Christmas Wrap(up)

Christmas wasn't giftless after all. On Saturday I received a lovely letter from those kind, hardworking, selfless folks at the IRS. As I had hoped and prayed, they'd seen the error of their ways and were writing to inform me I didn't in fact owe them $295,000.00, due this coming Thursday, paid in full. Truly a Christmas miracle.

Other than that, Christmas was a non-event for us. We regretfully passed on spending the holiday with my parents, as we usually do, which I know just broke my mother's heart. But with Christmas falling on Sunday and the boyfriend's work schedule, it would have meant packing up the dogs and doing a kamikaze round trip in under 24 hours. Considering half that time would have been spent on the road or sleeping, it just didn't make sense.

Besides, my sister decided it was her turn to cook, and the boyfriend and I have suffered enough for one year.

Two Lumps, Please

Let me preface this by saying it's never my intention to be Debbie Downer when I sit down to write these posts, really it's not. I'm just trying to chronicle the unplanned detour of our lives, the ups and the downs, and lately the "ups" have been few and far between.

For today, Christmas Eve, I had actually composed a heartfelt and touching message in the spirit of the season. But after yesterday, fuck it.

Although the boyfriend and I aren't giving gifts to each other this year, that doesn't mean life can't drop a couple of lumps of coal on top of your unassuming Friday morning.

Lump #1 came in the form of a 20 foot length of pipe. That's what had to be replaced yesterday morning when yet ANOTHER pipe burst in our family room ceiling. I walked into the kitchen to refresh my coffee and heard the sickening sound of running water. When I looked into the family room I saw a steady stream of water pouring down in front of the Christmas tree. It wasn't coming from the ceiling; we don't have one. It was coming from the heavy gauge plastic that's blocked off the exposed attic from the rest of the house since the last leak took out the ceiling. The plastic was sagging under the weight of about 5 gallons of pooled water which was slowly draining from a tiny hole. I quickly grabbed some trash cans and widened the hole to try and drain the water before the whole thing came crashing down.

As you can probably imagine, finding a plumber on the Friday before Christmas isn't an easy undertaking.

Or cheap.

The plumber who had done the original repair, the one who had been foisted on us by the insurance company, couldn't be bothered. He offered to come out next week. I called just about every plumber in Bako and only one returned my frantic call. Luckily, it turns out he's considered one of the better (and honest) plumbers in town and he and his crew were out within the hour. They made quick work of the repair, and he helpfully pointed out what he believed would be the next two pipe failures. It looks like we'll be doing quite a bit of business in the coming months. An hour (and $550.00) later, it was fixed. For now.

Now, the whole ordeal isn't without it's bright sides. Had we actually been able to re-drywall the ceiling, install new insulation and paint the repair after the last leak, we'd be spending this weekend tearing it all out again. And this leak narrowly missed the new TV and stereo which were replacements for the TV and stereo that were destroyed the last time.

Speaking of the new TV and stereo...

Lump #2: Walmart found me.

To be honest, I'm actually relieved. Contrary to what you may have gleaned about me from the blog, I do in fact have a conscience. Although it wasn't my fault I'd fallen through the cracks, it was getting increasingly difficult to justify my Walmart windfall, and really, any way you slice it, it's nothing more than theft. So I actually welcome the chance to make it all right. Besides, I did in fact fill out an application and sooner or later it was bound to turn up. Maybe in a month, maybe a year, maybe sometime in a distant future where our lives our back on track, there would always be the specter of the Walmart SWAT team bursting down the door and hauling my ass off to the Walmart gulag somewhere deep in Arkansas. So at least I'll be able to sleep somewhat sounder.

So between those two events, what little Christmas cheer I'd been able to muster this year vanished. But I'm not without hope. I saved the nice post I planned for today and with a little luck, I'll be able to run it next year. So with that in mind, here's to wishing everyone a very Merry Christmas.

Some Enchanted Evening

Saturday night was amazing.

Not so much for the party.

The client throwing the party is a pretty small operation and even though it was at a swank Beverly Hills hotel I figured it wasn't going to be a grand affair. The words "Cash Bar" on the invite pretty much guaranteed that. All the same, we scheduled our departure to allow for traffic and yet arrive fashionably late. The party was to start at 8:00.

Unfortunately, due to someone's unexpected "hair issues", we ended up leaving almost an hour later than planned and then found ourselves stuck on the 405. By the time we pulled up to the hotel, it was 9:30.

And the party was winding down.

There were only about 20 people still there and whatever food there may have been was long gone. I finally found my client, we were meeting for time. He went around and introduced me to "the team", and I likewise introduced the boyfriend, who's hair, I must admit, looked amazing. We went to the bar and ordered a couple of drinks and made small talk with our new friends for about 10 minutes. I noticed the few remaining people were starting to trickle out and saw my client closing his tab at the bar. The party was basically over.

Normally I probably would have been pissed, driving all that way for less than 30 minutes of action, but the truth of the matter is my social skills are pretty rusty and that was probably the limit of my current abilities. Baby steps.

So there we were, waiting for the valet, at 10 o'clock on a Saturday night in Beverly Hills. Starving.

My first thought was, well, let's just grab some fast food and hit the road back. We could probably make it by midnight. I mentioned this to the boyfriend and he turned to me and said 'Fuck That".

And he had a point. It was the very first time the two of us had been back in the city together since we moved two years ago and it wasn't an opportunity to squander. He made a suggestion: we aren't giving each other gifts this year, we most likely won't be back in the city together for a long time, we're all dressed up for the first time in ages, let's splurge and have a nice dinner at one of our old favorite restaurants. A night on the town will be our gift to each other.

Maybe I've lived in Bakersfield too long, but I thought it prudent to call the restaurant and make sure they were still serving dinner. It's not that there aren't dining options in Bako at 10pm on a Saturday night, it's just that they all involve drive-up. I called the restaurant and the host must have thought I was a rube; of course they were still serving dinner, the kitchen was open until 12:30. God I miss the city.

We arrived at the restaurant, in the heart of West Hollywood, around 10:30. The street was teeming with people and the restaurant was packed with members of the tribe. I'd forgotten what it was like to be around other gay men. We proceeded to order a three course feast and just kind of basked in the warm glow of all the holiday decorations and good cheer. It was the best night the two of us had had in a very long time, since at least before we were exiled.

By the time our entrees arrived the restaurant had started to thin out and by around 11:30 we were almost the only people left. Without all the chatter you could finally hear the music playing softly in the background and just around the time we asked for the check, "Home", by Michael Bublé came on...

"Let me go home
I’ve had my run
Baby, I’m done
I gotta go home
Let me go home
It will all be all right..."

We left around midnight and were back in Bako shortly after 2.

It isn't home, and it never will be.

The Usual Suspects

When I think "Christmas", I think two words... "Mannheim Steamroller".

I just found out they played Bakersfield last Wednesday and we knew nothing about it.

Color me bummed.

The Holiday Spirits

Christmas has always been a big deal with us, especially when it came to decorating the house. "Go Big or Go Home" we always used to say and we always prided ourselves on being excessive, yet tasteful.

But not for the past four years.

Christmas 2007 was amazing.

Christmas 2008... not so much. At that point I had been out of work for months and the reality that we might lose the house was starting to sink in. There wasn't much holiday cheer, not to mention gifts, and we didn't bother to decorate. A month later, the boyfriend was laid off and the death spiral began in earnest.

Christmas 2009 found us shellshocked in the aftermath and living in Bakersfield. It never even occurred to us to celebrate the holiday, we were just too numb.

Christmas 2010 found us slowly adjusting to the "new normal" and packing to move into the house we currently reside in, moving a week after the New Year. No point decorating.

Which brings us to... the present.

The boyfriend and I finally just said "fuck it". Our circumstances haven't appreciably changed, but we have a garage full of Christmas decorations and by God we were putting them up, come Hell or high water.

And we did, over the past two weekends.

And I have to say, the end result is... spectacular.

The house is rimmed with tasteful lights, red, green and white. In less skilled hands it could probably look Mexican, but we're pros and the end result is magical. Balls of light line the entryway and in a corner of the yard there's a forest of lighted Christmas trees and a vintage Frosty The Snowman. Capping it all is another vintage yard display, from the 50's, a plastic Santa and his sleigh, pulled by Rudolph, launching itself off the front trellis.

It's like Vegas. But in a good way.

I'm not one to pat us on the back, but I have to say I'm impressed.

And that's what I was thinking as I walked the dogs Sunday evening, admiring our handiwork for the first time in the dark of night. As I was rounding the corner on the way back home, I noticed a car slow and come to a stop in front of our house.

"How cool is that?" I thought. "People admiring our work!"

And then I heard the yelling.

Soft at first, muffled, in the car. Some sort of domestic dispute.

Just my luck, in a town where everyone is armed.

I was hoping I could just shuffle by and up the driveway, unnoticed in the rage.

Right as I was in front of both our house and the car, the passenger door flew open and a women burst out screaming...

"FUCK YOU KIM, YOU'RE DRUNK".

As an impartial observer, my first thought was... lesbians.

Now, to transcribe what happened next would require typing the "F-word' several dozen times, not to mention the "C-word", and I have to say I'm just not up to the task. Surprising, I know, but it's even too much for me.

So I'll be using asterisks.

"F*** YOU KIM, YOU'RE DRUNK"

There was screaming from Kim in the driver's seat, but I couldn't really make it out. Perhaps because she was drunk.

The passenger seemed to gather her things and then started storming off up the street.

Just then the driver's door opened and Kim appeared.

"F*** YOU BITCH GIVE ME MY F***INK CAR KEYS YOU F***ING C***!!!"

Lovely. Kim was stopped in the center of the street, in front of our house, and it would appear she wasn't going anywhere.

"I'M NOT GIVING YOU YOUR F***KING KEYS, KIM, BECAUSE YOUR TOO F***ING DRINK TO DRIVE!"

"GIVE ME MY F***CKING KEYS YOU F***ING BITCH. I HAVE YOUR F***CKING WALLET, I'LL F***CKIN F*** YOU UP. BITCH!"

"NO YOU DON'T KIM, YOU F***CKING DUMBASS BITCH. I HAVE MY WALLET. YOU'RE TOO F***ING DRUNK!!!"

"WHAT THE F*** AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH MY CAR YOU C***!?!?!

"YOU'RE A BIG GIRL KIM, PUSH IT TO THE F***ING SIDE OF THE ROAD"

Yup, lesbians.

It continued for awhile, getting louder and louder as the passenger, who's name we never learn, walked further down the street.

At that point the dogs were scared and I wasn't about to get involved so I hustled everyone into the house and prayed there wouldn't be a knock on the door from Kim looking for assistance.

About an hour later, I peeked through the blinds and the car was still there. No sign of Kim, but I imagined her sitting on the curb nursing a 40.

An hour after that, before we went to bed, I checked again and the car hadn't moved. But the next morning it was gone.

Maybe it's the holiday spirit, but I like to think the two of them managed to patch things up, kiss and make up and continued on their tipsy way.

But the reality is probably that Kim pushed the car all the way home. Trust me, if you saw her, you'd know she could do it.

Bako On Parade

Last night was the annual Bakersfield Christmas Parade. It's a big deal and televised live.

For two hours.

It got off to a little bit of a rocky start. During the "pre-show", during the 5 o'clock news, they went out to a live remote with the weatherman. He was sitting curbside with a bunch of 4 and 5 year-olds. After a little light banter, he turned to the kids, and for no apparent reason said "You know kids, a lot of people say Santa doesn't exist."

You could see the kid's faces melt into horror and the weathermen seemed to sense he'd fucked up and cut away to a weather map. When they returned, the kids were all gone, sobbing into their mothers' arms no doubt.


But on to the show. Our hosts for the evening, Todd Karli and Jackie Parks, the evening news anchors. They're married. You know, one of the other pairs of local anchors is married too. I've never seen that before. Seems like it would be fraught with risk. But I suppose that's one way to keep the good ones from fleeing to a bigger market. Still, let's just hope and pray things are cool on the home front.


Generalissimo Harvey Hall, Mayor-For-Life, Supreme Ruler of All That Is Bako. Don't fuck with him or you'll be disappeared.


Mrs. Claus, sponsored by the local cemetery. Probably not the best choice, especially considering Mrs. Claus had on so much pancake make-up she looked like a corpse.


Marching Patriots. Are there any other kind?


What to say...


... I have no words...


The Department of Redundancy Department called, they want their sign back.


Oy vey.


It's a three-fer.... Miss Bakersfield, Mrs. Bakersfield and Miss Teen Bakersfield. No word on if they're related.


Christian bikers. Bakersfield in a nutshell.


And then the Sikhs. There are a LOT of Sikhs here. Why they settled here is an eternal mystery. That can't set too well with the Evangelicals.


And... the Sikhs won an award. Actually, every float won an award. It's like the Special Olympics that way.

At any rate, that was the first 30 minutes. We lost interest at that point and switched to "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire". But not to worry, I'm sure they'll re-run it ad infinitum.

I know I'm in the Christmas spirit now.

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas

Looking over the past week's posts I see it's been nothing but doom and gloom around here lately. So, I figure it's time to lighten the mood, and what better way than to focus on... Christmas.

They say a single snow flake can trigger an avalanche, and evidently a single Christmas tune can open the holiday floodgates.

We were running some errands over the weekend and the boyfriend was trying to find some music on the limited local stations when suddenly he came across "Santa Baby".

Now... I know there's been a recent trend of certain "adult contemporary, easy listening" stations throwing themselves over to non-stop Christmas music during the holidays, but in my experience they have the decency to wait until Thanksgiving. But that couldn't be the case here... it was only November 12th.

But sure enough, the next song up was "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas". Well, sure... OK... I will... IN SIX WEEKS. Sheesh.

But then I looked at the boyfriend and he had... that gleam.

The boyfriend goes Cuckoo for Christmas. Odd, because he was raised Jewish. Actually, that may be the cause; denied the Christmas orgy in his youth, he's now making up for lost time as an adult. Whatever the cause, before we moved to Bakersfield, Christmas was an over-the-top, extreme sport at our house.

Our first Christmas here, we were really still too shellshocked to do much of anything, and last Christmas we were packing to move. In our diminished circumstances, I wasn't sure we'd do anything this year. What's the point of putting up a Christmas tree if there isn't going to be anything under it?

When we got home, I needed to focus on two small jobs, one of which was the damn Snickerdoodle flyer (never have an 11 year-old as a client, trust me on this). The boyfriend said he'd focus on housework since the house had turned into something of a wreck. A couple of hours later I emerged from my office and noticed there was precious little housework getting done. Actually... none. And the boyfriend was nowhere to be found.

And then I heard a "thump" in the garage, and there he was, with ten years worth of Christmas crap all out of its boxes and pulled down from the rafters, ready to go.

Suffice it to say, no housework ended up getting done but the house is well on it's way to being festooned for the holidays... two weeks before Thanksgiving.

Looks like we're going to give Jim a run for the money this year.