January 05, 2007

Tip The Scales We All Fall Off

The scale tipped at 219.

I'm much chubbier today than I was at the cusp of rugby-fueled 2006. Not quite losing-sight-of-my-feet fat, but definitely headed for double-chin territory. The megamorphosis, while greasy and disgusting, has been quite comfortable. The great macaroni and cheese bake off of 2006 was one of the happiest and greasiest memories of last year.

Unfortunately, happy times were few and far between in 2006. It’s time for a change, several changes. I don’t particularly enjoy change, but when I go for it, I go with gusto.

I typically modify my life every three to four years. And 2007 finds me right on course for a vast upheaval in my creative, financial, physical and emotional realms. When Libra’s scales tip, everything falls into the floor where it’s easier to pick up the best pieces.

Assuming I can see what’s laying at my feet. Change is a good thing.

First off, I'm being transitioned out of my pays-the-bills job because I’m not “meeting expectations”. And to think I just bought a new wardrobe of plus size button downs and elastic waist slacks. More on this later in the year.

Speaking of jobs that don’t pay the bills; or pay at all; I'm probably ending my astrology gig. They haven’t paid me since July. It doesn't take a magical "third inner eye" to see that some brutal karma is in store for that magazine.

On an unrelated side note, did you know fortune telling in New York is a class B misdemeanor? Check it out:

Under New York State law, S 165.35: A person is guilty of fortune telling when, for a fee or compensation which he directly or indirectly solicits or receives, he claims or pretends to tell fortunes, or holds himself out as being able, by claimed or pretended use of occult powers, to answer questions or give advice on personal matters or to exorcise, influence or affect evil spirits or curses; except that this section does not apply to a person who engages in the aforedescribed conduct as part of a show or exhibition solely for the purpose of entertainment or amusement.

I'm not sure anyone was ever entertained or amused by my horoscopes. I'm headed for the big house. Better not drop the soap. Fascinating stuff nonetheless?

Perhaps my lack of payment for my published prophecy is more a rich blessing disguised in beggar's robes. I wonder if beggar’s robes come in plus sizes. Beggars are typically so very fashionably skinny.

Those of you who know me in person know I’ve developed a terrible habit of staying up until day break during the weekends and spending an awful lot of time in the shadowy corners of this city’s seedier gentlemen’s bars talking and talking and talking and talking and talking and talking and talking and talking.

This is my primary change for the New Year: No more of that incessant, distracting talking. Instead, I will probably start drinking. At least with drinking if I end up with a bloody nose, I likely deserved it.

Oh… I nearly forgot! I’m gay again and my honey and I are boyfriends and lovers and sweethearts, as per usual.

My sexual orientation reassignment therapy from Transitions Retreat didn’t really schtick. I went to Equinox gym upon my return to Brooklyn (to help shed my extra chin) and instead of hitting the cardiovascular machines, quickly relapsed into my prior lifestyle and trolled the steam room for two hundred and sixteen consecutive, sleepless hours, dropping the soap and talking and talking and talking and talking. “Never talk with your mouth full,” mother used to say.

So much honesty in this entry! There’s a change, indeed. Of course my boyfriend doesn’t know a men’s steam room is where I was for nine days. He’s so sweet. He frantically placed a Police Missing Person’s Report on my behalf and stapled signs with my photo around Clinton Hill. The photo looked nothing like me; I used to be so fashionably skinny.

I’ve said enough as it is. Time for action. Wasn’t it Whitney who famously said talk is cheap?

2 comments:

bryce said...

Liarmouth!

Foxy said...

Odd...all I remember about you at the mac & cheese bake off is your hissy fit.

Oh. Maybe that WAS one of your happiest memories of the year. Poor dear.

Welcome to the land of the dull. Grab a seat, a Melrose Place rerun is about to come on.