it's still necessary

Despite the last minute plan changes and such, I was still able to get out and have a good time this weekend. Six Flags was a lot of fun -- enough so that my roommate and I upgraded our tickets to the season pass, and that we'll be heading back out there a few more times. Plus, if I make it up to NYC or Chicago this summer, I can use it at the parks up there too. We slept late on Friday and didn't make it to the park until about three. A lot of the gays had headed home to get ready for their parties at that point, but that also meant much, much shorter lines for the rides. I avoided the ones that did a lot of jerky movement or required you to hold a bar to ride it out of deference to my broken arm, but did get to hop on a couple of the biggies, since they strap you in with a harness and you're not really required to hold on tight -- the ride holds on to you instead.

Saturday was the endless day at work. I had to wake up around 6 am to get in, and though I was supposed to be able to leave at 2, I didn't get to exit the building until 4. It was a long, frustrating day, but once I was done, I headed straight for the park. It was brimming with people from all over, even ran in to some people who'd come down from Detroit for the festivities. The festival had every imaginable business and every imaginable bit of swag. The tent for for the Atlanta Gay Men's Chorus was playing a video from their most recent concert and as I walked past, "Schadenfreude" from Avenue Q was playing. Of course, I grabbed my phone and telephoned my friend Mark, who happens to be the conductor and assistant musical director of that show and held up the phone so he could listen.

Also present: the protesters. A group of about 15 of them, holding up signs that take scripture out of context and claiming it means we're going to hell, stood at the entrance to the park accosting the revelers. I was struck by the irony that they've now evolved into the marginalized minority. Every few minutes someone would argue with them -- no, it's you who's going to hell, for preaching hate...

Pride began as a political statement -- it marks the Stonewall riots, which began when a bunch of drag queens, mourning the death of Judy Garland, fought back at the police when they raided their bar. Over the years, it has evolved from a march of defiance into a weekend long party, reveling in our identity and the thousands of tiny differences amongst each other. We've come quite a long way since that summer in the late sixties, but there's still quite a way to go. Georgia still has no anti-discrimination act on it's law books -- meaning if I worked for a less progressive company, I could be fired solely on the basis of sexual orientation, unrelated to job performance, and it's all perfectly legal (there are only three other states similarly lacking).

The argument over gay marriage remains political fodder, with people still screaming that the gay community wants special rights and special treatment -- which is patently false. We just want the same rights and privileges that are extended to anyone else. The recent invoking of miscegenation laws to uphold bans, to me, is particularly disgusting.

So what does it all mean? Simply put, though Pride is now more or less a sweaty midsummer party with corporate sponsorships, it's not time to bury its roots in activism. The loudest cheers at Sunday's parade were reserved for the PFLAG (Parents and Families of Lesbians And Gays) groups. You hear all the time that people's minds are changed by actually having a gay son or daughter, brother or sister. It's time now to take the next step.

spoke too soon

So just as I'm primed and ready for my three day weekend, someone's grandma has to up and die. So much for that idea. I'm working Saturday (the least planned out day, anyway, so no big deal). This will parlay into a three or four day weekend sometime in July, though, and probably a roadtrip to FL if I can time it right.

I noticed a couple of days ago that my painkiller prescription was almost down to its last few pills. I have a refill left, but when I noticed it I figured it wouldn't be necessary, since I hadn't taken one in at least a week and a half if not more. Cut to today, where the after effects of my exercises have me swollen and in pain, necessitating a steady stream of pills today and a trip to the pharmacy tomorrow to get that refill after all. Damnit.

I'm still going to Six Flags tomorrow, right? That hasn't changed yet. I'm waiting for that 2am phone call, though. Fingers crossed it doesn't, I need a break.

so much...more

There's quite a lot bouncing around in my head right now. Some of it is very exciting, some of it is stuff I probably shouldn't know about but could have a tremendous impact over the next couple of weeks. It could be terrific, or it could be something I really don't want to happen. And it could all be negated by something else a few months further down the road. And, of course, none of it is anything I feel at liberty to talk about any further right now.

I've been doing my exercises recommended by my doctor, and I'm amazed at how quickly my range of motion is coming back. My thirty degree rotation has grown to sixty! The stretches can hurt a lot though, so I keep the painkillers close by. Bit by bit, things are returning to normal.

It's been an exhausting week. Sunday, after work, my roommate and I set to getting the condo ready for out of town visitors for Pride. We started painting the dining room, which is now a very sexy dark red (Chinaberry...yum). As we're working on it, around 1:30am, my phone rings. I have different ringtones for different groups of people... the one that went off is "I Write Sins, Not Tragedies..."

"I chime in with a 'haven't you people ever heard of
Closing the god damned door?'
No, it's much better to face these kinds of things
With a sense of poise and rationality..."

I use it for work-related stuff. I looked at my roommate before I picked up and said "It's Janet* and I'm opening the club in three and a half hours."

The premonition was right. I decided to stay up, since opening the club means having to leave the house by 4:15am. And since we'd been painting, I'd need a shower. At 1:30am, setting the alarm clock for 3:45 seems like a fool's errand. So we finished painting, and I schlepped off to work, powered by Diet Coke and a large coffee.

I made it through the day until about 10am, when I finally lost the ability to focus my eyes. At 11, my relief came in... I took care of the bank deposits, headed home, and promptly fell asleep until 9pm.

Now fully awake, I decided I'd start painting my room, inspired by the fantastic results of the dining room. Another fool's errand, wrestling the bed and bookshelves took me at least an hour thank to my weak arm, and before I knew it, it was 6am and only half finished. I slept, though not enough to reset my body clock.

I got into work, and the first thing I got to do was sit down with my boss and plan out how we're going to fire someone. It's such a rotten thing, a necessary evil. Despite all the depictions of bosses as megalomaniac tyrants in the media, I can assure you no matter how miserable a job someone is doing, telling them to go away is the worst...

Got home, finished painting, back to bed at 6 am again... back to work... and the boiler dies. No hot water. At all. In a gym. Second time in two weeks, so now I'm navigating angry people who for whatever reason think it's something I'm doing specifically to spite them.

Tomorrow? Dental appointment. And we have a manager who's out on vacation this weekend, so I'm working an extra two hours. But then... a three day weekend of fun and festivities! Starting Friday, with a trip to Six Flags. I'm still hampered by the arm, so a lot of the rides are going to be out of the question for me, but a theme park filled with homos? Good times! Saturday is the festival in the park, and Sunday is the parade. I've been needing a decent break for a long time -- and not one where I'm recovering from something. I can't wait.

so much

Seems I was the victim of juxtaposition in the last post... so I'll clarify. The plane tickets for a jaunt to NYC for Gypsy are over $250. It's not happening. It was most a wistful 'damn, wish I could' intent than anything else. Jerry Springer the Opera has been held over in Chicago through August, though, so that could still happen. We'll see. On top of that, locally, there's Jennifer Holliday in Dreamgirls next month and Kathy Griffin is popping into the Fox in mid-August... so even if I don't get to travel much, I'm set for some fun.

Next weekend is Pride, and I managed to wrangle a three day weekend for the festivities -- by working last night for the gal who's working for me next Sunday. Turns out, it was a mistake. Most of the night was quite pleasant, albeit very, very dull. About 45 minutes from closing time, a woman walked in, clearly very irate. This doesn't phase me, I'm very good at being able to wrangle angry customers in and make them feel like sunshine and lollipops by the time they leave.

She'd lost her debit card a few months back, and our billing department had given her a call to let her know her card was no longer debiting and her account was now delinquent. She gave them the new card information to bring her account current again. The card was then used for her monthly dues. THREE MONTHS LATER, she decides that she didn't authorize the transactions and starts making a fuss (incidentally, she was only five months into an 11 month contract), demanding refunds and to be let out of the contract. I explained the policies regarding auto-debits, cancellation clauses, what we'd need from her to clear her account fully -- but she was having none of it. The calmer I was, the louder she got, until...

"JUST GIVE ME THE GOD DAMN FORM, FAGGOT."

You know, I've been gay for 27 years now. Only once did anyone call me a faggot -- I was 13 and some highschoolers yelled it at me from a car. I wasn't really certain of being gay at that point I didn't really know what it meant. This time, I knew. I've always been a person to brush off words as just words -- no big deal -- but you never really fully grasp the implications of something like that until it's thrown in your face, dripping with venom.

It took everything I had not to throw the stapler in my hand at her head.

Instead, I crumpled up the form and refused to help her any further. I said I wasn't about to put up with insulting or abusive language, and that it was time for her to leave. She refused, and then started shoving her camera phone in my face "so I can prove I was here and
you were HARASSING ME." I ducked, weaved, and then handed a blank form to her to distract her from trying to take my picture. She started scribbling furiously, and I called the police to have her escorted out of the building.

She left before the police arrived. I called them back and let them know it was no longer necessary for them to come. One member who witnessed the whole thing told me to report her for harassment, but I chose not to. I'd rather her play by the rules of her contract and be stuck than to kick her out.

I need a vacation.

been awhile

I'd post if there was really anything to say, which there's not. I continue to work. I continue to heal. I come home late at night and sleep late into the morning. The staph has healed up, so I just gotta get the stitches pulled soon.

I went back to my surgeon this morning for a check up -- he says I'm probably about 80% healed up, and the pain that I'm experiencing now is more from muscle atrophy than the break. He recommended physical therapy, since I can only turn my wrist about 30 degrees (normal is 90).

PT is covered by my insurance at a $30 copay, but considering I'd need to do it 2-3 times a week... an extra $240ish monthly isn't easy to come by. He gave me some exercises and stretches I can do instead which should help. Factor that I'm still paying off my dental bill, and my rent's going up a tick next month... whatever raise I got has essentially been obliterated for the time being.

Noah called the other day to let me know he scored free tickets for Gypsy at City Center starring Patti LuPone next month. Most readers have no idea what this means, but I'm chomping at the bit to get cheap plane tickets and a couple of days vacation. I'm still coveting a Chicago trip, too, but that's not in the cards.

not enough

You'd think recovering from a broken arm would be enough, but nnnnnooooooo...

I went to the dermatologist today to get a few more vicral stitches removed (they keep surfacing! I want to heal, damnit! I've already had this done once two weeks ago) and took the opportunity to ask about an ingrown hair that developed Wednesday, and by Thursday, had gotten very swollen and painful. She took not even a three second look at it and said "It's developed into an abscess, and you've got a staph infection. I'm surprised you're even walking."

A freakin' STAPH INFECTION?!

Walking was very tough, granted. It was hurting a lot. And despite my excellent hygiene, with my immune system working overtime to heal my arm, it's not such a bizarre thing that something else could move in and set up shop. What's more remarkable is that something else didn't move in once the respiratory infection was knocked out and that I've stayed relatively well for as long as I have.

It's not severe. I'm on another round of antibiotics for it. Meanwhile, she cut out the abscess and stitched me up, and in a couple of days I won't even remember it was there at all.

--

In other news, my raise kicked in with this paycheck. What a difference! To celebrate, Mo and I went and bought paint -- he did the kitchen last week. Dining room this weekend, and my room...whenever I have strength enough to move my bed. The bed lies in a nook with big sunny windows on two walls, so I chose a deep hunter green to take advantage of the natural light without overpowering a morning sleep in. The rest of the room will be the same color as the kitchen -- a nice light blue with the charming name of 'Grandma's Sweater."

Benjamin Moore needs to lay off the pot.