Whirlwind Weekend

Hey HEY hey!

Weekends for me typically involve hibernation. After a week of work, life, etc. I usually sleep in on a Saturday (we’re talking into the PM) to try to balance the lack of sleep that results from the crapnea and store some energy for the impending week of insanity at Fourth Street and beyond.

This weekend not so much. In a good way.

Our annual triathlon fundraiser was this weekend. And while it’s not my primary responsibility, it’s still a way of raising money which is central to my job. So I went for the showing of fit people in very little clothing <sploosh>, the opportunity to tell the store checker to “not make it weird” when purchasing 16 gallons of chocolate milk, and to be able to run errands in a handi-capable car with the awesome parking allowance at most local retailers.

ImageHaters gon’ hate.

So that is how I started my early morning on Saturday. I then jumped into the car to run more house errands with G, culminating in some incredible sheet-hunting at a variety of discounted retailers and other fun places to people watch. I didn’t buy a giant crystal dolphin, and G failed to find the holy grail of fitted topsheets, but the day was not a total waste. Driving down 11th East we encountered a group of local revelers who were partying front-yard-style with a simply cardboard sign held by one of the less inebriated stating, “You honk, we DRINK!”

ImageThis is actually Google-able.

Long story short, I totes honked, and they cheered and did a keg stand. It warmed my heart. I closed out the day with some more fun times with Meggi and her crew for her graduation party. It was fun to see some old familiar faces, but also strange to see so many new ones, reinforcing the fact that my history in the psychology department continues to fade. Her parents made some insanely good Filipino food that I was actually able to eat (damn you Atkins) and after a few hours in the garden, I trekked home to promptly fall asleep on the couch.

Tack onto Sunday a grocery store hit-and-run and 5 heaping loads of laundry, and you get one tired queen. I also realized that my moving schedule is jacked because while I close on Friday, the money doesn’t hit the bank until Monday. So I just lost a weekend of moving between now and when I’m supposed to be out of the apartment.


So life is still trucking along. I plan on blogging more extensively tomorrow about the first NBA player in history to come out of the closet while still a professional athlete. Kudos to you Jason Collins to be the first basketball player with the balls to be out and proud. Hopefully this will break down another barrier for LGBT people in sports. Not that I particularly care about sports.

ImageUtah Cyber Sluts, you keep me young.

Absolutely Fabulous

Lights? Models? Guest list?

ImageJust do your best dahling.

Oh, Patsy and Edwina taught me so much, the central tenet of which is that life is crazy. And awesome. And tiring. You have ups and downs, and lots of in-betweens. People around you can be helpful or hurtful. Damn, I sound like a depression medication commercial. This is all to say that things can be occasionally stupid, or rewarding, or gut-wrenching.

ImageOr in this case, ridiculous.

We’ll start with werk. Today was the fourth Thursday of the month, which translates into our monthly board meeting, which translates to me waking up with the roosters to pick up the coffee and breakfast for our board’s 7:30am meeting (aka me arriving at work at 6:45), to brew coffee for staff, bring the newspapers over to the waiting room, and to pull all of the parking cones out to block off parking in order to avoid angry coworkers for stolen spots by unsuspecting and innocent board members.

This is all before my morning coffee mind you.

But I survived. Notes were taken, crises were averted. Coffee carafes were emptied. I was able to satisfy all of my superiors and get everything I wanted to get done in a day actually done, which in the non-profit world is a rare feat (think Guiness Book of World Records rare). After a productive day of work on little sleep I talked to my mortgage broker and got my revised paperwork for the new digs (NOTE: Looking for a great name for the place, suggestions welcome) and realized that I will actually be paying less per month than I am now. For a place I own. Which is crazeballs.

(I’ve used a lot of parentheses in this post, huh?)

My house still isn’t packed, my laundry’s blocking my rearview vision, and I’ve got a lot of work to do before I buy a house next week but I’m relying on good friends, psychotropic medications, and tonight’s episode of GLEE to keep me in the sane column. Long story short, things are still “rose-tinting my world to keep me safe from the trouble and pain.”


Rocky Horror Reference. Crushed it.

And this serves as the official warning that in the near future I’ll be issuing the all-call to anyone and everyone I know in Salt Lake County to help me move little stuff, big stuff, and everything else in the next few weeks, including the truck of s%^t arriving on Memorial Day with Mom and Dad who have been storing still more furniture and goodies for me since Clinton’s second term. So get ready!! -M

Does My HOA Cover Hurricanes?

Tsunamis? Locusts? Bueller?

Because I literally feel like I’m in the midst of some crazy ish. I would be having a panic attack right now (hoping in the process to have the dreamboat EMT come rushing again to the rescue), but thanks to a quick trip to the MD, I am now physiologically incapable of experiencing anxiety, panic, or any other emotion. I’m like one of those Emo kids from South Park, or in a perpetual state of Tetris Face.


Vassar peeps, you know what I’m talking about.

I close on my new place in two weeks. Two. Weeks. I thought I’d be rocking it in the middle of the month, but no. Two weeks. I have packed maybe 10% of my belongings, my house is a mess, and work is still a bit on the cray side of busy. I also still haven’t sent out the “hey, remember that time I helped you move?” email because a lot of the people I helped move in town have since moved away.

uhaulSiemionko, Party of One?

But I do have a closing date. And a mortgage. My landlord is being insanely awesome (as he always has been) and I am superpumped to have all of my belongings together in one physical location for the first time since the ’90s. I’ll finally have the time to decide whether or not to keep my HyperColor t-shirts (hint, coming soon to a thrift store near you), whether I want to Craigslist or straight bonfire the green couch, and just how many pairs of Crocs I truly need to survive and thrive another Salt Lake winter. Or shall I invest in some CrossKix, the most recent unholy alliance of Crocs and what resembles a sneaker?


Yep. Thanks Reblin for the links!!

So that’s happening. Demo at work has been ongoing and I’m hoping to salvage some doors from the older spaces to give to some of our community partners. One of my coworkers came down with a seriously nasty bug, so I’m hoping and praying I don’t get it too. We’ve got a bunch of stuff going on and between that and moving I don’t also want to be dealing with illness. So let’s all cross our fingers shall we?

And that’s my current state of affairs. I could go on and on about the everyday insanity and my continuing struggle with attempting adulthood, but really, that and 5 bucks will get you a cup of coffee.

And this queen is on a budget. -M

Sequestration with a Side of Vodka

Budgets are like snowflakes: they dissolve immediately when they come into contact with me.

I work at a non-profit. My job is about how to raise and track money to help homeless people stay healthy. I deal with the feds, local entities, charitable organizations, individuals, the gamut. And there are reporting schedules and deadlines to ensure that anyone and everyone that gives a dime to the clinic knows exactly how that dime was spent, how much went to overhead versus direct services, how much our energy bill costs us, etc. And I won’t be overly prideful, but I think I do a good job of proving to our community partners that our financial house is in order.

That being said…

There is a history in my family where strong, independent women have the will and the drive to keep the men in the family in check when it comes to finances. Case in point, my mother (to my knowledge) has negotiated the price of every car that my parents have driven for almost 40 years. She also negotiated my Element’s purchase, with the dealership throwing in the legs for the picnic table you can build from the spare tire reservoir for free, after discounting the price of the car by about 8 grand.


God I love that car.

As a result, speaking from my own personal experience, I have come to rely on the strong women in my life to guide me in the wonderful world of finance. This allows me to feel like a grownup without (at least until now) feeling the full weight and responsibility of adulthood. Which I now realize is no bueno. Enter G, the financial guru who has put me on a stipend (which is a fancy word for allowance) to get my life in order. I’ve gone from Smith’s to WinCo; from Kohl’s to Saver’s; from fill-in-the-blank to Asian City.


Words. There are no words.

While I have touched on the topic, let me just say in more broad terms that this is one of the bigger steps I’ve taken in getting my life on track on working on not feeling like I’ve got a one way ticket on a runaway train. Because those aren’t so great. Remember that song from the late 90’s by Soul Asylum? And what kind of name is Soul Asylum anyway? Seriously? Could we be more tragic?


It’s like SPEED without Keanu Reaves. Or a Plot. No, wait, that was SPEED.

So I bought some cabinets for the laundry area of the Graystone (which is the complex I’m moving to, and will henceforth serve as the placeholder for my new digs, like Castle Grayskull in HE-MAN) at an insane discount. I have been couponing even more than ever, which is terrifying. And I’m averaging between 80-90% off of everything that I buy. While I’ve always been cheap, I am looking forward to the next 12-18 months where I will hopefully get my finances in order, improve my credit score, and start actually saving money to pay off my recent ER visit with the accompanying WHAM-bulance. WORD.

The Softer Side of SEARS


Things on this blog have been heavy. Like heavy cream heavy. Refrigerator heavy. Rebel Wilson or Louie Anderson heavy. As a gay I feel the responsibility to lighten the loafers, and the load, by focusing less on the sociopolitical climate of today, yesterday, and tomorrow, and focusing more on those things I have some semblance of control over while I recognize the unbound insanity that surrounds the self. I mean, it’s part of the agenda akin to binge eating, excessive exercise, and over-referencing the queered movies of the mid ’80s. I must embrace the cray.


The codpiece is out. of. control.

Life and work and buying a house have created an incredible hurricane of cray that I have found myself trying to navigate. There’s always of course the stress of moving, mortgages, and competing interests to take into consideration. Suffice it to say that thanks to a well-timed doctor’s visit to Dr. P, I now have the resources and psychotropic medications to make the insanity more manageable.

Granted, a few colleagues asked me if I was high today while enjoying the emotion- and anxiety-deadening effects of an old friend (Xanax, I’m looking at you), and you know what? I don’t have a definitive answer.

Primarily because I was medicated.


I’d hate your judgment. If I could feel my feet.

But that’s where I am. I was willing, ready, and able to submit a shit-ton of reports today, figure out a mailer, resource a meeting, blah blah blah and this and that, and all the while just coast on a moment of Zen. The meds are admittedly a crutch, but I also assert that those meds made my life less complicated, and freed up time to enjoy the little things in life.

Little things in life today included hotties at Target and hotties on the police force. Word to the wise, I am still trying to cyberstalk that cutie EMT from my most recent escapade at SL Regional. Get excited.

So kudos to modern pharmaceuticals. And to my coworkers. And AMERICA (I know, I should take another Xanax, it would make this blog more entertaining). I anticipate a number of topics being delineated this weekend that include, but are not limited to:

  • Utah Drivers
  • Downtown on a Thursday
  • IMDB and Hulu
  • Obamacare


Love y’all. -M

Drag Queens, Terrorism and Chik-Fil-A

I promised myself I would give short shrift to the deviants behind today’s insane tragedy. They’re not worth my time. Or your’s. While I took a similar stance after the tragedies of those who lost their lives at Sandy Hook Elementary, I feel even more passionate about today’s turn of events and the outpouring of emotions that I’ve seen across social media platforms.

Hence, why I am putting myself in the enemy’s sights.

ImageSome lines are drawn for a reason.

I refuse, flatly, to recognize the atrocities of the daily news cycle. Paying attention and drawing attention to the sickness of others in proving political stances makes my stomach turn. And rightly so.

I also recognize the hypocrisy of mentioning said tragedies is this blog. That being said, I won’t reflect on the feelings that were stirred when I heard of the news, another faceless crime with unanswered questions that will ultimately haunt me with its open-endedness.

Terrorists only succeed when we give them a voice.

I know that the venue I have chosen is… controversial. But I am proud to live in an era where a drag show cultivated by RuPaul might supplant and interrupt the New York Times with wigs and attitudes. Let us all hope that, with the introduction of auto-tune and gender-bending that ladies that prefer being gents (and vice versa) have the opportunity (and latex undergarments) to make those dreams realities.

I am angry about those who lost their lives and, in many cases, their limbs today in Massachusetts. I am equally angry with those of us that see what happened as a senseless tragedy, one with no beginning and/or end. I expect justice.

And I want to report that over a quarter million children were born today. Today.

Do me a favor. Focus on what we achieve. Not what we’ve lost. “They” only win when we let them.

Does this Blog make my Ass look Fat?

Horribly cliched. Deal with it.

After a couple of weeks of hard core doom and gloom I thought it only appropriate to fill the emptiness of the electronic void with more positive, more uplifting comments and musings.


Hint: No death until May.

So here we find ourselves. After a few hours of work this Sunday morning trying to get myself back on track, I ran into two strangers in need: Remington and Jade. I won’t lie. He had an ass that won’t quit and a backpack built for two. I probably engaged in good Samaritanism because Remmy was cute as cute can be. Jade’s potentially broken foot most likely sealed the deal.


No reason. None at all. Just eye candy.

I was worried of being taken for a fool by a few cons this afternoon, but chose to pay it forward, hoping that my little toaster would find the good in people while repelling lice, bed bugs, and other assorted creatures of the night. In return, my passengers were good people, attempting polite conversations while recognizing that this girl is on fire.


I have been window-shopping subway tile and can tell you all that I cannot WAIT to move into my new digs. The spare room might include an awful lot of banker boxes, but when push comes to shove, Sheila is ready.

So bring it.