| unexpected compliments |
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| 02:57am 20/07/2009 |
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"i mean, it's not like anyone looking at you would actually believe youre THAT old."
-random girl at the bar.
*grin* |
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| 03:06am 19/07/2009 |
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goodnight. and sweet dreams. |
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| then and now, 10 years |
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| 04:57pm 30/09/2008 |
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1) How old were you?
THEN: 19
NOW: 29
2) What was your online presence?
THEN: oh lord, we were still using ICQ in those days. i think my usename was remiel something or other. do you remember ICQ and that horrible type-writer noise every time a letter appeared in the window? gah! i may or may not have started hitting gay.com at that time.
NOW: LJ, facebook, myspace, gaywatch, gay.com
3) Where did you work?
THEN: i worked in the inorganic chem lab at NU as a lab bitch. i measured out all the shit to be used in chem labs and cleaned pipettes.
NOW: bartender, or, as i prefer, alcoholic shamanatrix.
4) Where did you live?
THEN: i moved into the plex for the first time at Northwestern... a warren of tiny, stark cells punctuated by thudding base and the screams of boys playing DOOM.
NOW: we just signed for a cottage month-to-month here in town. it's a one bedroom, but we're converting the entire attic into a lounge....
5) Who did you live with?
THEN: no one. the plex was a solitary confinement system.
NOW: jayson. we're coming up on 3 years together now.
6) How was your health?
THEN: i had just begun to do a LOT of ecstacy. i had phenomenal abs, was rocking the malnourishment-chic, exacerbated by wide-legged raver jeans. i still jogged and could certainly dance for 10 or so hours without stopping, smoked the occasional cigar and barely drank wine.
NOW: completely out of shape, nearly a pack a day smoker, not a day goes by that i dont knock back at least a vodka tonic after work (although there are plenty of days when it's only that one vodka tonic) and, at present, i have the flu.
7) pets?
THEN: various bicurious boys.
NOW: kitty will be sought as soon as we sign the lease.
8) Who was your boyfriend/girlfriend/partner/spouse/S.O.?
THEN: see pets. i was raving a lot. i didnt date northwestern boys because they were all too clean and instead spent all my time in dark corners of raves or the back seats of cars with 16 year olds trying to see which of us hadnt wrecked our ability to get it up with pills. (wow. it sounds much darker than it seemed at the time.)
NOW: woogie bear. jay and i recently finally moved in together and are about to move to "our" first real place.
9) Who were your friends?
THEN: jeremy, brian, celeste, sam.... sadly i see none of these people anymore.
NOW: tony, andrea, phil, adam, christopher, folks at work....
10) Any kids? Any plans for kids?
THEN: None.
NOW: the only thing i like about children is how nicely they fry up tempura style.
11) What was your worst struggle?
THEN: i was still wading thru ridiculous self-esteem issues, made worse by the constant emotional vulnerability of doing so many pills. can you say suicide tuesdays, boys and girls?
NOW: trying to wrangle the finances to go to school, the fear that i'll be working so far below my capacity for the rest of forever.
12) What was your biggest joy?
THEN: jungle beats, undiluted ecastacy, pretentious "rebellion"
NOW: when i get to come home from work and watch the moonrise with jay over a glass of wine and smell the river and the pines and the fog out on the porch. the days where we actually manage time together and take long hand-holding drives thru the mountains.
13) What did you consider your greatest accomplishment?
THEN: day to day survival
NOW: day to day joy
14) What advice would you give your younger self?
let it in. not the fake epiphanies, the real ones. go discover Penny as soon as possible. throw out the pills. be braver, it's worth the risk. "if you want to be held, open your arms."
15) What would your younger self say to you?
“sell-out! you dont understand me! youre like all the rest, you dont understand the revolution i'm creating! blah blah *wank* *snark* blah."
16) Looking back, is your life in 2008 what you thought it would be in 1998?
bwa! no. thank goddess, no. |
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| wedding bells |
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| 05:13pm 23/09/2008 |
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so after much debate, jayson and i are making the single greatest commitment to each other that two young gay men can make.
yup, we're getting a cat.
last spring animal control raided a cat mill down near pittsburgh and we have, since, seen the evacuated cats in various pet stores and they have BROKEN MY FUCKING HEART everytime. so after much discussion we've decided to rescue one as soon as we move into our new place in october.
so, OMG KITTY!
mib
ps- if you dont have the new aimee mann album yet, you fucking well should.
m |
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| 07:30pm 16/09/2008 |
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stop me when you realize it was the best day of my life....
having sex with my boyfriend
stoned
by candle light
listening to the amelie soundtrack on his laptop
because the power was out
because of the windstorm raging
right outside our open door
to the patio |
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| 02:15am 14/09/2008 |
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need porn.
please post or link the porn that is making you happy right now. |
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| 03:59pm 29/08/2008 |
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i'm pretty sure i understand why people drive SUVs into crowded restaurants and open fire on the crowds.
the college kids came back last week, and our bar manager still hasnt caught up with the concept. last night we only had one bar open, 3 of us working our way around it, and well over 700 people all in at the same time. even that would have been remotely do-able, except we ran out of EVERYTHING. how does a bar run out of fucking well vodka? or cheap rum? or goddessdamned captain morgan. so all night at least one of us was out frantically searching for some sort of liquor we needed and we slowly worked our way up the price list until i was making vodka/cranberries with grey goose because we had nothing cheaper available.
amidst all of this was an angry mob of patrons who didnt seem to understand why it was taking 15 minutes for them to get served. (ps- do the math, if all this was going on and people still only had to wait 15 minutes in a crowded club, we were running our stunning little asses off.)
so, as a public service, i'm going to offer a little advice to bar patrons everywhere:
1. we see you. every bartender in the world has the capacity to notice when someone is inches away from them across the bar. there is no need to yell, to wave, or otherwise make a nuisance of yourself.
2. waving money at me will get you ignored. slamming a card down on the bar will get you ignored. while it's nice you have you method of payment out and ready, clasping it between two fingers and resting your hand on the bar immediately signifies that a) you'd like to be served and b) youre not a drunken asshole who somehow believes s/he's more important than the other thousands of libation seekers.
3. you get a standardized amount of liquor per drink. if you want more than that, be prepared to pay for it. if youre not prepared to pay for it, be prepared to tip for it. never. ever. ever. complain that your drink isnt strong enough. your drink will be taken from you and given for free to a nearby patron who will be happier to have it. and you will not be served again.
4. a note about bartender culture: we hate you. it's not personal, it's just that it's our job to be sober while you're having fun. you need to keep in mind that as awesome as you might be feeling, we're still jealous, even when we're mocking you.
5. know what the fuck you want. if it took you 15 minutes to get served do NOT make me stand for more than 15 seconds (and that's pushing it) while you order. if you take too long, you will be skipped and you can wait until i get around to you again. think of it as incentive to order quickly.
6. speaking of, most bartenders work down the line. while we all try to work first-come/first-served when we can, but it often isnt possible when we're busy. instead we try to pick a direction and work down the line. use that to your advantage, but never bitch about it.
7. the cocktail staff is ALWAYS more important than you. i will always skip a patron to make drinks for a cocktail waitress. this is her money on the line. deal.
8. as long as we're talking about money. see all this liquor back here? it's mine. i let you buy it. i'm even kind enough to mix it into tasty concoctions for you. the reason you tip me is to encourage me to like you enough to give you more and better access to this liquor that is mine.
9. tipping a dollar for 3 drinks and 8 shots is an insult. to ensure good service, tip by the round. even a dollar per will get you much better service. i pay 10% of my sales in taxes. if youre tipping 10% i break even. if youre tipping 15% it almost pays my gas to work.
10. there are varying levels of "busy" at the bar. at midnight on a friday night, do not say you want me to "surprise you" with a round of shots. i will just pour out the cheapest foulest shit i can find. however, almost all bartenders enjoy a challenge and the chance to create. so if we're not slammed and i actually have time to make conversation, please feel free to say "surprise me" or "give me something green" or "i like peach and raspberry... what can you do with that?" almost all bartenders are inordinately proud of their skills. we're like chefs, but we dont have the luxury of 15 minutes per entree and three hours of prep time. the time for experimenting and challenges is when we're slow. we will ADORE you for the chance to play with our liquor when we actually have the time to play. and we will expect honest feedback and criticism. and tips. there isnt a bartender alive who won't be proud to craft you something that you LOVE drinking, just do it when we're not busy.
11. basically, my job is to part you from your cash through the medium of alcohol. what you buy from me is less a service and more access to a state of being. to that end i will marshal every tactic in my arsenal to part you from the aforementioned funds. i WILL flirt with you. i WILL compliment you. it means nothing. at all. i get around a hundred phone numbers and emails a week, and none of us will ever be seen leaving the bar with a patron. flirt back all you want, especially with your cash. understand that it's never going anywhere.
12. special note to wait staff. we all live or die by our tips. we expect you to be as generous with us as we are with you. especially when you've finished your shift and we're kind enough to have your regular poison waiting for you.
13. if youre consistently not being waited on, if cocktail waitresses tell you "i'm busy" and bartenders seem to ignore you round after round, you've gotten a reputation as a bad tipper. you will have to work hard to break that reputation. it might just be easier for you to start frequenting other bars for a bit before you come back and shower us with cash.
14. this is not a restaurant. waiters and waitresses are paid to kiss your ass, put up with your insipid demands and appalling attitudes, and take the heaps of negative bullshit you somehow feel is your right to dump on someone who is serving you... bartenders are not. give me shit, and you dont get served, keep giving me shit and youre out. never fight with a bartender. while alcohol is the great equalizer, the great un-equalizer will always be in my corner. theyre called bouncers. theyre big strappin men with tiny cocks and bad attitudes. they will thank me for the opportunity to hurt you.
basically think of your bartender this way: they are god. you'd really, really like them to like you. |
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| matthew can has job? |
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| 06:42pm 17/07/2008 |
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you know, if there are two things i love in this craptastic world, it's gay men and bars.
see, long time ago i got my first bartending job in a fit of frustration. i had been unemployed for three months and after being denied employment at the fucking garden center at the local wal-mart, (tough times, kiddies, tough times) i slashed the sleeves off my interview shirt, drove to the local gay bar (singing something from the Chicago soundtrack, if memory serves) walked in and demanded a job from the owner.
after being basically unemployed for far too long and working (*sigh*) for my family, i skipped into the local college bar in clarion, begged an audience with the very gay restaurant manager and, in my cutest open linen and capri pants, sought gainful employment dispensing libations to the matriculated masses. *grin* two hours later, i have a job.
it's a good day.
mib |
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| public service |
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| 01:13pm 12/07/2008 |
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once again, to all landlords, professors and casual acquaintances: i am not jayson. jayson is the one with the septum piercing. *grin* i mean, it's adorable that we look alike, but seriously people.
in other news, i'm fairly certain i just saw captain jack harkness driving around shirtless in a jeep. i dont know if he was hiding the laser pistol or not.
mib |
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| that game |
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| 04:26pm 05/06/2008 |
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you know the drill, below are 5 questions tony asked me. if you would like me to ask you some probing questions, leave me a comment and i'll ask you things i'm curious about.
1. How are things with you and J?
i simply dont see him enough. i'm lonely and seperated from the one i love by miles of highway and the intervention of rising gas prices- to say nothing of the vehichle i must beg, borrow or steal in order to make the trip. he's done now with summer classes and i'm going to start demanding he haul his hiney out my way more often. at times i feel like it's not worth the effort to put up with our seperation, most times i know it is. i'm incredibly frustrated with my attempt to find work and an apartment closer to him and sometimes i'm afraid that our incompatibilities are only made superable by the fact that we see each other so rarely. still i hold out and still i enjoy the hell out of myself when we get to be together.
2. What do you like to do to unwind?
lately i've been trying to turn to healthier forms of escapism and anesthesia. i've taken up jogging and half-hearted yoga. i'm drinking less and doing fewer drugs, but i'm spending more time out dancing as is always my wont in summer. i think the best part has been working for my family again. landscaping is exhausting, particularly on muscles that it seems i havent used in years and most nights i come home too exhausted to need much in the way of unwinding.
3. What is your idea of the good life?
to love, to learn, to be of use. to eat well, drink well, dance well and to do that with as many people as possible. to make life easier at least and more fun at best for as many people as i can, and hopefully, through good example, harsh love or brilliant conspiracy to expand the number of people willing to accept that we live in a worthwhile universe that responds much more readily to their joy than to their sullen refusal to thrive.
4. What is your most regretted fashion choice?
dude. bangs spring readily to mind. how come no one told me that looked so terrible? i mean, above and beyond the pink camo midriff with navel piercing, bangs of any sort have always been a bad bad move for me.
5. What will happen in 2012?
fucked if i know (hopefully). look about.... Harvey Korman, Yves Saint-Laurent, Pete Sills dead just this week, we may well be already into the Rapture of the Actually Righteous. honestly, i have no clue and have given up having an opinion. i simply Do Not Know. not that i ever did, but i used to believe i had an inside line on the cosmic plan and i no longer do nor really care to. i'll still be really amused if, come the day, a succession of natural disasters and pestilence wrecks civilization as we know it and the mere handful of millions of us that survive reform into post-apocalyptic tribes (preferably of psychically endowed hermaphrodites) but i'll be even more amused, for my own sake, if come the last twitch of the mayan calendar the sun rises on another unremarkable day in which i do other things more or less like any other. i plan, on the much purported and supposedly sacred day, to get up, make a pot of coffee, smoke a cigarette, take a big poop and be as mundane as possible. i may not get the option what with interdimensional conjunctions of Light Love and Meaning, but my plan is to take it as simply and humanly as possible. |
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| 01:16pm 30/04/2008 |
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i got carded for beer last night!!!!
sorry, it's been a rough week and any little bit of gratification helps.
still trying to wrangle job as practice manager in a chiropractic group practice in clarion.
still trying to decide if jay and i are ready to move in or if we should eat the cost of seperate residences for the sake of our sanity and "personal space" issues.
still trying to figure out what to call said relationship now that there's a chance it won't technically be a long-distance relationship. a real relationship, maybe?
still trying to figure out if i can afford to move to clarion if i dont get this job.
dad started going to AA. he's been clean for a month now. for those of you with family or friends in recovery, how do you celebrate milestones? i think going out for a beer would be counterproductive *wicked grin*
my class is winding down which means i have absolutely no excuse to no longer be employed.
and, thanks for the link, phil. http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/27/magazine/27young-t.html
read it and then go send benoit an anthrax fan letter. in the words of my friend zahn, "where's the bitter edge I expect from all single gay guys talking about coupling? he's sterilized gay life into something I want to kill and not fuck with a 20 inch dick."
i miss you all and hate not having a phone. email me and tell me youre still alive.
*mwah*
mib |
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| no joy in mudville |
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| 05:02pm 13/04/2008 |
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overheard at the hardware store: "i dont know who to vote for this year. there's no one TO vote for: a nigger, a dyke, or a republican... i'm just not voting."
i forget sometimes that just because my state, and specifically my area, tends to vote democratic because of the enormous percentage of the population who are members of trade unions, that it doesnt follow - AT ALL - that Labor equals Liberal. comments like that, besides, you know, hurting my soul, just make me wonder what sort of poltical consciousness the local unions are teaching when the reality that the SAME SYSTEM is raping different people in different ways. i mean seriously, one can apparently have all the democratic votes one wants, as long as we dont ever make blue collar white guys accept that racism, sexism, etc are relevant issues worthy of more than their scorn. *shakes head* |
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| butch queens |
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| 11:45pm 12/04/2008 |
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okay, so you may or may not know that Jay's BFA is currently riding on a gallery opening schedeuled for thursday. i have to complete the installations, lighted projection boxes with lithographed plexiglas text over images of previous installation sculptures that no longer exist, and i have to do this all from scratch.
i put out a call to our friends around here for help with the project which is now known as Avengers Assemble: It Takes a Village to Graduate an Art Major.
except....jay's and my friend base here is apparently much better with crepes than carpentry.
today i got teach Hammering a Nail 101 to boys who RAISED THIER GODDESSDAMNED PINKY FINGERS TO USE A SANDPAPER BLOCK.
i am so in need of some butch queens to come help with Operation: Power Tools.
and to a degree i'm sympathetic. the first day we started this jay talked about his late father's woodworking skills and how he feels his dad deliberately didnt teach them tool use so the boys would have to go to college. i thought about my dad and his overwhelming handyness contrasted against the fact that the man cannot explain shit. still, both jay and i have a moderate degree of mechanical aptitude. today i listened to boys honestly whinged about their failed status as men since they had never wielded a hammer at a block of wood, knew anything about running jigsaw in a straight line, let alone had Clue #1 about how to change the blade...
part of me was really working at trying to patiently explain, patiently work thru mistakes, non-judgementally provide support and suggestions, letting guys who had never seen the inside of a garage know that, while in unfamiliar territory, they were still capable. that their lack of knowledge didnt mean they were a priori failures as men, that internalized heterosexist scripting would indeed be acknowledged and countered with the mockery it deserved.
that is until some queen hollered out. "well i can't go to the fucking wine and cheese tonight... i have LABOR HANDS!!!"
fail. epic fail.
but see, i'm serious. for a lot of my friends/brothers/sisters/lovers how scary is the whole DOMAIN of tool use, manual labor and working with your hands. most days i feel lucky that, as much as i hated it at the time, i was raised where and how i was. i sometimes can't imagine having to get thru life without the shreds of practical knowledge i was raised with.
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| children and other pets |
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| 11:21pm 24/01/2008 |
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sometimes jay and i talk about the possibilities of us having kids....
as in, many years from now of course. the first hurdle is that i would want to adopt and jay would want to share his half of the genes with the spawn. maybe because of noah, but i'm against having kids when there ARE so many kids that need adopted. this is, as i said, all speculative and far, far in the hypothetical future.
however, i've realized that, make one or buy one, i should, in no way shape or form have a daughter. because i will most assuredly become "That Dad."
while my family has been away i've been caring for the dogs. lillith the white lab and trooper the jack russell. (if should be obvious that i named the first and my sister named the second) anyway. so halfway thru the last pee walk of the night, i found myself screaming at the small male dog, "you get away from her ass you degenerate little fuckwit! keep your nose out of her!!!!" yanking on the chain, telling the female dog to run to the porch, upbraiding the male dog for his interest in his female housemate's posterior....
stunned, i realized this was all out loud... much to the annoyance of the local deer, i'm sure. anyway, so yeah. if i get saddled with a munchkin it should be a boy. i'd be WAYYYY to smotheringly protective and horribly not-feminist when it came to a daughter. i think i could raise an awesome son, but damn would i fuck up with a daughter. *grin*
in other news it's snowing here again, i have to kick the blazer into 4wheel just to make it up the road to my house. i'm done with class for the week and i have a line on a job. it's a server job, but it's better than nothing. and it's in a hippie-hiker owned microbrewry and restaurant, which is tits. not least because i'm sure THEY wont try to regulate on what sort of underclothes i'm wearing. *grin*
love y'all.
mib |
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| 12:29pm 21/01/2008 |
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pipes froze at the house.
fortunately we caught it before the pipes burst
instead i spent much of yesterday running the heat gun and the propane torch on the pipes.
oh, and running the hot water in every fixture every two hours.
that and it's so cold that the locks are freezing in the car doors and, once open, can't be shut without a screwdriver.
the world should just accept "it's too damn cold for me to function"
*goes to make tea and put on slippers* |
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| uncle 2 |
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| 07:08pm 16/01/2008 |
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my uncle donald's MRIs have come back.
what we feared was an inoperably-placed tumor turned out to be nothing more than an aneurysm and clot.
which, you know, isnt fantastic, but it's a fuck of a lot better than brain cancer.
i should still probably quit smoking tho.
in other news i've finished my antibiotic regime from my bout with MRSA. the complete and utter lack of stomach bacteria helping me digest nutrients out of food means that i'm eating 6 or 7 times a day and still getting little out of it. (although i'm supremely confident that while the vitamins, minerals, etc arent getting absorbed into my body, that i'm managing to grab up all the fat and cholesterol in every little nibble.)
and, ps, so i bought these 100 calorie bags of microwave popcorn. i assumed they were just, you know, no butter or something. oh no. theyre laden with butter and salt, but come in tiny, tiny, three-handful bags. theyre pretty much the most frustrating things (nonwithstanding certain tricks' bad cases of whiskey dick) i've ever encountered in my life.
anyway.
that's life.
mib |
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| rally |
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| 02:52pm 11/01/2008 |
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my uncle, the youngest, now that harry is dead, donald, has two brain tumors. one is large, benign and operable. the other, we have no idea about. i know that my family is prone to cancer.... but my grandfather's stock are ALL long-lived bastards. great-grandma made it to 102, her sons all lived to at least 90 and my grandfather has years yet. but two uncles with cancer in the year of each other would be enough for me to stop smoking right the hell now.
ps- someone tell me that as i apply for jobs that it's okay to turn down a management position because all earrings on men are strictly verboten. please tell me that's not foolish and immature. or tell me it is and i'll rethink it. i dunno. the whole no earrings on men thing makes me angry.
i suppose it also grants me the ability to wear a plastic nametag for the rest of my life. *smile*
love
mib |
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| Carved! (warning, graphic discussions of pus) |
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| 04:36pm 04/01/2008 |
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so yesterday found me at the ER having a cyst roughly the size of hen's egg removed from my stomach. yes, it was MRSA again, probably lying dormant and waiting for me to stress since the last time the doctor screwed it up.
so i'm lying there in what appears to be a storage closet in the er of grove city hospital. by storage closet i mean racks of crutches, braces, orthotic pieces and wheelchairs are hanging from the walls. i can see dust on the floor and the counter. immediately behind my bed is a door from which i can hear the sounds of cardiac rehab, as folks with heart conditions are sweatin to the oldies about 8 feet away. i begin to wonder if they'll be walking thru my so-called ER room when theyre done.
the doc comes in, followed by a nurse who promptly drops her gloves on the floor, pics them up and puts them on. i flinch. i show the doc the abcess on my stomach and, without a word, he grabs hold, squeezes and releases a small geyser of pus and blood from my stomach. immediately i shove my fist in my mouth to keep from screaming. "yup," he says, "that'll need drained. we'll cut it open in a minute."
i look at my dubiously sterile surroundings and say, "surgery right here in the storage closet, huh?" the doc looks annoyed and says, "dont worry. we'll find somewhere else to put you."
out in the hall i hear workmen climbing ladders, installing things, drills whirring, hammers banging. i have no idea what's going on. finally the nurse comes and tells me i'm being moved down the hall. i limp my way down the hall of the er, past spools of cable and wire. "we're putting TVs in the ER rooms today," she explains. when jay was off in ghana, he brought back photos of a clinic in a liberian refugee camp: the exposed ceiling, wires everywhere, piles of sawdust and tools on the floor.... it was not dissimilar. not exactly the confidence builder.
in comes the doc. with a #2 blade and a handful of gauze. the nurse comes in with a 6 inch needle of lidocaine. again, without warning, without a word, the doc shoves the needle into the abscess in my stomach, red, inflamed, stretched to about 5 times its normal size.
it hurt.
a lot.
i punched the railing on the bed before i knew what had happened.
see. i do know a little about medicine. and even if i didnt, i was well aware that the be-scrubbed madman weilding the scalpel was not going to harm me in any significant way and that, all things considered, this would hurt much less than many tattoos or piercings i have undergone. still... for whatever reason you cannot convince your mind, at least i cannot, that Something Bad is not about to happen. i could even rationalize that unless i stopped flinching and flailing i might actually get hurt much more than i would if i remained still.
but no
fortunately, the goddess, in her infinite wisdom, made hard-bitten ER nurses. "here," she said, "squeeze my hand. as hard as you need to." and i did. i moved up to see, "you dont wanna watch this," said the doc. "i do, actually," i said, "it's a lot easier if you can see what's happening." the nurse smiles, "oh," she says, "youre a control freak. good."
*smile* and that, was actually worth going to the ER for.
we ended up going thru 20 4x4 gauze pads and, as i said, pulled a cyst of pus and dead tissue the size of an egg out of my stomach. since everyone's been asking, no, i didnt get to keep it. although that woulda been cool. maybe i couldve worn it as a necklace or something.
that's the update for now.
love n shit,
mib |
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chtorr's journal