Careful what you wish for and all that... Empires may crumble.
Anyway, bless you for stopping by...
Saviour Onassis
Monday, December 25, 2006
Merry Christmas!
May the Force be with you!
Careful what you wish for and all that... Empires may crumble.
Anyway, bless you for stopping by...
Saviour Onassis
Careful what you wish for and all that... Empires may crumble.
Anyway, bless you for stopping by...
Saviour Onassis
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Old Flame
So, after being trapped in my apartment complex due to the inexplicable loss of my garage clicker, I was finally able to procure a new one and go out into the world to do important things, like grocery shopping.
I hopped in my car and drove to the nearest, not exactly fabulous, supermarket. It felt as if I hadn't eaten since 1986, so I really didn't care. I was just about finished when I see this hot guy walk in. I check him out, he checks me out and we go on our merry way. Normal enough, right? Except I think I recognize him. In fact, I know I do. I remember his name: Kris... and it all comes flooding back.
Years ago, actually about 8 years, I moved to LA and was introduced to Kris, a friend of a friend, who thought that Kris and I would have things in common since we were both gay. We did have things in common and struck up a friendship that I had hoped would blossom into something more. I spent a lot of time and energy trying to convince Kris that we were perfect for each other, to no avail... After a disasterous Halloween outing, wherein I was drugged, televised and eventually thrown out of West Hollywood in Pamela Anderson drag-- for punching Jesus Christ! Well, let's just say that at the end of the evening, I had a purse full of phone numbers and a very angry Kris dropping me off at home, then phoning in a suicide call to the North Hollywood Police Department. I explained to the cops that I was not suicidal, just emotional. They seemed to buy it, and besides... Who wants to cart a naked, drunk Pamela Anderson off to the Looney Bin at 3 in the morning? (Don't answer that...)
I never heard from Kris again, until tonight... I walked up to him at the checkout stand and said hello. It took him a minute, but he remembered me. After paying for our purchases, we walked outside together "catching up." For the most part, he hasn't changed a bit. He's lost a little weight, but so have I. He explained that he still lived in the same apartment and was head over heels for his "straight" best friend. All of a sudden, I remembered that he seemed to sing that same lament, all those years ago. Hopelessly devoted to his unrequited love, I have been there myself. But I moved on. Sadly for Kris, he did not.
I asked where he was parked and he pointed to the car next to mine. The exact same car! I looked across the parking lot at the place where two white Toyota Matrixes sat, side by side. He had only made one purchase: a twelve pack of Diet Dr Pepper, which I had also purchased. As we loaded our identical sodas into our identical cars, Kris said: "Maybe you were right... Maybe we should have been together this whole time..." To which, I smiled and bid him goodnight. The air was thick with irony.
Here is the thing: This happens to me all the time. I throw myself at someone who doesn't want me throwing myself at them and eventually, sometimes even years later, they say: Maybe you were right... Which does me no good, because - let's be honest - I know I'm right. I sat here tonight, recalling all the past lovers, friends, etc., who have come back around and said "I should have picked you." I came to the conclusion that fate has somehow intervened on my behalf, because I still believe in love. I will say it again: I still believe in love. And someday, the right guy is gonna come along and say: I choose you. Hopefully when that happens, I will be ready to hear it.
I hopped in my car and drove to the nearest, not exactly fabulous, supermarket. It felt as if I hadn't eaten since 1986, so I really didn't care. I was just about finished when I see this hot guy walk in. I check him out, he checks me out and we go on our merry way. Normal enough, right? Except I think I recognize him. In fact, I know I do. I remember his name: Kris... and it all comes flooding back.
Years ago, actually about 8 years, I moved to LA and was introduced to Kris, a friend of a friend, who thought that Kris and I would have things in common since we were both gay. We did have things in common and struck up a friendship that I had hoped would blossom into something more. I spent a lot of time and energy trying to convince Kris that we were perfect for each other, to no avail... After a disasterous Halloween outing, wherein I was drugged, televised and eventually thrown out of West Hollywood in Pamela Anderson drag-- for punching Jesus Christ! Well, let's just say that at the end of the evening, I had a purse full of phone numbers and a very angry Kris dropping me off at home, then phoning in a suicide call to the North Hollywood Police Department. I explained to the cops that I was not suicidal, just emotional. They seemed to buy it, and besides... Who wants to cart a naked, drunk Pamela Anderson off to the Looney Bin at 3 in the morning? (Don't answer that...)
I never heard from Kris again, until tonight... I walked up to him at the checkout stand and said hello. It took him a minute, but he remembered me. After paying for our purchases, we walked outside together "catching up." For the most part, he hasn't changed a bit. He's lost a little weight, but so have I. He explained that he still lived in the same apartment and was head over heels for his "straight" best friend. All of a sudden, I remembered that he seemed to sing that same lament, all those years ago. Hopelessly devoted to his unrequited love, I have been there myself. But I moved on. Sadly for Kris, he did not.
I asked where he was parked and he pointed to the car next to mine. The exact same car! I looked across the parking lot at the place where two white Toyota Matrixes sat, side by side. He had only made one purchase: a twelve pack of Diet Dr Pepper, which I had also purchased. As we loaded our identical sodas into our identical cars, Kris said: "Maybe you were right... Maybe we should have been together this whole time..." To which, I smiled and bid him goodnight. The air was thick with irony.
Here is the thing: This happens to me all the time. I throw myself at someone who doesn't want me throwing myself at them and eventually, sometimes even years later, they say: Maybe you were right... Which does me no good, because - let's be honest - I know I'm right. I sat here tonight, recalling all the past lovers, friends, etc., who have come back around and said "I should have picked you." I came to the conclusion that fate has somehow intervened on my behalf, because I still believe in love. I will say it again: I still believe in love. And someday, the right guy is gonna come along and say: I choose you. Hopefully when that happens, I will be ready to hear it.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Private Lives in Public Forums
I'm not really big on airing dirty laundry in public, but since I have mentioned the "unmentionables" before (sex, politics and religion), I guess I really have nothing to hide.
Memory is a strange and mystical creature, much like the unicorn... Recently, someone asked what I thought of the armed forces. What was my take on the men and women who serve and protect our country and freedom so selflessly? My reply, as it crossed my lips, surprised us all.
"Boot camp was hell on earth, but I really found that being in the Army taught me many valuable lessons about my own self worth. It fostered confidence and showed me that French men cannot be trusted to be faithful...." It was at that moment that I realized I was talking about someone else. Namely, Goldie Hawn in Private Benjamin. This seems to be happening with relative frequency and I'm not sure what to do about it. But that's not my primary concern right now.
I've just read the article in Vanity Fair regarding Augusten Burroughs' memoir Running with Scissors and the lawsuit filed against him by the "family" depicted in the book. They describe the effects of reading the memoir as completely devastating. Uncontrollable vomiting, trips to the emergency room, a police officer who was described as "Poo Bear" was compelled to "quit the force" as a result of the book. These people feel violated and are suing for defamation. Page after page of these poor souls lamenting the fact that Burroughs had "ruined" their lives by writing his book. Claiming that they only wanted to help him and protect him, I am forced to think about the fact that they are going public (Burroughs had actually changed their names), and also suing for their own monetary gain. Quick! Before the statuate of limitations runs out! They made a movie and we want a piece of the million dollar pie! The James Frey thing comes to mind, but you know what? Who gives a shit. I love Augusten Burroughs and I believe the book. Many things can be verified, "Dr. Finch" lost his license to practice due to "gross misconduct." And yeah, the book is sensational... But Burroughs had hoped the family would recognize themselves. Apparently, they did. Now they just want to get paid.
I apologize for my recent inanition. I am trying to overcome myself and the tendency I have towards misremembering events in my own life. But it's like the time, just after the war, when I stood on that hillside and proclaimed: "As God as my witness. As God as my witness they're not going to lick me. I'm going to live through this and when it's all over I'll never be hungry again nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill as God as my witness I'll never be hungry again."
Sue me.
SO
Memory is a strange and mystical creature, much like the unicorn... Recently, someone asked what I thought of the armed forces. What was my take on the men and women who serve and protect our country and freedom so selflessly? My reply, as it crossed my lips, surprised us all.
"Boot camp was hell on earth, but I really found that being in the Army taught me many valuable lessons about my own self worth. It fostered confidence and showed me that French men cannot be trusted to be faithful...." It was at that moment that I realized I was talking about someone else. Namely, Goldie Hawn in Private Benjamin. This seems to be happening with relative frequency and I'm not sure what to do about it. But that's not my primary concern right now.
I've just read the article in Vanity Fair regarding Augusten Burroughs' memoir Running with Scissors and the lawsuit filed against him by the "family" depicted in the book. They describe the effects of reading the memoir as completely devastating. Uncontrollable vomiting, trips to the emergency room, a police officer who was described as "Poo Bear" was compelled to "quit the force" as a result of the book. These people feel violated and are suing for defamation. Page after page of these poor souls lamenting the fact that Burroughs had "ruined" their lives by writing his book. Claiming that they only wanted to help him and protect him, I am forced to think about the fact that they are going public (Burroughs had actually changed their names), and also suing for their own monetary gain. Quick! Before the statuate of limitations runs out! They made a movie and we want a piece of the million dollar pie! The James Frey thing comes to mind, but you know what? Who gives a shit. I love Augusten Burroughs and I believe the book. Many things can be verified, "Dr. Finch" lost his license to practice due to "gross misconduct." And yeah, the book is sensational... But Burroughs had hoped the family would recognize themselves. Apparently, they did. Now they just want to get paid.
I apologize for my recent inanition. I am trying to overcome myself and the tendency I have towards misremembering events in my own life. But it's like the time, just after the war, when I stood on that hillside and proclaimed: "As God as my witness. As God as my witness they're not going to lick me. I'm going to live through this and when it's all over I'll never be hungry again nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill as God as my witness I'll never be hungry again."
Sue me.
SO
Friday, December 08, 2006
Does my blog make me look fat?
Or rather, desperate? Or needy? Or crazy? I only ask because I think that it might scare off any prospective suitors. Imagine clicking here for the first time and reading my last post. Would YOU want to date me after that? I came to the conclusion that I am a scary mess whilst working out this afternoon. The treadmill was treading away and I tried to examine the reasons why I am alone. I don't recommend this, as it makes for a very hard workout. Forced to watch muscle-bound pornstars flirt with each other and all I really want to do is see what's on Oprah today. Move that well sculpted ass out of my eyeline, please... Thank you.
Who am I working out for anyway? Do I somehow think that masturbation will be more alluring if I, too, have a well scultped ass? I just don't know anymore. It's really not about getting laid anyway. Not that there is anything wrong with that. I just need something more. I want someone who wants me for my body and my mind. Is that such a tall order? What I do know is that I am sitting home alone on a Friday night in Los Angeles, eating soup and blogging...
I would like to think that the more information one has about another is helpful in determining compatibility, etc. But then I took this retarded online quiz about how to find my soulmate and the result said that I would have to have 68 dates before that happens. That's right, 68 different dates with 68 different people at 68 different times. I have no way of knowing exactly where I am in this numbers game, but I would suspect that I am really, really, really close.
The moral of this story, kids: I am ready for 69!
Who am I working out for anyway? Do I somehow think that masturbation will be more alluring if I, too, have a well scultped ass? I just don't know anymore. It's really not about getting laid anyway. Not that there is anything wrong with that. I just need something more. I want someone who wants me for my body and my mind. Is that such a tall order? What I do know is that I am sitting home alone on a Friday night in Los Angeles, eating soup and blogging...
I would like to think that the more information one has about another is helpful in determining compatibility, etc. But then I took this retarded online quiz about how to find my soulmate and the result said that I would have to have 68 dates before that happens. That's right, 68 different dates with 68 different people at 68 different times. I have no way of knowing exactly where I am in this numbers game, but I would suspect that I am really, really, really close.
The moral of this story, kids: I am ready for 69!
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Wanted: Letters and Sodas
What ever happened to a boyfriend
The kind of guy who tries to win you over, and
What ever happened to a boyfriend
The kind of guy who makes love cause he's in it, and
I want a boyfriend
I want a boyfriend
I want all that stupid old shit
Like letters and sodas
Letters and sodas
~Liz Phair "Fuck and Run"
When asked what I want for Christmas this year, I am really inclined to go with Our Phair Lady and say: Letters and Sodas, all that stupid old shit that goes along with a boyfriend. I recently decided to reenter the dating pool and see what I could find, but that doesn't mean I am not open to cyber-romantic overtures. So, if you have ever proposed marriage to me in the past, please consider this your opportunity to re-ignite my passions. Please send the appropriate propositions to my email, which is available if you know where to look. I am fully expecting my stocking to get stuffed this year...
In other news: I suppose it was a subconscious reaction to Britney Spears recent cooter-flashing behaviour, that I dreamt last evening, of newlywed Tom Cruise shouting "Show me the modesty!" at me, as I lie supine upon a vast wedding bed in a castle far away... I complied and he promptly turned into what I can only describe as a werewolf or Kid Rock. It's so hard to decipher dream imagery, isn't it?
Anyway, I am not really expecting anyone to go out and buy me a boyfriend for Christmas, but suggestions as to who, or what type of man you think would be good for me, are greatly appreciated. And by the way, has anyone seen Mitch lately? He seems to have gone missing, yet again....
Most Sincerely,
Saviour Onassis
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