john barrowman and husband!
I have to admit, it broke my heart when I found out John Barrowman was gay. We lost another hot guy to the other side. (Let’s not even talk about Neil Patrick Harris…)
This is possibly the coolest thing I’ve ever watched evolve.
I like how celebrities are using social media to keep their fans involved in their personal lives. I feel bad that they may feel forced into doing so, but judging from what John posts, I’m pretty sure he loves it. Why else would you post video of yourself in the bathtub?!?! (We all know Martin Freeman leaked the video of himself taking a bath, but he likes watching us fangirl over him. He gets off on it. *grin*)
I grew up not knowing the differences between black, Hispanic, and white. I grew up not knowing that it wasn’t OK for boys to like boys and girls to like girls. I grew up not knowing a lot of things, I guess.
I’m glad I’ve never people put into neat little boxes based on skin color or sexuality… which makes something as simple as two men getting married seem a bit ‘eh’ to me. I mean, people get married every day. It shouldn’t be that big a deal.
At the same time, it makes me happy that we’re making the kind of progress that allows those two men to get married.
Thirteen down, thirty seven to go.
silly americans, pants are underwear!
Unfortunately, I’m still one of those assholes who make fun of Americans’ misunderstanding of English words…
I had to apologize this morning for Guinness biting another dog at day care. Not really his fault (there was a skirmish in the pack and it was self-defense), but he broke the skin and the other dog needed stitches. It’s easy to forget he’s a big, tough, STRONG German Shepherd because he’s so ridiculously gentle most of the time… but dogs will be dogs, and he is a dog. Too many people forget that their dogs are dogs. I try not to.
I got an email this morning that… I don’t know. I’m posting a heavily edited version here so I don’t lose it.
Ok, I don’t want you to think I am ignoring you… It isn’t anything to do with you, but more to do with a friendship you have rekindled… I’m not asking you to be involved. In fact, I am asking the opposite. I just wanted to inform you.
This person’s timing is freaky. This is now the second time they’ve brought up a topic on the tail of someone else bringing up the same thing. It’s the second time I’ve revised a blog entry draft because of that fact. (Get out of my head, you! *grin*)
The good news is that they were much nicer about it than the other person.
I’m never going to judge them for deciding to stay away from him.
I know that he’s done some major damage to people. I know he still has the potential to do some major damage. I know most of it is unforgivable.
I do. I really do. It’s why we’ve done our little back and forth over the years. It’s why this time, I’m keeping my walls up. It’s why this time, I’m keeping my distance. A bit.
There’s only so much I can do… Moth to a flame, baby. Moth. To. A. Flame.
He needs me, and oddly, despite all the damage he can inflict on me (especially now when I’m a mental mess), I need him, too.
I’ll never be able to explain it. I’ll never be able to cut him out of my life 100%. Dog knows I’ve tried. More than once. Going all the way back to 1994.
Outside of my parents, there are two people whose absences from my life have cut me to the bone. They were the people who meant the most to me and were there when I needed them the most… and then they were gone.
He was one of them.
I’m glad that I don’t have to chose him over the note writer, and the more I chew on the other person’s reaction, I’m glad I’m choosing him over them.
In happier news, I finally heard back from the hotel chain. He wants to do a ‘refresher’ interview since we last met in May. (I don’t know what else to call it…) So I guess I’m going back for a third.
mmm… the cumbercutie
I just finished the third online assessment for that work from home job.
I also had a recruiter tell me that I was going to be submitted for positions whether I wanted to be considered for them or not. (Apparently, I make bad choices. Hmm?)
I’ve already burst into tears. Twice.
I’m calling it a day and hiding in bed until it’s time to go to the gym…
Hence, the Cumbercutie photo spam.
babybatch in a tux. your argument is irrelevant.
Is it bad that I can tell the Massholes who live just over the border from the Massholes who drive more than an hour to get into New Hampshire?
Seriously. I can.
It’s been one of those “I can’t even get half a mile down Route 1 without an asshole almost killing me because they have no idea where the fuck they are” days.
Must be summertime at America’s shortest shoreline.
I make no apologizes for singing the following at the top of my lungs while stuck at a light surrounded by fucking tourists. (Except maybe to the Bosstones, since they wrote the original.)
They came to Hampton Beach on their vacation. They came, they saw, they annoyed me. They did it all: surf and sun! It’s best if they just avoid me. Rented a car to see the sights, but they found Route 1 confusing. Passed the packy* on 95, well I find that real amusing.
I was here before they came. I’ll be here long after. Don’t want to swear, but it seems clear that I’m gonna have to…
(*packy = New England term for package store, aka liquor store, aka place where stupid tourists can load up on alcohol and make themselves even more annoying.)