October 2005


Tequila. Halloween. Bumper pool. This picture makes me happy.

And yeah, that’s actually not Halloween lighting–the basement’s always lit like that. You can almost hear the Black Sabbath, can’t you?

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A: Fighting with both of them in the same day.

Yes, it’ll all be worked out eventually. The Gospel Bob fight wasn’t much of one; he’s very stressed about school and family issues, and we’re both stressed about our other relationships taking too much energy away from ours. We’re both working so much that maintaining one relationship is tricky; maintaining two requires a huge act of faith on our parts, and periodically we realize that our priorities have gotten skewed.

I realize that I don’t blog much about the whole polyamory thing, and that’s mostly because, after almost 10 years, we’ve finally (mostly) got it down. When jealousy and insecurities come up, we deal with them; when it seems we’re not spending enough time together, we make that a priority; when things are just fine and everyone’s getting along, we don’t pick fights just for the hell of it (that was always my thing. I try to avoid that now). We’re so not the fluffy bunny “poly people are so enlightened” types, and those people drive me (and GB) crazy, so we’ve never been much for groups, or personals, or yay-poly-it’s-all-so-good books like this. Gospel Bob really can’t even stomach the Ethical Slut, and I think that’s the best of the bunch (though that’s not saying much). Back in SF with our almost-all-queer friends, being poly was the thing to do–so much that I had friends confiding in me that they might, someday, maybe, want a monogamous relationship, but don’t tell anyone okay? At this point, GB and I had been attempting the open relationship for a few years already; we weren’t very good at it yet, but we were trying, and my (slight and relative) seniority among my friends earned me the role of late-night Paranoid Lesbian Hotline; all the girls trying out the open relationships would call me at 3 am when their girlfriends hadn’t come home from the bar. The PLH, naturally enough, eventually morphed into the PHH (the Paranoid Homo Hotline), as the boys decided they could be fucked up and neurotic too. And I tried to help, though GB and I were blundering along too. So there we all were: trying to have happy, healthy, contented relationships in ways that no one ever told us we could.

And then…a lot of things happened. And I’m inspired by BrightStar’s theme posts to do a serialization of how we got from there to here, because jeebus, it wasn’t pretty, but I just don’t think I have an audience for that kind of thing here. Maybe I’ll do it anyway, someday, since I’m tired of telling the story–that way I could just point people to my blog. Whatever. I’m already bored with the topic and I don’t remember why I’m telling you this. Oh, right–the fights. So GB and I moved across the country, though not together and not at the same time, and GB and the Wrangler had countless awful and painful encounters that are best just not recalled right now (though one involved someone sleeping with a sword in his hand), and after a long, long time we came to a point where the Wrangler, Gospel Bob, Blanche and I could hang out at a Halloween party and not have that seem like a strange thing to anyone there.

Sometimes it’s super easy. And sometimes it’s just not. And when the Wrangler and I are at odds over the structure of our relationship, and GB and I are at odds because we’re not spending enough of our (severely limited already) time together, and GB and Blanche are at odds because GB (who was, for years, aka “The Woomaster”) ends a Halloween party wondering how it’s possible he didn’t make out with anyone at all (and I wonder the same thing), then it’s particularly not easy. And I’ve bored myself with this topic by now. Though I still think I could write a better book about the poly life–the real one, the one we all actually live–than absolutely anything that’ s been written, and if you’ve read this far and want to offer me a book deal, hey–the comments link is right under this sentence.

(*noise of utter frustration and despair)

Razzlefrazzlenogood blog templates. I liked the other one, but something weird was going on with comments, I think, and it was getting mighty lonely around here. I went with a Blogger template for now, but it’s just…not right. And do I actually have time to be doing nothing but messing around with my template? Um, no. I have a prospectus to write, a class to prepare discussions for, papers to grade, two relationships in need of some serious attention, phone calls to return, cats to pill….actually, it’s no wonder I’m doing nothing but fucking with my template.

I’m in a bad mood. And I can’t make my blog look right, which is seeming like the biggest deal right now. And I can’t think of one thing that will make me feel better, so I think I’ll have a glass of wine. (And yes, I do realize how that sounds.)

There’s something about the first snow of the year that’s just kind of…magic. I can’t really explain this; it’s that kind of itchy, restless, anticipatory feeling. I remember this feeling from when I was younger, growing up in a place that snowed. 10 years in San Francisco made it slip into the back of my mind, but since I’ve been back on the east coast I’ve felt it every year–the first snow feels like Something Is Going To Happen.

So when I realized this evening that the snow was sticking, and then the Bumper Pool Boys called and said they still had more Halloween partying left in them, I figured, why the hell not?, and said sure they could come over. Gospel Bob is suffering from a hangover that’s kept him in bed all day, and the Wrangler’s in a funny place and wanted to go to the bar, so it was just me and the Bumper Pool Boys. We drank some beer, played some pool, drank some tequila, listened to Meatloaf and Black Sabbath, drank more tequila, propositioned each other and pretended we were joking, and drank more beer. And they decided it was time to go, and I walked them out and saw the snow and wondered, again, why the first snow of the year makes me want to do things I know I’ll regret before the winter is over.

Yep, the Halloween party was fun. I’ve been going through the photos from last night, and there are a few I think I might be able to anonymize enough to post, but…since ordering food delivery just taxed my brain cells, I’ll work on that later. In the meantime, I do have a couple human-less photos that’ll work. This seems to capture the general vibe of the party pretty well:


Lots. Of. Tequila. Really good tequila, thanks to the Bumper Pool Bandito, which makes me feel less like death today than I really deserve.

The Widow Gore gortrait ended up not really getting any attention at all; she was in the living room, which is no place for the dead and dying. Ha. I crack me up. Anyway–I think the bathroom really ended up being the piece-de-resistance:

**Liveblogging update: holy cow, it’s snowing really hard!**

Man, when I’m hungover I’m like the ADD posterchild.

So yeah, I’ll try to get anonymized photos up eventually, because there were some excellent costumes. The Wrangler’s mailman-attacked-by-dogs was probably my pick for top costume; any costume that includes cute little stuffed dogs–with bows on their ears–soaked in fake blood and hanging from mangled clothing is pretty much a sure bet. Gospel Bob and the Other Bumper Pool Boy (the Bumper Pool Bandito) both dressed as bandoleros (unbeknownst to one another–somehow, this isn’t as strange as it should be), though in completely different ways, leading to much watergun hilarity and bad Mexican-Italian accents. Buttercup escaped from a maximum-security correctional facility to come hang out with us–I believe you’re innocent, Buttercup! The Squirrel’s post-apocalyptic nomad was uncannily perfect (like I told him–it was very much like a human-squirrel). Bad Idea was a very friendly and non-fight-picking Straw Man (with Lou Reed lyrics in his pocket). We also had a blade of grass/”maybe I’m a flower”, a dancing hippo from Fantasia, Faith the vampire slayer, some guy with glasses, a chef I think, the sheriff, and a commuter (some people are unclear on the concept of Halloween, I think).

Oh, and me.

hahahahahahaha!

But nobody actually got my costume, which was a dead trick-or-treater; I went as the poisoned-candy-and-razor-blades urban legend. But really, it was just an excuse to show off my vintage (1974, I think) Ben Cooper costume.

Yay, my food’s here!

Here’s what I saw when I checked out my weather online:

And here’s what I saw when I got my lazy ass up and looked out my window:

I’ve lived here for three years now. Why does this still surprise me?

Well, it’s pretty snow, at least–big, fluffy flakes that are probably perfect, really, considering that my hangover–which is overshadowed by Gospel Bob’s hangover, apparently–has rendered me stupid and incapable of doing much other than ordering our excellent hangover-food delivery. Which I’ve just done. And watching the snow (from indoors), cuddled up with a cat and a blanket, is not so bad.

And our hangovers are the product of the Haunted Rock-n-Roll Basement Halloween Party last night, which was a raging success. But I think that’s the next post.

Check these out. Sad to say I can’t afford these ones, but someday…I’ll have dozens of them lining the hallways of the Luckybuzz & Gospel Bob Gospel Hour Mansion. Interspersed with photos of our families. Hee hee. Who’ll be able to tell the difference?

If you’re pressed for time, here are a couple of my favorites:

Little Ruthie:


Granny Hazel:

…and Uncle Bernie:

And, since this also just came to my attention and it’s kind of on a theme, check out the exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art called “The Perfect Medium: Photography and the Occult“. There are images from it here and here.

I can’t begin to tell you how much I love this stuff. Well, maybe I can begin to tell you. And I’m sure I’ll tell you more eventually, since I also can’t seem to shut up about it.

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