You Catch More Flack with Carpentry than Bitterness...OR...Get Off My Back, Monkeys

Several friends of mine made fun of my entry Things I WILL DO (Either to be Accomplished or Begun by 2005) from Friday, July 30, 2004. Most had to snicker at numbers seven and fourteen: 7) I will learn carpentry skills; 14) I will stop being so bitter. I will try to explain.

A certain roommate of mine whom shall remain nameless-well, he is a clergyman and my only roommate if that will help narrow it down- told me that number fourteen is impossible for me. Well, he worded it differently, but it was pretty much the same thing. His was closer to, "Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha...*cough*...*deep inhale*...ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ... ha ... ho ....... ho ........ wooooo ....... huh ..... ha ........... hummmmm ................. mmmmmmmm .................. YOU?! Stop being bitter?!?! HA ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha..." Well I said stop being so bitter. I did not say that I will stop being bitter altogether. I will just cut back on my bitterness is all. I assumed it was obvious, but a couple of people said something to me about it. I must have been incorrect in my assumption.

What got even more comments than the bitterness one was number seven. Number seven is an odd goal to have. I do admit that. However, all that I meant by learning carpentry skills was I want to learn to use powertools well enough to recreate furniture from the Armani Casa collection. I know that still seems odd, but I cannot afford furniture from the 99 Cent Store line much less the Armani Casa line. Therefore, I want to learn to make furniture just enough to recreate a couple of Armani tables. Is that so wrong? I did not want to say, "I want to be a capenter," because I do not want to be a carpenter. I did not say, "I want to learn how to use powertools just enough to be able to recreate some of the furniture in the Armani Casa collection since I cannot afford it," because that would have taken too damned long to type. Although, you have now made me type that out. See what you people are doing to me?! Madness I tell ya!! Look at the pretty lights in the sky.
Where is my baby?
I need to find my sweet, little baby, Ju-Ju Bee!
Milk from a mama goat tastes like that of a chicken.
Where am I?
My hair is made of daisy petals!
Get out of my head! Somebody love me.
There is nothing like a good Gregorian hamster chant.
Will someone please help me build a fetal llama's egg out of tofu?!
Blue is the color of the devil's hairpiece.
Bacon!!
DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU ARE DOING TO ME?!? Driving me completely insanity!! And YES, I meant to say 'insanity' instead of 'insane,' so no comments on that are necessary!

Now, all that I have left to say is you can all go to hell, you silly crackuh ass behonkers.

Later Consuela.

The Door is Shut and Locked

I have a slight case of hypochondria. It doesn't really get the better of me as much as it once did. For example, I had heartburn once in, I think, the ninth grade. I convinced myself that I was having a heart attack. Then after hearing that Tom Green had testicular cancer, I decided that I had it. So far, I have had three or four heart attacks, two strokes, testicular cancer maybe three times, breast cancer twice, two collapsed lungs on four different occassions, lung cancer once, countless brain tumors, carposis sarcoma every two to three months for the past couple of years, rheumatoid arthritis, diabetes, and the early stages of Alzheimer's disease. In most cases, there was absolutely no reason whatsoever to believe I had anything wrong with me. I felt a lump in my scrotum which freaked me out. I figured out that it was just my testicle but decided that it was probably cancerous anyway. I really freaked when I felt a knot in my groin area. As I had located both my testicles, I knew that it was not one of them. After going to my doctor and showing him the small knot, I felt a little better. It was just an ingrown hair caused by shaving with a slightly dulled razor. Now I am extra careful to use a new, sharp razor every time Fraulein Brunhilda needs a trim. I am sure you all wanted to know that and are thrilled to hear it. Basically, what I am trying to say is I am slowly losing my mind and am easily influenced.

NN wrote in her journal that she is OCD about several things. One thing she mentioned was having to completely put out a cigarette. Thank you NN!! Now, I can't smoke without making sure that it is totally extinguished. I also have to ash my cigarette constantly. It is more of a nervous habit really. I am constantly flicking my cigarette. Three, four, sometimes five times between drags. I don't really know why I do it. Then, when I ash it, I think to myself, "The door is shut and locked." Is there some hidden meaning in these words? Not really. I started saying, "The door is shut and locked," alot when I was younger and still living with my mom. Everytime I had a friend over, I'd ask if he had shut and locked the door. I did not have to have the door shut and locked, but when you are that age, you feel like you are doing very big, very important things. You need your privacy. So, I was always asking about the door and whether it were locked.

Starting out as something cute and innocent, the phrase, "The door is shut and locked," did not become my largest obsessive compulsive tendency until I was around age thirteen. I must guess what age I was as I am not exactly sure when I started masturbating. When I first fell in love with making love alone, I was so scared of having someone catch me that I was constantly checking the door. I could clearly see that the door was shut from anywhere in the room. My room was small, so I could also see that it was locked from anywhere in the room. I still, without fail, would look at the door everytime that I would masturbate and say either internally or aloud, "The door is shut and locked." I won't lie, my hands were total sex addict whores. They wanted it all the time. Twenty times in a day was nothing for them. Chafing. It was no wonder that I became obsessed with that phrase. I was saying it all the time to myself for reassurance or whenever I did anything at all. Need to change clothes, "The door is shut and locked." About to watch cartoons, "The door is shut and locked." Worried about a test, "The door is shut and locked." Turn off the lights before bed, "The door is shut and locked." Make sure my harnass is secured to the ceiling, "The door is shut and locked." Look at that over there, "The door is shut and locked." Do I have spinach in my teeth, "The door is shut and locked." I realize it is an insane thing to do, but it is just habit for me. I still, to this day, cannot help but say it when checking on something, accomplishing something, or reassuring myself of something. Maybe masturbation really does lead to insanity. Isn't that what the proverbial "they" always says. Or was that blindness? Or hairy eyelids? Who knows.

I also obsessively lock the door now. I used to lock the door at least five times before I could walk away from it. This got worse a couple of years ago after a traumatic experience which I will not elaborate upon at this time. More recently, I have been able to control the urge to lock and unlock the door repeatedly. I usually only do it once or twice these days, but I either glance over or walk over to the door several times throughout the day to make sure the door is still locked. This is worse when I am at someone else's apartment. I am more paranoid at my mother's home. There are six doors leading outside at her house. I have to triple check each door, check behind all the shower curtains, look in all the closets, and check in the cabinets under every sink before I am able to go to bed. I do not think I am even scared of anything there. I really do not even know what it is that I think I may find. Nevertheless, I will check everything twice and each door thrice. I swear I am going crazy.

My other little OCD behavior thingy bah dah jingy deals with paper. I am almost always rolling up little pieces of paper into mini paper sticks then balling them up. Afterwards I just throw them away. I have no idea when I started doing this, but I know that I cannot remember a time that this nervous tick was not a part of my life. I always ball up little pieces of paper. Stupid, I know. Pointless, a bit. I am even picky about what kind of paper I will ball up. I prefer sticker labels and tissue to notebook paper and those cheap brown treebark public restroom papertowels. My favorite is the paper from straws. Oh muh lard! Give me straw paper and I am in heaven. Well, I do not actually go to heaven when given straw paper, but if there is a heaven, I am sure straw paper is a huge part of it. I could ball up some straw paper all day long. I am excited just thinking about it. (I just stopped typing for about five minutes and thought about straw paper. It just really really seems to make me happy. Kind of scares me.) Margaret Thatcher ninnies, I am insane.

Later Consuela.

Cornbread & Shrimp Skanky

Sometimes in life, you meet someone special. You hit it off immediately. You seem to have known each other since before time began. It is as though your souls were once conjoined twins. You laugh together. You cry together. You braid each other's hair. You cry together some more (you are really emotional). You cannot imagine what your life would be like without that person. You should all know by now who that person is for me. She has always been there for me when I am down. She always knows just what to say to make things seem allright. She makes me laugh when I feel like crying. She makes me cry when I can't stop laughing. I truly love this woman with all of my heart. I think she knows it, but I don't really take the time to tell her. That is why I decided to take this opportunity to let all my feelings for her be known. As I am unable to truly express my feelings for her in words, I will simply say I love you. It is not as powerful as I'd like for it to be, but I think it says it well enough. So no matter what happens, no matter what you are going thru, no matter how far apart we are or how crazy our love may seem to be, always remember that I DO truly love you Bea Arthur, my queen.

Last week I had a date with a guy. It was fun. Made me happy. We have alot in common- not unlike every other person I go out with, I blame it on my eclectic personality- and alot to talk about. He is smart, funny, and blah blah blah. Blah blah blah, buh blah blah dee blah. So we had a second date. We went to Happy Japan Cook in Front of You Palace of Dragon Eating Golden Ducks or something like that. I do not particularly care for those places. I enjoy the food. I enjoy knowing that it is properly cooked. I do not really enjoy watching the whole song and dance. Call me a lemur, but I don't. Anyway, we ordered our food. The guy came out and started doing his thing. Knife throws, flame breath, Sit'n'Spin, Riverdance and Dances with Wolves. He had rhythm. He had music. He had fried rice. Who could ask for anything more?! No one, that's who. But he gave us more anyway. After slicing, dicing, grilling, killing, and spackling a single shrimp into several shrimpy shrimp pieces, he began picking them up one at a time and tossing them at the different nameless people with whom we were dining. Dining with strangers...how exciting. So he threw a shrimpy shrimp piece at someone who attempted to catch it in his mouth. Failure. He has brought great shame upon his house. He then looks at the guy I was with and myself. His eyes got larger, smile broadening. "You catch in mouth!" he seemed to jubilate. It seemed this way because he was, in fact, saying it with jubilation. Which is, I suppose, a good enough reason for me to think he seemed to be doing it. Jubilating that is. I digress. "You catch in mouth!!" I looked at my Dutch date. Surely, he was not about to expect me to catch a shrimpy shrimp piece in my mouth. Apparently, when I told him that I do not like shrimp that much, he misunderstood. Perhaps, he thought I'd like it better if it were being hurled at my head. Who knows? God does, that's who. So Mr. Miyagi proceeds to shout, "You catch in mouth! YOU catch in MOUTH!!!" I felt like I was on a Japanese gameshow. Not sure what you win. Though, I sure was hoping it would be a food processor or maybe a fry daddy. A salad shooter would have also been nice, but not fry daddy nice. It is silly to even think it would be. Apples to Oprah that is. I mean honestly. "I'm wearing a white linen Banana Republic shirt. No thank you," I explained with a big smile and a slight nod. "NO! YOU CATCH in MOUTH!!" I think that something was getting lost in translation. "No thank you. Linen. White linen," I said pointing to my shirt. "Nooooo...you catch in MOWth!" he seemed to reassure. The next thing I know, there is a shrimpy shrimp piece flying at my head. "I AM ALLERGIC TO SHRIMP!!" I screeched, ducking slightly as it hit my Banana Republic white linen shirt. "NOOOoooo ho ho ha ho ha... You catch in mouth. Ha ha ho he!" he chuckled, spraying shame on my house. "Allergic to shrimp. It is on my shirt. I catch in mouth, I swell and die. Ha ha ho he ha ho hum!" He looked slightly disappointed. "You allergic shrimp? I just want you catch in mouth." A single tear rolled down his cheek. Then, spinning around to the inbred couple beside me, smile restored, he undulated, "You catch in mouth!!"

NN was at the apartment the other night. We decided to go into Gay.com's chatroom and go shopping for me. On our trip we found many potential bedfellows for me. One calls himself a werecat. He looked a bit like the creepy neighbor guy with the red chop sideburns in the Tom Hanks movie The Burbs. He was wearing a lovely greasy jockstrap. Then there was the guy who has never left that chatroom in his life other than once. He is ALWAYS in there. He looks a bit like the rotund, shades wearing demon in Hellraiser other than the demon's lack of dragqueen Elvis hair. The only time he has ever been away from that chatroom was when he went to Pat O'Brien's in New Orleans, ordered a Hurricaine, and had his picture taken. That is the very picture that he uses on his profile. Then there was an absolute adonis named Varsity Something Preston I Want You To Have My Babies. The best was this psychotic fucktard named JxnAnonymous or something similar. His opening line was, "Hey. What R U N2?" I responded, "Piss and shit." He told me that he found that hot and proceeded to ask if he could urinate in my mouth. I am sure I said he could. He was quite the charmer. He then asked what else I am "N2." I told him that I like to be tied up and burned with cigarettes. He said that that also pleased him in the pants. He then asked me whether I spit or swallow. I told him that I do neither as I save it in jars to be used in a fabulous cornbread recipe that I have. I offered the recipe, but he declined. He asked how long it takes to get enough to make the cornbread. I told him not long since I am a chinchilla breeder and they produce alot of it. He told me that he was surprised that I am not "N2" sex with dogs. I told him that I had to stop after the whole German Shepherd fiasco. He then proceeded to call me a smartass and an asshole for an hour the whole time saying that he was about to go to bed. It was good, mean fun for all. Now, NN wants a Gay.com screenname of her very own.

Later Consuela.