Where The Hell Is Project Runway (and why am I not as upset about it as I sound)?
Where The Hell Is Project Runway (and why am I not as upset about it as I sound)? – Don’t
Get Me Started!
Another Wednesday night passed last night without
a new episode of Project Runway. I looked to see that my Tivo was not going to record the show last night (as it was last
week’s episode playing in what is usually the new episode timeslot) I paused for a moment and then thought, “Hmm…oh
well.” That’s right, me who was the official “Ultimate Fan Blogger” for Season 3 on Bravotv.com (and
almost season 4 before I was unceremoniously dropped – read about that here – scroll down the page kids http://www.somelikeitscott.com/somelikerunway4.html ). And so I thought, “Where the hell is Project Runway (and why am I not as upset about
it as I sound)?” – Don’t Get Me Started!
avid fan who has watched from the first episode of season one (Yes, I love being “in” before it’s fashionable
to be in and with this show I was) I think last season was my big climax for the show and from the looks of season 4, the
same can be said of the show’s creators. I’m not sure what it is but it seems to me as if there are less people
talking about the show this season than last season. Is it just me? I know that a lot of it may have to do with my pals not
being able to introduce me as the blogger for Project Runway but it would seem that the show itself has found itself “out”
as Heidi puts it, “One day you’re in, the next you’re out.”
Even from the start I had to wonder what was going on with season 4. While it had started in August last year,
this year it didn’t hit our small screens until November. Then with all the holidays it was very on and off again. Even
a pal of mine told me that before the season began Heidi Klum was on Oprah (talking about Seal’s crotch) and sort of
said, “Yeah, Project Runway is back…same judges new designers…” in a nonplussed sort of fashion.
Well, if she can’t get all fired up about it, how can we? So a late start, the host doesn’t sound that excited
about it and when it finally does hit the air, the designers seem well, okay I’m just going to say it MUCH less talented
than the designers from previous seasons.
used to get in a fight or cry I was into it. How about that hatred of Wendy in season one? Didn’t we all hate her? Now
we have Jillian who never gets her voice off the one note so she is Melany Monotone or Ricky who seems to cry an awful lot
for no apparent reason. Give me the Daniels – fresh designers smoking the more experienced ones in challenges and us
loving him for his quiet confidence. Is Christian the answer to that this season, I think not. How can I compare season to
season? Easy, because previous to season four, each season gave us a new crop of designers to love, hate or be in awe of whether
they were winning the week or taking a misstep and possibly being eliminated. Season four simply can’t make the same
claim. Let’s face it, it’s new Coke.
Will I continue to
watch and blog on it, you bet. But I won’t wonder where it is when it doesn’t appear for a week and I won’t
talk about it on email and the phone with pals because really there’s nothing to talk about. As with most things (like
the common cold, Republican leaders, etc.) everything runs its course and I’m afraid the same can be said of Project
Runway. “Where the hell is Project Runway (and why am I not as upset about it as I sound)?” – Don’t
Get Me Started!
There Are Smokers And Then There Are People Who, I Donít Know, Must Be Wearing Eau de Cigarette!
There Are Smokers And Then There Are People Who, I Don’t Know,
Must Be Wearing Eau de Cigarette! – Don’t Get Me Started!
I am not
one of those people who cringe and shriek like a little girl when someone lights a cigarette. Nor am I one of those people
who when near someone smoking think that they’re being subtle as they fan their hand in front of their nose in an exaggerated
manner, cough a little and then not so subtly turn their back to the smoker. I’ve never been that delicate nor do I
ever aspire to be…ever. I live with a smoker however, our home does not smell of smoke (and please don’t tell
me that my sense of smell has gotten so bad that I don’t know it smells like smoke) nor do I think myself or my cats
are going to be getting cancer anytime soon from the second hand smoke. You see, my guy does not smoke continuously (like
some people) and most people are shocked to learn that he smokes at all as they never smell it on him, me or the cats. That
said; there are some people who seem to walk about in a cloud of smoke. So my conclusion is that there are smokers and then
there are people who, I don’t know, must be wearing eau de cigarette! – Don’t Get Me Started!
You know the people I’m talking about, they’re the ones who you can smell before they
even come close to reaching you. It would seem as though Charles M. Shultz used these people for inspiration for his “Pig
Pen” character in the Peanuts comic strip because honestly, you can almost see the cloud that follows these people.
I don’t get it, I just don’t get it.
First, I can’t
even imagine how much you must have to smoke to have a continuous ring of cigarette smoke around you like you’re the
freakin’ planet Saturn or something. Second of all, it would seem that there must be a confined area these people live
and drive in that is so permeated with cigarette smoke that it’s like one of those cash booths where the money goes
blowing all around you and you try to catch as much as your arms can hold. But do you really want to catch cigarette smoke
like cash, really? (Honestly, I can’t even begin to imagine getting in one of these people’s cars – I imagine
a Yugo or AMC Pacer filled with smoke like some bad Cheech and Chong movie.) Finally, do they really not smell it and if they
are aware of it then we’re back to the eau de cigarette idea that they like smelling like that…ew.
I’m not judging (much) but now I will. When you reek of cigarette smoke; here’s what
the cover of your book that I’m definitely judging you by is saying. 1) You’re low rent – translation: you
know someone who has been on or got rejected from being on the Jerry Springer show, 2) You have a hygiene problem, 3) You’re
clueless to the world around you and apparently to even your own stench, 4) You have no friends (because believe me, if you
had my friends they would let you know…immediately), 5) You’re gross. There I’ve said it.
Lest anyone thinks I’m going off about smokers, know that I’m only going after that
certain smelly breed of them. You see, I’m smart enough to not lump all smokers, gays, straights or Christians in the
same category. I myself in fact would smoke on a purely social basis (back in the day). I loved having a cigarette in the
same hand as my martini and gesturing to beat the band. “Look at him over there <pointing with the cigarette/martini
hand>, dear God he looks like everyone you ever dated in 1986” <martini switched to other hand, sip taken while
flicking the ashes of the cigarette with the other hand. Cigarette to mouth, long inhale, head back to exhale cigarette smoke
then head down with piercing glance – one eyebrow raised - at target of catty line, getting back to the conversation>
I guess more than anything, I just don’t understand
how these people can walk around smelling this way. I’m not a big one on having your perfume or cologne arrive minutes
before you enter the room but I take pride in smelling nice in a subtle enough way so that when someone comes in for a hug
they get a nice scent to remember me by as the embrace ends. It’s a constant battle for me to not take an air freshener
(you know the kind that hangs from a car rear-view window in the shape of a pine tree) and slip it deftly into their back
pocket (like when I played “The Artful Dodger” in a production of Oliver and showed my mad skills as a pick pocket).
I mean someone has to do something, right? But we all know that isn’t the answer either. I just have to send this out
into the universe and hope that if you know one of these people you’ll forward it to them in a discreet or not so discreet
way. We non-smellies have to unite and educate the smellies…’cause apparently they don’t know just how
smelly they are. There are smokers and then there are people who, I don’t know must be wearing eau de cigarette! –
Don’t Get Me Started!
Does What Goes
Around Come Around? – Don’t Get Me Started!
As pals of the Some
Like It Scott site and blogs know, I went through a whole mishigas with my dry cleaner and recently returned to them. (To
see why I broke up with my dry cleaner and then finally forgave them, watch the Forty-Something Gay VBlogs episodes 3 and
17 – click this link to see all the Forty-Something Gay VBlogs http://www.somelikeitscott.com/40sogay.html ). But what I discovered this weekend when I picked up my most recent dry cleaning items, was
that the teenage girl who had made the rude gesture that started it all was not working there anymore. In fact, not only had
she quit (due to the manager cutting her hours back to less than nothing – that’s what we call, “pushing
someone out” or as they say in the corporate culture to make them feel better – “managing someone out”)
she had been beaten up by classmates who dislocated her shoulder. So I began to wonder, “Does what goes around come
around?” – Don’t Get Me Started!
I’d like to believe
that people who aren’t so nice get what they deserve but I also know plenty of people who are not so nice and are successful
as well as happy as clams. This disgusts me no end. I want to believe what we were told in childhood is true, that if you’re
a good person, hold the door for others and generally be a nice person that nice things will happen to you. Is that too Anne
Frank of me?
The thing that surprised me when I heard about the dry cleaner
girl getting beat up, was that it didn’t bring me any pleasure whatsoever and in fact I began to feel sorry for the
girl (whose name I don’t even know). You see, there must be something in her that feels so badly about herself that
she attacks others (and apparently makes others want to attack her as well). So should I be happy that an unhappy girl who
made a rude limp wristed gesture to me got what some say was coming to her? Well, if that’s what I’m supposed
to feel or do I’m sorry to say that I just can’t do it.
At the risk of putting my gay bitchy queen membership card (that some have written in to tell
me I carry) in jeopardy of being revoked, I just wish people felt better about themselves. This is not some big new thought
(though I should probably write a book about it and go on the talk show circuit) it’s really about looking inward first
and then outward at the people around you and why they’re behaving the way that they do. I look in the mirror every
day wishing I was thinner, more muscular, had thicker hair, was more classically handsome so how can that not affect how I
view myself and the world around me? And wouldn’t it then make sense to take the next step and ask how that affects
the way I treat others?
Look I’m not about to put post-its on my mirrors
with daily affirmations that make me feel like the Saturday Night Live sketch character Stuart Smalley but at some point there
has to come a time when being happy inside might make things happier outside for us, yes? So perhaps those people we all think
are nasty really love themselves inside so much and don’t see themselves as nasty at all? Maybe that’s why it
seems as though no real horrible tragedy befalls them when it seems as though it’s just and right for that to happen
to them? Maybe just maybe they’ve unlocked the secret that those of us with Jewish guilt and a self-esteem problem just
haven’t found out yet (until now). That when you like you, others do to (and that includes the world of Karma)! Does
what goes around come around? I’m not so sure anymore as to whether it does or even should. Just another thing that
makes me tilt my head to the side (like the dog, “Nipper” in the old RCA Victor ads) and go, “Hmmm.”
Is anyone going to care if the Oscars get cancelled?
First The Golden Globes Now Talk Of The Oscars Being Cancelled. Will We Really Miss Anything? – Don’t
Get Me Started!
I used to be an avid award show watcher. I loved
to see the glitz, glamour and dream of a day when I might walk down the red carpet myself and eventually pick up some award
for some ground breaking work I did in something. I’m sure this dream is not uncommon for a lot of us. But as the years
have passed and I’ve watched as just about anyone who’s done almost nothing can walk the carpet, the color red
has seemed to shifted to a brick red color (you know, the color I never colored with in my 64 pack of Crayola’s with
the sharpener built into the back. So I have to ask, “First the Golden Globes now talk of the Oscars being cancelled.
Will we really miss anything?” – Don’t Get Me Started!
that we all have to admit is that no matter how much they try to pitch it to us, the glamour of Hollywood has long since faded
like a klieg light with a dead bulb. Sure you have designers begging to design for the top stars and everyone has a team of
people working on them but at the end of it all, if you think that watching Kelly Rippa and her hanger on soapy husband walk
down a red carpet is as exciting as say Vivian Leigh and Lawrence Olivier then you need your head examined. I’m not
saying that there are not some great actors out there today but once the Hollywood system died it took some casualties, the
award shows were one of them.
when the Oscars began it was all pretty much a publicity stunt anyway. The heads of the studios did the nominating and then
amongst them decided who was getting the award. (From all accounts, apparently done strictly like a business proposition sort
of like draft picks with the NBA.) I can hear Mr. Mayer saying to Jack Warner, “Okay Bette Davis can have the award
but I want her for a picture so we’ll give her the award and you’ll loan her, yes?” And yet, the good news
was that we didn’t have to listen to horrible scripted presenter speeches nor did we have to watch the costume nominees
be choreographed by Debbie Allen.
isn’t it that what makes the show worse nowadays (besides the aforementioned lack of glitz, glamour and true Hollywoodism)
is the God awful writing? That’s right. The ones who write those horrible things for the host or the presenters to say
like, “Hey Denzel, did you see all these fabulous people on the red carpet tonight?” “Yes, Meryl. It was
like looking at the drive in line at the Hollywood Starbucks!” <cue canned laughter and smattering of courtesy applause
from audience> That’s right, the writers (whom I feel certainly deserve the benefits they’re fighting for of
being compensated for their work now that it’s playing in new mediums such as online, etc.) are responsible for the
worst part of the show and are the reason these shows are being cancelled. It may not be like a black fly in your chardonnay
but it’s ironic to me nonetheless.
don’t care about the award shows anymore so it’s strictly okay with me if they don’t end up happening. What
would be interesting would be to allow the presenters to not have a bunch of writers coming up with insipid dialogue. They
could come out, present the nominees, give the award and let the recipient give a speech with some clips of the movies to
jazz things up a bit. This might also make the show a reasonable length and allow for all the awards to be given in one night.
I also hate that the producers and directors of these shows are so into their own artistic masturbation that even with fourteen
hours on the air they still don’t honor half of the people supposedly due to time constraints. (Yeah, time constraints
So as award season sits like a girl at Planned
Parenthood waiting to get the results of whether or not their life is going to change, I guess the real thing to be concerned
about are the SWAG (Stuff We All Get) bags (the free stuff that celebrities get in gift bags at the awards shows, which now
the Republican’s are taxing them on). What will the celebrities do without free Iphones, trips to Cancun and sunglasses
worth more than many people’s houses that were foreclosed on in the last year? What will the hairdressers, makeup people
and designers do? What will the “stars” of the moment do? Well, as classic Hollywood has never failed me before,
it won’t fail me now (and we have a writer to thank for it), “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”
Don’t Get Me Started!
It's Not Your HIV Status That Scares Me, It's You!
It’s Not Your HIV Status That Scares
Me, It’s You! – Don’t Get Me Started!
In the most recent Advocate magazine (January 29, 2008 issue 1001) a reporter follows
three HIV positive men for a few weeks before Thanksgiving to help us better understand how those living with the disease
are doing in this day and age with the new medicines, etc. Now before I begin my tirade (and I assure you one is coming) I
feel the need to say that some may think that whatever these men do is their business and the rest of us have no right to
pass judgment. Well obviously I disagree. When you go public with your story then the rest of us are allowed to weigh in.
Though many are still scared to be around HIV positive people they’re wrong but so are some of these men. It’s
not your HIV status that scares me, it’s you! – Don’t Get Me Started!
The first man they profile is a guy named Adam who is working at a Virginia AIDS/HIV Services Group
where according to the article he’ll soon be counseling HIV-positive drug users. He talks about how crystal meth led
to unprotected sex and that he is now tapering down his drug use. Um…excuse me? Did you say “tapering down”
your drug use not stopping it? And then there’s his HIV partner whom he’s been dating for the past year and although
reports tell us that if you are HIV and you have unprotected sex with someone who also has HIV, you could give one another
different strains of the disease causing complications for yourself or your partner big time these two have unprotected sex.
He’s quoted as saying, “My doctor will shoot me when I say this but we sort of leave it up to luck.” Lest
you think it’s all “unsafe” behavior, they do have a rule that his partner can’t ejaculate inside
him. Oh, now I feel better – NOT! Adam admits toward the end of the article that he’s thinking he needs to not
be doing drugs while he’s counseling drug addicts but that’s about the most sense he makes.
On to Charles who attends the Center for Disease Control’s National HIV Prevention Conference
in Atlanta but who is not taking his twice a day medication, Atripla on a regular basis. The reason he gives for not taking
his medication is as he says, “I think it’s almost denial of sickness. I don’t feel bad, so why do I have
to take these pills every day?” Um, because you’re HIV-positive? He also claims that depression could have something
to do with him not taking medication. Depression or just stupidity, you decide.
Finally there’s Nicholas, who is 40 (unlike the other two in their late twenties). He was a hairdresser but
had to stop due to related illnesses. Now after three years of not working steadily, he’s back in a salon as the receptionist
and he’s feeling better about himself and life in general. Good for you, Nicholas.
I appreciate the candor all three of these men exhibited by sharing their stories but come on, it’s
like the old fairy tale of The Three Little Pigs, only one of these guys is building their house of bricks here so how bad
can you feel for them? (And of course I need to point out that it’s the forty-something gay who has the sense.)
Sure, I don’t have any idea what they’re going through as I’m
not HIV-positive but I’ve lost friends to this disease. Friends who didn’t have the opportunity of the advanced
medications they’ve come up with now that this bunch just can’t remember or get motivated to take. Angry? You
bet I’m angry. How dare they take the lives of others so cavalierly in their hands by having unprotected sex? How dare
they not be grateful or understand the advantages that they have that will most likely allow them to live with dignity and
quality with the disease much longer than many before them had the opportunity to do.
Am I wrong to feel that a couple of these guys are just selfish? Is it just my Jewish guilt talking
that I would want to live as healthy and as long as possible for those who love me? Or do these men not feel loved enough
or have strong enough self-esteem to want to stay and be healthy? I don’t know if I should pity these men or be angry
with them. I just know I’m scared because there are many more out there (more than we know probably) with similar stories.
It’s not your HIV status that scares me, it’s you! – Don’t Get Me Started!
<knock, knock, knock> I awoke from my semi-slumber on the couch with the movie “My Favorite Wife”
half over on the DVD I was watching. I stumbled to the door with my hair all kinds of fucked up, sweats that had cat hair
on them and a shirt that read, “Everyone loves a Jewish boy.” I got to the door and opened it. There stood an
older woman and a guy in his early twenties. The woman spoke, “Scott?” When I responded that I was indeed Scott
they immediately went into their pitch for Hillary, why I needed to be at the upcoming caucus and wanting to know if I voted
today who I’d be casting my vote for, for president. It was all too much for my current state but it was only the start
of how crazy things would get here in Las Vegas for the upcoming presidential caucuses. Cuckoo for caucuses – Don’t
Get Me Started!
There are certain times when I revel in my being
an idiot. I don’t know what a caucus is exactly but I know the first time I heard the word recently, all that I could
think of was the line from the song, “Adelaide’s Lament” from the musical, Guys and Dolls - “You can
spray her wherever you figure the streptococci lurk. You can give her a shot for whatever she’s got but it just won’t
work.” I know it’s a stretch but that’s just how my mind works – “caucus” “streptococci”
– all the same to me. But as it became closer to caucus time, I began to learn more about it. I sort of get that it’s
an opportunity for people from one political camp or candidate to get you in a comfortable setting and try to convince you
they’re they ones for the job. (Yet another thing that I’m sure is costing our country billions while people are
losing their homes and have no health care – another blog for another day.)
But there’s a real part of me that was put off by the whole coming to my door, knowing my name and trying to
strong arm me into going to a meeting. It was too, I don’t know Mormon or Jehovah’s Witness to me to be coming
to my door. I don’t like it when other people push their views (especially religious or politically) on me and I certainly
don’t want it on my stoop. And honestly, just what could I bring to a meeting like that? Cookies? (Because I’m
a Jew and you never go anywhere empty handed) Okay I’m kidding, I mean what would I tell the candidates that wouldn’t
get me arrested? They seem to want to know very little about me. They don’t mind knowing us gays but they don’t
want us to have any rights. Yeah, I’m sure they want to get me, the loudest of mouths in that room. I can hear myself
now. “Excuse me but who does your hair? Are they gay? And do you think it’s a good idea to make them live like
a second class citizen because of who they sleep with?” No, they don’t want me there getting all riled up or worse,
speaking my mind.
From what I’ve been hearing, the caucuses
mean basically nothing as they are just a way for the Republican and Democratic parties to see where they stand so that if
they need to start talking to more one eyed, Irish, black people they’ll know that’s what they need to do in order
to get elected. It really doesn’t educate or help us voters (whose votes won’t count anyway unless we’re
part of the Electoral College – and by the way, does anyone know how I get to be a part of that cause I think I would
so be voted the entertainment office of the fraternity that is the Electoral College).
I don’t mean to sound negative, I’m sure it’s a good thing that they have their caucuses
but at the end of it all, I’m not Christian or straight enough for these candidates to really care about taking care
of me. I’m sure they’ll say they care in their politico-double-talk but no matter who gets elected, let’s
face it, if they could deport me, they would.
So as the news was
filled with caucus news and everyone and their political dog came to Las Vegas I have to wonder if I missed being a real part
of history or just ten minutes of a really good old movie I’ve seen a thousand and one times. Cuckoo for caucuses –
Don’t Get Me Started!
Betty” or My New Job – Don’t Get Me Started!
2008 has begun with a real bang. That’s right, after eight years at the same company, I’ve got a new job at a
new company and today was my first day. (Yes, this most likely means that there will not be posts every day but I’ll
post as often as I can so check back every day because I need your loyalty support and clicks for God sakes!) Oy, you forget
how the first day at a new job is when you haven’t done it in so long – it feels just like the first day of grade
school or worse high school (read my blog about why you shouldn’t wear a green satin Oz jacket on your first day of
high school here http://www.somelikeitscott.com/2006.10.01_arch.html#1160093854339 ). The thing is that I’m sure that my new job will be amazing but after doing what I’ve
always done (and always getting what I always got – stress, unhappiness and prescriptions for Xanax and Ambien CR) I’m
used to running training for seventeen locations and now I’m tackling creating a brand new office for a company that
has it’s eye so far on the future that I won’t be able to see it unless I wear my glasses for distance (or until
the smoke clears after the first week or so). In short (which I am), I’m “Attractive Betty” or my new job
– Don’t Get Me Started!
That’s right, although it would be indiscreet
to mention too many particulars, I am the office manager/assistant to the stars (okay, well executives) at an office and because
you’re my dedicated pals, I CAN share with you my typical anxieties and faux pas that can only happen to yours truly.
I went in last week to get my cell phone and fill out some paperwork. As I told
the guy in charge of IT (Information Technology), “Oh I’m a bi-techtual! I can figure this phone out, no problem.”
If I tell you that it’s the AT&T Tilt phone – their answer to the Iphone. It’s basically a laptop the
size of a box of antihistamines (which is so attractive when you hold it up to your face). Not only could I not get the farchachta
thing to work, it has a touch screen that every time I touched took me to the web or something else that was anything but
what I needed- a damn phone! So as I’m going in this morning, it makes this strange noise. When
I get to the office, much to my horror, the phone is off and I can’t get it to turn back on. Great, here they’ve
given me my first piece of company equipment (minds out of the gutter at the word, “equipment”) and I’ve
destroyed it or worse, don’t know how to use the damn thing. I was only semi-relieved when the IT guy couldn’t
turn it on either and determined it was a defective phone. Whew!
they put me on a computer as my laptop has not arrived as of yet I was using someone else’s at the office. I decided
I was going to knock out some forms in Microsoft Word and Excel. I’ve got this whole thing covered, right? Wrong. They
use Office 2007 and my old company (as well as every computer I own) has Office 2003 on it. A little different you say? It
may as well have been written in a different language. I felt like when I call somewhere for something and push the button
for Spanish when all I can understand is English (and a little Hebrew) and don’t even get me started on the whole “press
one for Spanish” thing. Comprende? No.
I’m sure it won’t
be long before I have the whole thing dialed in and am making the world (or at least this company) a better place. (He said
using the age old positive affirmation philosophy) You want to be one of the “cool kids.” You want to be so efficient
that you make heads spin. But today my head was spinning and I may as well have had the infamous “Ugly Betty”
pancho on. It was all self-imposed of course and God, it’s amazing how every insecurity you have about yourself can
instantaneously come to a head (you know, like a zit when you have a big date or are going to get your driver’s license
photo taken). But hey, it’s just day one, right?(Stay tuned as I will no doubt have a Jane Fonda
from the movie Nine To Five copier incident by later this week!) I’m “Attractive Betty” or my new job –
Don’t Get Me Started!
If You Have
A Cold, Why Are You Hugging Me? – Don’t Get Me Started!
become a victim (as I’m sure many have) of the dreaded cold that won’t seem to leave my body no matter what I
do. It’s been going on for a couple of weeks and every time I think it’s over, I have yet another snotful day!
Please don’t email me “cures” as I’ve done them all and yes, I’m off dairy (which we all know
creates more phlegm in your system than Britney has brain cells – not hard at this point on that score). So while I
suffer (in mostly silence) I try to be respectful of my fellow human beings by disinfecting everything I touch, covering my
mouth when I cough and turning away from someone when I have to sneeze into my Puffs lotioned tissue. These are the basics
and everyone should know them, right? Well, they don’t. I ran into someone the other day that just had the worst cold
imaginable and yet that didn’t stop them from coming in for a big old hug. If you have a cold, why are you hugging me?
– Don’t Get Me Started!
Some scientists say that the cold is passed through
hand to hand contact (I’ve washed my hands until they look like a ranch hand’s and no not in a sexy Brokeback
Mountain kind of way, just a dry and chafing sort of way). And if you’re living with someone with a cold, I will tell
you that while you clean everything to try to keep them healthy and you getting better where most people slip up is with the
phone. Disinfect the phone – there’s your tip of the day. (It’s a little like not drinking the water in
Mexico and most people screw up by not thinking and using the water to brush their teeth.) However, try as you might you most
likely will end up with a cold at some point and all I’m trying to get across here is that you need to have a little
common sense and respect for your fellow man (especially if he’s all ready sick like me or dare I dream it – healthy!).
The worst part about the recent hug infraction (and believe me when I say that
I’m a hugger from way back – love the hugging) is that there is no possible way to avoid it when someone is coming
at you. It’s a bit like when I wrote the blog, “I’m Gay, You’re Gay But I’m Not Okay With You
Kissing Me On The Lips!” http://hubpages.com/hub/Yes_We_Are_Gay_But_Do_Not_Kiss_Me ) You see, once someone starts in for the hug there’s no graceful way for you to avoid
it without seeming rude. And for those of us who strive to be a sheer delight to all we meet, being rude just isn’t
an option. So as the cold ridden person was hugging me and I was desperately trying to at least give a little hug back and
not seem like those awful people you hug who don’t hug back and it’s a bit like hugging a door, I was hugging
on the outside but cringing on the inside thinking my cold had just received more fuel for another week!
Lest anyone think I’m a germophobe, I assure you that I am not but isn’t it common sense
not to go around touching people when you have a cold yourself? And don’t start with me that they aren’t contagious
after the first 48 hours crap because as long as there is still coughing, sneezing and illness in their body, I think they
can spread it easier than Velveeta!
So for those people who are healthy out there and
for those of us who are desperately trying to get back to that former state, please for the love of God, country and fellow
man resist the urge to hug, I’m begging you. If you have a cold, why are you hugging me? – Don’t Get Me
Know How Housewives Do It – God Bless You – Don’t Get Me Started!
My guy is a performer so he has been on the road for the past three months. What that means is that it’s been
me and the two cats for all this time and since it’s just been us let me be easy on myself and say that I let things
go a bit when it comes to the usual housework. That’s right I’m going to admit it, the house was a mess. Now there
was no mold growing anywhere (or anything so awful as that) but between the filth, the cat hair and my guy coming home tonight,
today it was necessary for me to become a white tornado. It’s not like our place is huge in the least and I’m
not even sure I managed to clean every nook and/or cranny but I’m freaking exhausted so ladies (and men – as I
know there are some out there who are stay at home hims) my Playtex Living Gloves are off to you. I don’t know how housewives
do it – God bless them – Don’t Get Me Started!
was no Julie Andrews singing about a spoonful of sugar as I awoke this morning with the dreaded realization that I had left
all of the cleaning that should have been done over the weekend to the day of the actual arrival of my mate. Now I’ve
always been someone who works better on a deadline and today was it. So as I awoke, I decided before breakfast, the bathrooms
and kitchen floor (my most hated jobs) would need to be attacked first.
into our bathroom and immediately just started taking everything off the counter so that I was working with a fresh palette
as it were. After doing the mirrors, the counters, toilets and sinks it was time for the dreaded shower/tub. I despise trying
to clean this as it’s old and no matter how much you scrub you’re fighting a losing battle to a certain extent
and I don’t like to lose. Now I am known for having every kind of electronic device imaginable and when it comes to
cleaning this follows suit with the rest of my life however the dirt that had accumulated was much more than my battery operated
Scrubbing Bubbles “mister” could handle so it was going to have to be me and as many chemicals as I could get
my hands on doing battle with the scum. I’m aware that these chemicals I’m using are toxic but I become so crazed
about getting things clean that I become Joan Crawford. Suddenly I’m mixing a lethal combination of two or three cleaners,
spraying until my trigger finger needs a break to regain feeling in it. Next I’m scrubbing like my life depends upon
it with my head in the oh so very unventilated shower/tub. I don’t care that I’m getting light headed, between
the soap scum and the fact that the water in Vegas is so hard it dries white almost immediately and nothing will penetrate
it – but nothing, I continue to scrub. Finally as the skin begins to tingle on my hands (though I wrote about Playtex
gloves, I don’t own any and every time I go on one of these cleaning binges I tell myself that I have to get them as
soon as possible but it never seems to happen) so with a light head and hands starting to look like a bad experiment in chemical
interaction, I weave toward the bedroom window and fling it open. (Now although it’s Vegas, it’s still January
so it’s pretty cold but I had to air the house and myself out.) As the brisk breeze went through the house I went to
Besides being gay, I’m Jewish so what do I know from cleaning,
right? Although both of my grandmothers were most likely certifiably OCD sufferers when it came to cleaning, let’s just
say that I did not inherit that gene. No, my Mother always worked so if my brother and I weren’t cleaning the house
then we were ordering someone in to do it, like dinner. I never really got the whole mopping thing. I know it’s easy
but I just always feel like I either use too much cleaner or not enough but the end result never pleases me and I’m
always wondering if I’m not just pushing the dirt around. It’s like the lyrics in the song, “Anyone Can
Whistle” – “What’s hard is simple, what’s natural comes hard. Maybe you could show me, how to
let go, lower my guard, learn to be free. Maybe if you whistle, whistle for me.” So I do it like some old black and
white movie. I’m on my hands and knees with the bucket and I’m scrubbing like Irene Dunne in “I Remember
Mama” but I have no idea what in the hell I’m doing.
thing that always happens to me is that I start doing one thing like cleaning my office and I go into the kitchen for something
like a paper towel and suddenly I’m scrubbing the top of the refrigerator. Time has no meaning for me as I continue
the cleaning frenzy. I don’t know what gets into me but I definitely go into a “zone” of some sort.
By the time the house was clean enough for me to feel like I did something and
could see a difference and smelled like a pine tree took a crap in it (from all the cleaning supplies) I was exhausted. As
I flopped on the couch I thought about the fact that my guy has a cold and I should attempt to make some chicken soup for
him to come home to as it would make the house smell less like a mental ward (with me as the star patient) and would comfort
him – some good old Jewish penicillin, eh? But you see, my guy does all the cooking and I know about as much about making
chicken soup as I do about changing the oil in my car and even with the most basic recipe I could find online was way too
involved for me to even contemplate. Alas, it was to the store where a couple of cans of chicken soup were purchased.
And so I began to think about the scores of women throughout time who do this
cleaning thing every day and make a meal. Never mind the ones who have small children to tend to as well. With the
cats, they just go into hiding under the bed (no doubt looking for the pod that this person who looks like their owner but
is running about like a rabid raccoon alien came from) Well ladies, all I have to say to you is what are you, freaking nuts?
I can’t even imagine it, honestly I just can’t. I mean, I was so exhausted that I couldn’t even think about
cutting my fingernails let alone some vegetables and making a meal. You’re what we’ve always called my Dad, you’re
an FW (Fucking Wonder)! I don’t know how housewives do it – God bless them – Don’t Get Me Started!
The Devil Is
In The Dimples, Mike Huckabee’s To Be Exact! – Don’t Get Me Started!
I'll be the first to admit that I know very little about theology and even less about politics but I know a great deal
about hate and I recognize when the cards are being stacked against me. It would seem that last week’s Iowa caucus was
a shining example of all of the above at work. I don’t even know how the whole caucus process works but when I heard
Huckabee came out the winner, only one thought came to mind, the devil is in the dimples, Mike Huckabee’s to be exact!
– Don’t Get Me Started!
Of course when I heard Huckabee had won I was shocked
and immediately began looking around at what belongings I would need should he become president and I have to make a speedy
exit out of the country. Yes, that’s how it felt. Like a punch to the gut, like a pogrom to get rid of the Jews in the
musical Fiddler On The Roof was on its way or something. As I said, I had no idea what went on or how the “winners”
were chosen. Thank God for the Today show and their next day coverage that helped calm me a bit. To learn that about 60% of
those involved in the caucus process identified themselves as evangelicals and that out of that 60%, 40% voted for Huckabee,
the clouds began to part a bit and I could finally see my feet firmly planted on the ground once more. And I was angry.
I remember feeling this anger when George W. got elected over Al Gore and we
learned about the electoral college and how really our votes matter little due to the fact (and it should surprise no one)
that we’re using an antiquated system for voting due to the fact we’re still worry about the South succeeding
in keeping their slaves or something. In a day of such modern technology, one would think that the voting process would be
made easier and simpler. They used to say, “If they can put a man on the moon…” but today it’s more
like, “If I can download my entire CD collection on an Ipod…” You would think we could come up with a system
where everyone’s vote indeed does count, right? After all, they seem to be able to do it for American Idol and Dancing
With The Stars, don’t they? Except we also all know that “they” (yes, the grand “they” that
run things and like people like me staying as dumb as I am about certain things) don’t want to change things because
they’ve figured a way to manipulate the system and make it profitable for them. And while I don’t think that the
South will rise again (as they sing about in the musical, Mame) I do think we still have some “good ol’ boys”
running this country and they like the idea of God being in everything when it comes to the government. Mostly because saying
they’re one of God’s constituents allow them to feel as high and mighty as possible.
Let me say that I don’t really think that Mike Huckabee is the devil. (Although I do think there
are some writings somewhere about the devil being pretty likable to get to a level of power needed to carry through his dastardly
deeds when he returns to earth, right?) I just think it’s really scary to have someone even being considered to run
this country (that was based on freedom and equality - even if it it’s in writing only) when they hate millions in its
population and more importantly have thoughts of isolating them or making a big wall and throwing them over the other side.
(It’s sort of like when you were a kid and your ball went into the neighbor everyone hated’s backyard. You dared
each other to go knock at the door to get it but in the end you decided to just let the ball stay where it was so that you
didn’t have to deal with the neighbor.) I have a true fear that as we talk about building walls to supposedly “protect
our borders” and with the many gay haters poised to come to prominence and power that I may be sitting with Pedro and
Inez on the other side of that wall like the many balls I lost and no one is going to come and get us. I know the wall was
a G.W. idea but we need someone getting into the White House who is going to break down walls and not someone who’s
going to stand beside it and tell us that Jesus came to him last night and said to throw over the non-Christians too and to
add some electricity to the wall too so that they can’t get back over.
I step off my soap box, allow me to handicap this horse race for you as I would imagine you would think someone with my limited
knowledge would. My mother used to say that once they started putting the president on television it was the guy with the
best hair that would get in. So, if it was simply a hair race, Mitt Romney would surely win as he could land in a helicopter
with the blades causing gale force winds in the middle of the Katrina disaster and yet not one hair would be out of place.
Hillary unfortunately has always had bad hair. It’s the kind of hair that you always think, “Gosh, with all her
money she can’t find someone to do something better with it than that? Screw the campaign song, they should have allowed
hairdressers to send in ideas of what they would do with that hair, pick a winner like a Bravo reality series and that way
they would get ratings and new hair for her.” Obama’s hair could save the government a fortune because frankly
he wears it so short that it looks as though he does it himself in the bathroom once a week in a very no nonsense kind of
way. John McCain is so close to having a comb over it’s ridiculous and everyone knows you can’t trust anyone with
a comb over. Mainly because if they think they’re fooling someone with that hair style it makes you wonder if anything
they’re saying is true or they’re just doing a bad job of covering their scalp (or ass in this case). Guiliani
and Thompson are basically bald so they’re going a whole lot of no where in the race. So finally we come to Huckabee
who has what we can a “careful hairdo” – it’s one of those hair styles that take hours to create so
that it provides maximum coverage while still looking like hair. God only knows what you’d see if you ever looked at
the back of his head. But it’s not Huckabee’s hair that bothers me, it’s his (call me crazy) politics and
as we all know, the devil is in the dimples, Mike Huckabee’s to be exact! – Don’t Get Me Started!
Are So White, They’re Transparent! – Don’t Get Me Started!
spent eleven years living in Delaware and let me say that there was always an uneasy feeling in my stomach when I would go
anywhere. Not that I was a boa wearing gay but these small town thinking people who spend their life trying to keep up with
the Jones by having the latest Coach bag, the newest Mercedes SUV and their kids in the “proper school” was just
something I had never experienced growing up on the west coast. I’m sure it existed somewhere there but I just never
saw it out in the public so prominently as when I lived in Delaware. God love them, you know the type of women I’m talking
about, the ones that think a red scarf from Talbot’s is almost too daring to don, even at the holiday party. They spend
most of their time looking down their nose at everyone and when they aren’t doing that, they feel sorry for anyone who
doesn’t have the same life as them or believe exactly what they believe. What a very small existence but there you have
it. So when a dear friend of mine was to go to the Greenville area to pick up her holiday fixings at an exclusive grocery
store I had never been to, I jumped at the chance to see how the other half lived. The store has been owned by a family for
a thousand years and in fact the matriarch can still be found behind the cheese counter picking out the perfect cheese ball
for your holiday party. But I’ll get to that later. What struck me from the moment that I walked into this place was
that these people are so white they’re transparent! – Don’t Get Me Started!
That phrase about these people being transparent just came into my head (like everything else I write
– scary, right?) but the more I thought about it, the more perfect is became in my head as these people were not only
so white in color that they were transparent but their motives are just as transparent. I could see right through them in
their exclusive environment where anyone of color was either stocking the shelves or carrying groceries out to the cars of
the elite. None of the people of color were actually waiting on the customers, where the elite meet. No, they were doing jobs
I suppose the whiteys thought they were “suited for” or were for someone of their “station” or something.
I was disgusted, to say the least.
You see, I had a next door neighbor who my brother
and I played with every day when we were kids come up to us and tell us he couldn’t play with us anymore because we
were “dirty Jews” according to his father and I’ve been with a black man for over nineteen years so I mean,
you do the math. Yes, I’m sensitive to these types of elitists and they make me sick.
You just had to see all these white people in this tiny grocery store paying way too much for their
franks and beans. And because it was around the holidays, I think that they were even more “done up” – there
was the woman who was in her seventies who was wearing a pink leather blazer with her Gloria Vanderbilt jeans, having just
come from the salon where Rodolfo had no doubt just done her hair. She had given him an extra ten dollars as a tip for the
holidays and went on and on about his ability to do her hair just the way she liked it. (Which resembled something similar
to cotton candy at a fair) Then there were all the younger wives in their workout gear having just come from Patty’s
Pilates studio down the road who would kiss the air by the cheek of their friends as they met in the aisles. In their forest
green fleece vests, they would ask one another, “Land’s End or J. Crew? Well, whatever it is, it’s fabulous
and I must get one.”
When we finally got to the counter to pick up my
pal’s caviar (a tradition for her and her husband every Christmas Eve) it was the matriarch of the family that took
care of us. She couldn’t have been more gracious. You almost felt as though you were at her personal holiday party as
a guest and that soon the punch bowl would come out. On and on she went about having to keep the caviar at the appropriate
temperature, even going back to the freezer to get her ice packs so that the caviar would stay at the proper temperature even
on the ride home. Now let me say that my friend’s grocery order was certainly over $500 and other than the caviar and
a few prime rib chops, I have no idea what was in that basket that would bring the total up to that amount but believe me
when I say that it most certainly did just that and as the Hispanic person bagged our groceries and we went to the parking
lot, I thought to myself, “Well, the class system in America is in tact.”
This undoubtedly is not the only town or place like this in our country, I’m sure. I guess I just
thought that the divide was getting smaller instead of so much wider. It’s not. And I’ve a feeling, even though
it felt like finding people who were lost in another time (pre 1960’s) it was once again me who was really out of place.
And again the soundtrack of a musical ran through my mind. The Evita soundtrack when she gets snubbed by the Aristocracy and
sings, “The actress hasn’t learned the lines you’d like to hear. She won’t join your clubs. She won’t
dance in your halls. She won’t help the hungry once a month at your tombolas. She’ll simply take control as you
disappear.” I don’t think it’s a radical notion to want to see less struggling between the classes but then
again, I suppose if you don’t go into their neighborhoods you don’t have to see it. Only problem there is that
they’re also the ones buying the laws in this country and us gays, even with all our supposed disposable income have
yet to buy our way up enough to buy ourselves equality…yet. These people are so white they’re transparent! –
Don’t Get Me Started!
UPS Got It Right When They Chose The Color Brown ĎCause Thatís Some Crappy Service!
UPS Got It
Right When They Chose The Color Brown ‘Cause That’s Some Crappy Service! – Don’t Get Me Started!
Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a big second chance giver
in general. However, this does not mean that I am not a true Scorpio, loyal you bet but really cross me (or more importantly,
someone that I love) and you’re cut off forever. Some people would call it grudge holding but for me, I just chalk it
up to the stars and the date that I was born. I guess there really isn’t a coincidence (as I’ve always told myself)
that Charles Manson and I were born on the same day. Be that as it may, I’m sure that when the people at United Parcel
Service decided on the brown color they had images of Julie Andrews singing about raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens
and finally the brown paper packages tied up with string. Unfortunately with the two horrendous experiences I’ve had
with UPS in the last six months, I say that UPS got it right when they chose the color brown, ‘cause that’s some
crappy service! – Don’t Get Me Started!
The first incident
was an expense report I had sent into my corporate office. When I checked on not getting my check I discovered that the package
had never arrived. After checking online through the UPS tracking system, I discovered that somehow in transit the label had
come off of my package. But instead of sending it back to me, it had supposedly been delivered to some address I’d never
heard of in California (where incidentally my corporate office is located). I was stunned as I couldn’t imagine why
they wouldn’t just return it to me. Thus the many calls began to UPS. Everyone I spoke to gave me a different story.
One said that it was indeed on its way back to me. One said that it had been delivered to a California address that I didn’t
know after it had arrived at the station with no label. I had to ask, “So what? It got there without a label and without
calling me or thinking to send it back to the sender you just sent it to some unknown address?” “Ma’am,
that’s not what I’m saying at all” came the nasal response from the Ma’am on the other end, “I’m
simply saying that’s where it’s been delivered. Would you like me to try and find out what that business is so
that we can locate the package’s whereabouts?” “Yes, please” I said trying to be as polite as possible.
After five minutes on hold she came back and said proudly, “That address is for Black and Decker as well as another
company in that same building.” “Well, I don’t work for nor do I know anyone at any Black and Decker plant.”
I said. “You don’t?” she said incredulously “Well, I guess I can call them and try to find out where
it is but we can’t really be sure that this is even your package at this point. We can put a trace on it and it will
take eight weeks to get the results of the trace.” Now I was pissed beyond belief, “Okay, this is completely unacceptable.
Never mind that you have put my personal financial information in the hands of people I don’t even know but are you
seriously thinking that I am going to wait eight weeks for resolution? Yes, I expect you to call Black and Decker to find
out if that is my package and yes, I’ll hold!” To make a long story a little shorter, she came back on the phone
and said that the package could have been delivered there but since no one knew me there they would have sent it to their
other plant somewhere else in California. I was livid to say the least.
In the end, the package had not been delivered to Black and Decker but I only found that out after two more calls and finding
someone who told me it was on its way back to me all ready. It arrived looking as though it had been dragged behind the truck
for miles and miles but alas the expense report was in there and I resent it to the Home Office through other means. Eight
weeks later I received a postcard saying the package had been delivered back to me.
Flash forward to the week before Christmas and all through the
house, I was getting ready to go back east when a UPS notice made me grouse. The first notice I found in the middle of the
lawn. It stated that someone had sent me something from a wine company and that it needed someone in person who was over 21
to sign for it. I taped the note to the door with a personal note that asked them to deliver it in the evening. On day two
they left a note saying that they would make the third final attempt the following day and both the 2pm to 5pm as well as
the 5pm and later boxes were checked. Fine, it was going to be the day before I left to go out of town so I left work early
and waited and waited and waited. Finally at 8pm (needing to go out to get a few things) I went online where it said that
UPS had made their third and final attempt (at 6:10pm) and that it was now at UPS and I would receive a postcard telling me
how to pick up my package. As this was now the 20th of December I figured I would be fine to wait until I got back
to pick it up.
When I returned
home on the 29th, I checked online and was disgusted to see that the package had been returned to sender. No postcard
had come (as I told my cat sitter to look for, asking her to do me a favor and with postcard in hand try to pick up the package
for me) but no postcard had come. And so I called UPS. Now I get that it was still the holidays so the thirty minute wait
seemed not great but I guess reasonable. Finally Pablo came on and when I explained the entire situation that I had stayed
here waiting for the package that never came on attempt three day, no postcard, etc. he simply said, “Jew need to understan
that the package is back to sender. Nothing to do.” Well, this Jew was certainly going to do something about it. “Let
me talk to a supervisor.” After another fifteen minutes and him continually coming back to let me know he hadn’t
hung up on me, Stacey came on the phone. Before I could get a word out she said, “Pablo explained this situation to
me and you’ll have to contact the shipper as it has been sent back to them.” I explained that it must be a gift
that I did know it was from a certain company as on the one notice they had written the sender company’s name but I
asked her about the no real third attempt and postcard. “Well, the third attempt happened at 10:30am and…”
“What?!? I interjected “I thought online it said they tried to deliver it at 6:10pm? That’s when I asked
for it to be re-delivered and the boxes they checked stated that it was to be delivered after 2pm and I was certainly here
from 2pm on.” “Sir” she butted in “if you look at the notice you’ll see that the notice says
the time is approximate.” “Are you kidding me? Four hours early is approximate? Why then are both the later boxes
checked, huh? And where’s the postcard?” She began immediately and sarcastically, “As a matter of fact,
yes, four hours is within the definition of approximate. Would you like me to read you the definition from the dictionary?”
“Would you like me to read you a couple definitions?” I interjected. Un-phased she continued, “And that
postcard is just a courtesy and is sent through the United States Postal Service so we have no control over that at all. Is
there anything else you need?” “I need an apology but don’t worry, I don’t expect that from you.”
And I hung up on her still talking, no doubt reading definitions.
the wine company and thank God, got a gay so needless to say, the gift is being reshipped to me at no cost to my friend or
me and he couldn’t wait to tell his pal, Rodolfo at the company the whole story about the UPS woman and the whole “definition”
thing. In the interim I had ordered my mother something and UPS was the only shipping option. It was supposed to arrive on
December 27th but still hasn’t arrived, the UPS online system stating that it was in a train derailment and
was sent to Las Vegas and then to Utah. Stating it would be shipped back to Vegas. I will do everything in my power to avoid
UPS and I hope (for your own sake) you do as well. UPS got it right when they chose the color brown, ‘cause that’s
some crappy service! – Don’t Get Me Started!
First The Mass Emails And Now Even Worse, The Mass Text Messages!
First The Mass
Emails And Now Even Worse, The Mass Text Messages! – Don’t Get Me Started!
Anyone who knows me knows that I will not answer, forward or most of the time even read a mass email.
As someone who receives about a hundred real emails a day, I don’t have time to read the sentimental story about Timmy
who lost both legs but then found true happiness and I can too if I forward it to twelve people I know and send it back to
the person that sent it because that somehow validates their need to know if people read their emails or themselves or whatever.
I despise these mass emails almost as much as I hate the “joke” emails. I have never laughed out loud or even
chuckled at any of these emails that I have bothered to read and so alas, I’ve made the decision to hit delete before
I even “preview” the email! But this New Year’s I faced a new phenomenon of annoyance and that my friends,
is the mass text message. That’s right, first the mass emails and now even worse, the mass text messages! – Don’t
Get Me Started!
It was bound to happen I guess with technology available
but just because you can doesn’t mean you should. And that is a lesson for the ages. You see, I hate texting to begin
with as I’m not proficient at it nor do I aspire to become proficient at it. In talking with a cousin’s daughter
(who is in middle school) she was trying to explain to me exactly how to use the whole “preemptive text” feature
and telling me how easy it is to use. Every time I’ve tried to use this feature in the past I end up spelling things
that couldn’t be further than what I’m trying to say. I don’t think it works, I think it’s a myth
along the lines of Big Foot. There, I’ve said it!
But here’s the
deal with the texting (and I’ve written this before) it’s just another way for us to mock communicate with one
another. I remember when you would wait to call someone until you knew they were going to be out so that you would get “the
machine” and not have to talk to them. But now thanks to texting, we don’t even need to pseudo care about anyone’s
feelings because we can send them a text and then it creates the illusion as though we want to communicate with them when
actually we didn’t want to talk to them but wanted to make them believe that we did. All too confusing for me and therefore
I choose not to text. I figure if it wasn’t important enough to speak to me about it, then you don’t care enough
about the “message” so why should I?
So knowing what
you now know about how I feel about mass emails and texting it shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that I feel the whole
mass text message is just stupid, rude and you all need to stop it. This New Year’s my phone was constantly going off
telling me I had a message. And every time I went to look at my phone it was someone else’s non-personal message on
my personal cell phone. They almost read like things people signed in your yearbook when you were in school. “Have a
great 2008!” or the simple, “Wishing you a happy New Year!” but some went on and on (I can’t quote
them here because I hit delete so quickly that I didn’t even get to the end of the message). And in the midst of all
of these messages, a pal of mine for a thousand years won the prize for the best mass email ever sent, “Many of us have
not yet fully recovered from the loss of Anna Nicole in ’07. But let’s try to begin anew today. God bless us all
in ’08.” This message not only made me laugh out loud but will remain in my saved messages! If you can be this
funny you can send me a text but know that most likely you won’t be funny.
The thing is that if you truly want to communicate with me, you can pick up a phone or even email me
but before you hit send on any communication device I ask you to follow these simple rules.
1) If you’re sending it to more than five
people I don’t need to see it because if we’re close enough one of the five will tell me about it or most likely
forward it to me with a snarky comment on the fact that you even sent it so no need for you to send it to me too.
2) If you use abbreviations
that I will have to either text or email you back to figure out what the hell you mean, don’t send them. DGMSYPIMA (Don’t
Get Me Started You Pain In My Ass)
3) Know in advance that I will happily break the chain in any line of emails that are meant to go all over the world
and back again. These include the ones that offer a free laptop or lap dance if you forward them!
4) If you want to talk to me, call me don’t
text me but know that most of the time you’ll get lucky and I won’t want to really talk to you either so I’ll
send it over to voicemail by hitting the “reject” button.
5) Finally, the phone is a phone so use it for calling and talking not
for texting, taking and sending insipid pictures that I can’t even make out that you forward to me of your dog or some
celebrity you saw at a mall.
Lest any one of you think that I don’t value
my pals and communicating with them, I feel compelled to say that I do try to answer emails and voicemails promptly but when
it comes to a text message, you’ll have to wait until I feel like pressing each key a hundred times, cursing as I have
passed the letter I want twice as I silently sing the alphabet song to myself to figure out where the next letter is on my
phone keypad. Let’s all be a little more responsible on how we use this medium, shall we kids? And that goes for emails
too! First the mass emails and now even worse, the mass text messages! – Don’t Get Me Started!
A Resolution-Free New Year! – Don’t Get Me Started!
never been a resolution kind of guy. It’s not that I think they’re bad or that you shouldn’t do it if that’s
what you need to create a fresh start for yourself but as corny as it may sound, I always think that every day is a chance
to make a clean start. So the whole thought of once a year sitting down and making a list of promises to myself (that I most
likely won’t keep for more than two days) just doesn’t, how shall I put this? Work for me? So, I’m wishing
you a resolution-free New Year! – Don’t Get Me Started!
the “resolution warriors” (as I’ll call them because God love them, they do fight admirably) are the ones
who are going to make my gym too busy for the next three weeks (most die off by February – mostly in spirit only but
who knows where some of them disappear to and are never heard from again) they are the people who are going to have a lot
more road rage because they’ve tried for the umpteenth time to try to give up cigarettes or they’llbe the ones holding their heads with caffeine headaches that feel like a Mack truck hit them as they convince themselves
the money they’re saving on coffee (at Starbucks or in general) is going to buy them that new car they’ve always
wanted by 2009!
God bless the lot of you but now that it’s
the New Year and you’ve drunk the Kool-Aid, will you do the rest of us a favor and just try your best not to involve
the rest of us? You see when you drank that magic resolution juice, it didn’t make you a better person, it in fact made
you an annoying ass to be around. Think Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde with you now being more Hyde and less Mr. Wheat Grass Juice
Jekyll (no matter how many wheats you juice in the new juicer your husband bought you for the holidays because you cut out
the ad and wrote on it, “I need this to be a new me!” and let’s face it, even if you can’t make it
happen, who wouldn’t at least take you up on the offer or buy it for you just to alleviate the guilt of not buying it
for you and you blaming him for your life not getting off on the “right foot” for the New Year?). I don’t
want to hear about how you’ve all ready lost 3 ounces because you’re no longer eating red meat and how my colon
is going to take six years to digest the burger I’m eating. (You know you’re dying for one and most likely will
have one digesting in your colon by February, even if you have to eat it in the car and destroy all evidence of it.) I don’t
want to hear how you’re going to be less judgmental because let one person walk by you wearing shorts and Crocs on in
New York in January and you’re going to be rolling your eyes like the rest of us. And for God sake, if your resolution
is to become more positive, stay as far away from me as possible. The people who have to try to be positive (with their affirmations
on post-its all over their house) get on my nerves more than anyone else. I think it’s good to have a positive outlook
on life but let’s face it, if everything was going your way, what would Jesus do? Sit around doing nothing all day just
waiting for rappers to thank him on award shows and celebrities to find him when they go to jail instead of listening to you
pray for money to drop from the heavens to pay your cell phone bill before they cut you off? Do Jesus a favor and keep up
the good work of asking for him to grant wishes like your fairy Godmother, it amuses him!
My mother, a wise woman said to me last night, “Make sure the first thing you say tomorrow is
“rabbit” as my father used to say you’re supposed to say that at the start of every month and year as it
brings good luck. Not that I always remember to say it and let’s face it, it really hasn’t worked out so much
for me but it couldn’t hurt.” So as I awoke this morning, I got up and went to the bathroom and while sitting
on the toilet I said, “Rabbit.” I don’t know if I could possibly feel more ridiculous but better to feel
ridiculous and have good luck, right?
I guess deep down inside we’re all looking
for luck or good things to happen in the New Year. A friend of my family used to always make a rhyming catch phrase for the
coming year, I can imagine he’s saying, “2008 Will Be Great” for this New Year but by the end of each year
no matter what the optimistic phrase it had been given at the start of the year, by the end of the year the previous year
always got the same phrase, “2007 (or whatever year it was) Sucked Big Ones.” And for those of you who remember
Romper Room, where at the end of the show the female host would take what looked like a hand mirror without the mirror part
in it and look through it saying, “Romper, bomper, stomper boo. Tell me, tell me, tell me do. Magic mirror, tell me
today. Did all my friends have fun at play?” And then she would mention kid’s names saying things like, “And
I see it’s a very special day for Suzie, Happy Birthday Michael and oh, feel better Jill” (Incidentally, I never
knew where these names came from but always waited for mine to see if she would magically say it somehow. In retrospect I
guess parents would write in or the show’s producer made them up. They always seemed to be popular names and no wonder
the show isn’t on anymore because can you imagine her saying, “And it’s a special day for Perrier, Happy
Birthday D’Anfrey and feel better Lacquansha?”) The point is that we’re all looking for that magic mirror
or for someone to mention us but as we start this New Year, let’s begin as we mean to go along. Only you can prevent
a forest fire and only you can make a change in you. (Just do us all a favor and keep it to yourself until you have the book
deal or your episode appears on the show Cops or Addiction!) Wishing you a resolution-free New Year! – Don’t Get
ago when I was at dinner with a producer from a dinner theater where I worked for eleven years. (It's what I refer to
as My Dazzling Dinner Theater Days)
I was riled up about something and this producer
said, "You should have a radio show where people call and get you fired up and you just go off." As I had a reputation
for going on a tirade the likes of Dixie Carter on Designing Women (remember this was years ago) and as I was constantly starting
my sentences with the phrase above; when I started blogging I decided that this might be a way to get my rants out to the
public at large.
I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoy writing
Since the site began in August of 2006, people have been writing in (okay, mostly my Mother) telling me that
I needed to do a video blog (or “vblog”) like Rosie and everyone else in the world. Writing the “Don’t
Get Me Started” blog five times a week is daunting enough without adding video production on top of it. Plus, what would
be different about the video blog from the written blog? After the huge response from my blog about being a Forty-Something
Gay during Pride week, it hit me that my video blog would feature topics for us garden variety Forty-Something Gays! I hope
you enjoy them as well as the rest of the Some Like It Scott site!
Some Music While You Read?
At the request of Some Like It Scott reader you can now read
or listen or read AND listen when on the "Don't Get Me Started" page. Click below to turn the music on and
scroll to the bottom to find out what you're listening to!
That's right, Don't Get Me Started! I have no
idea what I was thinking. Well, not true, I thought it looked fabulous. The hair was sufficiently “palmed” out
to give it height and that’s not a shadow you see behind my head, it’s the true bi-level cut of the 80’s
going on, not a mullet, my friends, an honest to goodness Duran Duran inspired bi-level! I had purchased this Gulden's
mustard colored all silk suit at Bloomingdale's with the collarless purple silk shirt and just knew I looked fabulous.
(What a difference a decade or so makes, huh?)
Anyway, I was simply overwhelmed by how many people wrote in telling
me about their hair and fashion disasters, everything from a "Super Freak" outfit to get into a Rick James concert
to a swell guy who wrote about his perm that gave him that “greatest star” Streisand “Star Is Born”
look, or so he thought until he reflected back on it “with one more look at you.”
What's your fashion disaster that was caught on film?