Say, did anyone see the blog about the new webisode of the Rho Show? I'm sure I posted it, but it doesn't show up on my screen. Humph.

Anyway, there's a new webisode of the Rho Show.

And on to today's bitch session. I think you'll get a kick out of it.

****

This was the week that sucked. You probably didn't notice, but I had my head down over this last week. Extremely crappy mood. No, strike that. Worst. Mood. Ever. It had been building for a while, but things really hit the fan starting last weekend. I went camping with a group of friends. One of them, a rather cute blonde with whom I'd canoodled before, invited me to share her tent. Outwardly, I told myself nothing was going to happen. But inwardly, I think I was more than hoping. I think I was expecting it. As we're putting stuff in her tent, she says "Everyone thinks we're sleeping together." Uh-oh. That's not good. I translated that as "We're not sleeping together." Oh, well. No big deal. I still have a tent to sleep in. Friday night, she goes to bed early. I crawl in a while later, and she's sacked out. And I lay there in the dark, listening to the couple(s) in the tent next to us getting it on. Saturday, was a group canoe trip. I asked if we were canoe buddies and she said she had already been asked. Okay, no problem. Saturday night, she's hanging on her canoe buddy as we sit around the fire. I look around and realize I'm one of the very few people who hasn't paired off. So, I opt to go to bed early. After about an hour, I wake up with a full bladder. I switch on the flashlight, and realize my tentmate isn't in the tent. I go pee, walk back over to the fire, and see that everyone has gone to bed. Walking back to the tent, I pass by the "canoe buddy's tent" and hear female giggling from inside. Swell. So, after a summer of flirting with me, she's hooked up with this other guy. Okay, I guess I can deal with that. Long story short, when the sun comes up, guess who's back in the tent, wide awake, and acting like she'd been there all night. (I knew she hadn't because I sat up by the fire for about 3 hours.) I can handle her sleeping with someone else, (though I'd have rather had the chance myself.), but why try to cover it up? Why lie? The only reasons I can come up with are a) she was trying to protect my feelings, and b) she's keeping me as a fall-back option. *** Keep in mind also, that all of the events described herein are in guy-mode. You see, after I saw the pictures from my last outing, I'm not sure I'll be able to dress again for a while. I looked so horrible in many of them, (see above), that that mental image is going to be tough to overcome. If I can't convince at least myself that I look good en femme, I don't want to be en femme. *** Ah, but wait! There's more! I'll gloss over the general dissatisfaction at work, other than to say I feel like I'm working my ass off, and feel taken for granted. One evening, while the rest of the department went to a ballgame, guess who got elected to mind the shop? Thanks, Boss. *** And here's where it got really good. That same night, after getting snubbed in the extracurricular department at work, I come and am settling in when the phone rings. It's the ex-. Oh, she's fine. The new job is going well. She's got a new apartment, and oh, she's been on dates with (at least) four guys since the divorce. That was June. And I say at least, because I changed the subject after four. She details them: the druggie with cerebral palsy, the Bible thumper, the handsy guy who pretended he forgot his wallet on their first date. And number four is the mortician. He's the one she's going to sleep with. She said so. They would have already, but he went off his meds, in an effort to avoid any ED, and ended up having an anxiety attack. Soooo, they're going to try again. Ladies and jellyspoons, we have found a cure for frigidity. It's getting divorced from me. *** I don't think she was out to hurt me or twist the knife or anything like that. I think she a) needed to tell someone all this, because she's somewhat friendless, and b) was trying to tell me that it's okay to move on. Yeah, I've been trying. *** So, how did I pull out of this downward spiral? A couple of good friends. One locally let me not only bitch, whine and moan to her, but also let me take some of it out on her too. For which I feel terrible. I took some nasty swings at her, and though she says she forgives me, I fear I took steps down a one-way street. Another distant friend has been there for me since college. He sent me e-mail after e-mail and helped rally a seriously flagging spirit. I'd be remiss if I didn't also thank Band of Brothers. I popped that in the DVD player, and as I watched, couldn't help but think, "well, at least I'm not in the Ardennes in December, getting shelled by the Nazis." Of course, going to the pub on Friday night, having a drink with a mate, and getting friendly conversation from a gorgeous brunette didn't hurt either. So what if we don't go out? So what if she's out of my league? It felt nice. *** I'm not 100% yet, but I do think I hit bottom, and am swimming back to the surface. Let's keep our fingers crossed.

The Born Loser cartoon posted above? A friend of mine from Omaha sent that to me. Robin sent it because since about 1998, my website, (which doesn't get a lot of attention any more) has been "Ronnie's 15 Megabytes of Fame".

Am I ahead of my time, or what?

*****

I'm not normally a wine drinker. But, I'm out of whiskey, and rum, and vodka, and beer, and didn't feel like running across the river to get more.

So, I dipped into the bottles of wine given as housewarming gifts. I'm not normally a wine drinker. Red wine in particular reminds me too much of church. Communion and all, doncha know.

****

What's with meat sizes these days? I can't seem to find a package of ground beef that weighs one pound. The smallest is always 1.46 pounds. And most of my receipes call for one pound exactly. ("My receipes" meaning "Hamburger Helper".) Is this another sign of the growing waistline of the average American?

****

I feel badly. Twice in the last 30 days, online friends have come to Cincinnati and said "hey! Let's get together!" And both times, I've failed to meet with them. The first time was during Pride weekend, and I offered to come pick her up at her motel, but don't recall getting a response. The second time was this past weekend, when a friend said "Let's meet Sunday night at Below Zero!"

Well, I went to Below Zero's website, and found the pictures of two coworkers. Sooooooo, that was out. And then we didn't actually get to talk until 9:30ish, Sunday night, when she offered to meet somewhere else.

Well, normally, I don't work Monday mornings, but wouldn't you know it? A damn coworker asked last week if we could switch shifts, and there I am, on the schedule: Monday morning. Seeing that at 9:30, the earliest I could be ready would be 10:30...Sunday night was out of the question.

Still, I feel poorly for missing both of you.

Pride was this past weekend, and I won't bore you with the details. You'll have to wait for the video.

Anyway, you may remember my Hypocracy blog from last summer.

I think I've made some progress on that front. This year, I told the boss I went to Pride. Of course, he didn't ask about my weekend: I just kind of offered it up. Sooooo, he looked at me like "why are you telling me this?"

Oh well.

Some other progress: I think somewhere I'd mentioned that it was ironic: to go to Pride, I'd wait until the coast was clear outside my front door, run to the car, drive off and then put on my hair in an empty parking lot.

Well, things have changed. I'm now living in a downtown high-rise apartment. To get in and out, I have to ride the elevator and walk through the lobby, which is always staffed.

I've only gone out about 4 times since moving here, and had few encounters with neighbors. Until Sunday. Riding down the elevator, it stopped halfway, and a guy got on. He was cool. Acted like there was nothing out of the ordinary, like he wasn't with some elephant in a dress, bless his heart. And the lobby was full o' people. And the street out front was hopping with pedestrians.

But you know what? No-one gave me grief. No-one hassled me. No-one said boo. I held my head up as I walked to the garage, and proudly went to Pride. Yay, me.

I can't show you highlights of the Eddie Izzard show, Friday night, in Cincinnati, only some video we shot afterwards... and that was a hoot in and of itself. But I will say this: Eddie is heee-larious. We had a smashing time!

This was one of my few forays out into the straight world. And it could not have gone better. We parked a couple of blocks away, weren't hasselled or stared at or anything like that. One couple even stopped us to see if we had extra tickets, and they acted like it was perfectly normal to be talking to a couple of t-girls on the streets of the Queen City.

Once inside, no dirty looks, no giggles, no whispers. Of course, consider the main attraction: anyone going to see the world's foremost transvestite comedian is bound to be okay with a couple of crossdressers in the audience.

Once the show was out, same story. No problems. So, we walked over to Fountain Square and took some pictures and shot some video, and no-one paid us a lick of attention!

Back in the parking garage, we got on the elevator with a straight family. The mom and teenage son looked a little shocked, but the dad simply deadpanned: "I'm guessing you weren't at the Cyclones (hockey) game."

How cool is that?