Nomy Goes Down

No, you perv! Not like that.

It came on me in the night, see. What yesterday was a mild, if hacking, cough, turned into something much more... uhm... productive. (Eww.)

The thing is trying to crawl into my chest, but off I went to work anyway. It's in my blood. You don't call off unless, well, you don't call off. You call in dead, maybe. But not "sick."

So in I went. Oooo, they were all "you're gonna get us sick!" And, "Consider our health why don'cha!"

I got sick of it so I left. Phtt. See there? No energy for my classic "phtt."

So. Someone bring me soup and bread. From Panera.

Post haste!

That Damn Scot

Just getting in from playing with my Scot tonight. She's quite a pistol, I tell ya.

She had a friend meet us out. I'd met this girl, C, once before. Tonight she was different. Outgoing and chatty. She looks like Melissa Ferrick with her hair pulled back. And honestly I was fine until she did just that; the pull it back bit. Ugh. Ma-rawr.

So they had the kareoke going at the pub. "The Closet," it's called. I sing a song or two and suddenly I am all the rage. I have quite a nice voice, I am told. And it is an amazing ice breaker for people.

I had a great time.

But GG was on my mind fairly heavily tonight. Intermixed with norty ideas of this C woman, too.

Aww, Phtt!

Exposed

I wrote this quite a while ago. But I love it still. The woman who ispired it will always be a part of me, although we never met.
----

It is a long way from here to there and I am weary from traveling these great distances in my head. I have been so stoic in my life and now this. I wonder often now about fate and continuums. How karma plays into lives like snowfalls in April. And with a desire made odd by it's until recent irregularity I travel the cities finding the perfect place to be what I've become.

And hoping you might follow.

I do not often permit myself such fancy but in fantasy, there are no boundaries and this makes me bold. In my mind I stand tall and strong and speak distractedly of madness and am awed by your continued advancement in my general direction. We play matches of button-push and shove and tug and neither loses ground and I find myself pacing or jumping in place trying to get this weird shift of gravity to fall back into place. Nothing in life can be so natural, so old and comfortable and yet you are an ages old warm blanket or the too soft shirt I still wear, refusing to part with it in tatters because this shirt brings me the good luck. I rub myself down trying to find in you the odd sharp thread that nicks all day at one place on my skin till it is raw and cannot find it.

I am stirred in ways no being has ever stirred me and it brings me running here, to this place where I write, to put down too long sentences and jumbled thoughts of this thing I am in the middle of. This thing that seems to have always been. And leave it here, exposed like me, hoping you might find it.

Ahh, Christmas

Merry Christmas, by the way!

I found this to cover all my bases!

(Stolen from roseys.net)

The Twelve Politically Correct Days of . . . On the 12th day of the Eurocentrically-imposed midwinter festival, my Significant Other, in a consenting, adult, monogamous relationship, gave to me ~


TWELVE males reclaiming their inner warrior through ritual drumming,

ELEVEN pipers piping (plus the 18-member pit orchestra made up of members in good standing of the Musicians Equity Union as called for in their union contract even though they will not be required to play a note)

TEN melanin-deprived testosterone-poisoned scions of the patriarchal ruling class system leaping

NINE persons engaged in rhythmic self-expression
EIGHT economically-disadvantaged female persons stealing milk products from enslaved Bovine-Canadians,

SEVEN endangered swans swimming on federally-protected wetlands

SIX enslaved Fowl-Canadians producing stolen non-human animal products

FIVE golden symbols of culturally-sanctioned enforced domestic incarceration (NOTE: after members of the Animal Liberation Front threatened to throw red paint at my computer, the calling birds, French hens and partridge have been reintroduced to their native habitat. To avoid further Animal-Canadian enslavement, the remaining gift package has been revised.)


FOUR hours of recorded whale songs

THREE deconstructionist poets

TWO Sierra Club calendars printed on recycled processed tree carcasses and...

ONE Spotted Owl activist chained to an old-growth pear tree.

Merry Christmas. Happy Chanukah. Good Kwanzaa! Oh, hell~! Happy Holidays!!!! (unless otherwise prohibited by law)

* *Unless, of course, you are suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). If that is the case, please substitute this gratuitous call for celebration with a suggestion that you have a thoroughly adequate day.

The Scot And Boys

So I am just in from a night with the Scot. I adore her but thank God she is not my type.

See, we work together. It would just be weird.

So we go to a gathering at her friend's parent's house. A wonderful little Mexican Christmas. Hot tamales and everything.

Then to the gay bars.

We ended up at a place called Tai's. Straight bar from what I gathered but very welcoming. I met two boys. Yum. Cause you know I kinda like 'em both just now. John and Brian.

John managed to get my number. So we'll see. Ooh, I feel so n0rty!

So, it's four a.m. and I am just getting home. Managed to lose the Scot along the way, damnit.

It is interesting, this dynamic between us. We are so conscious of our work relationship but slowly becoming used to each other's bodies. She will cuddle up to me sometimes out of the blue. Never anything even remotely sexual. Or at least I think not. But I like the feel of her there. And the fact that she finds comfort and safety in my arms.

I actually hope John calls. I would definitely go out with him. And I did make it clear that I like boys as well. The Scot doesn't like that much but I have decided to be truly me for once. And so John got my number.

Thank God for spell check because I am a bit toasty tonight.

WEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

A Very Tranny Christmas!

Went out with my Scot and some other folks on Wednesday. I was nervous because I had to work early on Thursday but I managed to get in by the witching hour.

Started at The Kit Kat Club. Yeah, I 'spose that could be 'klub' but I think they massacred it enough. A nice, smallish place that smelled amazing. Must eat there soon. All of a sudden the music begins to blare and out comes a rail thin drag queen.

Now, I love a good drag show (Scot calls 'em tranny shows), but this place was small and she was walking right up to folks. And doing stage face and moves the whole time. You know, larger than life movements of the hands and arms and exaggerated mouthing of words. Ick. I didn't like it much. Too much absolute eye contact.

We finally stepped into the frigid wind Chicago is known for and walked to dinner. Yummy mexican food and great conversation, and then on to a place called Hydrate. Oooh, I liked this bar. (Scot calls 'em all pubs.) Plenty hotties and your lovable little Nomy even got hit on.

Hydrate had it's own drag show going on, too. 'Cept this one, uhm, had a holiday theme. I don't know. Am I wrong for finding a nearly nude Dolly impersonation a wee bit blasphemous?

HAR!

Off to play with the Scot again tonight. I feel like dancin, baby!

Your spellcheck update wants tranny to be tyranny. PHTT!

Defensive Parking

Yeah. I caved today.

Nomy "rented" a space in which to park for the four months of snow.

See, I'm not permitted to park on my street when there is snow. Which means that no one else can either. So we'll all be looking for parking and I am just not up to digging out and then staking out a place in which to park. Plus, I don't want to be four hundred miles away from my place.

Meh. What's another hundred bucks a month?

Phtt!

Wow.

I really hit that bottle down a ways, huh?

I've read it again. Gibberish, I tell ya. It's all nonsensical gibberish.

I mean, I know what it all meant. But shoo. Gib. Er. Ish.

Baby, It's Cold Outside

No, no. It's cold inside!!!

So I've been just a-shiverin like mad lately. I thought maybe that was just the way it was round here. But I am so rarely cold that I began to wonder.

Off to see the gay boys, I go.

Walked in to a super cozy, quite toasty little pad. Damnit. They said that there are nights when they have to open the window and never have all the vents open.

Wha...?

Crap. Now I have to call crazy landlord.

Random Musings & A Half Bottle Of Wine

I cannot continue to be so shifty. My history is to find a girl I like and to shift a thing here about me or a thing there. I mean, I do it day to day with this fucking psychosis. Grew up constantly changing who I was to please those around me and to fill a need.

But I have reached a point in my life where, let's be honest, I like myself a lot. I adore who I am, really. (The "editor" of my psychosis is being kicked out tonight, I think) I am the shit. And that's not nearly as cocky as it sounds. (He's back.)

I just.... You know, somewhere out there is a woman - or two- who is totally into the person I am now. Or a man, even. And I am tired of being the one who changes to suit the world. It's time the world shift, just a bit, to accommodate me.

What brings this about? you ask. A conversation with a girl I am so into it hurts. I am crazy about her. We couldn't be more different, on the surface.

Both Geminis. She's a one, I'm a two. She's a semi-professional athlete, I am mildly hedonistic. She lives a gazillion miles away. We're in similar fields. Once you scrape a bit past the surface, we have far more in common than at first glance.

And she could totally own me. Could totally tame me.

Now, that isn't all that odd. I usually know within the first 10 seconds of meeting someone if they are the type or not. She walked up and said hello and I knew before her hand was in mine that she could have this power over me.

The point of this whole wine-induced public rant is that I need to stop being so completely single sighted. She isn't the only girl in the world. There are certain things about me that just are.

And I want this girl in my life. She just may not be "the one." And that is ok. We aren't compatible on every front.

Hell. She doesn't even know that a wonderful conversation with her tonight fueled this response.

She does not know that, tonight, I removed myself from the running. We may hook up. But the race is done.

She isn't the one.

Window Shopping? Lightweight!

So I decided that today was the day to tackle the buses round here. I got up and got ready and off I went. Jumped on the bus and headed down to the Best Buy.

Two iPod minis later, and I think I am experiencing nirvana. [grin]

I had a blast walking around my town today. And Santa seems to like me. He's been really good to me the last two days.

A Very Berry Explosion

So this complete change in eating habits is taking its toll elsewhere in my world. I haven't turned the TV on since Monday. I spend less money, obviously. I come home in the evening and, dear God, I am domestic. I piddle around in the kitchen. A person who hates washing dishes, I find it almost relaxing. Hell, I even have a dishwasher now but I need some of these dishes over and over in the process.

Mostly, though, I am feeling it. The feeling I've wanted. Home. Adult. All that, really. And more. And I am sure that I'll not be able to explain it. It has to do with my head and a lack of consistency and chronology.

But it's happening.

I bitch and moan about not getting to eat crap anymore. But I do feel better. I tackled this for health and sanity reasons, but I am also slimming down a bit, too. Great side affect.

But lord how my inexperience can show!

This morning I was already running late. I woke late and I had to iron a shirt, too. So I'm hustling round the house trying to get all my ducks in a row.

I peel two hard boiled eggs, throw the whites in the blender along with some frozen strawberries and blueberries, ice and water. Turn it on and it pseudo-blends for a second or two and then won't pull anything else down into the choppers.

I should mention here that I am not always the brightest bulb in the box. And I was late, damnit!

So I grab a large spoon and begin to push the guts down into the choppers. They suddenly chop at the spoon and kerplooey! yummy smoothie is suddenly everywhere!! In my hair. All, and I mean allllll over my freshly pressed shirt. The kitchen is just that quickly painted purple!

Now, you'd think I woulda been very late to work. Nope. That's the uplifting part of the story. Right. On. Time.

So, yeah. I've got tons to learn.

But I took some of those berries to work for my snack and lemme tell ya, I damn near had an orgasm over the kerpow of flavour in my mouth! Everyone wanted what I was having and we spent the next hour talking about When Harry Met Sally!

It sounds so odd, I know, coming from a woman 35 years old, but I feel so grown up. Fuckin psychosis. But I am liking this feeling much.

Yams, baby, yeah!

So, I promised myself when I got to Chicago I would start eating better. Treating my body right. Actually thinking about what I eat and all that.

Alas, it is making me snarky.

In trying to kick my mildly sluggish metabolism into high gear, I've done a lot of research to find out what foods will do that for me. No dairy. No breads. Rarely red meats. No salt.

I am left with chicken, greens, some fruits, rice, and most veggies. Sounds ok, right?

The problem is the cooking. I keep drying out my chicken. Broccoli tastes like ass without butter. And because I have to eat less more often, I am filled with mostly bland foods.

Enter the yam.

Tonight as I dreaded eating yet another dry piece of chicken, I got creative. Cooked a yam in foil. (That's not the creative bit, yet. Wait for it.) Splashed my broccoli, while cooking, with a generous amount of basalmic vinegar. Put it all on a plate and squeezed the last life out of a lemon over the whole mess.

Then I took a bite of the yam with the chicken. Sweet bliss, I tell ya.

Who knew that I would be missing the sweet?? I don't eat sweets.

So may God continue to bless the yam, baby.

Chicago: My Town

I have learned a couple of things about my new home that I feel I simply must share with you.

1) Sometimes in Chicago you shop simply because you find a parking spot. You park, explore, and probably spend gross amounts of money. For me, it was a digital camera and a new futon.

2) Lately, I get two questions: Was it your building that was on fire? And, can you get tickets to Oprah? Or the Bulls? The answer in both cases is, no. What we do have, in excess, is tickets to Duh Bears.

That's my update for now.