I Got Scathed

Yeah. Remember how I almost got nailed Mardis Gras by some asshole in a truck who ran me up onto the grass and I felt, like, really lucky because I escaped unscathed? Well, Friday, I got scathed, but good.

I got paid Thursday and paid the balance of my rent and my huge utility bill, which didn't get my power back on. I found out today that this is because Entergy (the fucking shitlords of the universe)tacked an additional $25 "deposit" onto my account, which I now have to come up with, too, bringing my total "deposit" for utilities to a whopping $275. My actual power bill was $67. They are fucking PIRATES!

Got back and met one of my neighbours, who offered to loan me some power via a 100ft extension cable, so I had limited power over the week-end (enough for TV at night and charging my laptop and cell phone). Went to work for 6 on Friday and almost made it. I had just signalled to turn left into the store parking lot when I heard the vehicle that had turned on the street behind me speed up, and then heard tires squeal. I tried to get over as far as I could to the right, but the right rear quarter panel hit me and knocked me over the handlebars. Cleverly, I avoided more serious injury by letting my face take most of the impact.

By the time I could get up to my hands and knees, the silver SUV that whacked me was crossing College Drive. I walked to work, scraped, bruised and bleeding. They called the police and EMS, and I got treated and filled out reports. I didn't get a license plate, so they probably won't find her. It's hard to get a license plate when you are headed over the handlebars, towards the pavement. I worked until 10 and got a ride home. I had to walk to work the next day, but I went to work. I had Sunday off, so I did wash with Travis and Fernando and ate diner with them. I was so stiff and sore Sunday, I almost didn't go. I still hurt. I'm going to have a nice scar above my lip. It will take a long time to heal.

And all for what? Because some cunt in an SUV couldn't wait a few seconds for me to make a turn. I get smashed up, hurt and scarred while she drives away. This isn't my first little mishap: there have been about twenty over the past 40 years or so of riding a bicycle. I cannot state this strongly enough: Baton Rouge is not a bike-friendly city. In fact, a lot of drivers here are openly hostile. A lot of the ones who aren't just don't give a shit: you are just an annoyance, something in the way. You can't possibly catch up to them, so it is okay to leave you, bleeding, lying in the street. You don't drive a car, so you don't matter. Out of all the times I have been hit by cars, only three drivers actually stopped, and one of those, because she saw a police car stop where she left me. When the officer asked her why she left the scene of the accident she replied (and I quote):

"I don't have no cell phone. I was going home to call y'all."

Apparently, this was good enough for him: he didn't even ticket her. She had no insurance. I wound up in a cast for three months, lost both jobs, and got evicted from my apartment. She is still probably out there, driving her fat ass around.

If I sound bitter, I am. I also hurt, and I'm going to have a nasty scar. I hope that bitch burns in hell. I hope they all burn in hell!

And You Call Yourself a Fag?

No, really ... This is criticism that I have frequently had to address during my life, and recently received from a YouTube friend (although I think he was kind of joking ... I hope so, anyway). Okay. I am not your stereotypical male homosexual (if such a thing exists), and probably not the GAY IDEAL (whatever the fuck that is), but I am as gay as any of the rest of you ass-fucking butt-pirates, and there are more than a few guys out there who can attest to that, although I might not acknowledge all of their accolades. Okay, maybe some of them don't want mine, either: I'm man enough to admit that. But I still have my lavender card (although it may be a bit frayed around the edges, as am I).

I was a gay/jock/geek. I guess I still am one. I played football (both kinds) and swam and played tennis, in high school and at university. At the same time, I was a total science nerd, one of the very first of all of my peers to own a computer (I built my first one, from a kit) and I put together my high school's first laser. I collected comic books, played chess and devoured anything ScFi: books, movies, television shows. I was the only kid I knew who had a collection of Dr. Who on Super-8. The problem was, that the geeks never really trusted me, because I was a jock, and the jocks never trusted me, because I was a geek. Add to that the problem that Carl had a little secret that he didn't really feel like sharing with any of his peers, not in the early '70s ... well, I rather liked other boys, and not the way they liked me ... more like they liked girls.

Okay. I'm also rather eccentric. I think I would have been eccentric anyway, even if I had been born straight. I am well known for my rather erratic (sometimes) behaviour, my tendency to bring totally off-the-wall trivia into any conversation, and my rather voluminous, albeit sometimes pedantic, paedogougery. See, I use big words, too. This sometimes upsets people whose basic conversation revolves around what to wear, what's cool to dance to and who's fucking who this week. Sorry, but some fags are shallow, and, damn it, I'm not going to pretend to be just to fit in!

Oh, yeah: and I'm a bike fanatic. That's weird enough (unless you're a tree-hugger, which I am, too), but not quite considered as gay chic. I ride a bicycle every where I go. I do it because I love it. I have had cars and will probably have more motor vehicles in the future, but I am happy on two wheels, under my own power. It makes me feel alive in a way that riding around in a wheeled box doesn't. It also keeps me fit: still have a hot butt, really.

In my defense, I am listening to Pet Shop Boys as I am writing this post. Yeah, I wear jeans and t-shirts and cargoes everywhere, but I have an huge collection of really hot underwear that no straight boy would dare wear (unless he were European). And I love boys: always have, since I was one. One of my first crushes was Billy Mumy, the cute freckle-faced redhead on Lost in Space (a sixties SciFi show). He and I are the same age. When I was 11, I thought he was the cutest boy in the universe, and, watching old episodes of the show on Hulu, as I do a lot these days (having no cable), I remember exactly why. Of course, he is straight, married, with kids, but I still feel a bond with him, even though we never met. I knew I could never talk to other boys my age about what I was feeling then, but I could always imagine that I could tell him. I wonder what he would think if he read this. Well, I'm still a fan.

Oh, yeah: I write. Used to write poetry (gay?). Mostly fiction now. Of course, most writers are straight (I guess). I like art and stuff. I love to cook, and one of the best things about not being homeless anymore is that I get to cook at home. I love the word home. I say it like ET did: hoooome. I made black bean soup last night, with a Caesar salad and garlic bread. I guess straight guys could do that, too, but most of them don't.

Oh, yeah. Used to belong to Act Up (if anyone remembers that far back), did demonstrations and stuff. Hung out in drag bars, leather bars, dance bars, behind bars, too, if you count my 10 years or so of service as a bartender, mostly in gay clubs. Okay, I was a police officer for awhile, but wasn't there one in that fag dance band ... what was their name? And I am DEFINITELY NOT a uniform queen, thank you.

So, make up your own minds. What kind of a fag am I? Because I'm definitely queer, even if I don't fit in like some of you guys do, and I wouldn't have it any other way (because I've probably done that).