Things Are Really Good Right Now

How gorgeous is the weather today? I hope everyone has this weather today.

New York has been so hot lately and we're finally getting a break. I despise sweating. Despise it.

As a kid I always imagined that New York's climate would be more like San Francisco. I now know I was misled about the weather in the North. It's just as hot and humid here as it was when I was shelling butter beans on my grandma's back porch.

You ain't never shelled butter beans? Well, you ain't lived 'till you shelled butter beans.

The thing is, in the South everyone has air conditioning. Every store, every home, every car has air conditioning. People can't afford health care or food, but you'd better believe they have that A/C cranking. Just ask Mr. Curtis.Except, of course, my grandma who would only turn hers on when we were having company, and then it would be restricted to the kitchen area only. So it was either suffer the heat or suffer the family.

Anyway. It's finally a gorgeous day. Erica has been outside all morning pruning the bushes and squealing about our backyard rats. "They're as big as fucking possums!"

I am pretty sure Erica has never even seen a possum.

I am enjoying the day from the couch. Though we have these huge windows that are wide open, so it's like I'm outside. I may even sit in one of them to make it really feel, you know, real. Or at least get Erica off my case.

It's so nice today, you should be out here. ... Eeeeeeek! Fuckers! There's another one!

As I'm sitting here, I can hear Erica talking with the neighbor over the fence. We're meeting friends tomorrow night, so I'm making plans with them via a someecard conversation. Chulo's sleeping under the couch with his new bone and it's just all so nice and, well, normal. I have to remind myself that we're a family because I so frequently realize that I'm actually surprised at the normalcy. Like we're portraying characters or something.

We've had such a nice weekend. Friday we had dinner with three of Erica's friends from work and then went to a bar where one of them read our Tarot cards. Fun! Yesterday after my DDP class, E and I had brunch then last night had dinner with our friends M&M (A&L were supposed to join, but their baby was sick) then went to a fantastically fun burlesque performance. Today is Sunday & that means a day of reading The Times together and watching CBS Sunday Morning. When I woke up Erica had made coffee and bought fresh bagels, scallion cream cheese and heirloom tomatoes. Awesome.

I love our life. I'm so happy these days and so thankful. I'm so thankful, I'm thinking of getting a tattoo that reads, "Thankful". I just have to find the proper font.

I hope you're all well and happy and enjoying your Sunday.

Mwah!

Happy 9-11!

It's that time again -- the day we remember the most awful day in our country's recent history, and the day all of New York gets their panties in a wad because the memorial STILL has not been finished. Though I believe the design has finally been approved.

For seven years, Ground Zero has been a hole. Sometimes with fancy lighting, sometimes not. For seven years, New Yorkers who were in the city on 9/11/01, have watched every plane they've heard flying overhead to decide whether they're at the proper altitude or not. For seven years we have tip-toed around this date and kept it sacred and made a big deal about it. Not saying that it's not a big deal. It's a huge deal. But I am ready for September 11th to be a normal fall day again.This evening Dan is having an opening at his gallery and when I called to tell him about having dog pee on my hand yesterday (Tragic and awful story. I'm clean now.), I told him I couldn't make the opening because I planned to spend the day in mourning and re-tracing my every movement from that fateful day.

Fuck you! You're an asshole.

Turns out, Dan has received tons of comments and pseudo-complaints about the opening being today. You know, what if it's bad luck? What if it's disrespectful?

Seriously people. Isn't this exactly what the terrorists had planned? Doesn't this mean they're winning?

I respect the memory and the honor of 9/11. I was here in the city when it all happened and I am not the same as a result. But I don't feel that we have to be miserable every year in order to prove our reverence.

I, for one, will be attending the opening.

From My Journal, August 1998

There was a boy in my life who I loved desperately.

we had a really good day yesterday. he sat and listened to music while i read dickens. it was a beautiful afternoon with a partial eclipse.

things are getting so much better. it's so fun hanging out with him -- and he pisses me off frequently enough to remind me that he is not the one. once he told me that i could call him every morning at 8 to say, "you're an asshole," and we'd still be friends.

that's funny, but pretty comforting.

And there was a girl.

i just don't even know where to start. she is so incredible. such a bad ass. she amazes me. inspires me. gives me such confidence. it's weird to think that we've been friends for such a short time. but we've been friends the entire time. better than people I've known for 20 years. when i say forever with her, i mean it. she's fascinating, brilliant, talented, she drives a truck, she's an artist who likes synthetic fabrics, she's stunning and real.

And I was a mess.

strong? i don't think so. i don't feel so. sad? i don't know. i feel it sometimes. but not really. loved? yeah. by a lot of people. but not really. alone? more than i should be considering all the people around me. but what do i do? where do i go? who do i really have? i don't want this place and i don't want these things and i don't want to be with these people and i don't want to be alone and ....

That one went on for an entire page. And it included a poem.

dog hair on my shirt -- symbol of my weakness
alone and mad in my room -- symbol of my weakness
tear stains in my book -- symbol of my weakness
big ass in my pants -
broken heart in my chest -
brand nubian in my cd player -
broken radio in my car -
symbols of my weakness

Obviously, I was a wreck. Also obviously, I was not a poet.

I've officially been living in New York City for ten years as of August 30. I'm still not a poet, but I did move past the "being a wreck" phase. (I hope.)

I think the most significant change from then to now is the fact that I'm not "almost 30" anymore. I'm almost 40.

It's good though. I like myself a lot better these days. My life is so much better. My apartment. My friends. My love life. My job. My attitude in general. I think it's just part of growing up and I've gotten to this phase of things.

You know. I think that's what the 30's are about. It's like, the 20's are the time to figure out who you are. Mainly by fucking up a LOT and hopefully learning from those mistakes ... eventually. The 30's are the time to learn to accept the fact that you are who you are, and to get adjusted to the shock.

My feeling is that my 40's will be about finally embracing that person.

And her fuck-ups.

Holy Shit Storm.

Do you guys remember this?

PHILADELPHIA - Just days before "Southern Decadence," an annual homosexual celebration attracting tens of thousands of people to the French Quarter section of New Orleans, Hurricane Katrina destroys the city.

"Southern Decadence" has a history of filling the French Quarter section of the city with drunken homosexuals engaging in sex acts in the public streets and bars. Last year, a local pastor sent video footage of sex acts being performed in front of police to the mayor, city council, and the media. City officials simply ignored the footage and continued to welcome and praise the weeklong celebration as being an "exciting event." However, Hurricane Katrina has put an end to the annual celebration of sin.

This was the unbelievable consensus among my people -- the Baptists.

Yes. Those people who believe Jesus has a vested interest in college sports, also believed that He, his Dad and the Ghost, made a direct hit on New Orleans back in 2005 to punish them for tolerating the gays coming to parade through the French Quarter.

Though, I have to admit that the irony of the method of destruction was kind of clever.

The gays were going to New Orleans to get fucked up on hurricanes , not by hurricanes.Flash forward to this week and the long awaited coming out gala for Sarah Palin.

(Who?)

And, what happens? Gustav crashes the party and the Republican elders are called to ... New Orleans. People. God has spoken. The radical, looney-tune sect of Christianity have been set straight (har har) by their Lord and Saviour. Not only did Gustav fuck up the Republican National Convention. It had ideal timing for the gays and their New Orleans celebration.

You're Invited!

The other day Flea and I were in a little gourmet/organic market trying to kill time before our burger joint let us in for lunch. We're poking around at the various grains and hippie vegetables when I come across a little fabric thing with a cute cowboy hat/stars and stripes motif. It's a P.I.M.P.

As I'm checking out the other styles, the granola loving vegan at the counter announces, "Those are GREAT! I absolutely love them."

"Them" ... the "P.I.M.P."'s, as it were ... are reusable feminine hygiene pads. P.I.M.P. stands for "Party in my Pants."

Ewwww. Reusable? Pads?Ok. I get the whole organic, love the Earth, stop global warming thing. But answer this for me: Say you're on your period. You're at, oh, the mall. It's time for a new party in your pants. What do you do with the old party? Do you clean it there at the communal sink? Do you swish it in the toilet water and wrap it in seat covers?

I was checking out the Party in my Pants website and it's actually a cute site. Nothing like you'd expect from creepy people who refer to their menstruation as their "moon cycle".

If you're in the comfort of your own patchouli-scented abode, fine. Well, kind of fine. You're still rinsing menstrual blood from a flannel happy face print pad. I can think of few things more hideous than this.

I can think of one thing more hideous. And it came in the form of a "Hot Tip" on the P.I.M.P. pamphlet.

Anybody up for a salad?