Wednesday, December 08, 2010

Comparative Bachelorhood

As a single, gay man living alone in a big city, sometimes I worry that I don't take very good care of myself; that I drink too much; that I don't eat enough healthy food; that I'm a self-serving slob whose existence causes problems for other people.

But fortunately (and ironically), today is Garbage Day.

My apartment complex offers complimentary, door-to-door trash pick-up on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Here's what I usually leave out:


And here's what my single, straight neighbor usually leaves out:


I'm probably doing better than I think I am.

Monday, December 06, 2010

Every day, in every way, monastic life gets a little more attractive.

I went home on my lunch break, logged into an online dating site and found the following message in my mailbox:

"Cute man for sure."

I understood this to mean that the author found me attractive, so I wrote back:

"Thanks, buddy."

His response (word for word, I am not making this up):

"So whatre you up to sweet cheaks?"

Fail.

Friday, December 03, 2010

Quote o' the Moment - Not a Bad Explanation

"The difference is this: Pagans acknowledge the Earth as their Mother, and Witches worship the Moon.'

-Anonymous

Thursday, December 02, 2010

The Show Must Go On

Last night, I dreamt that my parents and I went on a road trip to an unspecified destination. After a day of driving, we settled into a roadside motel, then decided to go see a show.

We walked to a nearby university, which was putting on a production in a large, tiered, auditorium-style classroom. We found our seats, the lights dimmed, and a troupe of drag queens entered. Apparently, they'd created an improvisational, comedic play based on my dating history.

I would like to add a standard "...and then I woke up" at this point, but that doesn't adequately cover what happened next. I did wake up, confused and needing to use the bathroom, but after I took care of business and flopped back into bed, I found myself back in the auditorium.

The drag queens were busy with a scene change when my mother's cell phone rang. She answered it, which understandably riled the audience members around her. However, the phone call turned out to be for one of the performers, so my mother snuck down an aisle to relay the message. "Gertrude," she stage-whispered, "Psst, Gertrude. Don't forget to feed the cats."

Upon hearing this, a techie drag queen swung a spotlight around and focused it on my mother, who seemed surprised but pleased at the sudden attention. Another drag queen handed her a martini, and my mom gamely became part of the show. And that's where I woke up again.

I crawled out of bed, drank a glass of water, took an antacid and fell back asleep. The play was well into Act II, and the drag queens were in the midst of a dramatic interpretation of the Cajun incident, much to the audiences' delight.

This went on well into the early morning: Wake up, toss and turn for a bit, fall back asleep, wander around the auditorium and run into a couple of friends, then take them to meet my parents; wake up, use the bathroom again, fall back asleep, then have a fellow audience member fuss at me for forgetting to silence my own cell phone.

I've had recurring dreams before, but I've never had a real-time, chronological dream that kept picking up where it left off. I'm inclined to wonder if there's some deep, Jungian meaning to the whole thing, but I suspect it's more likely that my subconscious just got bored and decided to fuck with me.