i would like to announce to the few people who read this blog that ray just ate half a cake and is high on sugar, and i got all huffy because he was watching a stupid-ass harry potter movie on TV and i HATE harry potter and ray yelled, “you’re like the huffington post–huffington osh!”
also, today at work i got an outgoing message that said, “you’ve reached the weenie residence” and i laughed at my cubicle like a 12-year-old boy.
sitting on the runway of the pittsburgh international airport, ray asked me a question i can’t remember now, but my answer was, “no, new york is like that girl who broke my heart so bad. but i still love her.” he smiled at me sympathetically and then the plane took off.
i didn’t spend too much time in the city because it made me too sad & there was no time–we didn’t go to manhattan for even a second, just stayed on the long island/brooklyn side of things. my dad picked us up from the airport in his wood-paneled station wagon, we went back to the psychotically clean house that used to be mine, we ate cupcakes & giggled with my sister. we stayed at my mom’s house because i don’t want my dad to know i’m dating a boy since it would make him think that i’m “cured” in terms of queerness, and nothing could be further from the truth.
anyway. i like having someone to show oyster bay to; someone to kiss on the winding wall over the bay that my friends and i used to run on in junior high; someone new to laugh at my mom’s non sequiturs and my dad’s drunken stories. a lot of genuinely hilarious things happened, but i don’t think they’d be all that entertaining to read about on a blog.
my plane ticket was totally worth the price for this picture alone:
it’s me and my siblings jumping in the field of our old middle school, which is right behind the house we all grew up in.
i have more pics uploaded at my flickr page if anyone’s interested. now i am back home and glad to be here. pittsburgh is hot and muggy and manageable, and i’m just enjoying the quiet.
p.s. i was just strolling down the street, going to rite aid, and saw a former client of my law firm (a really crazed middle aged woman) strolling down the street with a giant iguana on her shoulder.
p.p.s. here are my favorite search engine terms people have used to find this blog lately:
“how deep is your butt whole”,
“gay bars wheeling wv”,
“conversation on phone to my boss”
and “like flies to shit.”
i’ve been in lots of pain all week with a truly relentless uti. at least, that’s what i assumed it was, so i took the herbs i always take when i get uti’s (about once a year). but it’s not going away, which makes me fearful that it’s something a little more serious. i actually took yesterday off work, which i never do, and i actually made a doctor’s appointment, which i also never do. the only halfway decent clinic for uninsured people in my city is 8 extremely hilly, traffic-y miles away–not exactly the kind of bike ride i would want to make even under the best of circumstances, and certainly not now. they also can’t see me until friday. fortunately, i have a sweet boyfriend who is totally willing to ditch work that morning, get up all early, and drive me there. i’m so lucky. i’ve never really had partners who’ve taken care of me when i’m sick before (either due to the long-distance nature of our relationship or the fact that they were self-involved assholes, or both) and, wow. it makes such a huge difference.
it’s interesting cuz my partner is from a more privileged class background than i am, and is also significantly younger than me and hasn’t really been through the wringer yet, in terms of really struggling financially & not having health insurance. and it’s weird to see how upset he gets that i can’t get healthcare–way more than i do, because i’m used to it, and was fully expecting to go through lots of bullshit, pay a lot of money, and not actually be helped significantly (or, if i am helped, wait a long long long time for that help). and that’s exactly what’s happening, and he is so taken aback and upset by it. and i had kind of forgotten that anyone anywhere expects to be taken care of when they’re sick in a timely fashion and not linger for days in severe pain because the sliding-scale clinic is totally overbooked and you really don’t want to pay three hundred bucks for a few urine and blood tests at the clinic in your neighborhood.
it’s interesting, what i have settled for, what millions of people settle for. it breaks my heart thinking of everyone who’s sick for years with no insurance and just puts up with it. chronic conditions, chronic pain. it makes me fucking crazy thinking about how one of my really good friends died when she was 25 and if she had access to healthcare that would not have happened. they would have caught the cancer in time & she would still be here. it makes me so fucking angry that my boss gives his bitch of a 41-year-old daughter health insurance, but he won’t give me any, even though i am significantly nicer to him than she is, and way more productive, and way smarter and cooler and more mature. [i realize this may sound like i'm just patting myself on the back here, but really just about anyone is smarter and cooler and more mature than this crazy fucking bitch.] [i almost never call women bitches, but she is a crazy fucking bitch and there is no other way to describe her.]
anyway. i am done, for now.
dear internet, i am feeling like shit about many aspects of my life right now, but the one i would like to enlighten you all on is my haircut. holy shit, i have not given myself a haircut this bad in years and years. for the past 6 years or so i’ve been pretty good at cutting my own hair (the first 2 years of self-haircutting were pretty bad), and even when i didn’t get the intended result it still looked decent. not this time. HOLY SHIT, do i look bad. in a few weeks i think it will have grown out to something decently cute, but not in time for my quick little jaunt to new york next week! all my new york friends and family will think i’ve gone to seed in pittsburgh. oh well. i mean, usually i don’t care, but this is really bringing me down for some reason. i nearly wept about it on monday. what the fuck? i hate feeling this shallow, but i can’t help myself sometimes.
on a lighter note, here are two amazing things that happened at work this week, one from each job.
job #1: i was sitting at my desk, writing a letter to a prisoner, when my boss called me from his office. usually when he calls me from his office it’s for some incredibly petty reason, so i rolled my eyes and answered it. instead, i was pleasantly surprised: “who,” he asked me, in his dignified oratory style, “is marilyn manson?” i laughed and told him.
later i was in his office doing work. “why did you want to know who marilyn manson is?” i asked. mark, another lawyer who works there (who is middle-aged, pony-tailed, unshowered and manic-depressive, in a manic upswing that day), went on this huge speech that basically boiled down to: “i was at a club with my buddy the other day, and i saw Judge _______, and he was dressed like marilyn manson! and i tried to explain it to [my boss], but he didn’t get it, because like, i’m an old guy, so i figured you’d be able to explain it better.”
“no wonder we lost our case before him!” sniffed my boss. “mark knows all of his secrets!”
job #2: so i call people and try to get them to take non-profit research surveys. in this day & age of caller ID, that means i listen to approximately one hundred outgoing voice mails every day. 80% of these are robots; the other 19% are generic messages. and then there’s that 1% of interesting “OGM”s (as we call them in the biz.) yesterday i got this AMAZING one, recorded by a very put-upon-sounding man (names have been altered slightly):
“hello, you’ve reached the home of stephen the boss, pavlinska the queen, and igor the slave. please leave a message.” i laughed and laughed and felt slightly better about my cubicle-ridden existence. (i know s&m/non-conventional relationships are not really laughing matter, but you have no idea how boring this job is [unless you've worked there, or somewhere similar])
last night i dreamnt that aaron cometbus came to the zine reading i’m doing on friday and hit on me. he said, “i have to go to this lame-ass hardcore show, but the whole time i’ll be wishing that you were telling me your sweet weird little stories.”
i handed him my zine and said, “you can read this at the hardcore show; it’ll be like i’m there.”
he said, “why don’t you come to the hardcore show with me and then afterwards we can hump each other?”
i said, “let’s cut out the middleman and hump each other now!” so we walked to his house. he lived on negley ave. in pittsburgh and i felt awkward because i was wearing some sort of thing under my clothes that made me look like a big, muscley guy. i woke up feeling kinda crushy, which is weird, because i’ve never had a crush on aaron cometbus before, although i do love his zine.
hi, blog! it’s been a long time. mainly because i am very uninspired by, and bored with, the internet lately. also i am working myself to death. i just worked 22 days in a row and had one day off (spent with my sweet sweet boyfriend, riding our bikes all over pittsburgh and looking at dino bones at the natural history museum and running into nice people and eating cinnamon buns and cooking) and now i’m looking at 17 more days of work before i go to new york. sigh. maybe i’ll get one or two days off thrown in there but i am stressed out & see no end in sight unless i get fired from one of my jobs.
my 27th birthday was one of the best ones i’ve ever had, but i can’t think of an accurate summary.
this morning i got to work and my boss’ wife was struggling to open the door with the wrong key and was yelling a lot. my boss turned to me, when she wasn’t paying attention, and calmly said, “she’s a loon.” after i had opened the door with the correct key, and she stomped in, ranting and raving, he said, “she can’t seem to figure out how to correctly turn a key in a lock. other than that, she’s a fairly good woman. not a very good woman, but a fairly good one.”
one of my best friends is in the hospital and i have a bad feeling about it. i really hope i’m wrong.