Names

My old friend Robert and I used to have nicknames for everyone we saw out.   After a recent dating experience, I have rekindled that usage, as the guy I dated had nicknames for everyone.  I can never remember the names of his friends, because they were always “The Jew,” “The Bowling Ball,” and “The Marionnette” …

Actually, I call The Marionette “Stick Girl” … but that’s because I know him from a different path.

Last night, Husband Hunter was out.  He was so named, because when he introduced himself to Robert, he said by the third sentence “I’m not looking for sex.  I’m hunting for a husband.”  He was in a most ill-advised outfit, ancient white t-shirt that was too small, had holes in the back, and did not do a sufficient job covering his now-significant stomach.

Blinky showed up shortly thereafter.  He is so named becuase he blinks *really* hard … like the old hard-contacts blink.  I actually think it’s not from that, becuase 15-16 years later, the blink is still there and there are sometimes glasses on when he does it.

I remembered others then.  Clownfish was one of my favorites.  He was kinda sexy, but his teeth and mouth looked exactly like a clownfish about to eat some coral.

Fluffy was another fave.  When I first moved to California, he was partnered to one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen.  I didn’t get to know Fluffy at all until after his partner died, and I have not seen him in years.  Oh, and he was called Fluffy because, well … he wasn’t the thinest twig on the tree.

I’ve continued to nickname people with other friends.  As I mentioned in a post sometime back, I have a few stalkers.  One of them we now simply refer to as Pez after the way his jaw unhinged, and his tongue popped out one night trying to kiss me at the Midnight Sun.  Plaid is actually named after his boxer shorts – which he chose to use as a screen name on gay.com, so the world knows.  Daddy Pipesmoke was so named be he always REEKED of smoke (he’s since quit, and he’s actually more pleasant all around).  And who could forget Captain Hook, who is so named because of his prosthetic arm (no, I did NOT create that one, and Yes, he’s a friendly acquaintance who has the hots for the Other Ed).

But last night was Husband Hunter’s night.  He actually scored with one of the new faces last night, and I must say that his leitmotif has definitely changed, because they were swapping tonsils in the corner.  Just prior to that, Other Ed and I were discussing the fashion felony before us (HH and that ratty t-shirt), when we got a huge side view of the belly, to which I observed thoughtfully:

“You know what it means when they carry that high.  It’s a girl!”

I love seeing my friends spew their cocktails when they’re caught off-guard …

Passive Aggressive

So, a former friend seems to be stalking me. I learned this from a remote source, and it’s clear that I’m being monitored. While I have no doubt that some of this is concern and genuine, there’s more than a little passive aggressive behaviour here. I mean, come on … you want to know how I’m doing, well then … here’s an idea. Ask ME.

I suggested to my informant the they should write a letter and make it sound awful. Then I thought about it and said to myself, “Self. Get writing …” What follows is what I sent to my informant.

————-

Dear ,

Sorry it’s taken me some time to respond to you. I didn’t want my mother to know that you and I were still communicating. You know how she gets at times …

I’m afraid I must tell you sad news about Edward. I don’t know how much longer he’ll be with us. He is nearly always intoxicated from what I can tell, and I think it’s just a matter of time. He’s apparently moved on to Scotch as his poison of choice, and the thumping around you hear in the unit is probably him running for the bathroom to throw up as Scotch always made him sick.

He came out for a visit with his mother, and it was all she could do to survive the week. He was walking to the corner store on Old York road for booze and cigarettes (yes, he’s smoking now) twice a day. She wouldn’t let him drive, of course.

Well, I say walking, but you should also know his last fall was worse than he let on. He actually fell and his leg was crushed Volkswagen Beetle (the 1960s kind). The doctors apparently did everything they could to save the leg, but in the end, it had to come off below the knee.

Apparently, some doctor at the hospital took pity on him, and did all he prosthesis work for free. I’m told the work is exquisite, and that you can’t tell he’s even got one. They apparently used a soft wood-tone to make it look more realistic, but I don’t know if it’s redwood, slippery elm, or cherry, or what.

He’s been unable to find regular work, between the boozing and being a gimp, but he’s going out early everyday to make everyone think he’s got a job. That in mind, you know how San Francisco is. He’s apparently making enough money by working in the porn industry. One of the “in” things apparently is amputees, so he’s been getting lots of work. Apparently, he’s on film with women, too, but just gets really drunk first and then they just use the stump. I think the doctor is still sliding him some extra cash, too … he’s probably sliding him more than just cash and a stethoscope, if you catch my drift.

Well, I have to go work on my show. I’ve just added Four Jews in a Room Bitching from the musical Falsettos to the act. It’s so me.

Love, .

P.S. BTW – I’m Ed Bower, and I wrote and approved this message of nonsense. If you want to know how I am, ask Me.

————

Of course, I didn’t send it to the individual in question, but it is sadly tempting. BTW – the fall was real several months back, but not that serious, and everything else is fiction. Just so we’re clear about that!

:{)

Back to Black

Yup, I have returned to the blogosphere.  I have no idea why my blog is getting any hits, given I haven’t posted since McSame was ahead of NObama in the polls.  Nothing like a little global fuck-up to save the campaign a neophyte, self-serving jackass … but, as Sophia used to say … I digress …

I’ve just returned from a trip of Holy Obligation to the East Coast, and I must confess that I had a good trip overall.  It didn’t exactly go the way I’d envisioned – and watching my mother fall into a store like Midori Ito fell into the camera pit at World’s during her short program years ago was high on the list of “not planned events.”  (She’s okay.  Just a Drama Queen.)

Highlights included the food.  I ate some really, really wonderful food.  Some of it was not cheap.  Other food was *very* inexpensive – a little place on NYU’s Campus was yummy, and a steal for 2 people at under $20.  Mixto in on Pine in Philadelaphia – Cubano/Colombiano Food – was good for both Brunch and Supper.  Vallani on Spruce in Philadelphia – Spanish/Italian, for lack of a better description – was also amazingly good.  Lima’s Taste on Christopher in NYC was absolutely delicious for me – Peruvian food (although, I must confess the paella a friend had was not up to the standard of the rest).

And, of course, there were the people … getting to meet Julio *finally* was a joy.  Such a sweet, charming man.  And dinner with Vince was fun – even when I embarassed myself by breaking into a full blown cursing-rant in Italian before remembering that Vincey grew up in Sicily.  Oy.

And then there was the Mom Unit … and Ray … all the usual peeps.

DC got cancelled.  That was a bummer.

The “low light” of the trip had to be the flight TO Philadelphia.  I’m sorry, but children under the age of seven should NOT be allowed on red-eye flights.  There were two with in a row in each direction, and the one in the seat behind me screamed for the first 90 minutes of the flight.  I could have lived with that if it was not also *kicking* the back of my seat incessantly like a bronco at a rodeo.

I don’t blame the child.  Parents who bring children that young onto flights should be electrocuted for the duration of the flight.  Not fatally, of course, but just a low voltage to punish them for their crime.

And now I’m back … and earning my $$$$ per hour.  Even though I did *mainly* necessary spending there (many things in PA are tax free, like clothing), I spent more than I’d planned.  So, it’s time to be back in the black and make the big bucks so I can fly to Atlanta in 10 days.

Oh, did I mention that?  Yeah … Ed has a date … in Atlanta …

(oy)