R. A. Melos Uncensored

Met three jaded and bitchy queens tonight at the Pride Center. Blah. Also hung out with some friends. Now I'm watching Grease and relaxed with rum and Fresca.

Thursday was up there in the top ten of bizarre days. It wasn't, ironically, number one. In fact, the events of Thursday occurred about 12 years ago or so, but they still are bizarre in so many ways and have me still pondering them at 4:00 AM. On top of it all, I really need some sanity in my life and I'm not getting it.

Everything is crashing, but this was like some weird farcical, scifi, comedy just short of the insanity level that has permeated my life. I'm going to bed now because I need to. Everything is too much, and I fully understand to concept of pulling a Palin and am about to do so on some grand scale if things don't start to jive. I'm thinking complete insanity as an alternative. Crazy is as crazy does, or so that fucking film I hated so much once told me. (Yes, I hated Forest Gump. I wanted to scream throughout most of it).

I deserve better. I deserve the best. I deserve to be rich, famous, and happy.

So tomorrow is the 20th anniversary of my father's death. I'm mixed with this. He would be 89 if he were alive. I have issues. A lot of issues. The ironies of life are haunting me tonight. Like in August of 2001 when the doctor who delivered me died, and my mother was working for his daughter. His son-in-law was dying from cancer and going to have surgery and his daughter asked my mother to go to the funeral because she had to be with her husband. So mom and I went to the funeral and I was asked to be a pallbearer. He brought me into the world and I helped take him out. Ironic. I was supposed to be at the funeral for that reason and the universe saw to it that I was there.

A month later his daughter's husband had a bad reaction to chemo and ended up in the hospital instead of going to work. That was September 10th, and he worked at the World Trade Center. He never left the hospital, but he lived 4 months longer than he would have had he made it to work. Irony.

My mother wouldn't take her name off our house as she got older, yet she thought I'd be secure with the house. Instead I had to mortgage the house so I could stay home to take care of her. I counted on real estate to be there for me after she was gone. Because she kept her name on the house even if I could afford to keep the house the nursing home will still have lien against it. Irony and irony, on top of more irony.

So my day did not go quite as I wanted. It never does. I overpaid my house insurance and underpaid my car insurance, so to correct that error I am now broke. Another reason to move to Florida is the lower price of auto insurance. If I rent I only need renter's insurance, not house insurance, so my potential future landlord will be paying the hurricane insurance. Whatever.

I don't even want to be bothered to deal with anything at the moment. I'm going to change and go to L.A. Fitness, then come home and watch Mad Men.

Today is a national day of mourning, right? No one is going to be working, right? I cn stay in bed the entire day and not deal with anyone, right? Michael Jackson is still dead, right?

Okay then. I'm taking the day off. I'll do the one scheduled tarot reading, and hit the gym around 10 PMish (in hopes of meeting up with said hottie of previous post), and that should be my day. The rest of the day will be spent in bed slee-- um, reflecting on the great loss to humanity. Yeah, that's it. Reflecting. I need 8 solid hours of uninterrupted reflection.

So tonight at the gym, in the steam room, a really hot guy about 40 with a nordic accent started talking to me. Actually he was cruising me, and I was cruising him, and I think we flirted a bit but I'm not sure because I've never been good at that part of the game so I might've been flirting, well, yeah, I know I was flirtng but I'm not sure he was flirting back although he seemed to be flirting slightly with his conversation, and he was hot and I'm neurotic. For crying out loud, how am I going to meet a hot 40something guy when I can't figure out flirting.

I figured being gay was easier because we knew what we wanted, but as I've gotten older I'm getting more confused as to what I want. I know I would've hopped in bed with this guy in a heartbeat. He was my physical type, and the little talk we had was good. And I checked him out at the lockers and, um, oh yeah we have a winner! Unfortunatey I'll probably never see him again. Damn. I obviously missed the boat on this one. This isn't the first time a guy's flirted with me in the steam room, nor is it the first time the guy has been really hot looking. I've got to learn to do something about the signals and figure out how to get to the point of picking up a hot nice normal guy who really looks great in boxers.

I know he checked me out at the lockers too, thanks to all the mirrors. He made a point of saying goodnight to me. Damn. Oh well. I'll have to learn from this. Maybe I'll get lucky and see him again.

I'm relaxed at the moment. Have to go give a tarot reading tomorrow at two, coping with everything else at the moment. Need to get my life together on some levels, but not on others. Complicated thought process.

I'm tired. Going to bed. Watching an interview with Sam Fuller. Fascinating. No use in planning anything else. Plans are meant to be changed.

Ham quiche with mixed veggies and sharp cheddar. Also picked up six ears of white corn.

So far it hasn't been all that warm. I'll let you know when it gets warm enough.

I sat at the bar looking at the old men, the trolls, moving about the room in search of a nubile young stud to take home, while hearing the lyrics of a Boy George song being mutilated. God. At 46, if I weren’t in such reasonably hot shape, I would be one of those trolls. The young man on the bar stool next to mine was young enough to be my son. I know that because I know him from the Pride Center. He’s what is commonly referred to as a “hottie,” early 20 something, twinkling eyes, goatee, slender body and sensual laugh, and I wanted to kiss him.

I knew deep down that kiss, or the wild night of sexual passion in my mind would never really happen. As I stated, he’s young enough to be my son. And besides, I’m going through so much personal baggage it wouldn’t be fair to even make the effort to seduce such a hot little number even if there were a possibility that such a hot young man would find me attractive.

The music played on and I had a Paula Abdul moment as I listened to a lesbian butcher a version of “What I Did For Love”. I realized why Paula appears so spaced, so drunk, so out of it. She appears that way because she has to be drunk, stoned, out of it, to listen to such horrible singers. I upgraded from vanilla Sevdka and coke to rum and coke. I needed to satisfy an oral fixation. So I left the bar with a Salem between my lips instead of wrapping my lips around the penis of the hot 20 something on the next barstool.

I walked out of the bar, into the warm summer night, lit up my cigarette and drove home while thinking about my life and what I wanted from it. It is my life. Perhaps I haven’t has that realization too often, or too clearly, but it started to sink in as I inhaled the smoke and felt the buzz. It was almost as if I were waking from a long sleep. I am an adult, and I make my choices based on the things the world throws at me on a daily basis. Some of those things, most of those things, have been bordering on the dark side of the universe, but my dreams show me the offer of a better world, a better life. The thing is, it all has to be conscious decisions, and I’m not sure what the next decision should be.

Maybe things will work out. In fact, I’m sure they will work out the way they are supposed to work out. I just hope things work out soon because I really can’t take much more stress. All I ever really wanted was to write a few nice stories, earn my living through writing and real estate, and enjoy my life. A sense of freedom is essential to a Gemini. I have a taste of that, and need for it to continue.

Okay I'm sorry whenever someone dies, but this is turning into a Princess Di level of media coverage. Yes, he was talented. So was Elvis, so was Judy Garland, so was a dozen other singers and life still goes on. If the music industry comes to a grinding halt now that Michael Jackson is gone then he will have achieved the God status the media is giving him. If one more song is released by anyone, ever, then he was a singer, like many others, and the entertainment industry will survive this loss just like they did Hank Williams, Elvis, Smokey Robinson, and the many previously deceased artists.

I don't mean to sound callous, but the media is taking this too far.

Within 8 months to one year I'll be moving. It is literally the only way to get out from under all this debt. Giving up everything I have is the answer according to the bankruptcy attorney.

The liens against the property from the nursing home will still exist, only I won't be liable, so the only way for the nursing home not to get paid is for me to give up everything. So my mother's illness fucked me over.

Given that I should have at least 8 months to get serious about finding a job either here in NJ or in FL I'm going to take off the rest of the night and go to bed. I'm exhausted.

My dog laughs at me ALL the time.

It is highly possible to eat well and do it on a budget. For example, tonight I had swordfish steak, a baked potato and green beans for under $5.

I picked up a 3 oz. piece of swordfish at the supermarket, placed it on a piece of parchment paper, sprinkled it with EVOO (That's extra virgin olive oil for those who don't watch Rachel Ray), the juice of one key lime, season with dill, parsley, salt and pepper, use fresh seasonings if you have them but dried seasonings work just as well, take a small apricot sliced into sections and arrange on top of the fish, wrap the parchment paper loosely but tight enough to hold it all in, then bake for 25 to 30 minutes at 450 degrees. A small baked potato with that, and a small can of string beans seasoned to you liking (I added dill, parsley, and a half pinch of sage, salt and pepper). The fish cost $3.33, the can of beans .89 cents, the potato from a 5 lb. bag which originally cost $3.99 figuring 15 small red potatoes gives it a price of .26 cents per potato. Dinner cost roughly $4.48.

Snack tonight was egg salad. 4 eggs, medium brown is my preference, two sticks of celery, one grated carrot, a handful of sliced olives, capers, pimentos, salt, pepper, dill.

And for a drink a Hillbilly Libre, Rum and Mountain Dew.

This was all way better than McDonald's.

Just checking in. Michael Jackson is still dead. No rising. Apparently the family wants a second autopsy, according to the news. I guess dissecting him might give some answers, but I would think the L. A. coroner did a thorough job. They could give him some sort of break. He didn't get one in life, but now is the time to give up and let him rest. Probably a money thing coming up.

I'm broke, facing foreclosure and no one is coming to my rescue bailing me out. He got help from several other millionaires. I find it hard to feel sorry at this point. I'm sorry a talented man died, as I am whenever anyone dies, but that's the extent.

So I'm feeling rather bitchy tonight, although I went to game night at the Pride Center and a really cute guy was there. He's new to coming out, and I'm not a complete predator, or I'd be all over the guy trying to seduce him. He's HOT.

Aside from that, I'm broke, the world is still spinning and I'm struggling to get on with my life.

Wow! Two pop icons of my youth passed away on the same day. I hadn't imagined either would've died at the young ages they did. Of course I'm talking about Michael Jackson, dead at 50 from an apparent heart attack, and the much more sad passing of Farrah Fawcett at 62 of cancer.

Both were amazing superstars of my youth. While I'm always saddened by a death, especially when they are young as these two were, I'm more saddened by the passing of Farrah Fawcett because she fought so valiantly to live.

While Michael Jackson's death seem to be overshadowing the passing of Farrah perhaps the hoopla of his passing will leave Farrah and her family the chance to have a dignified send off with minimal media frenzy. Her legacy will be one of talent, but also one of class, determination and strength. I'm sure her memory will live on through a cancer foundation or some other tribute.

Michael Jackson's legacy is one of amazing talent, and a very weird and scandalized private life,

The timing of the deaths reminds me of Gilda Radner and Lucille Ball, both of whom passed away on the same day and how Lucy's death overshadowed Gilda's passing, but her legacy has lived on in Gilda's Club, a worldwide organization that provides support for people with cancer. Metaphysically speaking, Gilda and Farrah live on through their contribution to help others, and entertainers like Jackson and Ball live on with their contribution of entertainment.

So my boss called me today to tell me he got a call from someone about listing a house. The problem is, I already gave the family a market analysis. So my boss told the people he couldn't meet with them. Apparently they asked him about working with him instead of me, so he just wanted to give me a heads up. Here's my heads up. I'm putting myself ahead of everyone else from now on.

Still a nervous wreck, but surviving. it isn't a great position to be in, but it's what I've been handed. I'm trying to cope, barely, and praying for things to improve. My tarot cards tell me things will, I just hope it's soon.