fergie's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- beware of beaver ...no... more... snow... This is my last night in Ohio, so my hometown adventures draw to a close. However, a trip to the mid-west just isn't complete without a redneck story. Though we are part of the northern states, we still have our share of backwoods country people who proudly display deer heads on their living room walls. This is not a negative statement or judgement in any way, I'm talking about some of my family members here. My parents and I were listening to the radio in the car today on our way to run some errands. I wanted out of the house badly and agreed to ride along while they returned some books to the library, went to the bank, and washed their car. Why anyone washes their car in the dead of winter with snow on the ground is beyond me, but there was a long line at the carwash so apparantly this is a popular though rather futile activity. A local radio station was interviewing Jeff Foxworthy, the king of redneck stories, and he spoke of a couple that approached him after a show and relayed this true life tale. So, just to be perfectly clear, I'm not swiping his material or anything, even though he did use it as a bit for the interview. According to Jeff, it's very common for audience members to share a redneck story with him after a performance, since he's made a career out of poking good fun of them. The two greeted him and said they had an interesting redneck story to tell him about their cousin who had his nipple bitten off by a beaver on Thanksgiving. "Now you have my full attention." He said, and listened to their explination: As their cousin and his friend were on their way to Thanksgiving dinner, a beaver ran out in front of their truck and they couldn't avoid hitting it. (Now, here I will interject that while a redneck has no problem shooting and killing something, they are generally sensitive to wildlife and would not intentionally run over an animal with their truck. If they hit someone's dog they might even cry. These are not people who are hell bend on destroying life, unless it's hunting season) After they ran over the beaver, the two stopped the truck in an effort to collect the carcuss and take it to a taxidermist. This is the logic of a redneck. If it's dead, stuff it. As their cousin made his way off the road into the ditch where the beaver had fallen, he picked the limp animal up by the tail and held it above his head examine it. "Look!" he said, "It ain't got no marks or nuttin!" Foxworthy explains that the word "nothing" (nuttin) is the magic word that will reanimate an animal, and at that exact moment it sprang to life and bit off his nipple. Bit it OFF. At this point, everyone is laughing; the radio personalities, my parents, and myself, clearly picturing the animal with a crazed look in his eye furrowing down the man's shirt and chomping away. Foxworthy goes on, "Imagine the doctor in the ER, approaching the nurse to ask what is troubling the man who was brought in. 'Oh, his nipple was bitten off by a beaver.' 'I'm not in the mood for jokes today, just tell me what happend to him.'" 10:10 p.m. - Dec. 03, 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- a lot of fucking snow It started snowing this afternoon just as I got home from lunch. The light, lazy snowflakes drifted down from the sky like tiny feathers, slowly making their way down and covering the ground like powered sugar. It was beautiful. For about fifteen minutes. An hour later, we were sitting in an inch and a half of snow. I wanted to go down to the store, but realized I'd have to scrape ice off the car, then creep along at about ten miles an hour on the way there since I haven't driven in these conditions in several years and would be petrified behind the wheel. I decided it wasn't worth it. Three hours later, I came to the conclusion that I should have gone while I had the chance, and watched the snow continue to fall. A level 1 weather watch was announced by the sherif's department over public broadcast as they cut into radio and TV programming. What does level 1 mean? I don't know the exact definition, but judging by the conditions outside it means there is a lot of fucking snow. 12:05 a.m. - Dec. 03, 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- life on the farm ...it's been a hella long day... There is so much I want to write about, but damn I'm tired. I don't know where to begin. Actually something is on my mind, but I can't write about it here. One of the things about keeping a public weblog is that I've choosen not to make it anonymous. This is party due to my own ego, and partly to remind myself that this is a live journal on the world wide web. This shit ain't private. I've read countless d-land entries in which the writer has been "found out" by someone they know, and said person has read something that upset them, and drama ensued. I don't want to lull myself into a false sense of security, to pretend that my thougths here are not read by others, and that some of those readers will be people I know. I'm out (in more ways than one), I'm exposed, and I'll take the bullets in my chest, thank you. I don't want to be blind-sided, thinking what I've written is safe when it can come back to bite me in the ass. So, if there's something I want to write about, something I know would cause hurt feelings if the parties mentioned read it, then I simply have to edit myself. I've learned the only safe way to do things that could get you in trouble is not to do them in the first place. It's like cheating. If you don't want to get caught (and you will), then don't fucking do it. If you don't want to keep looking over your shoulder, worrying about a confrontation, avoid the possibility of a confrontation in the first place. All that said, the party I'm pissed off at in this situation is not the one who gets hurt, but the one causing the pain. Even though I suppose that should be rather obvious, I guess I still got a bit of it off my chest. So there. And now, back to my life on the farm... Dinner in a barn. Finally, we pull up to our destination. A barn. And I don't mean it's a cute little resturant that looks like a barn on the outside. It's a barn. Inside, the stalls have been replaced by a kitchen in the back and long tables lined up like a cafeteria. No frills, no decorations. A barn. With tables. One thing living in Los Angeles has taught me is that looks are not everything. As a matter of fact, the more dressed up something is, the less it probably has to offer. A beautiful woman? Hair color, extensions, fake boobs, hours of make up, no soul. A pretty girl doesn't have much to offer me besides personality anyway, and if it's buried under superficial bullshit then there's just no point. So, taking note of the large coatrack by the door where everyone in the place has left their jacket without fear of anyone taking it, I prepare myself for some good 'ol down home cooking. No attitude, free refills, never an empty plate. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes with gravy, chicken noodle soup, fresh cut ham, veggies, and every variety of pie under the sun. My exercise for the day was pushing myself away from the table. The dogs. The girl, my favorite, who follows me around the house like a shadow, is shapped like a submarie and is just about as heavy. She has a the loving look of a child in her eyes, an innocent expression that says "I'll be your friend for life if you give me some of whatever is on your plate." She actually lays down when she eats from her food bowl, least any unnecessary energy or attention be wasted on keeping her balance. The other dog, a male, is even more simple. His life is ball. Play ball? He asks, head cocked to the side, slobbering tennis ball permantly fixed in his mouth. Like a baby that never gets tired of peek-a-boo, no one has ever worn him out playing catch. Ever. After you finally give up, arms aching, mind numb from repition, he turns his attention to the next person who might want to play. It's not uncommon to suddenly have a wet tennis ball land in your lap while watching TV. Play ball now? No. Now? No. Now? NO! ...now? The only way to end his constant request is to throw the ball to fat girl, who will calmly catch it, look him directly in the eye, and then sit on top of his toy. With a whimper that does not fit a dog the size of a pony, he sulks away defeated. Gettin hit on in a country western bar. Usually there is also some good boy watching to be done, and even though I sit with my legs crossed sipping a martini, no one has ever so much as looked at me cross. Perhaps no one questions the prissy out-of-towner because my cousin is good friends with the owner and about half the bar, but I'd prefer to think they just don't give a shit. Without any evidence to support it otherwise, I believe this to bacially be true. During a slow song set, much to my surprise, a woman came over to ask me to dance. My first thought was that straight people don't have gaydar, even though I'm queer from the other side of town. I wasn't sure if she was being nice or if she just thought I was cute. After she told me she thought I was cute it became a little more clear. I told her I was dating someone and declined. This is true. There was no reason to say something like "Sorry honey, I'm gay." Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I can't dance with a girl. The fact is that I am dating someone, and I wouldn't want him dancing with someone else if they were hitting on him, guy or girl. To tell her I was gay and dating someone but that I would platonically dance with her just seemed wrong. It's better to just get shut down rather than knowing the person has no interest in you and is only dancing with you out of sympathy. She graciously accepted my reason and we had a nice though rather brief conversation before she moved on. The funny part was that not five minutes beforehand my cousin and I were talking about how when we're getting hit on we don't want to be rude and look for our friends to save us, but that sometimes it's funny to watch people squirm when you know they're not into the other party. So what does she do when this chick comes up to me? Well, insted of saving me by acting like my girlfriend and taking me to the dance floor, she grabbed her date and walked away! I'll get her back for that. When she comes to visit me I promised to take her to a country western bar. Little does she know it will be a gay country western bar on drag night. 2:45 a.m. - Dec. 02, 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- post-party It's getting late and I'm tired, even though I slept in until noon this morning. I have a holiday event tomorrow with extended family in some remote country location. The party here tonight was great, though I will admit the candy trees were a bit more of a mess than anticipated. I forget kids are fucking slobs. One of the girls had frosting all over her shirt, another had some in her hair. I would add an amendment to my previous entry about what you need: add a plastic tarp. I enjoy my family so much, as they're a very entertaining bunch. Imagine me x10. Then add alcohol. There is nothing better than sharing a bottle of wine with your grandmother. The best line of the night goes to grandpa fergie: "I always had a washboard stomach. Now it's a bathtub." 1:36 a.m. - Dec. 01, 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Beer drinking, breeding, & guns I forgot to mention the other hobby people most enjoy in the mid-west, other than beer drinking & breeding, as noted in my last entry. I am reminded of this hobby as I hear gunshots being fired off in the distance. In L.A. that means a turf war is going on, here it just means someone is out doing target practice. Yup. Beer drinknig, breeding, and guns. No wonder eveyone looked at me like I'd grown a second head when I said I wanted to find a salon to get my nails done before my aunt and uncle's holiday party tomorrow. Oooh, that last one sounded close. I think I'll go to the other side of the house for a bit, just to be safe. Beer drinking is the main hobby, which leads to breeding or gun shooting. Both are a scary combination, since you may be drinking with your cousins, but breeding dosen't lead to a bullet in the head. At least if you do it right. 5:15 p.m. - Nov. 30, 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Eat your christams tree Well, mom & I didn't end up going to the mall as I had planned. We have family coming over tonight for a hey-our-son-from-california-is-in-town get together, so instead we went to the market and got candy to distract the kids, and alcohol for tonight (actually I made sure we have enought for the week). I love my mommy. I forgot to pack my shaving stuff, so she paid for a new razor and neutrogena shaving cream. It's fun to feel like a little boy again when you're damn near 27. I wonder if there will ever be a time they let me pick up the bill or buy something for myself when I'm in town. Doubt it. My mother is a smart woman, and has devised an extremely creative way to get all the kidlets that will be here this evening out of our hair. I have to remind you readers that here in the bible belt hobbies include beer drinking and breeding, so there will be almost as many people under 10 in the house as adults. If they realized their strength in numbers they might start a revolt. The answer? Candy! Mom is having them build candy christmas trees to keep them occupied. Sure it might make them hyper for a bit, but after the sugar high wears off the little tykes will be sound asleep in front of the TV. I think it's brilliant. Besides, the plan is to lock them in the recreation room for the night anyway (my parents had a gym built into their house where the old garage used to be). So, it will be pretty sweet. Literally. I'll be getting drunk with relatives while the little people are tucked away building their candy coated trees. If you'd like to borrow this idea at your next holiday gathering, follow the simple steps below. What you need: If the trees are not consumed, everything will harden and stick together for years to come. It's actually kind of scary how hard frosting becomes if you let it sit. I've used it to mount shelves on my walls. 4:24 p.m. - Nov. 30, 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- pat's diary ...just wanted to save this diary real quick, thought it was funny. on my way out the door to go shopping in the big city. haha. the mall is so small they can afford to have wall to wall carpet inside. it's the only fully carpeted mall i think i have ever been to. anyway, blah blah blah it's cold outside and i don't even own a winter coat anymore. my gap denim jacket is not going to do... 1:44 p.m. - Nov. 30, 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- snow This morning over breakfast, if one call call it "breakfast" @ 12:00, I notice patches of snow on the ground outside. Though I complain that it's going to make it that much harder to find my nipples underneath all the white stuff, and aside from the fact that I just like to bitch in general, I hope I get to see one snowfall during my trip here. A little five minute display would do, nothing crippling or stormish, just some fresh powder falling from the sky. Snow is pretty as long as you don't have to shovel your way out of it. 1:14 p.m. - Nov. 30, 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Eskimo I have arrived! ...in my hometown. Though I'm a city slicker now, in my heart I'll always be a country boy. Ohio isn't all cornfields and pick-up trucks, but it is a totally different world than the one filled with busy freeways and palm trees that I live in. Then again, almost anywhere is a stark contrast to Los Angeles. Perhaps L.A. is in it's own little world, and after being there for a few years my perception has shifted, my sense of normal every day life has changed, and I think everywhere else in the US is going to compare. Thank g-d it doesn't. Though I love my new home in its own special little way, tonight for the first time in months I could look up at the sky and see a blanket of stars beaming back down at me. I don't get that back on the west coast, where the city lights are so bright you can only make out one or two of the larger constellations. Of course, this being the end of November it's much colder here than the golden shores of So Cal. After a few minutes of star gazing my nipples froze solid and fell off. I said I was a country boy at heart, not a fucking Eskimo. 3:00 a.m. - Nov. 30, 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- mental checklists ...my suitcase is full, getting ready for my trip to ohio. just a few things left to pack in the morning. i have that kind of jumpy feeling you get before a big trip, excited & anxious at the same time. i'll be writing from the road, probably more casual entries like this. i want to keep a travel log this time and see how it turns out. right now my mental checklists are clicking into place: putting everything i need into neat little piles by the suitcase and carry-on. cell phone, wallet, keys, datebook. have my bathroom stuffed packed, it's the last thing to go into the carry-on. tomorrow's outfit is laying on top of the suitcase. alarm is set. i'll have that 'did i forget anything?' feeling for the next several hours. reading material? check. clothes to sleep in? check... it goes on and on in my mind. sox? check. i'm relaxing now and should get ready for bed soon, feeling prepared and ready for the day ahead... yah, right! i'm gonna be grumpy as hell at 9:00am and SO NOT WANT to deal with the airport. i don't get in until 7pm, which will be 10pm central time. an entire day getting to three airports half-way across the country. there is a little mental game i play in airports, kind of mean (in a fun kind of evil way), but funny. i will write down my winners in tomorrow's entry and explain it to you then (kind of hard w/o the results of the game) i'm looking forward to this trip, and will be posting as often as i can to update you on my exciting exploits in my hometown. 1:08 a.m. - Nov. 29, 2002 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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