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Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Can you believe that in the late ‘90’s in NYC someone thought it was a good idea to deliver boxes of wine to college dorms?


So recently via conversations with strangers I was reminded of how often I try to decide which of my toes taste better. If you couldn’t figure that out let me elaborate. I have a proven track record of putting my foot in my mouth. Sometimes I choose to mumble just because I don’t even comprehend what I’m saying. Now its not that I’m a ‘Timmy’ a ‘Helen’ or a ‘Mental Midget’ I’m just me, a very well balanced version of the three. I speak without thinking; I can be completely blind to my surroundings, and sometimes how no idea what’s going on around me.

This was abundantly clear to me after Y2K. I had turned 21 and discovered the Kozmo’s and Urban Fetch services and spent a large portion of time in my ex’s dorm. I being the first one in the group of age would order boxes of wine. Three white wines, and three red. Till this day (even though I haven’t drank in over 15 months) red wine always gives me a hangover. I always had to drink as much as possible to get just a little loose and feel on even playing ground with the Fordham kids. Paul put a quote wall on his door and every time someone said something worth writing down up it went. Now there were some really good one liners considering we were all watching Dawson’s Creek and Felicity and arguing over Fiona Apple versus Annie DiFranco. (Sorry Jen I still stand by my Fiona I think I could write a short story from each of her songs and parallel it with my own life.) BTW Tori Amos’s new album so far so not worth the wait. For the record I never liked Dawson’s Creek, a bunch of 20 somethings pretending to be 15 walking around with thesauruses (Don’t even get me started on Katie Holmes) arguing over virtue and false virginity.

Back to the quote wall, I know I made it up there more then once do to comments like "Its not that I mean to say stupid things, it's that I don't mean what I say to sound stupid!" Now this insanity was very common from me when I was sober and can you imagine what I sounded like with a box of wine? I am very glad that I can use the “I can’t remember I was drunk!” excuse on a lot of the shit that came out of my mouth. I vaguely recall going out drinking with co-workers one night and getting shit faced. I just needed to numb out and before I knew it I was in Terence’s dorm room tasting that metallic flavor you get in your mouth after puking. The next morning I did recall opening the cab door as it was driving and up chucking a trail of liquor from 9th Ave to 10th Ave. I even remember the cab driver yelling at me. The thing is when you’re inebriated things sound fine in your head it’s that when they come out my mouth they’re all garbled and don’t make sense. More then just not being comprehendible I get mean and nasty. I’ve been referred to as a real CUNT when I’m drinking. I’m not even gonna repeat what I said to Paul cause in my mind three sheets to the wind mind I was convinced that something else was happening so I said something in an attempt to be funny that came out rude crude and just wrong. (REALLY SUPER SORRY PAUL)

Here’s why I’m always putting my foot in my mouth. I am constantly running an inner dialog and sometimes I say things not realizing I didn’t verbalize the thought process I had just before coming up the comment I make. So if I say something that doesn’t make sense to you don’t take it personal. It’s really a compliment, it means I’ve included you in my thoughts and thought I shared them with you before I spewed my nonsense.

Did you know I have my own Gerbil Story?


‘C’ is for cookie its good enough for me! We’ve all had our first pet and I’m sure we all have very fond stories to go with them. How they were named the funny tricks they did or in my case how blatantly they pegged you as a flaming homosexual.

Let me take you guys back 25 years ago. The year was 1984. The original Terminator: staring Linda Hamilton and Arnold Schwarzenegger. BTW I just saw Terminator: Salvation AWESOME!!!

There are two defining moments of moments of my life when I turned 5yrs old in March of ’84. The first is that I decided that I would no longer call my mother Mommie because I was a big boy now. I said “Mom I can’t call you Mommie anymore. I have to call you Mom now cause I’m a big boy!” And till this day the only time I say “Mommie” is if it is followed by “Dearest”. You know what? It’s funny cause its true. Ask anyone who’s met my mother she’s the love child of Fidel Castro and Joan Crawford. And she suffers from Stockholm syndrome and tries to pass it on like it’s a freaking ginger snap. But I digress!
The second right of passage for turning 5 was that I got my first pet. My Aunt Lu got me the cutest cuddliest creature any gay man could want, A GERBIL!

I loved my Gerbil. I named him Cookie Monster after my favorite character on Sesame Street I just wished he was Blue. Now we all know about the perils of gerbil asphyxiation in the gay culture. Urban legend or not, I can honestly say I killed my Cookie Monster within weeks of turning 5, but it’s not what you think. Okay so it was due to a lack of air but not the way you’re thinking.

My Uncle Mike told this little 5 year old “Gerbils loved the water and could swim really well. You should fill up the bathtub and throw him in there. He’ll love it!” (BTW I still hate my Uncle Mike and this is just one reason why) So one Saturday morning I wake up while Joan Castro was still asleep and I decided to give Cookie Monster that bath. I filled up the bathroom sink and gently released CM in the warm water. He flailed around and swam from side to side back and forth with no way to pull himself out of the water. I only filled the sink halfway. After a few minutes he started getting tired and dunking under the water only to start thrashing again, till finally his tired little legs could not tread water anymore.

My five year old mentality had no concept of death or drowning or that I had even put his life in peril. I thought he just fell asleep in the pool. So I scooped him out of the water and placed him on the bathroom rug. I poked him and nudged him attempting to wake him back up but nothing worked. Starting to panic about how I’d explain this to my dictator I grabbed a box of band-aids and tightly suppresses CM to the rug. Then as diplomatically as I could I stirred the beast all while retaining my dignity. “Mom” I said. “Mom, Cookie Monster fell asleep when I gave him a bath.” Finally after a minute or two of nudging she woke up. “What! You gave him a bath? Did he get loose?” not quite following what I was trying to explain to her. (Funny 25 years later and she still doesn’t listen to a word I say!) “No! Look!” I say as I pulled her towards the bathroom.

Now here’s one of Mommie Dearest’s shining moments in my life, so as much as we don’t get along I have to give her credit how she swung into action. “OMG Tommy what did you do! I think he’s dead. You drowned him.” She said to me as she peeled him off the rug. “But can’t you wake him up, Mommy?” (Ha I’m good aren’t I the master manipulator) I say this to her with the most child like manner I can muster. I really don’t know what drowned or dead means at 5 years old but I could tell it wasn’t good, but I think the ‘mommy’ really got on her good side. Before I knew it she was resuscitating CM. pressing his little chest up and down and I think she even blew into his mouth. Before I knew it he was coughing up water and starting to blink his eyes. “HE’S AWAKE!” I squealed. Joan Castro to the rescue.

“You can’t keep CM” was the next thing she said to me. He was dried off and put back in his cage. My Aunt Lu came over the next day and took CM home with her. He lived there with my Aunt and Nana for the rest of his short life. About a year later he got out of his cage and one of my Nana’s cats killed him. So either way I killed him once and the cat got him the second time. Who knew gerbils’ have 2 lives?

Till this day when ever I smell cedar I think of Cookie Monster and wish he would have caused some internal bleeding in my Uncle.