Thursday, March 19, 2009

I'm Sick of Gays...Help?

Ok, so before I start getting angry emails let me just say that I don't think there's anything wrong with being gay. My college seems to have more gay people than straight people and this semester, I'm finding the "stereotypical" gay male highly irritating. I mean the "Hey Girl," stupid best friend "sissy" wingman type by stereotype. I just want to tell them that I'm not they're "girlfriend" or "boo." I fear however that if I voice my opinions I'll be labelled as a homophobe. What should I do to quell my irritation? - from some guy on Yahoo! Answers.

My response:

Hahaha I shouldn't laugh, but I feel the same way. And I am a guy who is dating guy. It irritates me to the point where I stopped going out to gay bars. Having said that, one of my co-workers is one of the biggest, most overcompensating pigs I have ever met. He is constantly making degrading comments about women. It drives me insane. I just am irritated by anyone who does not seem to have any real personality other than one they feel the need to fake in order to appease the masses. I personally blame Queer Eye for the Straight Guy and every movie of the 80's thru the early 90s starring a man on steroids, drenched in sweat and oil, and holding a giant gun. And for the fake ladies, well, start with Paris Hilton and make your way down the list until you are tired.

The thing is, if you truly are effeminate, by all means let your little light shine. If you are truly a pig and truly feel like women are nothing but objects, well oink oink Wilbur. It just pisses me off to no end when I am around a group of ANY people who are obviously just faking for the masses. It really does.

One major reason is I don't see why anyone would ever want to agree to give us equal rights when we are acting like a bunch of ignorant f*ggots. Is that harsh? Maybe. Does it make it less true? I don't think it does at all. Not saying it is right either. Do you think that if African Americans had actually acted like what society pretended to expect them to act like, watermelon eating, ignorant Sambos, the Civil Rights Movement would have been as successful as it was? No, it wouldn't. By not falling into the trap of what society expected of and forced upon them, by NOT going against who they were as individuals and as a group, and by not simply giving in to the imposed assinine views and shuffling around answering "yessuh" and "nawsuh", but by standing up and acting like a regular group of people who weren't performing monkeys but who truly wanted and deserved to be treated as equals, did they ever get to have those rights (And don't EVEN try to read any racial slurs into any of that because there are none). Until the gay community grows up, gets a voice that has actually cracked thru puberty, and stops volunteering to be this silly, over-the-top, comic relief, Vaudville act, that is meant to be taken lightly, we will never EVER get the same rights. And that pisses me off because I want to, plan to, and deserve to be able to get married.

Having concluded my micro-rant, here's my advice. Remove yourself from the situation. I don't mean switch schools. I mean steer clear of the people who are sliding sheets of paper under your fingernails. Don't be rude. DON'T get violent. Just steer clear. I would advise you to say something, because I feel like issues are best dealt with head on with words, but honestly, I think I know what would happen. You'd be instantly pinged as a homophobe and there'd be a big queen off to see who could try to belittle you the most. Then you'd run the risk of getting into trouble or being made an example of. It is a waste of time and just not worth it. If you think that they would be willing to talk, try talking. I have asked people before why they put on the gay guy stereotype. I was told it is a social thing and a way of fitting in. I look at it as lemmings heading toward a cliff. Eventually, the novelty of it will wear off and you'll want to be taken seriously. Then it is incredibly hard if possible at all.

Sorry this question just struck a nerve and caused me to get out one of my soap boxes. I just wish people could be comfortable enough in their own skin to be their own person without hiding behind an often times socially provided, socially accepted, and wildly inappropriate mask. Not sure if that helps at all other than maybe seeing that there is a gay guy who on some level understands where you are coming from, but there ya go.

Oh, also, I am back.

Later Consuela.

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Saturday, July 07, 2007

The Mountain and the Molehill

We do deliveries of medications on the half hours every night (i.e. 12:30, 1:30, etc.). Tuesday night, a child who was in the pediatric hospital died. There were some meds for the kid waiting to be delivered at around 5:45 that morning. They had just missed the 5:30 delivery. When I took them on the 6:30 delivery, I was told to take them back to the pharmacy as the child did not need them anymore. That really got to me. I don't believe in a miracle pill or miracle elixir or anything, but it did make me wonder what difference that one med would have made had the order made it to the pharmacy 15 minutes earlier.

Tonight, we had another pediatric patient to code. I literally ran the bolus over as quickly as my out of shape twenty-five year old arthritically kneed legs could carry me. I can barely run without wheezing as is and peds is all the way across the hospital (approximately a whole fucking shitload of feet away). I only quit smoking again on Tuesday. Twelve years of damage couldn't even be partially repaired in that little time afterall.

I made it to PICU, somewhat slightly winded, and looked for the action. There were doctors and nurses and respiratory therapists and gawkers and sodium bicarb and epinephrine and needles and notes and two beds tucked away in the back corner of the PICU. I jogged to the baby's bedside just outside the tornado of people and drugs and told them I had his/her medication. No one heard me, so I said it a little louder. Still nothing. I was about to grab a nurse and hand off the bag, when another nurse peeked her head up through the crowd long enough to say, "That's for him," with a nod before being sucked back under. It was then that I noticed the morbidly obese teen in the next bed. I had not realized that both were coding. I knew there was a lot of motion swirling around the two children, but they had only announced one code. I assumed the extra people were all there to watch the whole spectacle. I thought the teen, who I had not even payed attention to at first, was just catching the gawker runoff. The two beds beside one another at the farthest end of the pediatric intensive care unit both had children coding in them, a first for me after seven years in the hospital.

I found it bizarrely surreal watching them work on the two. The tiniest handful of a baby and the gargantuan teen. A million thoughts flashed through my head in the 1.5 seconds it took for me to toss the i.v. bag across the teenager to his nurse. Is this a test? Is it because I lost one earlier this week? How loud am I wheezing right now? Is that his scrotum? What's wrong with him? What's wrong with the baby? Why are so many people up here? Why is that nurse laughing? Are the couple I ran past in the waiting area the parents? Did my earrings fall out of my back pocket? Was it the epinephrine or the ativan drawer that he said would not open? My lungs seem to have cleared up a little after that run. I've never seen two codes happen simultaneously and side by side like this. Do I smell like sweat now? Are they going to make it? That nurse is still laughing.

I briskly walked out of the PICU and thru the waiting area trying to avoid eye contact. As soon as I was out of view of the families, I began to run again. Past surgery. Past the ATMs. Past the lab, the ICU waiting room, and the old gift shop. Down the stairwell. Past the restrooms. Down the corridor. Back into pharmacy.

"Here's the second bag," said one of my pharmacists, handing it off to me as I ran back out the doors. Up the corridor. Past the restrooms. Up the stairwell. Past the old gift shop, the ICU waiting room, and the lab. Past the ATMs. Past surgery. Up to the corner of the PICU waiting area where I slowed to a huffing, puffing, wheezing brisk walk. I made my way back to the mountain and the molehill and handed off the next bag of fluid.

"Call pharmacy and tell them...oh, Preston, good. We're out of bicarb and epi push," called one of the teen's nurses.

"Rie...," I breathed in response before heading back out. This time as I passed thru the waiting family members, I noticed that I was being watched by them all. I knew I was starting to sweat. I know that I sweat buckets. I knew that they could not be that stupid as to not realize that something is going on. Yet, I still waited to get around the corner, out of eyeshot, before breaking into my sprint. This time as I ran, my mind began again to wander. Is my back sweating? God, my shins are killing me. Would it be faster to cut thru surgery? I hope they make it. ATMs. How much money do I make? God, my lungs hurt. Lab. Bicarb. Waiting room. Epinephrine. Old gift shop. Push. Down the stairwell. Almost there. Restrooms. God, my ankles hurt. Down the corridor. Where's my name badge? Back into pharmacy.

"They... need... bicarb... and... epi... ... push..."

"They don't have any?"

"They just... said that... they ran... ... out..."

One pharmacist ran to the bulk medication stock room. The other ran to the crash cart restock shelves. I stood in the middle catching my breath for a moment.

"How can we not have bicarb and epi on the cart shelves?!"

I ran to the bulk room. The pharmacist stood in the i.v. row of shelves looking around anxiously like a cat following a laser pointer.

"Epi and bicarb," I said as I grabbed the two. He glanced to make sure they were correct before I headed for the door. I stopped and asked, "Is there anything else that needs to go over there right now while I am going." It is not that I would have refused to make another trip, but I wasn't sure how much longer I could last at that pace. Very sad, but very true. Another bag of iv fluid was thrown on top of the boxes of epinephrine and out I went.

Corridor. Forehead sweat. Restrooms. Tight calves. Stairwell. Snapped thighs. Gift shop. Pinched forearm. Waiting room. Burning lungs. Lab. Screaming ankles. ATMs. Watery eyes. Surgery. Almost there. Waiting area. Just keep running. PICU. Wait, I'm coming.

"He... ... ... bic... ... ... ep... ..."

"Hang on. That's his mother," whispered one of the gawkers to me. She tapped a man I assumed was the teenager's doctor. "Where should he put this?"

He turned to look at me, drenched with sweat and gasping for air, looked down at the boxes I was carrying and sighed, "Just leave them there."

I did not realize it then, but the mother was called in to say goodbye. They knew he wasn't going to make it and were, at this point, keeping him going long enough for her to see him one last time technically alive. Then, he died.

I was told later that the baby had not made it either, but found out that it was a mistake. There was another code in PICU earlier in the evening that did not survive. My little baby at least lived.

So what is the point of this whole thing? Well, I guess I just remembered tonight that I am dealing with actual human life. I mean yea, I know that in a hospital there are people who need help, but working in the pharmacy in the middle of the night in the basement away from most human contact, it is easy to forget. My point is, I am ready to be a nurse now more than ever. If there were any doubts about whether I would be able to actually do it or want to do it, those have been laid to rest. I rarely get a chance to do anything even remotely hands on as far as patient care. While running back and forth across a hospital is not that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things, it was at least something. The nurses and doctors thanked me later that night for getting their stuff to them so quickly while they dealt with the actual codes. I want to thank them for solidifying my decision about school. So, while I doubt any of them will ever be reading this, thank you all.

Later Consuela.

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Thursday, July 05, 2007

Woulda, Coulda, and Shoulda
A Tale from the Bottom of the Bottle

*Overlook poor grammar as this has not yet been proofread. Preston, head in the game, bud.*

I am not really actively persuing anyone at the moment. I am interested in a few people right now. Well, I am legitimately interested in one guy for something real, henceforth known as Woulda. Another is a guy who is officially straight, dubbed Coulda. The last is a girl that I am pretty good friends with, of course named Shoulda.

Woulda is a really awesome guy. He is a guy that I have been admiring from a distance in a nonstalker fashion for at least the past two years. I say that because I knew him vaguely from a few years ago at which time I was also interested, but he was unavailable. He is down to earth for the moment. He shares similar interests with me. Though, I will admit, I believe that my very eclectic interests make it difficult for me to find people with whom I do not share several common interests. He actually thinks. He has that really cute pseudo nerdy wit that I love. After my last dating blurb, that would be a nice trait to see in someone I am dating. Physically, he is gorgeous. I let him know I think so too, which I am sure was a big mistake. It does not change the fact. I need to learn when to shut up, I know. I am not going to go thru every individual positive and negative quality he has. Firstly, I would not be able to accurately list them all as of yet. Secondly, what is the point? At the end of the day, Woulda is the one I woulda had if the timing had been different for him.

Coulda is another awesome fella. His official story is that he is straight. He is a guy that I have been admiring from a distance in a nonstalker fashion for at least the past three years. I say that because he and I have worked in the same place for the entire three years I have been here (it is a big hospital so good luck narrowing it down). He is down to earth. He shares similar interests with me and is Woulda's polar opposite for the most part. This helps to prove my eclectic interests theory. He also actually thinks. He is very sarcastic and funny. Physically, he is handsome and works out quite a bit. I have not let him know I think so, as I am sure that could be a big mistake. I need my job. It does not change the fact, though. I need to learn how to imply, I know. I coulda gone out with him a few times now had I not chickened out of going alone. Again, need the job. I am not going to go thru every individual positive and negative quality he has. Firstly, I would not be able to accurately list them all as of yet. Secondly, what is the point? At the end of the day, Coulda is the one I coulda had if the situation had been different, and I were not such a chicken shit.

Shoulda is an amazing straight female friend. She is a girlie I have been admiring from a distance in a nonstalker fashion for at least the past year or so of the two and a half I have known her. I say that because she and I worked in the same place in the past and are now pretty good friends (it is a big hospital so good luck narrowing her down). She, like the others, is down to earth. She shares similar interests with me and is Woulda and Coulda's lovechild basically. Eclectic interests theory. She is one of the most intelligent people I know. She has a dry, quick, schtick, sarcastic wit that keeps me laughing and plays perfectly off of my own. Physically, she's just a beautiful chicka, and she knows I think so. I tell her every single time I am in contact with her. I shoulda asked her out way back when we were still getting to know one another. Now, we have become too close as friends to risk losing it. Still, she is the girl/guy I say I would easily get married to if I found the "right girl/guy". She's wifey material. Like with Woulda and Coulda, I am not going to go thru every individual positive and negative quality she has. Firstly, I would not be able to accurately list them all due to time constraints. Secondly, what is the point? At the end of the day, Shoulda is the one I shoulda dated had the situation been different, had timing been different, had my gay friends been different, had a ton of things been different.

So that's what has been on my mind lately. Three very different people who are all very much the same. Three different people that I would, could, or should be with for their own individual qualities. Three people I would, could, or should be able to be happy with were it not for certain forces that are outside of my control. It is irritating, but such is life I suppose. I'll eventually find that best friend/soulmate/girlfriend/boyfriend/husband/wife/whatever that is out there. I suppose I will. I may not. But really, at this point, I guess it doesn't exactly matter. I mean, seriously, I've been fine thusfar with the status quo. It'd just be kind of nice I guess. I mean I have been single since Eeyore and I broke up which was just before I began writing in this thing. It is time to get back on that horse, well, donkey. Not that I am trying to get back with Eeyore. I just want to start dating again. I think I have forgotten how one goes on a date. Almost. Woulda and I had a pleasant one recently. I almost feel like I am back at square one. Back where I was in February of 2004 at Consuela's beginning. Actually, that predates Consuela. Back then, it was just "blog" (I really hate that word.) Actually, I think I did a Bette Midler Hocus Pocus yell of, "BoooooOOOOOOK!" No comments thanks. Alright moving on.

Recently I was talking to this lesbian couple I know who enjoy the sauce a bit, imagine that. We were exchanging old drinking stories, so I pulled out one of the if not the worst one from my past. It is disgusting if not at least mildly entertaining. As I am a humiliation whore apparently, here ya go. Though I am fairly certain that I am the only one who actually reads this anymore which kind of makes it even better. At any rate, here is what happened on

The Night of the Deadly Mudslides

In West Philadelphia, born and raised, on the playground is where I spent most my days. Wait that is someone else's story. Many moons ago I spent a lot of my time in a place known as "high school." On weekends, most of my days were spent with my Italian friend Cenzo. We would spend our evenings and weekends smoking the devil weed and drinking the nectar of our Russo brethren. It was also the time in my life that I began saying, I don't remember last night, so I know I had a good time. Eat your heart out Spicoli.

On one of these weekends of faux medicinal debauchery, Momma Cenzo took Cenzo and I to his cousin's house. His cousin will be...Steve...why not. We made it to Steve's house. Actually, he will be Stephen. No, just Ste. Okay so we went to Ste's house and began to have a few cocktails. By 'cocktails' I actually mean Mad Dog or something. I think that was the name. All I remember is it was in a big can with a dog on the front and tasted the same as I imagined the pictured dog's urine tasting. But I was young and it was alcohol.

Momma Cenzo didn't mind if I drank or smoked or got high or anything because, as she put it, "I'm not your mom. I can't tell you what to do." This doesn't actually make any sense to me now any more than it did then, but who's to argue.

So basically, I end up hammered off of the dog piss. We eventually leave Ste's house to go back to the Cenzo nest. The door was locked. I was drunk. They were tipsey. I was irritable. They were slow. I was impatient. They were fumbling. I was loud. They dropped the keys. I kicked in the front door. They were shocked. I was confused. They began to giggle. Good beginning for the evening.

So now it is around 10 pm roughly. We are waiting on Cenzo's lady friend to get off work and make it over. I begin on the gallon of Mudslide, my drink o'choice back in the proverbial day, using as much pacing as I do now. Actually, my pacing has gotten slightly better, but not by much. So Cenzette shows up around 1030 or 11. I am plastered. They are laughing at the drunken teenage house guest. I am dizzy. They are playing quarters. I am feeling suffocated. They are getting a little closer to drunk. I strip, run out the door, and head down the street in a staggered run. (I do not remember anything about this night so most of this is based on their joint account of the evenings events.)

It was around this time that Cenzo realized I had "gone streaking" and sent his mother and Cenzette after me. I, having been fueled by three quarters of a gallon of Mudslides on top of the festering dog urine, was able to somehow, magically outrun them while staring at the sky and repeating, The stars are so fucking beautiful, man.

When they caught up to me, about a mile up the road, I was lying down on my Pentecostal uncle's front lawn and staring at the stars, calling out their beauty, penis in the wind.

"Preston, get the hell up! Your uncle is gonna kill you then us!"

"The stars, man. They're BEAUTIFUL!"

Momma Cenzo and Cenzette grabbed me, tossed my boxer briefs at me, and started pulling me back toward their home, praying the whole way that no one had been awakened.

The next bit of the story is a little hazy. Most of the details match up in all three versions. The order of the events varies.

Between my uncle's home and the home of Momma Cenzo there lived a crazy old man with an arsenal. His name will be Old Man Smith. Old Man Smith was the man we were convinced was a retired, overzealous DEA agent who had snapped due to the pressures of the job, moved to the country, set up an unofficial sting operation across the street, and watched us constantly. Every day was our last. That is part of why we partied like it was 1999 in 1999. In retrospect, had we not been partying, he would not have been watching us if he were watching us which he wasn't watching us but we were paranoid...vicious cycle. Catch 22 maybe. Not sure. That term has always confused me. Back on track.

We are crossing Old Man Smith's front yard, I apparently wanted to feel the grass beneath my feet while looking at the fucking beautiful stars, when I stopped to get a better look at them. Momma Cenzo is quietly whispering/beckoning me out of the man's yard as we are all fucked up, he is crazy DEA guy, and I am still underage and nude. I told her that that was unacceptable and threw a handful of my pubic hair into her face and mouth. I did this a few more times as she staggered backwards clawing at her mouth and spitting. Old Man Smith walked outside to see what his dogs were barking at. I threw my hands into the air and ran away like ET followed closely by Momma Cenzo and Cenzette. I then threw more pubes in her face, put my clothes on outside, and came in to finish off the Mudslide. At some point after that, I began puking up all the alcohol and chocolate milk (Mudslide) under their television and passed out trying to swim in it. The next morning was a disgusting, Hills Have Eyes mess that I had the pleasure of cleaning.

The End

So yea. Not much I can say after sharing that gem, so I'll just quit.

Later Consuela.

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Thursday, June 21, 2007

I Fought the Dog and the Dog Won
The Collective: A Gaian Tale

Two weeks ago tomorrow I signed up with a website called Gaia Online. It is an interesting little website. I will not say that I have gotten hooked, but I do enjoy Blackjack or Jigsaw now and again. They're fun. Woo boo ba doo! Fun. The whole point of the site is to play games and earn fake money to buy fake things for your little anime avatar. You can buy clothes, hairstyles, cars, furniture, basically, fake stuff. You can even, assuming you have enough fake money and real time, buy your very own "Celebrity Date" for your avatar. That's right. You are basically buying yourself a whore or in my case a manwhore. Welcome to your children's gaming future.

I say your children's gaming future because that is who is in this free virtual community. Children between the ages of 13 and 16 to be exact. There are a few of us who are older. Apparently there are even a couple of 30 year olds, though I have not seen them as of yet. When I do I will be making plastermolds of their feet and selling them in the marketplace. Did I mention the marketplace? No? Well, the marketplace is where one goes to sell all of his or her unwanted items. It is set up much like eBay with a "Bid" and "Buy Now" function. You can get some poor many places I could go with buy your stuff for double what it is worth and build a tiny virtual empire. I miss the good ole days of plumbers fighting mushrooms and turtles.

So yea. I am a Gaian now apparently. It is not my life, but I enjoy it for what it is. Hang in there, I am getting to my point. It appears that a lot of people have been completely brainwashed into believing that Gaia is the new world. "The new Way" if you will. I love referring to things as "the new way". Aaaah... Right, so people seem to be sucked into it like so many other games. They seem to forget they are living in the real world.
They have their own language. New people are n00bs or newbies or some other variation thereof. There are others, but I refuse to list them. At any rate I went into a forum that was bitching about the new people who are on the site. These people just went on and on and on about how insanely horrible anyone who had not devoted every waking moment to the website since it began in 2004 as the scum of the earth. They wOUld nOt sTOp bitching about all of us new members. Which at first I was almost irritated by, I will admit. But then I realized I was not annoyed by them talking about me. That is juvenile. I was annoyed by the fact that there are actually people out there who are so sucked in to things like these virtual communities that they begin to have these elitist ideals based solely on what basically amounts to a video game score while completely rejecting the outside world. Even the people who were defending myself and the other new people, were putting entirely too much energy into it. I was so physically exhausted from reading the argument, nauseated by repeatedly reading "n00b" and "newbie", and mostly disgusted with myself for having actually sat and read all of it at work, that I typed this in response:

Frankly, anyone who gets this upset or angry about anything dealing with a virtual community should probably try going outside. I mean come on, buddy. Logout already. There really is life outside of Gaia. In fact, there is life outside of, dare I say it, your computer! I can already hear a collective gasp/groan from some of you, but I speak the truth my friends.

There is a whole world out there full of things to do, friends to meet, and experiences to have. Yes, the chances of money falling from a tree or a rock when you shake them are less. Big deal. You get to actually spend the real money on real things when, by some strange turn of luck, you manage to really shake money from your real tree or rock. You could even spend it on some of the Gaia merchandise. It is crazy I know, but true. You can actually experience the experiences in your life in the fresh air and midday sun instead of arguing about insignificant garbage with total strangers while staring at a computer monitor and developing bedsores on your ass. Personally, bedsores do not appeal to me, but that is a personal choice really.

I know you may be saying, "Why are you getting this upset while preaching about not getting upset about these things? A little hypocritical don't you think?" To answer, no, I do not think it is hypocritical as I am not upset. Disappointed in society maybe, but not upset or angry. Fearful of living in a lethargic, atrophy riddled world, but not upset or angry. I am also not attacking nor am I trying to attack any of you, I am just trying to educate. Those of you I am talking to with this know who you are. Please take something from it. The sky is not pixelated. Trees are not bitmapped renderings. Rejoin the living and stop this unnecessary madness. Newb, n00b, newbie, pwned, pwnd, 1337, l337, blah, blah, blah, blah. It doesn't matter.

I guess I am just saying lighten up. This is just a game. Well, that and that internet slang is really silly. I have nightmares of a world where men and women dressed in business attire stand around the water cooler, look at an intern, and ask their boss, "So who's the n00b?"

I am finished.

Why even waste my time? Why get sucked in? Well, as a result there were several people who replied agreeing with me and who are actually around my age. So at least now, when I sign on to play some blackjack or do a puzzle, I will have someone to chat with. Why does it matter if I have someone with whom I can chat? Well...ahem...
And now I give you I Fought the Dog and the Dog Won by Preston Lastname

Once upon a time there was a 25 year old named...Creston...who signed up with an online community in an attempt to play blackjack and online puzzles at work. Well, what he didn't realize at the time (besides that the games do not actually work on the work computers) was that he is the oldest person in the CG land. Inspite of being repeatedly referred to as "gramps" he muddled thru and did his puzzle in the Gay/Bi rooms on lazy off days from working for the man.

"Does anyone want to be my boyfriend?" asked a meek little anime avatar. In retrospect, he probably asked, "ne1 wan 2 b my boifriend? XD" but that's neither here nor there.

"Do you offer a 401k?" asked Creston smirking slightly.

"What? What are you talking about?" asked a confused little anime avatar, his inquiries echoed by the other people in the game chatroom.

Realizing he was once again the oldest by far, he said, "Nevermind," and continued to chip away at the 300 shards of the image before him, giving up all hope of having casual conversation with any of the of the other children. So he sat in his quiet exile trying to fit the large eyed, half nude cartoon of a lady back to her original form only glancing down at the various "conversations" taking place every now and again.
At some point, one of the tiny bug eyed children was talking about his online boyfriend and how in love they are and how his boyfriend accepted him for who he is and even accepted his deepest darkest secret (which clearly translated to "Ask me what my secret is."). Creston, resisting the urge to explain to him that he is too young to know what love is not to mention the fact that it is an online boyfriend not to mention the fact that he hasn't lived long enough to have that many "deep dark" secrets, moved the smoky white left breast into its proper place. With the line cast, Creston knew it was only a matter of time before someone took the bait. Unfortunately, it was less than three lines away.
"What is your deepest darkest secret? Oh, I want to know."
"No, I cannot tell you then it wouldn't be a secret."
This continued for the entire reconstruction of the flaming man featured in Creston's broken image. The man wasn't a flaming homosexual, he was a man who had burst into flames, to clarify. Creston, unamused and tired at this point, stopped paying as much attention to the chatting and started really working on finishing up the puzzle which he had decided by this point was impossible. His mind began to wander. "There must be extra pieces or missing pieces or something in this thing. I wish they'd give me some virtual scissors in this one. Make the little bastards fit one way or the other. Why would anyone make a virtual puzzle with missing pieces? That makes no sense. It is a pretty cool idea though. I think I will make one of those. Well, I should make one. I never will. It is not like I do not have the free time. I know how to do it. I doubt it would even take that long. But nope. I'll just keep sitting here. Playing other people's games. Getting no recognition for what I can do. Probably will be stuck in the same shitty job I have now five years from now and have to move back in with..."
"I am what you call a zoophile."
*Blink blink*
Creston assumed he knew what that meant, but surely, surely he was mistaken. Surely, this was a young teen who was confused about what he was saying and was actually a lover of stuffed animals like teddy bears or beanie babies of yesteryear. Surely, he was trying to use a larger word so he could impress the other cartoon children. He likes going camping is all. He loves his cat, Fifi, is what he means. Perhaps he is an environmentalist alongside MacGyver. He definitely only meant he wants to fly like an eagle with the Steve Miller Band. Rocky Mountain High? Mr. Mistoffelees? Perhaps even a Furry for Christ's sake?
Zoophilia: n. Erotic attraction to or sexual contact with animals.
"Someone should call PETA," Creston said.
"What the hell is PETA?" asked beastial child.
"People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals," came Creston's simple response.
"HOW IS IT WRONG FOR THE DOG TO FUCK ME? HE LIKES IT!," he yelled, well, typed in Caps Lock.
While Creston does not find human on animal sex in any form to be acceptable, for some reason having a dog fuck you just seems extra wrong. Not sure what that says about him, but still. Back to the story.
"Until the dog walks up to you and says, 'Excuse me kind sir, but might I place my penis inside your anus,' it is wrong. The dog is acting on instincts. They hump pillows and people's legs for God's sake."
"WELL HOW IS IT WRONG WHEN THE DOG RAPED ME?!" he cried in desperation. The rest of the chatroom is completely silent throughout this entire exchange excepting only a fourteen year old homo who periodically added, "Awww...I am so sorry to hear that. You poor thing." In retrospect, it probably read something closer to, "awwwww... ) : thats sad *creis a lil* u pore thing. D=" but again, splitting hairs.
"How exactly does one go about getting raped by a dog?" asked Creston actually looking forward to this explanation.
"Well, I would have knocked the dog off of me. It is a dog. And why was your bare ass in the air in the dog's face anyway?"
"I am just saying there are too many things disturbingly wrong with your story for me to pick apart all of them. I am just pulling them randomly. No, it is not your fault you were raped as you were not actually raped. You are a bizarre and sick individual who has completely changed his story and who really needs a visit from PETA. That is all I am saying. That's all I have to say. I am done," and Creston stopped to return to his flaming anime jigsaw puzzle. This is where the strangest and most disturbing bit of the story came thru. Well not the most perhaps, but it did slightly rattle Creston's nerves.
Six little homos sitting in a row looked at Creston and said the singlemost insanely politically correct, inspite of its being a grammatical nightmare, thing typed or said to date.
"y r u bein so mean 2 him? y r u judgeing him so bad?"
"You have got to be kidding me. I can not be the only one who finds this whole thing fucked up and wrong."
"jus drop it. he can lik n do wutevr he wans."
Creston then saved his puzzle, slowly moved his cursor toward the little red X in the corner, and prayed for his own survival and that of mankind. Something has obviously fucked up in the world.
The End?
So THAT is why I need to find people around my age to talk to on there. Kids scare me.
Later Consuela.

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Friday, May 25, 2007

I Want Money

So I have officially decided what I am going to do with my life. No more changing my mind. No more wishing on a star. No more big plans of fame. Nope. I have settled. Done. Finished. Seatbelt fastened. Tray upright. Kapote. Oy vey.

I will be a nurse. I have a plan that all works out some years down the road. Makes perfect sense too. Not sure why I waited so long to go thru with this. Everyone keeps telling me I will hate it or that I am settling or they ask about the art school crap. Frankly, I give up. Insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results. After seven years, art school is obviously not happening for me. I hate what I do now for the most part, but I have been doing it for seven fucking years. If I can slave for practically no money for practically a decade, why not try to possibly slave for what will definitely be an increase in pay? EXACTLY. There is no good reason I should not just settle for nursing. I have a seven year long record of being a hospital employee. I know how the show is being run at this point. Why not? Well, why not go to pharmacy school? That makes a whole lot more sense to me. Afterall, you have seven fucking years of pharmacy experience. Well, because in the time I have been working as a tech, I could have already become a pharmacist. At this point, what with being 26 when I begin school and all this fall...ya'll...I wouldn't be a pharmacist until I am 32 at the earliest and would be making roughly $90,000 dollars money at that time. Up until I become a pharmacist six years from now, I will continue to scrape by on what I am making now. If I take the nursing route, however comma space I will be making pretty good money within two years and can be a nurse anesthetist within about seven and making more than a pharmacist. The biggest perk being that I do not have to wait as long before I can begin making some money. So that is why I shall be a NURSE!!! I have had to go thru that whole explanation about a billion times in the past two weeks. It has gotten old. From now on, I will be directing any inquiries about the decision to this page. Moving on...

So I've been reading an excellent series of books called the Thursday Next series by Jasper Fforde. Actually, I don't know if it is officially called the Thursday Next series, but that it what it is nonetheless. Actually I just checked on Amazon. Apparently they are the Thursday Next Novels which to me is not really any different. At any rate, everyone should read them. I know. You probably thought there was more to say than that, but there is not. Well, I suppose I could go into the plot of the books, but I don't want to. Just read them. They make me happy. It is a brit comedy/fantasy/sci-fi/detective series full of classic literature references and general bizarre funness. It is awesome on sex on a stick. Testify!

I really have nothing else to talk about. Watched Twin Peaks recently. Loved it. Was disappointed that the show ended on a cliff. Watched Carnivale complete series again. Still can't believe that they ended that one. I am on the last season of MacGyver right now, so it is almost time to say goodbye to the Macker. I am about to start watching the complete H.R. Pufnstuf and the complete Wind in the Willows. Why not. Also, if I had a job that paid more suchas being a nurse, I could afford to go out and whatnot and not always be broke. What? Also, Father O'Flannigan has befriended Aladdin's Abu, I think because Abu has money from the movies and television show whereas I am broke like the joke as Mariran says, so until his primate runs away or dies, I am stuck in my TV fantasy world. That is so pathetic. Father O, I miss you so....

Later Consuela.

Saturday, March 17, 2007

Man I Hate Heights

So I have decided that having this thing written all in a tiny white font on a black background is seizure inducing. What's not to like about a good ole fashioned seizure? Nothing. That's what. I may have noticed it before and had just forgotten it due to brain damage. One never knows about these things.

So I had some crap to actually talk about on here, but now I have forgotten all of it. Actually, as I typed that last sentence, I remembered what I want to talk about. Well, I remembered one of the things. Before I get started with that tomfoolery, I would like to mention that I passed the Pharmacy Tech National Exam to be Certified and Whatnot Test with flying colors. In faux, I made the highest score in the southeast. Kudos to me so sayeth the Lord. Amen and amen.

Now on to the randomness. Not randomness without reason. There is more than enough legit reason behind my ranting and randomness. To educate. To inspire. To heal. To educate.

Here we go!

Today, I'd like to talk about one of the greatest fictional characters of all time and the many lessons that he has taught me. I know him as MacGod, but you may know him as MacGyver.

I watched season one of MacGyver last week while I was off work (have seasons two and three at home waiting... woo hoo and the likes). I never realized how completely clueless I was on things dealing with the 1980s. I mean yea, I knew about Popples and Michael Jackson and tight-rolled acid washed jeans and "Knowing is half the battle" and mullets and Billy Joel and The Goonies and "Nobody puts Baby in a corner" and Twisted Sister and Fame and Transformers and "I want my MTV" and Smurfs and side of the head ponytails and wearing your sunglasses at night and a single dangling cross ear ring to set yourself apart as a "bad ass", but there is so much more to the 80s that I never even knew about. Perhaps I was just too young to remember them well enough.

Okay so everyone knows that with a paperclip and a match, anything can be done by MacGyver. This is not about the paperclip or the match. This is about all those other things that this great great man has taught me.

For example, did you know that in almost every household, office, warehouse, vehicle, desert, and forest there was a bundle of clean, untangled rope? There was. Everyone, let me stress that a little harder, EVERYONE had a bundle of rope lying around. I hardly know anyone these days who has a spool of thread much less a bundle of rope. The 70s were running rampant with loose things that needed to be tied down. But alas in 1972, the United States Rope Braiders Union went on a major strike (something to do with cheese) causing the major rope shortage. In 1978 (I did say it was a major strike), the strike was finally over and rope poured out all over the US like wax over the body of a leatherclad tied down midget. That is why everyone had such an abundance of rope. Devo's "Whip It" was another pleasant gem that came as a direct result of the end strike.

Another little known fact about the 80s is that everyone was insanely anal about the cleanliness of their oven. EVERYBODY! There was not a household in the world that did not have a bottle of oven cleaner and at least one or two on standby. They LOVED their ovens.

Germans are bad. Russians are evil incarnate.

Women who were in trouble were always attractive in that "Let's get physical"/Thigh Master sort of way with really big, dry, frizzy, sharp, ozone eating hair. The reason they were the only ones in trouble is because that was the only type of woman that were made back then. Men could range from buff and beautiful to bulky and bald, but the women...THEY were always 1980s perfection. They were also usually pretty stupid and slutty. Any chicka would make out with any fella provided he looked at her and, well, kissed her. It doesn't get any easier than that. They didn't bump uglies so much, but I don't think that that gained any popularity until after the release of Madonna's Truth or Dare. In the 80s, it was strictly heavy petting.

Contrary to popular belief, 80s music never had lyrics. If you could play the sax, you were a GOD! I now have a deeper understanding of Kenny G's popularity. It was not until 1989 that music added lyrics. This new song craze began with the hit Rock Against Drugs and was given a major facelift with the 1990 classic and father of rap music, Tough Boys.

For further information, please visit my page on myspace here. Also, I do realize I ended this suddenly, but I started this a couple of months ago (today is May 25, 2007), forgot about it, and rewrote alot of it on Myspace in a more summarized way. I don't want to continue repeating myself. Thanks.

Later Consuela.

Sunday, March 04, 2007

Mothers, Lockup Your Daughters. I'm Back.

Hey everybody! I'm back. Father O'Flannigan told me that I need to start this thing back up so his coworkers will have something to read and someone to make fun of. So here I am. I'm a lot like Jesus in that way.

Not a lot has been going on. Actually a lot of shit has happened, but who wants to read a year's worth of crap crammed into a post. I sure as shit don't. I'm sure you do not either. So I am just saying "No! No! It's great to say 'No!'" Again, a lot like our Lord Jesus Christ in that respect. Amen. I'll give a quick rundown of the past year.

Preston's 2006 (Early 2007) Rundown

by Preston Lastname

Sponsored in part by Mennen

January: Did some things.

February: Continuation of January's things and quit "blogging" (I hate that word). Also accepted job as freelance graphic designer/cover art designer (their title not mine) for company's magazine.

March: First issue published. By the way, it is a cleaning supply company's magazine. It is an international company, but still it is not anything to brag about. If it were, I'd have the name listed and send out copies and whatnot.

April: Second issue published. Possibly boinked someone.

May: Quit the freelance shit after being gerbil ass raped and then fisted out of a large chunk o'change by those commie cleaner bastards. After I had already done a buttload of work for the May issue and completely put together this huge campaign they were doing about changing the company's name. I also designed their new logo, but due to the falling out, they couldn't use it and are now stuck with a pile of wombat dung. Slightly bitter.

June: Bad month.

July: Bad month other than being accepted at the Art Institute of Portland. I would have been studying under Will Vinton, the father of Claymation.

August: Couldn't afford tuition. Drank heavily. Dated and boinked someone I am not at liberty to discuss on here for my own protection.

September: Turned 25. Drank heavily. "Hey remember..." followed by any childhood hero/tv show flew out of my mouth more than usual. Recapturing childhood or something I guess. Continued to boink He Whom We Do Not Speak Of.

October: Broke up with HWWDNSO on our three month after he...nevermind. Great story. Perfect actually. Just not worth going into. Also won $1200 dollars money for my Leprechaun costume in two different contests. It is a crap picture but was an awesome costume. Made it all myself including the latex face pieces...oooh...aaah...I know...

November: Ate turkey. Went to Disney World.

December: Still in Disney World. Drank heavily.

January: Visited McMatt in San Francisco since that is where he lives now. Decided I need to move away. Want to move there now inspite of the fact that it is really fucking gay. They take the butt sex crazy seriously over there. Also boinked someone (not in San Francisco but local). Got a record player (not to be confused with a turntable)

February: Took the Pharmacy Tech National Exam to be Certified and Whatnot Test. Boinked someone. Started back at the Y. Was accused of giving Father O a handjob even though he and I have never done anything like that. Apparently, in some cultures, finding a person's rings on a coffee table is sign numero uno of a little of that wah WAH wowie ZOWIE ZOW of the hand persuasion. Watch out now!

General: Still smoking. Talked about drinking more than actually drank. Masturbated. Became obsessed with Dubb and his downfall. Accepted the fact that from 25 to 30, you are dead in the gay world inspite of the few scattered boinkings (not the same as the butt sex which is why it is called "the butt sex" or "bumping uglies"). Started editing pictures in MS Paint habitually. Became a pseudostalker not unlike Jesus. Glory!

Now, we're all up to speed. I'm still a vegetarian until I am shitty drunk and starving without options. I do eat the occasional chicken or seafood. Gotta keep up the protein to build up my guns. Afterall, what's a gunshow without guns? A rhetorical question, but I'd guess a monster truck rally without the monster trucks.

I ran this theory past Father O while we were sitting naked, other than the Y's microtowel, and dripping with post workout sweat in the sauna the other morning. (Now, now ladies. Calm down. There are still plenty of seats on the Preston Express.) I have decided that the Egyptians did not build the pyramids. Instead, early movie producers did it as the first major movie promotional gimmick in an attempt to destroy Walt Disney. Felix had lost some popularity because of ole Walt's work, so they built the pyramids to promote the launch of their "Felix the Cat" cartoons. Popularity of the pyramids caught on. This made the so-called "ancient Egyptians" popular. That of course made cats suddenly become popular, so Felix was saved. As far as "historical documents" that talk about the pyramids before this time, the producers simply rewrote history. Since no one was alive back then, it has gone by completely unnoticed all these years. That is, of course, until today. If this were Crack the Case, I'd be a "master detective" (sadly, a somewhat obscure reference). Father O's response to this was something to the effect of, "It's hot in here. Are you ready to go?"

Later Consuela.