The soul has greater need of the ideal than the real for it is by the real that we exist, it is by the ideal that we live

Friday, October 19, 2007

the prodigal returneth

I love vacation. I think one should be able to vacate at will. Life would be so much better.

I went to Des Moines for a horsemanship clinic with Clinton Anderson, who could do a lot fewer gay jokes in my estimation, but nonetheless is still pretty fucking good with a horse. He did say that he tries to get women to be less passive and men to be less aggressive and since that is his criteria in working with horses that gay men should be the best horse trainers in the world. Have to agree with you on that one aussieboy.

Met some very nice people at the clinic who invited me to ride with them Sunday. So we all skipped out on Anderson and went to their place and rode for hours, it was incredible. They insisted I stay the night and put me up in this trailer on their farm. It was great because I snore so loudly I was horrified at the idea they'd make me sleep in their house. So the trailer was a great relief.

On Saturday night I went to a restaurant and since it was so crowded I sat at the bar to eat, where I met two women who were fun to talk to. Well, one of them was fun to talk to. The other was, hmmm, shall we say, self-absorbed. She need me to know that she'd owned the florist in Des Moines that was the one chosen to provide the flowers for Meryl Streep and Clint Eastwood in Bridges of Madison county, which I totally doubt since almost everyone I met during that time frame claimed to be some sort of extraneous staff to that film.. If it's all true they'd never have gotten the damn thing in on budget. Anyway, she also had to tell me she'd started college at 16, like I needed to know. The thing that puzzled me was, if she finished high school early what took four years to finish college? I would think if you could do one in three years you could do the other in the same time frame. I didn't believe that one either. Then she told me she was writing a book and since I was a librarian, (I have discovered that if you work at a library you're a librarian, even if you're not.) that she needed to pick my brain about poisons, since she was killing alot of people in the book she was writing. Another puzzling thing was that she was supposed to be so smart and so bookie, but she didn't know that deadly nightshade is belladona. Now, I'm no expert on poisons, and it's a good thing since I'd have probably done in a couple of people over the years if I'd known anything, but even I know where belladona comes from. This was about when she told me I was the most interesting person she'd met in a long time. This is when the alarm bells finally went off.

1.) This woman hasn't a clue who she is talking to. She thinks if she keeps this up she's gonna get some. Um HELLO!!

2.) How sad is it that I am the most interesting person she's met in a long time. Would that I were as captivating as all that. Alas, folks I got a mirror and I hear what I say when I talk. I'm not THAT interesting. And telling me isn't the way to whatever she was trying to get anyway. Poor thing.

The other woman was much more fun. She nailed old miss self absorbed over and over and shortly after figuring out I was gay and neither of them had a shot at me, she took her leave. Too bad too, she was much more fun to talk to.

But I dealt with old self absorbed for a while longer, had my desert and coffee and hit the road for the HORRIBLE motel I was staying in. The motel at which they couldn't find my reservation, then tried to give me a room anyway, for which they were going to charge me and I refused to take it since I knew I'd be charged for the res I'd already made and then I'd have to fight with them about two charges. The motel in which the high class clientele stood in the hall and talked at the top of their lungs at 2:45 AM. I was not enchanted. The motel in which someone never met a door they wouldn't slam at 6am. I cannot wait until I get the survey for THAT stay. I'm oh so looking forward to filling that out. Thankfully the horse people saved me from that flophouse.

Monday I woke early, since these people were incredibly early risers, and I mean early, these folks were up and about at 4:15 am. I didn't mind though I was able to partake of their huge breakfast and thank them profusely and hit the road for Chicago and my date with the windy city. I really had fun there. (they still drink bad coffee in the country though. ick!)

After passing on what appeared to be a very kind offer on the part of a cowboy at the clinic, and I mean VERY kind, and also passing on the flat out offer I got from my waiter Sunday morning I was very gratified to arrive in Chicago to my usual reception. Why I am a hit in that town I'll never understand, but every single time I get to the city limits I'm getting hit on. Not that there's anything wrong with that, mind you. So Chicago turned out to be rife with opportunity and I felt VERY welcome as always, thank you.

I spent Monday afternoon wandering all over the Art Institute and as always it was wonderful. Love that place. Then I looked for a motel. OH MY GOD!!! I stayed at a Super 8 in Schaumburg and it was STILL almost $200 a night. For that kind of money I expect someone IN the bed when I arrive. Foolishly, I had entertained the notion that since it was just one night and I deserved a treat I'd stay at the Drake. Yeah, right. Try $427 a night. After I refused treatment from the paramedics I headed for the suburbs.

I arrived home today refreshed and ready for the rest of my week off. I shall ride, make pots, and read a lot. I have all kinds of ideas for posts here. I hope I remember them all.

One thing I do remember is that I prefer the term poof to fag. No one called me any names on the trip I was just thinking one day...



I love the term poof

why did we start letting people call us fags and not poofs. Shit call me a big ole poof anyday.

it's so civilized,

Oooooh! That's why it didn't stick here, it's civilized and this is America. Where we have a Cro-magnon for President.

Why would poof stick in our slang.

Well Maybe Hilary can send Barack out as part of his VP duties to start calling us poofs again. That's a very fun image. A big jug eared black man calling gay men poofs. The secret service would be sooo busy keeping that guy from getting his ass kicked, yes, yes.


Love

1 comment:

A Bear in the Woods said...

Are you sure you didn't take that cowboy up on his his kind offer?