Category: social media

She’s Single Again

Tuesday morning and my slice of coffee cake is now crumbs. My coffee is hot and tasty as I sit here, bleary-eyed and not quite awake and alert yet. I do feel rested this morning and physically good, so that’s always a nice start to the day. I did get some chores done after I got home last night, and the kitchen looks kind of nice this morning. Overall, the apartment looks tidier, which is all one can hope for, isn’t it? Sparky curled around my shoulders last night while I was doing the dishes, and then convinced me I needed to provide a lap for him (claiming it was for a moment) and then going into a sound, deep puddle sleep, dead to the world, while I binged some more of The Traitors Canada. Such the life, don’t you think? I am debating whether or not to stop on the way home to make some groceries, but at the same time…well, it can’t hurt, can it? I am ordering lunch today as a treat for myself–I have to bring some extra stuff in this morning to the office, so don’t have a free hand to carry my lunch–and I want to do some chores tonight when I get home as well. If I can just get the dishes out of the way…

I also finished my newsletter on Phyllis A. Whitney’s Listen for the Whisperer, which I really enjoyed rereading. It did remind me of one of my biggest quibbles with her work, and that of her contemporary, Victoria Holt; the heroines don’t really solve the mystery or capture the murderer. They usually find out it’s someone they trusted and only when that person kind of loses it and either captures, or tries to kill her, or both, do they realize the answer to the mysteries swirling around the spectral and spooky manse where the heroine has come to stay and/or live. (Remember, Dark Shadows began with a beautiful young woman taking a train through the foggy Maine night to arrive at a spooky mansion full of secrets.) I think I may revisit my first Victoria Holt (The Secret Woman) or Mary Stewart (The Ivy Tree) next; it’s fun revisiting these classic, if dated, Gothic romantic suspense novels. That newsletter is scheduled to go out tomorrow morning!

In other surprising news, I got money from a class action suit involving Blue Cross/Blue Shield, which was completely unexpected. I get these notices every once in a while about these kinds of legal actions, and usually it results, if I register, in a check of less than two dollars. I usually don’t, because registering takes time and even if it’s just a minute or two, it hardly seems worth it for that small of an amount. So, seeing a payment to my Paypal account for almost two hundred dollars this morning makes me think that maybe, just maybe, I should register for more of these things. I mean, that’ll pay my Entergy bill this month. Not too shabby for found money, was it?

Last night, as I watched Season 3 of The Traitors Canada (season three is the best so far), I was fondly remembering how much I enjoyed dinner and the conversation last Friday night with my friend, and that maybe, just maybe, I should start thinking about extricating myself from this healing cocoon I’ve spun around myself since Mom died–it’s really been kind of non-stop since then–and then just kind of shook my head. Maybe not yet? I’m kind of enjoying focusing on myself and Paul, and just kicking back and enjoying the lack of drama in my life that isn’t coming from the television. Physically, I felt well yesterday, but a little still fried mentally. I started revising a short story yesterday–it didn’t go well–which was enormously frustrating, but it was a rather insincere try and I did kind of give up easily when the words weren’t flowing. It’s a muscle in my brain that I’ve allowed to get slack and flabby from lack of use (kind of like the ones in my body–MUST TAKE WALK THIS WEEKEND); and so it’s naturally not going to rebound immediately, just as the ones in my body don’t anymore. It doesn’t mean I am done with writing for good, it just means I need to get the muscle strong, flexible, and healthy again. The creativity is going very well; I am just having trouble stringing the words and sentences together on the page.

I am also having trouble focusing. Par for the course, really.

And not really very surprising, given that the world is burning to the ground as I type.

I feel pretty decent today–alert and awake–so we’ll see how this day turns out.

And on that note, yep, off to the spice mines with me. See you tomorrow!

Such a pretty young man–and a very nicely shaped ass, too, per the mirror behind him.

Wichita Lineman

I am a lineman for the county…

This song, today’s title, came up on social media (which is neither) recently–I’m not sure when–but it reminded me not only of the song, which I love, and Jimmy Webb wrote for Glen Campbell, but was covered by any number of other artists. Go figure, right? My parents took us to see Campbell in concert in Chicago when we were kids–Mom and Dad did a lot of fun stuff with us–and while I don’t remember much of it, I know we enjoyed it.

I’m on my second cup of coffee this morning and I still feel a bit tired this morning. It’s fine; I did manage to get some chores done yesterday around being in my easy chair and resting–I did the laundry including the bed linens–so yesterday wasn’t a total write-off. We started watching House of Ashur (Paul: “it’s soft core gay porn with violence and blood”) and Amadeus (not sure why it needed a retelling in a mini-series, but visually it’s stunning) and I also did a lot of The Traitors Canada, moving from Season One on to Season Two. I love that in Season 2 they clearly watched–and are completely unafraid to mention–the previous season as they make references to what happened. Karine Vanesse has long been a favorite of mine, too. Her looks are often bold choices that don’t always land, but if it was me hosting, I would go so over the top it would be insane. One day I would be a musketeer, another I would be Louis XIV, then a pirate and…you get the idea.

I woke up to the glorious news that all five constitutional amendments proposed by the governor and his lickspittle legislature tried to shove down our throats for whatever nefarious purposes; the only one that was remotely close was the one about teacher pay. Bill Cassidy was thoroughly rebuked by Louisiana Republicans, which makes it look as though Trump has a lot of power and pull still in Louisiana…although more Republicans voted for someone else other than Trump’s anointed. Julia Letlow did win the primary, but didn’t get a majority. So, we don’t really know if this result was because of the impeachment vote–or for being an actual doctor and voting to confirm RFK Jr, or some combination of both. MAGA can’t be counting on their votes coalescing behind Letlow, either, in the general. This is very good news, and cause for hope. The rejection of the amendments is a strong rebuke to an unpopular governor and an unpopular legislature, too–they made the huge mistake of coming for New Orleans on top of their sheer incompetence and corruption. So, the general election and the progress of the recall petitions are unknowns, which hasn’t been an issue here since–well, since a Black man became president and everyone got their Klan robes dry cleaned. I’m not in the least bit sorry to see the useless wind chime Cassidy gone.

This morning I’m feeling a little bit tired still from yesterday. When I finish this I am probably going to go read for a bit. My mind was tired yesterday, too, so I didn’t read or write at all yesterday, but you know, I did a lot on Friday and exerted myself a great deal. My newsletter, about Carol Goodman’s marvelous The Sonnet Lover, also went out as scheduled (you can read it here), which also pleased me to no end. I do have to get the next ones for the week ready. I really am enjoying these longer-form entries, but I sometimes worry that it’s overkill on top of the blog here, which I still try to do every day. It won’t stop me, of course–I always do as I please, which is kind of a nice way to live. I probably should have gotten medicated for anxiety much earlier–a few years of it has certainly turned my life and attitude towards it around. My garden of fucks grows more barren and fallow every day, and while the old “pick me pick me” desperation still comes out every once in a great while, I shrug it off with a “why do I care” thought. Because I don’t. I don’t care if people like me or not. I also don’t feel any disgrace for any behavior before that was anxiety-driven. My brain was wired wrong, and there’s no need to feel embarrassment or shame about it, either.

I’m still not used to being easy on myself, but I like it much better than the way things used to be.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. Have a lovely one, Constant Reader, and I will check in on you again tomorrow morning. Till then!

Personal trainer and fitness influencer Dave Rich. Handsome face and flawless body, but the eyes make him stand out in a world of perfect bodies.

If I Die Young

It pleases me enormously that the “schedule post” function of the newsletter worked swimmingly and it went out yesterday at 12:30, just as I wanted it to. Sorry, you’ll have to forgive my cynicism about technology working the way it is supposed to, as I frequently find that to not be the case. But there it was, in my inbox, as planned, and yes, I felt very accomplished and smug and on top of things. It was something I started writing while in Alabama on the trip, after visiting cemeteries all day. You can read it by clicking here. (There are helpful subscribe buttons there, too, so you can make sure you never miss one.)

I was tired when I got home from work last night, running errands on the way home, and thus made a lap bed for Sparky for a few hours until Paul got home. I did watch another episode of The Traitors Canada, which I am enjoying watching so am doling them out one episode at a time. I am a bit tired this morning–great night’s sleep last night, just saying–but that’s to be expected after a busy day at the office yesterday and it is Thursday, after all; I’m always a bit tired as my days in the office for the week come to an end. I’m going to be driving all over the place tomorrow for doctors’ appointments, but am hoping to get some good rest this weekend and even maybe do some writing. Stop that crazy talk, right? But the apartment definitely needs to be cleaned and organized and made better for the aftermath of Paul’s knee replacement, which is coming up in two weeks. I have no idea what all that will entail–his recovery, that is–but I know he’ll be doing rehab for a while after. He’s going to have the other done later this summer, too. So, I will have quite a bit on my plate for a good while this summer, and having to be Paul’s nurse around everything else going on. Heavy heaving sigh.

The two Black women activists who launched the recall of Governor Janky have also launched a recall effort on our hideously evil Attorney General, Liz Murrill. GOOD, and as always, it’s the Black women who step up. Liz is currently threatening the Mayor and the city council with being “removed from office” because they are trying to appoint someone to the Clerk of Criminal Court position that the state removed after a wrongfully convicted Black man who served time for something he did NOT do and became a jailhouse attorney was elected. Well, the bigots in Baton Rouge weren’t about to have that voter-directed rebuke of the horrible system here in Louisiana or let it stand, so the fucks (all of whom hate New Orleans, a vital piece of the state economy) eliminated the position.

But yes, they are the true Patriots who looooove the Constitution. (Sarcasm implied.)

And the Christian hell isn’t horrible enough for these uneducated ass-wipes to spend eternity in. People here are pissed as fuck; I don’t think I’ve ever seen the electorate this enraged and activated here before. The recalls may not work–the racism runs deep with the mediocre here–but I am enjoying watching all of this unfold. I have signed both petitions, and you can bet your ass I am going to vote this Saturday, and I will cast each vote against whatever Janky Jeff wants–so you can kiss those constitutional amendments goodbye, shit-for-brains. He’s literally making Bobby Jindal look better–which I didn’t think was possible…actually, what I hoped was impossible. But we live in interesting times, don’t we?

Rex Reed died earlier this week, and is another one of those celebrities who frequently came to the Williams Festival. He never remembered who I was (we must have been introduced a dozen or more times), but he was always friendly and polite when we would inevitably be introduced again. He was a great panelist, and his stories about filming Myra Breckenridge were hilarious, once he got going. He loved nothing more than an audience, and always played it to the hilt. I read his collection of celebrity profiles Do You Sleep in the Nude? when I was a teenager, and everything else aside, he was a brilliant writer. His subjects often loathed the pieces he wrote on them, and him as well–but he had a reputation for showing them as humans, warts and all, not as gods from Olympus–and he could be quite bitchy. Despite not really understanding what it meant, I tagged him as a child as different–the same way I did Gore Vidal and Paul Lynde and Charles Nelson Reilly and Jim Nabors and Rock Hudson and Tony Randall and Joel Grey, which has always made me think like recognizes like as the real explanation of “gaydar” (and it doesn’t always work)–and I always enjoyed his bitchiness, even if sometimes it seemed like more of an effect than anything; this is what people expect from me so I have to give them what they want. He also had a great story about meeting Bette Davis in Baton Rouge as a teenager, too. He actually spent a lot of time in Louisiana growing up, and graduated from LSU. He aged really well, too. I felt a bit of a pang when I heard the news. I’d kind of like to read more of his work…I wonder if any of it is still in print or ebooks?

I am having dinner with a friend tonight, which I am also looking forward to very much…and that’s the note I shall close this entry on before heading into the spice mines. I will of course be back in the morning, so have a great day and I will talk at you then.

I used to buy candles here, a few blocks from my old office. I don’t know if it’s still there or not, but I loved this store. It always had such an interesting herbal smell.

Take Me Home, Country Roads

Sparky let me sleep a little later than usual–not for lack of trying, though–but it also rained overnight, which helped me sleep more deeply than I had during the trip. It’s still raining this morning, dark and a little bit gloomy. I’d planned to run some errands today, but maybe I won’t after all. It seems and feels like a stay-inside-and-be-cozy day; once I finish some things this morning I’ll probably head to the easy chair to do some reading. The key is to not turn on the television; that never ends well. Last night we watched an episode of both Hacks and Euphoria, but we are still behind on both–and some other shows we are watching as each episode drops, too. I want to get some reading and writing and cleaning done today around the house; I have to empty the dishwasher, etc. Paul’s planning on going to the gym when he wakes up and bringing lunch home from the Please U cafe on St. Charles–they have marvelous fried shrimp po’boys and onion rings–so it should be a relatively low-key day around the Lost Apartment.

I went into the office yesterday for a half-day, which was nice. I was behind on things from being gone, and was thus able to get caught up by going in. So long as I don’t have to be there before eight, you know? It was very low-key, too–no one expects to see me in the office on Fridays–and was able to take my time and leisurely get things done. I still have things to do there, but it’s now a very much shorter–and easier–day ahead of me on Monday.

We finished watching The Beast in Me the day I got home from the drive, and I highly recommend it. Both Claire Danes and Matthew Rhys are fantastic, as is Brittany Snow; it’s a definite twisty edge of your seat thriller, with fleshed out, rounded out characters who may not be the best people in the first place, and the dynamic of the nonfiction writer living next door to the wealthy real estate mogul from New York who may have murdered his first wife is kind of chilling–it was an interesting twist of the Bobby Durst/Susan Berman situation there (immortalized in the documentary series The Jinx)–which I spotted almost immediately. Berman wasn’t writing about Durst1 (that we know about, anyway), and operated as more of a friend/PR person for him after his first wife vanished2, but the foundation of this story is very similar to that dynamic.

I also watched the final, concluding episode of the reunion for The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, which, like the first two parts, was a snoozefest. I skipped out on most of the season–Garcelle was one of the only reasons I was still watching–and came back in for the last three episodes before the reunion, and couldn’t make myself care about any of them, frankly. The show has always been this weird mix of darkness and manufactured goofiness (the segments on Kyle’s family were always so hyper-produced, to the point I called these segments “Kyle and Her Wacky Family”–supposedly making them relatable, but actually making The Brady Bunch look realistic, groundbreaking, and Peabody worthy) that has always been a bit hard to take. I’ve never cared for Kyle–a recapper I used to love before she stopped doing them always called her Vyle, which is very appropriate–in the first place, and her alliance of bitches known as the Fox Force Five that she activated to get rid of Lisa Vanderpump was incredibly tedious. They’ve also made some horrendous mistakes in casting over the years, too. I don’t know, I think I may be tiring at long last of the Real Housewives franchises, with Salt Lake City the only one I actually look forward to watching.

Maybe it’s because I love The Traitors so much? Very possible.

I also got the marvelous news that the audiobook of A Streetcar Named Murder is on sale for a mere ten dollars, and you can get the deal by clicking right here! Snap it up, everyone! Please?

The Anthony Award nominations were released yesterday, and as always, I have a load of friends nominated in every category! Best of luck, and congratulations to everyone, seriously. I am glad I am not going so I don’t have to choose which friend to vote for, hallelujah. I am very pleased to announce that Crime Ink–Iconic is nominated for Best Anthology, and two of the stories were nominated for best short story! I wrote about my impressions about both stories on my newsletter (if you are interested in my thoughts, they can be found by clicking on this link here for Cheryl Head’s “Finding Jimmy Baldwin” or here for Christa Faust’s “Hollywood Prometheus“), and also have to add that Cheryl has another story nominated as well–well done, Cheryl! It’s also truly an honor to be in the same table of contents with both women, honestly.

And stupid, stupid me–I discovered something that will be enormously helpful going forward with my newsletter–scheduling them in advance. That means I can write, for example, Pride entries for June whenever I am inspired to write about being a queer American, and then set them to post and be sent out to my subscribers in June. Du-uh. Likewise, I can also save my horror entries for October. I am very oblivious, and very aware of the fact; it really sometimes feels like those old commercials, “Oh, I could have had a V8!” I start them all the time and publish them as soon as they are finished, so frequently I won’t finish one because I don’t want to publish it yet….which means there are tons started and unfinished (92 was this morning’s total of “unpublished” entries), which is daunting and overwhelming sometimes, particularly because there are so many and I have so many other ideas for entries, too. Sigh.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. I am getting another cup of coffee, probably going to heat up a breakast sandwich, and head into the living room with the iPad to continue reading this marvelous Carol Goodman novel, and just see how the day goes. Hope you have a lovely Saturday, and I will see you bright and early tomorrow morning! Till then!

Live oak in Audubon Park with lots of Spanish moss
  1. Interesting twist: I am one degree or so of separation from the Durst case; my mentor was a friend of Berman’s and she was terrified of Durst. Can’t say that I blame her, but I knew the case long before it got into the popular imagination. ↩︎
  2. Interesting side note: Judge Box o’Wine Jeannine Perro was the district attorney who couldn’t even file charges on Durst. Given that she now can’t even get a grand jury to indict anyone, you have to wonder if there was serious collusion and corruption involved there, since we now know she’ll try to indict someone for assault with a Subway sandwich. It’s not like she’s either a good attorney or a good person, and she’s clearly corrupt. ↩︎

The Yellow Rose

Friday morning, and I have to get some bloodwork done before I head into the office this morning. Sigh. I slept really well again this morning, which was great, and thank the Lord I don’t have to fast for these labs so I can have coffee before heading over to Quest. I had a decent day yesterday, despite being a bit worn down from the trip. I did get chores done, read some, and ran errands; I also had things delivered. The cupboard was bare, quite literally. I also paid bills, tried to get caught up on the always depressing news–don’t even get me started on the Louisiana drive for voter suppression and a lack of guaranteed representation in this state; I cannot wait to sign the recall petition for our boot-licking piece of shit governor. Trust me–I am watching for a local announcement on where to go to sign it. There are times when I really hate this state, and this is yet another example of why New Orleans doesn’t claim Louisiana. I don’t understand the mentality here of voting against your best interests, time after time after time, and expecting better results. Louisiana has always had shitty and corrupt politicians on the state and local levels, and we’re so used to being betrayed by our politicians, who sell us out to corporate and elitist interests all the time, and always have been for the most part. But there is a lot of anger about this redistricting, and that anger might actually lead to a political revolution in the state; it just depends on how racist the electorate is. I don’t hold out much hope, to be honest. Maybe the economy might drive some people out of the folly of voting against their own interests, but I doubt it. I don’t hold out much hope for Southern racists to wake up from their post-Reconstruction stupor that has been in place for over 150 years.

I also need to figure out where I am with everything and what I need to get done. When I get home from the office today, I am going to have to consult my running to-do list, see if anything can be scratched off, what needs to be scratched off, and of course, add things that need doing. We have lots of shows to catch up on this weekend, some movies I’d like to see, and maybe start bingeing something new. It was gloomy and a bit rainy yesterday, which was kind of relaxing (we had serious rain overnight on Wednesday), and tomorrow I am going to have to run some books to the library sale and stop to get a few things at the Fresh Market, maybe even wash the car (madness!), and do some more reading or writing. I have a gazillion newsletter blog entries to write, some short stories to work on, and of course, the book needs to be gotten back to. I have to go back up to Alabama for a long weekend next month, but after that, don’t have to be anywhere until October, when I go up and then follow Dad back up to Kentucky. I need to buckle down and start slowly working my way back into getting into better physical condition, and I really need to get back to reading and writing more. I am greatly enjoying Carol Goodman’s The Sonnet Lover, which I want to finish this weekend. I also need to get back to work on reading Listen for the Whisperer and The Egyptian Cat Mystery, so I can move on to other books to read. I may reread a Mary Stewart classic as my next reread; we’ll see how I feel when I finish these.

Heavy heaving sigh, I also need to need to register for social security and Medicare, too, since I am turning 65 this year. I don’t want to start drawing SS until I am 67, when I am vested at 100% in it, and can still work full time with no limitations. That’s two more years; I think I can hang, since I was thinking about working until I’m seventy, if I actually last that long. I am keeping my health insurance from work, rather than starting Medicare, but I think I have to sign up before I turn 65? I need to look into this more. (Something else to add to my to-do list, I suppose.) I hate having to be responsible, you know? I’m not even sure how much my social security will be–besides that it won’t be enough to live on–but if I can draw it for three years while still working, I can work to pay off everything I owe, and the removal of that debt will ease that burden. I never thought I’d be here, to be honest, to have to understand how all of this works and what plans I need for the rest of my life. I’ve always been a grasshopper and never an ant, you know? But, it was a long shot to make it this far, yet here I am, defying all odds again.

I also can’t get this book idea I figured out while I was in the panhandle out of my head, either. I am very proud of myself for coming up with how to make the slasher novel I want to write in a more clever way of approaching it. I have been scribbling notes like it’s going out of style, too. Ah, well, it’s nice to have my creativity blooming instead of lying fallow as it seems to have for so long.

And on that note, it’s time for me to get more coffee and get ready for my day to start. I still feel a bit out of place in my own life, but that’s what this weekend is for; to get my equilibrium back. SO, have a lovely and charming and marvelous and productive day–whatever you want it to be, make it be so–and I will check in with you again tomorrow morning. Until then, see ya!

Long time fitness and physique model Eric Turner, who is aging like a fantastic wine.

The Happiest Girl in the Whole USA

First day of vacation, and Sparky let me sleep late. He even slept in the bed with me, which he never does. And wow, did I sleep well. The weather turned yesterday; it started raining in the morning and continued to do so, off and on, all day. It was still sprinkling when I got home from the office, and we had torrential rains and thunderstorms last night. I was a bit tired when I got home last night–I spent the day at the office making sure I didn’t leave any loose ends that might need my input dangling before my vacation. I watched the latest episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, reunion part two, and I really was…well, mostly bored. As I watched, I kept thinking I don’t like any of these women other than Rachel and Jennifer, and the rest can be gladly retired. I also don’t care about any of their conflicts, so why was I watching? I’d skipped most of the season, only checking in as the season was drawing to a close, and honestly, I don’t feel like I missed anything. I don’t really watch any of the Housewives regularly anymore (outside of Salt Lake City), and I used to watch all of them. I also have to admit that if not for SLC, I probably wouldn’t watch any of them anymore.

Today’s forecast is for rain all day, and I am a bit nervous to check the weather along my route; but I’ll be listening to my book and snug inside the car. I just have to watch out for other drivers…and of course, I’ll be driving through the countryside of Alabama in the dark yet again. It really is creepy. I have to pick up around here and pack, get cleaned up, load the car and take Sparky to the Cat Practice. I am also going to swing uptown and pick up a prescription and the mail on the way out of town. Jazz Fest was canceled yesterday; that’s how bad the weather was here. I got stuck in Jazz Fest traffic on the way home and was more than a bit annoyed; it took over a half an hour for me to get home from work, and yes, I was worn out by the time I got home. Sparky was also very loving and needy when I got home, so hence it was to my easy chair with me to get caught up on the news (bleargh). I did watch some more history and lore and legends of Alabama and Kansas, and started thinking about writing history once again. I’ve actually created this entire universe of my fictional county in Alabama (based primarily on the county we’re from) that goes back to the early statehood days–I love the idea of my cursed county, whose history was written in blood–and maybe someday I’ll start working on that some more. There are any number of short stories, novellas, and book ideas set there that I’ve either made notes on, or started writing; I’ve also never told the story of how Blackwood Hall (from Bury Me in Shadows) burned during the war. There are legends that were talked about in that book, but nobody really knew for sure what happened to the house and the family that remained there while the menfolk were off at war.

And of course, going to Alabama today probably has a lot to do with why I’ve been thinking about it so much lately. You think?

I have to admit I was highly amused by the Royal visit to Washington this week. At first, I was annoyed that Charles and Camilla were coming, and thus legitimizing this corrupt regime. I’ve never been a fan of either (I loved Diana, and will shred and block for Diana slander), and hated how they seemed to win out in the end. I also figured if any British royals had to do it, it might as well be them. But…I have to say I was highly amused. The gift of a bellend with his name on it was simply too delicious to be borne, and the fact he was excited like a toddler on Christmas morning to get it made it even more hilarious. Too stupid to know when you’re being mocked is certainly a look–and the fact that the Brits knew he’d be thrilled about being mocked to his face? Chef’s kiss.

How sad is it that a foreign royal had to give a pro-America pro-democracy speech to our Congress to remind them of their jobs, their sacred duty, and what their role is to standing ovations, which from the Reich Right was either proof they didn’t know what he was talking about, or it was just politeness from the “fuck your feelings” crowd; who knows? But they certainly have jumped on board with gerrymandering once our illegal and illegitimate Supreme Court okayed it. They are all such despicably corrupt monsters–Alito, Roberts, Barrett, Gorsuch, and the other two scumbags–but the Right has been pushing fascism since the Reagan years, if not longer, and you can miss me with your praise for that prick, too.

I’m still angry about the VRA, and white people continue to be the absolute worst. I saw a Iowa farmer (also a Trump voter would be my guess, because he never mentioned once who he voted for–because anyone who didn’t vote for this is very upfront about it because they are angry) whining about his farming subsidies being cut–guess he’s not too happy about the austerity and billionaire tax cuts he voted for. But isn’t time he stopped being a welfare queen suckling at the teats of the US taxpayers? Are you really so mediocre at your job you need to be subsidized? Why are my tax dollars going to support his lazy ass? Pull yourself up by the bootstraps! After all, you’re white and everything breaks your way and this country–yet you still need welfare. I sure hope you’re not wasting taxpayer money on luxuries like soda or candy, bitch–those are my tax dollars you’re draining from the Treasury, and I think you should only be allowed to eat what people on SNAP are allowed–and maybe a periodic drug-and-alcohol test. I mean, isn’t that what people like him think about handouts to other people?

The United States, where mediocre white people take handouts from the taxpayers while complaining about other people getting it being lazy freeloaders. Fuck you all the way to hell, rural Trump voters. How’s that price of gas looking for all that driving y’all have to do? Me, I live in one of those “horrible Democratic run blue cities”–and only need to buy a tank of gas per month because if I leave town I don’t even drive three hundred miles PER MONTH. Why aren’t you screaming LET’S GO TYRANT?

I watched this filth tear down Joe Biden for four years. Are y’all better off than you were two years ago? I thought this was all about economic anxiety, not racism? Remember those bald-faced lies? Christ on the cross. I am so fucking glad I’m old and don’t have children.

Sigh.

But this trip will be a nice break from reality. I won’t be seeing much news while I am gone, and won’t be posting here probably again until I get back on Wednesday. It’ll be nice spending time with Dad and my aunt, and there’s just something about the county–and being in Alabama–that feels comforting.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely weekend and first half of the week; I doubt I’ll be here again before I get home next week, so until then–hang in there, because always remember, this too will pass.

Sexy Richard DuBois poses for a physique magazine cover in the 1950s…but we know who the real target audience actually was.

Galveston

Thursday and last day of work before my trip. I didn’t sleep that great last night–lots of tossing and turning and waking up, and for some ungodly reason Sparky decided I should get up at four–and then hassled and harassed me until I finally got up before six. I don’t feel tired–that may change, of course– and actually kind of good this morning. I didn’t have anything to bring for lunch, so I guess I will be ordering for delivery again. It’ll be a nice treat for myself, and of course tonight I’ll have to spoil Sparky before I take him to board at the Cat Practice. I hate boarding him; I always worry he thinks he’s being abandoned again. Hang in there, little guy! We’ll pick you up Wednesday afternoon.

Well, this Supreme Court continues to prove themselves disgusting pigs and traitors who make Roger P. Taney look like a fucking amateur. All I will say is: you know who you are, you know what you did MORE THAN ONCE, and I will forgive MAGA before I forgive you. I hope you’re proud of yourselves. Hope your moral superiority is worth it.

You have no idea, Constant Reader, how glad I am that I am old.

I was kind of tired when I got home from work yesterday, but I forced myself to do some chores around trying to get my Youtube algorithm un-fucked-up with; yet another reason algorithms should be done away with because they are of Satan. As I have mentioned, I’ve been watching the insane bread-and-circus of this idiotic political movement eating itself alive. I’ve started calling this whole mess The Real Housewives of MAGA. Kristi and Pam have been fired from the cast, but not soon enough; may the rest of their lives be as ignominious and hateful as they deserve. Yet Laura Loomer, Candace, and Erika rage on. I despise all three of them, but watching them meltdown and come for each other can be highly entertaining. I generally watch updates on RHOMAGA from more leftist influencers, but sometimes I won’t be paying full attention, and before I can stop it Youtube autoplays the next video…and sometimes it’s an actual video from one of these three little pigs. This fucks up my algorithms, and as a result Youtube was offering me right-wing content more so than ever before. It could also be that someone there rejiggered said algorithms to push right-wing content. It’s so much fun living in a world where you cannot discern fact from fiction on the news. Sigh. Again, I am very glad I am old.

I’m proud of myself for getting the dishes done and the dishwasher run last night around watching documentaries on Youtube. I saw an absolutely fascinating one on the White Hurricane on the great lakes, which sounded like it was horrible. The video primarily focused on the lakes and the conditions; many ships were out there before they knew how big the storm was getting or how fast it was going. I am assuming that Michigan and other surrounding areas also got hit pretty hard. I’m planning on looking up more information on it. More than 250 people were killed on the lakes by the storm, and yes, apparently the surrounding areas were battered, too. Imagine a massive blizzard with hurricane force winds. Sounds pretty fucking terrifying to me, frankly.

I need to make a packing list for the trip tomorrow; I let Paul take the good suitcase so I am going to have to find something to take with me. I’d rather not take the big suitcase, but I may just go ahead and do so there will be room for everything instead of shoving things into overstuffed gym bags. I also have to run an errand on the way home tonight; I should go uptown and get the mail. I’ve been avoiding doing this after work because driving uptown on Claiborne is such a damned nightmare; but I have a prescription I need to get and so I may as well stop by the mail too; I also need to pick up my copy of Jordan Harper’s new book. I’ve got Alafair’s latest queued up on Audible to listen to in the car on the way up tomorrow. But it’s also supposed to rain this afternoon, and bearing that in mind, I may wait to go uptown until tomorrow and after I drop Sparky off. That actually makes the most sense; load up the car, take Sparky to the vet, and go uptown and then head down Claiborne to I-10.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I’ll be back tomorrow before I head out. Till then!

I highly recommend the Bloody Mary’s at Commanders Palace.

Talking in Your Sleep

I am hoping that this morning won’t be like yesterday. It was quite odd. I felt nauseous and warm when I got up after a fitful night’s sleep in which I could never seem to get quite comfortable. I kept feeling warmer and warmer until I was sweating and overheated and quite sick. I laid down for a while, watching more videos about 1970s horror movies (television and film) which was quite fun. I feel better this morning than I did yesterday; I suspect my sinuses had a lot to do with yesterday’s bout of yuck. I need to stop and get Claritin-D on my way home from work tonight…to an empty house, as Paul is departing this morning for his trip up north. So, yes, I am very well aware Sparky is going to be very needy tonight and the rest of the week until I take him to the vet’s Friday on MY way out of town. Sigh. But I did sleep well last night and I feel pretty good so far this morning. I think I’ll be fine.

I tend to get paranoid about my health now whenever I am not feeling 100% after last year–and at this time one year ago I was horribly sick. I missed Paul’s birthday last year because I was sick, and of course, it’s today and he’s leaving. We seem to never have much luck these last few years for his birthday. I think we’ll celebrate after we both get home next week.

Because I wasn’t feeling well yesterday, I didn’t accomplish a whole lot other than watching the television with Sparky purring in a cuddle puddle in my lap. I did read another chapter of The Egyptian Cat Mystery and Listen for the Whisperer, and I scribbled a lot into my journal. I’ve done a lot of scribbling in my journal lately; I realized as I finished my red journal last night that I had only started the red journal after the first of the year….and wasn’t even halfway finished with it a mere month ago–so that’s a lot of scribbling these past few weeks. What I’ve been doing lately is trying to write after work on weekdays, and letting my mind and body have the weekend off….so I just give my creative ADHD free rein on the weekends and scribble in the journal. And the way my brain has been going these past few weekends has been pretty amazing. So many notes, so many solutions, and so much rewriting and writing to be done. But…nothing will ever get done unless you start, right?

One by one, step by step, and you will gradually get there. Patience is always the key and the one thing I always seem to have in short supply.

And while I did spend almost the entire day in my chair under a blanket with a remote in my hand, I did scribble. I also watched some fun Youtube videos; I also watched some on Louisiana, Kansas and Alabama lores and legends, some news (Lord), and I also watched (rewatched? I don’t remember) All Make: The International Male Catalogue, which was interesting. It also ties into my study of masculinity and gender, because it was influential in changing the ways men dress. I used to get it, of course, but I don’t remember if it was the 1980s or the 1990s when I did. I bought a swimsuit and a pirate blouse from them once; the swimsuit was iffy quality (I also realized that the swimsuits and underwear didn’t make the models look the way they did, but rather showed off their impressive bodies; they were selling the illusion that clothes made the man rather than the reverse) but the pirate blouse was for a Halloween costume, and it lasted forever until I have it away to someone else to use as a costume.

One thing you get used to living in New Orleans is the recyclability of costumes.

I was very disappointed to hear that Don Lemon interviewed Keith Edwards1 on his show last night, and it needs to be said and addressed and no longer swept under the rug: we have a severe racism problem in the queer community. Edwards will never beat the racism allegations; I’ve seen and heard what he has to say to Black women, and his condescending superiority for such mediocrity on full display. Why was he so vested in the Texas primary? He doesn’t live there and never will. Why were so many white gays determined to bash and demean and undermine Jasmine Crockett? Bowen Yang and his trashbag friend Matt Rogers already showed how much work gay men have to do to get their heads right, but not having full white male privilege, they do like to hold on to what their skin and their genitals provides free of charge to them in this country. There have been times when Lemon has mis-stepped before; what “journalistic” need did platforming Edwards fill? Nothing, just two privileged gay men chatting? I can hear that at work anytime I need to–and at least, I know at work the conversation won’t be steeped in male privilege and racism. I don’t know. I don’t like criticizing Black gay men, but how can you ignore all the Black women screaming at you about the misogynoir Edwards is very happy to display on social media and his videos? And not even ask the question?

I’m not sure I entirely trust Talarico–he’s got charm and charisma for sure, but I also don’t trust Graham Platner in Maine, either. They say they won’t be another Sinema or Manchin, but Fetterman ran as a progressive only to show his unwashed MAGA ass once he was elected, also like Sinema, who I hope to have the chance to slap across her grifting face some time. I know I won’t live long enough to piss on her grave, but I am very hopeful I’ll be able to do that to Fetterman’s.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I will be back in the morning tomorrow. Till then!

The Chicago River at night as it flows through downtown on it’s way from the lake–or did they finally allow it to flow into the lake again?

  1. Who apparently got his start working for Andy Cohen at Bravo? Yet another crime to lay at his misogynist door. ↩︎

Step by Step

How on earth is it Pay-the-Bills Wednesday again already? As my grandmother used to day, “lord, have mercy” (it sounded like lawd-a-mersuh) But the week has gone rather well thus far, so no complaints on that score. I did feel a bit tired yesterday afternoon at work, but I just keep my head down and keep plugging away. I was very organized and efficient at work yesterday, too, and I have some catching up to do this morning but that shouldn’t be much of a problem. We’re aren’t terribly busy today, either, which is nice. We also started watching a new series on Netflix, Unchosen, which is about a British cult (fictional), but it’s incredibly well done and chilling–and like Trust Me: The False Prophet, focuses on a woman victim of the cult who is starting to think the cult may not be what it’s presented to be. (Watch Trust Me–you literally can trust me on this.) I’ve always had a mild interest in cults; I remember when they found the corpses at Jonestown when I was in high school. There was also a cult in the county seat where we lived in Kansas. They had purchased the campus of a defunct religious college and taken it over as a “religious college”–but only the religion was their cult. Those people were creepy as fuck, and it was even scarier the way they would corner people to proselytize; it happened a few times to me at places as varied as McDonalds, a gas station, and the grocery store. I looked the cult up a few years ago, when I remembered how weird that was–for a religious, deeply conservative Midwestern state, a lot of weird fucking shit goes on there–and they’re declining. The campus was sold to a local land-grant university, and I even found a book by someone who had left the cult. that I ordered but haven’t read yet.

There are still so many Kansas stories I want to tell.

I was also thinking about the hypocrisy of the entire “tradwife” thing. For one thing, traditional farm wives who baked their own bread and churned their own butter generally didn’t have running water in the house or electricity; so these grifters trying to sell this brand shouldn’t be using what the women they are emulating would have called witchcraft. Just a thought. And isn’t it interesting that conservative women are trying to sell women on the notion that it’s better to be so fucking busy in the kitchen and the daily chores to think about what they actually want from life. There’s a harrowing passage in Robert Caro’s first volume of the LBJ biographies he’s writing about what a day in the life of a rural farm wife was like, and I’ve never forgotten how awful and hopeless their lives were when they had to boil clothes and run them on a washboard to clean them–and having to cart the water from the well, which took multiple trips, not to mention trying to keep the house clean and the larder stocked and cook and take care of the children. (Loretta Lynn remembers those hard times with love and through rose-colored glasses in her song “Coal Miner’s Daughter.”)

It’s so patriarchical, isn’t it? “Keep your woman busy so she won’t have the energy to think about how much inequity exists in her life. She’ll be happier.1“

Remember when I was talking about how some show business people decided to turn Colton Underwood into THEE GAY of the moment, and gave us a reality show where Gus Kenworthy tried to show him how to be gay? I think it was called Coming Out Colton. I didn’t watch, and kind of thought it wasn’t very well thought out–“oh, look, an NFL player and former Bachelor has come out, and is a beautiful blonde blue-eyed young man, let’s give the gays a star”–but may watch it someday2. ANyway, the other example of not knowing what the queers want (her reality show revealed how horrible she was), Caitlyn Jenner, was interviewed by the unspeakably vile Tomi Lahren the other day and was whining about her passport being renewed with an M gender marking–entirely due to the policies she actually voted for.3 And of course, being a true piece of confused moronic trash, she “still loves Trump.” Yeah, he ain’t helping you with the passport thing. You’re no use to him anymore. I’d say maybe she’d wake up and pull her head out of her ass, but she’s been in that horrific Kardashian universe for so long it’s undoubtedly broken her brain.

I also did some chores last night; I thought I had turned the dishwasher on before I went up to bed last night, but apparently I didn’t; so I’ll have to empty and reload again when I get home tonight. I also think I’m going to do a load of laundry, too–or maybe that should wait until tomorrow night after work, so I can get another day’s worth of dirty clothes in there and only have the bedding to do on Friday.

I didn’t write anything fictional yesterday; I’m trying to figure out the best way to get the information I need my main character to get in this chapter. I’ll probably go over the nearly two thousand words I’ve already done to edit and revise and add some layers to, which should get me back into the story. It was a struggle yesterday, so I gave up and worked on some essays instead. (I started to say write anything, but caught myself and remembered–nonfiction counts. Rather proud of myself.)

The MAGA civil war continues to entertain. The Candace Owens/Laura Loomer war is hilarious; they are both monsters, but it’s lovely seeing them using their vitriol on each other instead of others. I love that The Onion bought Infowars and Alex Jones is financially ruined, which isn’t everything he deserves but is a good start. He and his followers are clearly heartless and soulless ghouls. I cannot imagine telling parents grieving their murdered children they are liars, or defiling the children’s tombstones. And I am not buying into any MAGA regrets or apology tours either, that take no responsibility or accountability, and then think we owe them forgiveness? I’m more likely to forgive and financially support Westboro Baptist than forgive them without atonement because they are still awful and are just trying to get ahead of the inevitable eventual collapse.

The ebook of Sinclair Lewis’ It Can’t Happen Here was on sale yesterday for $1.99, so I snapped it up because I was thinking about rereading it again. I originally read it during the second Bush term because I could see it coming then. The rise of Rush Limbaugh and Fox News in the early 1990s was the canary in a coal mine, and I saw the signs of this current situation already starting to fall into place. I don’t think our current situation is going to end up in the Turd Reich–we are perilously close right now–because it’s all blowing up, and I don’t think a Fascist takeover with all the reins in the small hands of an insane tyrant whose cognitive dissonance must inevitably cause a complete mental collapse, and I have a lot more confidence now that we can somehow come back from the brink. But there’s so much work to be done after, to even get back to where we were before, let alone make things better.

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Wednesday, Constant Reader, and I will check back in with you again tomorrow.

The beautiful Antinous, lover of Roman Emperor Hadrian, depicted as the Egyptian God Osiris
  1. Paul asked me, as we watched the show last night, “why do these cults exist” and I replied, “as a means of controlling and subjugating women. All cults seem to have that in common.” ↩︎
  2. Since I love reality television, I’ve been thinking about doing an essay on gay reality shows, and another on queer people on mainstream reality shows. ↩︎
  3. I was also rather interested to hear her mention her driver’s license–didn’t she kill someone in a vehicular homicide? How does she still have one? ↩︎

Rhinestone Cowboy

Tuesday morning and all is well this morning in the Lost Apartment. I slept well and feel pretty good this morning–thus far, at any rate. Yesterday was Injection Day, and the distress I’d been experiencing for the last week gastronomically is now over, which is terrific; you always wonder if the medication will stop working at some point. I even wrote a little bit of fiction yesterday–not much, but every little bit gets me further from the starting place and closer to being finished. Every little bit definitely helps, you know?

We finished watching the FLDS documentary, Trust Me: The False Prophet, which was actually chilling. These documentaries inevitably focus on the crimes of the cult leader, but what I loved about this one was it actually focused more on the victims, and how the documentary filmmakers just really happened to be in the right place at the right time to earn his trust and his endorsement of filming everything. It was absolutely fascinating, and it was interesting to see that one of the victims realized what was going on was wrong (“the path to hell”) and became an informant for the FBI. How fucking brave was she, and then the other women, having to wake up from what was going on and wonder how they were so easily fooled–but the lesson here is how easy it is to convince true believers in false doctrine, which is a very singularly important lesson for these times, right?

Likewise, these social media posts from people choosing The Filth over their lifelong Catholicism just make me shake my head1. There are none so blind as those who will not see. The MAGA regrets we are seeing everywhere aren’t deep or meaningful–no, they just think The Filth lied to them and deceived them, not that the evil policies being enacted and enforced are wrong; they’ll vote red happily and proudly over and over again, even as it is clear to anyone not wearing blinders that the policies they voted for are what they hate–but it’s easier to blame someone else for our failings rather than take accountability, true repentance, and behavior change. No, they aren’t sorry about ICE’s abuses and the racism and the misogyny or any of their horrible positions; they’re mad because the price of gas is going up, and nothing else. “He lied to me” is much easier than “wow, what I believed and voted for are actually wrong and pretty fucking awful in practice” and it has the added bonus of absolving the person of any responsibility for their conduct.

Frankly, their vote is one thing. Being MAGA is entirely different. I also love that they are also trying to police how we receive their regrets…which makes me question their actual regrets as they try to again paint themselves as helpless victims who “didn’t know any better.” It would be one thing had they been polite about differing views from the get-go, but they were all pretty fucking awful. MAGA parents whose children have gone no-contact also love to paint themselves as victims, too–“but we’re family!” falls on deaf ears when you haven’t been acting like family. MAGA is usually the last straw, to be honest–and if it’s not, then you must have been pretty fucking awful to your kids about politics. Were you being racist, homophobic, misogynistic, or transphobic? IMAGINE how awful the things you said must have been…and then to come on-line to engage for sympathy? “How could my kids DO this?” Well, if that’s the question you’re asking, they are going to keep doing it for a very long time, and I hope not seeing your grandchildren was worth being MAGA.2

When someone goes no-contact with me, I figure I must have done something to trigger that response, or that person has simply decided I’m too “extra”–that’s happened a lot during my life; maybe not that word, but basically that’s what it was–and sure, it bothers me and makes me wonder a bit–but I also respect their wishes and don’t try to fix it.

I was actually thinking last night that I’m feeling much better than I have in a long time. The corrective shoes have eliminated leg fatigue and aching joints. I’m sleeping well and feeling rested. Getting up in the morning to the alarm, which I would still prefer not to do, hasn’t been an issue, and Sparky isn’t as pushy about me getting up in the mornings as he has been–now he’s more purring and cuddling and mewing softly rather than attacking my feet and smacking me in the face. I may relapse again back into aches and pains and fatigue–one never knows–but right now I feel pretty good, and we’re going to leave it at being happy and feeling good on a day-to-day basis. Baby steps, y’all!

And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a great Tuesday, everyone, and I’ll be back tomorrow on Pay-the-Bills Wednesday (again???).

How come I never come across a gorgeous man in his underwear hanging out nonchalantly around columns?
  1. It also tells me how deep and real their faith was. You’re giving up your religion because the Pope criticized your mad God-Emperor? I’ll leave that to God, no need for me to comment. ↩︎
  2. As for me, I side-eye these folks. If people want to let bygones be bygones, so be it–but not me. I will go to my grave resenting and hating these people. I’ll never trust them. ↩︎