This is the good news I was referring to on Facebook.

Hmmm.... when you go a week and a half between updates, what exactly constitutes something important enough to warrant breaking the non-update streak? The elections are over and Michael Jackson is already dead. Not a lot of headline news these days, particularly coming out of downtown Omaha.

Although something rather fantastic DID happen to me today, probably more fantastic than anything in a couple of years, at least from a work standpoint. My boss called me in to his office to test my interest in a mangement position that's opening up, and I think it would actually put me higher up on the chain than I was before the big self-inflicted demotion of '08. At the very least it would have me working a M-F work schedule again like most of America. I mean, the part of America's that's fortunate enough to be working these days.

It would suck to lose the long weekends and stress-free life that I've grown accustomed to, but it would keep my actual weekends free year-round. Getting up at 6am on a Sunday is just ridiculous, I don't care who you are. It would also give my life something else that's been sorely lacking: structure. When you bunch up all of your work hours on one side of the week and all of your free hours on the other side of the week, you tend to end up with too much of both. Too much free time? Yes, it's possible. And sometimes dangerous.

And best of all, this position would put me even higher than the little douchebag who stole my job a year ago. Revenge is sweet.

Sure, there's some competition and nothing is official yet, but I do like the fact that my boss TOLD ME to apply for this, and that there are certain aspects to it that make me the most qualified person for the job. But I think the truly beautiful thing is the fact that I wasn't exactly looking at the moment, that I've been very content (not to mention the aforementioned abundant lack of stress) so there really isn't a downside here. The worst case scenario is that I don't get this job but my boss has acknowledged that he values me, wants to promote me, and therefore is less likely to put me first on the Indian chopping block whenever that thing shows up. And it will.

Aside from all of that, it was a crappy week with very little sleep for no reason. This is what killed Michael Jackson, people. Good thing I don't have any overpaid unscrupulous personal physicians with unlimited access to prescription pharmaceuticals on my payroll. Before that I would actually have to have a payroll, so I think I'm safe. Tired, but safe.

But it's Friday in my world, and there will be sleep tonight, no matter when it finally starts. And at the moment that's worth more than any fancy shmancy job title.

Used it up, wore it out.

Short weekend but beautiful weather the whole time; I guess now we're having a late Fall. Totally okay with that as long as Spring does not get postponed in any way, shape or form. Yes, I'm bitching about Winter even though it's not here yet. It's what I do.

A dear old friend was in town this weekend; we went out Friday night and pretended like it was ten years ago. We actually did pretty okay with that, if I may say so. Saturday hangover was minimal. I suppose I really do drink less when I go out now, it just feels like I'm drinking as much as I used to because it takes so much less to make me drunk. That's probably a good thing, right?

We were also able to scrape up a slew of old friends from back in the day, and from "back in the day" I mean 99-00ish. Then, after the bar, when we weren't convinced we'd seen enough people, we called even more people from back in the day. It was a miniature class reunion, with class being a gay bar in Lincoln. Those really were some good days that I still miss very much. I just don't want to relive them again. Not in this body.

Did I mention the weather? Holy crap it's been nice out there.

That's all I've got. Let's all take bets now on whether or not I manage to update before another entire week goes by.

Things that go bump in the night.

Well, Halloween 2009 goes something like this: It was a Saturday. It was a Saturday with nice weather. It was a Saturday, with nice weather, and an extra hour of party time. It was all of those things, plus it was one of the Saturdays where I did not have to get up early the next morning and go to work. I think it might have even been a full moon, and at this time I should also point out that it's one of the top 2 gay party days of the year. So what did I do?

I made a last minute trip down to Lincoln to go trick or treating with the kids.

Nephew 1 was an Al Capone-type gangster, while Nephew 2 was someone in the new GIJoe movie, which I have not seen and don't really want to on account of I'm sure it will destroy my childhood. Still, it works as a costume. Note: This was a staged action shot at request of Nephews 1 and 2, who did not want to merely just pose normally. Neither nephew was injured during the staging of this photo.

Nephews 3 and 4 were also not into the posing spirit, so this was the best I could do trying to get them both in the same shot. Nephew 3 was quite obviously Spiderman, although we took his mask off because poor thing kept running into walls. Nephew 4 was a moo-cow. He ended up taking his own hood off much of the night on account of he's 2 and can do what he wants.

We neglected to tell Nephew 4 that there would be other kids out in costumes as well, so the first time a black-costumed Spiderman (this one with mask) walked up behind him to ring a doorbell Nephew 4 turned and let out a bellowing scream. I didn't realize they knew what scary things were at that age. We later explained to Nephew 4 that the other Spiderman was also a little boy wearing a costume, to which he matter-of-factly replied "Oh."

I actually did make it back home in time to join the gay-bar fun, but the line out the front door as I drove past made me decide to just stay home and continue reading the latest Dan Brown novel.

Should I be presented with the same circumstances and choices next Halloween, I'm kind of guessing that I'll just go down and take the kids out again. So much less drama than Halloween in a gay bar. And no hangover.

The book of Duderonomy.

I recently witnessed a Facebook debate regarding whether it was appropriate for gay men, or anyone for that matter, to still use the word "dude" in conversation. I was tempted to speak up, on account of I still use the word somewhat regularly. But instead I was taken with very fond memories of someone I haven't thought about in fifteen years, and possibly one of the most interesting people to ever cross my path. Her name was Carlene.

I met her in Florida, shortly after I was relocated there for work. I would've been about 23, I'm guessing she was a year younger. She was a temp in the building where I worked; I had just started smoking as a means of giving myself a break outdoors during the long night shifts I was stuck with.

Like me, she was also a transplant, except Carlene was from New Jersey. Short girl with long auburn hair, ripped jeans cuffed at the bottom, leather boots and leather jacket. Her t-shirts often hung high enough to reveal her equally-ripped abs. Kind of had a guy-body in many ways, stocky, yet still feminine if that makes sense. I guess what I'm trying to say here is that she would've had no problem kicking my ass. Or anyone else's for that matter. Even her voice was masculine. You could not have a complete conversation with her without getting punched in the arm at least once.

Like most of America, I myself was in transition from my hair-metal to grunge phase, though I would've never admitted to liking that new style of rock. Still, I had the flannel hoodies, ripped jeans, converse sneakers and aversion to haircuts and facial shaving. We bonded quickly, first over the cigarettes we were smoking, then over the hair metal music we listened to. Our cigarette breaks went from the patio to my car, where I could play her cassettes of new bands that my friend back at the Nebraska radio station was still sending me to keep me from getting homesick.

I moved to Florida alone and really had no other friends, no social life to speak of. At least not until Carlene came along. We began hanging out outside of work, going to clubs and concerts or just smoking marijuana in my apartment. I had smoked it before, but never really gotten high. Carlene changed that. She also taught me how to roll the joint and even use a Coke can if we were out of papers. She was younger than me, but so much older. Her stories from her Jersey days were like nothing I'd ever experienced, including a night where she found one of her friends dead on a curb from a heroin injection. He was very anti-drug and would have never taken it himself, although apparently that was never proven to the police. I was so chilled that I tried to incorporate it into the book I was writing. I had much more time to write back then.

Her parents were divorced, but still lived together in a double-wide trailer. The complex had a pool where Carlene went every day to work on her tan. I was usually doing the same thing everyday at my own apartment complex. But each night at midnight we went to work, meeting every 2 hours for our cigarette breaks.

I have vivid memories of the night we went to see KISS play at Disney's now-defunct Pleasure Island, taping a performance that would later be used on Dick Clark's annual New Year's Eve telecast. Afterward, we went to a club owned by the lead singer of Warrant, and while we were watching them play we saw Gene Simmons walk in. Right past us, and we giggled and whispered like kids, until finally I declared that I was going to talk to him. And so, I walked up to all 8 feet of Gene, introduced myself, and said I enjoyed his show earlier that night. He thanked me, and then I made the mistake of wanting a handshake. Not an autograph, just a handshake. If looks could kill, I would not be writing this story right now. We left Gene alone for the rest of the night. Of note: The girl he was making out with at the bar that night was NOT longtime girlfriend and mother of his children Shannon Tweed.

Another time she wanted me to go with her while she went stalking an ex-boyfriend who apparently still had some of her stuff. She was not very good at the stalking, parking the car at the foot of the driveway and then panicking when he saw us and walked out of the house. "Dude! Hide! Get down!" she yelled, crouching down on the floor of the car. "Um, dude, he's already seen us and he knows you're hiding on the floor," said me. He ended up inviting us inside for a beer. And probably a joint.

That year and a half was not a particularly great time in my life; I was still very much in the closet and trying to live as though the closet didn't exist. I don't know if Carlene saw through all of that or if she might have maybe been attracted to me, but we were never more than friends. Still, without her being there in my life at that moment I might have had no friends at all, and the Florida experience would have been so much worse. Instead, I can remember it fondly. I miss her scratchy voice, the way she would get excited and say things like "Dude! We've got to go to that show!" or "Dude! Stop busting my chops!" Maybe mostly, I just miss being 23 and experiencing all of those things for the first time. God knows I miss that music.

Not sure how it all ended, but I'm thinking she left Florida before I did. I don't think she was any happier there than I was; her life was always going to be in Jersey. My life, by some cruel joke, was always going to be in Nebraska. At least when I eventually made my way home I was able to get my job back at the radio station, briefly. Before the gay completely took over.

I still wear ripped jeans and t-shirts, hate shaving and dressing up. I still listen to my hair metal, even the occassional concert. (Strangely, no desire to see KISS when they come to Omaha next month.) Haven't rolled a joint in forever, but yeah, I still say "dude." Hopefully Carlene is also somewhere being an upgraded version of the same person she was 17 years ago. Some people just shouldn't have to change too much.

Anyhair, I suppose if there needs to be a point to this pointless story that point should be that no matter what's going on during any particular time in life, there is always something or someone about that time that's worth remembering, and someone or something that's making it better than it otherwise would have been. I just had lunch with one of those people. Ask me about her in 17 years.

Conversations in the workplace.

Co-worker 1: It says here that if I eat salmon I can avoid hot flashes.
Me: What are you reading? Menopause digest?
Co-worker 2: That's a monthly publication, right?
Me: Yeah, but seems like it's always late.
Co-worker 2: As long as it eventually gets here, that's all I care about.

It was kind of a bad day, so we needed the comedy relief.

I'll also note that both co-workers are male.

Brandy, you're a fine girl.

We didn't make it to the pumpkin farm last weekend, Nephew 1 still had a fever. The day we were supposed to go was also the only nice-weathered day of the month so far, so the pumpkin farm was probably packed. I think Nephew 1 did me a favor. With his fever. Alliteration rocks.

Shorter weekend this time around, but a small group of us are going to see Lisa Lampanelli perform Friday night, and I'm excited. I think I'm more excited for the social time we'll be having afterwards, as it's also The Gay Neighbor's birthday. I suppose now that Drummer Boy has moved out I could just refer to The Gay Neighbor as The Neighbor, but then people might think I was living 2 houses down from Lorraine.

I'm getting blinds for my living room windows this week. Couple of weeks ago I thought I'd be sneaky and ask the landlord for them, on account of the pre-vert across the alley who sits in front of his window and watches me all day. How does that make him a pre-vert? I'm not Zac Efron people. This guy is hard up. Anyperv, to my surprise the landlord said she'd be glad to order me some blinds. And in the next breath she told me that she's been meaning to get a hold of me because she wants me to sign a one year lease, and she also wants to raise my rent. (Previous landlord let us go month to month after the first year was up.) In addition to the aforementioned blinds, I was also able to negotiate for free carpet cleaning and one-half of the increase they originally wanted. Still, when all is said and done I could've just paid for the blinds myself and saved money. That'll learn me. Although most likely it won't.

That's all I've got, but it's hardly enough for an update. Not when I have 80 people checking in everyday. The pressure to perform is on. Sadly, I can neither juggle nor tapdance, and if I could, those skills would be of little value to a blog.

You should also know that sometimes the headline is merely the song that is playing on the radio in the office at the time I hit the Publish button. Perhaps I should've just continued the mystery and kept that one to myself. See? I don't learn.

Apostles, is that you?

I realize this question I'm about to ask is SO five years ago, but have any of you with Sitemeter noticed anything unusual lately? Just asking.

Also, the paragraph that follows this one is just a test.

Betty. Ugly Betty. Betty White. Betty White is not ugly. Betty and the bats. Betty and the jets. Ugly Betty airs Friday on ABC.

Again, that was only a test. If that had been an actual blog paragraph you would have been mildly entertained. Now, if that test is successful, it looks as though I'll be going back to some of the pop culture stuff I used to beat into the ground over at ATB. Maybe even some Pop 101. I honestly have no idea what I'd write about but I don't suppose it could be any worse than what I've been coming up with lately. Even though an ungodly number of people suddenly seem to care.

Whoredom? Yes. But my real job is going to be ending someday and papa needs a way to pay the bills.