I Feel Sullied and Unusual

And I . . . kind of like it?

As of late, I've continued shedding the Sunday School girl that I once was. I mean, I'm pretty sure she hitched up her skirts and ran shrieking from her new self a long time ago, but I still surprise myself sometimes. Last week, Tardy and her twin sister (also a tech in the pharmacy) had a birthday party. At first I wasn't going to go, then I remembered that I told T I'd bring her the Hypnotiq she wanted and that it'd be sucky to flake. Also, I'm trying my damndest not to be a flake because of how much frustration I know it causes me when people bail out on plans, although I'm not naming any names *cough* Ah, bother. I went with Dix because A., she had no ride there and really wanted to go, and B., T lives out in the middle of BumFuck, Egypt and I had no idea how to get there, she did. But I'd made up my mind to just get there, wish the girls happy birthday, and stay just long enough to not be rude and before everyone started going batcrap nuts.

So of course it made sense that two and a half hours later, after Dix took my phone away from me, I was slumped against T's husband's truck while he handed me a bottle of water and put a cold compress on my neck, assuring me that I had nothing to apologize for, even after I got rather disgustingly ill in the yard to everyone's amusement. I don't really remember how I got into the house and on the couch, although I learned later it was a former Voldemort employee who helped me inside. Honestly all I remember is him telling me not to step in the Jell-O on the kitchen floor. I also woke up in the morning to find that I'd sent Pip a text message that basically said “I wish you were here because I wanna do bad things to you.” I vaguely remember screaming at Dixie “TELL HIM I LOVE HIM. OH MY GOD TELL HIM. YOU'LL TELL HIM, RIGHT??!?!” after she had taken my phone away for the night and said she was going to blame herself for the nasty message I just sent, even though I fessed up to it later. When I looked in the mirror I discovered that someone had used colorstay lipstick to draw a penis on my face, with a heart above it. Definitely not my proudest moments at all, but I think I'll always look back on it fondly – my first, and hopefully last blackout.

And then we come to – he whom I shall call Lab Rat. Not that he lets people do science experiments on him (well, that I know if, anyways), but he works in the photo lab and for some reason reminds me just a teensy bit of a rat, but that's ok, because rats don't really squick me too much. He works in photo lab and has gotten shamelessly flirtatious with me over the past few months, mostly through Facebook. I forget when he started with the random smiley-only messages, but that went on for an insane amount of time and somehow morphed into him asking to see my boobs O_O. That's a hells to the no, so I sent him a very ugly photoshop I found instead, with the face on a girl's stomach and huge eyeballs on the tits. It really is very disturbing and he was appropriately freaked out by my Bazinga. And in all seriousness, no one is ever, ever getting a picture of my tits. One doesn't exist, one never will. But this weirdness continues. He's randomly stopped me to ask for a hug, said “I love you”, and once stopped me on my way out to give me a shoulder massage. This has all got me rather freaked out, to put it un-elegantly. Don't get me wrong, he's pretty. He's soooo pretty. But he just seems a little quirky and insecure, or worse, gun shy like Pip, and the undying 'show me your boobs' thing is a little off-putting. But my main reason for feeling a bit odd is the simple and ridiculous fact that he's 22 and I'm a little over a year from 30. Is that weird of me? Unfair? It's not as if he's been following me around being mushy and disgustingly lovelorn, we simply have agreed that each of us finds the other pleasing to the mortal eye. And while I certainly do enjoy the attention, the whole thing horrifies me and makes me feel just a little dirty and ashamed. I'm fairly confident that it'd be easy to just give in to this kid and make out with him like there's no tomorrow, but then I remind myself that I am a nearly thirty year old virgin with nary an experience with anything beyond a comfortable hug or drunken snuggles. The idea of having a first experience of any kind with someone barely old enough to graduate college makes me feel ashamed an inadequate. I'd always wanted an older man, or at least one closer to my age, to do all that for me, to teach me . . . things. It's no secret here that I'd had my sights set on the friendly neighborhood produce guy for that task, but I think he'd sooner be interested in letting me put lipstick on him. And believe me, I've actually tried to put lipstick on him – he wound up running halfway across a pub parking lot, and this was with him moderately smashed.

Loosely-moraled man-slut, Y U NO LET ME IN UR PANTS? He's either gay or I'm just not trashy enough for him O_o

Gods, this is one of those times when having been so sheltered growing up really sucks. I'm having this fantastic sexual tension thing going on, mutually for once, and I have no idea what to do about it. 

Wherein I Question The Existence of God

Just what it says on the label, folks.

It's odd how something small can trigger an emotional breakdown. Yesterday after coming home from work, I went outside to feed Bea, my Dad's big dog, and my cat, Mort. As I was headed back to the house, I noticed the two small dogs wandering around out front - normally they can't go out there, but Mom had left the gates wide open when she drove a load of hay to the shed. No biggie, I called them and they came toodling over like the faithful little furballs they are, only my dog, Strider, spotted them just then. I love Strider like a child, but I'll be honest, he does really freaking dumb things sometimes. Apparently the sight of Meeko and Annie in the front yard reminded him that the front yard existed, and he decided he had to be in it, right then. So he darted. Maybe he wanted to take a stroll down past Karla's house, too, just because. Regardless, despite my calling and calling, he was and he wasn't coming back anytime soon. More than likely he just went underneath of our doublewide, but I was still infuriated beyond reason by that point. This isn't the first time he's pulled this, and it probably won't be the last. It was just the straw I needed on top of a frustrating day at work dealing with the unwashed, ignorant, uneducated masses and Shorty being a ditz as well. (Really, you don't know how close I was to telling my boss that I was first going to throw her over the counter if she didn't stop messing around and help me, and after she was over the counter, I would be walking out and leaving for the day, the last hour be damned).

So I had a bad day at work, and my dog was being an ornery brat. This obviously brought to my attention that life sucks and everything bad happens to me and I had a sort of meltdown. Why can't Strider just obey me? Why does he go under the house where it's filthy and dangerous and there are things he can break when the alternative is being inside the house with a love seat, a/c, and table scraps? Why are most of our customers hairy assholes bent on making everyone else miserable? Why, when I had gotten a nice bit of money saved and sent off a really huge payment to the auto loan company because I want to pay off my vehicle faster, did it have to flood for the first time in over a hundred years and make me miss three days of work? Come to that, we were pretty lucky in that flood. Sure, we had a horrible case of cabin fever, but we didn't sink any vehicles, our house is dry, our animals are ok, and we never even lost power. But other people lost everything. Their whole homes engulfed in flood water, everything ruined, pets drowned. One of my neighbors/coworkers drove her SUV into a 'puddle' in the road. The puddle turned out to be deeper than it looked, she and her sister narrowly escaped the vehicle and found themselves almost neck deep in water. This was about a mile away. Another coworker ruined her truck when she drove into a similar flooded road because she was desperate to get at her insulin-dependent father's house to see if he was ok. And as always, there were a few casualties.

Sure, we can say "Well, be grateful, it could be worse!", but why would a loving God let something like this happen to begin with? I'm sure all those people didn't deserve to lose their homes and their cars. The business owners didn't need to be ruined right now. A sinkhole didn't need to open up under a courthouse that has stood in Live Oak since 1904. The Cranky Pharmacist™ said he went down one of the flooded highways today and saw people operating bulldozers with arms, using the arms to scoop out furniture and other things just floating in the water. There are cars submerged in water along the road I used to take to town every day and rumor has it that there is a semi in there somewhere as well. Are we really supposed to look at all this destruction and disaster and say "O, what a great and merciful God we serve!" just because He didn't kill or injure me? Granted, I'm not really happy about the three days work missed, either. When you work where I do, three days really HURTS.

At least twice since, I have gotten lost simply driving home from work because of the weird detours I have to take and had no idea where I was. I had breakdowns then, too. If God cared about me so much, why would he let me get lost? Why does he let people be assholes to me and my friends at work? Why is it, every time I start to get ahead, something like this happens and I end up with skeletal funds yet again and have to start all over? Why am I pushing 29 and still living with my parents while other people are not only living comfortably on their own, but have also managed to find a companion to share life with? Ugh. I keep repeating to myself "There is no God. No God would let this kind of injustice happen. If there is a God, He obviously hates me and is a narcissistic dick."

Although, something tells me that if I really believed that, I wouldn't be screaming at the sky in the next breath, cursing said nacissistic god and asking Him "Why?!" But I really am starting to think He's just not as attentive as the baptist preachers would have me believe . . .

The Wonderful Chaos of Daily Life . . . also I am not a doormat!

Sickness. I can't decide whether I love or hate it. Mostly, it's a pain in the derriere,  to be sure, but there's something so satisfying about curling up in bed in the middle of the day and letting sweet, drug-induced sleep take me over. I've had a nagging cough for the past few weeks, at first shrugging it off as allergies. Unfortunately I could feel my chest starting to crackle and rattle late last week, so I finally sucked it up and went to the Dr. last Wednesday, even if it did mean making my day over 14 hours long from waking up to pulling back into the driveway. Turns out I have acute infectious bronchitis and get to spend 5 days on Z-Pack and even longer on Cheratussin, huzzah for me! Even with the meds, I showed up to work last Thursday morning feeling less than stellar and on a most unfortunate high from the cough syrup. After two hours, Strawberry and Student (who is back for the summer and working with us most days, which is a really good thing) were telling me they were about ready to drag me out and take me home themselves, as I sounded worse today than I did the day before. I at least stayed until after Shorty had gotten there and I finished putting up the drug order, but I was quickly and gently bullied out the door by the four people who had listened to me hack all morning. The Cranky Pharmacist™ even gave me a pack of his Oreos. I truly do have some good people back there in the Funny Pharm, I can't stress that enough. Especially since these are the very same people who have been bristling and bitching about Dixie's constant new calling in habit and doubting all of her mounting excuses. At least two days a week for the past three weeks, she's been calling out. She's claimed migraines, food poisoning, no gas money (and apparently no forethought on getting a ride), and then a cold. Although we know for a fact she was gone Monday because she'd taken a friend on a road trip! And she almost always calls out on days she knows another technician is off or on vacation, leaving us incredibly short-staffed. Frankly, we're all fed up with it and no longer care if she's legitimately sick or not. She also continues to make poor spending choices and then asks the rest of us for money! No, I will not buy you cigarettes. If you can't afford to put gas in your vehicle or food on the table, you can't afford to smoke, I'm sorry. There have also been days she showed up to work without showering first, judging by the smell. Strawberry was at the point of retching and gagging one day, she admitted to me quietly, and you could see she was having a hard time with it by the look on her face. Boss is transferring another technician over from another store, the same one Strawberry came from. While at times this is going to no doubt have us grossly over-staffed and tripping over each other, it will also help on the days Dix chooses to screw the rest of us over for whatever reason. We might have been good friends once, but things have gotten so out of hand, and I'm to the point I am just going to try to have as little contact as possible without seeming rude. My recent breathing issues are excuse enough not to sit with her at lunch anymore when we share a shift; better to be in my truck or inside in the cool air conditioning than outside in the cigarette smoke. And truth be told, the only reason I ever started going out there in the first place was because of Pippy, and seeing as how he works the butt-crack-of-dawn to afternoon shift, our breaks are never together anymore anyways. Dix has issues, to be sure, but as she obviously doesn't want to downsize her life or change the unhealthy lifestyle, I'm done messing with her. I don't want to be mean, but I really have no place in my life for leeches, either.

As of today, I've missed two half-days in two years of work. As we work in a pharmacy, constantly surrounded by sick people all the time, no one blinks if you show up with a cold, so long as you're not throwing up, running a fever, or have something highly contagious.

A slight edit - I started writing this post over a week ago, and since then have learned that Dix and her husband have apparently had the final childish blowout we've all been bracing ourselves for, for about the past year and are headed for the big D. Since Friday she's been posting all sorts of emotional nonsense about the world crashing down and being broken-hearted and other such crap. Friday night Karla, who also works at the store and lives next to me (of the infamous costume party last December) went and picked her up, meaning Dix is currently. Residing. Next. Fucking. Door. No. No, no, this is bad. She's already tried getting me to come over there several times with all sorts of weird excuses, and I reluctantly went for about 5 minutes Saturday after work. She said if Karla hadn't gotten her, she probably would have killed herself Friday night. But this close or no, I have no intentions of helping her anymore. Karla texted me earlier asking when I was working tomorrow - I have the sneaking suspicion her houseguest needs a ride to work, but I'm going to bust one of the ten commandments and say either that my phone was dead or I left it in my truck as the reason I never answered. Does this make me a cold-hearted bitch? Maybe, but I don't think so, and I feel bad for Karla getting caught up in this, too. I wonder how long it'll take her to yank back the welcome mat. Dix has continuously made horrible choices with her money, her health, and her personal relationships. There are only so many cell phone plans, salon visits, and dining out bills you can blow money on before it runs out and suddenly your electricity is being shut off for non-payment. No one is going to feel sorry for your constant migraines and breathing issues while you suck down over a pack a day in cigs. And there are only so many times you can ask a friend for money, ask for a ride on short notice (we all said no), or let us know you DON'T need a ride after we've already inconvenienced ourselves into getting up and leaving early to come and get your sorry butt. I don't know what the ultimate issue was with her and her husband, but I can't blame him for leaving. He's no angel, either - they both act like spoiled, irresponsible children and I wouldn't stay with either of them. And frankly he was probably more disgusted at her lack of hygiene than we are. I don't care who you are or if you're the best looking person on the planet, you NEED to bathe. You NEED to change out the litterbox if you have a cat in the house! Was I beyond giddy to crawl up in bed with Pippy last month? You betcha! But if he'd smelled like old fish and urine and catbox, no way in hell. No way in hell I'd go anywhere near him, actually.  No one can help someone that refuses to help themselves, and we've all pretty much decided to pull the plug. She needs to get off her ass and get professional help, shrinks we are not. I'm not a cold hearted person, please don't get me wrong. I'm just so worn out on this particular human being. If she ends up getting fired, I'd feel a little bad, but she will have had it coming. A part of me actually wishes Boss would fire her so I wouldn't have to deal with her anymore. Avoiding her on a personal level is easy, but when we're stuck in the pill box together all week, well, that makes it a little hard. But she's an emotional vampire and it's time to put on the garlic and hold out my cross, so to speak.

Anywho, that's what's been bugging me as of late. And I ended up having to call my Dr. back Thursday because I'd finished the Z-pack and was still coughing like a smoker. Raj got on my case about it Monday, saying it should have cleared up by then. Fortunately they called me in ten days of Keflex and it's been doing what the Azithromycin didn't, and I'm almost 100% myself again.

As for my fretting about Pip, once again my fears were unfounded and we're still buddies as usual, although it is surprisingly even easier to talk to him now than before. Maybe curling up with someone tends to have that effect on a relationship, platonic or not. See how clueless I am about these things? 28 and still figuring out the finer points of silly stuff like this. He's still kind of flaky, but I've just come to accept it for now. I invited him to come to the movies with me and nephew today, and yesterday his answer was yes, but today it was "I can't make it, got something in Hicktown I have to do". It doesn't piss me off or hurt me when he does this anymore. 9 times out of ten he doesn't come to things he's invited to, but I do enjoy the 1/10 that he comes through on. He has other friends and family and situations in his life to attend to. And after the drama of Dix the past few weeks, I'd sooner keep him in my circle of friends, flakes and all, than have someone needy and clingy and always asking for favors or money; at least he doesn't smother me with melodrama. Bitch and gripe and finally laugh it off over a drink, and he's good. I'd still love to have something more with him, but if that doesn't happen, that's ok. Truth be told, I think he does have 'more than friend' leanings towards me, but he shows all the signs of someone who got burned real good once or twice and has sworn to never let it happen again. So I just wave at him when I walk into work in the mornings, and he'll grin and wave back, usually with a banana or a tomato in his hand. Whether we hang out outside work or he turns down an invitation, I'll back off from him for a few weeks and hold off on the invites lest he pulls Walker's "Suspicious Horse Keeps His Distance" act and pretends I don't exist for a while. But like I said, I think I'll keep him.

It's odd. I'd gladly give Pip the food off my plate or the shirt off my back, metaphorically speaking, if he needed it, yet never once has he asked me for anything, anything, or taken me up on offers of help or a shoulder to cry on, while I wish Dixie would grow the eff up and go away, and she just takes and takes and asks and asks and never offers anything back. Spending any amount of time with her leaves me drained and depressed, albeit I do feel great about myself and grateful I'm not a mess like she is. Spending time with Pip  usually leaves me feeling upbeat, happy, and a little cheeky. And sometimes a little hungover, but hey, at least he smells pretty fantastic and makes frequent use of a shower and a washing machine. 

So by the time the bar closes/and you feel like falling down/I'll carry you home tonight

Wherein I am entirely pathetic. Last night, I went to visit Pip and Johnny's place. During a thunderstorm so strong it felt like I was driving into the pit of hell. And it turns out, they're still living in a motel room, poor things. I thought they had a place by now, but they'll be moving out Wednesday, fortunately. But we'd been trying to get together for a while and since we both had Monday off, he said I could come over and share his whiskey. Wonderful conversation lubricant, that stuff. Lord, the man can go off on a bitch rant like no one else, but then again, so can I, and it felt pretty good. It also turns out he cleared up and denied SO many disgusting rumors about him and the nasty girl in his department, without me even asking - she came to mind apparently while he was on his nonstop vent. It would seem she downloaded pictures of him in a swimming pool from his Facebook, put them on her phone and was showing them around to people like she had been with him and taken them. She also told our mutual friend D, who was good friends with Pippy, that she needed to "stay away from him", and told several people that she and Pip were sexually involved. This is the same one that is constantly giving me stinkeye. He says there's never been anything between them whatsoever and is thoroughly creeped out by the stalkerish behavior.

By the end of that conversation, I was pretty elated, and he'd started posting pictures of us to FB and showed me pictures on his phone of everything from his new great niece to a newborn kitten he saved to his daughter's prom pictures. Another drink and a while later and he wasn't comfortable with the idea of me driving home, besides the fact it was nearly 2AM. "If you're staying, you need to get on that side of the bed. No, I don't mind, it's better and safer than a DUI."  I don't sleep well away from home, I'll openly admit. I no longer go to Dixie's house mostly for this reason, besides the fact she snores like a cave troll, leaves the TV on full blast all night, and the apartment reeks of stale smoke and unchanged cat litter. I was struck with insomnia once again last night, but   . . . here comes the sap -

sleep eluding me was quite lovely this go round. I really kind of hated myself for it, but I spent a good chunk of last night simply watching him sleep, watching his chest rise and fall. And then there's the sound of snoring. This is #1 on my list of most annoying, nerve-wracking, rage-inducing sounds ever. Ever. And yet I was laying there in complete bliss, even after he rolled over and was half on top of me with his mouth inches away from my face, emitting the noise that irks me the most in the world. I probably shouldn't have drank so much and shouldn't have crawled under his covers like that. But I've gotten so tired of dreaming, and let myself have this pitiful little pleasure, just this once. Pathetic, desperate, hanging onto what is probably not there. Actually the longer I think about it, I really, really shouldn't have done this, and he probably thinks I'm weird. Or then again, I could be over thinking things again. I'm sure it's not the first time a friend has had too much and ended up passed out beside him. It was unsurprising, yet disturbing how I could just glance over and stare at him, completely at ease, and feel so happy. And yet . . . well, it's a 'so close but so far' kind of feeling. I want this, all the time. For it not to be a guilty pleasure to discover we'd somehow gotten pressed up against each other in the night, but for it to be on purpose. It's the most bizarre kind of relationship, yet I haven't felt more content than last night, insomnia or no, with my produce guy asleep beside me and Johnny in the next bed with a clumsy, 10 week old Labrador mix nestled into the covers with him.

And that's aside from the fact I kept having an arm thrown haphazardly over me or finding one of his legs between mine. I'm not sure if he was just that comfortable or if it's a sign that it's been a long time since he shared a bed.

No one really needs to know I stayed all night, and fortunately there was no shitstorm awaiting me at home when I pulled up this morning for spending the night in a motel room with two men.

 I did offer to take Pippy out this morning but he declined and said he'd rather head to the gym. Which, by the way, he thinks I should show up at once in a while, ensuring me that people of all disciplines go there and don't really judge or pay much attention to each other. It's not that I don't want to, I'm just terrified of other people seeing me and how out of shape I am. But I can work out at home until then.

I just wish I could work out what the hell I did last night and why.

Our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up

It's been a somber kind of last few days. I'm ok, but it's stuff that's been happening. On Sunday night, a local corrections officer was killed when an inmate stabbed him in the neck multiple times with a homemade object. I first learned of the story when Pip posted it on Facebook, along with the words "RIP little Reuben, we will miss u cuz". Sgt. Thomas was only 24 years old. He was a father, and engaged to be married to his fiance, who is expecting their child. I'm sure I've seen him around here and there, this being a small town, and to look at his picture and read thoughts from his coworkers and relatives, it seemed like he was a really great person. Stories like this make me angry, this was so unfair.

The inmate who killed this man was in prison for murder and has also been arrested on charges of assault on an officer, robbery, and resisting arrest. During his time in prison, he has already been disciplined over fifty times for various offenses. After stabbing Sgt. Thomas, he struck another officer in the head with a heavy item hidden in a sock.

This is my opinion, and I don't really care if it upsets anyone:

This guy does not deserve to live, and the way I see it, it would have been much simpler and cheaper if they had just put a bullet in him in 94 when he killed a college student, shot an elderly man in a parking lot, stole the car, and assaulted the cop. Now a man is dead and it was completely senseless and unnecessary. There was no reason for this to happen, but because we don't want to be 'cruel', we let these useless fuckers live to kill again. Let's let these men and women live another day, because it would be so unkind to kill them. Don't worry about the victims they kill and injure, or the families of said victims. It's ok for women and men to be widows, children to be without parents, because gosh darnit, these criminals deserve another chance.

And if you want to tell me it's more expensive to execute a prisoner than to feed, clothe, and provide medical care for them for a lifetime, well, bullshit. Bullets are cheap. Guillotines could probably be constructed for a frugal price. Or gallows. Meanwhile, feeding one person for a week probably runs upwards of at least fifty dollars, and medical care is even worse.

My stand on this issue is kind of unpopular, but I think it's unfair that good, decent, loving people are punished and killed while murderers and rapists are given second chance after second chance.

I didn't know you, Sergeant Thomas, but I pray that justice will be done, for you, and countless others.

Don't be a drag, just be a queen

My birthdays have always been pretty 'meh'. Except for my 18th one, now that one I remember. Looking back on it now though, it was also pretty 'meh'. This one, however, was anything but.

On Wednesday, Mom, nephew and I decided to drive to the beach because it was going to be pretty cold for water come the weekend. Two and a half hours we drove, and upon opening my truck doors, were blasted with strong, chilly winds. Oh, no way we're getting in the water like that, but we can still walk on the shore. Oh no, the entrance is nailed shut . . . oh bother. We ended up going to the mall for food and a little shopping so it wasn't a total wasted trip, even if I would have liked to just stay and stare at the ocean for a few hours. On Friday, money was taken from the pharmacy 'Birthday fund' that we keep to buy me cake and a card, signed by everyone. The cake itself was Happy Feet themed, and I learned later that Pip helped Dixie pick it out. Fuck, every time I try to get good and mad, good and over him, he goes and pulls stunts like that. He's like that big, dumb dog that we've all known and/or had. It infuriates you with its ridiculous antics, but no matter how many of your clothes it ruins or how many times you trip in a huge hole it dug in the yard, you just can't stay mad at it. That night I did go over Dixie's house and got a little wasted, but it was mostly epic failure because her snoring kept me WIDE awake and I ended up leaving at 5 in the morning before I went postal. I also learned that raspberry Four Loko tasted like ass. I never understood how someone could use the term 'tastes like ass', but now I do. I think the drink in general was pretty nasty, no matter what flavor, and all it does is get you tipsy for an hour or two after which your eyes are plastered awake in pure, misery, painfully aware of everything going on around you. Never again.

Sunday night . . . I don't even know where to begin. For whatever reason, I decided I really wanted to go to the drag show for my birthday, since I'd been promising my friend Tom I'd go see him perform for . . . well, for a very long time now, and he was probably starting to think I was full of shit. As it turns out, I don't think a better idea could have been had. Once Pip finds out something, it's almost certain Johnny will find out too. Johnny is a bartender there, so by Sunday afternoon I found myself featured in his usual, almost daily "Come on out to the bar!" status. When I got there, Dixie met me in the parking lot and threw my gift, a pink stuffed unicorn, at me. Instead of putting it in my truck like a normal person, I stuffed it down the front of my shirt so the head was sticking out and went inside. I was there to have fun, wasn't I? Heels, denim jacket, too-low, too-tight shirt and all. Pip and Johnny are waiting for me at the bar and I'm immediately smothered in hugs, which I love because Johnny's of course are always great, and Pip had already been doing what he does best for half the day, which meant he'd already hit the "I love everybody!" point and was ripe for mauling for the rest of the night. We introduced him to the unicorn, which I had attempted to name "Jareth", the key word being 'attempted'. Have I mentioned most of my friends are extremely perverted? He grabbed poor Jareth out from between my boobs, examined him, then crammed it against his crotch and made it look like he had a sparkly pink dick with hooves and a horn.

"Haha, you might wanna wash that with some bleach when you get home, might be sticky."

Thankfully, it wasn't, but pointing at the unicorn in my shirt, screaming "STICKYYYYY!" and giggling became his favorite thing to do that night. And so everyone now called Jareth "Sticky", and Sticky McJizzersen he shall remain for the rest of his days. Moving right along, I was also greeted by a few members of the bar staff, who had heard about me from Johnny and wanted to say hi. And they were without a doubt, completely genuine. I don't think I've ever felt so loved and welcomed by strangers in my entire life. Got another surprise when Stevie from the bakery showed up, too. He has a special 'friend' at the bar, but also says to people that I'm 'tasty' and 'hot'. Bless, but I love this guy to death, in a kid brother way. He's always smiling and always ready to say something positive. Tom emerged from the dressing rooms not long after, in full drag. This was going to be a fun night. Dix bought me a martini and I sat at the bar with Pip on one side of me and Stevie on the other - I met another of the regular patrons, a nice older woman who was familiar with Pip, and disturbingly enough, while she was very friendly, asked me "So is Kenny your queer? We all have a queer here!" (she herself was straight). Pip will always insist he's straight, so either he's not being honest with her, himself, or he doesn't realize she's under the impression he bats for the other team. Regardless, she was another shining example of the complete acceptance I felt. What a wonderful group of people . . .

Pip bought me Jello shots. We sang songs, he bitched about work a little. Johnny slipped out for a smoke, but not before adding "Watch my beer, Doll." I squeed inside - I love it when he calls me that.

By the way, you haven't truly lived until you've been molested by a drag queen. These ladies are not shy, they will flirt with you, touch you, and if they know you or think you feel comfortable with it, sit in your lap. One of them would insist on touching my hair and kissing my forehead. Another mimicked going down on Sticky's horn. I recognized her as the cute younger guy who used to work in electronics. Another, who incidentally currently works in electronics, danced up to me with a huge grin, grabbed one of my boobs in each hand, SQUEEZED, and then proceeded to shake them violently until Sticky popped out and almost fell on the floor.

^ That last sentence reads all kinds of wrong out of context.

The one who kissed me came back for another go during her second song and this time grabbed my faced and pulled on me so hard to give me another kiss that I almost fell off the barstool while everyone laughed, including Stevie and Pip who both put an arm out to save me. At some point Pip was teasing me about something and I reached behind me to put an arm around his neck - he's very cuddly at times and I don't know how but I ended up holding his hand. Big contrast to after the show when I made to slap his rear end really hard and kind of failed because I chose the side he keeps his wallet on. Yeah, that doesn't really work. I reached over and grabbed a big handful of the other cheek anyways, just because. I don't really remember what he said, but he didn't seem upset. I suppose he's used to getting his ass grabbed.

All in all, not a night I'll soon forget. I met a few new friends, who wanted nothing better than to have me look a fool beside them while we tried shuffling to LMFAO and failed epically. Saw an old friend, who, ironically, I knew from my church days. He's now an RN and evidently, spends his weekends taking copious amounts of pictures of drag queens. Yesterday my lower half kind of regretted dancing in three and a half inch heels, but it was so worth it. I danced with Stevie. And Teresa. And Johnny's friend/coworker whose name I regrettably can't remember. And of course Pippy, who ended up sandwiched between me and his friend who asked if he was my queer. Oddly at one point he would insist on booty dancing his rump into my crotch, which was fun. Be warned boy, keep doing that and I WILL breach the topic of pegging with you, mark my words. I'll be gentle with you, I promise. At least at first.

I'm a sick woman.

After almost two years though, at least I finally got a kiss. On the cheek. But still. Gesture returned and ditto with Johnny, who charmingly enough farewells his male friends in the same intimate way. Oh yes, and if I had any doubts as to whether or not my teddy bear was in fact, a 'bear'. I no longer had them after seeing him come out from behind the bar, almost in a trance, and dry hump the house queen every time she did a number. Slowly. Closely. And without smiling.

There are pictures of me lying on a pool table with Tom/Teresa on top of me. After the bar closed, Tom, me, Dixie, another one of the queens, and queen's boyfriend went to McDonald's. Tom was still in full drag except for his wig and Justin still had makeup on. The look on people's faces when they walked in? Priceless.

It's an odd idea, that I had such a good time, and felt so loved at a gay bar, and have never gotten such a reception or warm fuzzy feeling from walking into any of the local churches. I suppose that is sad, but I really don't care. I've learned who the people in my life are who really care, and who don't. It also brings me back to the 18th birthday I mentioned at the beginning of this entry. 10 years ago, I really thought I was having the best birthday ever, because I was eating dinner at a church revival and the two guys I fancied were on their knees singing happy birthday to me. It's important to note that I was also devoutly against drinking, premarital sex, and had anti-gay and somewhat homophobic views. That was 2002. None of those people are my friends, or keep up with me anymore. I think I have one of them on FB, and though he might have been my first crush, he's a trainwreck now. In my opinion anyways. He's a youth pastor, brain cancer runs in the male line of his family, and his biggest ambition is to have a 'pack' of his own, biological kids. Way to go, buddy! Doom any male children and grandchildren to the same painful ordeal that you, your father, and your late grandfather have already been through. Chemo and brain surgery are what we all dream of for the children.

2012. I'm sipping a margarita at a gay bar. Sitting next to a redneck with a shady past and even shadier 'morals', beer in his hand and a pack of L&Ms in his pocket, actually cracking a smile when he laughs at my difficulty getting wine-based jello out of a cup and tells me to "Lick it, bitch!" I had also threatened to put my ice cold hand down his pants earlier, too. Later that night he yanked Sticky out from between my boobs again because he wanted a photo with it. I made him put the plushie back where he found it.Oh yes, Precious, we did.

On the rare occasion I'm told 'come on back' to a church, I make some polite, flaky reply and then bullshit my way right out the door, vowing to never come back. If Johnny were anymore insistent about how much I'm wanted back at the den, he'd be on his knees begging. Well, he might be on his good knee, anyways. And every part of me wants to be there more, and not just because Johnny works there and Tom is a regular and sometimes Pip is a fly on the bar, too. But the other people there were hugging on me as if we'd been friends forever.

What a strange commentary on today's world.

Either way, anywho, best birthday EVAR. For now. Who knows what the next one will bring.

Unexpected twitterpation

EDIT: I'm slightly in love with Pip's older gay brother and it's sweet. I know not to expect anything from him because . . . well I can't say he's flaming because he's one of the ones you REALLY can't tell with until you've known him a while. I guess he's what they call a 'bear'. But either way, he can give me his smooshy, heads-on-top-of-mine hugs anytime he wants. I guess most of us, at least once, have had that gay friend that we adore, not so much in the "Oh this is my gay, we share makeup tips and go shopping together" kind of way, but the "If he were straight I'd be on him like white on rice. But he's not so he'll be my big brother" kind of way, if that makes sense. Pip is still the flaky guy who is mostly evasive, but surprises you every now and then by actually doing something nice or showing up when he says he will. Like I said, a perfect little Frosted Flake.