Vroom Vroom

Vroom vroom. Here we go. Leaving April in the dust and headed full force right into the month of May. It's one of my most (the?) favorite times of the year -- Portland is filled with color from azaleas and rhododendrons.

I spent last weekend with my friend Stephan from Poughkeepsie, New York. He was in town for an international culinary conference. The boy dragged my arse from top to bottom and side to side around my very own city. He took me place after place including places I'd never even been. Bar after bar, stripper after stripper, restaurant after hardware warehouse and to every bakery the city operates. We left no stone unturned. I'm sure he was as tired as I was when he returned home. To say the least, I enjoyed my time with him. And that led into......a few days of work ..... followed by ...

A quick 24-hour trip to Palm Springs to see our buddies Don and George. They were in PSP for an extended vacation. My hubby was supposed to be the one that went to get a little R&R with them after his mother (continues to...) threw his life into an uproar over the last month. He thought that it just wasn't the right time for him and that he was going to have a hard time relaxing knowing that Mommy Dearest was just a phone call away. So, I went. Don and George always take such great care of me....and this was no exception. I think my favorite part was just relaxing, sans clothing, around the pool. The sun warming the bits. And I don't think that the underwear contest at Hunter's hurt either. So, I found my way back home last night -- to unpack and repack for....... Oh, wait, one more thing....I heard this dance remix of You Raise Me Up while I was in PSP and thought it was hot!......And now back to our regularly scheduled programming......

Six long days of work. I'll be in Austin tonight. San Jose on Saturday night. Austin again on Sunday night. Home in Portland on Monday night. Chicago on Tuesday night. And back home on Wednesday night. If I didn't enjoy my job so much, I may be tempted to complain and bitch and moan. Plus, working with two of my most favorite flight attendants makes it that much better.

The rest of May isn't any less busy. We have Mother's Day, Portland's Doggie Dash, and fitting for our new flight attendant uniforms to debut next year. In other news, I'm anxious to get this year's quite lackluster American Idol out of the way. I swear, it's been crap. And I was quite surprised by the winner of RuPaul's Drag Race. That is all for now. My mind's a blank.......

Cindrella Minus the Ball

Like a princess on her way to the ball, she strode in. Sort of like Cinderella but not really on her way to the ball. Well, more like Blanche on her way to her evening toilette, is more like it. Her heels weren't clicking along like Blanche's would. But she was caped in one of those floor length evening house gowns. Sort of see through. Fancy and light cream, or white, in color. Heads turned, glances shot. Not so much outright staring as sideways shifting of the eyes to catch the scene as her gossamer wings made their way through the darkness. The heavy beat of the dance music tapping away as her heels barely grazed the concrete floor. Or, perhaps, I should say her red heels. Lovely red shoes to compliment the gown. And the hair, perfect. Nicely coiffed and adjusted just so. Her pained nails gracefully grazing the ends of her hair every so often, for effect I suppose... and to keep the hair out of her manicured face. She was actually dressed quite nicely. Not a bad looking lady -- and I say lady because she looked and acted the part. Just a bit out of place is all. And clearly causing a stir.

She took her place in a paid-for room along the main thoroughfare. With a window that looked out over the center of the men passing, looking, glancing, eyeballing one another as they headed for the bubbling hot tub or steam room. She was there, in place in the window -- halfway like a mother hen keeping an eye on the barnyard and half like one of those young ladies in the windows of Amsterdam's Red Light District. She strode back and forth between her room with the view and the darker sort of play room ..... looking for a bit of refined and feminine evening action, perhaps. She would stand in the darkness. Her gossamer pale gown gracing her thin frame while she stood...waiting. And clearly unlike any of the other men looming in the darkness. She was the ace among the spades. She appeared to have one effect or other of either scaring men away....or else they would ponder her, surprised, but sort of tantalized at the same time. Her gown would occasionally be bunched up around her ankles when she found a gentlemen in need. And the rest of her evening shift would be spent resting, sitting, with her hands folded casually in her lap with her legs crossed at the knees (cutting off the circulation if you asked me). She looked like she was taking appointments. Reservations.

She found herself with her heels up...or down....throughout the evening. The last cast image of her was of her red heels hanging over the end of a black plastic bench, in the darkness, men coming and going, their aging eyes struggling to adjust in the dim light. And she, resting. Her gown pulled apart, indiscriminately, exposing her hidden man bits. For service. To service. Oh dear.

Thug

Did you know I'm a thug? Yep, it's true. You want to know how I know? Because she told me so. She did. The girl. The disabled girl did. She sort of drug a limp leg along and had some sort of speech impediment. And no, I'm not making fun of her. Please.

I was enjoying about ten blessed minutes of peace on a warm afternoon in early April in downtown Albany, New York. I had dinner arrangements with a good friend and had a couple of minutes to spare beforehand. So, I rested. Gingerly. Gently. With my Timbuk2 messenger bag on the history-worm concrete steps of Albany's Trinity United Methodist Church on Lark Street. I was by myself and watching the energy of Lark Street in front of my face. The energy, the people, the excitement of an early spring warm day after a long winter in Albany. And here she came ----

"Are you a member here at the church?," she wanted to know. Well, no, I'm not a member here. But I grew up in church and have sat in many a church pew in my lifetime. "Well, if you're not, you have to leave," she remarked. Oh, I can't just sit here for ten minutes while I wait for my dinner date to arrive? No was the answer. "We've had problems with thugs and you can't sit here." I started to laugh. Out loud. And not really at her, or to her face, but at the inference of my being a thug. Me. A thug. I kind of like that in a twisted sort of way. "Do I look like a thug?," I asked her. "No," with a shake of her head. "If you don't leave, I have to call the police." Then I really started laughing. I told her that I'd been a part of several churches in my life and had never experienced not being able to sit on the steps of a church before. I told her that I thought churches were supposed to be welcoming and accepting of all which I'm just sure she wanted to hear me say. She wasn't operating on the same planet as I was so I stood to leave. She was already on her way to the church's intercom system by the big main doors to call someone. The police, presumably maybe the head chief honcho minister. I walk just a few feet to the sidewalk in front of the church and turned to watch her. No one answered her intercom call. And she did not call the police. The thug laughed again and turned to head up Lark Street.

Spin the Bottle

Have I told you the one about the kids that played spin the bottle with the babysitter? Yeah, I didn't think so.

Picture it....early 1970s.... Boise, Idaho.... two family's worth of children left with the babysitter for the evening. Maybe four or six of us, I can't quite remember....that was the least of my worries. We had used this particular female babysitter numerous times. A very nice gal, she was. Probably no older than 14 or 16. A pretty young lady, the daughter of some of my parent's friends. They lived nearby.

So, somehow we ended upstairs in her bedroom. All of us kids. And a pop bottle (I don't think they make those in this day and age). And there was this little game where we would all sit in a circle and the bottle would be spun around in the middle of the circle. And whoever it pointed at when it stopped spinning had to remove an article of clothing. To say the least, I was giddy with excitement over the whole debacle. And I couldn't wait for it to land on me.

The only difference between that silly little game and today is that I don't rely on the pop bottle excuse any longer.

Portland Red Dress Party 2010

Pictures to Prove It are Here ..... Portland Red Dress Party 2010 !!

Oh yeah, baby. And....we're back. After yesterday's introduction to Portland's annual Red Dress Party, we're bleary eyed and have groggy voices this morning. It was a sea of red. I'm amazed how many men, and women for that matter, looked reeaaallly good in red dresses. It was a night of seeing red on so many levels. In fact, we were some of the more conservatively dressed in the midst of several thousand. Hats, bling, corsets, suspenders, skirts, low cut, high cut, nipples, piercings, boots, heels, feathers, boas, glitter, body painting, cocktails, copping feels, shawls, faux fur, plenty of alcohol for lubrication, flirting, whispering, yelling, jello shots.

Oh yeah, one more thing..... nipple licking and tit showing as well. By females. To me and on me. Umm hum. Don't tell me that I don't get out much or don't have a good time. I got to meet three people that I've known online for quite some time now. I'm still amazed how no introductions are necessary and how we can spot one another a mile away.

Our buddies Jo and Andy kept us good company and made sure we stayed out of trouble. Even as we all paraded (yes, we did parade) across East Burnside in our dresses. You know, I kept saying that if we'd just hang out on the street corner on Burnside just for a short time, we could probably turn a trick or two. Cash up front, required. And I don't think that the thong with red lips on it I was sporting underneath my Sear's dress had anything to do with it.

Portland Red Dress Party

The long-awaited Portland Red Dress Party is on our doorstep. Tomorrow night we will join several thousand people in red dresses. No other attire is permitted. No other color is permitted. It's a fund raiser for several HIV and AIDS centers. It's been going for close to ten years. It started in someone's basement or garage. And now, just look at it. Sold out. It's our first year but numerous of our friends go regularly. We have our dresses, earrings, necklaces, makeup, flowers for the hair, flashy rings and bracelets. I have red hair color, red nail polish, and lots of bling. Exhausting, this work of dressing up. About the only thing that I still need to get it a box of Bump Its. I figure I can stick a couple into my dress and maybe one in my thong -- red hearts on the thong (because I know you're wondering). Well, I suppose I could use a potato, but the Bump Its seem so sheik and elegant. And, hey, everybody needs a little help now and then. We did a pre-dress last night, just LoverBoy and me. To see how long it would take us and what would be involved. Fifteen minutes for those wondering. Now if we actually wanted to look pretty, that would take a bit longer. But we're not that pretentious.

So, we pick up our friends Jo and Andy at 6pm tomorrow and head to Portland's Jupiter Hotel for a prefunk party. We're going to start drinking there, have a couple of appetizers, and get dressed. Then we'll saunter our way up the five blocks to the Party of the Year. (You can picture that...right? The sauntering part.....???) It starts at 9pm -- my bedtime. I'm still trying to figure out a way for that timing to all work out. Maybe they'll have a quiet room, a nursery of sorts, for me to take a nap in.

Cantaloupes and Guns

God he was a fox. Finely feathered hair parted straight down the middle, olive-colored young skin, and quite a show off if I remember correctly. Danny had moved from Maryland out to Idaho to go to school. He was the assistant manager at the M&W Market where yours truly was employed -- my very first job, bagging groceries for $2.90 per hour. A union gig. Danny would show up at work each afternoon straight from what I'm sure had been an industrious day at school. And in the employee break room he would change into his work clothes and apron. He would drop his pants completely to the floor, change shirts, bring it all back up, and top off the whole package with a beautifully colored orange apron complete with name tag and ink stains. Pretty. Man oh man, I'd stare while those pants were down. Well, truth be told, I would not stare. I was only 16. He was far older....say, 20 or so ancient years. Finding every excuse in the book to hang around, I'd stay at least until those pants were down.

Danny drove a Vega. A yellow Vega. We would ride around town occasionally in that thing. Him divulging all sorts of stories about "doing her" in the backseat of his Vega. Oy. I didn't want to hear it then and I don't want to hear it now. But thinking of him doing it did sort of make up for it. He and I worked together on the evening shift. Corner of 28th and State Streets in Boise. Right next to the Taco John's. One night, Danny spotted a dude lifting a cantaloupe from the produce section. A section, may I add, that I took painstaking efforts to make sure looked bright and pretty what with its iceberg lettuce and such. So Danny yells at me, "Get in my car...that guy just stole a cantaloupe." And we were off. He driving, me in the passenger seat. And both of us in our orange aprons. Ages 16 and 20. Driving the back streets of North Boise looking for a dude with a stolen fruit. "There he is!," Danny pointed out to me....up the alleyway. Giant, big tall dude with only a pair of overalls on. Tall, no shirt, bushy beard. "Go get the cantaloupe," Danny tells me....."I'll wait here It'll be okay, I've got a gun." So, 16-year-old wanting to please the object of his affection jumps out of the Vega and heads up the alley toward the guy. The thief tosses the cantaloupe over a tall fence into someone's back yard, places his hands on his hips, and looks at me squarely. No cantaloupe. It's gone. What are you staring at me for? So, while Danny sits in the Vega at the end of the alley with a pistol he had pulled out from underneath the front seat, I fumbled my way through a conversation with a known criminal.

I slunk back to the car and told Danny that the cantaloupe had gone AWOL. The stolen fruit was in hiding. And besides, we needed to get back to the store. There was work to be done.

Albany Metropolitan Area, New York

There's simply no time for rest
Dan, George, Don, Brian, Louie, Jay, Fran and J.P. are the best

My New York extravaganza continues with more
So far, I haven't met a bore.

My cat-hair covered clothes are being washed at the moment
The pussies haven't been much of a torment

I got here just in time for the 90 degrees
And unlike back home, there are still no leaves on the trees

We ate in Catskill at a lesbian-owned joint for lunch
There's still more eating to be done, I've got a hunch

The Internet

The Internet. I swear. It's good for so much more than Craigslist or ManHunt or other such activities. It's like everything else in life....you take the bad with the good. The good is this ---

I would not be where I am tonight without the internet. I am sitting in Westerlo, New York, in a warm and wonderful home. With my friends and hosts, Don and George. Without the internet, I would not be here. They have treated me so well....my bed is warm, they had a delicious warm meal on the table last night when I arrived, and they are so easy to be around. I love you, Mr. Internet.

Today's lunch was at a great little place on Lark Street in Albany. I met another new friend Dan, enjoyed very easy conversation, and plenty of high-energy bantering back and forth, over and over. And then a trip across the street for drinks outside on the patio (until the rain drove us indoors to finish our afternoon). It's a excellent way to spend a weekday afternoon.

And tonight....another person with whom I would not be friends without the internet. J.P. and I met for chow at a nice little bistro place. I swear, the guy is full of good, solid positive energy. We chatted about airplanes, family history, positive versus negative thoughts, traveling, road trips, our homes and lives, and and and and and. Without the Internet, tonight would never have happened. J.P., thanks so much for your attention to friendships.......I really appreciated your extra effort in making tonight happen and for such a great dinner. I love you, Mr. Internet.

And one more thing......the rental car from Thrifty is a piece of junk. It's one year old and has 32,000 miles on it. It's beat all to hell with scratches, dings, paint failing, and crappy brakes. But at least they treated me with indifference when I rented it at Boston Logan Airport. That makes it better. ....right?

Happy dreams everybody. Tomorrow's a new day. I sort of hate to let this one go.

The Week in Review

Ugg. I've just arrived back home in Portland after leaving Austin, Texas, early this morning. Repacking, washing, organizing to be gone for a week. Tomorrow morning I'm jetting east to Boston where I'll rent a car from Thrifty (supposed to be either a Ford Focus or Dodge Caliber) and drive three hours west to the Albany, New York, area. It will be my very first time by myself dealing with toll roads and having to have change for them. Plus, the Boston traffic. I've become such a pussy. I have a tremendous group of friends in that area who have graciously allowed me to invade their world for a week. Lunches, dinners, a grand re-opening at one of Albany's greatest gay bars, a trip to the Miss Albany Diner, and who knows what else. I'm really looking forward to seeing all of The Boys again. Well, most of them are boys. And some....well, I'm not sure.......

LoverBoy is staying home with the pooch. I tell you, this man has taught me a lot in our 13 years together. He does an amazing job of putting others, including me, first. He is gracious, welcoming, and always has a smile. Even when he has a lot going. He tries. I will miss you, LoverBoy. A lot. And immediately upon my return, he'll be having a birthday....his 23rd. Party!

And immediately following that will be Portland's Red Dress Party. Yikes!

And immediately following that will be a visit from one of my new-found buddies from New York State.....Stephen. He's headed here for some sort of cool culinary arts conference.

Whew. I'm tired already and haven't even left town yet.