I was crossing the street on my way in to work, and a short boy with large upper arms (I’m a sucker for that) was crossing the opposite way. In my coy way, I watched him. And almost got creamed by a car. It’s true: Lust is one of the deadly sins.
| Everyday | Comments (0) |
A friend emailed me a quiz - how much of a loser are you? Turns out - I’m 88% loser when I’m answer the questions all funny. For example - there were two questions - What do you think of homosexuals? Of heterosexuals? - and I answered on both of them, “I’m OK with it, but don’t want to see it” or something like that. When the test told me I was 88% uncool, I called my friend to tell her, because it was funny. She was like, “Did you answer the questions honestly?”
“Of course not! It’s a stupid quiz! I was answering funny!”
“Answer honestly and tell me what you get.” Then she hung up, the little bitch.
So I took the test again. This is what I got:
Does this mean I am cool? I dunno.
I checked my bank account today and had like $100 less than I thought I did. I’m kinda freaking out. I tried to pawn my old computer but no one would take it. My job had better freaking come thorough with the money (that was sarcasm). I’m trying not to freak out. What makes it worse is that I’m sitting here watching “The Fabulous Life Of…” and it’s making me bitter atop bitter.
Well, I’m off to bake some more muggins while my laundry gets clean. If you want muggins, orders are pouring in! (Okay, they’re not. But I am baking some.)
| Everyday | Comments (0) |
Know what I like? Sitting in the computer lab and watching cute boys walk in and sit down. I like to watch them do their work and use Remote Desktop to find out what they’re doing. Some are writing papers. Some are checking their emails. I watch the words begin to scroll across the screen as they type. It’s so much fun. There’s a redheaded boy in here now who has on car shoes! Car shoes! I thought I was the only person who wore those! I must befriend him. Except the problem: most male friendships do not begin with the sentence, “I like your shoes.”
Know what else I like? The Stills. (current iPod song: “Lola Stars and Stripes”). The sun is coming in these big, tall windows we have on the computer lab and the day is bright and cold. I like that in a day. Okay, and I’m just blogging to keep from working on my novel, which I love, but which is like having a crack-addicted baby with abandonment issues. These days I can’t leave it alone very long before it starts whining - “Work on me!” Which I guess is a good thing, if not a little needy. I mean, come on. Clearly this work of art is not being very mature about the Entire Situation. This is the same reason I don’t want babies just now. I am too needy to have someone else needy in my life.
I think that when this work is done I will feel very proud, almost to the point of defiance, but also, I will feel tired and strung-out, and I know this almost never happens on a first novel, but I really hope to God that someone publishes it. Professor Chester - Deborah - says that this is a “training novel.” Here and I thought those were the ones I’ve been writing since I was 8 - you know, the ones that sucked. Also, I hope I get an A. I’m worried that I won’t, because so far I haven’t bought into any of Deborah Chester’s prescribed methods of novel-writing, so grade-wise I might be screwed. Oh well. I’m still 130 pages ahead, so if I need to change things, I just will. So there. She liked my synopsis.
The song changes: “River” by Mary Chapin Carpenter: “Wanna build the strongest bridge / Wanna love you the best I can / Feel no fear upon the edge / Here’s my heart, baby, take my hand.” She’s so fantastic. If you want to date me, you must be as passionately in love with Mary Chapin Carpenter as I.
Brian and I went to Mardi Gras last night. How fun! For some reason that’s always the best going-out night of the year. Except now the stupid lousy fire marshal has cracked down on the Copa and there is a line to get in. So Bri and I spent the majority of our time at the Park. Gabe wasn’t there. I feel like a dejected lover where it comes to my former roomie - like Josh has stolen him from me and now keeps him sequestered. Every time I’ve gone out since I moved out of that apartment, I’ve been like, “Oh goody! I get to see Gabe!” and he’s never there. Which is probably a good thing, because it means he’s focused on his job, and doing good things like keeping it. He’s a person for whom I want the absolute best. But also, I miss him.
Still, I was the merest bit hung over this morning, and I had lahvash for lunch, which was great. Then I was 20 minutes late to Novel class because I had to park so goddam far away. And yet miraculously life continues on. And for the first time all week - it continues on well. Thank you, Lord - how could I ask for more?
Final iPod song of the entry: “Slow and Steady Wins the Race” by Pedro the Lion.
| The Power Of Two, Writer | Comments (1) |
I looked at myself in the mirror today and thought - “Damn! I look cute!” So I’m going to go out tonight and flaunt my sexy self in front of the Boys of Oklahoma City, who can’t have me. God, I’m such a bitch.
After last night’s entry was all typed and published, I went upstairs for a nice, long cry. I think I entered into a kind of “Acceptance” stage with my grief. I never thought about it until that moment, but when they tell you that Acceptance is the final stage of grieving, they never tell you that it’s also the absolute worst, most horrid one. I had this image in my mind of my pain just coming and laying on the bed beside me, like a lover. And I just let it lay there.
It was a lot like when I became a believer, because Jesus had been following me around for months. He was kind of like a stray cat - you feed it once, and it never leaves you alone. So finally I just let him stay, because I knew I needed him. Last night, I was aware of this presence in my room - and I just let it stay, because it’s a part of me, but it’s a part that I don’t want at all. I don’t want to hurt. But last night I accepted that I’m just going to have to for awhile. It was the first time in days I haven’t wanted a cigarette. Maybe quitting is possible.
Anyhow - thank you to Stuart for telling me to go fuck myself. I needed that dose. It made me laugh this morning. I was late for work, so my lunch today has been Combos and an Arizona Green Tea from the gas station. Whoopty.
iPod song: “Medication” by Derek Webb. Because I do not feel the need to self-medicate these feelings away. It is cold, and brisk, and refreshing, and painful - like swimming in the Irish Sea in the middle of summer. So I’ll go out tonight and try to resist the temptation to dance like a spastic white person. And hopefully, while I’m sitting here at work, I’ll get some editing work done on this stupid, rotten novel that I am in love with. I may even post a chapter for your reading pleasure! You just never know…
Thanks for praying, you two. I appreciate it.
| This I Believe | Comments (0) |
I’ve made a couple decisions - want to hear them?
1) I am going to stop reading other people’s live journals. Except perhaps Jonathan and Tish’s (speculationsandsuch.blogspot.com). Theirs is good. For some reason, every other blog I read ends up getting me upset in some way. Maybe politically, or personally, and honestly - I have quite enough on my plate as it is, what with all the shit I’m dealing with. I don’t need to add heartache to heartache.
2) Men are scum. Except perhaps for Bono. But we knew this.
3) I really like the band The Used. Even if they are a little weird.
4) I really miss Joel New. I wish he hadn’t moved to New York. And, I wish I wasn’t such a jerk. My heart loves to do this to me - when I am hurting about a boy, it goes and throws in someone else from way back for me to be sad about. Stupid, lousy mind. It does not have my best interests at heart.
Tonight, it is really hard for me not to indulge my worst habit - hating my life with passion and rigor. I must pray for the courage to feel my rotten, ugly feelings, because tonight during class, when Blake and everybody went out to smoke during the break, I wanted to go with them. I would’ve if I didn’t also have a sore throat to accompany my fun new cold.
For once, I’m not writing this in the computer lab. Oh, and I didn’t get the NPR job. Fucking just great. Other than really REALLY wanting that job, I also needed the money it would have provided. Once again, back to Square Fucking One. That seems to be where I live. Although, I do have my job at Gaylord, and I enjoy that. And dad slipped me a bit of money last time he was here, which helped. So when I think about it, I guess God does have my best interests at heart. But emotionally, I am so strung out and tired of feeling sad - I feel like an addict about 3 days out of rehab. This is how I get when I’m going through nicotine withdrawal - but doesn’t withdrawal eventually end?
God, I’m even boring the hell out of myself. I can just imagine how the two of you must feel. Good night all. Unless you’re a 20-something gay man. Then you can fucking just bite me. Wait! Come back! I didn’t mean it!
::shakes head at self.:: Going to bed. Good night. Pray for your sad friend Nate.
| Nathansomnia, It's Not Right But It's Okay | Comments (1) |
…well it’s true! Even this gay man knows that. Actually, I didn’t get to watch the Super Bowl, because I’m at work, which is almost always where I am when I scribe a new installment of TUP. It’s become more fun writing this than my novel, or Queer As Faith, because, well, I get to say whatever the hell I want here. And that’s fun.
You know how sometimes you get so incredibly bored you think it might be fun to go on a murderous rampage? No? Yeah, me either. I was just curious.
I’ve been in this stupid, rotten computer lab for three and a half hours. And yes, I am incredibly grateful to have a job, especially one I enjoy as much as this, on a night like tonight, when it’s cold, and no one’s here, and the lights are low, and I’m the merest bit bored. I’d rather be home, watching “The Simpsons,” baking muggins, writing, or listening to some of the new music I downloaded, namely “The Dana Owens Album,” Queen Latifah’s album of jazz standards. Weird? Yes. Great? Oh hell yes. Turns out - the Queen can saaang!
When you are typing in black Southern dialect - you are a bored boy.
And since everyone seems sick of hearing about the muggins, at least for the moment, I’ll talk about the rollercoaster of emotions that is anonymous sex. Now. It’s been quite some time since I’ve had anonymous sex. So long, actually, I can scarcely remember it. This is also probably because - most likely - I was drunk when it happened. Well, I’ve long since given up this kind of behavior, and I don’t often talk about it, because I don’t want to pick at old scabs. But I am just bored and delirious enough to do it.
I never got into the whole anonymous sex thing the way some gay men do. Some gay men go after sex like it’s a ten-point buck during deer season. That is to say - they only have jobs to finance their anonymous sex habit, which also, fortunately, involves a lot of going out, a lot of drinking, and the occasional bout of recreational drugs. With the exception of the drugs, these are all things I’ve learned, in my 24 and a half years, to enjoy with some reckless abandon. Now, of course, I’m learning to enjoy them in moderation, and I’ve forgotten what was ever fun about getting naked with someone you’ve only just met. Which is good, ‘cus in the time it took me to figure this out, I got plenty screwed up. And compared with most people, my lesson was brief. I know people who are in their ’40s, who have been out for twenty years, who have yet to figure out that anonymous sex is not the quick fix they expect it to be.
I think the reasons I’m thinking about anonymous sex are two:
1) I’m no longer convinced that there are single gay men in their mid-20’s who aren’t scum. Or fucked up. Or taken. But even the taken ones are very few. For some reason, there’s this thinking in the gay community that you can’t even begin to think about settling down until you’re past 35. And to people who say that, I say, “Fuck you!” I have begun to realize that I am just no good on my own. None at all. And yet. I’ve met pretty much every 20-something gay man in the greater Oklahoma City area, and the ones I haven’t ruled out on sight, I have met, spoken with, and - on those rarest of occasions - gone out with, and now, my local dating pool is down to 0. I’m not opposed to a long-distance relationship, but I’m thinking maybe these next couple years are going to be single ones for Nathan, because, well, I’ve got some other stuff to work on: publishing, praying, and putting some stuff back together that is scattered all about.
2) I am scum, and I wish I had someone to sleep next to tonight. I just want it to be someone I know. Someone I care about, and love, and cherish with every part of me. Sadly, I’m the only person I feel that way about. And that seems to come and go with great irregularity, and even when it’s here, it’s horrible mis-love, self-centered and icky. And I get all egotistical and self-inflated, and I become like a Pharisee who has put on his academic robe and his tiara, because the well has run dry and he’s finally lost his marbles. This is when you’ll catch me telling skinny people they need to eat something.
I have to stop talking about this. I’ll just sum up: anonymous sex: bad. Only did it for a very little while, and my level of regret is, I think, appropriate. I try not to dwell. I’ve done way worse things to people I love. Men: scum (especially me). Tiara: on. Computer lab: Boring. Much like what purgatory would probably be like.
Current iPod song: “One Small Heart” by Mary Chapin-Carpenter. But thinking of changing it to Fugazi or Jennifer Lopez, just to spice things up. But probably won’t.
Also, I have a cold. It fucking sucks. And I keep writing in my blog because the two of you who read it seem to like me a lot, and you don’t care that I have a sordid past or that I think I’m a loser because my abdomen doesn’t go straight down and ripple on the way. And as far as the novel goes, I went ahead and turned in a synopsis for the one that I’ve already got 128 pages of, because, well, I’m lazy. And I’m convinced the well has run dry, and all my dreams of becoming a published writer, a succeessful novelist, and Amy Sedaris’ best friend are going to come to nothing. Yet I keep plugging on, because I’m pretty sure I will die if I don’t keep writing. And TUP is pretty much my way of making myself get 1,000 words done somewhere, even if only a handful of people even know it’s here.
Also - it’s cathartic, and good, and poorly written, and free, and it makes me happy to have it. Even if no one is ordering muggins. WHY AREN’T YOU ORDERING MUGGINS? ::wipes brow::
Know who I feel like? Cordelia, at the end of “Deep Down:” “God, I am so bored!”
| It's Not Right But It's Okay, Everyday | Comments (2) |
I believe that when you find something revolutionary, something that shines a little light on The Problem, you should share it. Perhaps the muffin recipe did that. If not, here are some more of my lame attempts to give you a little light today:
“We are Easter people, living in a Good Friday world.” - Barbara Johnson
“Someday, the lion shall lie down with the lamb, although the lamb is not going to get much sleep.” - Woody Allen
“I am going to notice the lights of the earth, the sun and the moon and the stars, the lights of our candles as we march, the lights with which spring teases us, the light that is already present. If the present is really all we have, then the present lasts forever. That will be the benediction.” - Anne Lamott
Also, if you are iPod-addicted like me - or if you have some music in front of you, listen to the Indigo Girls song “virginia woolf.” Or “The Sun Song” by Michael Tolcher. Here are the choruses:
virginia woolf
so I know I’m alright
Life will come - life will go
Still I feel it’s alright
‘Cause I just got a letter to my soul
And when my whole life is on the tip of my tongue
Empty pages folded, no longer young
The reality of time laughs in my face -
You say, “Each life has its place.”
The Sun Song
Here comes the sun over my head
Show me a path and I’ll be led
Walking alone - I’m not afraid
I have my wings to fly away.
So maybe things aren’t so terrible, even though I’m having to continually swallow my panic and shitty little feelings today. Also, I’m starving, and I’ve used up all available time to have anything to eat. Oh well.
| This I Believe | Comments (1) |
I’m not sure why, but I’ve become a baker. I am a person of bake. And no, that is not in the pot sense. Although given the week I’ve had, I’ve had more than one moment where I stand over a plate of brownie mix, tempted to pour in a dime bag of bad pot. But I don’t have any, and I have enough stress in my life without trying to find out how to get some, because I really have no clue. Time was, I did. Those days are long over, and I am thankful for this.
Someone from GCN sent me a recipe for white chocolate chip muffins, which sounded good, and this week I was feeling blocked, and I remembered how Professor Angelou used to say that when she was frustrated with her writing, it helped her to cook. So I went all Martha Stewart for a second and decided to bake. I had all the ingredients for the muffins except the white chocolate chips, so I took this as a sign. I went to Wal-Mart, because it was cold, and about to rain, and I was sad, so - I bought the damn chips and started making pan after pan of muffins.
The first batch looked like corn muffins - all misshapen and weird, and not sweet. For the second batch I added a bit more sugar, and chips, and butter. They still looked a little weird, but they were great, and this time I had realized that using a mixer to mix muffins was probably not a good idea. This bit of wisdom came when, while making the first batch, I lowered the little hand-mixer I have into the bowl. White chocolate chips went flying everywhere, and when I tried to pull the mixer out of the batter, the entire contents of the bowl - except the wildly flung chips - came with it.
So mixer: a big no-no in baking. I know this now. You’d think it’s something I’d have figured out before. But that’s true for so many things in my life. It’s what people are always saying to me: “You think you’d have figured that out by now.” Like learning not to yell out my window when I see George W. Bush or otherwise racist bumper stickers. “You’d think you’d have figured out by now that people will flip you off when you do that.” Like learning this is like learning to tie one’s shoes, or use the toilet.
So the second batch, with the butter, and more chips, came out better, if not - as I said - slightly misshapen, which I believe to be a direct result of my poor character. So if you try to make them you shouldn’t worry too much about the shape. And even if they do end up a little wonky, like mine, well hey, at least you’re not alone.
I’ve been giving away muffins, and looking for new recipes, and generally just baking my little ass off. It feels good to be bringing something nice, and sweet, into the world, even if I’m not sure who it’s for. Or if it’s making me fat. Still, I don’t have a parking pass for school, so I’m walking at least a mile daily, which I wouldn’t survive without my iPod. Even so, with all that seems to be going wrong, it’s nice to make something good. Maybe if I pass the “baking test,” then I’ll be ready for the “money exam,” or even better, “The Publishing Final.” Or, at least, I’ll have something good to eat while I get my work done every day.
Current song: “Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim Audiobook” by David Sedaris. Once I leave work it’ll change. Perhaps The Velvet Teen, Josh Rouse, or U2. Then it’ll be back home, back to my books, and my baking. I’m finally reading “The More Than Complete Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy” by Douglas Adams. I want to get it read - and so far I’m loving the shit out of it - before the movie comes out. I can’t really see Mos Def in the role of Ford Prefect, but I’m willing to give it a chance.
Also, “Wonderfalls” comes out on DVD today. Even if you haven’t seen it, you must buy it. Or rent it, at the very least. It is very likely the best television drama ever produced. If you buy it, let me know, and I’ll send you a basket of muffins.
Anyway, here’s the recipe:
3/4 cup milk
1/3 cup vegetable oil
1 large egg
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
2 teaspoons melted margarine
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup white chocolate chips
1) Preheat oven to 350. Grease 9 muffin cups.
2) Combine: Milk, vegetable oil, egg, almond extract, and margarine in a large bowl. Mix well.
3) Combine: Flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in another large bowl. Mix well. Stir in chocolate chips.
4) Mix the milk mixture with the flour mixture and mix well.
5) Lick the spoon. And, if you like, the bowl. Ignore what everyone has always told you about raw batter. It’s good.
6) Fill the nine muffin cups 3/4 full with batter. Bake until golden, about 18-22 minutes. (The original recipe said 15-18, but the fastest I ever got them to cook was 22. So I compromised.)
7) Get a glass of milk. Eat the muffins. Feel warm inside. Or, email me and say I know nothing of baking and should keep my lousy ideas to myself.
Give some of the muffins to people you like. Unless they are terrible. Then give them to someone you dislike. If you have neither friends nor enemies in your life, take them to an old folks’ home. Or, if - like me - you are unnerved by the old and infirm, take them to your favorite store, or your high school, or somewhere where maybe they need a little sweetness and warmth. Or badness and bittnerness. Depends on how good a baker you are.
See how much fun baking is?
| Food | Comments (0) |