Do you think it's wrong?

Do you think it's wrong to root for Satan?

Last night I went to see "The Exorcist; the Beginning." I know that pre-quels have gained in popularity in the last few years even though it was probably best just left alone. I love the original "Exorcist" for the same reasons everyone else did, it was fantastic dialogue and cheesy special effects. This movie didn't have much of that. In fact, this movie was horrible and boring. The only good part was towards the end when the actual "Satan" character comes out. She is very funny. Throw in a few dozen african tribesmen, a hyena conjuring shy little boy and an old drunk with complexion problems and you have this entire movie.


(See I ruined it, yes, Satan takes over another woman's body. An argument could be made here on different cases. Is Satan a woman because Satan is feminine, gay, and thus evil, or is it simply misogyny because women are weak and susceptible to, ala Eve, doing Satans bidding),

The funniest part of the entire show is when Satan is sitting on top of a priest and saying "You want to stick your cock in this whores ass!" The special effects were laughable, especially when Satan is flailing her arms and being pulled towards the priest down a long tunnel....And only once did I hear "the power of Christ compels you!" All in all, disappointing.

I went out after and have now come up with the one word that describes my experience of being sober around intoxicated people, Jarring.

An entry just for Mattie

Mattie Matt, Mattie P., has recently been considering taking a job at the San Diego newspaper.

I figured I would look around for some information that he might find helpful. Knowing Matt as I do, where the bars are was my first Yahoo Search. I don't know anything about the city so I figured there must be some kind of friendly website for friendly people. Since living here Matt has spent some time reading up on the history of the city, I figured he might do the same there. In case you don't know, Mattie is a big time liberal, so I figured he might like to get involved with some organizations there. Moving to a strange town where you don't know anybody, it's sometimes hard to meet people. There is no guarantee Matt will find another bartender like me to be his motherbird. If you're going to move away from New Orleans you might want to take a little bit of the south with you. No matter what, you can't get away from Bourbon Street.

Dinner at the Ritz Carlton, sort of....Dedicated to Crazy

So let me tell you about Crazy. Crazy is a boy whose real name is Chris but whom I have referred to as Crazy since the day I met him. He came to New Orleans from Key West and when I met him he was a bartender at Good Friends. Like so many before him, his career there was short lived. Soon after he went to work for VooDoo as security but after a few days they parted company. This week he was to start work as a delivery boy for Verti Mart at night. He was at my bar before work and I bought him a drink and a shot. Crazy is a riot, very funny, erratic, bizarre at times, incoherent at others, but I think a very decent person underneith all the layers of oddity. He really is crazy though, of that I am also quite sure. So Crazy goes off to work but keeps popping back up every little while, sweating and complaining about how rude people are and how much he hates this job already and wants to quit. At one point he loses the key to his bicycle lock but it was quickly found on the floor of the bar. Knowing of my love for Cheez-its, he offers to bring me some but then tells me that Verti Mart doesn't carry them and is there anything else I would like. I ask for mozzarella sticks and marinara (an even more guilty pleasure than cheez-its.) On his next run through he tells me they don't have mozzarella sticks either but he is determined to bring me "something." He swears he's not going to make it through the night and leaves in a huff. He came back pretty soon after, clutching a plastic wrapped styrofoam container and says "I brought you something, I'm not sure what it is though" and begins to unwrap the food. It turns out to be fried shrimp and fries, and he and I begin to munch on it, along with Mattie P. and Duane. While we're eating he says, "Do you have the number for the Ritz-Carlton, somebody needs to call and tell this guy his dinner isn't coming." I didn't know what he meant exactly, but it seems he paid for the guys dinner in advance, cashed himself out at work and took off, essentially quitting. He made it 11 total hours over 2 days, not a new record for Verti Mart, but probably close. God Bless Crazy, he's messy but he keeps me in stitches....

Sunday Night and Fake Fur on My Day Off

Sunday night was almost fun. I went to work, not really feeling like being jovial, but I knew that the music and the crowd would pick me up and I would have a good time. I was mostly right. The night was fun, we had a lot of people in the bar, at first because of the tropical storm like rainstorm. The uber-drunk happy hour crowd cleared out and then we built up and maintained a fairly decent sized group. The people sang, they drank, they had fun. Sometime around 2:30 or so I noticed several police cars outside and about 6 officers lurking around outside. They headed into the bar across the street but then eventually two of them came in the pub. I was nervous at first, but once I saw Mattie P. Sitting casually at the bar, I relaxed. Kidding! jeez. The two cops spoke to two black men (RACIAL PROFILING) sitting at a table near the door but then they left. A few minutes later they came back and escorted one of the black guys out. One of the officers was looking on the floor with his flashlight, and he found a crack pipe. I figured they would be back to search more so I grabbed the two trash cans in that area and pulled them to the back employee area (For those that remember Dustin D, I learned something at least) The police did come back and take the trash cans outside but what they found remains a mystery. If you're dumb enough to sit in a bar full of people and smoke crack....

Later in the night these two women came in who had obviously been drinking pretty heavy. They both wanted water and one ordered a beer. I was busy so didn't pay that much more attention to them, until I noticed they were both crying. I really had no interest in even guessing what brought on the waterworks, but the next thing I know they are chatting it up with crazy Chris who got fired from VooDoo after 3 days. Around this time the graveside scene from Steel Magnolias came on and you know I had to do my Sally Field "I'm FINE!" impression. Afterwards I noticed a fresh flow of tears from the two girls. A few minutes later Crazy Chris tells me that one of the women's child had died at birth. It wasn't clear when this happened but the wound seemed fresh. Drowning your sorrows on Bourbon Street hardly seems the right reaction, but hey, who am I to say anything. You can imagine my shock when the friend of the dead babies mother pulled me aside to ask "Could you play that Steel Magnolia scene again?" NOW...Why would you want to see that again if it upset you so much...Huh? Huh? I guess I can understand in a way, which of us hasn't tortured ourselves re-reading an old love letter or listening to "our song." The difference to me is the desire to grieve in private versus bonding with a room full of drunk gay men over the death of your child while swilling down what's left of your hurricane and watching Sally Field grieve over the death of Julia Roberts.

By the end of the night I was still holding up pretty well, my nerves not nearly as shot as last Sunday. Somewhere around 4, things took a bad turn. DJ Brendan was extremely drunk and having some difficulty playing the videos. We ended up watching (complete with commercials) about 15 minutes of Oprah Winfrey interviewing Shania Twain. Let me just say this one more time....COMPLETE WITH COMMERCIALS. I thought my head was going to explode. When that FINALLY went off (but we did eventually get to see Shania sing "Coat of Many Colors" with Dolly!) we were treated to almost an entire Olivia Newton-John concert. I really love Brendan, he's a fantastic DJ who can work a crowd amazingly well. He and I work together so well on Sundays and he plays lots and lots of good stuff for me so I shouldn't bitch if he messes up sometime, but I really thought my head pop off after the fourth ON-J song.

Tonight I went to bowling, thank god only one more week. One of my team mates told me he isn't going to bowl the next winter season. I think another is tired of it too, this being our fourth season (one long winter one, one short summer one.) Maybe we'll take a season off or I can put together a team of mostly substitute players and everyone can play when they want. Our league, the crescent city rainbow bowlers, hosts a tournament every Labor Day. Why they hold it when Decadence is going on is beyond me, especially since there are morning bowling shifts. To raise money, they were holding a raffle. You could win tickets to a Saints game, some candle-holder item OR, OR, a fabulous fake fur throw. Guess what I won? Yes, a fake fur throw. The dogs attacked it immediately upon my getting home, judging it to be a GIGANTIC stuffed animal. Chase is currently sacked out on the throw, wearing his suede zebra print collar. I think these dogs now are officially the gayest dogs in the land.

Oh yeah, day 21 of sobriety.

A Rainy Day in New Orleans

So here it is, Saturday, a full week since I've posted anything on my blog. First let me wish a Happy Birthday to my dear friend Jason in Indianapolis. A high school chum, Jason is just a few weeks younger than me, he now joins me as we tread toward our "middle 30's." Speaking of middle 30's, Scottie had his birthday on Thursday, schooching over the line to 34 (or 35 if you believe the stories I've spread.)

On sobriety, well it's day 19 and I am still a sober duck. I probably smoke more but we'll see what we can do about that in time. It's amazing what people will say to you about not drinking when you work in a bar. Terry, the daytime manager of the pub, was blunt in saying "I know you, you won't fall off the wagon, you'll jump off and it will run over you." I have heard similar from others, which I think is just pretty humorous. I remember one of the time my father was dragged to a dry out center (See I resisted the urge to say Sanitarium) I went through the "family program" at the hospital. This is basically where they tell you that you've been part of the problem and you need to stop being co-dependent. The alcoholic then cries and owns up to every horrifying way they have ruined their families lives and everyone cries and forgives them. Got the picture? Right. (If you sense a touch of bitterness here, you're right) One thing that I did learn though, which really was geared for the alcoholic but I was listening, was how your friends will react to your new found sobriety. It's common for people to be un-supportive, in many cases they may want you to fail because your success highlights their own alcohol issues. All this being said, most of my friends have been great to me though for the life of them they can't really figure out why I stopped. I'm not much one for touchy feely emotional crap but it's been like a gossamer blanket of love wrapp....Oh Jesus, I think I slipped into an AA brochure...Seriously, it's been great to have people be supportive of my decision and respect my choices. I'm not bothered by seeing other people drink though my nerves are probably a little on edge from behavior (read: drunken stupidity) that I'm not part of anymore.

This last week has seen a return to New Orleans from Baby Ivan (AKA Baby Invalid Ivan; Baby Monkey Ivan). Ivan left us a few years ago for Chi-Town but now is working as a cart pusher for United Airlines so he'll be visiting more. True to form he disappeared his first night and it took people about 12 hours to find him. He wasn't found in VooDoo, which is where one could normally find him in the late afternoon during a holiday weekend, still playing video poker from the night before.

Thank god decadence is almost here. Seriously, this summer has been a drain on my wallet. Normally we make good money even in the summer at the pub, but this summer has been horrible. Bring on decadence, bring on the money and bring on tourist season.

The Hurricanes in Florida have highlighted how prone we are here in New Orleans. A slow moving category 3 hurricane would destroy the city. I can't even imagine trying to evacuate the city, especially since there is basically only one way in and out of the city.

The puppies are itching for a walk and I better get it done before the rain starts again. Ciao!

One Word

One word describes the french quarter after dark this time of year.....Shady

It's hot, there isn't much money to be made and everybody has nothing to do but cause or get into trouble...everywhere you leave you hear "be careful, be safe" due to the large number of recent robberies. CD's Saloon, mere blocks from my bar, was robbed tonight by two men with shotguns. Nice.....

Full Disclosure

I wasn't going to write this entry. The events of Tuesday were going to slip away, having been told to one or two people under the theme "unbelieveable". In the interest of full disclosure, I will tell my tale.

Tuesday nights are not normally busy nights at the pub. We were showing QAF but thankfully the season has ended. I expected to be pretty bored but we were steady. I had several employees drinking (and tipping, thanks guys!) at my bar. Late in the night two guys came in drinking daquiries. They weren't sitting on my side of the bar so I didn't pay that much attention except that one of them was very cute. Cutie called me over, wanting a drink but not knowing what he wanted. He flirtatiously asked me "What do you drink?" Given my newfound sobriety (though in the same disclosure vein, I had A glass of wine with my dinner last night) I answered proudly, "I don't drink, I quit." He asked, "Well when you did drink, give me one of those." I fixed him up a SoCo and Coke and he drank it down, exclaiming "that's sweet but good!" A few minutes later he called me back over asking me for a pen and paper and if maybe I could find him a cigarette. Flirting now myself I offered him a cigarette in exchange for a kiss on the cheek. I got a big wet smooch and he returned my pen and the napkin which had his phone number AND his room number at the Marriott. He urged me to "come by" when I got off work. Shady as this was, he was pretty hot in that trashy sort of way.

No sooner had he left when an adorable young kid walked in and ordered, nervously, a bourbon and coke. I made it for him and we chatted as he fumbled for money in his pockets. I introduced him to two of my other friends, Scott and Brian, and waited on a few other people. When I came back he was showing off his various tattoos, the largest one covering about a 1/3 of his upper back. The best one though, if that can be said of tattoos, was the rotten apple on his inner left bicep. He was almost red faced when he said "I'm the bad apple." I swooned at his cuteness. The boy, Dustin, was telling me that he came into town with a friend on the bus from Lafayette, LA to pick up a car from said friends ex-wife. The rest was a little fuzzy, I think the ex-wife wasn't home or wouldn't give up the car or something but they now had to take the bus BACK to Lafayette. With a coy smile he said "My bus doesn't leave for two hours, what are you doing after work?" I couldn't believe that two different people would come in and hit on me on a slow tuesday night, but hey, I wasn't arguing. I was getting read to get off work but went back to chat with Dustin to tell him to wait for me to check out my nights drawer. Then the proverbial "other shoe" dropped. Dustin told me he needed to work to make the money for his ticket back to Lafayette. A hooker, great. Never one to pass up on an adventure I said "So how much does a ticket to Lafeyette cost?" "twenty-two dollars." While I tossed over the idea in my head of giving the boy 22 bucks, I was about to ask what one got for their money when I was relieved by my co-worker. While I was in the back the boy left, telling the morning bartender to let me know he had to go back to Lafayette. He must have found someone who would buy a round trip ticket.

I headed home but then decided just to call the other boy to see what was up, more thinking of the next day when I had the night off. I dial the number on the napkin and a girl answers, never having heard of the boy I was calling. Why someone would flirt, unprovoked, with someone and then give them a wrong number and ask them to call is beyond me but that is what happened.

So there you have it, full disclosure of my absent sex life and two more marks slid over onto the scale of becoming a hermit and avoiding all mankind.

Single Parenting

Sunday afternoon I was relaxing with a cigarette out back talking to Mattie when I noticed that Chase was limping. He and Dash had been rough-housing earlier when Jeff's parents were here so I figured he had a little muscle strain. When Jeff got home from his show I told him to keep an eye on the poor puppy as he hadn't eaten his dinner and was still limping. When I got home the next morning things were a lot worse. Chase' paw was swollen, very swollen. Jeff had to be taken to the airport because he was leaving that morning for Chicago. When I got back from dropping him off I called Prytania Vet to see what time they opened. I got their emergency number so I called and they suggested that I bring him to the vet immediately as he may have been bitten by a spider. I scooped up puppy and rushed him to the doctor. After a temperature check and a weigh-in (Fever of 104 and he weighs 67.5 lbs.) we were escorted to an exam room and by then he was bleeding from his paw and tracking it all over. The vet came in and looked him over, draining blood from his abscessed wound. He was a brave boy though, probably relieved to have some of the pressure off his swollen paw. They gave him a shot of anti-inflammatory and some anti-biotics, wrapped his foot up with a cute blue ace bandage and we were on our way home, cash poor but nerves soothed. He went right to sleep and slept most of the day and night, though he did eat dinner and breakfast this morning. I had to give him some hydro-therapy today, rinsing his wound out. We went to the park for a little exercise today and he must have been feeling good, when I threw Dash' ball, he was after him like a shot, tail up and excited. Tomorrow we go back to the vet to make sure the wound is healing.

I slept on the couch last night so I would wake up early and keep the dogs on their regular feed schedule. (normally Jeff feeds them in the morning, I feed them at night) I went back to sleep and when I woke up later I took the puppies out back. Somewhere along the way one of the lenses to my glasses fell out. Where it went was a mystery and I feared that it had fallen and one of the dogs had picked it up and taken it elsewhere. I was crawling around on my back porch, squinty eyed and not missing how ridiculous this must have looked. I finally had to go back inside, put my contacts in and go back out and search. I finally found it, it must have bounced closer to the edge of the porch. It wasn't damaged, thank god, and now I just need a little screw (on so many levels) to get it back together.

When I talked to Jeff today I told him he's not allowed to leave town again.

Ungracious and Sober

So I decided after the hoopla of "Oh What a Drag," or OWAD for those in the know, that I needed to take a break from drinking for a while. So I stopped drinking. For those people that are close and constant in my life you know that this is no great feat. I checked the stock market today and stock in Southern Comfort has already dropped 10% just on rumors of my sobriety. Today is day 6 and where the hell is my AA token? Seriously, it's been an experience and I'm trying desperately not to come across as some self righteous freak who found god and went on the wagon. I will drink again! (picture Vivian Leigh at burned out Tara) I am taking a break but I hope never again to return to the intense amount of drinking that has so plagued my memories (rather robbed me of them) of my 20's. Perhaps I am having a mid life crisis a little early. Nonetheless, let me continue. Working in a bar sober is a very odd experience. I always knew that I dealt with a lot of stupid people but I had no idea how many of my friends fit into that category with a little liquor in them. They always made sense before. I'm a little spacey for my brain wondering when the schnapps and SoCo are coming, but other than that I am doing alright. There was fear, mine and others, that this would lead to a demise in my razor wit or unabashed ability to banter and brawl. Road Apples.

A Brief Example:

One of the dancers at the bar, who is straight, flipped out when someone took a picture of him last night. My take on that is, is you're willing to dance on the bar in your jockeys and make money off of gay people, then don't flip out when someone WHO IS PAYING YOU takes your picture. God forbid your momma found out you were not only (GASP) a dick dancer, but worse, doing it for Queers!!!! When he successfully avoided my digital camera I decided that furthur action was needed. I have several disposable cameras lying around the house. The plan was to give them to a few friends and then we would stalk him like papparazzi. I wanted him to think that Diana in a tunnel was a cake walk comparatively. Alas he foiled my plans by allowing one of my customers (whom he had previously denied) the chance to take a picture with him.

Back to the sobriety story:

I worked for another bar in New Orleans where we couldn't drink and I rarely did. My co-workers would often sneak over to the telephone (whoops, am I giving away trade secrets?) to grab a shot out of surveillance camera range, but I usually abstained. I think in my first few months here it was probably a good thing or I would be dead by now. When I went to work at the pub (Aug, 2000 so we are very close to my 4 year anniversary) I was thrilled to find out that we could drink while we worked. I think that I set new records. My friend Sam and I one night drank a mind eraser for every one of the American spy plane hostages being held by China. I think that was around 30 some drinks, on top of the cocktails and shots with other customers. Suffice to say I was a wee bit drunk. I've worn my alcoholism (it's just a word, I'm not a friend of Bill) like a merit badge and quite honestly I've had a great time. This is not a confession of guilt or remorse because I don't feel that my drinking has injured my life in any great way or caused me irreparable harm. It's just time for a change.

Ungracious

I was raised with manners. Seriously, I was raised with very good manners. I'm not talking your ham handed "Sir" and "Ma'am" but something more. You might call it class or just common sense, but it's more than politeness. I am a very gracious host to people in my home and take great care when dealing with my friends to not belittle (other than in jest when I'm walking what's left of my wit) but to be honest. God I sound so new age here but I value certain things in people, Decency, (no we're not talking morals or I'd have packed it in long ago, morals are a whole other story) Loyalty, (which requires more than not acting like a middle school girl) and yes, a certain amount of Graciousness.

I like guys. Simple, huh. When you like a guy, even just as sort of a casual thing, it really sucks when they treat you like crap, especially if you have even just a dash of pride and don't take it as an assault on your self esteem. It's probably more like an assault on the other persons, but that's a whole 'nother ball of wax. So there is a boy who I liked, not to date, not to have a relationship with, I just like him and am glad to see him. We speak on the phone a few times a week, usually in text messages as we both go about our daily lives. He did something really stupid a while back by being out with me and kissing on one of my friends. I discussed it with him and had quiet, well chosen and direct words with said kissing bandit friend and went on with the night. Maybe my mind works differently than other peoples. I took that whole night as a big indicator that I shouldn't let myself get too attached to him but that we could still be friends. When he was around this weekend I treated he and his friend to lunch. They came to the bar later and began ordering numerous drinks, all on my good little tab I was running for them. They tipped occasionally and of course I could have asked them to pay for the drinks as they went, but I was being a nice host and a friendly bartender. It wouldn't be a night at the pub without it so here it is, the Drama Moment. Enter stage left my friend, the aforementioned kissing bandit. I didn't really care if he was there or not until a scenario was set up by the uber drunk Director: The best friend of the boy I liked. The stage was set to elicit a jealous fit on my part. My motivation? Having the two of them kiss in front of me. Seriously. This is what I got in return for my friendliness. I wasn't jealous, I wasn't angry (okay I was a little angry), but I was disappointed in their decisions, their childishness and their stupidity. Both the director (now nearly passed out on my bar, I thought Texans could drink) and BIL (Boy I Liked) both attempted to explain that it was a joke, a set up, and I could give two shits either way. Now I hear some of you out there saying "quit your whining and get rid of the friends," but that's really not the point. These people are in their mid to late 20's and should really know better. What was accomplished other than sealing my view of them as classless children. I thought about trying to discuss it with the BIL but don't see what it would accomplish. Unlike Appointee Bush I can say the phrase correctly, "fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me"

For those that missed it earlier, click here, seriously, it's a riot. BarBitches.Com

In Review

The last few days have been very tiring. Monday was the Bourbon Pub's 12th annual "Oh What a Drag" show. I did some of the daytime hosting and then I performed later. Spending 12 hours in drag is way too long. If I do say so myself I looked great this year. The ever wonderful Raquel Chevalier did my make-up and hair. My friend Joel loaned me several dresses and gowns to wear and I was able to find a pair of fantastic 7 inch platform heels to wear. I can't wait to see the tape to see if I was tottering or dancing in them.

Duran, one of the pub security guards and a Thursday night "chicken nugget" (which basically are boys who look so young they aren't even chicken yet, they are just nuggets...of course this is aided by their Superman and Hulk Underoos that they wear...do you know how small of a waist you have to have to wear underoos? A 27 inch waist. Don't ask how I know,) Duran was named "Queen of the Night". I was unable to see his show as I was upstairs being touched up but if the crowds screams were any indication, then he was about to take the roof off the place. I think my number (Kristin Chenoweths cover of "If you hadn't but you did" from her recent solo release) went over well and I had a good time. After the show we all went to Oz to bust in on Bianca's Comedy/Variety show and then off for a little bar tour, what pretty ladies we had to be by that time of the morning.

I spent Tuesday (after I woke up) waiting patiently for Cox Cable to show up and replace the cable that was preventing me from being online. Cox credited our account 9 bucks which is precisely the same amount that I spent for the one time that I was able to make it to the lesbian box office and rent some time on their computer. That accomplished I was able to nap on and off throughout the night. Jeff is done with the endless rehearsals for NORD's show and finally has some time at home. I was wiped out though and I'm sure not much company.

Today Jeff woke me up early to tell me that he had to rush and didn't have time to feed the puppies. He had to hurry down the street to WWL's TV station where he was playing the piano for his cast of "Annie Get Your Gun" to sing on the morning news. If you have a chance to catch the show this weekend (Thursday and Friday nights and then Saturday and Sunday matinee) at Gallier hall, you should go. There are several very talented kids including the title role of Annie Oakley. The girl who plays her, the name escapes me, is Fan-Tas-Tic. In between the dogs feeding and walking and my trying to get back to sleep, I managed to catch Jeff and cast on the morning re-broadcast. I meant to ask Jeff how his time with weatherman David Bernard went this morning since David has a huge crush on him. Seriously. Every time I see David the first thing (sometimes even before hello) is "How is Jeff, where is he tonight, what's he doing?"

I was relaxing this afternoon, gearing up for a trip to the grocery store when I suddenly realized that I needed to write an e-mail to my friend Raymond Terry in Indianapolis to commerate his birthday (I know, the damned computer age). I went to the computer and there read the e-mail from another friend in Indy that Raymond had passed away on Sunday. He was only 32 years old. They said he had a heart attack, but I don't know any other details. I met Raymond when I was 18 or so, when we were both attending the gay youth group in Indy. We were really great friends for a long while and I had just seen him while in Indy over the fourth of July. I played darts with him at OP's with Dannon, I asked him when he was going to visit me and he said he had time in the fall. It's very sad and I wish I were there to attend the services. I called my mom (I guess I am a mammas boy) and cried on the phone to her and then made a few phone calls to other friends who may or may not have known.

I went to the store later after that, came home, made salmon with veggies for Jeff and I and now am off to lie in bed and think about my life. Goodnight to all....