This Place'll Scare the Crap Out of You!

Donations

Last Saturday, a miserably dreary wet cold morning here in the east, I drove my Element down to the Salvation Army Thrift Store in beautiful downtown Trenton, NJ. In the back, from the floor up to halfway from the roof, were stacked 39 pairs of dress trousers, blue jeans and shorts -- every pair of them sized 44 in the waist.

They represented the size I was before I had my gastric bypass surgery on August 11th. I had lost 60 pounds in the interim. My internist, at my annual physical in late August, had advised me, "Get rid of your fat clothes to avoid the temptation of wearing them again."

The gang at the thrift store were thrilled. Most of the pants were still in dry cleaning bags from last winter. The Army runs a halfway house in Trenton and sometimes the guys who work in the thrift stores pick through the clothes to find decent "work clothes" for guys who are trying to put their lives back together as they recover from alcoholism and drug abuse. I can't think of a better use for my old clothing than to help another sick and suffering addict. The remainders go on sale in the store, with the proceeds helping to fund the halfway house and other good works.

I don't even want to think about how much $$$$ they originally had cost me. It doesn't matter. Whatever it was, it was a small price to pay for the payoff I'm receiving now. Luckily, I still had a decent wardrobe of size 42" waist pants. Only, not so much. On a whim I'd bought two pairs of pants from Land's End last week, sized 40" in the waist. They arrived yesterday and I tried them on last night. They fit me perfectly. I had no choice but to admit that I have now gone from a nearly 46" waist to a rather loose fitting 40" waist in just over 11 weeks.

Nevertheless, I need pants that fit me now. So I went back online last night and ordered another $400.00 worth of pants, with 40" waists, two pairs of cotton twills, 4 pairs of finewale cords and a pair of jeans. I hope they last until Spring.

p.s. In keeping with the spirit of donating, I gave $$$ to the "No on 8" campaign in California today. I've NEVER donated money to any political thingie in my life until now. But when I found out that the Mormons are in cahoots with the Knights of Columbus on the other side of this (pretending they care about hetero marriage), I went ballistic. They know the general election is lost, especially in California, so they're staking their futures on this, instead.

I'm tired of being fag-bashed by self-loathing closet cases posing as caring Christians. May they all rot in hell.

I Shudda Stayed Out of Bed!

My friend Bev created this for me. Go ask her for info on how to do it. Click HERE to visit her website.


I've always secretly known that it was all my fault because IT'S ALL ABOUT ME!!!

We're Everywhere!

Heh.... in anticipation of an Obama win we're dusting off our gay agendas (which specifically state that kindergartners MUST attend gay weddings).

The Agendas also refer to the Sport of Kings:


First Openly Gay Racehorse To Compete Sunday

Yet Another Reason I'm Grateful to be Gay!

Stick with this one until the bitter end.

You'll wonder what he ever saw in her.

A Death in the Family

No, not him. This is just a screen cap of him from last night's debate (more like "hissy-fit" than debate, but that's a moot point now).

I'm referring to my aunt who, in her youth, looked like this. She passed away on Monday.



There was a time in my life when I worshipped this woman (no, no Do Day, but my aunt). I thought she was the sanest member of my family of origin. She was the only one of the women whom I lived with while I was raising myself who didn't drink. I loved her for not drinking, and hated my mother and grandmother for getting drunk all the time.

Anyway, as time went by, and I got sober, my aunt and I started drifting apart. She made it clear that she wasn't interested in hearing about my recovery from alcoholism. Her sons, my cousins, also made it clear that they had no intention of getting sober, even though there had been numerous arrests on drunk driving charges and even court-mandated attendance at 12-Step meetings.

Then, about five or six years ago, two things became clear. 1. When I was young there was some disturbance in the family involving some state-sponsored hearing after which my aunt, who had previously been a registered nurse was, suddenly, merely a licensed practical nurse. And 2. When I wanted to talk with her about how her sister and mother's boozing had wrecked my childhood she violently interrupted me with, "the only problem with your childhood was that they loved you TOO MUCH... that was why they drank and fought." In other words, as a child, I was responsible for their drinking and fighting.

It didn't take me long after that call to piece together the whole story. My aunt had become a prescription pill junkie, way back when, had gotten caught stealing drugs, had lost her license over it, and she'd spent the rest of her life numbing the pain with prescription pain killers she'd managed to wheedle out of a succession of doctors whom she bullshitted into dispensing them to her.

And she did NOT want to hear about the "family nature" of addiction (mine) because it would've meant that she would have to look at her own.

And that would not do.

No one in her immediate family called me to tell me the news. True to form for our family I found out about it through a second cousin in Pennsylvania who heard about it from another second cousin in Delaware who thought she read the obituary in the local paper. I confirmed the obit by logging into the paper's site. It said she was survived by a husband and two sons. No mention of any other relatives. It also said that the funeral arrangements were private, with no mention of a service, viewing or burial.

I have chosen to respect their wishes and to stay away. I'm sorry that my family of origin just sort of fell apart like this.

But when push comes to shove, and it comes down to my family or my sobriety,

my sobriety wins.

Thinny-Thin

These were taken last Saturday night by a friend of mine.



This is me, fifty-one pounds lighter than I was on August 10th. Notice how light in the loafers I am.



This is me, diabetes free and (mostly) meds free.

This is me, on the verge of living a lot longer than I ever thought I would.

It's been worth it.

Cartoon Monday

This about sums up the last 8 years:

You can Bank on it!

It's official. I now bank at Wells Fargo.

I didn't set out to bank at Wells Fargo. In fact, for umpteen eons I was a diehard Citibank user, and had been ever since I arrived in New York in 1978. And I stayed loyal to them, through thick and thin, until I finally had to give up when I fled the city in 1998 and landed in central New Jersey. Citibank hadn't arrived there yet. And they probably wouldn't have had me, even if they did. We didn't part under the best of terms when I left New York. I still owed them a chunk of change (which has been paid off, thankyewverymuch).

As I slowly recovered from alcoholism, and I got a crappy temp job which at least gave me a weekly paycheck, I opened up a pathetic little account at First Union Bank -- which had one of those 1920's type buildings right on Main Street in the sleepy little burg of Hightstown, NJ.

I loved that bank. Everybody knew me when I walked in to deposit my check on Saturday morning. They knew I didn't have much but, like small town banks used to do, they were friendly not because I was already rich but rather because there might be an outside chance that someday I would be.

Then, one day the unthinkable happened. Suddenly, First Union was no longer First Union. They'd been bought by a bank from North Carolina called Wachovia. I was leery at first, but they seemed nice enough and, in time, I was happy banking with them, too.

Now comes the stock market collapse, the demise of institutions I was sure could never fail and, amazingly, I am no longer a customer of First Union or Wachovia.

Now I bank at one of the finest and oldest of California's founding banks, Wells Fargo.

I feel like the Polish peasant who, upon hearing of his country's liberation from the tyranny of the Czar exclaimed, "WELL, THANK GOD! NO MORE RUSSIAN WINTERS!!"

Oh-ho the Wells Fargo Wagon is a-coming now, oh please let it be for me.....

We Didn't, Like, Totally Suck!!!!

Okay, no major campaign-busting gaffes. Just dead-on seriousness from Mr. Biden and plain old folksie (pass the basket of hot-out-of-the-oven brownies, please) from Governor Palin.

No matter what you thought of the debate, I can help you clarify your thinking with this. I call it the "drop-dead test." If both presidential candidates were to drop dead tomorrow, which of the remaining vice-presidential candidates would you HONESTLY wish to see sitting down across the table from Putin next year? Or Ahmadinejad? Or even the French, fer chrissakes?

Lipsticky Hockey Mom or Joe Six-Mouth?

Personally, I'd take the guy with 300 years of Senate experience, please.

A Modest Proposal

Tomorrow night, when Sarah Palin finally bursts into tears and flees the auditorium, I would like to suggest to the McCain campaign managers that they have a "Plan B" in place -- a Plan B that can be summed up in two words.... Tina Fey.

Well, she does LOOK like Palin. That's (apparently) a giant plus. And she's clearly lots smarter (hey, you don't get your own hit show on NBC and before that becoming head writer on SNL for years without having SOMETHING on the ball).

Okay, so she doesn't know squat about foreign policy. Does Palin? At least Fey admits it. And let's face it, she's a helluva lot funnier than Palin.

And she's snarky in that East Coast Liberal Gen-Y sort of way that I know and love.

Palin wouldn't know snarky if it came up and bit her on the ass. She would, however, know a moose if it did the same. I doubt if Tina knows how to kill, skin and gut a moose.

Which, according to Republican theology, is all the talent you need to be the Vice President of the United States of America.

It takes somewhat more talent in order to get a show on NBC.