Replicants are like any other machine; they're either a benefit or a hazard.
You would think that we didn’t keep a bowl of fresh water out for the cats at all times. I did this about eight times today or every time I went into the bathroom. It’s a good thing we don’t have kids…they would be such spoiled ruffians.
Ding Kitty Wants a Drink NOW!!! (Quicktime, 15MB)
Today is our anniversary. It is our tradition, about the only one we have, really, that we start our day together by reciting The Meeting and it goes something like this:
Jeff: “On this day, [insert number of years], there I was, attending Ms. Stephen Hayes’ pre-Black Party Party when in you walked, all fresh chicken. I walked over to Stephen and asked, ‘who’s that‘ to which he replied, ‘Oh her? She’s such a mess.”
“When we got to the Black Party, we spent the evening dancing together and every time one of my friends started getting up onto you, I tapped them on the shoulder and wagged my finger at them, letting them know you were mine.”
“When we got up to the backroom, it was dark and I was scared so I walked behind you and that’s when you put your hand on my crotch and had your way with me and we’ve been together ever since.”
Beau: “On this day, [insert number of years], I had just moved from St. Louis as a traveling nurse. I dropped my clothes off in Morristown that very day and drove into New York City to stay with a friend’s cousin who invited me to go to the Black Party as an welcome to NYC. He mentioned we’d be going to a friend’s pre-party so I was all nervous. I was so fresh and green I wore jeans and a blue-button up shirt because I had no style. We got to the pre-Black Party Party and as soon as I walked into the tiny apartment, some crazy, scary Filipino dressed in a pair of tight black silk underwear and wearing a long black overcoat came running over to me, flapping his coat like huge bat wings. I peed my pants right there. ”
Later on in the evening, I got stuck in a conversation with Michael Mitchell who was describing how he likes to spit on a trick’s chest during sex. I’d still not been able to speak a word since I arrived. ”
After we all cabbed over to the Black Party, we spent the evening dancing and all the men I’d met at the pre-Party were dancing around me being friendly. You finally asked if I wanted to go upstairs ‘to see what was going on‘. Upstairs it was very dark and I was scared so you stood behind me and pushed me forward into the masses of sweaty, undulating people. Then you reached around and grabbed my crotch. We’ve been together ever since.”
Basically the truth of the story lies somewhere in between, depending on who you talk to. I had just moved to NYC that very day and Jeff and I did meet at Ms. Stephen Hayes’ pre-Black Party Party and Stephen did call me a mess to Jeff although he’d never met me before and I’d never been to New York to be able to establish that kind of reputation (although that was the point and purpose of me coming to New York in the first place). Jorge, the animated Filipino, was wearing nothing but underwear and a big black overcoat and he did scare the piss out of me when I first walked into the pre-Party. We went to the Black Party as described and then details get foggy…Jeff and I have come to an agreement that he was standing behind me but who ever made the first move on the other is lost forever in the clammy, gropy, sweaty memory of whatever was happening in the dark, upper room that night.
When we finally walked out into the sunlight the following Sunday morning, Jeff, against his better judgment actually gave me his phone number to call sometime. I, being completely introverted and phone-phobic, had no intention of calling him but later that day, I thought that the least I could do after a fizzy night of dancing and hand-jobs would be to give him a call. My plan was to call while he was out on a date he’d said he’d be on that evening, thereby doing my friendly duty but avoid having to actually talk to him. Best made plans diverted! He was home when I called and put up with me hemming-n-hawing about how I’d just wanted to leave him a message about meeting him last night. Eventually we somehow made a date and then that was that.
Even though I was only in the area temporarily for work, we ended up dating (even while he was dating someone else for the first eight weeks we were seeing one another…I eventually found out I had the M, W, Saturday fuck schedule while Robert, the crucifix-loving other guy who Jeff’s friends liked better had T and Th.). When I re-upped my nursing contract for another three months to stick around, things got a little more serious, or at least they did to Jeff because I still had no intention of staying or settling down. I flirted with a long-term nursing engagement in Nowhere Alaska, keeping Jeff in the dark as to whether I was staying or going up until the last minute and ultimately ended up staying. We moved in together at six months as a way to save money since my housing stipend would pay his rent and soon enough, the months together turned into years.
We’re fourteen years in now. As I described it to friends on vacation a while back, “…very difficult years” which came out wrong in how it initially sounds but which is true, never the less. What I was trying to say is, relationships are difficult; personalities are personalities and compromise can be hard. Jeff and I never had one of those rocket-ship, exploding super-nova relationships, one with fire and so much incendiary inclinations when we’re together…it has always been a slow, steady climb that puts a better day ahead of the next one. Trust me when I say the ache when we’re apart, physically, emotionally, and mentally is very real and very deep. Each year, our anniversary cards read something to the effect of, “…another year together, each year better than the last” and that is true and that is the hallmark of our days together…we are together because each day is better than he last. We continue to grow and find our way with one another. Of course we know each other’s buttons and know how and when to press them but that’s all just noise, really. We make our way each day, trying to be kind and be better to one another, loving each other in the small ways that are significant to us and we’ve built a life on that very simple thing.
This past fall we went to California and got married. Not because either of us felt any overwhelming need or desire to be married; neither of us actually believe in it. We got married because we felt it was important to stand and be counted so that others, to whom marriage is important, might have the opportunity to do it some day. For us, it was a great weekend together with our friends and I got a little Folsom eye candy in the mix…it has also confused the whole ‘what is our anniversary’ question. While I’m more apt to remember our wedding date more so than our Domestic Registration date, for me The Anniversary will always be March 18th, 1995 when I walked into a stranger’s party where no one knew me and I didn’t know them and met Jeff, my lover, my friend, my partner, and now my husband all these many years later.
Happy Anniversary, babe. (See, it’s funny ’cause he doesn’t read the blog. 
)
UPDATE: Even though ivory is the traditional gift for 14 years together, Jeff decided to fully embrace our old, boring marriage schtick and bought us matching Snuggies® of which, I’m loathe to admit, we will actually use frequently and in good health….just not to some fuck-ass sports outing with other people like on the commercials. We have standards.
I actually believe I emailed Shel when he was ringing the bell for Twitter before just about anyone else to ask, “what is the point?”
Who knew that was the point?
I’m still Twittering, though, am I not? Yes, yes I am. Anyone can know more useless and uninteresting things about me than could have ever been mined out of my blog.
My latest obsession that I just discovered last night (thanks guys from 619 Bearcast) and to which I fully acknowledge that I’m again, late to the party, is the Photoswap app for the iPhone. The basic idea is take a picture and send it out randomly to the universe. It goes out to a random person and you get one back from another random person. You can reply to a received picture or choose not too but unless the person has a small profile with contact information or posts a picture with their information, there is no way to get a hold of them. It’s so weirdly random and almost unnerving at how temporary and fleeting the images are. No way to save them and once you choose to not reply to someone, they’re gone forever.
It’s so fascinating I wasted an entire battery charge playing with it last night. I walked around the house shooting dust bunnies, trays of drying paint, and my feet along with various angles, corners and reflected surfaces that didn’t make me look fat. I got back shots of pets, shelves of books, a large breast, a French military officer, a cock shot, and a few grinning bear cubs…so all in all, a pretty good evening. As those tricksy hipster smarties with too much time on their hands tend to do, someone actually came up with a game for it and developed a scavenger hunt where they take a picture of a list items/body parts looked for and received and you can choose to play along if you have something they’re looking for. My two item requests from two separate games last night were a flexed bicep and a jock. The Gays, apparently, have adapted and made this our own.
I’m in such an surge of what I’d consider creative fire I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m not an artist at all but I like to experiment and dabble with stuff and I’ve been hitting it hard these last few weeks. I think things like this come in cycles but it’s never been this intense before and I’ve never followed up with it like I’m doing now. The house looks like a bomb went off with all the paint and stuff all over the place.
But I like it..I like where I am right now. Things are good.
I’m nothing if not a sucker. I can’t help it. Specifically, I’ve been lured into ridiculous comic story arcs through DC and Marvel for the last two years. I’m such a glutton for punishment and so desperate to know whats happening that I suffer through months and months of shitty story-telling and bad art just to keep up. At $3.99 a comic, that is a commitment. I just can’t give them up (for the most part…some titles were just TOO stinky even for me and I painfully dropped them, apparently no worse for wear).
So when DC announced that it was going to start the penultimate Green Lantern story (a title I didn’t even follow, by the way) called “Blackest Night”, some kind of a ping went off in my head and I decided I needed to start following it. I started buying the Green Lantern and Green Lantern Corp. titles to get some background and now we’re into the full launch of the story line. Most people know something about Green Lantern so the idea behind this arc is that there are Lanterns of all different colors, all the colors of the rainbow in fact. The Reds, Oranges, and Yellows (which has been around through Sinestro, GL’s arch enemy) are all baddies and then the other colors are probably mostly good. This story then develops what I think are going to be called the Black Lanterns and they seem to be dead superheros brought back to life, so….zombie Lanterns.
From what I can tell, there hasn’t been this kind of subversive gay intrusion into the mainstream collective since Magic Earring Ken back in the 80′s. I mean, who was the genius that decided to expand the Lantern Corps into all the colors of the big, gay rainbow flag? Homo geniuses, I’m assuming. Comics by their nature are erotic and homo-erotic; idealized versions of impossibly muscled and chiseled men and women so thin-waisted and top heavy that no amount of double-sided tape could keep them from spilling out of their bustiers and toppling over…and of course they’re in heels (and if they’re not, they should be. I have standards I need met in my heroines and tall heels is most definitely one of them.) So we’re getting the Rainbow Lantern Corps out of all this…and I’m getting a new wardrobe.
None of this is totally essential to know and quite honestly, Jeff stopped listening to the explanation after the first sentence. All he wanted to know was whether there were more comics he was going to have to pick up for me in the city (“yes, for sure,” I smiled). But then a good friend got me turned on to Graphetti Graphics, a merchandising place that carries official DC t-shirts. A quick look around and all the sudden I’ve got a big box of Lantern t-shirts coming my way, one for each colored Lantern with their distinct insignias emblazoned on the front.
True confession: I love insignias…I love their symbolism and what they are suppose to represent. I hate the fucking Nazis but I recognize the fear and strength that was conveyed by the swastika and why it was on everything. One of the best parts of comics is the idea that everyone has their own insignia….the Batman’s bat silhouette, Superman’s big “S”, Wonder Woman’s stylized “W’s” over her rack…every hero and villain has one. I mourn my days that I don’t have a nickname and I don’t have an insignia to wear around and put on everything, including my clothing, dishes, car, cats, and stationary. Hell, even Martha Stewart has her own insignia that she uses with her branding machine.
So I made and received my order within the week, unannounced to Jeff until it arrived and I got a call saying, “What the HELL are these???” I was bummed to find out that in my rush to order, I’d neglected the Purple Lanterns shirt which might have been unconscious on my part. I hate their insignia and find them rather annoying. They fly around the universe promoting love in thick pinkish curtains of light and are also all women…women with tremendous comic bazooms all tethered together in two tea-bags and a piece of floss, but still. No man looks good in purple, I’m afraid. But I’m ordering the shirt none the less, just because I have to have the complete set.
I have to have the complete set because for no other reason, I am a Gemini which was pointed out to me today. I seek and must have symmetry in all things. If it’s a series of anything, I want it. I buy whole series of books that I never read because I can’t have just half a series on my shelves (hello, Wheel of Time). If I had more friends who would put up with it, I’d have us dressed in all sorts of sets for Halloween, like the four suits of a deck of cards, the twenty-one Major Arcana of the Tarot, The first five books of the Bible, the four seasons, the four elements, the seven colors of the rainbow, the four winds, the seven deadly sins, the seven heavenly virtues, and so forth and so on. Hell, I’d even get a group of us dressed up as Prime Numbers if I could figure out why they’re important and how to graphically represent them with more than just sticking big white numbers on black t-shirts. It’s almost obsessive/compulsive sickness, really. That fact that I’ve been able to keep it under wraps and under control for so long says a lot about my ability to suppress and deny my true nature. It shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that I was destined for these t-shirts. Now whether the actual story line blows or not, who can say. These days, I can’t keep all the story continuities straight without having Wikipedia opened beside me while I read the comics. Also, I bitch a lot about not understanding or actually following whats going on. Does everyone know that the original Flash, Barry Allen, has been dead since 1985? Of course he’s back now with some new Flash title but I can’t get into that….I have to give up somewhere and this is it. I’m spent…unless they come out with a bunch of rainbow-colored flashes and then I’m totally on board…and buying the t-shirts
Please to enjoy:
Rage of the Red Lanterns
The Avarice of the Orange Lanterns
The Yellow Lantern Insignal of the Sinestro Corps
The Green Lanterns, Powered by Will
Blue Lanterns powered by Hope
Indigo Lanterns powered by Compassion
Black Lanterns, The Rise of the Dead Heroes