Note the steady decline in the weather forecasts.
Suddenly it’s snowing like crazy outside. About four inches on the ground so far and no end in sight. This is just a little disturbing since it seems unlikely to go away for the next few days either. I haven’t seen snow like this is years (six, to be exact). It’s very pretty. And it’s making me a little crazy since it’s forcing me to lurk about the house as the whole damned city seems to have closed in deference to the weather.
.
The snow remains. Made a minor trip outside here and there, but basically continued staying home.
Made a trip downtown and did some thrift store diving with no success whatsoever. Why is it I do so much shopping when I’m here? And why have I been so damned SLEEPY the whole time I’ve been home?
The bash, my mom 15 minutes later, and my first photo op of ’98.
Tonight’s New Year’s Eve celebration consisted of a coffee and Krispy Kreme Doughnuts toast at home with Mom and Dad, just like last year. Am I a party animal or what?
New Year’s Day. Free black-eyed peas at the J&S Cafeteria. Spent the late part of the evening at the Palms with Jeff and an exceedingly frightening crowd. We watched “Family Affair”. Buffy and Jody were far cuter than any of the bar patrons.
Cartoons. Shopping. Laundry. Mall. No bargains, no tearoom scenes. Back to SF tomorrow.
This fucking hospital has the smallest emergency waiting room I’ve ever seen. And I’m getting pretty experienced with emergency rooms as it seems I get to visit one every time I come home lately. This time it’s my mom who’s being examined. She tripped over a boat displayed in a mall in Fort Mill SC, while we were en route to the airport in Charlotte. Busted her nose, lip, and teeth. Litigation may beckon. Needless to say I missed my plane.
… …
Jeez it sucks in this suburban nightmare hospital. Sick people are sitting on the floor because there are only about 16 seats. What the hell were they thinking? Guess I’ll just get a little cozier with the potted plant I’m suing as an armrest. Charlotte NC, the city that wishes it knew how…
Of course in keeping with the size of the waiting room, there’s only one phone which is perpetually in use. This place sucks. We’ve been here over two hours; they say it will be at least another hours before she can be seen. After all, she’s only bleeding profusely.
Four hours have now passed. I’m watching “X Files” and the cutest boy who ever lived across the room. I’d peg him as 18 or so, shoulder length stringy black hair. He’s a South Charlotte rich kid who doesn’t want to look the part. Dirty brown hiking boots, grass-stained slightly baggy jeans which still reveal a great butt. He hurt his arm playing football, I heard. Stunning. It was hard to concentrate on my mom with him in the room.
Turns out the delay is due to a five-car accident caused by a drunk speeding 15-year-old redneck kid who was running from the cops. It’s now five hours and counting.
Smoke break outside. I talked to the boy. I now crave him even more. He actually hurt his arm on his motorcycle (which his parents don’t know he owns). He’s 20 and goes to NC State. we shook hands. It was cool. Why is it that that (mainly in the south), straight boys are so much more interesting and appealing than fags?
My dad’s pissed about the accident and the wait at the hospital. They’re finally looking at my mom now. Time for a another cigarette. Less cute boy this time, but still adequate. I like these little suburban South Charlotte boys.
While talking to the obese 45-year-old repo man who showed me the scars from his five bypass operations, I noticed a woman in a wheelchair begin to scream and moan in pain. Maybe it’ll only take two or three hours for them to see her.
The good news is Mom’s nose probably isn’t broken. the bad news is that the treatment is the same whether it is or isn’t.
Last round of goodbyes and insanity before another attempt at departure tomorrow. My mom feels like shit.
Charlotte/Douglas International Airport. After several false starts, I’d estimate that I now have about a 75% chance of getting on the next plane headed for San Francisco. And I am definitely ready to get home. I hate that I had to leave my mom feeling so bad. She was in worse shape this morning than yesterday. I also hate that I never caught up with my friends Duncan or Daniel in the strange and surreal crush.
I’m home again. I’m tired. I hate flying. I hate airplane food. I hate that I didn’t bring home any Cheerwine or barbecue. I hate that I have to go back to work tomorrow. I love that I got so much great mail while I was gone. I hate that it most likely won’t be answered for several days.
And I really love this article in MacWorld, only partially because it mentions me. But I’ll cease with the self-promotion and go to sleep now.
All in all. seeing Mom and Dad and the few friends I managed to hook up with was great. But (surprise) I still can’t recommend Greensboro as the happening vacation destination of the year…
Still plugging along working part time as an Administrative Assistant. It pays the rent while the freelance stuff begins to trickle in and while I continue trying to decide what I want to be when I grow up.
I really didn’t expect to be going back to Las Vegas anytime soon. The last trip was fun, but Vegas didn’t exactly rate among my favorite spots in the U.S. Enter one spiky-haired Minnesotan named Erik. Erik is not to be confused with any previously-mentioned Minnesotans within Planet SOMA. Erik convinced me that driving 500 miles into the desert to spend a weekend with someone I’d never met was a good idea. His subtle hints (over several months) as to how we might pass a good bit of our time were pretty enticing too.
Needless to say, I left town late. I made it to Bakersfield the first night. I slept (not much else to do there as I knew from a past visit). I woke up and drove through the increasingly hot Mojave Desert. 101 in Baker. But only 97 in Vegas. Aargh…
It’s always fun looking for someone you don’t really know in a crowded hotel lobby. Fortunately, Erik recognized me. We went to the room. There were naps. We ate. We made out. We hit a few bars. Repeat with a few variations for three days and you have the jist (jism?) of the trip. Don’t think for a moment, mind you, that this is a bad thing…
Of course, we didn’t spend ALL out time in the room. We took the Hoover Dam hardhat tour (where you get to keep the hardhat). There were the obligatory buffet moments. We also spent quality time in taxis with cynical drivers en route to and from bars. We hit Snicks, which was sleazy and empty, but remains one of my favorites from last year. We visited Angles, which has great chairs and too many well-coiffed customers. We snuck into (and out of) the Eagle in record time. And we were cruised by a cute boy in a striped shirt at Buffalo’s, but he somehow managed to activate both our freak sensors.
And then there was the Gipsy. my only “new” bar from this trip. Jeez, it sucked. This is the “beautiful people” bar. Translation: no one even remotely intersting to be seen, overpriced drinks, and really bad techodiscohouse drivel. A quick escape was called for, and my opinion of Vegas queer bars remains pretty damned low.
After lurking in bed until about 4 on Saturday (the original plan called for 6…or was it 7?), we hit the strip in search of rubber shirts and cute pirate boys at Treasure Island. Around this time, I discovered that I have become my father, patiently waiting outside mall stores. Malls scare me. Wayne Newton in a casino designed to resemble a mall (circa 1977) sacres me even more.
Best find of the weekend (aside from the realization that I CAN have sex with someone for five days in a row and not get bored with it) was pork chops and collard greens at the Motown Cafe in New York New York (the casino casino, not the city city). Other happy finds included gas which is about 35 cents per gallon cheaper than in San Francisco, the In and Out Burger, and (joy…rapture…) a supermarket which sells Count Chocula. I stocked up…
On Sunday, it was time to leave behind the room which housed several felonies and a view of the pink-domed Circus Circus Theme Park. Time to leave the cheap buffets, the prime rib, and the incredibly surreal world of the casinos. Time to leave the boy in the striped shirt, wherever he may have ended up. Time for a restful drive home. Or maybe not…
I never really considered Barstow, California a good place to buy tires until Sunday. It’s still not my first choice, but it seemed pretty damned convenient after realizing in the middle of the desert that my current had suddenly lost a good six-inch chunk of tread. Thank God for Wal-Mart. To hell with small-town Main Streets. When I needed cheap rubber, the corporate monster was there for me.
The overnight stop in Fresno proved uneventful. Seems we stumbled upon “Emperor/Empress Weekend” (read “bad drag”). I think Fresno works better for me when I’m there alone. On the other hand, Motel 6 sex can be fun…especially when the maid interrrupts just as you’re about to…ummm…
Now it’s back home for me. Anyone have a suggestion for the next adventure?