CPW Sleeper Series: Unconditional Love

No one messes with a dwarf in a red raincoat

CPW Sleepers is a new series in which I will pontificate on the relative worthiness of sleeper movies and insist that all my Gentle Readers watch them immediately.

The first in our series is the 2002 sleeper Unconditional Love. Poor George and I have enjoyed this as one of our favorite movies for a number of years now.

It features Kathy Bates, Rupert Everett, a dwarf AND Barry Manilow. What is there not to love about that? It is not even remotely possible to make a bad movie using that combination.

I watched it this morning and got unexplainedly weepy, which of course led me to call Mindy June and leave her a voice mail containing one of my favorite Barry Manilow songs.

Watch it today.

Love and coasters,


CP

CP has a new policy on Memes

This picture has nothing to do with this post. This is my new dining set that I bought for a song at a consignment shop. It's vaguely Mission style so it fits the style of my house. There is a beautiful wood inlay design on the top that you can't see in this picture. It's also currently located in my office (above) because I don't yet have a functioning dining room. Do you like my paint job? (Please ignore the inner parts of the window frames, as I was unable to get to them to paint them, and I was lucky enough just to get these three windows open let alone take on the project to remove the frames for painting.)

Gentle Readers,





Many of us do Memes, which can be fun. Sometimes we tag each other to do the Memes. (And for the record, I've gone all German with the word Memes and have decided it should be Capitalized on accounta it's a noun, but only because it's a noun that screams to have something all German done to it.)





Most of you know I'm horrible at responding to tags. I have a hard time making the rounds to all my beloved stalkees, and sometimes I don't even know I've been tagged until weeks later and then I feel like an ass. (Mainly because I am an ass, but it just make it worse.)





And now I can't even get Technorati to work any more to tell me when someone mentions me in a blog post, so if anyone has suggestions on how I can be more timely alerted to such things I will be your second best friend. (On accounta you probably already have a first best friend.)





Since posting takes effort and I'm generally unwilling to make any on accounta I'm a lazy son-of-a-bitch, I now declare the following policy: If you tag me in a Meme, or if you just do a Meme and I happen to stop by your place, I too will do the Meme, but in your comments section rather than making my own post.





See here for my first installment.





Love and coasters,


CP

Moving on up

Even though the challenges of my daily life pale in comparison to what Lulu is potentially facing, I am nonetheless going to share my recent adventures with you. Just on accounta you need to know what's going on.

I have finally moved into my house! I spent the first two months here in temporary living quarters so that I could have a clean place to live (and work) while my house was undergoing various renovation projects like sanding and refinishing the floors, ripping apart bathrooms, rewiring, plumbing, painting and that sort of thing.

These things always take twice as long as you expect, so of course it's not all done yet. Poor George and I decided that "we" would do the painting ourselves to save money. Big mistake. Not only does "we" mean "CP" since George doesn't live here yet; this house is over 1600 square feet with 9 separate rooms/hallways to deal with, all with wood trim and moulding. Not a mansion by any means, but that's a LOT of painting, especially for a mildly retarded and uncoordinated Punchman.

So the long and short of it is, I'm not done. Most of the house is covered in contractor paper and currently only two rooms are completely move-in ready. I don't even have a bathroom yet because the one I intend to use is filthy and needs to be painted. (I hope to have most of that done today.)

Yet, I decided I didn't really need to pay a third month's rent on the temporary apartment, so I decided to move in "sometime" this weekend. I was stressing about it because it was a smallish job, and really the only thing I could absolutely not do myself was carry a sofa down a flight of steps.

So I didn't want to pay a load of money to "movers" for a job like this, but I did need to find someone to help me at least. (Which is difficult when you're in a new city and the only people you know well enough to ask are physically unable to accomplish such tasks.)

Craigslist to the rescue! Craigslist is the greatest thing ever. I clicked into the "labor and services" section and immediately found a "college kid with a pickup" who was available to help people move stuff.

I really wanted to move in Sunday (today) so that I could have the bathroom ready first - but when I called this kid, he #1 only wanted 40 bucks, and #2 was only available that day (Friday). So I jumped on it, although to set the record straight early on, I gave the kid $100. I couldn't take advantage of his naivete.

As an aside on the money issue, one guy I had talked to was going to make me do half the work and still charge me $250. Ha.

So....it was the fastest packing job I've ever done in my life. I had everything boxed up or otherwise ready to move in 90 minutes. That has to be some kind of world record for moving.

Within the space of three hours from my phone call to the college kid with the pickup, all my stuff was moved into the house.

It was so awesome to wake up the first morning in my very own house. Let's just pray the economy doesn't completely collapse and force me to lose it as is happening to so many Americans. Luckily, PG and I have saved up enough of a reserve for our protection in the event of such a calamity, but I'm still nervous.

************************

This is my second morning in the house. It's still a wreck and I have no idea where anything is, and don't really have anyplace to put most of it since most of the house is still unusable.

But I decided to make my own coffee this morning rather than go up the street to Starbucks. Here is my time-line on that project:

1. Locate coffee, mug, spoon, sugar, filters, saucepan for boiling water, and my smart little one-cup coffee dripper thing: 45 minutes

2. Clean stovetop after becoming aware that it was crusted over with soot from when the wood floors were sanded: 20 minutes

3. Adjust shelving in refrigerator so that water dispenser could stand upright properly (you don't drink unfiltered tap water here, it's disgusting): 10 minutes

4. Boil water and make coffee: 5 minutes

Total time spent: 80 minutes, or about 3 times as long as it would have taken to go up to Starbucks. But at least I'll be ready for tomorrow morning.

*********************

I just got done enjoying my coffee with knaackebrod and creamed fish eggs with dill that you squeeze out of a toothpaste tube. (Yes, I went to Ikea last night.) And one month from tomorrow, my cats will be here with me.

Yay.

A few random thoughts late on a Friday night

This is not our house, but it may as well be.

I really need to check in with my Beloved and Gentle Readers more often. Every now and again I go back and read some old post of mine and then I see the comments which are usually funnier than the post. I laugh and laugh, and then think "why don't we do this any more?" Then I down half a bottle of vodka and call it a night.


**********


I hate what Proposition 8 has done to my personality. It has made the world black and white for me. Everyone is either with me or against me. Every person I see on the street, I think "I wonder how he voted on Prop 8?" Sometimes I automatically assume someone voted "Yes on 8" based on their haircut, and then I spend ten minutes feeling violent hatred toward them. This can't be healthy.


**********


My life is really, really dull right now. I work during the day (pretty much a 9-5 schedule unless I have to drive to Orange County in which case I get home later) and then spend between two and four hours in the evening making repairs to our new house. Being Mr. Fix-It and Mr. Painter and Mr. "Open-the-fucking-painted-shut-windows" is REALLY BORING, especially when I'm doing it all alone. At least if Poor George were here it might be more bearable. But right now I'm cursing the fact that we bought a fixer-upper. I am ready to be done with all of it and enjoy the fruits of my labor. Ha, that'll be the day.


**********


The people we bought the house from should be lined up and shot for their criminal sense of style and color. Every room was painted in some barf tone, and there are all these "adorable" little accents like light switch covers with flowers all over them. Giving this house a makeover will be one of the nicest things I've ever done for humanity. No one should ever have had to look at this shit.


**********


It's kind of rude of me to complain about my house with the terrible state of the economy, with people losing their houses left and right. But I never claimed to be a nice guy.


**********

Good night.

Prop 8 Protest - San Diego - November 15, 2008

I'm standing near the front of the line holding a big white sign that you probably can't read. It says "GET YOUR CHURCH OUT OF MY MARRIAGE."

Saturday was a day of national protest against the passage of Proposition 8 in California. The bastards that organize the passing of these propositions are sure getting their come-uppance after doing this to California. Everyone understands that's how life is in Alabama, but when they start fucking with California (or New York) it's time for the masses to get pissed. And they are pissed.

Interestingly, San Diego had the largest turnout of any city in the country. I will take credit for this as I've been spouting venom to anyone who will sympathize for weeks now. I'm new to the city so I don't have a lot of friends yet, and now people think I'm a raving lunatic and will probably try to avoid me. I guess that's ok, because they're right.

But let's keep up the fight for equal rights.


CP

Waaaah!!! Why won't you let me talk????

This is a Prop H8 supporter crying.

Also, remember to protest Prop H8 this Saturday!!!

Right-wing groups and their supporters love to shriek that members of progressive movements are always interfering with their "right to free speech."

Not only are the Mormons crying because of the public backlash against them after their multi-million dollar campaign of hatred against the gay community, but now companies and people that are being blacklisted and boycotted due to their publicly documented financial support of Proposition 8 are saying things like "why should I be boycotted for exercising my right to free expression?"

The lawyer in me is always irked by this. Although frankly, it isn't even the lawyer in me that is irked; it's the semi-intelligent being in me that is irked.

Our right to free speech in the U.S. doesn't have anything to do with being civil to each other, folks. It doesn't have anything to do with being nice. The notion of free speech has to do with being able to say what you believe without the GOVERNMENT standing in your way, with occasional exceptions, mostly related to public safety.

So let's get this straight, Mormons and everyone else who doesn't understand this. It's LEGAL for you to say "gays should burn in hell. Or at least they shouldn't get Social Security and health care."

And it's LEGAL for us to reply "any Mormon who supported Prop 8, or anyone else who supported Prop 8, should be boycotted." Not only is it legal, it is fair.

Why is it OK for you to strip me of my civil rights, while it is antithetical to the "democratic process" for me to call for a boycott against you because of your beliefs? (Short answer: the democratic process works both ways, asswipes. If you attack me, you'd better expect to be attacked in return.)

If I read one more statment from the LDS church calling for us to be "civil" to them after this nasty stunt they pulled, I might actually go postal.

Love,

CP

A White Trash Christmas Story

Some of my Gentle Readers have been complaining that CPW has been too serious lately, what with all this political talk. Nothing like stripping people of their civil rights to kill a party- that's what we always said in my house growing up!

So I'm taking a break from pleading for your support to overturn Proposition 8, and will instead relate to you an amusing tale my pal Michael recently shared with me about his father's white trash relatives in Minnesota.

One Christmas, one of Michael's uncles offered to "host" the extended family for a party on Christmas Eve day. When the day arrived, people were told to convene at the local bowling alley instead of at the uncle's house.

When Michael and his parents and siblings arrived at the bowling alley they discovered a group of their white trash relatives mingling in the bar area; the uncle hadn't even reserved private lanes for them to bowl in. It was basically like any other Friday night in Cow-Shit Minnesota.

After Michael had resigned to relax and enjoy himself, one of his cousins came up to him and said "Hey Michael, someone's choking your brother over there."

Michael turned around and saw a large plaid-shirted lumberjack attempting to squeeze the very life out of his small-framed brother. By the time he went over to intervene, several other men had already tackled the lumberjack, setting the blue-faced brother free to retch and try to catch his breath.

Michael asked him what happened.

"Well, he was being really obnoxious trying to talk to Darla, and it seemed like she wanted him to leave her alone. So I went over and stood between them."

Apparently the lumberjack said "my, you're fragile little man" and proceeded to choke him.

Yeah, that's Christmas with the trashy relatives. Good times.

NATIONWIDE Proposition 8 protests - Saturday November 15

Gentle Readers,

Thank you SO MUCH to all of you who commented, donated and took other action to protest the abomination that occurred in California on election day.

Here is the latest on what we can do: there is a NATIONWIDE protest scheduled THIS SATURDAY, November 15 in many cities across the US. The protests are supposed to occur in front of city hall of whatever city you are in.

They will take place all at the same time (10:30 am Pacific, 11:30 Mountain, 12:30 Central, and 1:30 Eastern.)

Check this site to see where to go in your city.

Please keep this fight alive for all of us.

Love,

CP

A few things we can do now

Hi all,

I have the greatest Gentle Readers of any blogger. You all have said "what can I do?"

I have been wrestling with this question, since there has been some debate in the "No on 8" community as to the best course of action. E.g. some are saying "lay off the attack on the Mormons."

While I agree it would be unwise to kill, maim or torture any Mormons physically, that does not mean we have to be quiet about what they and their Evangelical brethren have done to us.

Many are calling for a re-evaluation of their tax-exempt status. They may have the right to their political opinion, but we as taxpayers most certainly do not have to subsidize their illegal campaign of hatred.

Since they have so many bazillions of dollars, we should make them pay their fair share of taxes. Wouldn't that be a nice boost to the economy, and so badly needed at this time?

To see what to do, please visit this post at Katie Schwartz's blog to sign the petition (and a few other helpful items.) It is also possible to donate to the "No on 8" campaign through the link on her site as well.

Love and freedom to marry to you all, Gentle Readers.

CP

Post Prop 8

This is me on election night. I stood with my sign outside the voting site until the bitter end.

Sorry for my absence, Gentle Readers, but I've been a little preoccupied since the Mormons convinced 52% of California voters to put discrimination right into our state constitution this week by approving Proposition 8.

It is the first time a constitution was changed to take rights away from people who already had them. Isn't that charming?

Californians are offended that such a strong out of state push caused this. And if there is any silver lining in this at all, it's that everyone else now hates Mormons almost as much as I do.

People are pissed. I mean, really pissed. We marched 10,000 people strong through the streets of San Diego today - I don't have any pictures, but they are all over the news.

We are not going to stand for this, Gentle Readers. You have my solemn vow that from here on in I will do whatever is necessary to protect MY marriage to Poor George. I hope you are with me.

More coming.

CP

It's official: Mormons are Spawn of Satan

I want everyone to watch the video below. (Thanks to Skyler's Dad for sending me the proper embedding code!)

Not surpisingly, the Mormons are upset by this ad. I can't understand why; the effect of what they do has the exact same outcome. They just like to pretend they are so nice, that they don't hate gay people and that when they spew bile and hatred against us they are "just expressing their opinion" whereas we....

Well, I guess since we aren't full citizens, we don't have the right to our opinion. So I guess their anger is justified.

Enjoy the ad. I did.

CP

The Mama Gin Files: Queen of the Wicked

Whatever else you may say about Poor George, he's certainly good for a chuckle now and again. I'm not sure how publicly I have announced this yet, but Poor George and I are FINALLY rid of the daily hassles that are Mama Gin- I because I have moved to San Diego, and Poor George because he shipped her off to live with her Number One Son, Stanley, in San Francisco.

Mama Gin is getting along famously in SF as per the photograph below - a photograph that reminds me of one of PG's great moments in domestic comedy.

One day I came home from work to find George in a state of particularly high agitation. I asked him what was wrong. His reply:

"What's wrong? What do you mean 'what's wrong?'" he said, pointing to Mama Gin who was as usual hovering outside, trying to peer in our window. "How am I supposed to feel with Miss Elphaba spying on me all day?"

The characterization was so dead on that I probably howled for thirty minutes.

For those of you who are not fans of "Wicked," Elphaba is the main character who later became known as the Wicked Witch of the West in the Oz books.

I'm married!

PG's hand on top of CP's. You can't tell from the picture, but our rings are white gold.

Gentle Readers,

I never ever thought I would see this day. I am almost entirely beyond words at this point, so this post will be short.

The day I met Mindy June, playing Trivial Pursuit at college back in 1984, I never would have imagined in a million years that she would, twenty-four years later, be standing in the middle of a park in San Diego pronouncing me legally married to a guy I loved.

In 1984 I never ever would have imagined myself standing amongst a circle of twenty-two beloved friends and family members getting married to Poor George. Yet it did happen, on October 25, 2008!

Poor George left for New York this morning, where he will have to live, apart from me, for the next few months while he sorts out our affairs there. PG was followed by my sister and her husband. And this afternoon I said farewell to my parents and to Mindy June; everyone had to travel a long distance back to their own lives. I cried for half an hour after the last good-bye.

I don't know why I should feel so sad, because marrying George was one of the happiest moments of my life. I guess it's just the rush of emotion after such an emotional weekend. But even with the post-partum sadness, I wouldn't trade this weekend for anything in the world.

Mindy did such a beautiful job with the ceremony that I can't yet describe it adequately. Instead, I simply suggest you read her transcript here.

I'll blog more details about everything once I've gotten a grip on myself.

Love to you all,

CP

Five Things I Hate is back!

Gentle Readers,

Many of you remember Five Things I Hate, the blog where you can rant, anonymously, about the things you hate in our world. But not everyone knew that I was the wizard behind the curtain of that particular blog.

I had let Five Things I Hate fall by the wayside for a number of reasons, none of them very good ones. (I hate that!) Then eventually I just assumed Yahoo! had turned off the email account associated with Five Things I Hate due to lack of use - and so I stopped trying. (I hate that!)

Well, as many of you know, I am getting married to Poor George on Saturday! Last night I got a sore throat, so I am facing the possibility of having a cold during my marriage weekend. I hate that! I hate it so much that I thought to myself "self, I wish you could post that on Five Things I Hate."

So I logged on, and lo and behold it still works! (I don't hate that!)

So go ahead and proceed to email me the five things you hate to fivethingsihate@yahoo.com. As often as you'd like.

We maintain a strict privacy and anonymity policy at Five Things I Hate. We will NEVER divulge the email, identity or any other information about the people who email us their putrid bile. This is meant to be a community art project and as such the integrity of the project is sacred to us, the proprietors of Five Things I Hate. So as long as you don't give anything away to divulge yourself, your hatred is safe here with us.

As always, we reserve the right to deny posts that are just too offensive. E.g. a post that lists "N***ers, fags, women and Jews" will not likely make the grade.

So, Gentle Readers, let's hear it. We want your bile. Today.

CP

Last fling before I get hitched

I don't know what it is about Pink that has always thrilled me. It's not that often that I fall for a girl, but this one just drives me insane. I'm so glad this song has been getting so much replay because I think it's one of her best - and if you're anything like me, her every movement in this performance just shudders with sensuality.

I don't know why I've fallen so hard for this woman. Probably because she's a guy.


Poor George, will you forgive me?

Please help fight the bigots in California!

UPDATE! See Mindy June's blog for an important post on this topic!

Gentle Readers,

It breaks my heart that this is happening. Right wingers are just so bent on hurting gay people that they are going out of their way to try to solidify their bigotry and hatred right into California's state constitution by eliminating the newly-acquired right of same-sex couples to marry.

I have been watching the TV commercials the right wingers have paid for and they SICKEN me. Scare tactics that all hell will break loose if the fags & dykes continue to marry. Messages that we are forcing our lifestyle on the schools and children, etc. It makes me so mad I want to kill someone.

What really burns me is that something like this does NOTHING AT ALL to help them. Nothing, that is aside from quenching their thirst to do harm to others for no good reason.

IF YOU KNOW SOMEONE WHO LIVES IN CALIFORNIA, PLEASE TALK TO THEM ABOUT THIS BEFORE THE ELECTION AND CONVINCE THEM TO VOTE "NO" ON PROPOSITION 8!

You can also click here to learn more and to donate!

Thank you, Gentle Readers.

Love,

CP

My life would seem sad if it weren't funny

I was telling Mindy June yesterday that I had finally reached the "oh fuck, I moved" freak-out phase which is an inevitable part of any significant relocation. It came about as I was tackling my first home-improvement project, which is to open all twelve of the painted-shut windows in our new fixer-upper house.

I had gone shopping for supplies at Lowes on Friday night after having my In-N-Out Double Double, alone, where I sat next to a teen couple that I assumed to be newly dating. I was practicing my eavesdropping skills, which don't come easy to me these days as I grow increasingly hard of hearing wherever there's background noise.

Just as I was grasping the late-teen drama as it unfolded, I up and spilled my root beer, creating a coolio dark brown waterfall over the edge of the table. It would have been really pretty had it not splashed the legs of my teen dining neighbors and caused a general commotion in the surrounding area.

The kids were nice about it, but the whole thing made me feel like a sad-sack middle-aged loser without a dinner date. Of course this didn't stop me from refilling my root beer and finishing all my food. I also hope I set a good example for all the teens in the restaurant by thoroughly sopping up my mess with a stack of wet napkins.

After dinner I proceeded on to Lowes where I spent $200 on sundry house supplies such as garden clippers, trash cans, putty knives, box cutters, razor blades and the like. I dropped it all off at my house before proceeding "home" to the apartment I rented for a few months so that I could have a clean place to live while I get the house ready for regular habitation.

Yesterday afternoon I began the task of opening the windows. I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say I now have two fully opened windows and one which I got open two inches before breaking the window pane, which will now require my purchasing two new windows on that side of the house. (I know I only broke one window, but they will have to match on accounta I'm a gay man.)

That process took about two hours, which is fine except that it was REALLY REALLY BORING. And I was all alone. Lonely, sad-sack house-poor me. Poor George won't be able to get here until early 2009, so this is my life until then: really boring house tasks that I have to do all by my sad, sad self. I called Mindy June.

"You've been working hard all week getting settled, shopping for a car and all that. Maybe you should take the night off and do something relaxing or something that you enjoy," she said. Great advice. I wasn't really in the mood for much, but all day I had been craving some Mike's Hard Lemonade - I love that stuff. I decided to get a six-pack, some fish tacos and tamales and rent a movie or two to watch back at the apartment.

In about an hour I was sitting on the couch in my temporary apartment watching "The Office" and "Superbad," eating tacos and tamales with Cool Ranch Doritos and drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade. I capped off my meal with a Kit-Kat bar and some new-fangled combination Butterfinger-Reeses thing that I was not very impressed with.

The lemonade didn't make me drunk, but I must have been a little tipsy or something because by the end of the night, after drinking four of them, I grabbed my laptop and started composing a deeply felt blog entry on the moral worthiness of the movie "Superbad." I didn't finish it because I was distracted by an impulse to play a few rounds of Yahoo! Pop & Drop, after which I lost the inspiration to write. Probably a good thing, but the fact remains that my life has temporarily been reduced to drinking alone while eating junk food and watching silly teen movies.

Hmmm, it doesn't really sound that bad now that I describe it. I guess I'll let you, my Gentle Readers, decide.

San Diego days

Some statistics from this past week:

Number of times moved to San Diego: 1

Number of nights laid awake wondering if there were ghosts in temporary living space: 1

Number of taco-stand meals eaten: 4 (5 if you count lunch at El Pollo Loco)

Number of In-N-Out Double-Doubles consumed: 2

Number of days gone commando due to failure to pack underwear: 3

Number of times almost flashed the general public due to faulty zipper: 7

Number of Saab convertibles test driven: 3

Number of Saab convertibles purchased: 1

Number of Saab convertible sellers pissed off by my failure to purchase: 2

Number of swimming pools in my back yard: 1

Number of Blackberrys I ruined by dropping in pool: 1

Number of cats and boyfriends I am going mad without: 3

Number of dollars I will have spent before this whole relocation-new house thing is over: 5 zillion

Should we be freaking out?

I'm trying not to be a nervous ninny, but would someone please tell me what the fuck is going on with all this?

I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm not so thrilled with the idea of our entire country being on the verge of financial collapse. This just isn't good.

What is next? Total chaos? Should we take all our cash and buy gold? Should I join the NRA and buy a gun in case I need it?

Dale, do you have room on your couch for us?

CP

Coffey Talk - Atlanta style

Gentle Readers,

It is with great pleasure that I announce the real-life meeting of yet another blogger, although this time instead of being in my own neighborhood I had the pleasure of venturing onto the turf of Atlanta-native Beth for an evening of delightful conversation and general debauchery. Let's just say that Beth brought the concept of "Southern Hospitality" to a whole new level, and all of it good.

The day had not started out well at all. I had booked myself on an early flight so that I could get to Atlanta in time to do some conference calls and Webex meetings from my hotel room (which Beth, bless her heart, had helped me find since there was not a single room available in the entire city. Beth's suggestion to stay in Decatur saved me the indignity of having to sleep at the Hyatt out by the airport.)

I was looking forward to settling into my room, taking care of a lot of miscellaneous business, preparing for the next morning's presentation and getting all of it done by 5:30 so that I could meet up with Beth for dinner and a tour of her fair city.

Smelt-ya Airlines put a huge wrinkle into all of this by losing my suitcase which contained, inter alia, the business clothing that I would need for my meeting the next morning.

Now despite the airline's promise that I would very likely have my bag delivered before morning, I was not actually stupid enough to believe them. Or at least not stupid enough to bank my professional reputation on it. So into a cab I jumped and $72 dollars later was delivered to a Macy's not far from where I would be staying.

As Beth had warned me when I called her from the cab to let her know of my plans, this particular Macy's was on the lower end of the fabulosity scale, but I have to tell you I very much enjoyed the experience. For one thing it was around noon on a Wednesday which meant the store was pretty much deserted, resulting in my being able to have a personal shopper do the footwork for me. As soon as I walked in the door I was greeted by a lovely woman who asked if she could help.

"As a matter of fact, yes, I could use some help," I replied. "The airline lost my luggage so I need clothes and shoes for a business meeting tomorrow."

"Well, Sugar, you just leave all that to me," she responded, and walked me right over to the men's section where she began sizing me up. "You're about a 44-long, right?"

Cynthia was uncanny. In addition to knowing my size with just one look at me, she also sensed my style and taste which was pretty remarkable since I was clad only in khaki shorts and a cotton polo shirt. She seemed to know instinctively which colors appealed to me, and when she left me in the fitting room to go find a belt, she even knew to choose one with a silver buckle and not gold.

She was so fabulous that in under an hour I was smartly outfitted with some casual suit separates, two shirts, handsome tie, belt, socks and shoes. (I also purchased some boxers but didn't make her pick those out for me.)

Another cab ride and I arrived at the hotel. Got a bit snippy with the check-in clerk because I really don't understand why hotels always tell you the type of room you requested "wasn't stated in the reservation." Yeah, my ass it wasn't stated. My corporate travel desk has a profile on me and they always request the kind of room I specify (king, non-smoking) when they reserve online. I don't know what the little game is, but I'd rather they just say upfront "you cannot request any specific type of room" instead of pretending they will let you. It's annoying.

I got to my room just in time for a conference call, after which I called Smelt-ya to inquire as to the status of my luggage. "It will be at your hotel by 7:30 am, sir," I was told after about a 20 minute wait.

By this time I had to get changed to prepare for my date with Beth and wasn't able to take care of any other business - including the prep work for the next morning's presentation. No matter, I thought, I'll just do it when I get back, or in the morning.

Ha.

Beth lives about five minutes away and was ready to go since she had been able to take the day off work. (Poor child had been pulling 80 hour weeks for a long time, which explains her extended absence from the blogs.) Although I felt bad that she had been having a tiring work schedule, I was happy to give her an excuse to cut loose for an evening.

We met up in my hotel's lobby and proceeded down the block to The Chocolate Bar, where the plan was to sit at one of their lovely outdoor tables and enjoy a cocktail to wind down from the stress of the day before moving on to a driving tour and dinner.

Scene of the crime

The idea of meeting up with a fellow blogger is always a little intimidating to me because I'm not a natural mingler or people-person. I have always been a little on the shy side and people like Mindy June and Lulu can attest to the fact that it takes years to get to know me -- and for most, even longer to be able to appreciate my quirks.

The amazing thing about meeting people in our blog circle, however, is that we all kind of know each other already through our writing. Because of this, I felt immediately connected to Beth and was able to jump right into a fabulous conversation with her that zig-zagged off into multiple directions within minutes.

Because of who Beth is, with her natural charm, wit and wonderfully casual sense of style, it would have been impossible not to feel at home with her right away. But I have tell you, Gentle Readers, that the connections we have all made with each other because of our collective writing is something very special. We would not all be here together reading about each other's lives if we didn't sense that we liked each other.

Beth and I had a very interesting conversation about just that. Or it could be just me who found it interesting as I went on and on about it while Beth ordered us yet another round of margaritas. But if I was boring her with my non-stop blathering, she hid it well.

We talked about so many different things, and both made references to items we had read in each others' blogs well over a year ago which I thought was pretty damn cool.

Within the hour I announced that she just had to meet Mindy June at some point -- because the two of them have so many things in common it is almost spooky. I'm not saying Mindy is at all replaceable in my life; I'm just saying that I know without a shadow of a doubt that she and Beth would totally crush on each other if they had a chance to meet.

We were both having so much fun with our conversation that we didn't want it to end, and as such remained squarely in our seats, fresh cocktails in hand. By round four Beth acknowledged that the driving tour would have to be postponed which is just as well since getting to know each other was more compelling than visiting the sights of Atlanta at that moment.

I can't even count the number of margaritas we consumed before we were through, but if you total them up between the two of us I know for certain we broke into the double-digits. It was outstanding.

Eventually, we decided dinner would be a good idea and we stumbled on down the street to Watershed as I had requested something akin to down-home Georgia cooking. This place did not disappoint, and despite their having run out of fried chicken prior to our arrival, we made do with all sorts of goodies that Beth unfortunately did not get to enjoy as much as I did because of our over-indulgence on the pre-dinner cocktails. I almost felt really bad for her as I downed an entire plate of fried oysters, a bowl of cheesy grits, most of my okra pancakes and part of Beth's bbq chicken which I swiped from her plate while she was in the restroom (sorry Beth!) It was D-E-L-I-C-I-O-U-S and made my petty crime feel totally worthwhile.

We then stumbled (Beth more than I since she had broken one of her sandals en route) back up the street to my hotel where we enjoyed a lively conversation with the desk clerk about my continuing lack of a suitcase. He took back-of-the-head shots of us on both of our phone cameras, but apparently neither of us is able to transfer the photos from phone to computer. Maybe I could figure it out but I'm lazy. (Update: I figured it out! See beginning of the post. But for the record, I am still lazy.)

I do remember offering to see Beth back to wherever she had to go, but she insisted she was fine and that she was on her own turf and would get home OK. Being too drunk to insist otherwise, I let her wander off into the night unaccompanied, for which I felt really bad when I came to my senses (at about five the next morning.) Thankfully, she did get in touch over email so I know she still lives and breathes. You can even read her recap of the evening here.

To sum things up: Beth is FABULOUS. I absolutely adore her. I strongly encourage you to seek her company should you ever visit Atlanta.

Cheers!
CP

Moving time!

Home at last!

Gentle Readers,

The news is that Poor George and I are moving ---- to San Diego! I leave NYC on Saturday, October 4. I am flying. I am also taking Mama Gin along to the airport so that I can deposit her on a plane out to San Francisco before heading to my own gate to fly to San Diego.

That's right, we will FINALLY be rid of Mama Gin! Although I regret that this will mark the end of The Mama Gin Files. I hope you will still check in at CPW occasionally, even though my blog will subsequently prove far less interesting. Maybe I'll have a crazy neighbor or something although Dale already has a stranglehold on that genre.

PG and I bought a charming craftsman bungalow in a great neighborhood. Let us know if you are ever in the area and we can meet up. I will be there alone for a while since PG needs to stay behind to clean up after Mama Gin and sell the NYC house. Wish him luck.

Love,
CP

My sweet love

A few years back our marketing department had a secretary with social skills rivaling those of Napoleon Dynamite, not to mention all the charm of Joseph Mengele. I'd never seen anyone so cold and abrupt in her interpersonal dealings. Greeting her with a soft "good morning" when walking by her desk might get you a barely audible grunt on a good day.

Latrelle would occasionally be tasked with the duty of notifying the rest of the office whenever new marketing materials or other items became available. These emails would usually consist of the following, as an example:

Go get new user guides in the storage room. (Unsigned.)

One time we had all ordered a supply of personalized desk calendars to hand out to our biggest customers, and they were all sent to Latrelle's attention. The day they arrived I received the following personalized email, with a cc: to her manager:

Come pick up your calendars.

After chuckling for a minute over Latrelle's unparalleled charm, I received an email from Latrelle's manager, albeit in error. (You know, the dreaded Reply All misstep.) This is what it said:

Latrelle, my sweet love. Can you please try to sweeten the tone of these emails a little? They come across a bit harsh. Perhaps you can simply mention that the calendars have arrived, and at their convenience they can stop by your desk to pick them up. Thanks!

My sweet love. Especially when used in an email to correct someone's behavior. I love it! And I have adopted its use as an all around practice. So don't be surprised, both ladies and gentlemen, when I address you as such in both posts and comments. Not to mention real life.

My sweet loves.

Retarded ---- again

This is the logo on my coffee cup. Dale, when are you posting???

Gentle Readers,

A while back I posted about a brief flirtation with retardation I had (hey, that has a catchy ring!) while making coffee one ill-fated morning. I had a similar experience this morning, albeit one not so messy as before.

This time I ground the beans and got them into the brewing basket where they belong. Poured in the water, hit the "on" switch and let her rip.

Then I got the milk out of the fridge, poured some into the Tom Cat cup I've used every morning since 1993, and put the cup in the microwave. (I like a cafe-au-lait effect so I heat up my milk.)

While the coffee was brewin' and the milk was heatin' I got out the sugar bowl and a spoon - I take my milky coffee with 1 spoon 'o sugar. More on that in a minute.

So then I start looking for my cup so I can put my sugar in. Where is the cup? What did I do with it???? No cup! I open the cupboard, not there. Open the dishwasher, not there. Did I bring it into the living room? Nope. Did it just disappear right off the counter??? Fer cryin' out loud, I just HAD the fucking cup!!! Where the fuck is it????

Voice in CP's head to CP: It's still in the MICROWAVE you retard! How many times in your life have you heated up your milk before pouring your coffee? I swear to God, someone should have you killed.

My friend Sarah's mother is a well known (retired) food editor for a magazine. One time when I had stayed overnight at her place her husband and I were both dollying up our morning coffee with milk and/or sugar. She looked at us both with a fair amount of disdain and said "you both need to learn to drink your coffee black." I'm starting to see how she may be right.

Love,
CP

I am still alive

Gentle Readers,

Life has been C-R-A-Z-Y! Which is why I have not been blogging. I apologize. I will explain all soon.

My life as a Strategic Sales Executive will be coming to an end quite soon. I have accepted another job (same company.) I will share the details a bit later. It will be less money, but I am excited about it for a number of other reasons.

In case you were wondering, it is a voluntary move. One of the sales managers I work with comes across as a big galoote (he's referred to by some as a "Soprano" even though he's not Italian.) He speaks that Brooklyn tough-guy patois to the point that I am literally weak-kneed. And he L-O-V-E-S me which makes it all the more fun. I thought he was going to go berserk when I told him I was leaving the position - he immediately ordered me not to accept the other offer until he had a chance to "see what he could do."

This made me nervous because he and his crowd have been known to work the back rooms to get their way, and I was almost afraid he was going to do something to throw a wrench into my plans. But whatever he tried to do, he did not succeed and I am moving forward with my plans.

I was on a conference call with a bunch of people the other day and someone said "hey Tom, I heard Jerry is taking it kind of hard that you're leaving." I replied "yes, I've ended romantic relationships with less drama than he is causing me." Everyone laughed, and inside I felt all giddy that I was breaking the heart of this big galoote.

He's been really nice to me the past two years. In every single fight I've had with his sales reps (and I've fought with virtually all of them) he has taken my side. He pretty much thinks I can do no wrong, and I think there's a little dom/sub action going on underneath it all. He's majorly macho-aggressive and I think he knows that if he flashes his bedroom eyes at me in just the right manner I'll always let him have his way.

Ok, I'd better stop talking about this or George will want to leave me. But he must be forwarned: Jerry and his inner circle of galootes are taking me to an expensive steak dinner sometime before I leave. Maybe I can get them to take me to the Bada-Bing afterward.

CP

Somebody please shoot me

Today I actually used the phrase "My bad!" in an email to a colleague.

I need to get out of here.

Happy Birthday Mindy June!

Happy Birthday to Mindy June!

Of course she won't have as much fun as the birthday weekend she spent with us, but this is her last hurrah in Merry Olde Engeland, or however they spell that, so I'm sure she'll tie one on and start a fight or something.

That cake is supposed to be a Union Jack. Couldn't find one with candles, sorry.

Midwesterners are Weird: Pizza

Midwesterners are Weird is a new CPW series where we will discuss why Midwesterners are weird. Just in case you couldn't figure that out from the title.

I was born an Upper-Midwesterner and remained one until I was 26. So I guess I will never escape these roots that first sprang forth in South Dakota, became cemented in Illinois and were further refined in Minnesota. And I use the term Upper-Midwesterner to clarify that I am from the aforementioned states and not from places some people like to call the "Midwest," such as Missouri (hello, were you even a free state?) or even Oklahoma. I'm sorry, Oklahoma has nothing to do with where I'm from except for the fact that my dad was born there. But that was just an unfortunate mistake.

One time I even overheard a guy from Kentucky telling someone he was from the same part of the country that I was from. I nearly slugged him, except that being Midwestern I'm simply passive-aggressive.

Anyhoo, Mindy June, who is returning to her own Midwestern roots next month after a four-year sojourn in the UK, recently posted about Midwestern pizza. I miss Midwestern pizza, even though I'm much closer to it geographically than poor Mindy June. In the Midwest we like to pound square things into round holes and things like that. One iteration of this would be in the way we cut up our round pizza pies into little squares. It makes no sense, but I like it. It's so much fun to have all those different little sizes. Cheesy treats. Yum. Just fix your eyes on the photo above for a few minutes. Don't you just want to crawl on top of that pie and make sweet love to it?

Funny thing too is that I lived in the Chicago area for 14 years, and now have been in New York for nearly 10 years. That's a combined 24 years in two of the USA's hottest pizza centers. And yet, what pizza would I make the sweetest love to, given the opportunity? What pizza keeps me up at night with my deep longing for it?

It's pizza from St. Paul, Minnesota, from a joint called Red's Savoy. Mindy is right - their pizza kicks ASS. It is perfect. And in proper Midwestern fashion, they will serve you a round pie cut up into cute little squares. It's like your whole dinner is an appetizer. There is nothing bad about Red's Savoy pizza. There is only good to be found there.

And now I am in such craving mode I may have to make a special trip there just to have it. Drool. Slurp.

G'night.

Annoying things my sales reps do and say to me - Hank

Hank is actually not one of my sales reps - he belongs to one of my fellow Strategic Sales Executives. But this is just as annoying as anything one of mine could do.

Bill, my fellow Strategic Sales Executive, is out on vacation and has an out-of-office email message directing inquiries to our boss.

The other day my boss received one such inquiry, from Hank. This is what it said:

"Bill is out on vacation so he can't attend this meeting with me next week. I need someone to come with me, someone who knows Product X very well and who can hit it out of the park. I need them to be able to discuss Product X intelligently with an accounting firm customer, and who can cover all the nuances of the product."


So essentially what he is saying is "I really need help from someone who won't get any sales credit or commission. And they better know what the fuck they are doing."


Asshole.


At first I drafted an email response to Hank as follows:

"Hank, I am available to help you next week, but only with a minimum level of competence. I most likely will not 'hit it out of the park' as you require, but if I'm lucky, may be able to get a base hit."

I did not send it. Instead, I simply replied to my boss, saying "it appears that Hank has very high standards and as such I will not have the time required next week to prepare the level of presentation that would be acceptable to him. Sorry!"




Can I just reiterate that I really, really hate sales people?

Gratuitous cat shots

The rigtheousness of the CP

I'm feeling all self righteous tonight because I did my taxes a whole month before they are even due. Combined with the fact that I spent the weekend reorganizing several bookcases, cupboards, pantries, dressers and closets, end result is that I'm quite pleased with myself right now. (Note that I started to write this back in March, hence the reference to tax season.)

Feeling slightly superior to others is nothing new for me, however undeserved it may be. This all reminds me of the time I decided my young cousins needed to hear a few Old Testament Bible stories and that I was just the boy to take care of it for them.

My parents weren't big on church or religion, although they did require that all their children undergo the standard amount of indoctrination. The trouble for me is that by the time I was old enough for Sunday school we were living next door to the pastor of a fairly fundamentalist-style Lutheran church, and so in order not to be all snobbish or anything, it was his church we ended up attending.

My parents didn't attend Sunday school with me so they had no idea that I was not receiving the usual lessons and sermons on the spiritual benefits of tuna-noodle hot dish and church basement suppers. Instead, I was spending my early Sunday mornings learning all about the various behaviors that would get you sent to Hell ---with the occasional lesson on fearing black people thrown in for good measure. It was all just delightful.

I was quite impressed with all the fantastical Bible stories our teacher told us - all the more so because, according to everyone around me, it all "really happened!" God appeared to Moses as a burning bush and then parted the Red Sea so they could cross it! God told Noah to build an Ark and then had him bring two of every animal aboard! A snake told Eve to eat that damn apple which was the start of all our problems!

Cool!

At one point I received a plastic "Noah's Ark" set with the Ark, two of a bunch of your standard animals, and a plastic figurine of Noah. It was with this Ark that I attempted to indoctrinate my cousins.

One Sunday they were over at our house for dinner, so I brought them up to my room, set up the Ark set and then told them the story of how God appeared to Noah, told him to build a huge boat, made him gather up all these animals and then flooded the whole Earth, killing everyone but Noah, his family and the animals.

The best part is that after every fantastical moment of the story I would stop and say "Ok, now you believe it, right?" They would nod their heads and I would move on. I had to stop and spot check this because I knew that if they did NOT believe the story, they would burn in hell and then I would have no one to play with in Heaven.



I look back on this story today and laugh now. But when I take a step back and look at this stuff in the big picture, I find it remarkable how fucked up it is.

Wow.

Boeuf Bourguignon

Boeuf Bourguignon with bluefoot mushrooms and chopped parsley

Good thing I'm not a violent person

Gentle Readers,

It's really a good thing I'm not a violent person because if I were, the amount of anger I am feeling right now could rear its ugly head and cause me to bitch slap a few Mormons.

I really shouldn't be surprised. It was only a matter of time before the leaders of this tax-exempt institution would launch their attack on gays and lesbians for daring to pretend they could ever achieve equal rights in California by ****gasp**** getting married!

I guess any work the Mormons might be involved in to feed the hungry or help the poor must be put aside until the sodomites are stopped in their tracks! Church leaders are telling their fold to donate "time and means" to ensure that gays and lesbians remain second class citizens in California.

Click here for the whole story.

What do you think we should do about this, Gentle Readers?

CP

CP's Pretend Interviews with Bloggers - Lulu Redux

We recently traveled to Bangladesh to sit down for another pretend-interview with blogger legend Lulu.

CP: So Lulu, how are you enjoying your fabulous ex-pat life?

Lulu: Why don't you read my blog and find out for yourself?

CP: Touchy touchy! But FYI, I do check in with you practically every day, not only because you are entertaining and are doing interesting things with your life, but also because I never know when the next monsoon or whatever other natural disaster is about to hit.

Lulu: I'm very impressed. But do you think my blog is going to inform you that I've been swept out into the Indian Ocean?

CP: Good point. But anyway, my Gentle Readers can click over to your blog if they want to read about Bangladesh. Today we're going to talk about more of our personal history.

Lulu: Imagine that. Well it's not like I have a choice anyway since you're the only one writing this.

CP: Once again, you are correct. In fact, why stop at pretending to interact with bloggers? Maybe I'll get a fake boyfriend I can pretend to have sex with while I'm at it. Or a fake job.

Lulu: You already have one of those.

CP: Very funny.

Lulu: So can we get to the story here? My driver's waiting. And why is it only me you do these fake interviews with? You label these posts "Pretend Interviews with Bloggers," not "Pretend Interviews with Lulu."

CP: Well, forgive me for making you the center of attention. Not much of a princess, are we?

Lulu: On second thought, carry on CP!

CP: Thank you. So I thought it would be fun if we relived the night you came out to my parents' house in that annoying Chicago suburb when we had dinner that time.

Lulu: Oh yes, that was a great night. What came first, the pot or the champagne?

CP: Who knows. Probably the pot, or else we wouldn't have gotten so involved trying to decipher the graphical instructions on the champagne bottle.

Lulu: You mean the picture of the guy pointing the cork side of the bottle right at his face, with the word NO printed in bold letters?

CP: That's the one! And don't forget the other picture of the lady with the bottle pointed AWAY from her, with the word YES.

Lulu: That was quite fun. We both kept grabbing the bottle to point and unpoint it while saying "NO, YES, NO YES...."

CP: See what I mean about the pot?

Lulu: Yes and no. I mean, I had to have been high to sit and do something that stupid for an extended period. You on the other hand....

CP: That's quite enough Lu.

Lulu: And when you went to look for the pot you started in on this stupid voice where you were pretending to be a suburban housewife looking for her drugs. You kept saying "Honey, where did you put the pot paraphernalia? The kids will be home soon. Honey?"

CP: I know, I'm really funny sometimes.

Lulu: Hilarious. Can I go now?

CP: Well wait a second. Isn't that also the night you first met my dad?

Lulu: Oh yes it was. He and your mom came home from a party and your dad decided I needed to hear some dirty joke involving a camel and a French tickler. Your mom was screaming and would not let him finish the story.

CP: Did you want to know how it ended?

Lulu: Um, no thanks.

CP: Well thanks again for pretending to answer our questions here at CPW, Lu. See you in July!

Bacon seared diver scallops with asparagus and shallot cream sauce

Our friend Brad came for dinner. Brad doesn't eat vegetables, and he swept the non-animal elements of this dish aside with one swift move of his fork.

3jesus97, or no votes for girls!

Although the 3jesus97 lady and I have become friends, she still alarms me on occasion. The other day we were talking about some of the trials and tribulations we face on the job along with our worries about the economy. "Be sure and vote for Obama," I told her. "He has the best chance to help us out of this mess."

"Oh, I haven't decided who I'm voting for yet," she replied. "I'll consider Obama but I would never have considered Hillary."

"You don't like her?" I asked.

"Well, no, but it's not really that. I just don't ever want a woman as President."

?????

"Excuse me?" I was flabbergasted that she would say this.

"You heard me, Tom. I don't EVER want a woman in the White House. Women are crazy! We need a man running the country."

Now remember that Sandra is from Oklahoma, but still. She's a successful Strategic Sales Executive, like me, and on top of that she is a single mom. She is a woman and she seems to be doing just fine. I reminded her of this.

"Oh believe me, I know I'm going against my own gender, but I'm a woman and I know women. And we're all crazy. Women are too vindictive. They hold grudges. That will not work in situations involving international diplomacy. Men can stab each other in the back all right, but they'll still go out hunting and drinking together afterward and it will all be just fine. A woman would NEVER go out and socialize with people she hates."


All I could think was that Sandra's mother must have been some bitch.



I think Sandra is sick in the head and I told her as much. She agrees, but still.

Sheeesh.

Poor George and his big fish

Getting ready to poach sea bass