Stories from a man who fails to meet media expectations of what it means to be gay:
white, frivolous, over sexed yet sexless, shrill, single, stylish, a clown, unimportant, et al.

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Professional conversations and sporty drag queens

aka: "Oh, THAT neighborhood."

During the past week, I have had one constituent thank me. Which somehow didn't balance out the woman who told me that she hoped I got in a car accident. My job is such a joy at times.

We have been dealing with new hires this week. Unfortunately, with staff leaving the department left and right, the only one left in the office qualified to train is me. So in addition to all my regular work and the work of folks who have left, I have to juggle training people as well. More Joy.

Needless to say, I have been staying late at work each day. Very Late. Very, very, very late. Ugh.

None of which is new guy's (AllenK) fault, so I refrained from venting to him. When dealing with trainees, we are supposed to be utterly professional and I was. We are supposed to refrain from even having personal conversations. Of course, that went straight out the proverbial window. It is nearly impossible to spend several days with someone and not end up talking about something personal at some point or another, but while we did have "personal" conversations, I did refrain from "inappropriate" conversations.

For example, during lunch the first day, I asked him how his commute into work went. He mentioned that it hadn't been to bad since he lived relatively close by in Long Beach. When I asked where about, he answered by saying that he and his girlfriend lived near Belmont shores. He also told me the cross streets.

Which puts him in the middle of one of the gayest neighborhood in the city. He's less than a block away from a couple of gay bars and several gay friendly shops. I refrained from asking him "girlfriend?" and just mentioned that I knew the neighborhood. I was quite the professional. heh.

My folks came up Friday (09/28/01) and we had a belayed birthday lunch at the new Cuban place in Alhambra. I warned my parents that the service was slow and disorganized, but that didn't keep my mom from deciding that there were too many employees and that half of 'em needed to be fired. Privately, I agreed with her, but somehow I ended up spending nearly the entire time defending the place.

Luckily, once we got our meal, we all enjoyed it.

The rest of the weekend was relatively boring. I spent time out back tearing things up and causing all manner of havoc. If nothing else, I think I may be getting of my work related angst/anger out with all the cutting and digging and tearing things out. That and giving myself a sore back as well '-)

For a reason that escapes me at the moment, I decided that John and I really needed even more DVD's, which meant that I purchased Young Frankenstein and Some Like it Hot. I haven't watched, or rather, rewatched them yet, but I will one of these days.

I also decided that I needed to see Iron Ladies at the Rialto, which I did. It is an i'm assuming slightly fictionalized account of when a team of largely gays, drag queens, a transsexual and a token straight guy won the Thai men's volleyball national championship a few years back.

It was a cute movie. Maybe a little heavy handed in it's "we just want to be accepted" message, but overall, fun and light. Clips of the real Iron Ladies team were shown during the closing credits, which answered the question of whether they really were that queeny when playing. The answer being yes.

A final note, Vit, or Wit (unsure of the correct spelling), the somewhat repressed, closeted, engaged to be married, law student, or rather the actor playing him: big ol' hunk of eye candy.

Anyhow, enough of this.

More later

nico

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