I think I truly did justice to Labor Day this year. Less out of actual spirit for the holiday and more out of laziness. I didn’t once leave the house the whole day, and aside from the whole homework thing, my day was glorious. List time! This time, a list of things I accomplished today. Or didn’t, as it were. (Please be aware that the list is not funny in any way, shape or form. Labor Day is no time to have a sense of humor.)

• Stared at my homework for a little while, willing it to suddenly do itself.
• Actually did some of my homework. Typed a bit. Read some notes. Typed some more.
• Played with the resident canine. He came barking to my door so I happily stopped what I was doing to go play fetch. I even pulled out my camera and got some video footage, replete with a narrative track to make Anderson Cooper jealous.
• Failed when attempting to make a salad for lunch. Not entirely my fault: that bitch of a refrigerator froze my lettuce.
• Finished a report for grad school clinic. Still feeling like a lost sheep, but at least a slightly more productive one. This didn’t stop me from being Wendy Whiner, though.
• Finished reading my book, finally. One of the most satisfying reads I’ve read in a while. And for all the talk of cannibalism and coups and getting stoned, when it ended, I was actually quite sad.

Happy 4th of July from All Things Phil!

As you can see, I’m celebrating my own newfound freedom for this July 4th. I’m free from my psycho bitch roommate from Hell. And the freedom feels damn good.

What better way to commemorate the Fourth of July than by doing a list of four things that may or may not be related to the holiday? Nothing, that’s what.

• I’m adjusting pretty well to my new place, especially the part when I can cook all I want and use my kitchen properly. My humble abode hardly feels like a place in the city, given that there’s tall trees all around, and that my landlord is a contractor and thus the place is full of partially-constructed materials. I seem to be sharing my space with a few insect populations, namely small spiders here and there, and at least for the first couple of days, some sugar ants. The sugar ants took a liking to my iMac, which now has fingerprints all over the monitor because I had to squish the little things as they crawled across the screen. I don’t mind these critters for two reasons: 1) They’re not Black Widows. My ex-roommate never sprayed for bugs, and her garage became home to several of the little beasts. I noticed them when I went to retrieve some boxes I had stored in the garage. I decided to leave said boxes behind, however, for obvious reasons. and 2) They’re not stinging arthropods that drop from the ceiling into the kitchen sink.

• I find it fascinating how many people think that July 4 is the day the United States gained independence from England, rather than what it actually is: the day the Declaration of Independence was adopted by Congress. The document wasn’t actually officially transcribed until July 19, and it wasn’t actually signed by anyone until August 2, 1776. (See a more completely chronology here.) And then another seven years or so of fighting took place before the States were actually fully free.

• I’m not sure how many readers I have in California, but here’s a shout-out to all of you fine folks: it’s probably a good idea to go easy this year on the fireworks. Because we’ve got 1,500 fires burning around the state, I vote we don’t add any more to that number, and leave the fireworks shows to the pros. If you’re in the Los Angeles area, maybe consider hitting the Rose Bowl, Disneyland, Fisherman’s Village, Exposition Park, or another venue. Check out a list of some of the festivities.

• Though I searched for a party to crash for the big day, none has come my way. It’s just as well, really. I imagine that LA traffic on July 4 is bound to be pretty damn shitty. As of now, my plan is to sport a fabulous festive shirt, relax at home for most of the day, and maybe enjoy the pool in the evening. Who knows, I may even mix up a margarita or two for myself, too.

It’s already past midnight, I know, but let me first take a moment to wish any of my readers who happen to be mothers out there a happy Mother’s Day!

Next, a note on how awesome Mother’s Day is. The whole day, I didn’t receive a single spam email or spam comment on my website. As soon as midnight hit I started getting my usual influx of spam. Spammers don’t normally even take Christmas off, so Mother’s Day must therefore be the top dog of holidays.

Now then, next order of business. I did manage to leave the house today, just in time for dinner and the Mother’s Day crowds. And let me just say this: holy crap, everyone and their mother was out! Literally! Except for me; I was flying solo. And, as a result of my experiences this evening, I’ve realized that there’s another kind of mother that tried to be celebrated on this holiday: the Mother Fucker.

Even though I saw my share of Mother Fuckers on Mother’s Day, I propose we make the day after Mother’s Day “Mother Fucker’s Day”. It can become an annual sacrilegious holiday where we celebrate the fine folks in the world who royally piss us off. I make a motion to declare today, May 12, 2008, the first annual Mother Fucker’s Day.

• Let’s dispense with the formalities and state the obvious: my roommate. Or, She Who Rearranges Her Dishes Every Other Week Just To Try To Keep Phil From Using Them. Seriously. I wanted to make some pasta for lunch today and couldn’t find the stupid pot to boil the water. She is such a Mother Fucker!
• You know who else is a total Mother Fucker? The guy who was doing 30 mph in the mall parking lot today and almost could have hit me. Had he not slowed down and let me pass, I was poised to remove my shoe and throw it at his windshield to teach him a lesson.
• I’ve been working on term papers for the last two weeks, and am finally nearly finished with them. I hate them with a passion, and thus must declare that whoever it was who invented term papers is one of the biggest Mother Fuckers of them all.

Let’s see what other Mother Fuckers are out there. Post them in the comments or on your respective blogs (let me know if you’re posting them on your blog(s) so I can see them). Let’s start the celebration!

Saturday night was the first night of Pesach (be sure to really annunciate that gargled /ch/ at the end of the word; if you want to say it in English, it’s “Passover”). Given its first night priority, a Seder was in order. I was unable to find a Seder to attend, however. And by “unable to find,” I mean that nobody sought me out and invited me. That was how it worked for tonight (night #2), so I figured if that didn’t happen for the first night, it wasn’t meant to be.

Instead of going to a Seder, then, I stayed home and worked on the heaping pile of homework I’ve had before me, then went to what I had heard was a good rock ‘n roll gay bar. Apparently, “rock ‘n roll”, to those people, means playing techno remixes of pop and dance songs. I heard a techno version of Pink’s “Get the Party Started”, for instance. Once I realized that that was the song I was hearing, I promptly made to pour my beer over my head then rush up to the DJ and yell “See what you made me do? This shit is killing me!”

It’s not that I have an aversion to pop. I am gay, after all. I can do the pop and dance music, but dammit, it has to be done right. And really, Pink just does not go well with all the leather and studs. Get with it, people.

The highlight of the evening, aside from leaving that place behind, was what I saw on my way back to the car. The area was really quite homey and nice, so long as you’re looking to graffiti up some buildings and then score some cocaine. I didn’t score any coke, myself, but I did happen to witness someone else doing just that. It was all I could do to not burst out “Holy shit, I’m watching a drug deal go down at a bus stop!” as I walked past the people exchanging their goods. It was awesome.

But I digress. For this, the second night, I dragged my Jewish ass to a friend’s house for the Seder. She’d invited me like two months ago, and since I’d agreed to it back then, my Jewishness made it impossible for me to back out at the last second. Even after finding out that I was to bring a bathrobe to the event, and also to wear a turban throughout the Seder. Apparently, my friend’s dad (”He’s really weird!”, she warned me) likes to have everyone dress up so we can really feel like we’re fleeing the desert for freedom. Wow.

My friend had given me very specific directions on how to get to her house. She didn’t realize who she was trusting with said directions, however, and I still managed to get lost twice before actually finding the house. I would have gotten lost a third time, as I was straining to find the house numbers listed on the street in this most Jewish of neighborhoods (one house had a giant menorah in the front yard). While scanning, I noticed one house had a sign that read “FROM SLAVERY TO FREEDOM” posted on the wall, and thus I knew I was in the right place.

I conveniently forgot my bathrobe, and was relieved that none was offered for me to wear. I did get offered a turban (a pillowcase held in place by a stretchy headband), though, and being a good sport, I caved and put the thing on. But not before first rooting through the large cardboard box and finding the one pillowcase that best complemented my attire (read: didn’t make me break any of the china because it clashed so much).

The ceremony was held on the back porch, which had a tarp/tent to enclose the area. Spanning the two sliding glass doors was a timeline, covering Jewish history in its abridged entirety. Also included on the timeline were various and sundry other important historical events. Turns out my friend’s dad is quite the historian. Throughout the Seder, he lectured us on history and brought to life many aspects of the Pesach story, and the story Jewish history tells. Despite the many oddities before me, I found myself captivated.

Throughout the evening, I sat next to a fabulous Jewish grandmother who, with every glass of wine, got progressively more motherly. So much so, in fact, that when she learned (I’m not sure how; I was enjoying the wine very much as well) that I was living with a non-Jew, and at that a female and unmarried one, she suggested I immediately get in touch with the American Jewish University and see if I could find housing through them.

And of course, it wouldn’t be a Jewish event if someone didn’t ask the obligatory questions about getting married and having kids. Never mind that tattoo of mine, which instantly appeared on my forehead the second I came out. You know, the one that says “I’M GAY” in cursive rainbow letters. To dodge the question, I snatched up my glass of wine and gulped down the remaining three-fourths of it. Damn, that wine was good.

The whole affair was so Jewish, I can’t even say. Announcing a 5pm start time but not actually beginning until 6:30. Everyone carrying on and chattering away, starting out the Seder properly and then being so worn out toward the end that the latter parts were totally rushed through or else skipped entirely. Siblings squabbling over who would do what, and older ones demanding that the younger ones get their butts to the front and sing the damned song already. And all the while I sat there, totally enjoying myself (and laughing uncontrollably at all the shit going on) because for once I was not a part of the all the family drama. And oh, how nice a feeling that was.

Here’s to New Year’s Eve plans that don’t wind up panning out. This year, I was presented a variety of options:

• a 24-hour movie marathon
• a night of homophobia fun with my brothers and some friends
• dinner and partying at a gay bar with a bunch of gay friends

All were such tempting and juicy options. Oh, but to pick the one best way to end the year 2007 and ring in the oh-eight. Remembering that this is the one and only chance for me to celebrate this occasion, forever, it was important to consider all my options.

Re: movie marathon - I spent two days confined to my apartment in a haze of fever and sickness. And because I wasn’t able to utilize any of my brain cells in such a state, I watched movies pretty much the entire time. I’ll pass on that one.

Re: “night of fun” - To start, most of the discussion of the evening would, given past precedent, involve talking about how much fun you’ve had tonight while you’re still at the party. When not talking about all of said fun, topics will shift between all the “hot girls” everywhere and the latest and greatest jokes that involve gay guys on barstools. Raucous laughter will, of course, ensue. This one didn’t even make it to the top ten for the decision making process. Pity.

Re: totally gay new year! - Dinner at Macaroni Grill and then hanging out at a local gay bar afterward. The best part about this deal: I could spend the evening with my partner, and we could enjoy the company of friends. Bingo.

But WAIT! There’s a fourth option:

• relax at home with your honey!

Given the above mentioned options, and taking into consideration the fact that I’m still recovering from, uh, the flu, I opted for this fourth choice. A nice rich Italian food dinner, followed by a few hours in nice, loud bar just didn’t seem to be, how you say, “what the doctor ordered.” Another time, perhaps. Because hey, New Year’s isn’t the only time of year to celebrate.

So, how has my New Year’s Eve gone? Like this: relaxing at home watching The Twilight Zone with Robert. Going to dinner at a local coffee shop/restaurant. Eating about one-third of my meal. (Which, by the way, only took me, like, an hour.) Going back home. Thawing out. Relaxing some more.

Indeed, with the exception of the extremely cold temperature outside, a truly fabulous evening. Granted, last year we had about two feet of snow on the ground, so in some ways, this is preferable. But. According to weather reports, it was 29 degrees outside when we were out. Which is totally impossible. My chattering teeth and shivering body probably would have provided a more reliable reading of the temperature. Maybe something in the vicinity of, oh, I don’t know, Zero Kelvin.

Am I excited for 2008? Absolutely. It brings with it the promise of newness, school of the graduate variety, love that will continue to grow, and much more. I’ll not drink to all that tonight, but I will at some point in the near future.

In the spirit of continuing to chronicle the holidays as I experience them this year, it’s time for the “Day After Christmas” installment, wherein I discover that if there’s any day that can be considered the WORST day to do any shopping, it would be precisely on this day every year: December 26.*

Whereas the intent of my shopping was to go in search of 2008 calendars (yearly tradition: half-priced calendars are a good thing), find some little Betty Boop letters for my desk, and to hit the grocery to replenish my nearly fully depleted food supply, other people go shopping for two reasons:

• Returning unwanted Christmas gifts
• Checking out more huge sales

I have two words to describe the malls: Oy. Vay. People were everywhere. I usually like to go and look around, and more or less just window shop. I couldn’t even do that. It got to the point that I found myself missing the usually crowd that frequents the mall just to walk up and down, loitering here and there just because it’s the cool thing to do. To hang out at the mall. At least then I can actually walk into stores and not want to tossing things from the aisles because it’s impossible to move through the aisles or even look at what there is to see.

So. Long story short. I got what I was looking for. Offers of fabulous sales did not, in fact, entice me to make any companies less whiney about their “drops in sales.” I did, however, finally find a set of cool clip on sunglass frames for my glasses. Which means not only can I now see to drive: I can even see to drive in broad daylight! It’s awesome.

*If you read carefully, you’ll notice that my introductory paragraph to this blog entry is, in fact, a single, long-ass, sentence.

• A little reflection…

Historically speaking, I usually spend Christmas in the fine state of Louisiana. There, I visit the extended family that does celebrate the holiday. Which means that every non-Jewish family member would get gifts, and I would gorge myself on all the food at each house we’d visit. Was this a problem for me? Not really, no. The problem was related more to a sense of belonging than anything else.

Simply put, I was surrounded by dozens of people at any given time. Family, no less. Those moments, especially those of the past two or three years, were among the loneliest I have ever experienced. Countless hours spent on the road, driving at least eight hours at a time, to visit family. People I saw at most three or four times each year. People I barely knew. People who expected me to behave as they do, to share their interests, and eagerly watched you grow, in the hopes that you’d become a man’s man, and meet a beautiful girl to marry.

Extended family is great, and visiting is always fun. But all I can remember of the past few years is sitting in the car, driving from place to place. Always attempting to lose myself in a good book, good music. Anything to keep my mind from wandering, and especially to keep from having to partake in the “male bonding” of my siblings. Ironically enough, leave it to the gay brother to be the only one who doesn’t enjoy crocheting blankets to pass the time on the road. I lost count of how many times I got lectured by my brothers, telling me that I needed to go buy some yarn and get to work. The concept that I didn’t enjoy it was lost on them. We were all of us expected to be the same. To enjoy the same things. And if, by chance, you differed, expect to be ostracized.

For the last few years, I realized more and more exactly who I was, and what it was I wanted (which was generally very different from what they wanted). I took it in stride, though. Last year, just prior to leaving on the big trip, I came out to my family. Support was offered, sort of. As in: “Yay! You finally told us what we already knew. Now, as long as you don’t actually act gay, we’re perfectly okay with it.” I went on the trip one more time. And it was probably one of the most stressful experiences I’ve ever had.

• Fast forward to present…

I just experienced the most wonderful Christmas day of my entire life. I was not surrounded by dozens of family members. But I was not alone. I spent most of the day with my partner. Waking up with him, lounging around all morning together, exchanging late Chanukah and Yule gifts, taking pictures in the hopes of capturing even a sliver of the magic.

Going to lunch at a crowded IHOP. Waiting half an hour to get seated and then enjoy a nice lunch together. In the later afternoon and on into the evening, going over to a friend’s house to enjoy dinner and good company. Robert replete with Santa hat. Me in an Elf hat. Trying to blink away the little silver square that appears every time I blink following the flash of a camera.

Not wanting the day to end. Spending the remainder of the evening with Robert, exhausted but blissful. Looking into his eyes. Losing myself. Falling even more in love. After all the gifts, the activity, the company, the chatter, I know what is the greatest gift of all. Grinning from ear to ear. Literally.

I made the mistake of going to the mall tonight. A final effort to finish out the Secret Santa extravaganza for the year. I headed over there about quarter to 8, and for some stupid reason found myself wondering if all the stores would be closing soon. When I pulled into the parking lot, however, I recognized my folly. Earth to the Jewish guy! Christmas is less than a week away. Oh yeah.

For the most part, the hour I spent in the mall was a fairly normal experience. The main difference between tonight and any average trip to the mall was mostly the sheer masses of people swarming the place. Oh, and maybe the ten-year-old kids I saw running around Spencer’s Gifts. I mean, really, what’s so unwholesome about a fourth-grader running around such a family-oriented environment? Chasing his sister around with a little plastic keychain which, every time you press the little button, says “Fuck you!”? Nothing, that’s what. “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” Followed by uncontrollable giggling. Meanwhile, mom is oblivious, as she’s too busy looking at a book of drinking sex games.

Now that’s what I call holiday spirit. Eat your heart out, Mike Huckabee.

If you ever wondered about who would be the absolute worst Santa Claus ever, let me spare you the trouble. You’re looking at him. See, we’re doing this Secret Santa deal at work. And when asked if I wanted to participate, I said sure! But my Jewish ass had no idea how the whole Secret Santa thing works. Oh, and I didn’t bother mentioning that to anyone. I just figured I’d figure it out one way or another. By not really paying attention to anything other than the strange little survey I had to go on for the poor soul for whom I’m playing Santa. And, truth be told, I hadn’t the slightest idea how to use all the little clues provided from the questionnaire for this business. Pathetic, I know.

Perhaps I can blame my unworthiness as a Secret Santa on the fact that tonight is the first night of Chanukah. It sort of snuck up on me, and before I could even think to go in search of a fabulous menorah, the holiday is already upon me. So what have I got instead? Probably the cheesiest and most dreadful version of a menorah the world has ever seen. It’s cloth, and has little cloth candle flames to place on the thing. It’s symbolic and shit, so it’ll do for now. And it’s travel friendly, which is good because I’ll be traveling this weekend. But next year, I aim to have a menorah so incredible that people all around will suddenly want to convert just so they can go out and get one just like it. Or, at the very least, they’ll want to be honorary Jews for the week, and come over to my house and celebrate with me.

Speaking of which, I saw the most interesting sign tonight coming home from the grocery store. There’s this one church a mile or so up the street from me that always has strange quotes on the sign out front, facing the street. The marquee displayed the following message:

Happy Hanukkah to all our Jewish friends. Shalom.

What surprised me was not this nice message from the Perfected Jews of this particular church*, but rather the fact that it made perfect sense. Grammatically. Because the place is notorious for its total lack of syntax with regard to its marquee. I think the last message it had displayed said something like:

A Christian is someone through which Jesus speaks.

Aside from the fact that they totally misused their pronouns, thereby referring to a person as something non-human or inanimate (as in they should have said “through whom“), the message itself really just makes no sense. Every time I saw it, I’d try to wrap my head around what they were trying to get at, and still I fail. But I give them props for the cool Chanukah message.

*Note: I have no idea how this particular church feels about Evil Ann. I seriously doubt they follow that bitch’s logic about Christians being “Perfected Jews” (i.e. the nice message they had posted on their marquee is a good indication that they’re pretty cool). I included the phrase for humorous purposes only, as well as to make a statement (again) about how much Ann Coulter sucks at life.