our suite has a vanity. Let me tell you how happy I am about this! Usually you have to pile a bunch of crap on this little sink they give you in a bed and breakfast, but this resort has its ‘own room’ just for getting ready. A vanity room! A woman’s dream! We’re located on the top floor where they have French doors opening up to your own private deck overlooking a lake and the ocean. I have the best of both worlds. I can’t wait to sit with my sweetie and enjoy our breakfast and coffee in the morning, while taking in this amazing view. The whole entire town is a gay community with a ton of upscale and highly rated restaurant and nightclubs. Our friends just got back from there and said it was ten times better than Provincetown, MA, where we usually go on vacation this time of year.
Finished the final revisions on my book. It’s all ready for the big printing process. I can’t wait. I’m celebrating not only finishing my book that I have been working on for the past year and a half, but celebrating the fact that I went through particular events in my life which enabled me to write it. I hope it helps other people. It was therapeutic writing it, as well as reading it over. The book is based on how God helped me through a bad break up, and how drawing closer to God can help you with any aspect in your life. I’ve learned that if you include God every part of your life, whether work, relationships, problems or other matters—He really knows what’s best for you. We just need to trust in Him more. Whether the book sells or not, I just hope that it may ease the pain of someone else going through the same pain I went through.
Speaking of painful break ups, my buddy who lives in Boston is going through hell right now. Her girlfriend broke up with her, and I was the one who got that 3am drunken phone call.
“Yeh, errrrrr, hiyaaaaaaa Deb! I, I, I---yeh…I just got backkk fffrom da’baa, and I made out wit’some girl. Ba-ha ha ha ha! Cuz I’m a stud like dat’! Ba-ha ha ha ha ha! Yeh. Ummm….errrrrrrrrrrr…..Debbie! Maddy! I love youuuu twooooo soooooo much man! I love you man! Y-y-y-yerrrrrrrrrrrrr da’best. F*ck herrrrr, ya know? I mean, c-c-c’mon, she c-c-c’could have broke upppp with me cuz I cheated…b-b-but I didn’t. F*ck her, ya know? Okayyyy, I hate da’fact dat’ yerrrrr not goin’ to Provincetown thissss year, b-b-but, you gotta come and visitttt me soon. I love you guysssssss!”
Why is it every time one of my friends gets totally ossified, they end up displaying their undying love for me? I know it’s the alcohol talking, yet I’m flattered, and yet, I’m thinking, “You drunk ass! Get some coffee and sleep that off before I save this voice mail and show you tomorrow!”
Guess what I’m doing?
Yes. I saved it. My dear friend has done this once before on her birthday. Oh sh*t, it is her birthday, ...I gotta go call her!!! What a terrible friend I am!
I’ll be away till the October 24th. As you know, I won’t be blogging. If you do see an updated blog between now and October 24th, ----it’s totally a bad sign...
Question before I go away though. I want to take survey.
(If you’re a drinker) What is “your” best way to cure a hangover? I don’t want to hear ibuprofens or other pain reliever remedies; I want to hear creative ways of recovering from a hangover. I will check this if need be, on vacation if I am in dire straits!
Monday, October 10, 2005
“Ugh! I hate that!” I said, frustrated over the fact that there was a short car deceiving me of a parking spot. Being that it was Columbus Day, sales were on the rise, and so were the crowds of people rushing in. I desperately needed new comfortable shoes for work and some new clothes for vacation next week. My feet hurt, my back hurt, and I was not in the mood to struggle my way through crowds today. I had a hangover from the night before, which left my stomach feeling queasy and my head a bit too fuzzy to concentrate.
“Oh look Mad, this woman is about to go to her car!” I said, in a stalker-like voice. I literally followed this poor woman and her two kids to her car. I am sure she knew we were desperate for a parking space, but the fact that I was driving real slowly behind her didn’t ease that awkwardness of, ‘get off my fricken back you moron’! I would have thought the same.
“Lovely.” I said, watching the woman take her sweet time getting out of the parking lot I had been stalking. I know this strategy. It’s called revenge. When someone is following me for a parking lot, I take my sweet time getting out. You stalk---you wait. It’s almost the same as when someone is crossing the street, and you are in a rush. The pedestrian sees that you are in a rush, but somehow decides to walk much slower than he/she would have, if you weren’t in such a hurry. Everybody on the street in an enemy. Road rage happens all the time. People are so tough in their moving vehicles, flipping you the bird and lip synching obscenities through a sound-proof window; until they come to a stop sign or a traffic light. Fear sets in, wondering if now is the best time to bail out and run for the hills.
“AH! Finally!” The lady I stalked has pulled out of the parking lot with her tiny Mini Cooper, so I can squeeze my giant SUV into the same spot. Feeling much like a sardine in a pool of cars, I try squeezing out of the door so I wouldn’t hit the other vehicle parked next to me. I usually curse people who park so close, but what can I do? There were no parking spaces available. I was my own enemy.
Having a touch of agoraphobia along with all my other mental disabilities, I try to manage walking through the massive crowd of people. We need some order here. The malls don’t have any rules or regulations on ‘which side you should be walking on’…I think it should be like a road, drive on the right side of the lane, and go with the flow. Don’t go against the grain. This is where you bump into that big broad who has ‘had it up to here’ with rude people.
“Watch where you’re going!!!” She shouts, as her shoulder crashes into mine. I claim this as a no fault. You need insurance to be walking around these crazy malls. Then you have the people with their strollers…who are walking in front of you…who have all day to mosey around window shopping. Get me? I seek out strategic ways to maneuver myself ahead of them…but it doesn’t work. I have Madelene walking aside of me. I have to somehow maneuver her with me too. She’s too busy 'moseying along' like this other woman and her ten kids. Ugh.
“I have to use the ladies room.”
“Okay, let’s go upstairs, they have a public one there.” Madelene says.
Escalators. What a horrible invention. I usually walk myself up these moving stairs, but somehow, I feel bad, because everyone else is just standing there, letting this huge conveyer belt move them along. Again, it’s all about ‘going with the flow’. My hands never touch that rubber railing. How many people have been holding on to this thing? The germs! Time for the liquid hand sanitizer. I reach in, and rub this stuff frantically, hoping to kill every little specimen that I picked up on this escalator.
I hear angels calling. I see a light! It’s the restroom area! My bladder is dancing a happy song, as I rush to go inside the ladies room. Walking closer and closer to the restroom, I notice the foul smell of sewage wafting through the thick warm air. I also notice that Madelene has stopped walking with me. Apparently she didn’t have to go. Maybe, she just didn't want to inhale someone's lunch that went wrong...
“Here, I’ll hold your bags Deb, you go in, I don’t have to go.”
“Uhh, okay…thanks.” I said, as I started to walk into the warm funky air that engulfed every part of me. I waited for a stall. The air was thick, warm, and smelled like baked ass. I couldn’t take it. I tried breathing through my mouth, then thought, “Ew, no, I don’t want to ingest this crap.” Literally... People were washing their hands and throwing the paper towels at the garbage---missing it, only due to rushing out of this stink hole. There was water everywhere; which to me, spells out B*A*C*T*E*R*I*A C*I*T*Y!!!!!!!!!!!!
A woman finally exits one of the stalls. Hmm, she’s really cute, dressed nicely, so the toilet must be ‘okay’ if she just walked out. I felt safe. I was wrong. The smell was more potent, and I started to dry heave. Oh my God, I’m going to throw up! I can’t believe this! Do I throw up in the toilet, or do I just projectile my vomit over the stall into the next bathroom? I try holding my breath longer. I’m going to reek of ass when I walk out of here. This is not good. I made the huge mistake of sitting on the toilet. What do these women do? Smear their nastiness all over the entire seat? I don’t get it. The entire seat left the back of my legs wet. It’s all about levitation when using one of these public bathrooms ladies.
Men---you have it so easy. Damn you!
Finally, I get the hell outa’ that stall, to go wash my hands.
“What?” I look at the counter full of paper towels and puddles of water, and then notice that the faucets had to be held down while washing your “one” hand. What is the purpose of this? You literally have to hold down the nozzle, to wash one hand. It’s impossible. How can one hand wash itself? Time for the liquid hand sanitizer that’s stashed in my purse. Always carry one around—I really mean that. I know I am OCD'ing it, but who knows what nasty bug is lurking in those misty bathrooms. Ew.
I flew out of there feeling so dirty. I was in no mood to continue shopping. That was it. I wanted to go home.
“You okay, Deb?”
“I feel sick. I want to go home now.” I said, pouting like a little whiney kid.
“Okay, I’ll drive.” Madelene says, being so patient with me.
The cure of this whole awful situation? Online shopping. I will not go into a mall anytime soon, unless it’s on a Wednesday morning when everyone is at work. I’ve had it. No more. I’m going to click my way to a better wardrobe.
Saturday, October 08, 2005
“Huh? Aren’t you supposed to ask him what he wants to drink?”
“No. His moods are unpredictable. He’s a little prick who has manic moments---I think he’s on meds.”
“Who isn’t these days?” I said, as the waitress was trying to give me tips on how to handle certain regulars.
Low and behold, Bob walks in and sits at the corner of the bar. He doesn’t make eye contact. I throw a coaster his way. Nothing is said. No eye-contact, just plain awkwardness. I had to. I had to test it out.
“So, would you like a drink?”
“I’m at a bar, what do you think?” He answers back in a sarcastic little son of a bitch tone.
“I’ll have a chardonnay.”
“Coming right up.” I said, as if he asked me nicely. I didn’t budge to his bi-polar moment, I just served.
Minutes later, a beautiful woman comes walking in. She walks over to Bob, kisses and hugs him, and then sits down. I throw a coaster her way.
“Hi, what can I get for ya?”
“I’ll hov’a umm, muhh, kay---rum and club.”
“Sure…” I run over, and make her a rum and club soda. This is what I heard through that thick British accent. She seemed to be fumbling through her words as though she spoke another language, but she didn’t—it was English. The accent threw me off.
“Here ya go…are you hungry? Would you like to see a menu?”
“Wait! This is NOT what she ordered!” Bob said, as he pushed the drink back into my direction.
“She said she wanted the Mount Gay rum! Put that in a rocks glass too!” He said, all angry and upset.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, no problem!” I said to the woman, not making any eye contact with Bob any longer.
Usually, a rum and club comes in a little cocktail glass with a lemon wedge. Mount Gay is more like a cordial; a thick caramel color and is considered more upscale. I didn’t hear “Mount Gay”---I heard, ‘umm, muhh, kay’… To me was equivalent to, ‘Umm, okay—rum and club.”
Still with me?
So another aspect of my job; get a translator. Whatever.
Regulars that enter this bar look at me in a puzzled way. Why? Because I was ‘one of them’. I sat with these people, drinking and having fun---“on the other side”… Now, I was serving them. Perplexed and inquisitively confused, they all ask, “What gives?”
My very first day, this beautiful woman walks in there—alone. She’s tall, thin, has long dark curly hair down to her waist, and huge, gigantic, enormous, ……………………………………..teeth. Yeah, she has a huge chest too.
I nearly trip over myself trying to get this simple drink for her. Why was she ordering a diet coke at a bar like this? I was confused, but was more than willing to give her anything she requested. Eh-hem.
“Umm, this doesn’t taste like Jack.”
“Is there Jack in here?”
“Oh! You wanted a Jack and coke!” I said, fumbling over myself again, trying to jump up to reach the bottle of Jack Daniels for this beautiful woman. The bar was quite loud & boisterous that evening and I was apparently having major hearing problems. She laughed. She kept smiling at me.
“There ya go…so sorry about that, I’m deaf today, so just scream if you need me.”
Did I just tell her to scream for me?
She said I was cute! Yeah yeah yeah! Woo hoo! I’m cute! HUH? Naw, she can’t be gay. Is she? I looked over as she was gleaming at me while her straw was so lucky to be placed between her two full lips… Ugh, I’m in trouble. I have a ring on, I have a ring on, I have a ring on…
Ah, it’s quitting time, and a pretty girl came to relieve me---- (of my shift of course). I sign out of the complicated computerized cash register and grab my jar full of tips. I look over, and this gorgeous Jack & coke chick is tapping her hand on a stool, indicating she wanted me to sit with her. Hmm. Okay.
“Have a drink with me. You’re off of work, right? I’m Nadine.”
“Yeah. Sure I’ll have a drink with you---my name is Debbie…”
“Nerrr, nerrrr, now ain't she a mightay’ fiiiine bartender?” A man said, dressed in his Harley Davidson attire.
“She certainly is.” She replies.
~“Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am—stuck in the middle with you…”~
What did I get myself into? A gorgeous woman to the left, and a hillbilly Harley dude to the right of me, and I’m absolutely caught between a rock and a hard place. I was stuck. I wanted to go home. This guy was going to ruin my special encounter with this woman.
“Wanna see my tattoo of the World Trade Center?” She asks.
“Hell yeah!” The Harley man pipes up—interjecting my ‘hell yeah’…
She lifts up her short mini skirt, and it was a memorial piece that was done beautifully. Mr. Hillbilly Harley man had to put his bifocals on before viewing this peep show. I guess this gave me an advantage. Ha, nimrod!
Four beers later, and bullshitting about work and other normal crap you talk about when meeting someone for the first time, she hands me her card and phone number. She does hair—so I asked her if she would do my hair… Yes…only ‘my hair’.
I left, and she kept returning to my bar the same time. I didn’t call. I felt weird. There she was, again, at the end of the bar with some other guy. Totally not her speed though---he was such an opposite of her. They sat together at the end, as I was finishing off some drinks that the waitresses desperately needed for their customers.
I fling two coasters at the end.
“Diet coke again?” I said, laughing at my previous mistake.
“Haha! You know what I want.” She says, but in a weird tone as she stared me up and down---almost raping me with her eyes. OH GOD I am so in trouble! I almost forgot to ask what her boyfriend wanted.
Ah! Another advantage for me! He’s a quitter! A non-drinker! She can’t be with someone like that!
“Deb, this is my boyfriend Craig.”
“Hi Craig.” I said—as if I were saying it in unison with a bunch of people sitting on steel chairs in an AA meeting.
A boyfriend. Hmm. Not gay. Or--bi? I was trying to figure this one out.
Again, I fumbled making her a drink. She had me nervous! She was staring at me. I felt her eyes on me. It was actually kinda hot. I glanced over as I was pouring her jack, her eyes were still locked on me. It was very obvious, and a bit overwhelming for me. I then placed her drink in front of her as she wrapped those beautiful lips around the straw. I popped open an O’Doules for the lovely quitter she had sitting next to her.
“Hungry? Do you want a menu?”
“Ohhh, I’m staaaarvvvvving…I’ll have the chicken fingers.” She replies.
“Starving—and you only want an appetizer?” I asked.
”He won’t eat with me. I would get something more, but I want someone to be able to eat with me too.”
LOSER!... Why aren’t you eating with this gorgeous girl? Forget about that—why aren’t you drinking with her? She feels left out. Alone. Thrown aside to his ‘I’m fixing myself’ attitude’.
There she was. The girl who relieves me from my shift. It was quitting time. I look over at Nadine who was still giving me that ‘look’, that ‘stare’---that, ‘COME HOME WITH ME TONIGHT’ gleam.
“Well, it was nice seeing you again, Nadine, and a pleasure meeting you, Craig.” I said, indicating I was leaving.
“Ohhhh, you’re leaving?” She says, in this whiney kinda sexy voice. She then grabbed my arm.
I fumble again. I start to stutter.
“Err, umm, ahh, muhh--kay.” Sounding much like the woman who tried to order her Mount Gay rum. This wasn’t working.
“I really can’t, as much as I would love to. Come back to see me soon! You still have to cut my hair!”
“And you still have yet to call me.” She says, with a tiny wink, letting me know it wasn’t going to be just a haircut.
Before you all go on yelling at me for flirting—I told Madelene about my encounter with this woman. She already knows this is for ‘tipping purposes’, however I didn’t get to see what she tipped me, because the girl relieved me of my shift. She had to tip the next girl. I ran out of there too quickly. Am I going to call her? Maybe. For a haircut. Yeh.
Karma. I totally believe in it. Before I left the bar, a previous bartender who used to serve me at that very same bar, gave me a huge tip—as I did for her when she was serving me. That made my whole night. She remembered. She also remembered my drinks.
“Kettle shot, and a Beck’s!”
I’m tired. My back hurts, and my feet are pulsing right now. I have a heating pad on my back, and I am about to take some ibuprofens for the pain. If you look at the time stamp, umm, a bit late, or should I say—a bit early? I can’t sleep, so I decided to blog. Madelene is getting up in a little while to go to work, while I look forward to spending my rainy weekend in front of my large plasma TV watching Lifetime movies.
Life is good!
Anyway—I need some suggestions… How do I handle this girl? Should I call her for a haircut? Should I ‘not’ call, and make her keep running to my bar? Should I play “Yeah come and git’me” while there is no intentions of 'gittin' any'?
What are your thoughts?
Thursday, October 06, 2005
“Well, why don’t you? I’ll serve you the best drinks and it would be nice if you could keep me company while I work. Please feel free to eat at my bar!” I said, so she would feel better.
“No, no, no, it’s not the same anymore dear; it’s just not the same...” She said, looking at the huge bar in front of her, as if it were bringing back good memories.
I felt so bad. Madelene and I always eat dinner at the bar. We hardly ever get a table. I wonder, when we get to be that age, will we resort to getting a table? It’s so much fun to sit at a bar, eat your dinner, along with other people and socialize. I’d be so thrilled if older people did this. Do we get more insecure as we get older? Or is it that the elderly don’t want to put up with whatever else goes on at a bar?
Which do you prefer? A table? Or a seat at the bar?
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
“So are you married?”
“No.” I said, not elaborating any further that I was gay as I poured the man his merlot.
“Sorry. That was a personal question, huh? I just saw that beautiful, sparkly ring, so I was curious.”
What would YOU say?
“Oh this? Family heirloom. My mother gave this to me.” I said, frustrated over the fact that I now lied to this poor man. I totally lied! Eventually it will be known that I am gay in there. Our clientele is a mix. There are gays, lesbians, bi-sexual and straight people that come to this bar. I just couldn’t blurt out those two words. “I’m gay.”
I wasn’t embarrassed or anything; it was just that this man was sitting at the same spot at my bar for five hours. He only had two glasses of wine. He drank them very slowly. He left when my shift was over.
“It’s about time they get someone who looked like you behind that bar.”
“Tee-hee.” Tee hee? Did I just giggle like a fricken bimbo? I didn’t know how to respond to that.
My boss comes up to the bar abruptly.
“Deb! When is the week that you are going on vacation? When did you need off?”
“Umm, not sure-- I have to ask Madelene.”
“Ohhh, you going on vacation with the family?” The man asks.
“Oh, no, just taking a break with a few girlfriends for the week. We usually do it this time of year.”
How can I tell him that my ~lover~ and I are heading to a gay community for the week? There goes my tip…Or would it? Maybe he’d tip me more! By the looks of him, he didn’t seem to ‘open-minded’. He was a businessman, engineer for some big major corporation. He was clean cut, and kind of cute, if I were straight. The man next to him drove up on a Harley and was drinking Bud. Total opposites. The bar holds many various people in there. I have a professor that comes in there, in his late sixties and only drinks a diet coke. I don’t ask, I just serve. He doesn’t order any food or appetizers…just diet cokes.
“What are you wearing Debbie?” My friend who works with me asks as she looks down at my shoes.
“I had to wear my three inch heels, or I wouldn’t be able to reach the top shelf liquors.”
“Debbie! Oh my God! You’re feet are going to fall off!” She says, as she laughs at me.
I’m in pain right now. I have to do this all over tomorrow. Due to the Jewish holiday, the place is packed this week. I came home, threw my tips on the counter and felt like a complete stripper. I’ve never seen so many singles before in my life. I haven’t done this kind of work since I was twenty years old. It beats sitting behind a desk all day.
I love my job!
Now that I have served all my friendly customers, I am not ready for a really strong cocktail.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Never did I dream that one day I would be planted on the other side of the bar. But here I stand, with a smile and ready to serve up your favorite poison. Not only am I the addict, I have become the dealer now—except it’s legal. That will be my day today. By the looks of the weather and how gloomy it is, I predict it may be slower than usual.
Last night, Madelene and I went to go to the liquor store. Really, I know what you’re thinking, I should get my butt to AA, but no, I can’t drink all that coffee. It makes me too nervous. That stuff is worse than wine!
Getting back to walking into the liquor store…It’s like a warehouse full of toys for me.
“Mad! Come here! Look what they got!”
“You want white this time Deb? You usually drink cabernet.”
“I know, but I’m in the mood for some chardonnay and Chinese food tonight.”
“Oooh, that sounds good!” Mad said, apparently tired of washing down her food with shots of vodka. I needed to turn her on to wine again. She’s been slipping.
We both get up to the counter, and I ask the boy at the cash register if I could get five mega millions.
“Uhhhhh, okay. You gotta pay for that separate you know?”
“Fine. Five megas please.” I shot back, frustrated with his punk ass ‘I hate my job’ attitude.
“Heh—yeh, umm, errr, you’re the one millionth customer, so like, yeah, you get another ticket for free.” The kid said.
“Hey! That’s great! Maybe this will be the lucky one—I won’t forget your face.” I said, laughing at the way this kid reminded me of Beavis & Butthead. I knew he had a familiar laugh. We got back home, and yes, we drank both the bottles of wine. I was born an alcoholic. Really. When my mother was driving to the hospital to give birth to me, she had just finished a martini. Back then, people smoke, drank and what not while they were pregnant. My right foot came out of my mother as they were driving off to the hospital. I must have been drunk to even consider making such a move, but I was feeling good. I wanted to come out and greet the world with a smile. And I did. Even though it was a traumatic birth, I was a breech baby, I came out of my mother's womb smiling, and yes—laughing. Tis the reason why I love martinis so much. Ah, memories.
Okay---backtrack the convo here. Sorry, I’m all over the place, but I’m in a rush to get ready and get the hell outa’ here for the day. This post is so out of my character, and yes, I am hung over.
Dilemma: To wear the ring? Or to not wear the ring? That is the question! I need your opinion. If I am going to be working at this bar for a long time, shouldn’t I hide the fact that I have a ring on my finger? (Especially while I wash glasses) Yeah, I tried that excuse; didn’t fly. Handling customers of all different types, and trying to make as many tips as possible, I think it would be more lucrative to appear as though I were single. Don’t you agree? It’s not as if I’m gonna hop over the other side of the bar and jump on the back of Bubba’s Harley—I just want tips!
Your opinion is greatly appreciated. Enjoy your day, and try to learn from our friends in Spain and France---eat whatever you want, but drink ~lots~, so it drowns out any cholesterol. That's my excuse...and I'm sticking with it. Cheers!
Monday, October 03, 2005
“What the? Who the? Huh? Oh no no no no no!” I said, running over to the remote controls to quickly change this awful sound. I then forgot that Madelene loves “Sounds of the Season” satellite station, on the music channel. Usually, she puts this on during the holiday season. Fine. I can handle a little Jingle Bell Rock, what I can’t handle is polka accordion music being blasted throughout the entire house when I first wake up. She must have had some huge crack pipe dangling out of her mouth that morning. I wasn’t having it.
“Good morning sweetie! I made you breakfast!” Madelene says, as she walks into the living room. I just sat there, and gave her a blank stare.
“Polka music, Mad? POLKA???” I said, in a jokingly way.
“Ah, I just love this time of year! I thought I’d wake you up with some ‘happy music.’”
“Happy music? I wanted to slit my wrists when I walked in here!” I said in a cynical tone.
She was way too happy this morning. She’s usually euphoric-like on her days off. I want to see her reaction when I start playing the same music loudly when she is getting ready for work. I don’t think it’ll make her happy that day for some odd reason. It’s quite a blessing that she wakes up so cheerful. I sometimes wake up without saying one word, until after my first cup of coffee. You can say it—I’m a big grouch.
We sat outside on our deck to have breakfast. To those who know me will disagree with that sentence right there. Yes, I did sit outside, because it was cool out. No bees. I’m deathly afraid of bees. I detest them. They’re mean, they’ll sting you for no reason. Don’t tell me, “Oh well if you don’t bother them, they won’t bother you." Wrong! These little suckers will attack at any given time. Now they are trying to nest, and sometimes they will just zap you because you’re simply ‘alive’ and it irritates them.
Madelene and I sat out there talking for hours. We realized it was noon, and jumped in the shower. Well, one at a time. Get your minds out of the gutter. We got ready not knowing what we were going to do. As I waited for Madelene to get ready, I decided to go see my mother downstairs and see what she was doing. I invited her out to lunch to this outdoor bar & grill to watch the Yankees and Red Sox. Did I forget cocktails? Of course they were included!
“You dirty hairy beast! Ugh!” Madelene says at the TV screen above the bar, as they show a shot of Johnny Damon.
“You know, Johnny Damon is a very good looking man, in spite of his hair growth problem. So what he looks like a caveman---did you get a good look at his wife though? Wow!” I said, finishing off the last remains of my beer.
“He’s disgusting. Don’t you remember when they showed him clipping his toenails while playing in the World Series last year? He’s gross Deb! I don’t know how you would think he’s good looking! Queer Eye for the Straight Guy gave him a make over once, and he looked 'halfway' decent…but not good looking!”
My mother sat there listening to her lesbian daughter and her partner arguing over if a ‘man’ is good looking. Maybe she thought there’s hope for me after all? As I said in previous posts, I can admire the beauty of a man. I think men are beautiful when they take pride in their appearance. I look at men, but not in a sexual way. I look at them like a piece of art; not a piece of @ss. When I go to Provincetown, Massachusetts, the gay men are to be awed at. The drag queens are to be envied! I could only dream to look even remotely as good as those beauties.
We left the bar & grill to head home. We continued our cocktail hour out on the patio. A ton of crows were on my lawn having a rally. The leader of the pack ‘caaw’d’ several times, then stopped; then the rest of the pack started caaw’in in unison as if they were protesting something.
“What the?” Look at them Mad! It’s like a mini Hitler and his gang. I’ve never seen such a show being displayed out on the lawn before!"
“That’s a sign. This means something.” Mom says, getting her psychic hat on.
“Ma, it’s not going to rain—it’s not in the forecast.”
“No, something is wrong, I can feel it, this is a sign.”
“I don’t know.” Mom replies.
I shake my head, looking at Madelene.
“Debbie!” My father calls from within the house.
“Go inside my gun cabinet and get ma’crow cawla!”
“Dad, they’re already here, why would you want them any closer?”
“Watch ya stupidja! You’ll get more crows. I used to use dis’when I went hunting all da’time. You don’t wanna believe me doe’.” He says, all frustrated with my disbelief.
“Fine dad, I’ll get it.”
I rush inside to open his gun cabinet. I’ve never opened this cabinet before. I never knew I would have a need to do this. I felt awkward. I opened the glass door, blew the dust off the tapes that were sitting there. They were discolored and faded out from age.
“Ugh, I’m probably gonna get some weird & nasty disease just by touching these old cruddy tapes!” I said to myself, surprised they weren’t eight tracks.
I walk back outside to put the tape in the cassette player and blasted this puppy. Oh my poor neighbors!
“CAAWWWW! CAWWWWW CAWWWWW!!!! CAWWWWWW!!!! “
After each caaw’ there were a bunch of eagle calls on it as well. I didn’t understand why there were more than one bird on here.
“Dad, what’s that other sound?”
“It’s an eagle attacking a nest of crows.” He says, as he watched the lawn, expecting more crows than we already had.
Each and every crow that were parked on my lawn flew away in fear. Of course they would flee, why wouldn’t they? An eagle was at large! No wonder my father never caught anything hunting. The most alarming question in mind was, why was he hunting for crows in the first place? (Scratching head)
The sounds of my neighbor’s dogs viscously barking non-stop was now giving me a migraine more than the crow calls were. I turned this awful noise off. I’d rather listen to polka.
My friend Lisa and I always laugh when we see a crow. She is from New Jersey, near the city almost. She rarely hears birds over there. The first evening she spent the night at our house, she was awakened by a loud "caaw". A crow was outside her window. She poked fun saying that I lived in the jungle. She heard birds that sounded as though she was in the deep jungles of Africa. They were probably sparrows she never heard.
I even went out to buy her a puppet crow that actually had a loud “caaw” sound. She still has it. She was hysterical when I gave it to her. Now she can have the luxury of listening to a crow anytime she wants.
I called her up to show her the crow tape. She laughs, but not as hard as I thought she would.
“Deb, I just got home from the hospital. I had an allergic reaction to something, I can’t figure out what it’s from.”
“Did you eat shrimp or anything of that nature?” I asked, knowing she loves her shrimp.
“Yeah, I did actually, but I think it may be my shower curtain.”
“Your shower curtain?”
“Yeah. I need to change it.” She said, seriously thinking that a shower curtain would make her rush off to the hospital in need of steroids and Benedryl.
“You may want to get checked for allergies by your doctor.” I suggested.
“Yeah, I should. My girlfriend is making me shrimp scampi right now, so I am going to eat, and sleep the rest of this stuff off.”
“What? She's making shrimp?” I said, almost in shock!
“Lisa---my sister Cathy always ate shrimp and shellfish. Then one day, she became allergic to it. Don’t you think it may be the shrimp, if anything?”
“Naw, I’ll be okay, I’ve been eating this stuff forever.” She says, in a calm voice.
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