Murphy Has His Way With Me

This week Edward Murphy’s famous law of disaster pretty much bent me over and screwed me like a cheap whore. But before I get too graphic let me explain.

So, like many central Ohioans on that fateful windy afternoon of Sunday, September 14, my electric went out, but unlike most, it’s still not on.

A bit of background for those not residing in the Buckeye State: The tail end of Hurricane Ike made its way through Columbus last weekend and pretty much wiped out the electricity in much of the city and surrounding counties. Most were only out for a couple days, receiving power by Tuesday. (The above photo is a sampling of the damage.)

As stated above, Murphy’s Laws took over; deciding life could indeed get worse.

I was already at my parent’s house during the storm because I had come to stay the weekend to visit, do laundry, etc. so I decided to stay put until my electricity retuned. However, I wasn’t aware that my parents’ home was going to be turned into a make-shift shelter. When I returned from work Monday afternoon, they had taken in a family friend and his family and my sister and her baby, who were also victims of the black out.

As most of you are aware I have no cell phone and I’m currently working from home about 90 percent of the time, so my apartment landline has become crucial. This little fact made my staying at my parents’ the only possibility—mooching off someone else’s phone for an entire week can only be gotten away with at the ‘rents. Work, however, soon became impossible with the presence of a screaming child, an annoying 5-year-old, bouncing off the walls, and the general roar from the six other adults rummaging about the house.

Desperate for relief, I called my apartment complex first thing Tuesday morning to inquire about the hopefully revived electricity. Here’s how the conversation transpired:

“Hello, this is North Pointe Apartments, Rachel speaking, how may I help you?”

“Do you know if the electricity in the complex has returned?”

“Yes, the power is back everywhere except in buildings five and seven.”

(Guess which building I live in. I’ll give you two guesses.)

“Do you mean 4305?” I replied with a bit of a shrill.

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Do you have any idea when the power in buildings five and seven will be turned back on?”

“No you’d have to call AEP for that.”

I hang up and quickly dial AEP. After holding for what seems like an eternity, a receptionist answers and tells me she has no idea when service will be restored and the notes they’ve given for Columbus say all circuits should be back up by Monday.

Don’t worry there’s more. I may be going through a dry spell, but good ol’ Murphy here is definitely getting his.

So, while commuting between my apartment, my parents and The Advocate, trying to get what little work I can get done, my parents decide to add my 16-year-old and 7-year-old cousins to the mix. I’m pretty sure Satan dropped the 7-year-old off at his mother’s doorstep. Yes, it may be cruel, but I’m just saying. You know I can’t stand kids.

Anyway, all this is occurring just as a backdrop against some other complicated happenings. I recently acquired another job at Waldenbooks to help pay the bills. It’s just part time, mostly on the weekends, but another responsibility none the less. And at work, as aforementioned, I’m helping start this new entertainment Web site. The newly hired producer of the site, a lad named Jason, who worked on a similar site in Cleveland, started this week. Our launch date is in November, putting work into hyper-speed, because we are crazy far behind.

I did get a raise and a promotion because of my work on the site, which is some good news in all of this. I’m now the Associate Producer of Columbus Metromix. The Web site will be http://columbus.metromix.com. You can check out Cleveland Metromix to see what it will look like.

So, to bring things back to Murphy, Wednesday I attended a funeral. One of my best friends lost her father. However, things weren’t all bad with that because my friend, Chantelle, one of my cousins and I rallied and tried to cheer her up a bit with a late night rendezvous, which was pretty fun. (I don’t feel to right just throwing her name out there all willy nilly without her permission, since It’s her loss and not mine. I love you girl! You and your family are in my thoughts and prayers.)

Thursday still no electricity. Friday the same. Saturday morning I call the complex again. They have no news, so I call up AEP. Again, the conversation is below:

“Hello, this is AEP’s customer service how may I help you?”

“I’m calling about the reconnection of my service.” (I give him my account information.)

“Yes, we have a bit of information here. I’m not sure why, but a land wire had to be dug up and re-lain, that’s why it’s taking so long. They’re estimating the service will be restored by Monday night, at the earliest.”

“At the earliest!?”

“Yes, please call back Monday if service has not been restored.” *Click*

The crying commences.

Saturday afternoon/evening I tag along with the fam to the Delaware County Fair, since it’s the last day and I haven’t been since high school. I remember why once I arrive. Our party had five children, the bugs, the heat….I can’t go on, the headache’s returning.

Saturday night I spend the night out at a local straight bar named Red Rock, a surprisingly nice break from the disaster that has been my life. I usually can’t stand Red Rock, too straight for my blood, but the music was descent and there was uncharacteristically plenty of eye candy to keep me occupied.

Which brings us to Sunday, where I caught up on some work with the Web site and worked a shift at Waldenbooks. And now I lay on a coach, my food mostly rotted or eaten by the tornado of people that have been through my parents, still displaced and practically homeless. And I’m being reminded every few minutes why I left in the first place.

I’m sure Murphy’s got another car accident waiting for me around the corner.

Until next time,

~D.A. Steward

More Late-Night, Regurgitated Musings

The past few weeks have oddly been more unsettling since my swearing off of the nocturnal bliss that Dante was once so fond of. And sadly much of my absence from the club scene, gay or otherwise, hasn’t been due to my power of will, so much as to my increased duties at work.

 

I’ll extend the work aside slightly to offer some background. As said before I’m working on this new Web site at work. It’s called Metromix.com and has been implemented in a few other cities around the nation. Take a gander if you’re interested. I’ve been completely pulled from reporting and ordered to rally the information of 1,000 venues (i.e. restaurants, bars) to fill the database. Meaning I hit the streets everyday for a few hours and then spend the rest of the day writing 100 words for each place and logging them online. Also meaning I work mostly from home. Thought the new tasks come with a raise and a promotion once the site launches, I’m utterly dreading my absence from reporting and writing.

 

You’d think such an easy task wouldn’t take up so much of my time, but it’s indeed the opposite, before this past weekend I hadn’t seen any of my friends, or anyone really, for quite a few weeks and even longer since I’ve partaken of the horizontal tango. As a brutally truthful friend brought to my attention, I’m having less sex now then I was while living with my parents. Oh lord, now that I’ve seen it written on paper it seems even more pathetic. When did it come to this?

 

However, like I said things did pick up this past weekend. Friday I spent the evening catching up with two sets of friends, two from high school and two from OU. I’d nearly forgotten what it was like to experience the lethargic feeling that comes with having fun with one’s comrades. It was exactly what I needed and a tinge of choked-up sadness even arose at their departure.

 

So, Saturday, though I had almost talked myself out of it, I went to the gay club Wall Street to catch one of my good friend’s drag shows. And though the show was amazing and I had a blast with some friends afterwards, being back in that atmosphere actually annoyed me more then ever. Everyone, with their perfectly coiffed hair, glittered chests, and creased designer jeans, constantly roaming the room, superficially looking for the next best thing. But, somehow, when I swore off that whole scene, normal contact with the part I was actually fond of, the time spent with friends, disappeared along with it.

 

This blog has been reduced to rambling. Hmm, maybe they’re all that way. Why do you guys put up with these things again? Lol. Anyway, I swear I have a point. If you’ll bear with me. We’ll take a subject interlude to break up the monotony.

 

I never did tell you about the house warming party. I guess it’s been a little while since I’ve written. It was fun, sort of, lol. A ton of people showed, which was nice, but slight drama ensued with my some of the family. My cousin became engulfed in a public drama with her ex and my two sisters where a complete drunken mess of embarrassments. I made the mistake of having another party the next weekend, at which my siblings’ behavior was 10 times worse, resulting in their banishment from apartment, drunk or otherwise. Now that I think about it, these two weekends may have been the reason for my descent into antisocialism.

 

Anyway, onto another major subject change (again, I swear there’s a point). I heard recently that two of my good friends who were dating for quite sometime have called it quits. I’ll spare their names, to protect the innocent, so to speak. But the news, though expected (they’d been having problems for quite some time), did give me a bit of a shock.

 

There have been only four gay long-term couples that I’ve grown close to over the years. Two of them have crashed and burned and one is hanging on by a thread; the two hate each other, but can’t seem to end it. The fact that there were only four couples to begin with is sad, but now that I’ve seen two unravel it’s slightly disconcerting.

 

At the risk of stealing a Sex and the City cliché, I’m looking for love. That can’t sleep, can’t eat, all-consuming, bend over backwards, feels so good that it hurts, type of love. And I’ve based much of my hope, and even belief, of ever finding it on the fact that I knew at least eight people who had. Now I’m not so sure.

 

I know there’s a ton of happy gay couples out there who’ve stood the test of time, proven by the horde of gays who rushed the alter once California declared gay marriage legal. But how long will those relationships last? Are we just like our straight counterparts who suffer the oppressing glare of that 50 percent success rate statistic when they walk down the aisle?

 

Maybe I’ve become bitter. The result of my witnessing the relationships dissolving around me (there’s also been a few straight breakups/disputes amongst my circle) and also the simple fact that I have yet to secure a real boyfriend, in the traditional sense anyway. Though, I’ve got to laugh at that one. Bitter at 23. Does that make me hopeless? Which I guess brings me back to antisocial rant.

 

Dante was supposed to be the part of me that charmed that perfect guy and snagged him so Dwayne could fall in love with him. And he the same. But, with Dante, as the old adage goes, you can’t live with him, but you also can’t live without him. And now, sadly, I’m finding that without him I’m no longer living.

 

Is finding love for Dwayne impossible without Dante? Or am I, better yet, are we all kidding ourselves altogether?

 

Until next time,

 

D.A. Steward