First Times

Note: Not me, I just relate to the face.

Yesterday I was really tired from a tedious Sunday flat-cleaning, still nursing a tinge of hangover from a weekend wedding, and my left eye was studiously applying itself to the development of an infection via clogged oil glands.  The main reason this was different from a typical Monday was that I had a hot job interview scheduled this morning (Tuesday) with the COO of a company in which I’m quite interested.

In preparation, I spent time reviewing their website and sector, but was admittedly feeling mentally fuzzy and physically icky.  Saturday champagne and Sunday bathtub-scrubbing make for dreary Mondays, especially combined with client tantrums and not enough rest.  Obviously, I needed to whip myself into interview-ready shape, like a Cosmo article for your most fab, fearless self, but without the ice cube enemas or whatever it is they prescribe.

The one thing for it, I sensibly decided, was a solid night’s sleep, especially given that the interview was at 7:30 am and I needed to get up extra early to anchor-bob my hair and pretend to be someone who is professionally pert at the ass-crack of dawn.  I was home from work Monday by 7:00 pm, ate a high-protein dinner, painted my nails, and ironed made my boyfriend iron my blouse in readiness.  By 9:30 pm, I was tucked into bed with a “demanding” Sudoku puzzle and an Introduction to Venture Capitalism.  Normally, that would be sufficient to dull my senses towards comatose, but I wasn’t taking any chances.  A refreshing sleep was crucial, so I took a quarter of Clonazepam to aid my efforts.  Ahem. (more…)


So, I’ve been in this long-term relationship – five-and-a-half years, to be exact – and things haven’t been going well recently.  To be honest, it’s been a rocky relationship from the start, and I can only ascribe its duration to my own complacency, oft-misplaced loyalty, and perhaps a mutual recognition of tenacity.  There have been good times, no doubt, but also a fair share of bad times, and throughout it all, a nagging sense of boredom and of things left undone and unsaid.

When Johnson and I got together, I was 22 years old and coming out of a nasty patch; I latched on to him with enthusiasm.  He was a foreigner in my hometown, we were both looking for some security, and the mutual benefits were immediate and obvious.  It didn’t take long for me to invest my heart and time, shrugging off the occasional errant suitor in the face of Johnson’s promises of longevity and fulfillment.  If I was good and devoted to him, he would be good to me, and together, we would go places.

It didn’t take long before I could see we were going to have problems.  He had a roving eye, as is his wont, and I was going to have to fight to remain in his affections.  Over the years, other pretty girls came and went, but I continued to declare my commitment and one by one, they dropped by the wayside.  I wanted to prove I was dutiful and in it for the long-haul, but sometimes the frustrations of all this struggle to stay visible and important overwhelmed me.  I didn’t understand why we couldn’t just sail on an even-keel; maybe we weren’t so well-matched after all, and I should be seeking attention elsewhere. (more…)

I am in the market for my first home purchase, which means I am spending many hours perusing home listings and deciphering all the lies that come with them.  Fortunately for me, I have a whole upside-down city for sale at my feet.  Home prices in the Vegas area have fallen again for the 39th consecutive month; it is literally a fire sale out here.  So here’s my beef; how in the fuck do you expect to sell your home when your dumb ass either doesn’t post pictures or (even better) you post completely useless pictures of corners in your house?  I’ve just spent the entire morning going through my latest online search results of 399 homes which fit my criteria, and maybe half of them have barely decent photo representation.  I am fucking amazed at the bullshit people post, thinking it will help them find a buyer.  Fuzzy pictures, shitty cell phone camera pictures, pictures taken with the blinds closed and the lights off, pictures of utterly useless ‘features’ of the home.

A message to anyone trying to get me to buy your home:  DON’T LIST WITH A REALTOR WHO IS NOT SMART ENOUGH TO SHOW YOUR HOME IN THE BEST LIGHT.  Because I can forgive some asshole who just wants to sell for the best price and who trusts the realtor to do their fucking job.  Realtors want their cut which means they are directly invested in how well your home appears to a buyer.  I have money to spend and good credit to use, but guess what?  You will never get me or anyone with half a brain to tour a house you present like this:

Perfect! Finally a corner I can stretch out in!

I could never buy a house without knowing what the top of my pressboard bookcase will look like.



I’ve never thought of myself as a girly-girl, or a lightweight in general.  While I don’t spend my weekends camping in a bog or mountain-biking, I have done these things and fared okay, even fancied myself quite rugged at the time.  I’ve hiked up the Continental Divide a few times, gone skeet shooting, and rappelled down a cliff-face or two (not big cliffs, but still).  I have a pair of jeans I’m not afraid to get dirty and I believe there to be a pair of L.L. Bean hiking boots somewhere in the back of my closet.  Sure, the last time I wore the grimy jeans was while putting together a Malm dresser from IKEA, but I own them, don’t I?  If someone wanted to take me duck hunting, for example, I could rustle up the basics (if I went out and bought waders) – even if I wouldn’t ever actually shoot a living thing, per se, my wardrobe contains clothes  in which to not do it!

Basically, while I didn’t grow up on a farm, I have milked a cow and used to ride horses.  I may be citified, but I have some exposure to the elements.  I went to summer camp in Arkansas and Colorado for years, for god’s sakes.  I’ve lost electricity in hurricanes for literally hours.  I am a tough cookie!  Or so I thought, until my boiler went out yesterday.

I live in London right now, and we are in the throes of a pretty cold winter.  It’s been snowing on and off for the last two weeks, and I don’t really hold with snow – it’s all pretty and shit until you have to be somewhere.  Anyway, I’ve been slugging along fine on the tube and trying to keep my outdoor exposure to a minimum, and it’s been fine, or was, until this boiler thing up and died on me like an injured sled dog. (more…)

Heidi Fleiss couldn’t do it, but it seems the Shady Lady can. Last weekend it was announced that Nevada brothel, The Shady Lady Ranch, will be the first to offer the services of male prostitutes to it’s clientele. Christmas done come early, y’all!

AP via Las Vegas Sun

The owner of a brothel more than two hours’ drive from Las Vegas said she hopes to hire Nevada’s first legal male prostitutes within a month, now that state health officials have approved a method to test men for infectious diseases.

The world is ready for women, or even other men, to legally buy sex, said Shady Lady Ranch owner Bobbi Davis. Plus, being the first to offer male service could boost business in tough economic times, she said.

“With so many other male revues going on in Vegas, we thought it was time to give this a try,” Davis told The Associated Press.

Until now, men have been effectively barred from legally plying the world’s oldest profession in Nevada by the specificity of a state health law requiring prostitutes to undergo frequent cervical testing for sexually transmitted diseases.

The health board approved a regulation to allow urethral testing for men _ a crucial rule change by the state agency with ultimate power over whether prostitutes can or can’t work.

For more than 25 years, no licensed female prostitute in Nevada has contracted HIV, the virus that causes AIDS, said George Flint, a Reno wedding chapel owner and longtime lobbyist for the Nevada Brothel Owners Association.

“My concern is that we continue to maintain that kind of record,” he said.

Davis, Flint and Nye County Sheriff Tony DeMeo all acknowledged Friday that Davis still needs county approval to become the first of the state’s 24 legal brothels to offer a lineup of men.

“We’re going to look at it. We have some concerns,” said DeMeo, who serves as a voting member of both a county health commission and a board that oversees alcohol, gambling and brothel licenses.

“The ramifications of this are going to be statewide,” he said. “We’re going to have to deal with it at our other six brothels in Nye County if they want to offer the same service. We want to make sure we protect customers and make sure the industry is regulated with clarity and understanding.”

Prostitution has been legal in rural Nevada counties since 1971 under strict state health board oversight but is against the law in the Las Vegas and Reno areas.

Flint said he feared the idea of male prostitutes serving male clients could spur a legislative backlash. He said he works to make the brothel industry socially acceptable to both libertarians and conservatives.

“I think the Legislature is really going to give me some heartburn over this,” Flint said in a telephone interview after appearing before the state Health Board in Carson City on Friday to endorse the Shady Lady proposal.

“But I think it’s an inevitability,” he added, “and the brothel association has reluctantly agreed to support this as a test.”

Davis said she wants to add two men to the three women she currently has living and working at her compound of trailers off U.S. 95 about 150 miles northwest of Las Vegas.

She said the women usually charge about $300 per hour for the five to 20 customers who visit on any given night.

“We don’t know how to structure the men’s pricing yet,” Davis said. (more…)

Yesterday, my hometown of Houston, Texas became the largest US city to elect an openly gay mayor.  Former Houston city councilwoman and city controller, Annise Parker defeated former city attorney, Gene Locke with 53% of the vote.

Parker ran on her ability to lead the city out of the recession, and not on a gay rights platform, something which in a way makes the win alternately significant and meaningless (do we want her to do the job or make a statement?).  But Houston has always had a very vibrant and (in my opinion) a fairly well supported gay community, especially considering the conservativeness of Texas as a whole.  Nevertheless, to win such a high profile position in a city clogged with Big Business (read: Ol Boy Network) is quite a feat.  Congratulations to Mayor Parker and to the voters of Harris County!

(Now we just have to see whether or not former mayor Bill White gets the governors spot.)

via Houston Chronicle

work_stressA few weeks ago, I did a post about my Boy Person’s impending move-in date, and how, while I was excited, I was also weighing in my mind the ways in which I view this new definition of commitment as a limitation of opportunity.  How very funny, in retrospect.  This week is my first week as a cohabitant, and the challenges thus far are a little different that the ones I was expecting.

I planned to do my second post on the division of housework and personal time – you know, the standard day-to-day things that keep us all ticking along, and seek input on how you divvy up your own allotments of chores and space as cohabitants.  While space is something the Boy and I are still working on, all of that has come secondary to The Most Important Thing in My Life:  My Job.

As seems to be the nature of my job, things lurch along without much of a problem until, all of a sudden!, we enter a solid week or two of panic mode, wherein I am at the office 11 hours a day, perpetually stressed and wiped out and completely incapable of carrying on functional relationships with the people in my Real-Life, to the point where I am too exhausted and irritable to even make a phone call when I drag my ass home.  I get so physically and emotionally tired that I am a fount of irritability.  I am crabby.  I am short-tempered.  I am brittle.  I am the worst version of myself and I have no time for anyone else.  I never meet friends during the week and I don’t even like to call my mom, because when I get home I just want to inhale the little bubble of solitude I have for three hours until I collapse into bed to have anxiety-dreams and wake up dehydrated and achey at 4:00 am.  It is melodramatic, completely self-centered, and I feel helpless to do anything about it.  (more…)

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