Yo Yo Yogurt - Day 8

This very moment I am immeasurably thankful for yogurt. All-natural vanilla yogurt. It tastes so wonderful and I wish I could eat it forever, and I can since it is lowfat and full of calcium and makes a great treat at anytime of the day.
I make a sweet concoction of yogurt with maraschino cherries or honey or nuts. My favorite breakfast treat (and midday treat on those occasions I am too busy for breakfast) is vanilla yogurt with raisins and walnuts. I add a little ground flax seed to amp it up and there you go.
Yogurt allows me to eat with integrity since I know it is good for me and makes me feel like I am respecting myself with a touch of sweetness.
Today I am eating Dannon’s variety which is great on its own, but usually I get the organic kind and it is a little tart. I like this with just turning bananas and, of course, nuts. The tartness revives the overly ripe banana and gives it a new crisp flavor. It’s all based on teamwork.
Sometimes I partner my yogurt with fresh or frozen berries or even just alone to taste each creamy spoonful.
Even plain, yogurt is a winner since I use it in salad dressings, for tatziki, as a rich creamy “cheese” or for dipping croissants (something I became addicted to in France).
My passion for yogurt goes way back, but only recently, with label reading, have I truly made it a staple in my diet. I know all the negatives of dairy, fat and sugar, but fuck it. I live to eat and that means I live for yogurt. I can own this trait, or flaw to some, and proudly lift my spoon. The satisfaction alone is worth it. Full of protein and other yummy bits I add, it actually fills me up for several hours and inspires a sense of well-being.
I am not here to promote eating this luscious, bacteria-ridden treat, the less you eat, the more there is for me.
I aspire only to share with you one of my favorite things, and what I am grateful for. That it is strategically placed in my diet and hopefully will produce some weight loss, I do not know. But I have invested the time to share what I think is one pot of good eats, and a great foundation for my health.
Hey Ho, Let’s Yogurt!!!

Resurrection Time - Day 7

Recently I came back to the world and got cable. I spent 4 years really not missing the abundance of crap to be found on the line, but bit the bullet when I reorganized my life. Now I am back to cable. My favorite thing is I have a DVR so I can record shows. My DVR list consists of Oprah, Anthony Bourdain, RENO 911, South Park, Knitty Gritty, Uncommon Threads, Creative Juice and Dr Who. Pretty much that is all I watch. I have scanned through the channels and appreciate the free on-demand of BBCAmerica with Coupling and BBC Reveals, but they show the same 4 episodes for an entire month and though I love it, I don’t love it that much.
My rejuvenation with South Park has been a real upper. Mich and I used to watch the show religiously about 10 years ago singing the songs and using the lines – “Screw you guys, I’m out of here.” But it fell to the side. Ronn discovered it recently and this lead to a resurgence of my own blasphemous love of those rotten kids. RENO 911 was soon to follow since it really is so wrong, that’s what makes it so good. All the craft shows are at O’dark thirty during the week, but with the DVR I can watch them when I get home and further stress myself out with more input on what to craft than I could ever have time for. So far I want to make bears for children in Africa, resin jewelry that I can also knit, garden signs, pillows and purses plus a straw hat. Dangerous stuff.
Oprah is in reruns, but since I didn’t see them the first time, it’s all new to me and I can skip over the commercials and the boring stuff in the last 10 minutes of the show. And Dr. Who. My beloved Dr. Who. I shall miss him next season since apparently he is taking some time off. I got hooked on the new Dr when I was visiting Patrick a couple years ago. After a day of shopping at IKEA, pomegranate margaritas at Rosa Mexicana and dinner at Paloma, we settled in and he turned me on to the Dr. I was not happy at first, but figured it was his house and there were martinis so all was well. And it sure was. I went crazy for it. And Patrick, being so smart and up on pop culture filled me in on all the little tidbits. Now I am hooked. It drives Ronn crazy, but I figure it is in balance with his enthusiasm in gardening.

Getting cable back was one of the best things I have done in a while. Now when the bill comes I may rethink this exploit, but as long as I do freelance I can pay for it.

So what’s on your DVR????

The Air That I Breathe - Day 6

Life has been very weird the past two weeks and now I can try to get back to my gratitude list. I am just glad for my health right now, since it hasn’t been good for a few weeks. It seems I spend more time at the doctor’s office, in physical therapy or at the pharmacy than I do anywhere else. I also spend more money. My plans for new soffets and painting my house have dropped a few notches as the funds are redirected toward paying off somebody’s medical school student loans.

But at least I have the time and money to go about these excursions without making myself feel any worse.

The downside is I hate being an invalid and missing out. I missed seeing an old friend, I miss walking in the evenings and I miss just being able to do anything I want to do. The doctors all say “Rest” is the best thing, and the drugs. But now I am on the mend and in hindsight I can see that it is all part of some plan, or at least I lie to myself about that.

So now I am thankful I can breathe full lungs of air, I can move about on my own two feet, I can smile and laugh and I can pray for perspective. The other bright side is I got to read more, take hot baths, and knit.

There is still more to do. I have blood tests to take and analysis to be done, physical therapy to be manipulated and just keeping myself sane. I had always envisioned myself at this age being vibrant and so full of life, but lately I am dragging and just pulling myself through each day. Today that stops. I am restarting my life. In good health.

Technophobe in a Techno World - FIVE ALIVE!!

I want to thank everyone who put up with my crap when I started working at my new job (well it has been almost 6 months so “new” is stretched a bit). The transition from being unemployed to hauling my ass to a 9-to-5 gig was almost catastrophic. By the end of the first month I was ready to pack up my pictures and split. I wagered selling my house (in a dead market) and working at Starbucks (for the benefits).

Thankfully I made it through and now, though I would prefer to work from home and do my own thing, I actually like my job. Right off the bat I, of course, love it since it gives me money to stay in my home, have a pretty good life and a peace of mind when it comes to security and finances. Just next time I am released from Corporate America, I will do more than worry about the albatross of “what-if” around my neck.

Here are the top nine reasons I like my job (in no particular order):

• In order to really enjoy Happy Hour you need to have something to get away from. Happy Hours without working were OK, but with working they are a relief, a pardon from the prison of the daily grind. To meet up with other sorts at Georgies, have a martini or two and stroll out when the sun is still shining and I am all dark is a surreal joy in its own right. I love sharing anecdotes with friends who work at my old place of business or other jobs and find out it is all the same everywhere. At Happy Hour even the marrieds and the parents become just people again and bask in the camaraderie of just being a poor working-class sap.
  This can also be doubled as “Weekends.”
• New fodder for stories. My old job had quite a few characters from the persnickety “I will argue any grammar question to death” editor to the half-witted blonde Republican bimbo “I voted for Bush because he’s cuter” to the paranoid sociopath who was sure the government was plugged directly into his brain and watching all his actions, but that never stopped him from spending all day in chatroom rants and yelling into the phone about the price of gold. Now there are new stories, though no one seems quite as weird. There is the drama queen who I hear walk by and explosively express her latest tragedy. Plus the new sagas of dates and love lives that I missed before (I used to work with a lot of marrieds). The stories now are more dynamic and full of heart, like the woman who told us that her husband’s first wife died of an aneurism the day after giving birth to their daughter. Heart felt and real.
• Learning new skills. Before I used to put out fires all day and deal with prima donna sob stories. Now I am learning more about print media, honing my writing skills and becoming a better writer, as well as getting a touch of insight into designing. I research and write articles for a magazine that is sent out to over 50,000 subscribers, I create brochures and newsletters for big companies and small mom-and-pop shops, I develop creative ad ideas and work on new initiatives that are constantly in demand in the tech world. It is giving me quite a portfolio.
• Going to the gym. I was spending my lunch times at the gym and that repetitive dynamo is partially to blame for my poor ankle. The debate rages on about going back since I wasn’t very pleased with it before. Especially in the weight-training area. The buffoons that entertain the masses with their Andrew Dice Clay humor annoy my sensibilities. Plus it is full of skinny people who give me glare that I don’t belong, or maybe that is just an old feeling I need to drop. Either way, it is a nice option to have.
• Renewing old friendships. Twenty years ago Effie and I worked together at Ross. We were both in college and living at home using our wages for discounted clothes and going out. Now we share a large cube, are around the 40 range with homes, budgets and a new perspective. It was a great joy to see her and by day 2 we recognized one another making that part of my assimilation easier. There is also a guy here who I used to date about nine years ago. He wasn’t such a great find, and even too boring to pluke, but every now and then we say “Hi” in the hall. What a small world.
• Making new friends. I am all about being social and developing friendships. Renee has become my newest friend. We seemed to have hit it off pretty easily and I really appreciate her wisdom, her sense of humor and her outlook on life. Some say “You never have friends like you did when you were a kid” which may be true. The friendships I have now are deeper, more spiritual and some that I believe will last for the rest of my life.
• Commuting time gives me an opportunity to knit. Don’t worry I am not one of those multi-tasking bitches putting on makeup, texting and talking to the kid in the back seat as I drive. I knit, and sometimes read, when I am at a stand still. I drive a straight shot from work to home, and it is a city road so there are a plethora of lights. The swarm of traffic makes my exit take a while waiting for sometimes the third round of “Green Red” to run its course. So instead of getting angry I knit. Usually I work on headbands or belts, things that are simple. I feel more at ease when I get home and appreciate that I am allowed to be a bit more creative during the day.
• I get a week of chances to be girly. Lately I have had to tone down my wardrobe wearing pants and flats due to my crippleness. But when I wasn’t working I lived in shorts and tees and melting makeup. I dressed up when we went out, but that was only once or twice a week. I like the option of going through my wardrobe and being pretty all day. Though I really would like to do more, but it’s flats from now on, at least most of the time. Plus I get to see a fashion show every day from the perfect business suits to the cheapest ho dresses all up and down the halls. I absorb the fashions and makeup tips as I see them and weigh their options when it comes to me. I really missed that.
• Finally, I am just pleased with the fact that people work as a team here. At my last job I worked around, and with, back-stabbers, nags and just downright evil people. Not all of them, but there were one or two that spoiled it for everyone. There was the spoiled princess who tried to sabotage her co-workers and withhold information causing panic in her team. Then there was the clique of “Mean Girls” who played the role of sweet things from the Type-A mom to the stylish, but not too smart bimbette to the learned scholar and religious zealot who formed a club to terrorize a team mate because they were jealous of her looks and confidence. Lastly the smattering of negative wordsmiths could bring even the most optimistic person down. At my new job, we work as a team, there are no apparent jealousies and lots of laughter, even when we are all slammed. It’s such a better environment to be a part of.

So that is my list. Lengthy, but true and from the heart. It isn’t a permanent 10 year gig or even 5 for that matter, but for now it works for me. You never know, by next year, I could be my own boss. But for now it is better for me to like and appreciate where I am than to fight it. And that isn’t too hard to do.

He Needs No Reservations – Day 3

Some say that when we dream our true natures make themselves known. We release our contemptuous hatred, our deep-hearted anger and our fawning desires. If this is true, then Anthony Bourdain better watch out.

I recently came back to the 21st century and got cable. Last night I wretched through most of what was on – what was I thinking? – and came across a marathon of “No Reservations”. This is one of my favorite shows, with one of my most lustful crushes, Mr. Bourdain. His snarky attitude and his rough-around-the-edges persona entice me to be a voyeur into his cluster-fucked world of food, opinion, mood and indiscretion.

But this was not the first time my path has crossed with the ex-junkie, food brat. I came across him long ago through a lonely late-night perusal of the Food Network. His brash attitude and sense of wit was such a nice escape from Rachel “EVOO” Ray’s giddiness and Bobby “I am all that” Flay’s frat boy grillin’. He seemed ill-suited for this network, but I couldn’t not look. Like a carousel show in an Amsterdam Night Club, he was so pornographic that I had to stare.

When cable became too much to afford, I dropped out of the TV world and instead concentrated on books reading “A Cook’s Tour” and “Kitchen Confidential”. I proclaimed to all my married friends that I had set my sights on Mr. Bourdain as my new husband. Some agreed we’d be a good match, some took things too seriously saying “How would you meet him? Isn’t he already married?”, and still the more sensible agreed he may be a good catch, but that he smoked too much for my liking.

I continued on with my desires only phased by other imaginary boyfriends who drifted in and out of my orgasms. When “No Reservations” came on the air, I begged my ex to tape them for me.

We parted on good terms and he continued to bestow the riches of cable upon me in the form of “Project Runway” First Season, “Blow Out”, “Myth Busters” and any documentary about Andy Warhol, NYC or anything related to Charlie Manson. It was a minor payback to the hellish year I spent recording “Eastenders” for him. He also recorded “No Reservations”. I longed each week for Tony and to travel to the places he visited, as long as I could be with him (or without).

Then I was cut off cold turkey right about the time Tony and crew got stuck in Beirut. My ex had got a girlfriend and apparently he couldn’t record cable for me anymore. So there I was without my beloved. Unyielding to this change, I begged and pleaded with anyone who had cable to record the shows for me, especially Beirut and the American Northwest. I was dying to see what Tony saw in Portland and could only quench my thirst for him through his like or dislike of the region. (I knew he would like it – Portland is awesome.)

Nothing came of it. I was cut off. This wouldn’t be the first time I was forgotten by a man with regrets to soothe my broken heart. My ex and Tony had abandoned me. There was nothing else I could do.

Now that I have my own access to cable, I have Mr. Bourdain as a choice of my TiVo, after Oprah (which I know if Tony read this he would cringe at this moment.) So last night I watched his visit to Jamaica (with Renee in mind) and Greece (with Effie in mind.) See this voyeuristic indulgence wasn’t just about him, but about getting to know more about my friends. Falling asleep, after fighting the ravages of a flying cockroach, I dared to dream about the old man.

In the dream, he was brash like his persona showcases on the screen, but he was also gentle kissing my neck and being romantic. It wasn’t a sexual dream, really, but man I just love him.

So today, I give thanks for dreams and the great feelings you get from them and for Anthony Bourdain, for making a guest appearance in mine last night. I wander what my subconscious will have in store for me this evening. Oh to dream.

(Insert Deity Here) Bless America – We Need It – Dos

No this isn’t going to be a rant about how the U.S. is the greatest country in the world or a bash against the current state we are in. It’s more about being thankful for the opportunities and happiness I get from living here and being American.

If you know me, then you know I hate our current administration and am looking forward to casting my vote for a change. (Maybe this time it’ll be counted.) That’s one thing I love about America, I can say that Bush is an ass and Cheney is a dick and Charlie Crist is a brown noser. That’s allowed.

I am grateful that, politically, we have a changing of the guard that generally is peaceful. I appreciate that we have several holidays that I get to observe by being off of work (though I think we need more).

Being American to me means I can have the friends I want, do what I want and be who I want. Now this isn’t distinctly American, but it is part of my American dream – so don’t wake me up.

I am grateful and happy that I can explore other parts of this country and the world and appreciate it all. On a train to Bruge in Belgium, I was accosted by an ignorant American. Well, in Belgium I met many, but that is another story. Polly Prissy-pants rolled her eyes and bestowed upon me the doctrine that she was most familiar with when I stated that the countryside from Brussels to Bruge was magnificent. Paraphrased, she said “But it isn’t as beautiful as America.” Blindsided I realized why people don’t care for us sometimes. I imagined the other English-speaking passengers taking in the negative over the positive and lumping us together.

I like the attitude many Americans have about helping others. There is that sense of wonder when I read about or see a story about someone with so little helping someone else. It makes me want to jump up and volunteer for everything. That’s also when Ronn jumps in and tells me to calm it.

I am thankful that I live in a country that has a bit of everything when it comes to culture, ethnicities, food, wisdom and nature. I’ve visited glaciers in Alaska, waterfalls in Oregon, the Empire State Building, deserts in California, hometowns in Pennsylvania, horses in Kentucky and beaches anytime I want.

I truly am grateful to have stories to tell that are distinctly American, I think. Like the one of going to a Passover Seder at my friend Barb’s house. It was my first Seder and I had the book and everything written in both English and Hebrew. Around the table sat Catholics, Hindis, Pagans, Baptists and one Jew, our hostess. It was wonderful.

And yes the food. American food to me always comes from somewhere else. Even distinctly Southern dishes and New England stews were inspired by the people who came from another country. Even my own personal experiences with American friends ring with sounds of ancient cooks in languages I don’t understand. With Cuban and Italian specialties from Mich’s family, to ćevapčići from Guy’s Serbian roots, to babka from Patrick’s Polish side to Jerk delights from Renee and real Chinese food from Yiwen and so much more. Learning about where they came from (from either them or their relatives) and how it all made us what we are. All melding into the America that I love.

I love the idiosyncrasies of our country from melting Southern accents, to the distinct wit of Northwestern writers, to the artistry found on the streets of Brooklyn, to the quiet of the North Carolina Mountains.

I appreciate the freedom I have to be who I want to be. I can choose to work or not, marry or not, have kids or not, party or not, be insane or not and it all is protected. I know there are struggles that others face, but I have been pretty lucky. I’ve had the opportunity to move to other countries, but for one reason or another I chose to stay put. It has made all the difference. I dreamed of living in Paris, Brussels, Beirut and Tokyo. But I always stayed put. And I don’t miss it.

I am thankful and grateful to the men and women who have chosen to protect my country out of patriotism, future-thinking (school and work) and/or as a way to pull themselves up from where they started. I don’t agree with the war we are in now, but in a time of real struggle it is good to know there are people who are willing to keep us safe.

I am not an idealist, but neither am I a pessimist. Like Ghandi said, “We must be the change we wish to see in the world.” Whining and bitching is a waste of time. See what’s good, no matter where you live and change what you don’t feel is right. Keep learning and be open-hearted not close-minded.

Some days I am not proud to be called an American, but it is just a title. One of many that leads people astray. Being an American, and being me is so much more than words.

What To Do When You're Feeling Blue - Be Grateful - Day 1

I was supposed to be on the road today for my trip to the North Carolina mountains. My adventure had to be postponed since I refused to leave Misha. Misha, my Tuxedo Boy kitty, has some form of infection and must be given meds 3 times a day. The responsibility of his drugs is enough to make me stay home, since it is too great a burden for Patty (my dear friend and trusted cat sitter). Plus I wouldn’t be able to have any fun since torrents of worry would cloud my entire time apart from him.
So worn out, tired and just feeling blue on this gray day, I sit and feel the waves of yammering self-doubt and sadness wash over me. I feel sorry for myself since I can’t workout or even walk without pain. I feel at a loss since I recall the festivities of last year when going to work was not a part of my daily task set. I miserably gloat on my weight and its abundance.
On days like this, and times like these, the only thing I can do about this explicit blue mood is to be grateful. Turning the un-expressed expression on my face into something a bit lighter and more wrinkle-causing sounds like the best bet so that this depression can go on its merry way.
I used to wake up each morning and write in my journal 5 things I was grateful for. Sometimes this was done half-heartedly, sometimes with exuberance and gusto. A tool to bring me out of my slump, the examination of the gifts I have elevates my sense of spirit and draws down a bit of heaven. So instead of just a rehash of my other grateful evaluations, I am instead going to do another 40-part list on things I am grateful for.

Today, I am grateful for so much. I woke up – hurray. I have my health (in general) – rock on. I have people who love me and I love them – whoo hoo. But what I am most grateful for today is my kitty, Misha.

Misha came to me 7 years ago after the passing of my first real pet, Boo. Boo had been with me for 13 years and spent her last days struggling with cancer. I let her go one bright sunny Monday afternoon and drowned my sorrow with friends that evening. Heidi and Guy were there to take me out after Boo left and Paul upped the ante by playing the Ramones as loud as possible to drown out the voices of grief.
I had another kitty at home, a gray long-hair named Vlad. Vlad-a-Cat was a remnant of a past relationship. An ex-boyfriend wanted to give me another cat for my birthday and I picked out the worst looking one at the pound. Even though he tried to persuade me to take the cute white fluff-ball kitten, I took the gray, skeletal and matted 6-year-old. I never regretted my choice, in Vlad that is. When Boo died he took her place cuddled beside me when I slept.
My vet called me three weeks later and asked me if I wanted another cat. Misha had been abandoned at the vet by a family that couldn’t (or wouldn’t) pay the extra money it took for his special food. Stricken with a urinary-tract problem and after almost dying, the vet put him back together again, but the family didn’t want him anymore. She took him home, but her two-legged dog kept tormenting him and her husband agreed that 12 was just too many pets. I took him in, without question. Vlad and Misha never bonded, and the next February, Vlad passed from kidney failure. This time I was alone. Misha was now my one-and-only.
Since 2001, he and I have bonded even closer than any of my other feline relationships. An independent cuddler, on his terms, Misha brightens each morning with a mew in my face, some petting and a reminder to feed him. He hasn’t had many problems since before I was given him as a gift, but this week he wasn’t feeling well and the vet had put him on meds to clear up his fever and infection.
I cried like a baby when she told me to leave him for observation on Monday morning. Even her assurances that he wasn’t critical couldn’t keep me from weeping when I spoke, so I just shook my head and tried to make it out of there as quickly as possible. I have a thing about the vet’s office. It makes me so sad since I keep thinking of the cats that came before him and how their last moments were at this warm and loving facility.
I can handle the hospital and when people I love are sick I jump into action as the backbone and strong one, but with my little furry friends, I break down.
I left work early just so I could go and be with Misha, waiting for almost an hour to speak to the doctor, but I didn’t care since I had him in my arms. Even though I knew he would be fine, I just couldn’t stop myself from getting teary-eyed when the doctor came in.
I am so happy and grateful that I have Misha since he brings me such joy. When I feel blue he cuddles with me and lets me know in his feline way, that all is well, truly. He makes me smile and petting him soothes me and shows me that my heart can get bigger and bigger with love.
Tuxedo Boy, Tuxedo Boy, feeling better is such a joy. It’s about time, to fight some crime, or at least play with a toy. Hey, hey, he’s a Tuxedo Boy.

And The Chocolate Stands Alone - Day 40

This is a sad moment. There is only one chocolate left in the Moonstruck Chocolates box and it is about to be eaten. Its eight brothers and sisters have all been devoured, joyfully, and now the Irish Cream will be slowly eaten and savored with an orgasmic melody.

Moonstruck and I go back a couple years, meeting on my first trip to Portland, Oregon. A trip that was so much more than I ever thought it would be, Moonstruck was my pal as I traipsed through this unknown city, on my own, and trying hard not to be blue. My first taste was dark chocolate with chili pepper, which has become a favorite combination of mine. I rode the bus that night back to my hotel relishing in what great happiness just a little piece of heaven could bestow.

I treated myself each day to a little bit of this celestial delicacy and brought some back for transplant Chris who was my phone friend through my tour. He returned the favor this time when he went to visit. The box of nine truffles made me almost cry as I smelled their sweetness and doled out one at a time for Ronn and myself to share.

For those of you who haven't had a chance to partake in these little nuggets of peace, please do. You will love them. Good bye and farewell my chocolaty friends. I hope we meet again, very soon. Love you.

(I thought this would be a great end to my photo adventure – ending it on a sweet note)

Happy PRIDE - Day 39

Happy Pride to one and all, even days after the parade. St. Petersburg had an outstanding turnout with reports of up to 70 thousand people attending the parade. It was a hot day out in the Florida sun, all the more reason for the boys to go topless and the girls to bare a bit more than usual.

I went in tow with Chris and Darryl exploring new shops along the avenue, as well as all the vendors offerings. Darryl got his picture taken with a porn star and a wanna-be porn star. He is so good at that, all I have to say is “Can I take your picture with him?” and he says yes. In fact when he asked if I wanted to take a picture of the wanna-be, I said I didn’t have a dollar, the general stripper ploy, and he said I didn’t need one since he had “frequent-flyer rewards” with the strippers. I just love him.

There were several political vendors, even the Log Cabin group. For those not in the know, the Log Cabin people are gay republicans. So they are sort of like the kids kicked out of the treehouse, wanting back in and trying to mingle when no one wants them there. Sad lot – talk about self hatred.

The Obama group were in friendly territory, so they didn’t have to try too hard. Then there were the religious zealots on both sides. The people who come out on their day off to protest in the heat are just as insane as the Log Cabin people, just meaner. Last year, I saw the best sign ever “Jesus Hates Fags”. Man this threw me since I thought Jesus didn’t hate at all, at least that is what he said. So we had a “he said” / “He said” thing going on. And people don’t think God has a sense of humor. Plus a lot of these protesters come from Georgia just to cause a ruckus at our little pride parade - now isn't that just darling, bless their hearts.

On the other side were all the churches that are gay friendly, like the one I go to sometimes, First Unity. Even the Quakers made a show out in the heat which was something new to me, but apparently they aren’t as prejudice and backwoods as I thought.

You also had those complimentary contrasts with night clubs and sexual enhancement retailers interspersed with the square dancing group and a new gay retirement community. When I get old I want to go there. I bet they still have great brunches.

A shirt caught my eye and was something that has haunted me since Max and I couldn’t come to a decision on it. The term “fag hag”. Guy calls me his hag and I never took offense, but Max said I was using the term out of context. (Check out Life According to Max. com to read more.) The shirt cut all the confusion; “I’m not a fag hag, I’m a fairy princess.” That is so my shirt.

There were drag queens (I think Natasha was the main star, but I am not as up on my drag queens as I used to be and Chris and Darryl weren’t any help.) Plus there were the freebie giveaways of energy drinks, bumper stickers and condoms (which I never got any). All-in-all, it was a great afternoon as I melted into oblivion (how do those drag queens stay so put together while my skin felt like it was dripping off my face?)

This was my second St. Pete Pride Parade and my third overall Pride Parade. The first one was more than ten years ago and was the big one in New York. Now that is a parade, and yes it started with a brunch.

So to all my alternative lifestyle brothers and sisters, happy Pride, every day!!!!!

Cross It Off The List - Day 38

I can cross one thing off my list: “Have a Brunch”. I hosted a small gathering last Saturday to celebrate Pride. The parade was a few blocks from my house so I thought I would throw together a quick meal for some friends who were going with me. It was small, but perfect. Chris, Darryl and Renee were my guests for a delicious, but healthy morning meal.

Brunch seemed apropos for Pride since what rings more stylish and celebratory than a gay brunch? I used to share in this occasion with my neighbors, Dale and Dan, but they moved and subsequently parted. It was something to look forward to with guest stars like Max and Chuck and whoever else wandered over. We usually had the same thing since Dale was on KP duty and cocktails.

One morning particularly stood out when the D-twins didn’t want to stay at the grocery store any longer than necessary (particularly to wait for the 11 a.m. allowance time to buy alcohol.) Instead they called me and asked if on the way over I could pick up a bottle of champagne. They live right behind me, across the alley, and I never noticed any champagne vendors strolling along the alley before (which would have caught my eye immediately). So I was supposed to drive to the store and purchase said libation. Max stopped me from being a smart-ass and suggested we make our own mélange to share, which we did and it was luscious. I think it had some kind of juice and of course vodka, definitely vodka.

This time though, it was even better.

Now I was the chef du jour. I concocted a frittata of bacon and glouchester cheese; cold berry soup with kiwi and yogurt; an apple tart; fresh baked wheat raisin bread and herbed French bread; a veggie salad and coffee (of course). Renee brought over chocolate-covered strawberries, which were magnificent and Chris and Darryl shined with exotic fruits like a horned melon, kiwi and lychees. Since we were going to be in the hot sun, walking past tons of people, we kept the alcohol out of this.

Overall I loved the prepping the night before, the cooking that morning and sharing my hospitality with my friends. Plus it was nice to show off my house to these folks that have never seen where I rest my weary bones.

My home is a work in progress, with nothing too fancy and a lot not fancy at all, but it is all mine. I am getting rid of a lot and have major construction to think about in the next year to two, but it houses my art, books, trophies and knick knacks. Chris referred to it as a museum and even took pictures of a few things to share with others.

It’s hard sometimes getting it all done. My leg has kept me out of commission doing the hard stuff (both physically and financially). Plus there is only so much time in a day. Not a huge neat freak, I clean what needs to be clean and figure the rest I can save for when I die. (Guy says that the reason ghosts move things around is because they are cleaning, that’s what we are supposed to do when we pass on.)

So now for the next thing on my list. It was supposed to be “Visit Someplace New”, but that will have to wait for a while since Misha is sick so we aren’t going on vacation like planned. No worries though, he is getting better and North Carolina will be even more beautiful in the fall. For now I will keep working towards losing the weight (the doctor said I can swim and bike now) and cleaning my garage (which must be done at the butt-crack of dawn otherwise you could drown in the humidity.)

And I will need to plan another brunch – that was way too fun to not do again.