… and I am Somebody male. in my thirties. recovering alcoholic. live in minneapolis. work in progress. gay. serenity please.

Good lord – I have Wilson Phillips’ One More Day stuck in my head! I’m really looking forward to this weekend. … la la la hold on for one more day!

I had a really long day yesterday. Work included an all-day meeting with a new vendor we’re working with. I ducked out when I could to actually work, but still ended up leaving the office with a to-do list a mile long.

My mother called me on my way home. She wasn’t doing well and thought she might need to be hospitalized for mental illness. I told her to call the hospital and I’d call her after my AA meeting. By the time I got out of the meeting she had called twice. I went to the house. She was sitting on the bed crying. It’s a terrible thing to see your mother cry – really touches you in a place that nothing else really can. I remember the first time I had seen my mother cry – I was about 12 years old and had never witnessed it before. I didn’t know how to react. My mom and dad had made the decision to put their dog of 17 years to sleep. She didn’t cry again until many years later when she had her nervous breakdown, which was, I think about 5 years ago now. Lately the crying has become a little more commonplace, but it still gets you right there. We went to the hospital, checked her in through the ER, which, BTW, included no Noah Wyle look-alikes. I waited around for about 30 minutes and she was taken upstairs. I left.

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Holy shite. I took a spinning class after a chest workout at The Firm. It was an intense program – I never knew exercycle riding could be such hard work! I encourage you all to join in. It’s fun to watch me wheeze

I think I might try to go to the Wilde Roaste tonight – anyone wanna meet up?

… I spotted a multi-tasking hobo the other day! He was quite clever. His cardboard sign must have been made out of a refrigerator box, given it’s size. Jim pointed out that he probably also used the sign as his house. They sure are getting clever these days!

Okay, so I did get something good out of A Million Little Pieces, afterall. The last 50 or so pages are actually getting good. James Frey speaks about how we (we being alcoholics and addicts) are all born normal [perhaps genetically predispositioned to addiction, but I don't know...] people. Then the disease strikes, and it’s not picky.

I was thinking about this in reference to when I see all of the homeless people under the bridges at the Lyndale/Hennepin/I-94 junction, and the various randoms that come by my office building and pick through the ash trays looking for unused cigarettes. I’ve never really thought about those people, other than to feel sorry for them, annoyed with them, avoiding them, etc. I get really bothered when they ask for money, because I feel like, no, I’ve earned this dollar, why should I give it to you? But after I read this, I thought, wow, maybe those hobos were once normal.

Now I feel really bad for them. It’s still hard to give them any money, because I can guess where it’s going to be spent. Anyhow, I’m at work now, and I’m grateful to be here.

Went to the Bolt Underground tonight for the first time. They just opened recently and I had heard that some Legion work needed to be carried there. Anyhow, I loved it! Super hot guys, very cool club – cool music, sweating boys/men, and a literal underground theme. What more could a homo ask for?

It was strange seeing all of these guys on meth and drinking too much. I should stress that some not all, were. I didn’t even really have an urge, though I wasn’t jumping outta my shoes to get on the dance floor, either… but that’s okay. I don’t miss it all that much, and perhaps some of the excitement I used to feel unnaturally will come back naturally.

Off to snooze land.

Sorta in a strange mood tonight. It’s Monday night and I have to return to work tomorrow after a three day weekend

The weekend was pretty good overall, although my mom called me upset this evening, again. She never seems happy. This time she was upset with my dad about something that I thought was trivial, but she was up in arms about it. Funny how she calls her son to bitch about her husband, AKA, her son’s dad. Like I want to be involved in a fight they’re having? Again, she’s looking for validation, wants me to pick a side. She’s just not happy.

So I was bored. Went to Vera’s to try and finish up this gawdawful book I’m reading – A Million Little Pieces. It actually may have some value, but I’ve only got about 50 pages left and I haven’t found any yet. It’s another memoir about a guy who went through treatment at Hazelden about 10 years ago and found an alternative to AA to stay sober. More power to him if he can stay sober without AA, but I just wish the book were more exciting.

Dry : A Memoir, on the other hand, was much cooler. Perhaps it was just because I related to it more… but in any case, Augusten Burroughs is a better writer.

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This article in city pages outlines the events of a fictional blogger who was around for YEARS. The blog was written by Plain Jayne – a late twenties girl who shared her past rape experience, photos of herself and friends, and corresponded with her readers via email, instant messenger, and commenting on her site. The blog was, at its heyday, getting 5,000 unique visitors a day – that’s HUGE. One day the character disappeared and some loyal readers began investigating, only to find out that the author was actually an author writing a fictional blog. City Pages interviews the author – a male, married, with two children, living in Woodbury, MN, who describes the project as Interactive Creative Writing.

Crazy shit. Read it.

I know, I’m going to hell, but I just can’t stay away from campy porn.

Amish Bondage: Adventures in Sin and Pride in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania