Breath of Fresh Beer

Let me just say, I’m very glad to have a friend like Aries. She helped me talk through my Orpheus-angst last night over dinner (which was delicious), and I think that I’m formulating some positive relationship goals of my own as a consequence. More on that, later, when I’m done with RelationshipRes 1.0. The one problem with last night was the consumption of mass quantities of alcohol. Aside from feeling akin to a Cone-Head, my noggin feels as if it’s both 10 lbs. heavier and lighter than normal, with a tintinnabulation that so musically wells from my dust-dry, over-exerted circulatory system. Three beers and 2/3 of a bottle of wine BAD. But, with the help of the natural miracle that is caffine, (and plenty of water,) I’m winning through. Hell, I’m even managing to not be so down in the dumps today. Just don’t tell anybody… I might get a reputation for positive thinking.

Vanilla Pride... And Prejudice

My work friend A. found a new job, and today she gave notice early, and was sent home by 9 AM. I’m really sad, and not only because it’s so quiet here, now. She and I kind of depended on one another for support, and she gets to start over. I’m still stuck here, though, which sucks. I’m glad for her, but damn… This makes it that much harder to come to work in the morning. On the upside, Aries and I are having dinner again this evening. I’m teaching her to make fat-free cream of asparagus soup w/vegetarian stock, and marinated, pan-seared salmon with orange-dill sour cream. Paired with a nice white Bordeaux, I may just be able to forget about all this bullshit for the evening. Here’s hoping, anyway…

Orpheus and I seem to be at an impasse, but he doesn’t see it yet. He reacts to this situation by attempting to change something (anything,) about our diet and (lack of) physical activity level… Maybe it will help to jump-start things. I certainly hope so. But I’m not sure. Something feels very sunset about us right now. Hell, maybe it’s my inability to figure out anything to do about said feeling, my rage at feeling trapped in this god-forsaken job, trapped in choices I can’t undo. But O. is either a better person than me, or just younger and not yet defeated by life. Alternately, he could be dumb, but I seriously doubt it. Nobody who fucks like he does, reads like he does, and just plain lives like him is stupid. He’s so amazingly energetic regarding literature, music, culture. I wish he were a little better at cleaning up after himself, too, but then I fail on that point as well. I guess the deal is, I feel odd about us right now, but if he’s willing to put up with me, I’ll give at least as much as he does, because I love him and want him to thrive. You can’t thrive if you’re the only one giving in a relationship. I won’t let him do that to himself again, not with me. He deserves better than his other two longer-term boyfriends, and even if we do go our separate ways, I will embody better.

Speaking of long-term anything, the process continues to get Orpheus invited to Thanksgiving at my sisters’ house. She’s currently talking to Komponist about the possibility of turning suburbian St. Joe into a Nichols-family abbatoir for the holiday, given Dad’s inflexibility on the subject of my sexuality. Maybe, given what I’ve said above, it’ll be better than I think (aka, Orpheus and I may not still be escaping the underworld come November), or it’ll just GO better (if we are still a we). If Dad isn’t in his context, he’ll be nicer. Mom just wants to meet O., and would love him because I love him. This is how Mom works. Komponist doesn’t have any reservations about me being bi, but I’d understand not wanting a drunken former band director, beet-red in the face, hurling mashed potatoes in the dining room while making the neighbors blush with his screamed curses. That would be something I’d fear, too, honestly, and I’m not afraid of Dad anymore… But then, I can’t do good patchwork with plaster and paint, and neither can K.

To bring the tone back up to zero, I should share that I’ve just found the most freakishly over-marketed thing hanging from the outside of a co-worker’s cubicle… It’s a pine tree shaped car freshener, imprinted with the stars and stripes (it looks like a cutout of the bottom corner of the star-field, catching some of the stripes), and printed with the legend, “Vanilla Pride,” reeking like the Candle Barn at low tide. It made me laugh for a good five minutes. I needed that.

Weekend of Wonders, Elbow of Limitation

So, this weekend was pretty rockin,’ overall. Friday was a death march at work, as we had to call zero activity accounts and attempt to entice them with yet another bloody promo. Needless to say, that with near 30 of us doing our thing, this push only generated one sale. Nice, right? And we have to do it again tomorrow. It’ll be horrifyingly painful, but hey, no pain no gain. Anyway, after work, I was demoralized and dejected. I figured I’d just pass out, which didn’t happen, and then figured that Orpheus and I would just bicker all night about what we had planned… Fortunately, this didn’t happen either. The only real negative was that we had to eat at McDonalds on the way to the movies, as we didn’t have enough time for real food. Once we got to Star Cinemas, however, we saw…

BATMAN: THE DARK KNIGHT. And it was hot. White-hot, even. Folks really weren’t lying when they said it was a tour-de-force performance by Heath Ledger. Hell, if said disturbed hottie had survived his suicide attempt, everybody would still be excited by this performance… He’d still be on the short list for the Oscar. Heath took all the best things about Jack Nicholson’s Joker, made them his own, then expanded the role, tilting it crazier, more chaotic. Then there was the dirty and menacing, dangerously unstable angle. This joker wasn’t a kingpin. He was a visionary dabbler, a sadistic plotter of one-offs cleverly crafted to cause maximal chaos.

Poor Christian Bale got to do all the character development he’d ever be allowed in the last movie, and is now locked in the role of every legend of members of the gentry who want to help despite the social order… Zorro, Robin Hood, etc… These guys have wicked cases of Noblese Oblige, a lot of money and even some influence, but not enough of any of it to make a difference without a mask. They are strong, tortured albeit boring figures. Ledger’s Joker, on the other hand, didn’t grow up with money or parents responsible enough to teach him the Dog/God dichotomy… Therefore, the role had so much possibility. Oh, well. Bale’s been the bride before, so he’ll just have to play matron of honor stiff-lipped this time. Hopefully, they will figure out a way to give him more options in the next movie. The only thing that disappointed me was the Two-Face story line. I honestly think it sucked.

On Saturday, while Orpheus worked, I cooked with Bulgaria in preparation for Opera in the Park, a big promo that the Madison Opera does each year as a seasonal preview. They bring in a passel of principals from the upcoming shows, who each do three or so numbers and a couple big group sings with some annoying Three-Tenors type pop-crap for “flavor.” Either way, there are always some great favorites sung, and the small show this year is Cosi Fan Tutti, so we got to hear the initial female duet from the opera executed beautifully by a stunning Mezzo with earth-shattering control and rich, smoky tone, and a marginal blonde diva. It was a good picnic, and it was nice to cook with Bulgaria. It’s been awhile since we’d seen one another external to roleplaying, which we also discussed at length in the kitchen. B. is headed home at the beginning of September, so time is short. O. and I collapsed in a heap on my bed and just slept. It was nice, but sexually frustrating.

Sunday morning was rushed, with a quick fuck fitted in sensibly yet somewhat unexcitingly before a hasty breakfast of underdone eggs. We had to rush, pick up BakedAlaska and Bulgaria, drop off O., and get to ROLEPLAYING for the final installation of our two year campaign!!! We defeated Kyuss the Wormgod fairly easily upon his emergence from the monolith in which he’d been imprisoned, but only because Patrick, our lynchpin character, sacrificed himself to consume the god’s essence. Otherwise, Kyuss would’ve played with us until we were all dead. He’d already killed one of our number, and was well on the way to getting another. From there, it was a short trip to all of us littering the ground (or, worse yet, rising up off of it as undead), and consumption of the multiverse. Anyway, DungeonMaster was kind enough to tell us what transpired over the next fifty years of our lives. Cunegonde apparently went back to the mountain freehold of her clan, and founded a great center of higher learning. Eventually, she left to fight primitive, powerful evils throughout the mult-iverse at the behest of Bahamat, one of the five progenitor gods. After the game, we gathered at The Great Dane to say goodbye to Bulgaria and Leo, both of whom are moving soon. Leo is starting grad school in San Diego next year, and will be moving in two weeks. A good time was had by all.

Unfortunately, both Orpheus and I were too tired for more satisfying sex last night, which means I have to wait until he’s done working at 11 tonight for more of him, warm and sleepy next to me in bed. Sleepy being the operative, I’d imagine. More sex, less sleeping. This shall be the order of the evening!!! Hopefully, Chemie will also get back to me, as I emailed her earlier asking if O. would like tickets to the only performance in WI of She & Him on the 8th of August for his 24th birthday, along with his High School Musical collectors dolls (which are being bought as a half-joke… He really likes the movies, and yet turns his nose up at early Andrew Lloyd Webber… Hmmm). I’m also still planning the dinner. Perhaps Trout Meunierre Amandine, or somesuch. Also, I want to find out where all of his friends are hiding so I can invite them to dinner. Dumb fuckers are all out of town. O. is starting to get really depressed, because everyone he knows is gone. We’ll just have to find him more friends, I guess.

Belated Work-Friendships and sundry…

Keeping you all up to date on everything Little-monkey-like hasn’t been easy in the last few weeks. The slow recovery of my ability to type, to rotate my right wrist, and lift coffee mugs to my mouth has hardly kept apace with my need to kick ass and take names at work. This has been… detrimental to my blogging. So, I’ll begin by recounting a wonderful thing that happened last Thursday with my work friend, Aries. Aries is M., the wonderful woman who tries to help everyone who’s hurt here at work. Lately, with my broken wing, another’s broken ankle, and a bevy of other ailments in this apparently cursed department, being so kind has taken a great deal of forbearance. Partially to say thank you for helping when it was needed, and partially because we’d been talking about doing it for awhile, we cooked dinner together, ostensibly to teach her how to deal with tofu (a trick I only figured out a few weeks ago). She’s been a vegetarian for about two decades, and never figured it out!

We had a great conversation while walking to obtain and then drinking a few beers, and a great deal of fun cooking together. I took the opportunity to teach her how to chop shit up properly, the best way to hold knives, and even sharpened her OK Santoku for her, so she wouldn’t hurt herself using it. She seemed to learn well, and successfully completed the cooking of the tofu on the second side by herself without destroying it (this was a significantly better job than I on my first attempt). Her stove sucks almost as much as mine in terms of hot-spots, which made me both more sympathetic to her non-tofu-cooking plight as a veggie, and proud of this feat of cookery. After dinner, which was a spicy marinated pseudo-Chinese tofu with vegetables in hoisin sauce, we kept talking, and discovered that we have quite a bit in common, indeed, including a love of gab… And gossip. Being co-workers, this developed into a lovely, incestuous secret-fest the likes of which I haven’t indulged in since such time as I first met Terra Firma. We have plans to cook again as, to my great relief, she shared that she is, in fact, a pescaterian. This means I can actually continue to teach her shit about life in the kitchen. Unfortunately, I can’t help her with fancy-ass vegetarian cooking. All the fancy-ass stuff I do involves real meat, so fish is about as far as I can go. But considering how much frozen crap we had to pull out of her freezer to firm up the tofu… She needs some kitchen skillz.

Next time we cook, I’ll teach her a basic fish marinade for just about anything, and we’ll do a sautéed salmon w/orange-dill sour cream, and fat-free cream of asparagus soup. I love fat-free sour cream. It’s the bloody bomb-diggidy. Other than that, nothing new to report. Orpheus and I putter along, and it seems my arm is putting less stress on him, lately. This makes me happy, as I hate causing him distress. The last time I broke a bone, I had a mother, and was at an acceptable age to be babied. I cannot claim such any longer. I’ve made my initial appointment for physical therapy, and look forward to a great deal of painful crap there. Hopefully, all will be well. I’ll write again soon.

Wedding wonders, sans pics (sans camera)…

Dagmar's wedding was wonderful. Beyond wonderful, even. Transcendent, amazing, restful (spiritually, in any case), effervescent with positive emotion. Being who I am, though, and rather liking the limelight, it was difficult to back out and let the bride shine, though I somehow managed. She reminded me (jokingly,) a couple times while we were out that it was all about her. I simply tried to take that to heart, and remembered what I was there for… Her. It was a lot easier than I expected to step aside.

Everything started with the drive which, while not terribly pleasant (me being one-armed and all), wasn't nearly as bad as I'd imagined. As per usual, I got through Chicago with a minimum of hassle. It was construction SURROUNDING the city, in other states, even, that tacked an extra half-hour onto my trip. Otherwise, it would've been a spec drive… Five and a half hours, door-to-door. When I got home, it was about 2:30 AM EST. Naturally, I was so caffeinated, it took an extra two hours for the sleeping pills to put me under... I bummed about online, running into Orpheus on a web chat we both frequent occasionally. We talked for a bit, especially regarding the losers hitting on us (sometimes concurrently), then I finally got tired enough to sleep… After two glasses of whisky, compliments of Dad's liquor cabinet. The parents weren't yet home.

On Thursday, I got up early, around nine, and did errands, lunch and such with my good friend L., who was one of the unholy triad with Dagmar and I in High School. We picked up my tux, matched a swatch of dark pink cotton to the vest, bought a ton of pink tulle and a headband w/beads for a bridal disaster headdress for Dagmar to wear out on the town, and hunkered down with alcohol for the afternoon, trading stories and bashing people for fun whilest L. sewed. Later, we picked up L.'s altered (read: hacked and remade better, stronger, faster, tighter,) dress from her good friend C., who went out with us later on. By the time the bachelorette party was on, we were ripped and ready. After picking up the bride, we went downtown to a place called, appropriately enough, 'Drink,' for a retro pastiche night. It was mostly eighties, but there were some '90's remixes and just plain retro neuvo-80's brand new trash thrown in, too. Usually, I feel super-fat when I'm at home, as all the faggots in Grand Rapids are tall skinny blonde Dutch boys with full heads of hair. This time, though, ALL the boys in the room were practically drooling on themselves over me, arm-in-a-sling, no less! It felt good, and I enjoyed the attention, while secretly laughing because none of them had enough badonkadonk for my tastes. It was a wonderful night. I ended up dancing with C. for most of the evening, and talking to a really neat Dominican lady who goes out to practice her English while shaking her groove thang.

It should be mentioned that I met the most remarkable people in the wedding party, and outside of it last weekend, all somehow related to the wedding, even if just in the capacity of tailoring. I already knew L., of course, and had met France, Dagmar's college roommate, once briefly in, like, 2002. She now lives, appropriately enough, in the country unsubtly suggested by her moniker, and speaks both elegantly and fluently in her adopted tongue. France brought her hot boyfriend, Marseilles (so named for his city of residence), who spoke excellent English, despite his protests to the contrary, and is a med-student to boot (Ooh-la-la!). Flora was another bridesmaid, and was the most remarkably self-aware hippie type I've ever met. She's training as an arts-based therapist, and if I weren't dating Orpheus, I'd have made a pass. Really, though, it's a good thing I'm dating O. on many levels, 'cause I don't think Dagmar would've forgiven me for internecine bridal party sex. The party was rounded out by D.'s older sister, HarvardMasters, and A., her sister-in-law. I'd met both before, and it was very neat to reconnect, as well as with the families as a whole.

Friday was decadent. We kickstarted via Mimosas during a free spa-day w/pedicures and manicures. There was even a buffet, and we had our own private room. One of Dagmar's single aunts treats her nieces and nephews' wedding parties with such extravagant unction the day before nuptials, as a gift. I was the only one who got to get my nails simply buffed. All the girls looked like a pink fondant cake had thrown up on their hands and feet, but in a good way. France was constantly, self-consciously hand modeling everything for herself and others, half-drunkenly, all day long. By the time the rehearsal rolled around, we were all in stitches! Figuring that a Catholic ceremony, even one that wasn't full Mass, would be far more regimented than a Methodist wedding, which is the only ceremony I've run through before, I was quite surprised. It wasn't difficult at all. We only went through once, and it was very simple. The minister at my wedding drilled us like some sort of demented sergeant who hated us, his worst-ever crop of recruits. Over and over and over, like monkeys with miniature cymbals, we marched the isles, nervous that we'd fuck up and have to start over. Monsignor, however, seemed pleasantly drunk, and was easy to talk to.

The groom's dinner wasn't fancy, but it was great! A fajita bar at the local senior center, unfortunately alcohol free. There was, however, plenty of coffee. It's not like I was about to discover a new secret of cuisine there, but I wish all my tex-mex tasted that good. We all got neat party presents. The girls got little pink clutch bags that matched their nails, and the guys (including me,) were all given beautiful SIGG bottles so we don't die of leached chemicals from PVC water bottles. My design is called "The Flight," and is an attractive maroon, w/a tan bird, flying away from a tree with stylized leaf-swirls trailing behind it. It's super-pretty!

Later on, the bridal party (and Marseilles, as he had no place else to go), were to have a kind of bridal vigil with Dagmar in the suite she and her man were to share the following night. Turns out, Dagmar was unhappy because very, very tired, and didn't want us partying in the suite. So, we faithful bridespeople drew her a bath, and after she came back from dealing with family for awhile, left her to soak, and did a little walking tour of the Grand River walk, moseying on over to a lovely microbrewery I'd never heard of nearby. We talked, got to know one another better, and in general got our kumbayaya's out so as not to turn our lovely D. into Bridezilla. It worked. She didn't sleep a lot, but that was just nerves in general. She appreciated the alone time, and we got our energy pushed healthily.

The day of the wedding, I had time for a short breakfast with my parents and sister at home. We reconvened at the church, which was a beautiful, spare new catholic church out in the middle of a cornfield. L. helped me don my tux, and gave me the finished pink sling to match my vest and tie. It looked fantastic. People kept commenting on it all night. The wedding was beautiful, and I got to meet so many people who were special to Dagmar and her guy who, I must admit, I kind of have a little man-crush on, due to his perfect dorkiness. They had the weirdest automatic bubble machine at the church, and a wind kicked up as D. walked out the door, so she was swathed in thousands of spheres composed of environmentally friendly (this, proudly stated by the church's wedding coordinator,) surfactants. The reception, which we'd helped to decorate for the night before, was delightful, and the toasts heartfelt. I met another wonderful person, M., who has a three year old daughter, and was kind enough to cut my pork for me when I was having trouble. Despite the broken wing, I boogied with the best of them, and helped to close down the reception.

Afterwards, I made the mistake of going out for drinks with L. and her awesome BF, J. To make a long story short, we went to a really shitty, seedy bar for Karaoke, I didn't get to sing my song, and I lost my camera, along with all the wedding pictures. Relax, I think I can get the camera back… I was transporting a REALLY drunk girl to the bar, asked her to hold it, and stuff kept falling out of her purse onto the floor of the car. I think it made its' way into said bag. There's only one problem, and that is that she lives in Mississippi. So, FedEx ho, I guess. I just have to wait a couple more days for Dagmar to come out of Honeymoon-hiding to get the girl's number, and then I'll be all set.

Sunday morning, I got to spend a little time with my parents before coming home. It was nice. Since getting home, my right arm has improved greatly each day. It's spending more time out of the sling, and I can finally cook on my own again (and, more importantly, chop). Though I love my big knives most, I still find it easiest to use my small santoku. Oh, well. THe Doctor should be calling me next week to set me up with PT. Wish me luck!

Wedding, ho! New job?...

So, yesterday during the day was an emotional blitzkrieg which I think I weathered well, all told. The long and short of it is, I’m being put on an action plan at work, to “bring my performance into line with other members of the department.” This, despite the fact that my territory is both larger and needs different kinds of care than other territories. I’m expected, apparently, to work twice as hard as anybody else here for no good reason just to stay employed. And I don’t get paid well enough for that. Plus, Terra Firma STILL doesn’t have a job, and won’t pick up after herself… And the couch is unpleasantly TF scented, lately. But I’m headed to MI tonight after work, so I’m putting all that shit out of mind for the time being, because...

I’M IN DAGMAR’S WEDDING!!! The famed S., of whom I’ve spoken before, was known by Dagmar in our first year German class in high school. Therefore, she shall henceforth be known as Dagmar here, as well. Dagmar and L., who shall now be known as Flighty (not as bad as it sounds… she’s the kind of hyperactive that makes hanging out interesting, especially now that we can drink legally), were my best friends in HS. It’s been a long time, now, but I’m happy to still count them amongst the very few people who I consider true friends.

Anyway, more later! Wish me luck with the drive…

Fourth of What?

“Speak up, I can’t hear you!,” is what I’d have been saying at about 10:30PM on Friday if Orpheus and I had bothered with fireworks. Fortunately, we did not, so my annual case of tinnitus is postponed for an alternate event. Instead, we picnicked with one of my coworkers who had friends and family over for a good five-hour chunk of the afternoon. It was very nice, and even O. seemed to be having a really good time until right near the end. We left, ostensibly so that I could whack myself off with pain meds, but really due to the fact that we didn’t want to get caught watching the fireworks. M., the coworker, lives directly across the street from the largest fireworks display in Madison, you see, which is why this was both the coolest and the worst 4th party I’ve ever been invited to. Cool, because of location and conversation, worst due to my hesitance to watch fireworks/ruin my ears and lungs for a good week solid. I do, after all, have to make it to GR in one piece on Wednesday.

Let’s see… Other than that, there wasn’t much to this weekend, except that Orpheus fucked my brains out in a good way, and our sexual experimentation goes apace. Also, I was hit on by a really hot guy at the Apple store… Who then attempted to get me to apply part-time. As if! Though, I would get a wicked discount…

meh

It has been a difficult week. I saw the doctor today, after spending my first night since the hideous happening by myself, sucking down chicken fingers with ketchup… Just like some culinary-clueless straight boy, even my drink of choice was twist-off cap beer instead of a carefully aired red. Sadly, I was watching The Tudors, so dinner just left me feeling low-brow AND horny. Follow that up with a never-ending, no connections pre-holiday workday, including a visit to the doctor, and wow, am I feeling low! Fortunately, the doctor gave me some sleeping pills so I can get a decent night’s rest. Unfortunately, he says I should stay in the sling for three full weeks, which means a pink sling at S.’s wedding!

Anyway, more later. I’m bored.