June 28th



Mouthbreathers, I'm surrounded by mouthbreathers. I left work recently and swung by my favorite grocery store on the way home. I pulled in and a shirtless fool was on the ground, Smith & Wesson jewelry on his wrists, and 3 cars of 6 cops doing cop stuff. It turns out the inbred copracephalic crawled out of the shallow end of the gene pool, walked into the store, shoved a live lobster in his pants and grabbed some beer and tried to run. The store manager who caught him needed no help overcoming his physical attempts to protest, and I'm sure that assault charges got added to the rest of his kharmic debt.

He's just lucky the rubber bands didn't slip off the lobster's pinchers.

Darwin was such an optimist.

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Well, this is Pride weekend coming up. I'll be helping to decorate the Wet Spot truck Saturday afternoon, and then will be one of the folks riding it in the parade on Sunday. My joints just hurt too damn bad now to walk that distance along Broadway and up the hill to Volunteer Park, but I sure don't want to miss it. I've been going for over ten years now and it's a day I love to celebrate. I hit every doodad vendor in the place, pick up every possible advertising refridgerator magenet, eat greasy food, and see friends I haven't seen since the prior year. The freedom of the celebration, the diversity, the entire width and breadth of the world of sexual minorities and those who accept them, it just great. I love seeing the kids brought by free spirit parents spend one day with the sense of freedom I had the first day I walked into Golden Gate Park in 1968.

It's always a fun, rewarding, and exhausting day. It will be the second Pride day since Al passed away. I spent so many with him, in his piercing parlor in a tent, that the day and he are quite associated in my mind. Look down and smile, my friend. Look down and smile.

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I've had some of those exchanges recently with an ex. You know the kind - you dread them even if you start them, they hurt like pulling teeth on both sides but after you've had them, and after you both settle down from the chafe and abrasion of having done it, things get better all around, and you're both glad you put out the effort.

I hadn't been able to figure it out for months now. I've always been stronger than this. Why couldn't I let go and move on. I made mistakes, she made mistakes, and others involved certainly did. I've often confronted and dealt with my errors in our break up, both internally and in conversations with others. Often that's enough for me. This time I just haven't been able to shake it off, for a couple of reasons. For one thing, I've never felt I was heard, and never felt that the errors of others were as confronted and admitted to as I have with mine. There has been a tremendous amount of undelivered communication. [Oh, sure, there's been whining on my part that has been reacted to; that's not what I'm talking about 'being heard'.] In a couple of other relationship cusps with other people we had couple counseling, and at least heard each other out with a neutral mediator. Not so this time. Another reason I haven't just turned my back - all of the folks involved are in the circle of my closest friends. Well, historically at least. It's been no fun to be treated superficially politely, but at the same time as if I was contagious. You know - even the stupid little shit like when I post a comment on a LJ, the thread just ends. Repeatedly. Silly. Regardless, I've wanted to do my best to heal the circle of friends and regain lost ground all around. If I'd wanted to just do a "fuck off", it would be different. But I don't want to, I really don't want to do that - these are all quality people whom I like, love in some cases, and admire. It's a circle well worth healing.

T'ain't easy, let me tell you, when a group like this divides up to something like 6 on side A, 1 on side B. Any history major will tell you that the side that wins a war writes the history books, and I certainly didn't 'win' this one. Same thing with support groups. A good part of what you get from any support group is a reinforcement of whatever your 'reality' is, and that just doesn't lead to flexibility or introspection.

Anyhow, these conversations have now been held privately between the two primaries, she and I. For me, I finally got to hear the things that I needed to hear from her that hadn't been expressed [or not so clearly] before. I guess 'healing' runs in a series of plateaus, instead of just a binary light switch thingie. We're still in the middle of the "chafe and abrasion of having had these conversations", and my hope is that soon we'll start conversations about the Mariners, the weather, CostCo shopping, current events, or some such neutral thing. Without either of us fearing what the other will or won't say.

And move on. It's time.

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So, I've spent some time updating my Amazon Wish List, in hopes that it is used productively for my upcoming July 9th birthday. [shameless plug] I admit it. I'm present-greedy at winter holidays and birthdays and such occasions. I know it, it's juvenile and I can't do anything about it, but the basic equation in my head is 'getting presents means someone likes you; not getting presents means the reverse'. I just try to balance it by always giving more and more often than I ever hope to get. Do we ever truly get old enough that we don't wistfully hope for a birthday like we had when we were kids? I think we just get beaten down to a point of apathy. It starts when you see Uncle Wyburn's watch on Santa Claus' wrist, next you start getting more clothes and 'practical' gifts instead of toys, and the disillusionments just keep on coming. If I ever end up in a relationship again, it will include full presents on all the major occasions as well as on the occasions like 'today', 'seemed like a good idea', 'the sun came out', and 'thought you would like this'.

I can't really apologize for wanting to hold onto it. Robin Williams said, "You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it." Paraphrasing from memory of the show where he said that [which is on VHS in one box or another around here] I remember it as a quiet but fervent encouragement he gave. He said that you only get a small spark of this gonzo crazy and if you don't cherish it and nourish it like a small little flame on a stormy night, you'll lose it - poof, gone - and end up as an accountant in Armonk.

I hate Armonk.

Here's to ongoing childhood, with balloons and presents and funny hats. It's all part of how I keep life good. Try it.

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Oh - where's the 'slut' part of this Slut's Diary? Mostly polishing the dolphin most recently. It'll change. Thanks for asking.








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