Lunchtime Fun

Every so often I spend a morning babysitting my grandmother, who is suffering from dementia and uses a walker. She was married to a college professor, and was one of the last teachers of those one room schools in a log cabin, teaching everyone from kindergarten to high school (or until the crops took precedence), and if she would have known ten years ago that someone would have to ‘babysit’ her, she would have rather died. She used to speak four languages (English, French, German and Italian), and now she has problems forming a sentence, resorting to gestures and writing down verbs and nouns on sheet of paper. She went on a hiking tour of the Appalachians for her honeymoon, and now she needs help standing up and sitting down if the chair doesn’t have a solid back and sturdy arms. She lives at my aunt and uncles, who live within walking distance of Initials; my aunt is retired and spends every day with her as a sort of makeshift nurse.

Babysitting may be too harsh of a term, to be honest. When I’m around, I mostly act as a chauffeur, driving her and my aunt to their various appointments. When my uncle is at work and my aunt is out of town, as she was last week watching her granddaughter graduate from high school in San Antonio, I stop by and help her in her routine.

She wakes up and reads the local paper (which needs to be brought inside), while she has her cup of coffee (which needs to be brewed and poured). After the first paper, she eats breakfast (requiring help opening the refrigerator door and reaching the cups in the cupboard). After breakfast (which needs to be cleared) she goes into the living room and reads the entire New York Times, and then goes into her room and does about an hour of stretches and exercises. Lunchtime is usually sandwiches. After lunch, she does some mental or artistic exercise, like a crossword puzzle or painting. Then comes a nap, and then she reads in her book. After that comes watching a movie or TV show (something with a beginning, middle and end, with a precise plot so she can follow along). It’s more or less dinnertime by then, followed by some sort of event to get her out of the house (trip to the library, music concert, visit to a friend, etc). If there’s time before the 10 o’clock news, she writes in her diary.

My aunt’s plane was delayed from Texas, and so she wasn’t able to fly back on Sunday night but instead Monday midday. I went over to their house, bright and early at 7 AM, to help grandma in her routine. My aunt returned just as I was setting the table for lunch, and she decided to take us out to eat for lunch instead.

We went to Atlanta Bread Company (keeping with grandma’s routine of a sandwich for lunch). I helped her find a spot while my aunt grabbed a paper menu and had my grandma circle the sandwich she wanted. She went up to order, and I surveyed the restaurant.

And was greatly pleased. One of the most attractive guys I’ve ever seen in my life was sitting in a couch right next to our table, typing on his macbook and sipping coffee. We’re talking drop-dead gorgeous; tall and tan, with short dark hair, thick-rimmed glasses, a tshirt from threadless that showed definition in his pecs, shorts that fell up his thighs as he sat, exposing a pair of really great legs. Really, really great. He looked like a version of Clark Kent, but right next to me.

I probably gawked more than I should have, because he quickly noticed and flashed me a smile, one of those million-watt smiles that I’ve only ever seen in bad romantic comedies when the two leads fall in love at first sight. My grin was much more sheepish and almost embarrassed in return. At first I thought he was grinning at someone who had just walked in, and I turned my head, but his smile was directed at me.

Which was kind of weird. I mean, I know I’m attractive enough, but this guy was in a whole different league than me. No one this attractive has ever hit on me, ever. And I have bags under my eyes from getting up so early. And I just threw on the first thing I saw this morning because I was just planning on spending most of my day at my aunt and uncles. And I’m sitting with my aunt and grandma, who don’t qualify as anyone’s idea of great wingmen. And I have a boyfriend already.

For the rest of our wait for the food, my aunt was helping my grandma with various things, making small talk about and the cute geek and I kept clandestinely flirting. Well, he was unabashed at it, but I was trying to let him know I was interested without letting my aunt know that I was interested in the guy at the table next to us. My grandma’s too far gone to catch on, and my aunt has met Initials (we bumped into each other at a concert of the Rite of Spring a few weeks earlier, and my aunt and uncle know him as my ‘friend’ and I’m pretty sure they caught on, but never explicitly mentioned or explained). He would wink, I would blush a little. He would glance over, I would run my hand through my hair and scratch the top of my head. He would cock his eyebrow, I would dash my eyes coyly left to right. Occasionally I would help my aunt interpret my grandma, but mostly my attentions were on him.

The food came, and he became more engrossed in his laptop and less in me, so I ate. Old people eat slowly, and so once I finished I went up to grab more soda. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked, and so I added a little extra badonk to my step as I walked away, and on my return I sucked in my stomach taut and interacted with a small child who had stepped away from his mother and bumped into my legs.

I sat back at the table, and waited for my relatives to finish eating. I tried to think of what it was that did it for him. I mean, I know I’m a sucker for DILFs; watching an attractive guy interact with his kids just does it for me, how there’s a total different demeanor and care involved. Was there some sort of inverse relationship too? Did taking care of my obviously enfeebled grandma have a similar effect? Was it the strong family ties? Or was he just into guys with bags under their eyes with the balls to flirt in front of family members? Even though my aunt and I aren’t related by blood, there is a sort of resemblance, so maybe he thought I was flirting in front of my mom and grandma, which would take even more balls. Or was he just into guys who thought he was attractive? I mean, I always like being asked for sex online, even if most of the guys are in their forties and overweight. Was he just responding politely to my advances?

He made a point of looking the other way, moved his computer from his lap, and adjusted himself. He then looked back at me and smiled in the way a pornstar smiles when he realizes that the dialogue is cringeworthy: I sure miss my girlfriend. Let’s play a game of strip poker to pass the time.

Well, what was I waiting for? An invitation? A condom thrown in my general direction? I adjusted myself under the table so my erection wouldn’t be so noticeable as I walked, and announced to the table, loudly enough for him and half of the restaurant to hear, that I was going to go to the bathroom and wash my hands. I got up and made my way slowly towards the back.

And in the reflection of the windows I could see that he had gotten up and was following me. Shit, now what? I mean, I’m not going to have sex with the guy in the Atlanta Bread Company bathroom, especially not during the lunch rush and doubly especially not while my aunt and grandma wait. I don’t think Initials would like it if I gave out my phone number (unless I invited him along). Now that he was following me, what the hell was I supposed to do? Introduce myself and thank him for boosting my self-esteem? Give him a quick thank you bj in the stall? Ask what a nice guy like him was doing in a trashy joint like this? I’m not really one for cruising, or rather, having any success while cruising, and I was going to have to improvise.

I went inside the bathroom, which by some miracle, was empty. I washed my hands and dried them very slowly and carefully. No sign of the guy. I went to the urinal and tried to subside my semi, tucking it lower across my leg, and then washed my hands again. No sign. I played with my hair in the mirror. No sign. It was getting to be a substantial amount of time—where the hell was he? I didn’t know what I was planning to do when he arrived, but I was still apprehensive and nervous and excited for the moment that he did walk in.

Eventually I gave up, and dejectedly walked back to my table. As I turned the corner, I saw the guy at the coffee stand, ripping open a packet of sugar for his refill. I walked up and reached across for a napkin, and brushed against him. He didn’t notice. I apologized in a flirtatious way, but he didn’t move his head, just glanced his eyes up and kept stirring.

My aunt walked up to the counter where we were, and asked me to grab a take-home box from behind the coffee lids. I did, and walked back to the table, trying to figure out where I went wrong. Did he have second thoughts? Was I too forward with suggesting the bathroom? Did I imagine the whole thing? I have no idea.

I helped them gather their things as he walked back and sat back down. And despite my glances over to him, and bending over to pick things up, putting my ass on full display, he stayed glued to his computer.

He didn’t look my way until I was holding the door open for my grandma in her walker, and then he just winked, and went back to his mac.

Update

So it turns out that living in Madison during the summer has its ups and downs.

The ups include that bars are less crowded and rents are less, too.

The downs include the fact that the people from whom I was "borrowing" wireless have gone home, and for the rest of the summer every time I want to check my email or write a post I have to walk a few blocks to the library or to a coffee shop.

Lame.

I have a real post started, hopefully it will be ready by this weekend. It looks like posts are going to be pretty sparse this summer, boys.

June is busting out all over!

I'm doing my best not to censor posts, contrary to what a few of you have mentioned in the comments. Yes, Initials found the blog, but he has promised not to read anything written in 2007 unless I email him the exact link and give him an explicit instruction. It turns out, he really enjoys reading the archives, finding out more shit about me, which is only fair. I mean, I google people. Not quite the same thing, but... yeah.

Can I trust him at his word? I hope so. His myspace blog (which he doesn't know I've found) says that he won't be reading it, and we all know we can trust forums runs by Murdoch.


Also, I was able to keep my old apartment, and for some reason, lease it for about $80 less per month than I was paying previously. Also, air conditioning is now included. It's a good thing.


And I suppose that since I quoted Rodgers and Hammerstein, I should post a pic of some guys 'busting out all over.' Just like June is. And, coincidentally, I feel as though I'm busting out this morning too.

Quick Update--Real Estate Edition

1. Initials moved into his new apartment yesterday. As previously mentioned, I hate his new roommate and her militantly vegan girlfriend. (I'm sure there will some stories about her in the future.) Things are kind of tense since he found the blog, which was only exacerbated by the fact that his new roommate is really being a bitch and has gotten less packing done in two weeks than Initials did yesterday, and her shit is taking over the entire living room. She wants a craft room, since she can't fit all of her sewing and quilting crap in her room. Of course, when all of her sewing and quilting crap in the living room, there isn't enough room for things like the couch, the tv stand, and the coffee table.

2. My summer sublet fell through. The acquaintance from whom I was planning on subletting broke his leg, and therefore won't be leaving to help out at some summer camp up north. My lease ends on the 31st, and I'm more than freaking out. I have a tentative one bedroom lined up; unfortunately I have to work all day today so unless I get the email in like, five minutes, and they have someone available to show the place after 6 tonight, I'm shit out of luck. (Although according to craigslist, my apartment complex has some rooms available, so I may be able to extend my lease.)

3. My best friend spent last semester studying abroad in Prague, and is returning this weekend. We have tentative plans to live together in the fall. There will lots of drunken stories. Lots.

Best of TV

Now that both finals and finales are over (OMG AMERICAN IDOL AMERICAN IDOL RAH RAH) its time to list my favorite shows of the season.

1. The View: Love her or hate her, Rosie O'Donnell certainly kicked things up a notch this year on the View. Actually, I have no idea about that, I only started watching after she replaced Meredith Viera. It's now become must-see TV for me, but only when Rosie is around. She's the only one who can put Elizabeth in her place. Elizabeth is enough to make me turn off the show completely: I can understand conservativism, especially when it makes sense, but Elizabeth can barely reguritate the FOX news talking points without bumbling into talk of "he Terrorists" and "As a mother."

2. 30 Rock: Certainly the most underrated gem of the year, in the same way that Freaks and Geeks or Arrested Development were in years past. Tight, witty writing led by probably the only truely funny person on SNL for the past five years, with a cast of people I never really associated as funny before (eg Tracy Jordan) but now find delightful. One of the few shows I made an appointment to watch. Fortunately, it was available for free online for those few times I missed it.

3. The Simpsons: I've never given up on the Simpsons. Sure, it has its ups and downs, but after 18 years, it's still going strong. After the one-two punch of the season finales (You Kent Always Get What You Want and 24 Minutes) it's hard to think of a more subversive show on television. The movie, coming on in July, is the only movie coming out this summer that I'm willing to wait in line for, and possibly even in costume.

4. Law & Order: Another show that's been on the air for decades, and its easy to figure out why this show has been overlooked. When a show has been syndicated five to six times a day, its easy to forget about the new episodes, especially when originals aired Friday nights. Law & Order is an institution, and while SVU may get better ratings, it's still the mothership, and doesn't kowtow to NBC-style sensationalism (you know what I'm talking about).

5. Sarah Silverman Show: Sarah Silverman has been my favorite comic for a while now. I bought Jesus is Magic when it first came out, and I think her part in the Aristocrats kept true to the joke in the way that the others didn't. I'm a big fan of shock humor, especially as insults, and Sarah walks the magical line between full-blown racism and metaracism, which I'm not entirely sure exists, but I read it in a review of Jesus is Magic and I like the term.



Fortunately, all are coming back for another year. I haven't paid a whole lot of attention to the upfronts this year, but nothing really got me excited, at least not yet. But, of course, if Gay Robot mysteriously gets picked up, all bets are off.



(Damnit! I did have this movie posted before Towleroad, I swear. I tend to stay away from gay and entertainment news because everyone goes to Towleroad for that kind of stuff anyway, but I thought I had him beat this time.)

Hillary's Eyebrows

For the past week, the more politically-leaning blogs have been making suggestions for Hillary Clinton's theme song which is, of course, leading to lots of joke suggestions, such as "Worldwide Suicide" by Pearl Jam, "The Bitch is Back" by Elton John, and "First We Take Manhattan" by Leonard Cohen.

And here, in MP3 format for your downloading pleasure, is my addition to the joke suggestions.

Hillary's Eyebrows by Phranc, who bills herself as the "All-American Jewish Lesbian Folksinger," which comprises a large chunk of Hillary's base.

Currently Reading:

I'm too lazy to mess with the HTML to insert one of those "Currently Reading" lists in the sidebar. I am not too lazy, however, to insert jpgs of the covers of the books I'm reading onto pictures of cute naked boys, to give you a NSFW summer reading list, of sorts. You really shouldn't be reading blogs at work, anyway, especially a blog that Best Gay Blogs considers to be the uncut cock headquarters of the internet (I think their coding is off).

Anyways, hopefully the naked pictures will half-make up for the fact that I haven't posted all week. I mean, when in doubt, post hot pics, right?


The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie by Muriel Spark


A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole


The Sea, The Sea by Iris Murdoch


The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner


The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood

Support the Arts

I'm just at the cusp of thinking high school boys are hot. Or rather, I'm at the cusp of thinking high school boys are hot and not having it be totally creepy. It's like the old saying--the thing about high school girls is that they never get older, but you do, so you might as well get as much tight high school ass while you can.

Whenever I hear that at the museum we have a tour of high schoolers coming, I always get a little excited. Sure, at 22 it's not necessarily legal for me to be taking high school freshman or sophomores into the back closet, but juniors are iffy, and seniors are totally game. I mean, we've all seen "Friday Night Lights" and "Dawsons Creek" and "High School Sluts" and "Tutoring the Jocks" and high schoolers are totally hot.

Of course, when they all showed up, it was... disappointing.

I'd forgotten that high school boys don't have asses yet. Their backsides are flat as a board, and I swear one of the boys' ass actually inverted and went in. Their legs were all chickenscratch, except for the fat ones, and it's not like I'm going to sleep with or ogle over any of them. They were all scrawny, with tuffs of hair growing from their sideburns and on their upper lips, and you can just tell that they're proud of the wisps. Two boys were wearing eye-liner.

It got worse.

While making the tour of the pernament collection, the docent led them around to the Frida Kahlo, and asked if anyone could guess whose work it was. They all stared blankly, until the docent answered her own question, slightly surprised that no one had heard of her. After revealing the artist, the only guy who could possibly be considered remotely cute blurted out, totally serious "Is that like Phil Collins?"



(Support the Arts.)

Good News!

(You can tell I'm gay because as soon as I typed that title I got the theme to the musical Good News stuck in my head.)

And now I, a Felix Pollak award-winning writer, shall explain just exactly what the Felix Pollak award is.

My senior thesis, a collection of poems called "Stalin's Atom Bomb" won the Felix Pollak award for the best book-length manuscript of original poetry. It's a thousand dollar prize and something incredibly kickass for my CV. It's one of the nicer contests in the country for unpublished authors. Unofficially, it will pretty much guarantee my place in any creative writing graduate program in the country, and more or less ensure that I won't have to pay for it.

In other good news, I'm now employed! While I haven't joined the 9-5 hustle and bustle workaday grind of the rats scurrying around their offices striving for that elusive metaphoric cheese, I will be picking up a paycheck twice a month for my part-time services at the museum of contemporary art.

Go team me.

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Tell your friends.