Unmanaged, not Unmanageable... So Far

Some of you may have noticed that I posted awhile back on Facebook about seeking counseling. Suffice it to say that lately I've been stressing hard & working harder, and found myself overindulging in past vices that have no place in my life today. I reached out to my so-called wife & she has been gracious enough to help me get to my appointments in the burbs.

I felt for so long that my life was at a crossroads and lately it's starting to feel more and more like a dead end.

Without the structure and accountability of being in skool, I feel as if I'm just treading water, like there's some other, more important thing I'm meant to be doing. I've never felt like this before. Even when I was raving hard I always felt like that's what was supposed to be happening. These days just feel like drifting from one job to the other, tired all the time and getting the blues behind it all.

But like Tracy Chapman used to sing: I'm not breaking down/ I'm not falling apart/ I just lost a lil faith/ when you broke my heart.

In my journey towards making peace from my broken pieces (no copyright infringement intended), I'm coming to see that I have to honor my gifts, my passions: specifically writing & knitting & Doctor Who. To that end, I'll be updating at least one of my four blogs every day this month.

So fasten your seatbelts, Gentle Readers, it's bout to be a bumpy ride!

To Teach or Not to Teach?

That was the question. Whether it was nobler to suffer the daily humiliation of low pay, ignorant administrators, and slacker students or actually pay my own bills, without having to rely on friends and loved ones to bail my over-educated ass out of financial despair.

Some of you may remember that a couple of weeks ago, I got a call from my former department head at the Colledge, asking me to teach 2 sections of Spanish from 11AM-1PM on MWF this semester. As I'd been unemployed since June & under-employed since January, I initially said yes. It was one of those "when it rains, it pours" type situations, as I'd just gotten back my old job at Olivier's Restaurant in the French Quarter and I was gearing up for Tuesdays & Thursdays at the Med Skool to get started. After 2 months of being unemployed and with all my bills having "PAST DUE" stamped all over them, it seemed like a godsend.

Then I gave myself some time to really sit down and think about what this semester would look like:
Taking 2 buses every morning on MWF to get to Colledge (while carrying a change of clothes for my restaurant shift, not to mention whatever supplies I'd need for class) and then a 3rd bus to go downtown and work at the restaurant, and a 4th bus to go home after the restaurant closed at 10PM. TTH would be a bit more relaxed, as it only takes 1 bus to get back & forth from the Med Skool, and my days there generally start around 1PM. Saturday nights would be tied up at the restaurant, as that is a big $$$ night, so that would only leave me Sundays for laundry, errands, and personal entertainment. I found myself feeling exhausted just thinking about it all, and that was before I remembered how much out of class time it takes to grade tests and homework.

I read back over my blogs from this time last year, and remembered how unhappy I was then. How many days I woke up and just stared at the cracks in my ceiling, hoping the whole damn house would cave in just so I wouldn't have to drag myself across town, wondering if this was why I'd put in so much work to get a Master's Degree.

I tried to be more objective. I wrote a list of pros & cons about working at the Colledge. It looked something like this:

Pros:
Looks good on a résumé (but does it, really?)
Respectable (but is it, really?)

Cons:
Takes at least 1 month (2 pay cycles) to get the 1st paycheck
It took over 6 weeks for the Colledge to give me the password for my email.
Colledge doesn't take out state taxes (this year I owe LA $150 bc of that)
Taking 2 buses to get there.
Not having an office or any place to meet with students outside of class.
Unpaid meetings and professional development sessions.
No benefits (insurance, etc)
Based on a rumor I heard about adjunct teachers getting a raise, the pay works out to be $138 (pre-taxes) per class per week.

I stopped at the last item. I was all sad and angry and irate at how little my time was valued by the Colledge (and the educational system in a bigger sense, this stuff is quite typical for adjuncts) and the decision wasn't so agonizing. I average just about $138 per NIGHT at the restaurant. There haven't been many times in my life that I've been in a position to turn down work, but  I was glad to be able to Just Say No to being exploited by the Higher Education System.

As I reflected on it, working as an adjunct teacher  at Colledge just seems like a really stupid thing for me to do. I'm a lot of things, Gentle Readers, but stupid is not one of them.

Muted, but Not Monochrome

As my 39th birthday looms ever closer, there is something, well someone really, on my heart. Someone I won't see. Possibly not ever again.

Faithful readers will remember how I got all verklempt in the grocery store last April, missing my best gay guy  friend, Jacky. He & I met at the restaurant where we worked prior to Hurricane Katrina. We had a lot in common, both having grown up gay in rural South Louisiana & running a bit amok in NOLA in our 20s, and by the time we met, we were both trying to come up. There was no sexual chemistry there, but we got each other, laughed at the same things, were equally ruthless Scrabble players. We were a dream team at the restaurant, a big favorite with guests & management alike.We fled Hurricane Katrina together, and remained very close afterwards.Once I moved into my current apartment, he visited pretty frequently for Wine & Scrabble weekends. My sister, Diana & Jacky & I even rented a car together & drove to Austin from NOLA to welcome my other sister, Sara, home from Japan a few years ago.

He was the closest thing I had to a brother. 

He unexplainedly stopped responding to my text messages in December 2011, and in early January 2012, he sent me a text asking me not to contact him again. No explanation. I figured he got sober or got sick of how rough I talk to people or both. I honored his request for no contact for over a year, as much as it ate me up inside. 

It hurt like hell. This black empty feeling in my heart felt like it was swallowing me and finally I broke down & sent him an email:

It has been over a year since you asked me not to contact you & I haven't. I still don't understand why. All I can say is, whatever I did or said, I'm sorry.

I miss you all the time. Every single day, at least 1 thing happens to remind me of you. Of our friendship.

I can barely get thru a trip to Rouse's without bursting into tears. I keep hearing in my mind some funny thing we said or did and once or twice I've even been just about to tell you something, and I go to say it and you're not there and I don't know why.

I don't know what else to say. Please forgive me for whatever it was.

Sam

About a week later, he responded:

Sam,

Hope things are going well for you.

I made a decision to become the healthiest (physically, mentally, spiritually) that I could be, and I had to make some tough choices. I have been sober since Dec 7, 2011, and at the same time, could no longer afford to embrace your negative and constant belittling behavior. After the last conversation we had when you repeatedly called me and my decisions/thoughts/etc. "stupid" and "dumb" for the 8000th time, I finally had the courage to remove that negative energy from my life. I also realized that the majority of the reason why I had put up with that for so long was because you provided a haven  for me to get drunk. So I owed it to not only myself to delete negative energy from my life, but I owed it to you to stop taking advantage of the situation to benefit my addiction. I wish the best for you. Thanks for checking up on me; I think about you often as well. Especially during these past seasons of Drag Race, lol. I have forgiven you and will never forget the good times!

Jacky

If you don't feel it, you can't heal it, they say. Well, I sure felt this, like a hundred rats chewing on my guts. I must have read those lines at least a dozen times, trying to analyze every single nuance of meaning like some neurotic teen, but all I kept seeing was "I would have talked to you about this, but you are too damaged to bother with. You are just too fuckin mean to people for them to stand you unless they are loaded."

Anne Sexton, the mad poetess,  said:
I find now, swallowing one teaspoon
of pain, that it drops downward
to the past where it mixes
with last year's cupful
and downward into a decade's quart
and downward into a lifetime's ocean.

And so it was. I felt that multiplying teaspoon  wake up feelings of abandonment ranging from unanswered text messages to my biological father, whom I've never seen, who must have known even before I was born that I would just be too much trouble. All I could do was just lay down in bed and just fucking cry it out, sobbing til I had hiccups, going thru the Stages of Grief merry-go-round over and over. Denial-Anger-Bargaining-Depression-Acceptance-Denial-Anger---oh you get it.

I fell asleep and dreamed of Jacky and me, singing along with Dalida, (he'd learned the French lyrics phonetically), playing Scrabble on my porch on Grand Route St John, he plays the word "EQUATION," hitting 2 Triple word scores and getting 164 points. "You bitch!!" I say and then I look up and he's just gone. His glass of wine half-empty and nothing and nobody in his chair. And all the color just went out of everything, just drained away, blue skies and red wine all just turning different shades of grey and Dalida is drowned out by the ringing in my ears.

But I wake up. The world is in color again. Muted but not monochrome. The people I have in my life are an amazing, eclectic, loving bunch and I am grateful for all of them. I know I'm surrounded by love and affection and good will. But somehow the snack cakes aren't as sweet, the triple-shot espresso isn't as strong, and when the next person doesn't answer a text, it's really not the end of the world, just one less bell to answer.

Another one gone too soon...

Over the weekend I found out that my old friend, Dorian Estevez, died. Not even a month after his 35th birthday. He had high blood pressure, diabetes & recurring bouts of pancreatitis, his brother (another old friend) was telling me.

I can't say Dorian & I were super close, but we were both on the scene. I remember him as sweet but troubled, like so many of us were, including me. I wish I hadn't been on so many drugs back then & could tell you some story that would explain to you how he was but that's not the case.

I know I should remember that the generation of gay men before me were attending more funerals than birthdays when they were the age I am now, but it doesn't help. Not really. I didn't really imagine I'd ever see Dorian again (he'd moved away along time ago & I am practically a hermit these days) but to know that I definitely can't see him again...feels like a kick in the chest.

There's another side of me that thinks all this upset is just self-indulgent claptrap, after all think of his brother, who suddenly has more on his plate than I can even imagine. Think of his 17-year old daughter. Think of their loss. Think of it & pray for them & stop playin the martyr & just get up already & LIVE.

Live for those who can't do it any more. Live & love for those who don't want to do it any more. Live even when you don't want to do it any more. Live for yourself, for tomorrow, for whatever, but for pity's sake, just LIVE.

Let yourself cry out your anger & heartbreak of the ungodly unfairness of it all but then when the crying is done and you can breathe right again, LIVE.

At the intersection of Synchronicity & Sadness...

  No, the title isn't some quaintly-named street corner here in NOLA but rather the temporal/emotional space I was in when I encountered a Trinity of Tragedies (a Triptych of the Triflin? a Troupe of the Tired?) and an Eerie Epilogue. Please keep in mind I am in the midst of a third knitting project, worked in the Trinity Stitch at this time.

This definitely qualifies as part of the ongoing saga I think of as “Crazy Hoes I used to Know”

Picture it:
Holy Week, 2013.

On Wednesday I get an email from crazy ass Mo Gumbo (*of whom more here), with whom I had a brief series of emails (she sent from a cell number I didn't recognize) in January, when I disclosed that I had been workin at that ungodly Colledge. Once I realized it was her I stopped answering. In this warped version of Holy Week, she can be thought of as the Unholy Ghost in the Machine.

Had first interview with historic New Orleans collection.  They just requested my salary requirements.  NOW, how do I find you Sam?  Can I just buy you dinner or something?
Maybe ill try you at Colledge.
MY CELL is XXX-XXX-XXXX

Fuck.  Now I have to find a house.

My first thought was, I remember this Ho getting an advance to write a book, why does she find it so difficult to use subject pronouns? Then I thought, maybe that’s why that book never got published. Does she seriously think I’m about to call her? At any rate, in my tradition of crossing the street when I see crazy coming, I didn’t respond to this email & went about my day.

On Holy Thursday, I was on the 10:30AM bus, knitting, heading to work at the Med Skool, and I see this guy I’ll call Scooter getting on the bus. We were boyfriends for a few days during the last few months of my Wilderness Years. This would have been in late 2001, after my quasi-literate dentally challenged transsexual roommate had moved out (AKA gotten arrested) and I was working a nightclub on Bourbon St. Scooter was a stripper at a nameless skeevy white trash gay bar a few blox away & around the corner. He was new to the scene & even though I knew I was on my way out, we had some fun while we could, but honestly our relationship was as plastic as the star shaped ring filled with glittery liquid & reflective hearts that I gave him.

I’m not sure when the last time was we saw each other, but it was definitely some time before my last hurrah during Mardi Gras 2002, and yet there he was, struggling to figure out where to put the money in the fare box. He looked pretty much the same, still slender and fair skinned and dressed to kill. Real Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses (I can spot a fake a mile away) a Gucci Belt, Versace Jeans. As he walked towards me, I looked up from my knitting & said “Scooter?”

To which he replied: “Oh my GAWD! Sam!! I remember you! We had sex!”

My eyes just got really big & all I could say was: “Yes, We did.”

“Did I just say that real loud on this bus?”

“Yes, you did, now sit down & let’s talk, since I can’t look at anybody else on this bus.”

So he sat down & we caught up a bit. He’s just move back from someplace else, looking for an apartment since whoever he is living with now is putting him out for not sleeping with him or some foolishness like this.

As he keeps talking, I realize he’s speaking in that super fast yet getting quieter way that ppl have a tendency to do when their minds are on fry from doing that nasty crystal meth. Of course, the fact that he started this whole conversation with the sentence “We had sex!!” prolly should have been my first clue that the child was on drugs, but there you have it.

He says something about wishing his mom would just give him the money for his apartment deposit without wanting to control him; he is 30 years old, after all.

(Yes, hoes, this means he was 18 when we were fooling around)

“Grrl that is the whole point. You are 30 years old, you shouldn’t need your mom to pay for anything, and if you do, you really ought to expect her to want some control since evidently whatever you are doing isn’t getting it”

He kinda got that faraway look that people get when they are all hazed out but hear the truth & can’t dispute it. Then he changed the subject, asking if we were at our bus stop yet. Since we were both going to the end of the line, we kept talking. He seemed really impressed that I’ve stayed off the scene and out of trouble for over a decade. He honestly asked “How did you do it?” and it really wasn’t something I could answer in the 5 minutes I had before I had to be walking into work. I really wanted to just call off & spend the day talking to this beautiful creature, to see where it all went wrong & maybe even share some hope with him. So we exchanged numbers. As he stepped away he said something that kinda shook me up. He said something about me getting some syringes from the med skool.

So I had this image of this gorgeous little thing hurting himself like this all day. It just made me so feckin sad. It isn’t what I wanted for him. I know I couldn’t have saved him but damn. He comes from a good family.

I texted him when I got out of work & he said he wanted to come over, so I told him which bus to take & everything he needed to know & he said he’d be leaving around 7:30.

7:30 came & went, no Scooter. Around 8 I texted “Are you still coming over?” & then around midnight I just sent “???” as I was wrapping up the dinner I’d cooked for us. I’d been too upset about getting stood up to eat anyway. No fool like an old fool.

At 1AM this man calls me & says, “Hey! Is it too late to hang out? You need to get a car”

“Grrl what happened to you?”

“Oh well, I got kinda trapped in the bathhouse & I couldn’t leave. I still wanna hang out with you though. When are you free tomorrow?”

“Grrl it’s OK. I’m OK. If the best thing you can come up with on a Thursday Night is being slung up in the bathhouse, I don’t think we really need to be hangin out.”

Silence for a sec & “Ok, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

We hung up & I was eventually able to get some (troubled) sleep. I meditated, prayed, whatever you wanna call it & on Good Friday, I sent him this text:

“Look. I can’t see you. You lied to me last night & that’s it. I don’t deal with liars or ppl who choose addict behavior over spending time with me. I’m not mad, but I have pretty basic rules. Living up to your word is a Big 1. I wish you the best & hope you can find a way to make better choices.”

I felt free after I sent this. I did some more praying & meditating & chanting & finally came up with something to tell Mo Gumbo. I felt like I needed closure & didn’t want to hear anything else from her, so I sent this:

I am not sure what it is you want from me, and frankly, I don't care any more. You and I are not friends. We are not going to be friends. It is not that you "hung up on me when you were having a bad time" it's that you called in the middle of the night, asked me to call up your latest baby daddy to tell him you were going to have an abortion & then when I wouldn't do it & tried to talk sense to you, you hung up on me. I am not angry about this any more. If anything, I'm thankful, it made my decision to end our friendship that much easier.

 You know why I didn't immediately start blowing up your phone, calling back? Because you didn't want what I had to offer. I couldn't see then (and can't see now) any good reason to continuously interact with you as you go from one self-induced crisis to the next.

 The fact that your next communication with me was an attempt on your part to take back some knitting needles (with no apology nor even mention of your frankly atrocious behavior)  was the nail in the proverbial coffin. That series of increasingly desperate phone calls were the clods of dirt covering the coffin & frankly this email is the headstone.

 Please understand that I am not angry with you. Just tired of all the lies and the drama and the nonsense. One of your messages said something like "I've seen you forgive ppl for lots of worse things" ---I do forgive you for being so out of control, Mo Gumbo. I honestly do. Forgiveness does not mean that I need or even want you back in my life.

 This is not just a goodbye to you, Mo Gumbo, but also to taking on problems that are not mine in some vain attempt to make myself out to be a hero. Goodbye to perpetuating a pattern of behavior that may have worked at one time but is now just exhausting.

 I pray you find peace.

All this spiritual cleansing makes a gal hungry, and my grrl Daniella & I had plans to visit our fave restaurant, El Gato Negro, with our re-usable signature cups! She came over to my place first and we talked for awhile & I gave her the full 411 about Mo Gumbo & Scooter & erry thang.

When we parked Daniella’s car & were heading to meet Nanette, I looked over at Daniella & said “Bitch I feel like I am on red alert for some other ghost from my past to come around some corner & accost me.”

We had a laugh & then a great lunch (as usual) and as Daniella and I were walking back to the car, about a block from where we'd parked, I saw this homeless man in a doorway, sitting next to a pair of crutches, telling some other guy that he didn’t wanna live past 40, and he was already 40.

As I was walking by, I glanced at him and my blood absolutely ran cold. It was Pablo. A straight guy from the Wilderness Years. He was at my 25^th birthday party. He came to my house. A real Latin Lover looking type, usually in a black leather motorcycle jacket with Morrissey hair, high cheekbones, a chiseled jaw, and naturally tan skin and dark eyes with a slightly crooked front tooth that flawed his perfection in such a way that it made him all the more beautiful.

All that beauty was gone, those cheeks & that jaw obscured by a layer of fat and that swarthy skin tone just grey, all grey and ashy. Hair all chopped off like a prisoner. That adorable crooked tooth now practically perpendicular to his gums and stained from smoking a billion cigarettes and Lawd knows what else over the last 13 or so years since we’d seen each other.

My 1^st instinct was to give him a hug & when I bent down to do it, I caught a whiff of 3-days-no-showering & misery. Unmistakable. Made sadder by him reaching for the cigarette butt I’d just thrown down and even moreso when he started grabbing at my re-usable (recently refilled) cup from El Gato Negro. I stood up and he was talking crazy to me, telling me that he’d recently tried to kill himself, he showed me fresh scars on his forearms and pulled up his shirt and there were bullet scars and other scars and then he pulled up his left pant leg & showed me his calf. Where there should be muscle and skin there is a huge scar like a big piece of his calf muscle has been ripped off & cauterized. I seriously could have burst into tears right then and there.

He asked for a sip, he asked for a smoke. I took the full pack of ciggies I’d opened on the way to the restaurant & tried to hand it to him. He wanted me to stay and talk and I couldn’t. He tried to enlist Daniella: “He’s leaving me! Make him stay!” and I just said, “Baby I can’t stay. I’m on my way someplace and honestly this is too much. Please take these cigarettes & let me get outta here.”

Daniella & I walked to the car in silence. As she was bringing me to Hahnville to visit my Grandmother for Easter weekend, the Trinity bit hit me. The Younger, Still Beautiful Young Man, The Once Beautiful Older Man, and the Unholy, Never Beautiful, Ghost in the Machine.

By the time I got to Geese’s house, I got not 1 but 3 (3 again?) emails from Mo Gumbo:

I get it.
You were wrong on multiple levels and right on others.
But given the overall purpose of your words, I am not sure that truth is an endeavor.

I've paid the prices and suffered enough pain to have HAD to change.

You were wrong about the needles.
Yes, I did want a few back.  And I did apologize for asking as i explained I had no idea my daughter would begin to knit.  Anyone with a heart would understand my conflict.  I asked for a few, or the bag.  Not both.  I wanted to giver her a piece of my grandmother, not the while kit and caboodle.

Based on this email, I see you may not care about that piece of the "truth."

You might have guessed that I got off the phone and sat upon examining your words, harsh as they can be.  I have more than once expressed my appreciation for the same.

Since then, much has changed.
I have no drama to share.  Have only done good.  Dug deep and found my worth.

I will send you some cash and an address.  If you choose to send some I'd my grandmother to my daughter, my soul will smile, exhale, and thank you again.

I will send it to you at Delgado.

I hope you are getting the rest that you need, from many things.  

Then this:

Oh.  My salary requirements could eliminate me from consideration.  Finally have a chance at the perfect job.  The one I would try to retire from.
But I may not get it.  I'm sure you are not the only to hope that I don't.

But I'm in a position to be good either way. And I think that may be part of the point.

If u are as repelled as you claim, you should not have a problem forwarding those things to my daughter.  It would be the good and right thing to do.

And finally this, with “My Husband Can Pick Them Up” as the subject:

Since you are more interested in having a whipping post and using me as a spring oars to work out your issues than simply being a better person than me and doing the right thing, Phil can come get the needles for my daughter.  Or since my dad taught there I can have someone from English department get them from you.  No need to say why.

I had no idea how much hate/contempt you carry.  But my grandmother and daughter have nothing to do with it.  I gave you those out of friendship.  If you are not interested in that friendship, in offering you cash to get them back.

If you didn't need the cash, just be willing to drop them by English department.

I'm sorry for the discomfort I caused you.  I've been a horrible friend.
But I don't deserve your shit, and from the words you wrote, you don't want mine.  So please be willing to drop off the needles/bag.  Dont do it for me.  Do it for my grandmother and daughter who never did shit to you.

I love you and that is that.

Ill pay a bill by phone if that will help.  Send you an amazon gift card, whatever.

Now, instead of being a friend and responding, how about just make it a business transaction?  How bout just tell me what a bitch like me has to do to get those back from the person who wrote all that venom?

So, please.  If you are willing to drop off with someone for any fee at all, please let me know.  If not, because of what they are....I will come see you myself if I have to.

Not one person you respect could possibly think it right of you to keep those, regardless of your depiction of who I AM.

DO RIGHT, even if you think I am incapable. 

Oh lawd bitch, Really?

I shared all of this with my lifelong BFF, Sandi & she was as appalled about this crazy ho’s off-the-hook emails as I’m sure you are.

So I took some time & dug down deep to try to make this Psycho Hose Beast understand. On Easter Sunday, I sent her this:

I'm not interested in having a whipping post or anything else. I'm neither angry nor contemptuous. I'm not doing anything to you or your child. I do not have anything of yours; the bag & the needles went to Salvation Army about a month after I gave you an address & never received anything.
Please stop contacting me. I believe I have been abundantly clear that I have forgiven you for all mistakes on your part and misunderstandings on mine.
I do not wish you harm or suffering, I just wish you would stop all of this madness.

She sent back “Wow. Have a great week.”

This makes me think she may begin to grasp what I was telling her here.

I was knitting a project in the Trinity stitch & I remember thinking, ok, that’s 3, but if you remember, you need 4 stitches to make the stitch (because you are making 3 from one & then one from 3) so I started to wonder what the 4th kick in the balls would be.

I had to wait about a week, before I got a call from an old school friend who told me that one of my students from last semester (the one whose eyes never tracked right & was always talking crazy & clearly on drugs) had been found dead at home. She was only 31.

Don’t get me wrong, I could see this person was on a bad path, but I really didn’t think it would end this soon. I don’t feel guilty, or that anything that I could have done would have stopped this tragedy but DAMN. So fuckin sad. Nobody has said what the specific cause of death was, but it clearly wasn’t murder & otherwise healthy 31 year olds don’t just drop dead from natural causes, so I’m guessing it was drugs.

I am just trying to figure out what does it all mean? Why am I coming across these people at this time, in this way? I am leaning towards “There but for the Grace of God/The Universe/Krsna/WhateverYouNeedToCallIt Go I”

GLOW:The Story of the Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling

It is 1986. I am an effete 12-year-old, reading the Letters page of the TV Focus (the Times-Picayune's answer to the TV Guide, as the title might imply) and there is a letter of complaint about this new show called GLOW. Cheesy jokes & women in skimpy clothes wrestling on TV at 11:30 on Sunday nights? Oh the scandal! The decline in morals!

I remember the reply noting that GLOW's ratings were through the roof, and that the editorial staff seemed to think the letter-writer was rather overwrought. (Try sayin  that when you're drunk) There was a picture of Americana, a screengrab from one of the rap segments, in full  regalia, surrounded by other glamorously dressed women. Well, I had been mourning the loss of Wonder Woman on TV for several years now & I needed a costumed heroine or two in my imaginative life. I was not let down.

Four years later, The Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling had been on tour, there was a magazine about the show, the GLOW girls were on talk shows, game shows, you name it and then one Sunday night, the girls were gone. I frantically scanned the TV Focus. No one was writing in to ask what happened to the GLOW girls. No one was talking about it on the news. I was scandalized & saddened. But I had lost Doctor Who in a similarly inexplicable manner &  had already learned that liking these two shows made me an outcast at school so I just kinda tucked GLOW away in a corner of my heart & got on with things.

Cut to February 28, 2013. I've been following the genesis of this documentary about the GLOW girls for what feels like ages, thanks in large part to Angelina Altishin, who played Little Egypt during season 2.. I contributed the few pennies I could to the project & the reward was a digital screener of the film. My hands trembled a bit when I got the email & clicked the link. My sister saw the film at a festival in ATX & had warned me that I would be touched by these women & their stories but nothing could have prepared me for what this hour & 14 minutes had in store 

This award-winning documentary is a great overview of the TV show in general and takes the time to give us glimpses into the lives of a few of the stars of the show, such as Matilda the Hun, Big Bad Mama,  Susie Spirit, and the Heavy Metal Sisters, but Brett Whitcomb's superb direction makes the unforgettable Mount Fiji the star of the story. You are one hard-hearted ho if you don't shed a tear when you watch the footage of Mt Fiji body slamming Bob Eubanks, host of the game show Card Sharks followed by Fiji today, unable to walk due to bad knees & diabetes, in a nursing home for the past several years, but still the same gentle giantess who can find it in her heart to worry if her former co-stars are OK, if they're eating, how their families are, in the face of her own raw-edged anguish.

Fans beware: You may experience shock when you hear Godiva, Matilda the Hun & Ninotchka all speaking in their real accents, I know I did. & on the topic of Matilda the Hun, she is a well-spoken, hard-working woman who knew how to really kick ass in her day. I mean, this bitch wrestled a bear when state wrestling laws wouldn't let her wrestle men (AKA the men were too damn afraid of her to mess with her & hid behind the law) & even though she has some health struggles these days, she still finds time to give a birthday slam-o-gram to a resident of her retirement community! It's a really big shame the film-makers didn't show the full version of the song "Nasty & Mean" so you could actually see this mad woman eating raw meat! Her dedication to the sport (at the very real cost of her own health) is far from sad. You can bet I'll be picking up her autobiography ASAP!!

As I watched I remembered being that gay adolescent with a big imagination & how I lived with violence & yet here were these women, these bewigged goddesses (to steal my sister's phrase) who made a living in violence & still found time to crack a joke or sign autographs for fans even younger than me! I remember thinking if they can do it so can I. Susie Spirit actually broke her arm in a match against a Headhunter & the 1st episode I saw featured a segment on the accident & her recovery & she could get through it & look good & so could I. As an adult, with all the g-strings & buns everywhere (OH LAWD BEASTIE), I can totally see where it would be hot for some guys my age but for me these chicks were like comic book superheroes come to life. It was a pure escape, part action adventure, part Hee-Haw, part Fabergé infomercial & I loved every single second of it. It was like nothing else on TV and made me think of the endless possibilities of the medium.

I have to admit, though, I know a bit more than the casual viewer about this film & there is a lot of information that gets left out in Bradford Thomason's effort to present a coherent, concise narrative. I imagine a large part of this is due to the fact that the show's co-creators, David McClane & Matt Cimber declined to participate in the documentary, but I'd have liked a more chronological approach to the show's 4 years, to say nothing of an explanation for Miles Headlock! The only other complaint that I have is that the GLOW girls are only ever identified as their character names & even the closing credits do not list their real names respective to the characters. OK so I guess that's really 2 complaints, but they are related.

I absolutely recommend this movie, even if you are not familiar with the era. It is an inspiring story for all of us. I give it 4/5 stars.

You can check it out here:
http://www.glowthemovie.com/

You can also wait for it to be shown on Logo as part of its What?! Documentary Season:
http://www.logotv.com/video/misc/882015/what-logo-documentaries-glow-the-story-of-the-gorgeous-ladies-of-wrestling-preview.jhtml

The DVD is scheduled for release on March 26 & is currently available for pre-order on Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/GLOW-Story-Gorgeous-Ladies-Wrestling/dp/B00A6TMA0S/ref=reg_hu-rd_add_1_dp
(Clearly this is also on my Wish List, hint hint)

If you are interested in catching up with the GLOW girls, lots of them are on Facebook & Little Egypt has been an amazing advocate for the showing, arranging reunions & so much more & her page is a great clearing house to:
https://www.facebook.com/littleegypt

Of course you can always scour Youtube for old matches (sometimes in other languages), & Little Egypt has a great web series on there called Tagging with Little Egypt, where you can get some real behind the scenes scoop from legends of GLOW like Americana, Hollywood & Ashley Cartier:

http://www.youtube.com/user/angelinaaltishin

& if all of this still hasn't satisfied your appetite for spangly spandex & crimped hair nostalgia, you can also buy GLOW DVDs here:
http://www.gorgeousladiesofwrestling.com/

Thanks to the film-makers & participants for presenting us with such a compelling story, here's hoping there will be even more in-depth features (season by season, for example) in the future!

Gallifrey 2013--The Weekend of A Lifetime

Yes, Gentle Readers, I'm gonna take the lid off the cookie jar & tell you about my favorite time of year. If you don't know what Gallifrey One (AKA Gally) is, the simple answer is that it's a Doctor Who convention held in L.A. every Spring. The more complex answer is that it is a place where I've met friends that feel more like family than you could believe. People who could just look at me & know what I'm thinking & finish my sentences who don't even know my last name. This particular year, my BFF since age 14 & her wife came for their first time & it was beyond magic to watch my  "families" blend so beautifully. I'm going to try to deliver a linear narrative, before it all fades into an impressionistic haze of elation-filled moments.

Day 0 (Thursday, Feb 14): I arrive at LobbyCon (the unofficial, ongoing party that starts whenever fans begin to gather in & around the LAX Marriott and keeps going til the last of us leaves) around 10:30pm Pacific Time. Please understand that during the week leading up to this I was absolutely manic with excitement over this event. I could hardly sleep, but fortunately I had a knitting project (a 4th Doctor inspired scarf for my Sistah, Roy) to keep me occupied, not to mention the never-ending late-night 1-man fashion-parade that I kept doing with all of my outfits. So you can imagine that I was positively buzzing with energy (not to mention those 2 double Bloody Marys I'd had on the plane) when United Airlines (FINALLY) let us off the plane & I was able to grab my luggage & get on the hotel shuttle. The 1st person I see is my friend Sal, dressed as Colin Baker & we share hugs & he gives me my 1st ribbons of the con. I head down to the poolside room that Josh & Roy (my Gally roomies) have already secured. My BFF & her wife & her cousin are already sitting round a table, chatting with some new friends they've made. Unfortunately, one of these ppl had already had too much to drink with rather dire consequences for some of the landscaping, so I briefly said "Hi, Hoes" & kept on trucking to the room, where I was able to give Roy his present, hug on Josh's neck & put down my bags. After fixing the 1st of many Grey Goose & essence of cranberry juice cocktails, my client, Jason Shepherd met me & I gave him the 4th Doctor-inspired scarf in velvet chenille that he'd commissioned from me:

Someone has a pic of me & him & Roy & Josh in our scarves...

Much joy ensued as I trucked up to the lobby area, distributing some Mardi Gras Swag to friends old & new. & PS No I didn't make anyone show me they titties. In fact, the few titties that were voluntarily shown I'd rather not have seen at all, but there you have it. Despite operating on very little sleep, I was awake & chatting the house down until 5am (AKA 7am to my poor lil body clock).

Day 1: Eyes pop open at 9am after a few hours of chaotic, clairvoyant dreams and I'm in & out of the shower & off to breakfast at Denny's with the legendary race-bending cosplayer, Quiana Howard & my Gally Roomies.

Beauties at breakfast

As many of you will know, I have had some financial setbacks the last couple weeks at the Art Markets, so my budget was restricted to autographs, meals & TARDIS console photos, so I headed straight to the Dealers' room where Classic Series companions Peter Purves & Debbie Watling were signing. They were both so lovely! When Peter found out I was from NOLA, he asked about how I made it thru the storm & when Debbie found out I had a tattoo, we had a lil talk about her tattoo (OMG Who knew Victoria Waterfield had a tattoo?!?!!!!) & its slightly taboo location.

I spent most of the rest of the day re-connecting with old friends & got my old home friends to join me for a quick picture with  the lovingly-restored TARDIS console prop from the 1995 TV Movie:

Hold on!!!!

Pretty soon it was time for the opening ceremonies, so we went into the hot, overstuffed big ballroom & welcomed the guests & Shaun Lyon, who is part of the team that's been running this con so successfully for the last 24 years, gave us a great surprise treat when he presented a screening of a classic series episode of Doctor Who, previously thought to be lost, Airlock, from the story "Galaxy 4." If you don't understand why this is a big deal to me, how in the hell did you get on this blog anyway????

After this was over, I went outside to the smoking patio in front of the ballroom area to find Big K (my BFF's wife) chatting the house down with legend of British stage & screen, Michael Jayston, who played the Valeyard (or, if you ask Kelli, the Valkyrie...sigh) during the Trial of a Time Lord season. Going into it, I thought these hoes were my entourage, but it looks like I ended up being their paparazzi instead:

Well, then we took a lil dinner break & it was time for more Grey Goose & essence of cranberry & crazy talk. We went into the MST 337 presentation of Daleks Invasion Earth 2150AD (yes, like Mystery Science Theater but strictly for DW related stuff.) It was funny, although the sound wasn't great, & that room was too hot for me to sit in one place while half-drunk without falling asleep so we headed over to the Party Called Mercy for awhile, & then we hung out poolside til security say we had to leave the area due to noise complaints. We didn't let it slow us down though & before you knew it, Miss Stacey & I had made some new friends & gotten invited to their room party onna 5th floor. Great times had by all--I had my first taste of "Irish Kisses" (Chambord & Bailey's shots---!!!!! YUMMMMM)....in fact I had such a great time I'm not really sure when I made it back to my room....

Day 2: Eyes wide open again at 9ish AM & I got to meet up with my long-time Gally Gal Pal, J'-enne D'amian & her son Kai (whose outfit kinda matched mine):

I swear we didn't plan this

Josh (aka Roommate Prime) & I had breakfast at Denny's on our own & it was nice to get a lil 1-on-1 time with him as I ate the hell outta my Breakfast skillet.Then I was off for more adventures. The day's big highlights included: running into Anjli Mohindra in the hallway, sharing an elevator with Sylvester McCoy before getting his autograph, as well as talking at some length with the incredible Freema Agyeman about her work on Law & Order:UK, as well as the new hit show here in the US, The Carrie Diaries.

She's even prettier in person!!

Then I felt the time was right for a costume change & I headed over to that TARDIS console for my 2nd photo with it (yes hoes, planning this was like working on my own personal press junket. You would think I was Rihanna):

My scarf looks even better in person too, & it looks Fierce here....

We were going to try to watch the Masquerade of Mandragora (the cosplay contest) that evening, but since the room was so packed, we decided to hang out some more, mostly with Michael Jayston. I may have attended a somewhat infamous party at some point, but I can neither confirm nor deny these rumors.......

Day 3: last official day of the Con, and guess who's once again up before 10AM. This day I was moving slowly in the AM & kinda stumbled around a bit til my roomies grabbed me & we headed down the road for our last breakfast skillets....This was the day I was closest to feeling hungover, although mostly I was just dehydrated, but still lookin' cute & feelin cute enough to be photographed once more by that TARDIS console, this time dressed in my TARDIS drag:

Time Ram!!

By this point in the con, I'd gotten all the autographs & pics I'd hoped for (and then some) and I once again, spent my time to its best advantage by catching up with the other Legendary Gally Children like Handsome Timmy D, Taylor Deathray, Eva "Rogue" Monahan, Heather Riggs, & oh so many more....I even made some plans with a certain cosplayer to do a lil gender-bending cosplay next year, but I'm keeping that secret til the time comes.

You may notice that I attended no panels this year. It was not from lack of interest but rather lack of time between my punishing schedule of pictures, signings & socializing, not to mention the sheer number of ppl in the rooms. This year Gally limited tix to 3200 & I can tell you it was still too crowded for my liking in the main room at least. This is not a complaint by any means, I don't feel I missed out on the Gallifrey experience in any way (this is my 5th, after all). Also, the programming was very cleverly arranged so it never felt like 3200 ppl in the hallways. Mad props, as usual to Shaun Lyon, Robbie Bourget, Dan Sandifer, & all the other volunteers & staff who made this the best Gallifrey yet. I apologize to anyone I forgot to mention in this post, I haven't forgotten you in my heart, I was just trying to keep this a reasonable length.

Anyway, so there was more boozing more fun, & more time with Michael Jayston poolside on Sunday night. I swear, my gals & I were the envy of many as Mr Jayston held court at our table, talking over topics ranging from working with Petula Clark in Phantom of the Opera to Lalla Ward's lesbian affair after her break-up with Tom Baker. Michael Jayston was a real class act. Even though I'm sure we'd all have just been happy to listen to him talk, he actually asked us questions and let us tell our stories as well. Of course there was always that lil fan voice in my head saying "OMG we are partying with the Valeyard!!!!!!!!!!!!" but I think I was cool most of the time. 

My Grrls eventually went to bed & I twirled out to LobbyCon with a sparkly, flashing wand, that I later gifted to my amazingly talented cosplayer friends, Mette & Bryan. I know a buncha ppl took pics of me with this damn thing, so I'd appreciate it if you posted them......

The only mistake I made all weekend was actually going to bed on Sunday night when I should have just stayed up, bc I missed my direct flight home by *that* much & had to get re-ticketed for a flight with a layover in Houston. I had such a marvellous weekend that this setback didn't even bother me. I just kept going back to the Con in my mind, thinking of the surprise french kiss I'd gotten (oh you know who you are, you naughty, tall thing!!) or how I literally rolled on the floor laughing with my UK sister, Ali Pearce, or any number of infinitely joyful moments that no single blog could ever hope to capture. 

I know many of my fellow Gally members are having some post-con depression (as I usually do) but this year, it feels different somehow. Instead of being sad that it's over I'm still as happy as hell that it happened at all & really looking forward to doing it again next year.....

Build High For Happiness!!!

New Year, New Me?

Yes, I do realize that it is the end of January.
Yes, I do realize I promised a funny story about 1 of the many Crazy Hoes I used to know.
Yes, I said, YES.

Ooh sorry just had a James Joyce moment (congratulate yourself if you got the reference before I mentioned it & take away 5 points if you initially thought I was quoting a song by Amber from the early 2000s)

Since my last post on this blog, I found myself (yet again) at a crossroads. I spent most of my Christmas break with my friends & family in St Charles Parish, filling my time with knitting & crazy talk (ooh wee, especially with my Grandma--we have given ourselves new nicknames, she calls me Scary Crow & I call her Silly Crow) but it was not all so frivolous as it may sound. I spent a lot of that time just being quiet, writing (longhand) in my journal, trying to figure out the Next Step. Much of it seemed predicated on the other people's actions, especially with regard to whether or not I was going to go back to work at the Colledge.

Although I had no desire to return to work there, I knew that I'd go if I were asked; a regular paycheck, no matter how pitiful (Seriously, $100 per week per class???) is a big draw for a broke bitch about to enter the dreaded Student Loan Repayment. In case you are thinking that I was just kind of not wanting to go back to Colledge, let me make something clear that I was not able to share last semester: every Monday & Wednesday, when I had to catch the 5pm bus to teach from 7pm-8:15, I spent most of the day in bed, paralyzed with anxiety & dread, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what happened to my life, half-hoping that a meteor would fall either on my house or on the Colledge & I'd not have to go there any more. Seriously.

Well, as you have probably guessed, the Colledge never contacted me one way or the other about teaching this semester & I can tell you with no reservations that I have never been so glad to lose a job in my whole life. It was more than just being unhappy with a job (as I see now), it affected every other area of my life: I wasn't knitting or writing or doing any of the creative things that give my tawdry lil existence meaning. I allowed the whole situation (from the asinine administration to surly students to paycheck problems) to annihilate my tenuous grip on self-esteem & was beginning to get desperate. I gave myself 100% permission to indulge in food binges while mindlessly staring at one screen (TV, Phone, Computer) or another, and often more than one at a time.

I spent New Year's Eve in my home town, at home with my best friend of 20+ years, just the two of us, drinking a little &  passing the time, talking things over, watching her neighbors' illegal fireworks from the driveway. It wasn't some star-studded affair & I didn't need it to be. I needed that quiet, that respite from the stress & the strain of it all in order to find my center & I got it. I was able to achieve some clarity & perceive how much of my unhappiness in 2012 was due to choices I made & how much power I actually have to create my own happiness.

I'd spent much of 2012 feeling very reactive instead of proactive--the jobs  I'd actively pursued (seriously I sent out over 400 resumes) didn't pan out & I let it defeat me & just took the job at the Colledge out of urgent financial need rather than any real passion or desire. I had permitted myself to succumb to a deep depression that was only reinforced by my addict behavior (Damn you, Little Debbie).

I would love to tell you that I just stood up one day & said something inspiring & POOF my whole life was fixed. That isn't how it happened though. It is a gradual process. I now keep a notebook handy while knitting so I can jot down any revelations or observations, as well as track my knitting progress over time &  I now see that the universe is giving me a different set of opportunities than what I had expected. My experiences this month at the Frenchmen Art Market are showing me that I can actually monetize my art work & I have decided to put focus on that, on growing my business & nurturing my soul. This is an exciting new year & there are so many amazing experiences on the horizon that I get giddy if I think of them too long.

I have no need to torment myself at some low-paying, soul-sapping job when I possess so many blessings and talents. I am grateful that when I have asked for help, I have received it. I am glad that I had those 2 semesters at Colledge, the bills stayed paid & I learned so much from the experience. I will probably keep learning from that experience as time passes--that is the way the universe works. I am eagerly looking forward to the rest of 2013. I have already opened up my etsy store & am planning to launch a new blog, focused on my Knitting.

Fear not, Gentle Reader, I will still be updating this blog (hopefully with more frequency) and plan to include more TV  & film reviews here (What do you think I'm doing while knitting?) as well as the Realness/Wrongness blog, for your schadenfreude delight.

Ooh, before I forget, here is the link to my etsy store, I plan on adding more items after I see how sales go this weekend (don't wanna list a bunch of stuff & then have to pull them bc they got sold over the weekend)

http://www.etsy.com/shop/WittyKnitterWearhaus

I didn't forget about that chapter of Crazy Hoes I used to Know, either, just hold tight, I got something good for you.


Thank you for reading this & supporting me on my  journey!