Something's End, Part 2

If you read Part 2 without reading Part 1 first, well, that is just like cutting in line, now isn’t it? We take cutting in line very seriously around here. Do not test us on this. Go read Part 1. Go! We will still be here when you get back.

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Back when 3400 Montrose was mine, I usually slept on the fourth floor of the building, right there at the northeast corner that overlooked the Kroger store next door.

The room I slept in, it was completely sealed off, with no doors to the hallway or to any other suite. I had to climb down through the ceiling from a utility closet on the fifth floor to reach it.

It stank. Whenever I slept there, I stank, too.

But it was mine and I had somewhere to sleep and I had to sleep somewhere.

I still have the master keys to the whole building. Right here. I keep them with me even after all of these years, just in case. I figure if ever everything else in my life falls through, I still have the keys to the bathrooms for 3400 Montrose, you know? I mean, you never know…

Something's End, Part 1

I have been giving a lot of thought to endings lately.

I believe I have been giving a lot of thought to endings lately because for me, a lot of things have been ending lately.

Relationships done. School finished. My lease ended. “Lesbians in My Soup”  ending…

So much around here has been going, going, gone.

Then this morning, which was Sunday morning, I was out on Montrose Boulevard, dumpster diving like I do every Sunday morning. I had just come up for air with a box fan in my left hand and a brown corduroy Stafford suit jacket in my right. I admit that I was really pleased with myself because, I mean, who wouldn’t be? A brown corduroy Stafford suit jacket goes with almost anything and it can be casual or  formal.

And that was when I saw it. Across the street.

I saw that old office building at 3400 Montrose.

What's in the Box?

“Angela says Cameron Diaz’s head is in there.”

“Cameron Diaz’s head? Wow. And what do you say?”

“I say it’s a cat. But until we open up the-”

[Tongue clicking] “-It’s n-n-not a cat, Rachel!”

“You don’t know that, Angela.”

“Y-yes I DO. A c-c-cat would make noise like scrA-A-Atching and me-eO-O-W-”

“No, we don’t know until we open the box! Until then, the cat exists in a state of-”

“How is it one of my daughters is talking about an R-rated movie and the other one is talking about quantum physics? Can neither one of you just talk about something… age-appropriate? Justin Bieber or-?”

“W-W-WHAT’S IN THE BO-O-OX?!”

Hunting Hippies in East Montrose

When it finally rained in Houston, nobody knew what to do. As in nobody remembered how to handle the reality of water falling out of the sky. Was there some sort of procedure in place for handling this? Should we make our way to the nearest FEMA camp? Was it safe enough for humans to touch? How long would it last?

And the kids… Well, the kids were only children, after all, and completely without any firsthand memory of rain. And they came shrieking into the house, soaked to the bone, to announce that fluffy grey things had invaded the local sky and were throwing water at them. The kids were worried about the birds, who seemed so unprotected.  

When it finally rained in Houston, the desert jinni, the spirits and demons and dervishes from parts generally west of here all packed up their things and began hightailing it out of town. This was just as well, really, because desert spirits are notorious for driving men to do some crazy shit like start religions even, and there’s been quite enough of that already, thank you.

Gay Neighbors: A Needs Assessment

They say a good neighbor ought to know her community. They say it’s its own reward to have some kind of shared sense of place in this world.

And so I try but it can be painful and it can be confusing.

This neighborhood was too gay...

Like the other day, I am driving down Fairview and this twelve foot tall black tranny walks out in front of my van and falls over. Just collapses right there in front of me. I look out and it’s wigs-a-go-go out there and I’m not sure what to do and I look over at my daughter and I start singing: “These are the people in your neighborhood / In your neighborhood / In you neigh-bor-HOOD!”

Except that it’s 2011 and she’s six and she doesn’t know about Mister Rogers. She knows about twelve foot tall trannies on Fairview, but Mister Rogers? Forget it.

But still I try to know my community, and so I’m reading all the local papers, and lately, everywhere I look the papers are worrying about how maybe my neighborhood just isn’t gay enough anymore. Maybe the breeders have come to Montrose and maybe they are taking over.

Now, this is not an entirely easy admission for me, but the truth is I’m clueless as to what the optimum level of homosexuality in a neighborhood might be… or what one would do to change that level… or frankly, even to be made aware of the level.

Gay Scavenger Pride

From my little third-story window, I’m looking out on the Montrose and I’m declaring dibs on that corner over there for next weekend.

That one there. There, across the street. Don’t even think about trying to beat me to it next Sunday. I called it!

I’ve been doing these Day-After-Pride Scavenger Hunts for years, and dag nab it, that corner over there is mine next week for a reason.

Next Saturday night, you see, it’s the Gay Pride Parade in the Montrose area of Houston, and for us, that’s sort of like Christmas, Halloween, Valentine’s Day, and Thanksgiving, all rolled into one.

You know how they say that everyone is Irish for one day a year, come Saint Patrick’s Day? Gay Pride Weekend is sort of like that, only instead of Irishmen, it’s sodomites. Instead of green beer, it’s sodomy. And instead of bagpipes, it’s… Okay, it’s pretty much all sodomy, all the way down.

I mean, there’s a reason that Pride Parade happens the week after Father’s Day every year. After spending the previous week with you and Sis and Mom up in the suburbs, unwrapping ugly ties and packs of golf balls, Dad starts to remember why it is he spends the other 51 weekends a year sneaking off to the bars and clubs right around the corner from my house.