The story goes that I was not intended to be born on Thursday, 4/8/71. Turns out that my mother's gyno had a trip to Hawaii planned for Easter weekend, and needed to get on the road. Side note: For years I had been told that my mom's "cooter miner" had been of the lesbian persuasion and I have been corrected. In the interest of keeping some of this factual, I am amending my post. Damn, it really just changes my whole perception of things...and if you really think about it and know the doctor, it kind of explained a few things for me. Oh well, means I will need to dig more intensively into other events to explain the petri dish that is my life.
Well, during my mother's pregnancy it seems that she gained too much weight. I am certain that she weighed in with a couple cans of Final Net in that hairdo, so that added some pounds. Dr. Honolulu Hasty prescribed her pharmaceutical grade Dexatrim. Seriously??? This is a little fact that I am certain my counselor in rehab would have loved to have known...but no one thought to mention it. Dextrim? WTF? OK, enough. So, back to the trip of the Aloha Labia Looker. She called all of her expectant patients over to the hospitals and made them walk the parking lot. "Walk it off, Ladies. Walk it off!" Remember Eileen Brennan in Private Benjamin...that's what I picture when I think about it. One by one, the ladies started to percolate...pop goes the weezle.
It goes without saying... I was a stunning baby...head full of raven hair, sultry black eyes. Prettiest little thing the Easter bunny could have brought along...all dark and evil. Loved and cherished by all.
Skipping ahead some here...father - raging, abusive alcoholic. Stories differ, depending on who you talk to, dad hit mom...mom fought back...mom hit dad...mom's brothers beat up dad...mother kept going back...yada, yada, yada. Ended like an old Tammy Wynette song - D-I-V-O-R-C-E.
We ended up in government housing...if you want to be vulgar about it...we can call it the projects. Yep, who would have guessed...shut up, I know it shows from time to time. Of course my memory was given to me about this time, but I know we ended up there at some point...there are Christmas pictures to prove it.
1st traumatic memory: we were at my dad's house. I was younger than 6, older than 4. Somehow I got outside, and my dad had goats in the backyard. I can't explain, don't ask. Regardless, I was still on the bottle. My dad (loaded I am certain) got mad and threw my bottle outside. Well, me being me, I said "Fuck that!" and I went outside after my bottle. Door shuts behind me, I am trapsing thought goat shit to find my bottle, and I find it and pop it into my mouth. Who gives a shit that it was in a field of filth...boy this scene would repeat itself later in life...we will call it a "bottle". The goats saw "fresh meat" and started to circle. I got scared. There was a picnic table and I crawled on it. The goats circled. And there I sat, on the picnic table, shitty bottle, surrounding by goats. Do you think that anyone came looking for me? Oh noooooooooo. Me, all alone. Obviously, they found me at some point. TO THIS DAY - I hate goats!! Not a little bit, not just freaked out. I HATE THEM! Dirty little bastards.
Friday, July 10, 2009
An introduction
To understand me and my insanity, you need to know some of my background.
Born: April 8, 1971 (Holy Thursday...home from the hospital on Easter Sunday)
Hometown: Sulphur, LA
Plot: Was told I was unplanned...parents were married on Halloween, 1970...parents divorced on April Fools Day, 1972. Yep...let me complete your thoughts...probably should have been the other way around.
Trauma, family drama to follow.
Sexual Orientation: Gay, have not always been...again, more to come on that.
For years, people have told me that I was a natural born storyteller...they could have possibly just been telling me that I was a raging nutbag and that my life reads like a cheap novel. I have been searching lately for a purpose, something as an outlet for my lunacy. Here it is.
Over the years, I have found myself in situations (good, bad, legal, illegal) that normal "church going folk" would not find themselves in. My purpose is not to inflame religious differences, offend those whose views are different than my own, embarrass anyone...let an old homo ramble for a while, and hope you see yourself in my thoughts/experiences or, at the very least, give you giggle on a suck-ass day.
Born: April 8, 1971 (Holy Thursday...home from the hospital on Easter Sunday)
Hometown: Sulphur, LA
Plot: Was told I was unplanned...parents were married on Halloween, 1970...parents divorced on April Fools Day, 1972. Yep...let me complete your thoughts...probably should have been the other way around.
Trauma, family drama to follow.
Sexual Orientation: Gay, have not always been...again, more to come on that.
For years, people have told me that I was a natural born storyteller...they could have possibly just been telling me that I was a raging nutbag and that my life reads like a cheap novel. I have been searching lately for a purpose, something as an outlet for my lunacy. Here it is.
Over the years, I have found myself in situations (good, bad, legal, illegal) that normal "church going folk" would not find themselves in. My purpose is not to inflame religious differences, offend those whose views are different than my own, embarrass anyone...let an old homo ramble for a while, and hope you see yourself in my thoughts/experiences or, at the very least, give you giggle on a suck-ass day.
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