These Friends Of Mine ...

So I'm on the outs again with Grim. Last Saturday night I told him and the group that I didn't know who I was going to see Watchmen with because I had a few groups of friends who were extending invites. Some of them are the New York Geeks, about whom I blogged when the New York Comic Con came last month and dinner and fun was had and pictures were taken. Another group is my longtime ago D&D group when we used to game in the building overlooking Central Park South (good times--until the DM had a hissy and kicked all of us out of his apartment one night, never to game again).

So there was the lure of new friends, the lure of old friends, and the comfort of current friends to choose from. Plus MFTD wants to see it with me too, so I invited him to come with me and as soon as I figured out which one one of these groups of friends. He said yes, which was cool. So which one to choose?

I decided on the current friends, which includes Grim, and informed them that MFTD was going to come so we needed a time and place--which we hadn't decided on yet (although the other friendgroups had).

Then this morning I get a phone message from Grim who said he had heard negative reviews from people who liked the original graphic novel so we should think about changing our plans.

And I'm like, what the hell? It's bad enough that he gets to decided what the group is doing, but now he's going to decide that the group is not going because HE heard negative reviews?!? What the hell are we, totally without our own brains?!?

So I called him back and got his message system, in which I informed him by voicemail that 1) Surely he's not making a decision based on what someone else thinks, and 2) jerking me around is one thing which I can handle, but it's not okay to jerk me and the friend I want to bring to the movie as well. AND another friend I was thinking of bringing.

And let me add here, ladies and gentlemen... I had also invited The Past Girl yesterday night to come with us on Saturday. It was another "friends' gathering" which she seemed most comfortable with before. I mean, I did have to try again, didn't I? When my courage came back? And she was receptive enough last night as we traded texts, but she ended up putting me off again and said she'd give me the answer today. Which I still haven't received. Which is just enough to tell me that she's too nice to tell me to stop asking her.

So yeah, I was pissed with life in general and with Grim and the power he kept asserting over me. I should never have chosen them to see the movie with. I should have known they'd yank the football away just when I was about to kick it. Or I should say GRIM would.

So I went to the gym and while I was busy, you know what happened? He called my phone and left the following message; "Consider yourself off the invite--you and your 'friends.' "

Ain't that a bitch? What are we, twelve????? He's effectively kicking me off the playground because 1) I differ with his opinion and 2) I have other friends than him?!? Are we THAT petty? Are we THAT immature?!? Why ... why yes, I think we ARE! Does he REALLY expect me to count on him alone for friendship when he's bound to say we all shouldn't go to a movie because HE heard negative reviews?!

GMAFB.

I'm not going to respond to his message. I'm not texting or emailing or anything. The next time "they" want to get together with me, Grim can be the one to approach me and tell me how he's made their minds up for them to re-invite me into the group.

But who the hell wants to be a part of a group like that anyway?

Not me anymore.

EFF them.

Big stupid bully.

And to think I once took HIS advice about how to be a friend! Just because he helped me move furniture twice and lent me a buttload of money, and is a mancrush of mine, doesn't mean I have to be his friend forever.

He owes me an apology. I want it. Or I'm OUT.

Geekfest Day Two

Better than I feared.

On Day Two of the Geekfest, I took a slow boat downtown and had a Disillusion Hangover from the day before. The sharp edges of the hangover had been dulled by the personable time I had with Transplanted Geek and I thought I would just placate myself with that.

I was to meet up with MFTD (yes that "MFTD." There's a reason he's "MF--") at the Con for Day Two, but he was going to meet with his brother and I had the impression that he wanted to hang with family, but it turned out that I was wrong. So after a nice hour or so of isolation and self-pity, I caught back up to MFTD, his brother, and his brother's friend--just in time for My Hero's Posse Geek to call me and get cut loose from his responsibilities for the day, and we all went to a new diner on the West side not too far from the Javitz. And we had a great time!

MFTD and his brother and brother's friend were done for the evening, but I was not. So I took My Hero's Posse Geek (him I know through My Hero's fanclub) to the big dinner planned for Saturday night where I hoped I'd run back into Mr. Fantastic and The Human Torch.

And we did. And the pictures shall now commence.

However, let me point you attention to the following one taken by another geek, which has now served to be the single most effective method of getting me back on my diet and to never. Again. Get. Off. It.

Plaintiff's Exhibit A (Click on it for the full pic);

Yeah, that's me in the red shirt with white stripes. On 2/7/09. And yeah, I'm back over 200 lbs. again. And yeah, I've been packing away the sugar again. Because yeah, I've been depressed again. So yeah, the last few months have been a vacation in the key islands of Sucksville. And yup, I'm going to need help waddling my ass to the gym again and stopping the white mocha lattes and the strawberry coolattas and the slices of coconut cake.

But aside from that how ya like my long grey sideburns? Sexy, right? Across from me is a nice guy from Colorado, but to his left is Mr. Fantastic and to Mr. Fantastic's left is The Human Torch--the two guys that in my last post I chiefly wanted to get to know. (And to my right is My Hero's Posse Geek)

And they like me. A lot!

Mr. Fantastic called me "family" and gave me a big hug. The Human Torch sent me a PM the next day and told me he enjoyed meeting me, then told all the folks at our messageboard that I was a lot shorter and more quiet than he expected (because as you all know, when I'm typing, I know how to truly CUT THE FOOL) but after he got to know me, I was as funny and as nice as I was online.

And this is the part where I do some introspection.

I need people. I need affection. I need love in any form. When I listen to podcasts, I'm listening to guys (and gals) who express opinion, facts, and personality. These to me are the composite components of what makes us US. The expression of our souls comes out in our art and in our words. Podcasters are expressionists of the highest order. You hear the sound of their voices, their laughter, and sometimes their tears. You hear their anger, their doubts, their frustrations, their fears. Like any talk format, you feel a bond form. But of course, them being on the other end of distance, time, and a microphone prevents the relationship form being two-way.

And isn't the same to be said about blogging?

And as Grizzbabe and Fringes and Q can attest, you can fall in love with someone who you only know by the words they type or the one-way conversation they might be having through a podcast. The trick is in trying to turn that one-way into a two-way.

Well, on Day Two of the Geekfest, I turned the one-way into a face-to-face two-way. And it helps me feel--good. And that's all I want. I just want to feel good. I'm taking a med to smooth away the edge of fear, and now I want some friends I can count on. Ultimately, I know I'm responsible for my own happiness. I know none of these guys, including MFTD, should feel obligated to make me feel loved or accepted. As none of you dear readers are obligated as well. But I'm not going to lie or even pretend.

I love it when you do. And I love you. This is what humanity is all about.

And I'm human.

These Damn Dreams!

Okay, so last night I'm hanging out with MFTD in my dream. We're on our way to a church service back in our old church. It's a part of the "reconcile with my past" program that I've been on ever since I had lunch with my Former Father Figure. Even though MFTD has WAY more problems with my old church than I do (mind you I gave more years of my life to it than he did, and he came away from the whole experience with a doctorate and a wife, and ultimately, the most ass-kickingest house and mancave known to geekdom), still there he was in my dream, coming along with me to see our former brethren and sistren, and our Former Pastor.

So in we go, and who do we see first? Sister Whoopindiddle and Her Daughters. One of her daughters is my age and I thought about getting with her in times past, but she never really appealed to me on any level. Of all the girls I had dated and been engaged to, none of them were in this family.

Until now. Yes, in this dream, the girl I was engaged to was Sister Whoopindiddle's daughter too. And as it turned out, I remembered as I saw her and her family, that I was supposed to have been there at the church the day before. Because that was our wedding day. And as I stood there realizing that, "oh yeah, that's right! Our wedding date was yesterday, wasn't it--? CLANG!! Whoopindiddle Jr. clouts me in the back of the head with a frying pan. She and her mother and other sisters (not my fiancee, however. I had devastated her too badly to have been there) began to tell me what a horrible person I was to have left their loved one stranded at the altar. And yes, I had to agree with them, but it was an honest mistake. And too, that isht hurt my head! Just because I did that didn't mean Whoopindiddle Jr. had the right to strike me! And in the dream, it was one of those sensations where you know some damage was done. I felt the impact, the jolt of my senses, and the throb of bonedeep pain, without the actual pain. Kind of like the dream was sending me every signal that there was damage except the pain that would have made me call 911 for real.

In the dream, I tried to make the best of the situation, because again, I felt that what I had done wasn't THAT bad. I mean, no one called me the day before, did they? And I was there now, wasn't I? I hadn't abandoned her forever? I just forgot a date. What's the big?

But they weren't having it. Not even MFTD. He was all like, "No, dude, this was bad."

So in a flash, I said "FUC& IT!" and threw a bag of frozen veg mix (you know, the peas, corn, and carrot cubes that have that pretty color scheme?) into a credenza for a nice glass-shattering finale, and stormed out. I left MFTD with the Whoopindiddles and sped off. I was leaving them for good. All my attempts to reconcile with my past, all thoughts of meeting with my Former Pastor, MFTD and his perfect life, and religion--everything. I was deciding that I no longer owed anyone anything. I decided that it was time to live for myself.

Oh I was PISSED.

Then I woke up.

And I don't still have those feelings. I don't want to leave it all behind. I just don't want to be punished for my mistakes anymore.

Dream analysts, go for it.

I Think I'm Ready For An Entry

:-)

Here I am, up early, so I can accommodate a client's need to be seen according to their schedule. For them I can do it. For my day job? Not so much. But we'll see. I did it today--I'd like to do it all next week. Oh didn't I tellyou? My inner morning guy died the death ages ago. The meds helped awaken him, but they weren't enough. No stumblin' to the kitchen, no poruing myself a cup of ambition.

So Wednesday night I got with Former Pastor and a huge platter of the geek brethren, including the friendly geek who shouted me out once on a podcast and made me feel special. Unfortunately I wasn't able to spend the full night with them, but I did pair off with one person who kept it interesting. And there is the promise of more when the Geek Event happens next month.

At the Geek Event, there is also the promise of meeting new folks who make some of the podcasts that I listen to (as I did last year down in Ned's territory). Those podcasts are like geek blogs for your ears. While waxing eloquent and intelligent about the geek medium of comicbooks and superheroes, they also expose their personalities, their senses of humor, their passion, and elements that I find I have in common with them. So what happens? Of course, I form mancrushes and wish to be their bestest friends ever!

Set myself up for failure much?

Former Pastor stretched out a compassionate metaphorical hand to me on Wednesday and I didn't take it. I don't think I slapped it away, but having been one to reach out the same on different occasions, I guess it can feel like a slap when not taken. But he took me a little by surprise. I didn't think I telegraphed a sense that I was in emotional distress, but Former Pastor said he was worried about me just the same.

And too, my Former Father Figure has left me a few messages since we met those few weekends ago and I haven't responded yet.

And here's something else I did--I blew the lid off my longterm gaming group when Grim Jester snapped at us, ala e-mail, for not committing to cancel a meeting last weekend when it snowed. He said he didn't want to play psychological games while we looked to place the blame on someone for canceling the meeting, so he canceled it for us. So not being one to ignore the bait, I wrote back to the group that he was our defacto leader because when he didn't attend our get togethers, no one else wants to either. And yes, I was "looking" at my passenger--although we have gotten together without Grim. So yeah, I pretty much was a prick about it, knowing in my heart that I resented Grim's power of persuasion and leadership. So how did he respond? He ignored it, then declared a geektogether for tomorrow. Gotta love his style. Or hate it.

Speaking of style, My Scott Ellis wrote a kickass short story for a contest that he and his literary blogmates frequently enter. One of his blogmates is about to have her first novel published. I suspect that as soon as he puts his first novel together, Scott will be having the same success. And I've suspected that for years now.

In all this observation of my friends' lives and goals, I have to keep reminding myself that I too have achieved some small amount of goal-reaching. Because it damn sure doesn't feel like I have. Maybe something in the way I've been writing has betrayed me, here. Maybe that's what Former Pastor has seen.

But for all my forging ahead, it still feels like I've gotten nowhere. My Colleague's flirtations have died. I guess she's chosen the security of her man over the unknown quantity of me. Which was a good choice for her actually. I'm sure her man doesn't present the kind of drama I would bring. And Fringes is now married to Q and is about to have their baby. And Grizzbabe is engaged. And Ned is off the radar again because his life has taken an upturn socially. And Scott is writing again and has a loving family. And MFTD has a to-die-for house, a doctorate, a wife, a baby.

And me?

And me?

Well ... I help people. Last night I took a case for free when the client showed up for the appointment that the center made for us sans a dime in his pocket and no intention to pay. Yet he was suicidal and bawling his head off. So I served him. I hope the director HATES that I did that, just as a twist. Because I didn't schedule it, HE did.

And speaking of schedule, let me dash. After my ultra-early client, I'm going to the gym. Because I'm fairly sure I weigh more now than I did before I went on Nutrisystems. And if that's not a sign, then nothing is.

Anyway. This is the part where I try to sum up the bad with something good, but that was the best I could do. More frequently, I'm living vicariously through my clients. As always, your encouragements are welcomed.

The Night Is MINE

I bowed out of "Thanksgiving With The Perfects". Haha.

I was driving toward an exit from Manhattan and saw the traffic and realized that the Thanksgiving Day parade traffic was heading back to New Jersey and so I was about to take a long slow aggravating drive to eat turkey. And I had already stopped wanting to go a few days ago. So I called MFTD and took a raincheck. It probably bothered him a little, but hey. He had an anniversary dinner in the city a few days ago with his wife and he didn't miss me then, so I figured he'd survive Thanksgiving without me too.

So instead I drove to down to the Upper West Side and had good but way overpriced crabcakes in an oyster bar on Broadway. I read Entertainment Weekly's article of the 50 Sexiest Movies of all time while I ate, and let the other paired diners scrutinize my Alone Self with my lowbrow magazine and silently allowed them permission to kiss my big red ass if they were so inclined. :-D I left a generous tip and smiled my way along Broadway.

Thing is I'm not alone this Thanksgiving. I have about twenty voices that I'm mixing into a cohesive production of adventure and action. My latest mancrush acquiesced to be the villain of the story, and My Hero is also doing his amazing hero's role, and I had already finished the scene where they meet for the first time and absolutely loved it before I set out to mooch bird across the river. So after the crabcakes, I came rushing back home to finish more of the production.

Let me tell you what it's like for me to produce these; it's like being the Dungeon Master in a game of D&D with the people you've seen and loved on TV, only one step beyond that. Because now they aren't just people on TV, they're your friends. They've broken the fourth wall, stepped out into your room, scratched their butts, and asked if there's anything to eat in the fridge (EUW!). They've gone from celebrity to human in one fell swoop, bringing their cool ass toys to play with you in your sandbox. Imagine being a musician and your favorite contemporary recording artist comes over to your house for a jam session. Or you're a cook, and a famous chef comes over for dinner with his favorite wine and frying pan. Or you run a daycare and Angelina Jolie brings all her kids over and helps you run the center.

You see? So I'd much rather sit here all day and take the powerful growl of my mancrush and mix it together so that he's torturing my earnest, purehearted hero. They recorded these parts for me. They took time out of their lives, took my script, and fleshed out roles from my imagination better than I had even imagined them. It's playland and fantasy and inspiration and love and giggles and swooning and way better than turkey.

Even so, have a Happy One alla yous.

It's all good, but right now it's GREAT!

Woo HOO!

Seas Would Rise When I Gave The Word

Coldplay is haunting me like the wishing-well ghost in the Gordon Lightfoot song.

Coldplay Lyrics
Viva La Vida Lyrics

Today MFTD got back to me after three days. I called his home on Saturday and left a message with his wife. I had been squirmy enough after posting the Coldplay video to get him on the line. Three days later he calls me. Well, I remembered Scott's advice in a comment when I last kvetched about MFTD's inaccessibility. Spilling all your tea in the lap of one person all the time (especially when you're not paid to receive it) gets to be tiring. This is paraphrased from Scott's original words, mind you. And I'm not at my literary best atm.

Wait, I tell a lie. He actually called yesterday and I didn't pick up. I was in session.

So when he called today, I determined not to spill the tea. However, I couldn't keep the convo breezy and superficial. I did try, I swear it. But he heard I was being false and he insisted I tell him. He knew I was sitting on top of something. It's like, I want to tell, but I don't want to drive these people out of my life with my monotonous, same-old song. The eyes rolling with "Oh here we go again".

But I did it. I spilled the tea. I told him how jealous I was of him and I itemized the bill.

Well, MFTD is a fixer. So, unbidden, he launched into therapy. But we went over everything that we've gone over before. I owe him money. He's not pressuring me to pay him back. I want to make more. Why am I not leaving New Jersey and saving $$$ on car ownership and commute costs? I want to be in a relationship where somebody loves me. Then why don't you?

Now my eyes were rolling.

But yeah, why don't I?

But see, MFTD knows. He just hasn't accepted it. Hell, I haven't accepted it. I don't want to. I've fought it all my life. It just feels like there's no point in fighting it because it's not going away.

I'm gay.

I mean, this isn't actual news, I'm guessing, because I've blogged as much--I just wouldn't end the sentences with it. Because too, I like breasts. Jiggly ones that double-mound in the center. Push-up bras are my friend.

But I lie if I didn't admit to myself that I really like guys. I mean, I admire so much about guys. Masculinity and strength. Their ability to go tough and stand like pillars for family, community, and nation. That in itself is not being gay. I know that. And no I've never had sex with one. And I don't particularly want to. For instance, I don't just not like the smell of booty, I'm disgusted by it. Gaggingly disgusted. I can't use a public restroom that's been bombed out by some exploded-colon victim. I'll circumnavigate like Jack Nicholson on a city street in "As Good As It Gets" to avoid the very shadow of careless dog turds.

Yet why do I think I'm gay?

Because I've been turned on by men since I was six. It was molestation, pure and simple, and a crime against me. But it was more than once and it's an appetite I have and have always had. Like K.D. Lang's Constant Craving.

And I don't KNOW if I'd have been gay without the molestation. But surely I wouldn't have been turned on at the age of six otherwise? Surely I'd have had a childhood without trying to rub myself into a stupor? Surely all the weekends that my mother worked wouldn't have been spent hunting down Mom's porn, isolating myself in the house instead of learning how to make friends, and then feverishly, guiltily teaching myself how to masturbate before I even knew how to ride a bike?

And here's what I also know--I am anything BUT gay. "Gay." Now that is a laugh. This? What I am? Is not "gay." This is miserable. This is conflicted and self-loathing and arrested and stunted and phobic and trapped and destroyed. Is what this is.

Because I love the company of a good woman. I want the late night talks. I want the staring into the eyes. I want the handholding. The hugs. The spooning. The "squooch-squooch-squooch" of sex. The slow and the fast.

But that's just not all I want. I'm a wide open, burglarized home. Despoiled and unprotected. Ravaged and unattended. A panic to the owner upon discovery, and forevermore a constant disturbing reminder that someone unauthorized has been here.

All my chances for normal is gone. Gone before I ever had a chance. My whole life, done in one.

MFTD knows this already. I've told him, and we've been going round and round for a few years now. And now I'm telling you. And him and me, we're working on the theory that I'm not hardwired by biology to have sex with one gender and no other. I don't think anyone is. I know a gay man who had sex with a woman just to try it, and loved it, but prefers to be and stay gay. He, I believe, is actually the definition of "gay," he does what he does, loves who he loves, and accepts who he is.

So the treatment plan is to move forward pursuing what I actually want. Not what I crave. What I want.

and what I want is a do-over. I want my chance back--my chance to be normal. To be loved and to be able to return it. To make a woman happy the way I've never been able to do in 43 years. Any woman.

It isn't unreasonable, it's just impossible.

And the happier I see other guys be, the further away from me it seems. For all the pitfalls of the normal life, it is infinitely better than this life I'm living. This life that I have prayed to be redeemable. I've lost my perspective on how that can be possible. Maybe I'll get it back, someday. But right now?

I used to rule the world. Seas would rise when I gave the word. Now I wake up in the bed alone. Sweep the streets I used to own.

Sorry Ned, but you did ask.

So ... Connecticut.

MFTD's birthday was precisely what I thought it'd be. Minus all but one brother. A girlfriendless brother. So that was nice.

But it was Americana at its best. MFTD didn't cry when I gave him my gift, but he did buy a house.

Thank God for my meds.

So I bemoaned my sad featureless fate to my other friend, late last night (well, he asked), and he leapt to my rescue. He did something on a personal level (as opposed to a professional one) that I've really only gotten here in print--he said nice things about me. I've mentioned this friend before, and he has a Name that I gave him here at Redeemable Life (and a tag I can use to categorize this post) but I won't use it.

Because he has become a real friend. The friend I wanted him to be when I first met him. He's that kind of friend. And often I asked myself, "What does he want to be MY friend for?" I mean, I knew why I wanted to be HIS friend, but I didn't understand the reciprocation. Until last night. Because of the things he said to me.

I was listening to NPR yesterday afternoon, before I learned that MFTD bought a house, and it was Teri Gross on "Fresh Air" talking to a Lincoln historian about the possibility that Lincoln was gay because of a friendship he had with a man named Speed. In letters between the two, very affectionate words were found that seemed above the limits of hetero-ness. But the historian pointed out the texts of other manletters back in Lincoln's day where men would pour out their feelings for one another without the stigma of sexual identity or interpretation. What they felt, they said.

And that's the friend that I'm talking about. He says what he feels, good or bad, right or wrong. So I believed him when he told me my worth and my potential--and of his affection for me. And it isn't as if you guys haven't told me the same--but there seems to be a difference between the written word and the spoken word. I hear the heart behind the voice. And I really. REALLY. needed it last night.

I love my friend.

So NutriMe is 187 lbs. now, making my weight loss up to 10 lbs. I have been cheating, just not crazily so, and not getting to the gym as often as I'd like since my boss (The Director of our department) is on vacation--entering week two of it--and I'm now the acting director. Thankfully, I haven't had to actually work harder, but the potential is there and it keeps me on my toes.

Again, thank God for my meds.

All this pressure and failure to perform in the adult arena would have hit me a LOT harder this time last year. My friend helped me see that and a bunch of things more. Like how it's a good thing that I feel dissatisfied. For if not, I'd never change. But I am dissatisfied, and I am going to change. I've got 20 more lbs. to go, and a full time job to replace. He asked me what my wishes would be if I got hold of a Ring of Three Wishes. It didn't take me long to answer.

1) To Get Rid All My Debt.

2) To Own (so that the only payments I had to make were utilities) An Apartment in Midtown Manhattan.

3) To Not Want A Significant Love In My Life.

What would yours be?

NutriMe

So I started the Nutrisystem meals on July 29th, the day after I returned from Cali. I cheated on Aug 2nd with Jim Dandy, a strong lover made of 5 scoops of ice cream, 3 toppings, a mound of whip cream, chocolate sprinkles and walnut pieces.

(stomach: *growwwWWwwwll*)

Yesterday I cheated with a McDonald's double hamburger.

From the 29th until now, I've lost 7 lbs. This means I'm now 190.

So it is working, and slowly which is good. It's helping me know what size portions I should be eating, and when in the day I should be eating them. It has plenty of sugary snacks (cookies, brownies, scones, hotchocolate) and flavored pretzels and chips and things to snack on (at the appointed time, in the appointed amount) as to not keep me hungry--but sometimes I still crave. The dinner "meals" are small, er, I mean "perfectly porportioned" but the s uggestion is to eat these with a salad, drink plenty of water all day, and snack on fruit and yogurt as well (like 12 cherries, as opposed to the whole store bag of cherries).

I've also gone to the gym a few times since the 29th--not as frequently as I'd like, but I'm going. The more I exercize, the faster the weight loss, and the less hungry I am. So that's good.

And I have a pair of black stovepipe jeans that I've worn out of sheer orneriness, which would make me look like a pumpernickel loaf with my shirt off. Now they are looser in the thighs, and I only look like a bran muffin instead of a loaf.

So onward and downward!

In other news, MFTD is having a birthday bash at his place this weekend. I look forward to going only because I got him a gift when I was in Cali (an exclusive convention toy in his favorite genre, and I've never bought him a gift before), and I want to see if it makes him cry. lol! What I don't look forward to is the same ole that lowers my elevation each time; His family.
His wife.
His adorably real and just-learned-to-walk baby girl.
His cat.
His dog.
His life.
His mother, who bakes him a special cake every year for the b-day.
His father, still amrried to her.
His brothers.
Their girlfriends.
One of theirs' wife and newborn baby.

Americana at its' most vanilla. It's not perfect, and neither is he. But dammit, man. It's just ridiculous to be around all that stuff and be who I am. It's like an ant among elephants. Or an elephant among ants, to reflect the appropriate denial of low-self esteem. I'm not worst than any of those people, and they aren't better than me. In fact, I wouldn't trade places with half of them. Not even with MFTD. I like my freedom.

But I'm just so damned different. It's a pain in the ass.

The Lengths I Go To

So, here's the deal. A few Saturdays ago (the 5th) I hopped on board the MetroNorth and went to CT to visit MFTD. His wife and baby went out to her homestate for the 4th, so MFTD wanted some company. He was 30 lbs. lighter than the last time I saw him. How'd he do this, with his Type-AAA personality, with no time to fart, let alone exercize or count all his money?

Nutrisystem. That's right. The freeze-dried, vacuum-sealed, pre-packaged, pre-weighed, insta-meals that helped fatties all over the country hack off 30-60 lbs. without lifting a finger. Of course I was skeptical ... before I laid eyes on MFTD. And MFTD is not a sucker. If the food was nasty, he would have told me. But what he did do was give me three "meals" to try. A chicken patty, a cup of scrambled eggs, and a pasta bowl (cheese tortellini).

Yeah, powdered eggs to add water to and microwave. Makes the stomach gurgle just to hear the description, right? But I tried it.

IT WAS EGGS!!! Really scrambled eggs!! I could not believe it!! And totally hot (not Hilton hot, but thermometer hot). And filling!! I was good for hours afterwards.

But the key is that you eat this stuff, and a few hours later eat something else, then a few hours later something else, rinse repeat all day. Six meals. Some of those meals being fruit, which I like. Some of those being snack chips. Some of those being cake or cookies as desert.

The cheese tortellini, great!! Sweet sauce and tasty, tender, sizable rolls of pasta!

And then this chicken patty. I was soooo dubious. I saved this for last and I carried it everywhere without nuking it. That means unrefrigerated. (That's right--you don't store this stuff in the fridge--even the meats!)

It was E-YUMM!

So today, on payday, I ordered my first month. It is indeed, as they advertise, about $10 a day. You pay monthly. And I do not plan to spend a single solitary dime for fastfood while I'm eating this stuff, because trust and believe, I spend WAY more than $10 on fast food (and restaurant food) per day already. This will be me actually saving money.

And losing weight.

So I went as far as to take a picture of myself in swim trunks. (Shorts, not speedos--because hey, not to brag, but the only place I could post myself in speedos is on a gay porn pic site. I'm just saying. I can't be having my goodies on such display. I'm a working professional with a license, after all. But I digress.)

I know for a fact that I will lose the 30 pounds that I want to. And then I will take the "After" shot in these same shorts.

And I will post it then. For 24 hrs.

Why do this?

Because I admit to myself as I to and fro in the City of The Beautiful,that if I were built like some of these weekend warriors, I'd go barechested too.Of course, the thought starts as, "You big showoff, braggadocious, amazing-looking yummy bastard..." but then I cave and know for a fact that I'd strut mines too if I carried like they do.


And so, I will. I promise. And to keep it humble, I'll post it with the "Before" pic that I took today. So keep checking in a few months. I'll be so fine you won't know how to act! BTW, I took all these pics myself. No one's sacred!!

You Know, I Don't Believe I Like This At All

My mood from yesterday won't go away. Damn it, I feel so pissy.

Yesterday I put in a call to MFTD to get some phone love in the absence of a good hug. I said to him, "Validate me." He commenced to trying to fix me instead of just freaking hugging me. Then of course he had to hang up so he could go work one of his many jobs, thereby pulling in his three figure salary (combined with his lovely wife's of course) so they can maintain their standard of living in Connecticut by the bay, and he said he'd call me back, but has he? Nooooo.

And why should he--I'm just a whiny, needy little bitch who he's tired of going round and round with on this pathetic little merry-go-round that I call My Redeemable Life.

And am I jealous of him? Hells yes, I'm jealous. I'm jealous of everybody. And I'm so effing mad about that that I feel evil right now. DAMMIT!

I don't like this! I don't like this!!

Shit.

People, pay no attention to the crazy little man in the cage. Enjoy your lives. You deserve to.

I'll be fine eventually. Or not. What the hell ever.

I need an increase in my meds.

The Whirlwind

In response to the comments of the last post, Tera, I have learned quite well. I'm paying for the services, so they have to step to me correctly. If not, I am going to let them know this. :-D

Scott, it was the whirlwind that I used to fear. Or maybe something nameless. Just a general "Oh No, I'd Better Not"-ness of life. Whatever that was, it's been keeping me back for decades. For me it didn't just end at a service counter. It's a miracle that I have had jobs, any girlfriends, or made any major changes at all.

I mean, I guess I can afford to give myself some credit where it's due. I have fought through a lot of fear and have successfully carried out a lot of life decisions. Before I started blogging, I didn't have a lot of people in my corner. There was MFTD, but precious little else. I'd already effectively left my religion, so all those supports were gone. But I did do things.

Yet, I look back and I see a succession of flops. All the women I've left. All the jobs I've burned through. I once had a job that pays me more than I make now, which was visiting at-risk youth in their homes, assessing their needs, and supervising counselors. I abandoned it because the fear of visiting these unknown places and facing unknown challenges grew to the point of phobia. That was when I first lived in NYC. When I stopped that job, I lost the ability to afford to stay in NY, and thus my eviction. When I look back on the original blogposts of that job, it's clear to see the anxiety creeping up on me. I had put it in writing. I soldiered on. I was using the blog to slog it out. But obviously, it was not enough.

Even the job I have right now--guess what? I've had it for 2 1/2 years, and I've already burned through all my personal/sick time. I have zero hours. I didn't spend them all on car accidents, let me tell you. I spent them on late arrivals at the job, and days I didn't feel good enough to even go to work. I've posted on some of those days. I called them "Playing Hooky," while most of the people I work with are being penalized for having too much sick time and never having used them. NEVER USING SICK TIME?!!? Unimaginable to me to believe that people could work five days a week, 4.3 weeks a month, 12 months a year, year after year without taking off anything but the holidays. Unfathomable.

Why did I wait so long to get treatment? By its sheer definition, I had/have a disorder. There were literally days in my life that I couldn't function. And if not days, then crucial hours at the least. Hours that threw me off game for the rest of the day.

Bah. Blub blub blub. Done now. Future's ahead. I've gotten treatment. I'm not just a "morning person" now. I'm a "functioning person."

That's alright with me.

So let's end on a laugh, shall we?

Look what I found. There's a series of this lil' dude...

Paging Dr. Feelgood...!

Okay, my calls are on the phone-answering systems of two prescribing practitioners, as recommended to me by my therapist. Whoever gets back to me first scores the co-pay.

I am SO going to take these meds.

Yesterday, Sunday, I didn't even go to the convention. And mind you, Saturday night ended with a mix of avoidance and geek bonding. At the convention I got a couple of geekasms when I attended exclusive screenings for the Incredible Hulk movie due out this summer. (SPOILER:





















Tony Stark, as played by Robert Downey Jr, is going to be in the Hulk movie, offering his services to Thunderbolt Ross to take down the Hulk. This opens the way for a future Avengers movie. Plus, the villain of the Hulk movie becomes that way because he takes a "Super Soldier serum"--which is the thing that made Captain America.

UHH!

Was it good for you?)













I brushed paths with MFTD and his brother and his brother's friend. To be alone, I had sacrificed my time with them on Saturday. I did this both at home, and then after I got to the convention (to see the Hulk trailer. And Hellboy II and Indiana Jones IV and something else that I can absolutely not remember. Evidently it involved mutants and Xavier wiped all our memories.) When we finally caught up, we did that men's-circle insult, jibe, tough-talk, non-bonding bullcrap that we men do so terribly well, and then they left. And I sighed a breath of relief. He's my best friend, and I didn't want to hang out with him and his brother (and brother's friend).

Then after a very few more "hello's" to my podcasting geekmates, I left the con went a few blocks and some avenues over to buy a comicbook (hello, I had BEEN at a comic convention--what did I leave it for?), and waited for 8:30.

At 8:30, about 100 of us geeks had a geek-in at an upscale pizzeria, hosted and arranged by the two podcasters who held that party last year were I got my geek on, and took that b&w picture with the beautiful married British lady. I felt safe in the size of the crowd, and I even engaged a few in laughy conversation about comics and The Geek Life, and my Hulk revelations. Oh I was the life of my little section of the party. And I even made my way over, and sat at the table where the attractive Geek Girl I met in person on Friday was with her crew. But she preened about her boyfriend, as all hot chicks seem wont to do, and I disengaged after a little bit. I got on famously with a guy from Long Island, and when the party was over and it was time for the afterparty (read: bar gathering) he and I left together. Then when no further than the pizza restaurant's front door he said, "Are you coming to the bar?" clearly wanting me to walk with him to 6th Ave, and kick up the festivities a notch, it was as natural a thing for me to say "no, that's alright" as it was to burp up the pepperoni sitting in my knotted gut. And so, to the #1 Train I went, and then to Home Sweet Alone. That was Saturday. Next day, I didn't return to midtown convention life. I got more smoky meats from my fave BBQ joint, ate it in the park where liveth the aggressive squirrels (again), and went home to finish up one of the audio drama series.

I think the medication will help me at those social decision-gates. When I have the option to say yes, I think the medication will help me do that. If it doesn't work, then truly, I will not be getting married, or taking a lover, or doing anything else in life that involves a face-to-face personal relationship on the longterm.

And you know what else?

If the medication doesn't work, I'm deciding not to care. Because I do not want to spend what's left of my life in a miasma of regret and "I Wish I Coulds"

The sh!t is getting tired and I'm getting too effing old for it. It's time to love up on who and what I am, and eff the world if it can't take a joke. People appreciate me for what I already am. They like the work I do. And I do people good both in my hobby life and my professional life. Plus I'm saving money like never before.

If the medication doesn't work, then I'm done trying to fix me.

For now, anyway.

Flawed

(Since I couldn't stop responding in the Comments section, I turned it into a post)

Scott don't be surprised, my friend. I have nothing to excuse myself and I didn't make a slip of the tongue, I just didn't want to think of myself as lacking the nutrient. I want to be self-sufficient, muscular, handsome, sexy, confident, funny, masculine, rich, and some other things I haven't thought of yet. I could accept going to a therapist for my own emotional upsets, but not that I might have a chemical imbalance. (I also hate that I have a pot belly that is turning into a cauldron). I could accept what I think is a weakness in someone else, but not for myself. It's wrong. I idealize too much. I acknowledge that.

But I'm relieved the rest of your response is a support to me because it means you haven't written me off for this flawed thinking. That's what I care about. You're a friend that can accept my mistakes.

It's more than possible--maybe probable--that the feeling of "expertise" in mental health has become a great deal of my identity and there wasn't room for that chink in this armor.

But I've spoken to my therapist and she gave me some references for psychiatry, so next week I'm going to see someone and hopefully start taking some meds. No matter how wrongheaded I thought about it, I'm getting what I might need in that department.

Today was my first visit to the Convention (I shall have pictures) and you know what I saw? I saw Geek Girls. Of all variety. Black ones, white ones, young ones, costumed ones, thin ones, round ones. At least two of them were friendly to me, enough to make me feel the slightest comfort and encouragement to return the friendliness. And the greatest fact was/is that we were all the same. None wearing the t-shirt, but they didn't have to. This was our element. It was implicit that I was not going to reject them for being there, and they were not going to reject me for the same. One of the girls, I had an honest in with--I had already met her at Geek Central, online. In person, I found her comely.

I won't over-dramatize my reaction to these golden opportunities. Suffice it to say that I did nothing past the "Hello" and the smile I offered. As usual. So here it is, the right type of people, and I got nothin'.

I hope others have felt the thing I'm about to describe, and comment on it please, but this is what happens...

I look up and notice it's a "she" as we brush against one another politely in the throng of people. She enunciates in the clear, clipped tone of the genius geek, "Excuse me." and I do the same. I find her few words are an iceberg tip, full of promise and possibility. I say, "Yeah, no I'm sorry," and I smile because I liked her voice, and that she's here and that she's cute. And I think of how to make this last a little longer, or how to put a bookmark in it for a later return, and then a spike of fear pulses in my chest like Barry Allen's symbol and I continue my walk. We're going in the same direction, but I know I'm done. I'm not going to say anything else. No, "Is this your 2nd NYCC?" no "Did you score any goodies?" or a whole host of normal conversational rejoinders that would not have hurt me in the slightest to say. And as the immediate crush fades and the people meander out of the clutch we found ourselves in, she walks off to nowhere and I do the same. I glance back and see that she does not. And on I go.

That pulse of fear caused me to turn around the first time I saw one of my podcaster buddies at his podcasting table in podcasting alley where at Geek Central he practically begged everyone to come by and see him. I could have just walked up and said "Hey!" the first time, but I couldn't. I turned and walked in the other direction until my heart stopped racing. Then I approached from the opposite direction. He had no idea I had hesitated. For a half an hour.

My Hero didn't come to this convention, but his two runners-up did. The heroine who stood with him at the show's conclusion was at her table in Autograph Alley and was offering big smiles to passersby. There was no line to contend with. I could have walked right up to her to say, "My Hero sends his regards!" I could have walked right up to her and said a thousand things. And she would have greeted me with the same smile, or maybe something even more familiar since last year I worked the line for her and My Hero. But I said nothing. I kept moving. My mouth was dry and my heart was doing that wonderful little staccato it likes to do.

This? This is irrationality. This is a social anxiety. I can't think of any other term for it. None of those people mean me any harm. I am in good standing with at least two of them and no doubt attractive to the third. But my heart goes, "No!" and before its finished my head goes, "Yeah, no, dude get outta there!"

And those were the people I did meet, to say nothing of the people I wanted to meet.

I did eventually manage to fight through some of that fear and actually initiate a conversation--but it was with a guy wearing a costume and I wanted to take his picture, and he let me, and then I was gone.

Scott, Ned, it is fear of rejection, apparently, but is my reaction to that fear a normal one? It doesn't feel like it. It feels like my animal self is taking over WAY out of proportion to any actual threat.

And now I'm finishing this post on a Saturday morning (started it yesterday) instead of going down to the convention on-time to meet My Friend The Doctor and his brother because I'm thinking of how miserable its going to feel to want to be somebody else all day long, instead of being able to enjoy my-fuc&ing-self for a change.

And if I hurt Tom because of my being an asshole in that original post from whence cometh this one, then I all the more wish I were somebody else, because that is SO not ever what I wanted to do. Tom, if you would post back and tell me I'm an asshole and accept my apology, that would be really great. Please.

So I'm going to take meds and see what happens. I've tried everything else (including blogging) short of alcohol and illegal substances. It can't be any worse than this.

If You Could See Me Right Now

...you would call the paramedics.

Like when my hands were itching like crazy during my trip out to Cali, and My Friend The Doctor (but not a medical one, unfortunately) had to help me de-escalate because I was rubbing them and wigging out, Lady MacBeth-style.

Well, it seems like a month since I wrote my Match letter, but according to the profile it was only yesterday. And she has responded today.

I want to paste it here, word for word, but I can't risk her doing a Google! Not yet anyways. Or ever?

But since I've started typing here, I've managed to calm down considerably. And of course, I am going to tell you the highlights of the letter! :D

So she answered my question about the thing, and then she said that she really liked my note to her, and that it and my profile made her laugh!!!

HHHHHHHHHHHHHEE!!!!!! By God, I'm fourteen all over again, and this time, the girl I'm asking out isn't laughing AT me, she's laughing WITH me!! She likes me!!!!

Then she said that since I have these people on my mp3 that I MUST be perfect! (Capitalization HERS!! She's got a sense of humor too!!!!! Which I sensed through her profile, when she mentioned the blinds installation!!!!)

She then mentions what music she's listening to now, and in response to a little gem I plunked at the end of my profile...


"And I'm caught up on at least 7 monthly ( these people) and (these people) titles (A big plus if you know what these companies produce :-D )."

...she said this;

"(these people) and (these people) make comic books, right?"

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

And I suddenly saw us a year from now on a Match TV commercial saying how we found one another!!!

I mean ... okay, I'm emotional, I know. I know I know I know. Okay. ALRIGHT!

But I mean, come on ... this is like reading a note from Grizz or Fringes, or any one of you lovely smart, clever, wonderfully pithy, full-of-heart ladies - only, you know, different! Because she's responding to me in ... well ... THAT way. She don't gots a man already.

I mean, y'know ... yet. :-D

Gosh, I'm scared, but it's been such a long time that this were possible. well, no, not just "possible" but, say, ACTUAL. Oh and you should see this lady's lovely smile. And her dimples. I hope one day I get the chance to show it to yous!

So, okay. Yeah. No, this is good. Yeah. You were right, Ned. It IS a silly sensation! I like it!

Okay, now I gotta write her back again!

I know just what to say!

"Do U Love Me? 1=Yes, 2=No, 3=Maybe So!"

OH! And I forgot to add that she said some of HER favorite places are these places and these places too!!

Yeah, So, How 'Bout Them Giants...?

Yay!

And now onto other news.

Yesterday, I actually went to My Friend The Doctor's daughter's first birthday party. Readers of more than a year here might recall how I had some angst when this child was born. And how, again thanks to this blog, and you readers, I was able to make an emotional adjustment. I still don't know who that Anonymous person was that gave me the kick in the pants, except that they were from Texas. MFTD and I share a friend from Texas who used to come and read the blog, so I hoped it was him. But whoever it was, I was glad for it.

I took a slow train out to Connecticut, just because it was a Sunday and I didn't want to put out much effort on my weekend. I had a stack of comics to read and I was content for the most part. I bought a $10 birthday card (from here) to enhance the child's life (lol) and off I went. Gladly, my comics kept me from realizing where I was actually going and what I was actually about to do.

MFTD's mother and father were there. And his four brothers. One of his brothers is back from Iraq, safely. Thank God. He won't be going again. But he is trying to join the NYC Police department. Clearly, he's found his calling. Walk softly and carry a big gun. His brother closest in age to him brought his wife--yes, MFTD gained a sister-in-law over the last year, and she is great with child. I mean Sherman-tank-great. They all said she was about to pop any minute. Wouldn't that have been special? The three unmarried brothers had girls on their arms.

MFTD's wife's mother and father was there as well, from the midwest (where he found her. If you'll recall, he and I went to the midwest together. He got a wife and a doctorate out of the deal, and I just got the hell out). They were there with their other daughter, who is turning out to be a nice young woman. She was unaccompanied by a partner, but she's younger than MFTD's wife, who is younger than him, and he's about nine years younger than me. So, no.

Then another school chum of ours showed up (who lives in Connecticut because he was raised in CT, although we first met him out in the midwest when we went out to school. Funny how things turn out.) He showed up with his new wife, and their two-month old baby boy.

You see where this is going right?

Oh, also, MFTD's pastor was there with his wife and three of his eight kids.

So I involve myself with speaking to MFTD's father-in-law, who I actually like, and I speak to MFTD's pastor and wife, and I hang out with our college buddy, and I chew the fat with the ex-Iraq soldier. And I coo and burble as MFTD's little daughter is plied with gifts and attention enough to set her up as one of America's intolerably spoiled princesses (lookout, Paris--you about to have some competition in a few years when you're raising the next Britney). And I stay almost busy enough not to think.

Almost.

You see, I was able to present myself in the most positive light I've ever done in my life. I live in Manhattan, I'm a full-time Assistant Director in an organization, and I do therapy in a midtown Manhattan counseling center. My sh!t is tight. So I got through the night pretty well.

Until MFTD took me back to the train station, and started complaining bitterly about his mother-in-law. Now, I love MFTD like cooked food, but enough is f*ckin' enough. That boy has more love in this life than I have ever known or will ever know. And he's never happy. Sh!thead! He made me so mad I could have slapped him.

Happily, I let none of it out. We all have a right to complain about whatever, and MFTD's experiences are his own. I just suggested that he not let himself get so upset about things that aren't that serious, because life could be a lot worse for him. He replied, "Yeah, I know. And I shouldn't be complaining about this to you." Which of course made me backpeddle 0 to 1000 mph because, oh hell no, you will not pity me, you lucky, loved, golden child bastard.

Upon reflection, it was better for me to be angry than to be sad. And I wasn't even that angry.

When I got back to NYC, I walked up 42nd Street from Lexington all the way to 8th Ave to get the A train, just occupied with thoughts. The lights and spectacle of Times Square went a long way towards keeping me from the darker spectrum of my emotions. And too, the facts are true--I do live in Manhattan, I am a full time asst. Director, and I do have five clients a week in a midtown Manhattan counseling center, for whom I am doing a lot of good. The look on each one of their faces this past week as they left my office was like a full-on hug from the dearest of you guys. It was like medicine to my soul.

So, my life could be worse. Hell, it was just last year when it was worse. Much worse.

So yeah.

How 'bout them Giants? :-D

Believe It Or Not, IIIIIII'm Walking On Air ....

...I never thought I could feel so free -- ee -- ee -- EE!

My Friend The Doctor came over to see me in my new crib and I took him on a tour of the neighborhood, then we took the Number 1 downtown to eat at my favorite Chinese food restaurant on Broadway in my soon-to-be second favorite neighborhood (because where I live now is fast becoming my favorite).

MFTD was stunned by where I've now landed. He loved the park and the people and the atmosphere. He said it was an undiscovered country.

Let me backtrack a little. I knew he would be here around noon, so I headed out to Central Park to attempt a repeat of the Reservoir jog. I just wanted to see if I could circle it again without stopping. It was CAKE. I did it in about 10 minutes. Which is about 3 revolutions of Dream's "This Is Me". Laugh now, but I can get my serious chug on to that song!!

She stole your heart -- jog jog
Only did it because she could - jog
Chewed you up and spat you out - jog
That girl never was no good -- jog jog
Baby I would never do that - jog
I'd love you endlessly -- jog jog
But your suh -spish- shuss mind thinks --jog
I'm gonna re-peat her sto-ry --JOG!!

WHOOOOOOOO!! Oh I highly recommend you try jogging to that syncopation.
Oh! Speaking of Dream!! Tell me why I cannot stop staring at these posters all over New York--
These are supposed to be high school girls, and the actresses probably are high-schooled age, AND THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO BE BASED ON DOLLS FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. But I'm so fascinated by those winsome and mischievous eyes and grins that I'm considering watching this movie. EYIPES!!!!!! Have I entered the dirty-old-man phase of my life? So SOON?!

Anyway, I digress. On the first train I took today to go jogging, I ran into the person I knew lived here in Inwood, with whom I had occasion within the last year to go to his apartment and play D&D once. Since then, he revealed he was an actor on Broadway, and I had verified it online that he was. So I was suitably impressed then, but I had stopped that particular D&D and so never bumped into him again. Until this morning.

Avoidant-Alan reared up and said, "He doesn't remember you! Don't invade his space! He'll think you're a freak!" But I told ol' Avoid-Al that I'm a different person now. I meet people now and I take risks now, and I'm not afraid of people anymore.

So I entered the subway car he had entered and I went over to him and re-introduced myself. And it was nice! I wouldn't say we made pinky-swears to be best buddies, but I'll be able to talk to him again if I so choose. He was actually on his way to the Saturday performance on Broadway, and if I tell you the play, you'd be amazed. Lets just say it's been on Broadway for ten years, it has singing and dancing, and it's based on a Disney movie about a baby who grows up to be a king. And he plays one of the featured characters, as opposed to being in the chorus line. :)

So anyway, I did that before I met up with MFTD and toured him around the neighborhood, and repaid him for my vacation (in full, another debt settled).

Of my neighborhood, and my apartment room, and my life now he said, "You deserve this. You've really gone through a lot and you really deserve this."

If we hadn't been on the crowded Number 1 heading back uptown, I'd have broke down weeping on his neck. Because he's right. I have been through a lot. But like God took care of me well-nigh unto miraculously to save me in my eviction two years ago, He's also given me a living situation that amazes even my jaded, cynical, reality-therapist doctor best friend in the whole wide world.

And that's seriously alright then.

My Psychotic Break, And Other Tales

Many, many things happened over my vacation that made it a real report worthy event, and I am loathe to type it all out in prose form. Almost as though the magic would leech out of my mind if I were to type it all out.

But speaking of "out of my mind" I still will share it. Because I appreciate that there are eyes reading these words of mine at this very moment. Especially those of the Irish--(Scott, Steve, I'm sure you understand).

1. I rode on four planes and none of them crashed, even though as far as I'm concerned any one of them could have at any conceivable moment. Because I'm just saying. Six thousand pounds of steel jetting through the air thanks to the two explosive blenders nailed onto the shreddable, actually-shaking-when-there's-turbulence wings. I'm JUST saying.

2. The Star Wars Convention filled with my generation and down. Costumed, outfitted, brave community standing up in their element, ashamed of nothing and no one. I will have pictures and comment more when I post them. There were whole families of Jedi, which second to My Hero's (which is one-of-a-kind) is my favorite costume in the world. And so it makes sense that my favorite Convention event was the Jedi Academy where a curly-headed balding man and his lovely, red-headed assistant tutored kids from maybe 3 years old to probably 11 or 12, and most notably a lad in a wheelchair who appeared to have MS, in seven moves with their plastic lightsabres, and then they faced Darth Vader one by one. The Jedi Master had his hand on each of their shoulders and coached them through the moves, effectively fighting Darth like a true Jedi. Those who know me know what captured my heart and brought the tears to my eyes here; the guidance of a strong father-figure helping them each fight the battle against darkness. (That the Jedi Master had a slight Scottish brogue and enunciated like a Shakespearian didn't hurt either.)

3. Bonding more with My Friend The Doctor, and learning how to dislike him at times without hating him or wanting to flee forever away from him. Because despite all his qualities, he's got a pretty sour attitude about life. This is one of the reasons he doesn't appreciate my hero-worship. He seems to hate people. He has a bad temper and little to no patience. And here he is with a doctorate in psychology and is about to become a licensed psychologist. Yes, the stories you've heard about us are true. We're as crazy, if not moreso, than our clients. More's the miracle when we manage to actually do someone some good, which he and I have also done. So go figure.

4. Hanging out with My Hero. He let me into his life. I entered his beautiful home, I played with his dogs, and I rode in his economically friendly car. We walked and we talked and we walked and talked some more. Then we rejoined his wife and her family and I lived a new reality. One that didn't involve costumes. One where the superpowers consisted of Interesting Conversation, Appropriately Engaging Strangers, and Fitting In. I then used these powers again as he took me into the inner circle of his friends. The people in his life that did not live thousands of miles away and type their love to him through the internet. The people who "knew him when" and made fun of him as only real friends can. He brought me into his circle. He made me special because he trusted me with this secret life. In other words Jimmy Olsen got to hang out in the Fortress of Solitude while Clark hung up his cape, peeled off his boots, and had a nice cuppa joe.

5. California became solid in my mind. I will from henceforth understand most, if not all, of the vehicles in which California is the setting. I know what its' sky is now. I know what its' beaches are. Its' flat-topped, pastel-colored commercial buildings. Its' towering palm trees. The smog that makes every morning a day threatened with drizzle until it burns off near to noon. Its' internally lit street signs. Its' poverty. Its' immigrant population. Its' economic disparity. Its' breezy golden air. I understand it now and I like it.

6. I had a brush with real schizophrenia. I woke up one night with my palms afire. There were no real flames, and I didn't actually see any, but they burned. Like there were a billion bugs crawling over them, they burned. I rubbed my hands together so hard I thought they would combust. That scratched the itch viscerally, causing my heart to pound and my breath to ooze up from my lungs like the wax in a lava lamp. And then the itching would come back again, worst. I woke up MFTD with this and had to turn on the light. I enlisted his help by asking him to get on the computer and find out why it might be happening, all the while realizing that I already thought I knew why. It was all over. I had finally lost my mind. There was very apparently nothing on my hands, but they would not stop itching. I gripped handtowels and wrung them, pacing back and forth like Lady MacBeth cursing at her "damned spot." The coarse terrycloth scoured my flesh until the skin peeled. Meanwhile, I'm verbally diarrhetic with freeform prose, tracing my psychotic break back to my mother who was mentally ill. MFTD is trying to field my questions and reassure me that I'm not going crazy, but the more I think about it, the more my palms itch. Finally he calmed me enough to read his internet findings. I'm having an allergic reaction to something. Was it the shellfish I ate earlier that day at Rendondo Beach? Or was it the sand I scooped in my palms as I knelt under a hazy Pacific Coast sky? Or maybe my sheets were infested with the infamous bedbugs we've all heard about. Whatever it was, listening to the reassurances of MFTD calmed me down long enough for him to take me to the Rite Aid on Wilshire Blvd. at 2:00am for Benadryl. By the time we returned to the hotel, the pill was swallowed and the itching stopped. I put myself back to the same possibly lice-ridden bed, exhausted and embarassed. In the morning, I woke up bespotted in a rash. Whichever the cause, I was relieved to see it was indeed physical and not mental. As much. Benadryl is now my new best friend. The itching is gone and the rash is faded to just a stipling up my forearms. And I don't cough as much as I used to, as an added bonus. Well, in fact, I don't cough at all anymore--as long as I'm on the Benadryl.

But now I know what it feels like to have a psychotic break. And I'm glad I'm in the business of helping the others who suffer from it. If for no other reason, I want to stay alive for them, if not myself.

7. I reconnected with my friend who moved out to the coast last year. By accident. He was lost at the convention and walked right by me as I sat on a chair feeling vaguely lonely. At that point MFTD was on a distant line in a galaxy far, far away getting autographs, and My Hero hadn't been available yet to meet me. I had been wondering if he ever really would (and I should've trusted him, but because sometimes disappointments happen, especially in This Redeemable Life of mine, I was gearing myself for it) and so I called Grim Reaper while sitting and watching people, but he wasn't home so I had to leave a message, and just as I closed my phone, this friend walks by me. I cried out his name and scooped him up in a huge embrace. (He is smaller than me). Coincidence? I think not. He at first could not believe it was me. Then he was mad it was me. Because I hadn't told him I'd be there. And I hadn't communicated with him much since his move. And out of the group of us (Grim Jester and my other D&D buddies) he and I hung out before when he lived in New York City. But when he left to pursue and achieve his dreams, I guess my jealousy made me leave him to it. He and Grim Jester kept conversation, but he was out of my sight, and so, out of my mind. We've made up now. I met his California friends and then we had dinner and pie the next night on a very Greenwich Village-type street in Northern LA.

8. On the plane ride home, I made Ali Larter smile as she boarded with us. YUP. Ali Larter, who played Nikki/Jessica on Heroes, the best show on television, was a passenger on our plane. And not in first class either. And that made two stars from the TV show that I've made smile. Both blonde. Both pretty. And before our plane took off, I called My Hero to let him know that I had gotten home safe the night before and that Ali Larter, a "Hero," was on my plane--and that I appreciated him more than I could actually, literally (and so didn't) say for the time he had spent with me. But he was the grateful one, he said, that I drove out to meet him since he had so much to do and couldn't really afford to spend travel time to hang out with me like I wanted. And I was just senseless with misunderstanding. He was grateful that I went to see him? HE was grateful?? And then he called me again today to make sure I was back in New Jersey safely. And I finally felt the wall come down. See #4 above.

So that's all right then.

9. My manuscript was waiting for me, returned unread, from the publisher. Seems they changed the policy I found on the internet. Either that or the nice secretary who I though had my back gave it to the wrong imprint. I thought I was submitting it to Patrick Nielsen-Hayden at TOR books, but the rejection form letter came from St. Martin's Press. So either that or Patrick found it so beneath contempt that he just slapped a generic "we don't read unagented materials" letter in my SASE. Even though his wife was nice enough to stop by my blog back in the day. So I guess I'd better start sending the manuscript to agents now instead of publishers. At least I have more "published work" under my belt now as I approach these landsharks.

So anyway I'm back. Let's talk!

Just In Case

Tomorrow, I'm getting on a plane and heading to California. My Friend The Doctor is sponsoring my part of the trip because he wanted to go here, but not alone. Originally I was to pony up my slice of the trip in cash, which would have gone towards what I owe him in the overall scheme of all the money I already owe him. This was how he enticed me to go. But then I had the car accident and I had to pony my money to the dealership. But he still wanted me to go. So I'm going on his dime, and what I'm supposed to give himfor money is beyond me. Payday is tomorrow, but so is my second payment for the car. And my school loan payment. Which leaves a few hundred for food for the next two weeks, plus scrimpy savings.

That financial aspect is 1 out of 3 things that are in the way of full enjoyment of this vacation.

#2 is that My Hero seems busy at the moment.

Of course I lobbied for face time with My Hero. He lives about an hour from L.A. So I'm more excited about that part of the trip than what MFTD wants to go for.

But My Hero is juggling a lot of things, and I'm ready to make any excuse for a reason that he might cancel out on me. Ultimately, I know he wouldn't want to be unavailable when he said he would see me, so he'd squeeze me in somehow, but that only seems to illustrate how sad it is that I need his company so much. The Jimmy Olsen Syndrome.

In fact, I'm not sure if anyone, anywhere, needs me as much as I've come to need them.

#3 is that I have to fly on planes to get to California. I hate planes. And we have to fly two of them there, and two of them back. Now here's what Worst-Case Scenario Man says, "Isn't it about due for a plane to crash in the US?"

Nice, right? This guy lives inside my head and it's not pretty.

So, this is my schedule;

Flight: NW 0537
From: New York-La Guardia, NY
To: Detroit-Wayne County Int'l, MI
Departure Time: May 25, 9:03 am
Arrival Time: May 25, 11:09 am

Flight: NW 0327
From: Detroit-Wayne County Int'l, MI
To: Los Angeles Int'l, CA
Departure Time: May 25, 12:05 pm
Arrival Time: May 25, 1:57 pm

Flight: NW 0770
From: Los Angeles Int'l, CA
To: Indianapolis-Int'l, IN
Departure Time: May 30, 9:45 am
Arrival Time: May 30, 4:49 pm

Flight: NW 4779
From: Indianapolis-Int'l, IN
To: New York-La Guardia, NY
Departure Time: May 30, 6:25 pm
Arrival Time: May 30, 8:36 pm

If any planes crash within this time frame, and it was one of these, then really, listen--it was for the best. If I went down and died, it's because I wasn't really going to win all these battles I'm fighting. And I would rather die now than linger in loneliness and misery and confusion and depression for another twenty years.

I go to see my shrink today, by the way. She cancelled on Tuesday so I'm seeing her today. Maybe later I'll feel "better" about death. (Which translates into not wanting the plane to go down in flames, and so will want you to be outraged for me and will also want you to carry my memory and the meager imprint I may have left on the world).

Do I have anything to uplift you with as I sign off for now? Well, I still think you all are pretty wonderful. Thanks for caring enough to read these words of mine.

See you when I see you!

Well, Crap.

Dr. King's daughter died. Thanks to my Friday Night Date, I not only knew who she was, I got to meet her. And now she's gone away. At only 51!!

And this I find on the heels of getting an explanation about a co-worker's continuing struggle with cancer. I blogged about this co-worker before, and now I've learned she's back in chemotherapy 3x's a week.

The woman's going to die. I believe she's said enough to me to indicate that she knows it, and now her co-worker is confidentially spilling the details that she herself won't speak about (I guess he sees me as her boss, since she's in my dept. and I'm the Asst. Director).

And we just keep going through these things in life. We broaden our social circles and reach out for the friendship love of good people, in an effort to grow our humanity, and something like this happens.

I don't want this woman to die. She has highschool-aged children, and a husband. She's being strong for everybody, but what happens in her home when she's gone? What happens at this job?

I saw "The Family Stone" over the Christmas holiday when George put me up in his timeshare in NYC. SPOILER. The audience is told the about the mother's illness in one powerful scene as she confronts her adult son on the choice he's making to marry an unliked girl. She says, "What are you doing?" Tears fill the son's eyes. Then she says, "Are you marrying this girl for me?" The son's mouth gapes with grief. "Getting married is not going to change my illness. You have to stop this and get a girl you actually love." By this time the son is wracked and shaking with wordless sobs.

I paraphrased the mother (played by Diane Keaton)'s words, but that was the jist. I don't know why I didn't blog about it then. I'll never forget it. The actor was the same guy who played Julia Roberts' best friend in "My Best Friend's Wedding." How that actor was able to break down like that was heart-numbing. Oh, and don't think I didn't have a good sob right along with.

So what's going to happen now? And where's my guarantee that this won't happen again? How do I know that Scott, or Alex, or Steve, or Eliel, or My Friend The Doctor, or (oh God please forbid) My Hero won't someday come home with "dreadful news"? How are we expected to survive in the screaming absence of people we love?

It's not fair damn it.

Normal?

(Originally 3/14/07)

So I called My Friend The Doctor and told him I wanted to be normal.

What's that you say? Wasn't I doing well already? Feeling good and having fun? Made some accomplishments and am enjoying some success?

Well, YEAH! :-)

So of course, I want to plug in the last few pieces of the puzzle and call myself normal. Why wouldn't I?

Now, I lack a few qualifications in order to enter into this thing we call "normal". For a while -- a LONG while -- I've made myself content, even triumphant, about NOT being normal. And mind you, I'm not referring to wanting to remove myself from GeekLife. I'm not trying to be that normal because, um, please--why?

But even geeks get she-geeks to enjoy.

So this whole Match.Com thing had me wanting to spill and I called up MFTD to do so. Because this is what I realized; if I'm going to be successful with Match.Com, or any other future normal female, I'm going to have to put out. You know, "vodie-o-doe".

Yes, you see, because of my Christian stance (see; Header, above), I had chosen to live the celebate life. I had planned to abstain from sex until my wedding night. And as I previously indicated but did not detail, the relationship with my last girlfriend ended because she lost faith in me. The exact detail is that because I wasn't pursuing sex with her, she questioned if I'd be "able" after we got married. After all, I was in my late thirties at the time. Why was I not trying to get into them guts? She said she didn't think I was gay, but she just wanted to feel better about her future with me, sexually.

Well, sadly, that was the exact wrong thing to doubt me about. Because it wasn't as if I wasn't wondering the same thing. And I needed a partner to get me over that hump (no pun intended). Yet, I wasn't going to try do that until I was married.

That's a lot to ask from a woman, isn't it? Not with all the "down-low" brothers out there who are marrying and making children, and then having same-sex affairs and infecting their wives with The Monster (as Wendy Williams likes to call it). But I do know this, when I was with her, I know I loved her. I know I love her right now. I know I wanted to hold her on the couch while we watched TV. I know I enjoyed kissing her. I know I wanted to press her body against mine. I know I thought she had luscious and beautiful breasts. And I know I like sex. Hetereo sex. Man-and-woman sex. That I know.

So I told MFTD that I was going to have to have me some sex if I was going to pursue Match.Com and be successful with any woman I found on there. And then MFTD said to me, "Well, you're planning to put the whole Christian thing to the side anyway aren't you?"

And I became instantly petrified. Because oh my gosh. No, MFTD, I was not planning that. At all. But then again, I must have been. Not only that, but I must have been giving MFTD every indication that I was. With every download to him that I would perform I must have been telling him how much closer to leaving Christianity I was going. And My Mentor must have gotten the same vibe everytime I call him to try to feel better about not going to church. These guys want me to stay Christian, and so do I, but they can't tell by the way that I'm acting.

And that breaks my heart.

"Normal." Yes, I could be normal. In the matters of sexuality and relationships, I want to be normal. At 42 years old, it's scary not to be normal. But one of my best friends is a man who puts on a superhero suit FOR REAL. So why am I putting a premium on what kind of normal I should be?

Christianity is an important commitment that I made a long time ago. It has kept me sane when all these other coping mechanisms that I now know about were just pages in a textbook somewhere. Christianity to me is like tradition in a Jewish home. It's important to me. I want to raise children with Christianity as a staple in my home. (And no, I'm not talking about the kind of Christianity that lunatic in the White House and those hypocrites on Capitol Hill spit at people.)

And for the sake of "normal" sex, I'm trying to throw that away? Not to mention, for the sake of my actual God, I'm trying to throw it away? I can be loyal to Matt, a man, but not to my God?

What is wrong with that picture?

So MFTD told me what I already knew. I just need to get back to it. Match.Com is not where I'm going to find "my beloved". It's time to stop "shuckin' and jivin'" (thanks Dad) and recapture the thing in my life that is important to me. I've wasted enough years feeling sorry for myself and giving myself excuses "why", and trying and failing with "normal" women. If I'm going to get what I want, I have to do what I need to do.

Normal? Yeah, I'll be normal. Normal by my own standards--which is all anyone ever really does anyway.

And I'm a friend of My Hero's as well.

So that's alright then.