You Only THINK You Make Sense At 4:30 A.M.

That 'At 4:30 A.M.' is probably not necessary.... but who cares?

John and I had our <read HIS> granddaughter over all this week, her Mom was called away and at a dinner party with too much wine I remembered uttering 'You don't need to ask us, just drop her off whenever you want!' before thinking about the repercussions of what so casually spilled out of my mouth... After the wine did of course.

This week has been too much fun in more ways than I'd thought it'd have been. It's nice when your jokes are new to a young audience, John and I had an outline for what we were going to accomplish that was pretty much discarded by Tuesday, and it's been awesome to have such an enthusiastic addition to the household. I could be sarcastic here but anyone with ANY life experience will tell you that when you have a guest for a week you remind yourself later of what you meant to do and wonder why you didn't do it. NOT the case here, it's been a week of nonstop chatter, laughing, constant exercise <both physically and mentally>, and in summary? I'd do it again. I wouldn't, however, do it again NEXT week.

There are things only an 8 year old can say to you that would be devastating if anyone older than 8 said them to you and it's been hard to maintain a straight face in wake of such abstract, non malice based truths. Sometimes you want to burst out laughing, sometimes you want to return the insult until you hopefully remember 'you're the adult here', sometimes you have to wait til later to dissect 'what the hell just happened?', but in a battle of wits? An 8 year old who isn't giving you a run for your money is either watching TV at the time or is completely disinterested in you and what you're saying.  I'll take the alternative of having someone who reveals to me I am old, I am boring, and the 'off' button I didn't think I had is CLEARLY trumped by her COMPLETE lack thereof.

Our walk to the beach in the morning included a coconut I'd never have considered carrying back home to draw on, instead of walking through the garden noticing nothing we skateboarded all over the garden more than once, and the times in the shops that I had the opportunity to leisurely stroll the toy department and see exactly what I'm missing by not being a kid anymore without looking creepy  <try doing that alone as a middle aged man without being reminded that only The Boogey Man strolls the toy department in any shop alone... EVER!>, I did get to see a few things outside the unexpectedly rigid confines that I believed I didn't have. When you find out what a kid thinks of you it forces you to open your eyes and redefine what you think of you, whether it's a really really good discovery or something to add to the 'self improvement super check list' any respectably insecure person wouldn't leave the house without scrolling through.

So? I've been told I'm old, fat, weird, goofy, evil, and a whole list of other adjectives that I still can't approach without whimpering a bit about when I whisper them out loud, but with the exception of John who I must say is enjoying our second honeymoon phase nearly as much as I am, it's incredibly reassuring to be accepted for who you are in the eyes of someone who'd clearly let you know otherwise because of an  awesome natural ability tell only the truth, the truth from her perspective anyway. I'm going to work a bit more on convincing her that I'm not fat. That one really stung.

45th Birthday Presence

I'm going to leave out the facts.. those being that I was racing to Sydney to celebrate not only John's birthday but mine as well, and a very anticipated 'Happy Anniversary' that was long overdue considering we were married October 28th... The God's <as if> planned a great arrival gift, in the form of a Total Solar Eclipse that was dimmed by the overcast weather south of Sydney in what's known properly as Botany Bay, but these were small details to consider.. especially since I had endured a thirty hour travel time to arrive in the rain at six a.m. and as an added bonus? Well, the flight was entirely under booked and though there were imbeciles who paid top dollar to recline in first class I can report that everyone in the coach section commandeered three seats, three pillows, and three blankets and stretched across their row and I dozed off last noticing the online mapping system had estimated 14.75 hours of travel remaining to our destination. I woke up and looked at the map again and got sexually aroused when the remaining estimated time was 2.33 hours. I had slept adequately to celebrate my birthday not only lucidly but well rested and down right perky!

After a long awaited embrace and public display of affection that made the nappy hairs on the Muslims in our proximity cringe? Well, then it was champagne on our balcony culminating in a great dinner party attended by  one of our daughters and granddaughters, complete with two versions of Happy Birthday, and I am saddened to report one version was NOT 'Lethal Weapon Style'.. see the movie, I like that version best.

It's been two days now and I'm remembering certain protocol, and having to remember our ATM password <Indeed I took the card to shop and was completely embarrassed to report that I couldn't remember my number but that 'no, you aren't taking my card'> and a myriad of other social etiquette functions like if you're trying to get someones attention? Whistling at 110 decibels is only polite if you're hailing a cab in Manhattan. Anywhere else? Well, you're going to scare the bejeezus out of not only the shop c.s.r. but also anyone standing in your immediate area, and then some.  Chortle.

The future is looking pretty damn bright for this middle aged married gay couple and we're currently beginning our battle plans for immigration to insure that we're never separated for three months. If I can be so bold, I was thinking it would take a garden hose with water to separate us yesterday, but that's an entirely different fact I'm also going to omit... Oh, wait... Damn it!... I guess the cat's out of the bag... or the 'rutting dog story' I wasn't going to declare.... Happy Winter/Summer, whichever applies to you, all I can report is I'm content and no material possession has ever provided me with the happiness I now experience.. I wish the same for everyone. Happiness is just blissful and priceless.

Halloween, a holiday not ruined by make believe Gods... yet.

Halloween is still one of those holidays that people spend money on... to the tune of an estimated ten billion dollars this year alone. Yet, in a pinch situation, many of us can concoct a costume with items found in our kitchens, our medicine cabinets, and our dirty laundry hampers. Imagination rarely costs money, but the therapy required when creativity reaches twisted and damaging levels can rarely be paid for, so it's important if your children are going to be rendered sociopaths due to ignorance, it's important for the damage to be great...and permanent; disability insurance doesn't pay the bills for those with intermittent symptoms, and children who are merely weird and disassociated these days are a dime a dozen. Yes, they are.

With relatively little money, and just a bit of pizzazz you can represent yourself in a Halloween costume that is not only functional, but will surely have your children remembered as the 'pariah's to avoid' for generations to come.

In the coming weeks, not only will Halloween be discussed for it's true meaning, the candy, but we'll also be debunking popular mythology and in general be celebrating what is still hands down the last remaining holiday to be whored out by the machine, unless you count Anne Romney dressed as a whore, with Mitt in his Tin Man costume which never fails to entertain for it's commentary not only on his 'thoughtful' character, but to perpetuate and invigorate the gay right's movement,  which we all know he highly approves of.

Enjoy the coming month for all it's creepy creepiness, from Dracula costumes to some guy dressed as a  big Boehner? Feelings will be hurt, belief's will be questioned, and in the end, we'll all cast our vote for best costume, and try to for once not just award it to the Elvira with the real hair and big boobs, because really?? Doesn't she walk around like that more or less all the time, minus the cleavage??

If I'd Known I'd Have Stayed.... Home?

Before you start thinking whatever it is you're thinking, I've explained dozens of times that a single conversation with me can probably solve years and years of speculation, hypothetical conjecture, and the simply rude tradition of gossip that has been embraced concerning my well being, or let's face it, my complete lack of well being and whether or not I've traveled to not only another country, but to that celestial dimension where you can say anything about me free from any kind of repercussion, without fear of any evidence to the contrary that disproves your theories. I had no idea I was that interesting and frankly still don't harbor the idea at all that I am, but for when I have this all too common exchange.

You - "I heard you were dead."  Me - "Yeah, I get that a lot."

Of course when it comes down to apologizing for not having achieved even such low set standards or a goal such as this, I guess the alternative is to smile and be gracious for such well wishes, genuinely say I have no complaints aside from the satire I write  not paying for every extravagance and the only real tragedy that I haven't found a writer or conversationalist who  makes me laugh harder than I make myself laugh. In the process I not only convince people I haven't died while at the same time making most wish more than ever that I finally will or will soon. Aside from my Mom, people can't take this perky morning person for more than short doses, and anyone who knows me will have to admit to being exhausted by me in some way, shape or form, perky being a cute word for a classic mania disorder. I can apologize for still being alive but you know I kind of wish I had someone who brought a bit of excitement into my life, then had the manners and insight to know when it was time to exit without being subtly urged or not so subtly urged. Would I tell me to go? Probably. Would I have sex with me first? Yes! If I met me, I'd definitely jump my bones. Such is taking that extra effort to not only entertain while at the same time to  repel; it makes it easier for me to just up and leave without having to make up any excuses, or you asking me to have to make excuses. Everybody wins..... Yay, everybody!

That having been said, although I admit freely I have trust issues, there are people, premises, and conclusions that I wholly trust. Among them I trust that my life has only been made more interesting by decisions made by me, for me,  or about me. I trust that I will be misunderstood in the long run, and I trust that in my final moments I'm going to make every attempt to combine humor and insight in my epitaph and fail miserably.

I've luckily met John, a person who can endure me for longer periods of time than I can endure myself, so before this dips too deeply into a depressing tone, don't pity me at all. Pity him for all the wrong words I will spell at the Scrabble table, the messages I will misinterpret or even conjure from nothingness and react to, but most of all pity him having to listen to rants similar to these on a daily basis, maybe even hourly; I have no idea what I do to tip the scales into such favorable conditions considered 'long term happiness', but he seems as happy as I am, which is believe it or not a happiness I hadn't seen coming. Aside from the short doses of laughter I administer to myself, he's dreadfully handsome, consistently patient, and in his cantankerous way provides what I hope to be a continually interesting environment for entertainment for the both of us.


Where's the funny story? - what I heard over my shoulder, and what I've come to expect interjected in my few paragraphs of self centered prose...


I was fifteen, and was at a party held by my best friend in the world then and now. I believe I drank less than three warm, skanked beers. In my defense, they were Heffenreffer's or 'head wreckers' and they lived up to their expectations. I'd also smoked half a marijuana cigarette with a friend, something all teenagers were doing then, I was nervous, especially at parties. I left the party, returned home to my Mom's house, and visibly intoxicated sat in a rocking chair and prepared myself for the interrogation process. I accidentally left my jacket pocket open and had exposed my bottle of Visine,  noting that in some cases it's impossible to 'get the red out'. Mom yelled, questioned, and threatened to limit my freedoms, and tell my best friends Mom what had happened at her house while she was gone. Facing such actions, it's natural to feel complete nausea, and I got up and rushed to the bathroom. With my Mom blocking the way to the door, I throw up all over myself, the hallway, and most importantly, my Mom. Although I'm practically blacked out drunk, the sensation and taste of skanked warm beer coming out of your nose has a strangely sobering effect. I don't remember anything else after that for the rest of the night.


If you're thinking this isn't a funny story? You're completely wrong, you just need to hear me tell it. This is a fact. You may hear other accounts of this story but for some reason, I've never heard a version of this story that makes me laugh more than my version of this story, and I was hardly even there. That's my point I guess, it's not the story, it's the story teller that's important, and if you want me to tell a factual account recalling the horrible parts and tell a horrible story that will hardly be remembered? That's your choice. If you want a  factual account of the same event with emphasis on the entertaining aspects, with maybe a little bit of embellishment for the sake of entertainment? See? I thought so. 

All We Really Are is Matter, But Really? Who Matters?

Today I've been in Massachusetts for two weeks since leaving my husband  <aww>  in Australia due to immigration concerns. I'm staying with someone I'd call my best friend, but 'best friend' doesn't seem to do our friendship justice. She recently bought a house with her better half and together, and with their two dogs of course, they invited me temporarily, and after a while, have said I can stay longer. When I wanted to discuss rent the conversation was a surprising one; They'd not considered charging me any and I wouldn't accept 'no rent' as an option. A truly unique agreement and discussion ensues. In what world does your host tell you your twelve week stay is for gratis? In which parallel world does the guest insist on paying rent and expenses? Certainly this has never happened on my doorstep or when I step on someone else' welcome mat. They're truly excellent hosts, and if you know me personally you know who they are, no one needs to be mentioned by name with the exception of the dogs who go by the names Bruno and Bernie McLovin. You can't make this sh#t up, can you?

My room is the 'man cave' of the house, I say this so you know that someone has made a major concession in my staying here. Truly a good guy letting the male friend of his female partner stay in the only place he can escape to a wonderful  land complete with a large flat screen television, a leather recliner, and a door; A door that can shut out  estrogen, essence of canine, or any other outer turbulence, I can't thank him enough, or even correctly. Neither of us communicate very well verbally so it's hopefully a given that one person is generous and the other is appreciative. The door shuts, I am able to escape into what seems to be too many television channels on an Australian level, and I can miss John to my heart's content and make appearances and conversation on a basis that is mutually acceptable. Have you ever tried to host people who require too much micromanagement? You wind up wishing they'd  leave sooner than they ever will. Have you ever tried to stay with people who plan every minute of your stay resulting in the need for a rest when you return home? You wind up wishing you never went as soon as you ever did.

I find it funny that whenever I leave the cave to enter to the house, the dogs seem to not remember that I ever arrived. They are as fiercely defensive as two very small dogs can be given my large stature, and to see a strange long haired, bearded, and what I call 'stocky' individual entering their domain they are vocal in their serious yet humorous system of protecting their loved ones and their many possessions. The are defensive every time I enter as well, I disappear apparently long enough that they simply forget that I am staying in their home. It could be that I'm just not important enough to them to be memorable, but that would damage my sense of self and I never want to admit to having an ego that is so fragile that two lesser mammals could maim it or chew it in play-like fashion as they do with their squirrel toys and balls.

Today is also the eleventh anniversary date of the passing of my Mom. It's impossible for me to be sad, I do miss her, but all the lady ever did was make me laugh and give me unconditional love while at the same time I remember trying to outsmart her while giving her every gray hair she ever had on her head. I love to tell stories about her, I love to remember her, and she's one of/if not most important person I've been lucky to have in my life. I hate the fact that I can buy an option on my cell phone to talk to my hubby 9000 miles away but there's still no 'celestial' calling plan. I have so many things to say, from the newest jokes and what's happening in my life to snitching on my sister which I probably turned into an art form. My sister has never been a patron of such artwork and when thinking about it I can absolutely understand why.

So, I choose to write today about people who matter in my life. Whether it be people so close that you and they may sometime wish there was more or less space, people with whom there's too much space distancing you and you wish 9000 miles was made more simply passable by teleport all ready, and people with whom there's a complete dimensional and impossible to measure gap that can only seem smaller when you use your imagination and memory, these people are close to you.

When you matter to someone such as your friends, family, and husband it's probably because of something you do or have done. When you don't matter to someone such as two protective canine's who know where all their toys are yet can't remember you exist at all within two hours? Hopefully that's because of something you do or have done and not due to the fact that you were completely forgettable to begin with.

The Wedding Video aka How the Hell did I get so Lucky?

Wedding Video.. John and Brian 10/29/2011


This is a very short entry. When I got to Boston, I was happy for about twenty minutes.
I'm very excited to see my friends and to visit places I haven't seen in a long time.
But this video is exactly what my life is about now, and I don't lose sight of it,
and it sustains me and let's me know whatever is happening here it less important than
what I'm missing at home. John, you're nothing short of amazing and I love you.

https://www.facebook.com/v/351372978212719

Copy and paste the above link and you can watch my life become complete in
seven and a half minutes. Shalom

Bored Views From a Broad... Abroad

Sitting here two days away from my long trip back to the USA, a trip I'm reluctantly making, but making because it's easier to do my final changes in person than by proxy, the phone, or the internet. I think it's funny that the internet will take your credit card as your identity for a multitude of purchases ranging from iTunes to some of the most sordid pornography one has ever accidentally <my story and sticking to it> discovered while Googling. You can't legally change your name in another country, and to be completely honest? I have no Australian healthcare, but pay for American healthcare and my sight woes and sight ability these days are as important as Free HBO you get on cable for those weekend passes..... I want it for as long as it's available, but I won't be surprised the day I find out it's been discontinued with no warning... after all, easy come, easy go, right? But it never hurts to stop by the cable company and apply for an extension.

I've had as much fun as one can have in a new country that's also supposed to have become my home over the last eight or so months, I can now shop and be unapologetic when I push people out of the way to get what to what I want, like say.. the counter. Being rude isn't an instinctive quality, but I prefer 'survival of the fittest', here, if you don't nudge your way in eventually? You're not getting in without assertive tactics... from the teenagers with absolutely no time to spare or the elderly ethnic woman in or out of  the rascal scooter, who also apparently has more pressing issues than you; It's obvious from the way she runs over your toes with not so much as a look in your general direction but the minute the sales clerk says 'Who's next?' and you honestly assert that it was you? That's when you get the look of disdain whether it's from behind a spectacled white haired Aussie woman or the more emotional gaze you receive from someone in a full burka. The eyes really are the windows to the soul after all, aren't they? Do you know what it looks/sounds like when you're receiving a curse from a Greek woman? I do now thanks to my transplantation here, and my inability to be endlessly polite when I too would like to make purchases and return home at an appropriate time to lunch.

I would not like any cheese with my whine today. That's not my point. I'm nearly sure it isn't.

I've decided to make my trip now because under existing law, I need to leave the country for at least ninety days before I can be issued a new Visa. There's a show called 'Custom's Wars' that I watch with fear; Fear that I'm ultimately going to be the next 'contestant' who gets nervous, befuddled, insulted, and turned away at the border of the country that separates my husband from me. Being turned away comes with a bonus prize of a 'three year exclusion', three years without seeing John unless he comes to America may as well be called  'three years without seeing John'. For him it was a nice place to visit, but it's not in his top fifty places that he'd like to return to right away. Dare I have to save money for months on end to be reunited with my loved one in Istanbul? Indonesia? New Zealand? I have no problem going to these places as long as I don't have to speak. Once your American accent is recognized everything is more expensive, everyone talks more quickly so you don't hear ALL the insults, and I have to admit when John and I shop even in Sydney I tend to shut up in spite of my all to ready and willing middle finger which makes appearances by reflex, it's like I honestly have nothing to do with it anymore. It is my alter ego which is unrecognizable only to me. Did you know the middle finger is NOT the universal sign for 'f*ck you'? I can tell you it's not. I had a series of pictures taken of me and when Mr. Middle made his appearances, everyone thought I was pointing and would look in the general direction he was directed at. It's humiliating to not be able to quickly and quietly insult people as you have the right as American to do as well as I once could. I feel less empowered without that....er .. power.

Anyway, after ninety days, I should be able to reenter the country for another questionable period or permanently, depending on the decisions of the parliament, if they decide to act at all or put it off for another year, as happened in 2012. I have however promised not only John and our newly extended family but also dear friends of ours that I would be attending our wedding anniversary, John and I have birthday's separated by only two days in November, there's Christmas on Bondi Beach which is supposed to be a midnite bonfire experience that would be cold if it weren't for the summer weather in Sydney, southern hemisphere capital of the world. Crosby, Still's, and Nash' 'Southern Cross'? Yup, we've got it, though I have to admit the song is better than the actual constellation, which I found boring compared to say 'delphinius' or 'o'rien'. I've also invited and intend to honor introducing all these wonderful new people in my life to a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, complete from the beginning nuts to ending pie. I have a separate entry as far as Thanksgiving food and how I address it. My father worshiped Archie Bunker the way some people here idolize Mohammed, and let's face it, Thanksgiving is this weird holiday with a history of betrayal, underhandedness, accidental intoxication and manipulation of emotions, and separation of good and evil spirits' intentions at the table. That's only in my family Thankgivings, with NO regard whatsoever of the HISTORICAL significances of the holiday. Try explaining to anyone who isn't American why Thanksgiving is a national holiday and make it a game of counting how many times you have to say 'no, you don't understand' before figuring out that you probably don't understand how ruthless and barbaric it is to celebrate it. I'd feel worse about it but hell, we're in sunny Australia and when someone points out how horrible we were to our Nations original civilization at least I have the ability to throw in my two cents about theirs, and we can sit and argue about who treated who worse over too many cocktails, a myriad of food, and a cornucopia of different personalities all ready to chime in their idiotic, drunken opinions. And isn't that what Thanksgiving's always been about? Or was that only at my house? See you in the States, you big old sillies.