For those of you who are free tomorrow

Really busy

I've been freakishly busy lately, but I will try to do some blogging soon.

In the meantime, here is a funny thing. I saw a job listing today seeking a "jack-off-all-trades."

I would totally apply if it were a job for a "jack-off-all-trades-as-long-as-they're-reasonably-attractive."

AVP March Addendum

Amusingly, there is a photo from the march with me in it on Towleroad. Probably the one and only time I'll ever be on it. An A-Lister I am not.

Weekend

Turns out it was a really good weekend.

I met up with FARB and his boys after work on Friday. I was just meeting them to pick up some samplers featuring his new novel, but I wound up staying for a couple of hours. It was great. Left to my own devices, I tend to be a hermit, and it was really nice to have some interaction.

Plus I had a guy hit on me, which is always a nice ego boost. However, as is typical, as soon as someone shows the slightest interest in me, I get hit with a feeling akin to the old Groucho Marx line "I'd never join a country club that would have someone like me as a member." So basically, I'd never date anyone who would date someone like me.

As a brief aside, if you would like to date me, here is the best way to approach it, based on what seems to have attracted me to guys in the past: Be completely aloof and disdainful; Give me just enough hope that there might be a future for us that I'll be willing to pay for everything; Tell me you love me when no one is around, but treat me like shit in public; Tell me you'd totally be into me if I weren't _____ [fill in the blank with something cruel and personal, and come up with something new each time you say it]; Tell me that you're not into me, but show up at my place everytime you're drunk and need to get off.

So, long story short, if you treat me with kindness or tell me you like me, you can expect me to disappear with a little puff of dust like a Warner Brothers character.

So where was I?

After a fun happy hour(s), I headed back to watch the Doctor Who marathon on the SciFi channel. I tell you, I'm just a hair's-breadth away from turning into one of those guys who dresses up as a scifi character and goes to Cons.

Maybe for the next one I can dress up like D'Argo. Palochi, do you still have your Chiana costume?

So Saturday I went to the AVP march and rally. Good, though I really expected more people. Three gay bashings in one week? I would have thought this would make people angry. I guess not. At least I got to hang out with Jase and Charles.

After the rally, I went to work for the rest of the day. Weekends are the only time I can work without constant interruptions.

Sunday was all about cooking and cleaning. Then I went to the midnight performance of Broadway Bares, which was great. Once again, I saw Jase and Charles. I heard Matt and Kevin were there, too, but I didn't see them. I also ran into Patrick and Karen as they were leaving the earlier performance. Bares was fantastic (even better than last year's) and the special guests (Cyndi Lauper, Alan Cumming, Fran Drescher . . . um . . . and others). It was a great time with lots of hot men and women, all in various stages of undress. And they had rocking bodies. I would absolutely love to date a dancer. But, you know, only if he treats me badly. I do have my standards, after all.

Anti-Violence March

The NYC Gay and Lesbian Anti-Violence Project will be holding a march and rally tomorrow to protest the recent attacks in the East Village and Astoria.

People will be meeting at 2 p.m. at 14th and 1st Ave. I hope I'll see some of you there.

Pride Dance

If any of you New York bloggers are interested in attending the Pride Dance on the Pier on the 25th, but don't want to spend the money for tickets, I'm looking for some volunteers to help staff one of the bars at the event.

If you're interested, drop me a line.

Job search

I applied for two jobs in the last two days (I'm working on the assumption that the bad interview I mentioned previously pretty much scuttled that job). I would be great for both of them, but I'm concerned that neither one will be able to get near my current salary.

But then, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I have 9 more job openings to apply for (and two or three more that I identified, but haven't researched yet).

Keep your fingers crossed.

Off to a good start

Which is worse?

1. Singing to myself while waiting for an elevator and getting caught?

2. Singing to myself while waiting for an elevator and getting caught by a really cute guy?

3. Singing '. . . Baby One More Time' by Britney Spears to myself while waiting for an elevator and getting caught by a really cute guy?

This is why I never get laid.

Well, okay, it's one of many reasons.

At least I wasn't doing choreography.

It's the little things

So last night was the awards event that our company does every year (though it appears this will be the last one . . . but that's another story). My boss got up there to begin his comments and started by thanking all the people that helped put the event together.

Well, all but one of the people who put the event together.

I'm sure you see where this is going.

Dude, where's my liver?

Tonight is the first official night of GB:NYIII (or GB:NY Trinity or GB:NY Electric Boogaloo or GB:NY Return of the Muppet on Crack).

Anyhoo.

Barrage, 47th and 9th Ave., 7-ish. Should be fun. I imagine there will be some drinking and some nudity involved.

It just keeps getting better and better . . .

Today I found out that my office has approved a raise for me. This should, I imagine, bring my salary more in line with the others who do my job, even though I also imagine it won't take into account the fact that I've been doing this job for nearly a decade and due to my experience should be making more than the others.

Okay, fine, whatever.

But here's the fun part. The only reason I found out that I'd been approved for a raise is that my boss let me know that it had been frozen indefinitely while my department goes through a shakeup.

As soon as I get an offer, I'm out of here.

Bingham Cup II

There is a really good article about the cup (with photos) at Outsports. Also, my friend Stuff, who's in China right now, said there was a news report on TV over there. Weird, no?

Bingham Cup

I'm sunburnt and thoroughly exhausted, but I had a great weekend. While Gotham didn't do as well as I'd hoped, they played hard and are much stronger as a team. Now we just have to start working toward winning Bingham 2008. At least the SF Fog didn't win; the Sydney Convicts did. Since they were rather attractive and friendly, I'm okay with that.

The various events were okay, though extremely expensive ($9 for a mixed drink?!?!). Needless to say, I'll be conserving my money for a while.

The closing night party at Webster Hall was a lot of fun; I even danced, which I rarely ever do.

Now it's time to start getting in shape for the fall season. Come hell or high water, I plan on playing.

I'm stuck here forever

So after three really good interviews at the new company, the last, and sadly most crucial, had me basically looking like a glorified secretary. It's a bad start when the guy who is interviewing you, and who is the one who will ultimately decide if you get hired, starts by saying, "I want an attorney in this position, why should I give it to you instead?"

I can do my job. I'm really good at my job. I've won awards for doing my job. So why in the fuck can't I seem to explain why I'm good at my job?

If I can hold on through the night . . .

Last night I watched the first half of The Poseidon Adventure, killing time while waiting for Lost to start.

I realized that I am turning into Red Button's character, Mr. Martin: alone, odd, fussy (though, God willing, I will never wear a cravat). Granted, I'm built more like Ernest Borgnine or Shelly Winters, but in the water, I'm a very skinny lady.

P.S. Did anyone else think that Roddy McDowall looked kinda hot in that movie? No? Okay, it was just me, I guess.

Hog Heaven

This weekend not only features the Bingham Cup Rugby Tournament (which, alas, I am not competing in . . . didn't make the cut this year) but it also is the first weekend of Fleet Week.

Six hundred gay rugby players, probably an equal number of closeted sailors, and I still probably won't get laid.

Maybe I should just go to seminary.

What's the word I'm looking for . . . ?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

And that, gentle readers, is my day in a nutshell.

Rugby

Last night I remembered why I like to play rugby. Very few things feel better than grabbing some guy around the thighs and smashing him into the mud. Since this was only my third practice this season and I haven't played any games in quite a while, I haven't done any tackling in a long time. It's physically demanding. It hurts. But, God in heaven, it rocks.

After last night's practice, I was bleeding, bruised and dirty. I was also exhausted from all the running. But I felt good. Elated. After I showered and put ointment on my cuts (the soil on Randall's Island is basically half toxic mud and half goose shit), I felt the best I have in a long time.

I also slept better last night than I have in months.

Granted, when I woke up this morning, I felt like I'd been run over by a truck. My right knee doesn't seem to want to bend. I have a welt on my thigh that is turning all sorts of interesting colors. My legs are scraped up. My shoulder is red and tender. My biceps just plain hurt. And my back has more knots than an Afgan rug. But despite all that (and maybe because of it), I still feel great.

I have a lot of training to do before fall season, but for the first time in a while, I'm really looking forward to it.

I Kind of Miss the Zombies

As has been mentioned on these pages (screens?) numerous times, when my mind is in turmoil, I have zombie dreams.

Well, that seems to have changed. Recently, I've started getting visits from my dead grandfather. I'm not sure what the dreams mean or even what has been happening in them. Like a light frost at daybreak, these dreams melt away once I begin to wake up. All I'm left with is a sense of longing and an undercurrent of dread.

Recently death seems to be playing a big part of my dreams. I wish I knew what was up with that.

Spell Check, stat!

From the New York Times online edition (I won't link since they'll probably fix it quickly):

U.S. Restores Dimplomatic Ties to Libya
By JOHN O'NEIL
Published: May 15, 2006

Dimplomacy - The art or practice of conducting international relations, as in negotiating alliances, treaties, and agreements, using nothing but a cute smile.