Friday, November 13, 2015

Intruder Alert!

Here's to the end of a busy week. On the same day that I had a six-month dental cleaning and check-up, it seems I'd also scheduled an annual physical with my new primary care physician, Dr. Doogie. Dr. Doogie isn't as smoldering hot as the recently retired Dr. Dilf, but he's young and cute in an adorably dorky kind of way.

While making small talk, it turned out Dr. Doogie and I were in Munich at the same time for Oktoberfest. In fact, we were at the same tent on Gay Day. It's not surprising that we didn't see each other in all the craziness, but picturing Dr. Doogie singing drinking songs in lederhosen began to make him seem more attractive to me.

As he continued his examination, palpating this and tapping that, Dr. Doogie regaled me with a particularly bawdy anecdote of one of his visits to the men's urinal troughs. As hot as good old Dr. Dilf was, my exams with him were all business and I never came close to chubbing in his presence. But on this visit I was trying very hard to think unsexy thoughts as Dr. Doogie rolled my testicles between his thumb and fingers.

I was relieved when it was time to turn away and lean over the examination table. Dr. Doogie continued his story as he gloved his hand and lubed it up. I was becoming alarmed as my half-hard was quickly approaching three-quarters. This never happened to me before. Then again, I never had a doctor tell me stories about gay german public restroom sex while I was naked. Did he know what he was doing to me? I rested my forehead on my folded arms and waited for the intrusion.

And then it happened. Just as he reached my prostate, alarm bells went off. It took me a second to realize the ringing wasn't in my head.

"Are you kidding me?" Dr. Doogie asked rhetorically as he snapped off his glove and excused himself from the examination room. I took the opportunity to pull my shorts on and hastily arrange my shame. He came back a half minute later to explain the office building was having a fire drill. "Since it's just a drill, I guess you can put your clothes on," he winked. He stayed with me as I quickly dressed and put my shoes on, and then he escorted me out of the building to a far corner of the parking lot.

While waiting for the all-clear, we laughed about the timing of it all. "This is definitely a first for me," Dr. Doogie said, and then joked "My first thought was that I tripped some sort of intruder alarm."

"Yes, I finally had to get one of those installed," I replied. "It's a bad neighborhood."

Thursday, October 15, 2015

Who Let The Dogs In?

Atlanta's Gay Pride celebration was last weekend and my post-pride buzz, just like all the glitter, is slow to dissipate. What made this year's Pride extra-sparkly was the presence of none other than Denver's very adorable Stevie B. It was like what I imagine experiencing a double rainbow would be like.

While I've been to visit Stevie in Denver and we've also vacationed together, this was my first chance to show him my world. I was a little nervous about this because – and I'm letting you in on a little secret here – my life isn't nearly as exciting and glamorous as I let on.

Also, as we're in the midst of home renovations, my hospitality skills were severely challenged. Imagine Martha Steward without a kitchen, confined to an empty shell of a living space with merely a toilet, a cot and wi-fi as her only conveniences. Go ahead, just try to imagine that.

Despite the challenges, I think the weekend went pretty well. There were a few things, however, I think I could have done better. Over the past few day's I've been compiling a list of areas of improvement for Stevie's next visit:

1.) More food stops. It was on the cruise when I first began to notice that Stevie has the metabolism of a hummingbird. As such, he needs small amounts of nutrition delivered in near-constant intervals. If Stevie goes more than two hours without eating, he loses his ability to hover. I should have been more prepared. Fortunately the Pride festival in the park provided ample opportunities for caloric intake. And I do love me some funnel cake!

2.) Less homophobes. Upon entering Piedmont Park to enjoy the festivities, we were called "dogs" by a particularly nasty street preacher. I've never been called a dog before. All I could say was, "woof!" We all had a good laugh about it, but who needs ugly homophobes putting a dent in our southern hospitality? Next time we'll look for a non-churchy entrance to the park.

3.) No Facts of Life. While waiting for the Eagle to open Saturday night, I was super excited for my chance to actually watch Doctor Who in the same room as Stevie B. I tuned the telly to BBC America only to have Stevie inform me that he can only watch new episodes with his roommate, Mikey. Something about some sort of "pact" they have, and watching it without Mike would feel like cheating on him. In my jealous, passive-aggressive petulance I turned the channel to a Facts of Life marathon on Logo. And left it there. For hours. Until it was time to go to the Eagle. Yeah, I'm definitely not proud of that. Especially now that I can't get that damn theme song out of my head.

The funny thing is that I couldn't tell if it even bothered Stevie in the least, as he seemed to enjoy every minute of it.

Despite these few glitches, I had a fabulous visit with Stevie B and I can only hope he enjoyed it as much as we did. After all, one can't expect everything to go perfectly, right? Sometimes you have to take the good with the bad, you take them both and there you have... Goddammit.

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

All The Help I Can Get

Entering week three of our kitchen remodel and progress seems to have slowed to a crawl. This morning we had an appointment with the general contractor to discuss the ramifications to our previously agreed-upon timeline. Being the natural "good cop" to my husband's bad cop, I picked up coffee and a dozen "Hot Now" Krispy Kremes to make our meeting more pleasant. By the time he showed up at 1pm, poor Jimmy found three cold donuts and two bad cops.

I know we're not his only client, and I know contractors tend to spread themselves thin. And I'd already warned JB a one-month estimate is contractor-speak for two and a half months. So I listened to the usual litany of excuses. But then Jimmy said something I found odd. "After a lot of prayer this weekend, it's all starting to work out."

I'm not sure, but I think he's praying for our kitchen. That's nice.

Then I mentioned I might be gone for a few days as I'm hoping I can get out of town this weekend for our annual pilgrimage to Munich for opening day of Oktoberfest. Jimmy said, "I don't know if you're a man of faith, but I'm sure if you ask for it, you'll be able to go."

To which I said, "I'm not about to waste the Good Lord's precious time asking for help getting to a beer festival."

But give me His number. I have a feeling I may need His help finding the right granite.

Stevie's room is coming along nice, don't you think?

Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Ignorance Was Bliss

"Abner! 115 is throwing construction debris
in the dumpster again!"
It's been a year now since I've been working full time from home. During this time I've gotten much more familiar with the comings and going of my neighbors than I care to admit. I work facing the window looking down onto our condominium courtyard, and I fear I'm gaining a reputation as the resident Gladys Kravits.

I'm not on our Home Owners Association board, but I may as well be. The board members know they can call on me during the day when the cable guy needs letting in or someone reports a gas leak. As new residents move in, they get the mistaken impression our building has concierge service and they've taken to calling me day and night.

I don't mind helping out, I really don't. The only problem I'm facing with being more active in our HOA is this... the knowledge. I was much happier living here before I knew so much about my neighbors.

My philosophy of harmonious community life has alway been simple: obey the Golden Rule. The problem comes when you realize some people look at the Golden Rule as a sucker's bet. Their philosophy seems to be "See how much I can get away with before someone says something, then continuously test those boundaries."

I don't enjoy sticking my nose into other people's business. In fact, confrontation comes about as naturally to me as cunnilingus. I know plenty of people that seem to get off telling other people what to do. The problem is those are usually the kind of people we don't want on our HOA board.

Now a lot of my neighbors are great. But sometimes it's the nice neighbors who disappoint me the most. Like the sweet couple who moved into 371 nine months ago and have yet to make a single dues payment. Or the elderly widow in 188 whose hoarding puts her in constant avalanche danger.

Or the friend I helped vote to the board because I respected her integrity who is now using her position of authority to flout the bylaws for her own selfish interests.

As much as it repulses me, looks like I'm going to have to hold my nose and dive in.

Monday, July 6, 2015

Impressions Of Rome: Tourists

Rome is awash with tourists.

This isn't a complaint; that would be hypocritical. I was actually relieved to see I wouldn't stick out like a sore American thumb. You see, when visiting other countries I prefer to blend in with the locals.

Take Germany for instance. For formal events I wear lederhosen. Activewear consists of wurst-enhancing spandex bike shorts and a long-sleeve t-shirt. For all other occasions I default to skinny jeans or capri pants, depending on the season.

But there's no way I could impersonate the typical Italian. Despite any cost savings not having to buy socks, one Armani scarf would wreck my travel budget. Buying sweaters to carry around without actually wearing is just wrong on principle. And I don't think they even make silk pants larger than 30, even for men.

Thank Jupiter there where tons of American tourists dressed way worse than I was.

And the tourists were everywhere. "Look at those losers with their selfie sticks," I chuckled to JB. Only JB wasn't there. I turned back to find him buying a selfie stick. Il Sigh. If there was one silver lining to having a selfie stick, it completely weaned JB from his habit of stopping complete strangers to ask to take our picture.

Back off ladies, he's all mine.