Yes! I'm alive! And this picture - taken with Photobooth - proves I'm alive and well. I apologize for the long overdue update. Let's get to it:
Work has been....work. Some days are good and some days are s-l-o-w. It's the nature of the beast. At the end of April I took a day trip to the SF Bay area for a meeting where I did some system instruction and a little coaching, much to the chagrin of the woman in charge, I'm sure. It was a beautiful beautiful day. The meeting itself was in Walnut Creek and afterwards I traveled into the city where I met my favorite Bear. We grabbed some coffee, a snack for him, and went to a park. We talked and got sunburned. As simple as it sounds, it was perfect. I enjoy spending time with him. He's one of those phenomenal guys who just makes me happy.
Last night I did something I haven't done in years. I got a massage. A friend of mine who is a little down on his luck is a CMT. So I hired him - at a greatly reduced rate I might add - since I was having trouble with my shoulders and neck. He gave me a full-body massage and for the most part I enjoyed it. Now, I know that he and I have flirted in the past but it's my understanding that we both realize there isn't a romantic or even sexual vibe to our friendship. Anyhow, at one point during the massage I felt him stick his crotch on my hand...and he kept rubbing back and forth. I did not take the bait, so-to-speak. I just lay there with my hand open as he rubbed his dick across my palm (he was clothed, btw). I was a little disappointed that he did that; but not as disappointed that he also massaged my junk (but since I have some troubles in that area nothing happened). Geez I can't believe I just shared that! If he asked I'd tell him a few things he could do to make the experience more enjoyable: perhaps vacuum the carpet, find a space with more room, play some soothing music. I had to keep telling myself to relax into the pain rather than tensing up. He didn't really communicate much during the session - no "Oh you are tense" or "Relax and breathe deep" or even "My my my Scraps is a boy dog, isn't he?" Maybe I'm just too picky.
For the past month I've been living retail hell. For some time now I have had difficulties with my oven, which is separate from the cooktop. It's doing what it did when I moved into my house nearly 10 years ago: it heats up to the desired setting then starts beeping, flashing a code, and cooling down. I decided to go oven shopping and of course like all brain-washed Americans, I went to Sears. Replace a Kenmore with a Kenmore, right? So to give you the short version (ya'll know that's not easy for me to do!), I bought a new wall oven and cooktop, to be delivered and installed the first day of my vacation back at the end of April. The purchase was made on April 10. I was told the items were in stock. The following few weeks I kept getting phone calls indicating there were delays. Finally today....May 14...they are to be installed. I can understand why Sears is no longer the top retailer in the USA. Their customer service SUCKS. I had one rep hang up on me and another transferred me to God-knows-where. I am supposedly getting an "inconvenience gift card" from them but I'm not holding my breath. And even if I do get it, it won't calm me down from my pissed-offedness. Anyway, the installer's name is Jose. Major points right there. I hope he's hot. I was hoping it would be David, the guy who installed my washer/dryer last year. (I was just scanning my posts, thinking that I had blogged about it but evidently I kept the tattooed Hispanic god for my own personal fantasies!)
Oh and it's the oven/cooktop purchase that prevented me from taking additional time in SF. Ugh.
In three weeks I will once again be walking in the Arthritis Foundation's Let's Keep Moving walk to raise money and awareness for this debilitating disease. I usually wait until this time to start asking for donations; this was a mistake because at work we're in the middle of our Workplace Giving campaign. Ugh. I did give myself a shameless plug in my staff meeting yesterday. I'm sure I've mentioned this before but my mom has osteoarthritis and she's the reason I walk. Besides, it's a fun little event and this is the third year it will be at the Santa Monica pier. I haven't raised much money - enough to get the obligatory event t-shirt - but it's getting more and more difficult to raise funds. It's no wonder none of the diseases and conditions get cured. We all know the government isn't helping.
Earlier in the week I saw my doctor. Most of my numbers - kidney, blood sugar, cholesterol, blood pressure - were good. Only one number wasn't: my weight. Since becoming smoke-free back in August, I've gained weight. I know I need to do something; I just can't find the motivation. It doesn't help to have a mother who nags about it or friends who think they are my mother. I understand they love me and merely want me healthy and alive but I'm not exactly stupid. The scary thing is, I saw a friend of mine the other night and he kept telling me how hot I look. How are we supposed to do what's right - lose weight, eat correctly, exercise, et cetera - when the only time we're told we're hot is when we tip the scales at our heaviest?
Another strange thing: I've gained readers without posting! I'm not sure what that's about but for those of you who have joined - welcome!
To all my stalwart followers, thanks for hanging in there. Like I say in my picture above: I love you.
BEHR HUGS!
I like the starkness and forlornness of today's favorite. Perhaps it was shot for a cologne advertisement a la Calvin Klein or a dust jacket cover photo for a crime novel. Whatever the original intent, I see a bit of loneliness and sadness in it. I can relate.
When I was five years old, I made my first friend in kindergarten: his name was Kirk and he was a redhead. And I loved Kirk. I called him "Cookie." I vaguely remember being invited to his birthday party - probably because we were in the same class rather than his actual wanting me to be there.
Evidently the Rapture didn't happen. As you're all aware, Harold Camping predicted that those folks who were pure (or Christian or whatever) would be "taken" and the rest of us would be destroyed by earthquake. Camping is a nutcase and I think everyone - or almost everyone - knew it. I feel sorry for his followers who were insistent that it was going to happen. If Camping knew anything he'd know not to fuck with God. The Book of Revelations - presumably the same place Camping got his prediction - tells us that no one knows the day or hour. So a prediction for the end of the world is pretty lame. Still, I'm glad that it didn't happen because I like my life, even if I'm not the best person.
Yes! I'm alive! And this picture - taken with Photobooth - proves I'm alive and well. I apologize for the long overdue update. Let's get to it:
