Tuesday, August 30, 2011

We're gay, we have candles out the wazoo.

As I'm typing this, it's getting dark outside. Unfortunately, that means it's getting dark inside too. You see, we were in Hurricane Irene's path - Eastern CT, to be exact. We lucked out and didn't get all the rain they had been forecasting (that fell to our west) but we got wind. Boy, did we get wind. we got crazy fucking wind. We lost power (and a good portion of one of our trees) about 12 hours ago.

Last night, Kitty Mom, my dad's girlfriend (and my aunt - yes, it's a weird family I belong too - but it's not like we're inbred or anything), texted us, to make sure we were ready. She had seen my Facebook post about how we were ignoring the mandatory evacuation. When we found out it went something like this:

me: Uhm, Punk? An emergency services truck just drove down the street broadcasting an announcement that we need to evacuate by 6pm.
Punk: Fuck that. We have a gas stove. We're hunkering down.

A knock on the door a few minutes later proved to be our across the street neighbor Rob. As we all talked, he echoed Punk's sentiments. Then again, he & his wife are also the proud owners of a $2000 generator. Fuckers. Shortly after that Heather, our next door neighbor, called. She had also decided to stay put. Our other next door neighbor, Mrs. Duncklee, didn't call. She died a few months back, so that's probably a good thing. Not that she died, but that she didn't call - because I would have freaked the fuck out if a ghost called to ask if we were staying or leaving.

Oh, so anyway, yes, my father's girlfriend/my aunt texted to make sure we were going to be okay. She's adorable, and was all like "You have batteries, and water, and candles?" I could only text back "We're gay, we have candles out the wazoo." 

Sure enough, we lost power 12 hours ago, and now it's getting dark. Our house looks like something out of a Stevie Nicks video, with candles burning everywhere. The food in the fridge may be slowly spoiling, but the great room smells like pears. And freshly mown grass. And grapefruit with sage. Yeah, we're gay. And we have the candles to prove it.

But damn I miss the interwebz.

P.S. The story about how my dad's girlfriend is also my aunt is really NOT that weird. Really.

Monday, August 22, 2011

Kidnapped. And in love.

So we decided (okay, Punk decided.) to take a spur of the moment road trip. It went something like this:
Me (showered, but pre-coffee groggy): So what do you want to do today?
Punk: I was thinking about Burlington, Vermont. It’s pet friendly.
My husband is a genius. He’s done several things in one breath. He has:
A:Figured out a plan of attack for the day.
B:Made it exciting.
C: Negated any worries about leaving Sophie behind.
D: presented an”open road challenge”!
Sure enough, less than an hour later, we were on the road to Vermont. About 40 minutes after we crossed the border, Punk started telling me about his friend Maggie, who had moved up to… Vermont. We texted Viv, and it turned out we were not even 20 minutes from her restaurant, White Rock Pizza.  So we decided on a side trip, and 5 hours later, our stomachs full of awesome pizza, and me with mucho chardonnay, we are sill here.
Maggie is holding us hostage. She momentarily ran out of the kitchen to proclaim “I’m taking you to the best place for breakfast, ever!”. Did I mention I love this woman already? She’s a tall, thin Stan. Oh, and we are staying here tonight. Given the amount of beer & wine consumed, it’s for the best.
So we are here. In VT. Drunk. We really have earned it. I’m sure T-shirts were involved somehow.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Been there, done that, was at the funeral.

This past weekend, at Tommy's (the same night as The Riding Crop), Stan  I were sitting at the corner of the bar talking to a couple of people. It was towards the end of the night, so we both had good buzzes going. When Stan & I get going, we can egg each other on in the worst ways possible. Okay, generally I'm the enabler, spurring him on. It's rare that I'M the one causing the trouble.

So were were chatting with a few other guys, one of whom is a little bit of a stalker. I can't recall exactly what prompted it (my mind was fuzzed by multiple Stoli & Tonics) but in reference to my stalker, I literally said "Been there, done that, was at the funeral." I think there was an actual audible gasp from Stan, but I could be wrong. At the very least, I know he gave me a look that said "I can't believe you had the balls to say that within earshot."

In order to preserve any remaining sense of dignity I have, I won't go into detail, other than to say that while I am amazed I used this line, I am NOT proud by the back story.

But dear god. it was a funny line.

Houston, we have a problem. Yes, but we have a riding crop

This past weekend, we went to a bar party. Long story short, it was supposed to be a Bear Run (newbies can google What is a Bear Run) that got cancelled due to some massive fuck uppery by the douche bag who was supposed to be organizing it. Rather than call it off, the bar owners (our friends Frank & Chris) decided to just have a party at the bar for whoever could make it. So there we were, 50 or so bears hanging out, drinking & chilling.

A bunch of us (Punk & I, Stan, Stamford Steve, Joe C. & The Maldens) were there. Side note - this crew (plus Randy & Jason, Stan's hubby Steve, and a few others) is the main "Juice Box Journals" crew. Any time we get together, in whole or in part, you can be sure trouble, chaos and maybe the apocalypse are soon to follow. Stan, Stamford & Randy are, in particular, a dangerous trio.

So we had all caught a pretty good buzz, and were off chatting with different people. Suddenly, and I'm not exactly sure when, where or how, Stamford had a riding crop in his hand. Now I know it's his (Stan teaches horse riding, and introduced riding crops to our group years ago. They show up all too frequently), but he should NEVER be allowed out in public with one. Especially when drunk. He'll start out gently swatting people on the ass with it, but will inevitably forget his own strength & start smacking the shit out of some unfortunate soul.

Luckily, Stan somehow got the crop away from Stamford. Keeping it out of Stamford's hands was paramount, but it didn't mean that we couldn't have fun with it.

Am I in the right place?

No really, am I in the right place? A majority, I mean a big majority of the blogs I read all seem to exist on blogspot. Am I missing something? I mean, it's early enough that I could probably move over there without disturbing the 4 or so people who have become my stalkers. Okay, maybe 4 is being generous. But I'm SURE it's more than 2. Surely it's more than 2. I hope...

[caption id="attachment_157" align="aligncenter" width="425" caption="Who will win the battle royale!?"][/caption]


So that's it, short and sweet. Should I move over to blogspot? Oh, and a side note. Will autocorrect please STOP changing blogspot to bloodspot?

Saturday, July 30, 2011

...Aaaannnnnnd this is why I'm fat.

Did I mention that Punk is a chef? He's owned/run his own restaurant (The North End) for over 20 years. There's almost nothing he doesn't know how to cook, and cook wonderfully - and I've benefitted/suffered because of it. So this morning, as I'm finishing walking on the treadmill (walking off last night's delicious BLT's), he sticks his head in and says "I feel like making something." This is a common sentence in our home. When I say it, you know there's a pitcher of cocktails in our immediate future. When Punk says it, something tasty (and usually sweet) is on the horizon.

[caption id="attachment_131" align="alignleft" width="360" caption="Are they as good as they look? Fuck yeah."][/caption]

This mornings concoction? Cupcakes. Not just cupcakes, but Key Lime Curd Filled Lemon Cupcakes with an Italian Buttercream Frosting. I came downstairs to see the kitchen aid whirring, and Punk boiling the sugar for the Italian buttercream. I've been with him long enough to know that "You are insane" is not the thing to say when he's in a baking mood. Because do the two of us really need 2 dozen cupcakes? If I mention that, he will inevitably respond with "You didn't get that way from looking at it, douchebag."

Here's the thing. He's used to cooking "restaurant scale". I'm not sure if he's even capable of cooking for two anymore. A Pasta dinner for the two of us will involve a pound of pasta, a dozen or so meatballs and a full loaf of Italian bread. During the week, I'm a hero at work for the amount of leftovers I bring in.

So yes, I blame my husband for the 40 pounds of weight I need to lose. If he was a shitty chef, I'd be much thinner. But then again, if he was a shitty chef, I wouldn't be noshing on this fucking awesome cupcake right now, trying to decide just what cocktail would best complement them...


Edit: After much experimentation, it was determined that Cosmos were the best complement. But then again, I say that to a lot of things.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

It was Amityville Horror, without the pig.

We were away this past weekend. Technically we were up at our friend Rich's house camping, but the weather was so ungodly hot that we refused to sleep outside. So I don't think you can call it camping if we slept in the air conditioning. But that's not the point. The point is what happened in our house while we were gone.

Flies. I got a text from Viv (who had crashed at our house Saturday, since she & Rob are in the middle of a bathroom redo) telling me that she killed a shitload of flies. I assumed she was exaggerating.

A little backstory. We always seem to have about a dozen or so flies in our house. I'm not sure why, we just do. It's a constant annoyance. As fucking gross as it is, I've sort of (and this sentence is horrifying to write) become immune to them. So when Viv texted that she killed flies, I just shrugged it off.

Then we came home.

I kid you not, when we walked in the house it was like that scene in Amityville Horror where the window is filled with flies. The frenchwood doors in our back hall had probably a dozen flies flitting around. Okay - kind of weird. But then we started to look at the other windows. They ALL had flies bashing their dumbs fly heads against the glass.. Vivian was NOT exaggerating. She even left the mini vacuum cleaner out to show all the flies she sucked up. There were dozens trapped, flying in and around the dog hair & rug lint. It was one of the grossest things I've ever seen. Punk & I spent the next two hours, two fucking hours, killing, vacuuming & in general, just getting rid of flies. It had to have been over 100. Fucking disgusting. The only thing we can surmise is they came in via the garage, because we had a garbage can that, as it turns out, had some shit in there, and we wound up with maggots. In the explosive heat we've had over the last few days, we think the fly population exploded like 9 months after woodstock.

That was several days ago, and I'm happy to report that we have the fly population mostly under control. But it was a close call for a while there. I swear, if I had seen one set of glowing red pig eyes, I'd have called for a priest.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Apropos of nothing...

Random thoughts:

I have a lot of shit on my laptop. It's a 2009 15" MacBook Pro, and I love it to death. But really, I need to clean it up. I have dozens of weird random images on my desktop - many for blog posts. Here's one of the stranger ones:

I just installed Lion, and so far, I think I like it.

I'm creative, caring, know how to make a mean cosmo, and am occasionally clever. Those are the plusses. I'm a procrastinator, I hate conflict, I'm mildly ADD, and am absent minded . Those are the minuses. I love reality TV, reading on the john, I'm a happy drunk, and can't burp. Plusses or minuses - you decide.

I'm blogging in my underwear, sipping a delicious glass of Kono Sauvignon Blanc. I'm also watching Big Brother - Rachel should be shot at dawn. Just a little slice of life insight.

Speaking of which - Punk & I have a side business called Slice of Life. It's an online t-shirt company with designs by and for foodies. Check us out!

My nephew just married his long-time girlfriend/fiancee last weekend. Unfortunately, Punk & I had to miss it, due to work. But we are psyched to officially welcome Lady to the family!! Hi Danielle Councilor! I saw Jodie's pictures - you were (are!) beautiful!

I'm also an avid computer gamer - I love World of Warcraft, even if I've barely had the chance to play it in the last few months. Yes, I'm a geek.

One of the the things I've learned I need to work on doing in my blog posts (thanks for the great examples, Jen!) is really to tell a story. Beginning, middle, end. And of course, to be entertaining.

Random thoughts, out....

Apropos of absolutely nothing...

Random thoughts:

I have a lot of shit on my laptop. It's a 2009 15" MacBook Pro, and I love it to death. But really, I need to clean it up. I have dozens of weird random images on my desktop - many for blog posts. Here's one of the stranger ones:



I just installed Lion, and so far, I think I like it.

I'm creative, caring, know how to make a mean cosmo, and am occasionally clever. Those are the plusses. I'm a procrastinator, I hate conflict, I'm mildly ADD, and am absent minded . Those are the minuses. I love reality TV, reading on the john, I'm a happy drunk, and can't burp. Plusses or minuses - you decide.

I'm blogging in my underwear, sipping a delicious glass of Kono Sauvignon Blanc. I'm also watching Big Brother - Rachel should be shot at dawn. Just a little slice of life insight.

Speaking of which - Punk & I have a side business called Slice of Life. It's an online t-shirt company with designs by and for foodies. Check us out!

My nephew just married his long-time girlfriend/fiancee last weekend. Unfortunately, Punk & I had to miss it, due to work. But we are psyched to officially welcome Lady to the family!! Hi Danielle Councilor! I saw Jodie's pictures - you were (are!) beautiful!

I'm also an avid computer gamer - I love World of Warcraft, even if I've barely had the chance to play it in the last few months. Yes, I'm a geek.


Friday, July 15, 2011

He's a chinchilla farmer...

I know I blogged about my fear of being judged in my last post. Here's the catch: Snap judgements are fun, and occasionally hysterical.

The scene: A pool filled with 100's of bears. For those of you who don't understand that last sentence, I'll give you a readers digest. A bear is, generally, a gay man who is somewhat heavyset & usually hairy. Intrigued? My job is done - but if you want (or need, you perves!) more info, check this link for the dry, boring explanation. The more daring of you can follow this link, but I won't be held responsible. You click it, you buy it!

Okay - so anyway, we're at the pool with 100's of bears (One more side note. Lots of bears in a pool is commonly referred to as "Bear Soup".) Punk, Frank & I are sitting in the chairs, daintily sipping our Planter's Punch, complete with 151 rum floaters. We watch as one scantily clad (okay - another side note. Many bears wear speedo bathing suits, with wildly varying results.) bear gets out & poses & preens while talking to a friend. This guy was so furry it was overwhelming. He was also wearing ancient, a decrepit cowboy hat, had ratty semi bleached long hair, leathery face, etc. It set Punk, Frank & I to analyzing him. The conversation went something like this:
Frank: You know he's named something unisex, like sky or storm.

Punk: He's probably named after a car.

Frank: I don't think he's a mercedes. He's more of a buick.

Me: And you know he's sad because it's his last day here before he goes back to working at the ranch. I'm sure he works at a chinchilla farm.

Frank: Yes, that's it. His name is a vowel & he's a chinchilla farmer.

Punk: Mystery solved.

At which point we decided the best thing to do would be to order another round of drinks. I was fairly sure Oue the chinchilla farmer would approve.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Get your limp on...

The other day, as our friend Steve & I were approaching my car, we had a conversation that went like this:

Steve: Uhm, Gates? Are you forgetting something?

Me (frantically checking pockets): Spectacles, Testicles, Wallet & Watch. Nope, I'm good.

Steve: Isn't it time for you to get your limp on?

Me: Oh shit - thanks! (commence ridiculously overblown limping)


I have a confession to make. I have a "Princess Parking" permit. Princess parking is what we call handicapped parking. Before anyone goes and feels all bad for me, imagining me in a wheel chair with some terrible, life altering injury, don't. My princess parking permit is...(cue ominous music)... stolen.

Technically it was found. Punk & I were leaving a restaurant one night about 6 months ago. As we were heading to our car, Punk happened to look down & there it was. A lifetime handicapped parking tag. Now really, what were we supposed to do with it? We could have left it there, I suppose, but when something like this happens, it's like manna from heaven. The gods OBVIOUSLY wanted us to have it. Hell, the parking lot was almost completely deserted. It wasn't like there was some cottonhead in an '87 buick riviera storming back through the lot to claim it - it was clearly abandoned. So we did the only responsible thing we could think of. Granted, our thinking was muddled by wine & beer, but still, we decided to adopt it.

I still have enough guilt (yes, guilt & I are old friends - I can arrange to feel guilty about most anything.) to worry, and wonder. Who had it before us? Are they in deep shit for losing it? Will the fates punish us for being selfish?

I don't use it often. I'm not THAT much of a prick. But when we do? I still feel a little guilty. I'm also wondering "Are people watching 2 perfectly healthy people pull into a handicapped space? Are we being... JUDGED?"

So on those rare occasions, I limp. I know it's totally lame, and I'm not that good an actor to pull it off. Also my limp randomly moves from leg to leg, depending on the day. It alleviates my sense of being judged somewhat, and I do take a perverse delight in acting it out - I take about a dozen steps, then massage my leg a little, and then the limp starts to magically fade as we approach the store. Punk has given up trying to stop from from this little routine - He just rolls his eyes and says "Hurry up, gimpy".

So yes, I have a stolen parking pass. And I feel bad about it. I don't, however, feel so bad that I don't use it. If you're going to judge me for using it, at least watch my routine first. Then you can pity my acting skills at the same time. In fact, maybe my bad acting IS my handicap. There dilemma solved.


Saturday, July 9, 2011

You made me fucking swear!

Apparently I drove a woman to say fuck, twice.... Details to follow!

20110709-021846.jpgOkay, first, some background. Punk owns a restaurant, and one of the things that we do every year is run a booth at local food festivals. We sell fried dough & clam fritters. Its exhausting work, but the money is (weather permitting) good, and, for me at least, it's kind of a fun change of pace.

This weekend the festival was Sailfest - 40-50 thousand people, rides, booths, food, bands, etc. And at our booth, as I already said - fried dough & clam fritters. I'm usually at the front of the booth - taking the money - yelling back the order, etc. I'm the nice one, so I'm the best choice, lol. One of the things we get - a lot - are questions. What are clam fritters? (a dropped batter made with chopped clams, salt, pepper, dill, etc). The more sarcastic question is often "Are there clams in your clam fritters? We jokingly answer, usually, "We usually just dip one by a string in the batter as we make it. If it falls off, it's your lucky day!". We want to say, "Yes, you retard, there are. Are you hinting that you think we're ripping you off?"

So, the story. An older biker couple came up tot he booth & ordered fritters. Didn't ask any questions, but they were just a little... weird. But they seemed okay - as they left, I actually told one of the guys in the booth "sometimes the weird ones turn out to be the best customers." Yeah.....  about 30 minutes later, they come back, and she looks me in the eye and this is what I get from the woman. "You fucked me with the clam fritters. There weren't any clams in them, you took the clams and ran them right past! I can't believe you did that - they were terrible. I hate swearing but they were so bad you made me fucking swear!" I couldn't resist. my only response to her was "Well, in that case I'm really sorry, because I think I just made you swear twice!"

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

I posted what?

So THAT'S the danger of posting not just buzzed, not just drunk, but seriously fucked up. I have almost no idea what those two posts were meant to say. Well, that's not completely true.

Bitches laying sown is obviously a reference to the fact that everyone who was sleeping over last Friday/Saturday AM was finally going to bed.

I stopped all my heRy medications just for this weekend was a (poorly) typed quote from Randy - "I stopped all my heart medications just for this weekend."

The background. We had our big summer party this weekend. I mean big - probably 100-125 people over the course of the day. Luckily, we've got some great friends who come down the night before to help with the final set up - cooking, cleaning, getting shit set up, etc. This also becomes, as Joe put it - the unofficial party before the party. It's a chance for Punk & I to party without having to really worry about socializing. Everyone there that night knows the house, and each other well enough that we can just have fun - no small talk needed. It's a well earned pre-party party. Did I mention a lot of them stay over? By a lot I mean we had (including Punk & I) 16 people staying over - it was like an air mattress factory exploded. But damn we had fun.

But there's a moral to the story - when posting drunk, try & at least add a sentence or two, so I don't forget what the fuck I'm posting about.

Oh, and the party? It was.... epic. A huge crowd, great food, lots of cocktails & shots, great fireworks and a lot of laughter.

Then there was the end, when we had a rapidly escalating series of dramas - attempted theft of 2 laptops (and the fucker succeeded in getting an iPod), someone peeing in a tent and, I kid you not, explosive diarrhea in the garage. Really people?

Thursday, June 30, 2011

There's an app for that.

Hey ma, look! Quick & easy blogging from my (decrepit) iPhone! This should prove to be a dangerous ability.


AND I can add pictures!? Uh oh.


Update: And now you all know what my work corner looks like.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

As if I need more proof of my ADD.

Or maybe it's early onset alzheimer's. You be the judge. I know I wasn't drunk. I've been drunk this early in the morning before, and it didn't feel like that.

This morning after showering, I had started my regimen. Don't laugh. I'm a gay man with rosacea - I need a regimen. Shit, shower, shave (I shave in the shower - anyone else? I don't, however, shit in the shower - that's just gross.), dry off, hair gel, cortisone cream for my face, deodorant, moisturize, cologne. That's the gist of it. Of course, I could write a whole separate blog about my shower routine.

Anyway, I was getting ready, and I was lost in thought. I was dreaming about winning the lottery, thinking about finishing cleaning/organizing for our big party this weekend, looking out the window at the cute jogger, etc...  I had just put a big dab of hair gel on my fingertips.... and proceeded to rub it all over my face. Sigh...

ADD? Absent mindedness? Alzheimer's? I don't know, but either way, my life is a string of these events. I'm sure by the time I'm in the home, I'll have a brain like a sieve. On the plus side, I'll make new friends every day.

Weekend plans: Our big Summer party blowout! over 100 ppl, booze, food, and fireworks! And nighttime bear skinny dipping. It promises to be epic.


Update: Today I put hair gel in my hair. I consider this progress.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

No one else wants a slice of Lemon Cake?

(Followed by, in the highest imaginable sing song soprano voice)  Randy: It's going to be delicious!

The cake is, ironically, the leftovers. The best part of being married to a chef is, obviously, the food. ITake breakfast. I can get up 45 minutes before he does, get coffee going, start frying bacon, get everything laid out, and he will come down, revise the menu, and, I kid you not, 5 minutes later an amazing brunch is ready. He is that good.

But back to the cake. Punk will go through phases. Cakes happen to be something that he's into making recently. But he doesn't make a box cake. It's a 4 layer extravaganza with an italian buttercream frosting, complete with piped roses & decorations. FOR THE TWO OF US.

So dessert was leftovers. For dinner (Punk & I, Randy & Jason, Joe, & Rena), he made Grilled BBQ Chicken, Corn on the Cob, Pasta Salad, Caprese Salad, and House Made French Fries (splashed w/ Fluer de Sel). I'm generally smart enough to stay out of the kitchen when he cooks. My place is, obviously, the bar.

Tonight, at the bar, we had 2 specialty drinks available. Black Currant Cosmos (my choice), or Fresh Strawberry & Pineapple Frozen Daiquiris, Almost everyone else chose that. More cosmos for me.......

Friday, June 24, 2011

Friday, 4:30. I refuse to work anymore.

Friday afternoons at work, especially in the summer, suck.  It's really that simple. I've decided to boycott the last 30 minutes of my work day & instead post here.

Most fridays Lauren, god bless her, will go out & pick up nachos & dips of some sort. Maybe she's taking it from our clients - I don't know, and I won't ask her. I'm afraid the supply of snackiness (which also includes munchkins) will dry up & everyone will blame me for rocking the boat. Today it was doritos, salsa & some nacho cheese crap, which prompted this exchange:

Me: The dregs of nacho cheese dip in a bowl looks like something a cat threw up.

Colin (grabbing a chip & scooping): And yet I continue to eat it.

Some Fridays, if we're lucky (and the big bosses aren't around) She'll bring in a 6 pack or two of beer, and a bottle of wine. Today is not one of those days. I can live with that, but I still refuse to work anymore. My client's a douche, so I don't really feel compelled to bust my ass for him. Take that, client!

Bring on the weekend! 

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Abandon sobriety, all ye who enter here...

This is my umpteenth attempt at starting a blog. Why give it another try? Why not. I've come across some exceptionally funny ones recently (thanks, Joe from The Gay Gasp and Jenny from The Blogess for the inspiration!) that made me want to start poking around at the keyboard, like a dog in heat looking for somplace to stick his red rocket. In other words, I'll occasionally hit the sweet spot, but only after I spray all over a bunch of non essential items.

There's a lot I don't know yet about what this blog will turn into, but I do know this: My grammar & punctuation will fail. I will (often) blog drunk. I will blog in bed, half asleep (much as I am now). I will be rude, crude & socially unacceptable. I will be NSFW. I will try to be funny. I will actually be funny sometimes. I will over share, over think, and over write. I will talk about my life with no (well, few - I do want to keep my job) holds barred. I will, in all likelihood, occasionally piss off some of my friends and family (They will forgive me. I'm a very forgiveable person.)