8-21-24
No, I'm not referring to me bitch. I'm referring to my client. (read on).
Well I'm going on 17 days of abstinence from beer. Congrats to me; I haven't even gone to meetings (I read the 12 steps from a far but am not enough of a “team player” to attend—I’m a solo act). Of course all you readers KNOW this or should by now!
I still miss my beer terribly but this new stage in my personal behavior has simply been inspired by my desire to TRY to regain some kind of a six-pack! (Yes, narcissism rules). So it’s kinda frustrating as I was expecting this immediate change—which is happening in really subtle ways. But as I well know—six-packs are made in the kitchen…OYE. I miss my continuous junk food eating. I really long for a swig of absinthe now and then too…damn I wonder if I will make it to 30 days?!? I do find that my energy has excelled. Maybe I don't feel quite so old and gnarly but gosh, the rawness of my emotions is nuts. Well…especially with my omnipresent road rage. (every other kid downtown is a rich entitled NYUbie) Of course it’s just DODGE CITY down here, out there! Stupidity and thoughtlessness rule it comes to “joyriding” (how the young folks ride a bike). And the skateboarders--are some of the worst. Fearless fools endangering others with their fast, careless, wiry, dangerous bodies.
So today I was blessed to have a young'un East Indian gent (client “K”) with a huMONGOUS schlong…who wanted to breed me. Ain't going to happen : ). Penetration is such an intimate act, it’s interesting how some clients just assume. Nothing new in that though; "lust is blind." Interesting that I didn't suck on him. I could smell the uncut stench of his meat. Ugh, nothing worse than munching on an uncut, unclean dick. Ew. Well, kudos to me for composing myself. Now—IF he had been a bodybuilder…er— LOL. Thank goodness I've never been an ass-muncher. Well, there WAS that immaculate Swede I had more than six months ago...now you could eat off the insides of that butt--not to mention HOW it looked. Oow la la! Garr--I think was his name...oh DO come again kind sir!!! : )...
A dear friend had a condom break while bottoming and of course he’s so paranoid he immediately did the 30 day Pep (Prep?) thing. Second time for him. I hate worrying and one moment of pleasure is definitely NOT worth the anxiety and agita of wondering if you are going to become POZ! These young pups seem to take it for granted that breeding is an all-inclusive athletic sport! WTF do they think every one is on PEP? They are the now queer generation--they never felt that fear of death that went with fucking that we senior elder queens experienced first hand--just after the Golden Age of being out and queer and sexy and hunting constantly on these streets. These streets that now have become a desert of mechanized zombies on phones.
Fucking is, for the most part, a damn intimate act. It takes patience and communication and cleanliness—a whole lotta PREP-aration and caring. Or, does it?. Well…I have been known to slip it in just because the vibe is so right (and fucking feels fabulous make no mistake) but bottoming takes a lot more out of a person, dealing with both that pain and pleasure—though do do most of the work!
Today I was the roof n again, soaking up the sun, alone and feeling the pleasure of the thick, late-summer rays on my body. My 91 year old client said to me yesterday (she just talks non-stop—unless she eating—and her continual vocal incontinence is the most exhausting thing about caretaking her). “You are so lucky—you don't know how lucky you are…” I mean it’s nice to hear but I don't necessary feel lucky—I just feel I'm still here! And candidly speaking I don't really know why? I'm just another poor n in a city of poor ns and rich ns. And the rich ns have it much easier than the poor ns. It’s crazy how I have such a huge inferiority complex when it comes to my lack of capital. Oh well what do they say? Real estate rich, cash poor. Hey don't get any funny ideas, I have malpractice insurance and am a licensed professional!
My too-hot neighbor, one Mr. Oommm…blond-haired blue-eyed (like a surfer but with the soul of a New Yorker—I think he’s straight) —who always greet me with “Hey Sexy!”—he’s gotta be bi,, says to me “You need to make sure she puts you in her will…” Ha. Aint gonna happen with that number-one son.
Also I haven't shared before but said client has a problem with so-called “seeing entities.” Beings, creatures, personifications, spirits who appear in front of her and they disappear when she screams “GET OUT—GOD IS HERE.” These terror-filled visages have been plaguing her since I started carring for her last June. I finally told her yesterday—after a particularly rough night (she reported there were 4 or 5 of these entities at one point in her bedroom (“They were having a party!”) and her bedroom; which looks like a giant rat’s nest to be honest). So I says to her yesterday, “Marcy—you need to talk to these entities because they are haunting you for a reason." Of course her reply “DON’T BE FOOLISH—I WILL NEVER TALK TO THEM.” So she will continue to be haunted by these ghosts whom I believe are (like Scrooge) visages or echoes of past shadows or behaviors in her life that are basically unresolved in her psyche; particles of guilt or shame that cannot be burned away by any amount of prayer or saying the rosary. She is so rigid no doubt the mere idea of communicating with these entities is too. terrifying to even explore. The phrase "the very idea" comes to mind--from some rich bitch. It would rock her world!
It must be hard to be 91. Especially when you are my client—a world-class concert pianist who lost her husband about two years ago and now lives with her son (and myself—we are her main caretakers). God knows the discipline and stamina it took for her to accomplish and survive all she was in her life (yes she DID appear in Carnegie Hall!) and yet because of her upbringing—super rich Filipino “tribe,” she has that weird aristocratic “thing” going on. And she knows how to charm—but certain things, ideas, are “beneath” her. Very classist--Even when she explained what part of the Philippines she was from — kinda like where “the Master race” comes from in her mind…the rest of the country are peasants in comparison. Her family had real Spanish blood. This “FAP” (Filipino American Princess) obviously has a personality that holds fast to certain long-held beliefs and old bigoted ideas. From another era. So, she will be suffering from the mysterious visitations or her ghosts until she dies. She’s terrified to talk to them because they will show her her own shit!, Indeed they would put her long-held ideas to the test, making her doubt herself, her very being... And honestly who at 91 wants to be challenged? I mean it’s hard to look at one’s own shit at 70! At 60! (At 40 and 30—well, they are super heroes with no shit LOL). And now, with my client, when the activities of daily life (ADL) are so challenging in themselves, i.e., walking, going to the bathroom and one of the biggest challenges…which is continuously changing her own piss-proof underwear. God, getting old…not for sissies…I do not assist her in that aspect of care-taking by the way; I'm more the companion, clown, caretaker, prize protege piano student (it’s really hard to play in front of her as she SCREECHES when you make a mistake and she constantly harps “DON’T POUND THE PIANO” when I (the help, the big while male maid, the n) am playing but she can pound away no problem. You see why she’s haunted now, don't you?
I wonder if many great artists live in the shambles of chaos in their personal lives? The paradox of art is extreme. And then we have the lowly curmudgeon who knows not art—just how to stare endlessly hunched over his phone, chain-smoking in the park till late at night all alone...who am I to judge? I have noticed that since I put down the porn I do feel more in control. In this city why bother making art? We are all simply engulfed in too much human karma...I hope I make it to the bike trail tomorrow! : )
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