Testing..... Testing....... Is this thing on?

Hello all! Damn it's been a long time since I've updated this thing, but life happens and things get in the way. Well ok, actually I was just to lazy to update but it's the same thing really......

Anyhoo life is going pretty good right now. After being unemployed for 9 months I started to go a little wonky for lack of anything to do so I decided to get a job. I am now gainfully employed with AOL. I never thought that I would be doing a sales job but I am, and I actually enjoy it! I am making alot more money than I did at Ass Central and I have some interesting eye candy to look at all day. And the best part of my new job is that I get to wear whatever the hell I want, which I think was actually my main deciding factor for taking the job.

I am back down to my optimum mangina weight which means that I have been out "cattin' around" as Granny calls it. Speaking of Granny, she is here right now and is driving me nuts! She is on a bingo kick at the moment and makes me go play with her and all the other blue-hairs, I hate it but I did win $400 the other night so it's not all bad.

What else can I update you on? I went to Sam's today and bought some Turkey ..... yes my life is just full of risk and danger.

My mother called me today at 4 a.m. and gave me a royal reaming about my last post. She demanded that I apologize. Here it is! If my comments offended anyone I am truly sorry. Does that make you happy dear?

That being said I think the New Orleans Saints should change their name to the New Orleans Looters. Badumbump!

OK so I know I haven't updated in a while and I apologize for that but since I got home from Brighton I have been a whirling dervish of creativity. I found this incredibly cool wallpaper in London that looks like crushed velvet, purple crushed velvet so of course I had to have it. Plus it was in the bargain bin (my sister says that is because nobody else was gay enough to buy it) so I got it for 3 quid a roll. Because of it I got a few stares when I went through customs but oh well.

Yeah so about the hurricane. I am so tired of hearing people bitch and complain about how the federal government is not doing enough to help. There was a lady on telly today bitching because she did not have food or water, well Bitch they told you to evacuate it's not the governments fault that you were to stupid to do it. What do you expect to happen when you live on the coast? Moron!

And another thing looting, What is the point of looting a television if you don't have electricity, much less a house to put it in? I wonder why is it always black people looting? You never see a Jew looting! And because of the coverage in New Orleans in the last few days I have seen more black women with blond hair than I thought possible. Somebody has got to spread the word that this looks neither good nor natural on a black woman. No matter how blonde you make your hair you ain't gonna look like Pamela Lee Anderson.

Over the last few days I have heard talk about how much it is going to cost the taxpayers to rebuild New Orleans, why? Why should I have to pay to rebuild a city that sits below sea level and is surrounded on three sides by water? Why should I have to pay because the French bastards that originally built the city were such imbeciles that they did not think "oh this might be a floodplain?" Fucking French why are we always having to clean up their mistakes?

I'm also tired of hearing the journalists who are reporting the story, they always ask the most asinine questions. Today a journalist for a very reputable network, I won't mention the name but it's initials are CNN, asked a woman who had just lost her home, her dog and her husband "how does that make you feel?" Well how do you think it makes her feel you dumb motherfucker? First she was to stupid to leave and now she's lost her husband, she feels like a dumbass! I also noticed that most of the woman news anchors have really deep voices, I think that they are really men. I mean look at Greta Van Susteren she has an adams apple for Gods sake and that name, it sounds East German to me. One positive thing has happened because of the Hurricane I get to see more of that hot hunk'a man CNN meteorologist Rob Marciano. He can give me my forecast anytime!

Inspired by the Great Stroppy One and her recent list I have decided to resurrect one of my favorite lists.

Duct Tape Vs. Hot Glue

And now for all those women out there who wonder "is he or isnt he?" I will now give you a short checklist on how to tell if your child/husband/brother/boyfriend is gay or straight. Here goes:

1. Straight men use duct tape, gay men use hot glue.
2. Straight men have bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling, gay men have wall sconces.
3. Straight men say "Fuck", gay men say "Fuck Me".
4. Straight men have yellow stains around the bottom of their toilet, gay men have fluffy purple toilet cozies.
5. Straight men use aftershave, gay men use Clinique moisturizing lotion (or at least I do).
6. Straight men own 3 pair of shoes, gay men own 3 pair for every outfit.
7. Straight men watch football and baseball, gay men watch gymnastics and swimming.
8. Straight men love to watch lesbian porn, gay men love to watch straight men watching lesbian porn.
9. Straight men love gym class, gay men prefer home economics.
10. Straight men love to get head, gay men love to give it.
11. Straight men like Jennifer Aniston, gay men like Brad Pitt.
12 Straight men shop for clothes at Sears, gay men shop at Banana Republic.
13. Straight men drink beer, gay men drink Zima.
14. Straight men drive trucks, gay men drive convertibles.
15. Straight men watch ESPN, gay men watch Lifetime.

That's all I can think of right now but there are many, MANY more. This list will also work to help you identify those women in your life who always seem to be to eager to get to gym class, just substitue the word Lesbians for the words straight men.

Well I'm glad to report that I am no longer "blocked". I mentioned my problem to my granny who later made me drink this potion, it was thick and nasty, I asked her what was in it, "you don't want to know" was her reply. It worked, I did not get off the toilet for 2 days.

My sister's little heathens are here minus their parents. I thought that my parents and grandparents would keep them in line, quite the opposite has taken place. They have the run of the place and are being spoiled rotten. It has fallen on me to discipline the little buggers which is getting old, but when they get hurt, homesick or frightened it's me they come running to which is kind of nice.

On monday my father decided we should go visit the family, instinctually I reached for the Valium. Any trip taken with my father at the wheel is cause for alarm. Like almost all the other brilliant people I know my father is a bit of a ditz! He has so many things running through his mind at the same time that he sometimes spaces out, especially while driving. An example...in Ireland as in the UK you drive on the left hand side of the road, well sometimes my father spaces out and drives on the right-hand side of the road which I find ironic since he used to space out and drive on the left-hand side of the road in the states.

Anywho, he makes the announcement that we are going to drive up to Killrush in County Claire to visit my aunt CeCe who is in a retirement village, or as she calls it "the boneyard." So my parents, grandparents, niece & nephew and I all get into my grandpa's huge old land rover that I've named Sherman because it is built like a tank and has taken almost as much abuse at the hands of my myopic grandfather. As I'm sitting in the car I notice this smell, at first I thought it was my grandpa because he sometimes neglects to wash, but then I realize it is coming from behind the seat, a quick stop and inspection reveals that it is not gramps but a tiny little monkfish my nephew caught the day before and wanted to take home-TO OKLAHOMA!

I have forgotten how beautiful the western coast of Ireland is, mountains, lush green fields, young farmers with their shirts off working in the sun. The only gripe I have about this trip other than the fish smell and my father swerving and cursing at other drivers (because HE was driving on the wrong side of the road and almost hit them) was granny. The entire trip my granny felt compelled to give us a history of the surroundings. Every house, farm and village we passed she gave us a brief synopsis of it's history, "that house on the right is where my old friend Maebh used to live, she's dead now", or "that pub on the right is where your grandfather and I had our first date, do you remember that love?" I usually don't mind her doing this but after two hours of her, the fish smell and my father's driving I was very glad I had decided to pre-medicate myself.

Long story short! We visited aunt CeCe, who nows calls granny "the burning bush" because of her hair. Then we went home. I'm going to Brighton next week, can't wait! After the last few weeks with my family I need to blow off a little steam.

I've got a secret, and it's a BIG one! Are you ready for it? You may want to sit down for this one. Ok, here it is!

I haven't pooped for almost a week! I don't understand it, this does not happen to me, as soon as I heard my mother's voice my bowels just seized up. I highly suspect that it has something to do with the amount of bread I have been eating, I am addicted to Granary bread. We don't have granary bread in the states so when I come home I tend to binge.

I went to the beauty shop thursday with Granny and convinced her to add some spice into her life, she passed on the light blue rinse and, at my suggestion, opted for the fire engine red semi-permanent color. I think something went wrong in the chemistry of the color though because her hair came out more road-cone orange which when combined with her trademark hooker red lipstick and nail polish and her very light complexion makes her look like a punk rock experiment gone horribly awry. She thinks it looks fabulous, thank God for cataracts.

Hello everyone! I am fine! I am still in Youghal, the most boring village in the world. London was bombed today but I am 500 miles away.

Holy God and fuck! I am bored out of my mind!!! Thursday was my first day here and it was fine, getting caught up with the ENTIRE family, never fun but ALWAYS eventful. I learned who was getting married, divorced, who was cheating on who and why, I learned who was in financial trouble, sick, gay etc.

I thought that visiting my parents and grandparents would be nice and relaxing, wrong! I have been up every morning at 4 to help my grandparents tend to the livestock, I have been mucking out stalls, feeding the sheep and cows, washing tractors etc. I will write more later but now I need to go because my granny is going to get her hair done and for some odd reason she is making me go with her. Fun times!

Well my peeps at 1:00 this afternoon I am getting on a plane and heading home. I can't wait it is going to be so much fun. Well Ireland won't, Ireland will be torture but England will be lots of fun. I've got my Valium packed and I'm ready to deal with my family. Wish me luck!

Well Portland was interesting, the job is mine if I want it, but I am going to take the summer and think about it. I had originally planned to stay in Portland until Wednesday but by Sunday I could no longer stand the state of Justin's house. Justin is one of my oldest and dearest friends but lets just say that he does not strive to keep an orderly house. I'm not one of those people who can live in a rubbish dump and since Justin tends to get angry at others cleaning up his environment (as I am apt to do) I decided that it was time for me to come home.

I was shocked when I first got into Portland because of the number of old people. Justin explained this as "oh yes, the migration of the snowbirds." Apparently each year as the weather get warmer the old folks who live out of RV's down in Arizona during the winter travel back up north during the summer and many of them stay for a while in Portland. Now I love old people and get great joy from spending time with them but not en masse. They were everywhere, I'm telling you it looked like West Boca!

Saturday night Justin and I went bar hopping. Portland has an absurd number of bars and clubs for 'men of discriminating taste' yes, gay bars. The first couple we went to were basic run of the mill gay bars, beer, pool tables, Cher impersonators no big whoop. Then we went to a couple which were more animated and had a few more amenities, meaning the men were better looking. Finally we ended up at a place called Club Z. Initially I thought that this was just another ho-hum club, same God-awful pop music, watered-down drinks but then I noticed that they had Guinness on draught. Hey this place was looking up. After a few pints I started to notice shoulders. I turned to Justin and asked if it was eighties night. His reply was "no, why?" "Because all the women are wearing shoulder pads!" It was then that I put my finger on what else was different about the women, they all had Adam's apples, those weren't shoulder pads they were men. I looked at Justin and practically screamed "you brought me to a tranny bar!" You know those moments in movies when the needle skips across the record, the music stops as does all conversations and all eyes look at you? Well I swear this happened after my outburst, Justin says it is all in my mind, and granted I did have about a liter and a half of Guinness in me at the time, but I know I drew stares and contempt. I regained my composure and quietly asked Justin why he brought me here? "You know these people give me the creeps." "Yes" he replied "but they have Guinness on draught so I assumed you would overlook the tranny thing." I told him if he bought me a pint we would call it even. Everything turned out alright and by the end of the night I was up on stage singing a karaoke duet of I Will Survive with some tranny that looked like my aunt Cecilia, mustache and all.

Sunday morning I woke up in time to go to mass, I was feeling a little guilty about my outburst the night before and as any good Catholic boy knows nothing goes along better with Catholic guilt than Sunday Mass. Earlier in the week I had noticed a beautiful cathedral called St. Sharbel's and thought, fleetingly, that I would go there Sunday morning. I briefly entertained the thought of waking Justin up and making him go with me but since he is Protestant and was lying face down & naked in his bed with his pants around his ankles and his shoes still on I thought better of it. After showering and dressing I jumped in the Redneck Cadillac I had rented a couple of days earlier and discovered, as you do, that I was still just a little bit drunk. Now as anyone knows the best way for a collapsed Catholic to go to mass is buzzed, it makes it all pretty and tranquil. I got to the church, walked in and immediately was hip to the fact that this was not my kind of church. I should have known from the name, who the hell is St. Sharbel? I sat in one of the back pews just in time for the procession of priests. As they passed by me swinging the censer I noticed a strange aroma, now in most Catholic churches the censer (incense pot on chain for all you heathens) contains a blend of aromatics usually consisting of sweet and pungent spices and herbs with a spattering of Frankincense thrown in for good measure. This is a time honored tradition and the blend of ingredients in the censer does not vary much from church to church, it is one of those things that makes you feel welcome no matter where you are. At St. Sharbel however the censer was filled with what smelled to me to be patchouli and pot.

I looked around to see if any of the other parishioners found this odd, it was then that noticed that the church was filled with new age, bran muffin, granola head types, I also realized that the odor was not coming from the censer but from the people in the pews. I sat, patiently, through the service which to my horror was conducted in English (I'm a traditionalist.) Finally we got to the sacrament of communion, thank you God. I just wanted to eat my cracker, drink my wine and get the hell out of there. I got my cracker, no surprises there, but then they handed me the cup of wine and I took a sip. Grape juice, fucking grape juice! What kind of fercockta Catholic church serves grape juice for communion? I know that Vatican II made broad changes but they did not make THAT change. I had had enough I bolted for the door, went back to Justin's and changed my flight to later that day.

Now I am home, cleaning and organizing to my hearts content and actually looking forward to visiting my parents next week.

Ok, so the dog officially has a name. I left him with my sister and her kids while I'm in Portland and foolishly told my niece and nephew that they could name him. Because he is four and just saw the new Star Wars movie my nephew wanted to name him Darth Vader, and because she inherited the smartass gene from me and knew how much I would dislike the name, my niece decided to name him Elvis. So Elvis it is!

Portland is GORGEOUS!!!!! I am having a great time here but all of the people are really quite uppity, which means that I get to remove my heels, snap off my nails and bring them down a few pegs (as only a queen can do!) I have been at the mercy of my friend and potential future employer Justin to get around and see the sights, but not anymore. Early this morning I rented a great big ole mud whompin', tobacco spittin', cowboy hat wearin' 4x4 pickup truck. I am going 4-wheelin this weekend. HOORAY!!!!