Slugs and Tumors

I haven't blogged for 13 days. What can I say? I am a lazy slug. Truth is, I have been working on getting Tupperware going and I was busy looking for a new used car. I have gotten both of these accomplished. I have gotten into a bad habit of laying around on the couch like an old gas station dog. I don't have any motivation and I don't know why.

I have went mushroom hunting a couple times and I have been working on an afghan. I have officially became a tired ole queen at this point in my life. Now to either fight this or accept this is the future I am faced with.

I have always been somewhat of a slug though. Even as a young boy my cousin Kim would come to my house to go outside and play and I would want to stay inside and watch Guiding Light. Kim would tell on me and then I would have to go outside and play. This would usually result in an injury or sweating. I didn't like either of these options.

As I got older, I found it much easier to make an excuse as to why I didn't want to do something, however it was still difficult to convince people that I actually had a floating or 24 hour tumor. Nobody seemed to believe that this was possible. I am here to explain to everyone that it is.

A 24 hour or Floating tumor is something that causes you pain or discomfort. It can cause your to be quite tired as well. Typically these symptoms go away after a day or two.

Now that I am 40, all I have to do is say "I don't feel like it." People seem to take this excuse withouth question and then you are able to spend the next 48 hours on your couch with your groceries on the coffee table watching a marathon of The Golden Girls on the Hallmark channel.

Please understand if I tell you that I don't feel like it. I am not going to die. I am just being a lazy slug. If you still want to spend time with me, bring the salt.

A Night of Purple Passion

I was reminded at lunch today of how simple life used to be when we were teenagers. We all started talking about how much cheaper everything was. Gasoline was $.89 a gallon and you could get a bottle of Strawberry Hill wine for $1.79 at the local quick store.

I started remembering the times I had with both of these items. How we would all save our lunch money and just eat minimum stuff and then use the rest for cruising up and down Main Street on a Friday night. You can really make several trips on just a couple dollars of gasoline back then. The Strawberry Hill was drunk out of soda cups with straws. This was for two reasons. First it gave the illusion that we were drinking soda, second, drinking cheap wine through a straw makes your head spin that much faster.

Then we discovered something called Purple Passion. This stuff was considered the shit. It tasted like grape Kool-Aid and had a powerful kick to it. Everyone was drinking this stuff and we all knew that we were so much smarter than the adults because they would never ever catch on to this trend.

As I remember it, there was a night of food, fun, and a lake. Several of us decided to go to a private lake so we could have a bar-b-q and go swimming. It was going to be such a blast as I recall. Then only a few people showed up so things started going downhill.

After several hours of listening to songs on the radio and cassette tape we all decided that it would be much more fun if we had alcohol. A trip into town to get the supplies was needed so I went along with some of the people going. I had my eyes and stomach on some pickled sausages that the convenience store sold.

Once we returned, the party started kicking into gear. The cheap wine and the Purple Passion were flowing freely. I had chosen to eat my pickled sausages in place of the grilled hot dogs and hamburgers. After a couple more hours and several red plastic solo cups of the grape nectar of the gods, a couple of us decided it would be fun to go swimming. Well, actually skinny dipping, but I won’t go into those details.

A funny thing happens when a person has had too much alcohol and pickled sausages. Especially if they do something stupid; such as getting into a lake to go swimming at midnight. You get sick, and I do mean sick. The next thing I can recall is projectile vomit in the form of sausage bits and purple liquid.

To a drunken kid this could be mistaken for a serious medical situation. It seemed perfectly logical for me to get upset over the fact that I was now vomiting my intestines in small pieces. The fact that I was crying over this trauma was soon eased by my cousin who reminded me that I wasn’t throwing up my intestines but it was all those damn sausages I had eaten.

If anyone knows where they sell Purple Passion now please contact me. I will skip the sausages.

Lady and the Stalker

I used to always believe that it would be completely amazing to have a stalker. Somebody who was so obsessed with me that they would do anything to be near or with me. At a very early age I learned the hard way that this was not true.

A gay man should never feel so sorry for someone that they take them to their prom as a pity date. It never works out. Of course, the fact that I thought at the time, what the hell, let’s try this and see what all the fuss is about was not exactly in my favor. So part of the blame with this situation does come back to myself.

After the prom and what I will forever refer to as the “incident,” this girl became completely obsessed with being with me. I would often come outside to find messages on my car windshield written in shave cream. They would always have a heart somewhere in the message that was used to dot a lower case i.

Phone calls in the middle of the night were very common in our house, it didn’t matter what time it was. The phone would ring and of course there was no caller id then, so I would answer it to hear Michael Bolton playing in the background. She seemed to prefer the song How Can We Be Lovers, If We Can’t Be Friends?

This sort of thing continued for several months until finally everything came to a boiling point. She showed up at my house honking the horn repeatedly.  She did not want to get out of her care, either she was afraid of my dog lady, a black cocker spaniel, or she was afraid that she would look like an idiot for showing up at my house.

I went outside to see what the issue was and she started screaming at me that she loved me and would do anything to be with me. When I informed her that it was over, she decided that it was time to back out of the driveway at a high rate of speed. Unfortunately Lady was behind her car and she got the full force of the back tires. When I screamed at her, she looked down at my dog, put the car in drive and pulled forward; once again, Lady got the full force of the tire.

At this point, I had no choice but to tell her the real reason I couldn’t be with her. The fact  was, as I explained, she had been the one to turn me homosexual. With tears in her eyes over me and tears in mine over Lady she left. 

Later in life she caught her husband in bed with another man.

Miss Clairol and Asian Jai

While staying with a friend of mine in Columbia, MO for a brief period of time I met some very interesting people to say the least. One of the most intriguing people I met was a very outgoing young Asian man by the name of Jai. He was always happy and had a very thick accent. He lived in the apartment below the one I was staying in.

Every time he decided he needed to tell me something I could hear him running up the steps screaming at the top of his lungs over the latest life events. These events could be either monumental or very small; sometimes it was just a general question about how things were done in the country.

One morning I heard him coming up the steps. He had just acquired his very first CD since moving here. He was very proud of it and had to show me. It was RuPaul’s Super Model. Jai pronounced it Ruppel. He asked if I wanted to listen to it and not wanting to be rude I accepted his offer. He said he would be back in an hour to get his CD and that I better not break it.

An hour later, I could hear him coming up the steps. He was yelling before he ever got to my door. “WHERE IS MY RUPPEL, BITCH?”

A few days later Jai met a young man at a bar and decided he would like to bring him back to the apartment for the evening. I was sitting outside as they both stumbled up the stairs; clearly they both had been drinking way too much on this night. I asked if they were okay and Jai informed me that he was fine that he was taking Brian in to color his hair blonde and make him a peanut butter sandwich.

I went to bed that night with the sound of RuPaul thumping beneath my floor and the loud screams of a drunken Asian gay man. I wasn’t sure what all they were doing, but it sounded as if they were not going to finish for quite some time.

At 5 a.m. I heard yelling and the sound of his tiny feet stomping up the stairs. “WHAT IS LEAKING? WHAT IS LEAKING?”  I jumped up looking around to see what he was talking about as his fist pounded on my door.  I wasn’t sure what had happened at this point so I let him in.

Jai informed me that his bed was soaking wet and that something had to be leaking for it to happen. Confused I followed him to his apartment to see what he was so upset about. In the bed was bleach blonde Brian who was still passed out and had unfortunately pissed himself while sleeping.

It took me several minutes to regain my composure from laughing before I could explain to Jai what exactly happened. Brian continued to sleep through all of the commotion and in fact only awakened when Jai pulled the sheets and blankets off the bed spinning him to the floor.

I never saw Brian after this morning but I did see Jai a few days later with another young man and a box of Miss Clairol going inside his apartment.