Pissed Off

I got to work at 6:10 am this morning. Another Really Urgent Job. Another Big Crunch. Another Top Priority Deadline.

I could be describing last week. Or the week before that. Or the week before that. Or July. Or June.

Enough already!

"Dutch, we really need you for a ten hour day tomorrow."

Well I really need to get here at seven and be gone at three-thirty.

Today, it came to a head. We had three Really Urgent Jobs. Two of them were smallish, a butler's pantry (five cabinets) and a 'snack area' (Da fuck?) consisting of about ten cabinets. We were pounding them out, when, once again, disaster struck. The really big Urgent Job that we had worked on last week is shipping tomorrow. It is ugly. Uh-uh-UH-gleee. We're talkin' ugly. Sort of a butterscotch-colored paint job, with barn red interiors on the glass cabinets and a barn red island. Ugly.

Well, it turns out there were multiple problems with it in Quality Check. So lots of doors and cabinets had to go back into the Spray Room to be re-shot. And when they came out, the Hardware Team, consisting of yours truly and Columbine Boy, had to re-hang all the doors and re-mount all the drawer fronts and re-glaze and re-hinge and re-magnet.

Pain in my ass!

Now, keep in mind, today was Jug of Piss day. I dutifully have been filling up my jug. The plan was I would shoot out of there at 3:30, get over to the clinic... 'scuse me, the "Wellness Center," and drop it off before the rest of the world got off work. If I didn't, it would mean I'd have to wait for hours in the waiting room, as it's first come, first serve.

Well, three-thirty came and went, and we were working on the Ugly Kitchen. I kept making deals with myself. "Okay, I'll leave at 4 pm." "At ten after four, I'm outta here." "Four twenty at the latest."

I ended up leaving at four-thirty. I drove hellbent-for-leather over to the "Wellness Center," and was marching up the walk with my Jug O' Piss in hand. I scowled at a sign on the door celebrating the recent birth of Andrea Alexandra or some such (a pox upon thee, Andrea Alexandra!), when I saw the sign: Wellness Center Hours: Mon-Fri 8 am - 4:30 pm.

I will have to keep my Jug O' Piss.

Cursing Andrea Alexandra, cursing the Wellness Center, and most of all cursing my job, I headed back to my jeep with my Jug O' Piss.

I was still in a white hot rage when I got to Starbucks. I calmed down reading 'Dwell' magazine, and had pretty much collected myself when Actor Guy showed up with his dog. I held the dog's leash while Actor Guy went inside and got himself some coffee.

Around the corner of the building came this... this... this boy. He was deeply tanned. Wearing shorts that showed off his really hairy legs. He shaved his head, but had about three days growth on his scalp and face. And bee-stung lips. And eyelashes as long as palm fronds. He was incredible. I was awestruck.

But it gets better. He told the two women who greeted him "I'll be right back." And a few mintues later, he was back. With some cigars he had just purchased at my cigar store.

Damn.

As he was saying his goodbyes to the women and heading off to smoke his cigars, Actor Guy came back out with his latte. We talked. We're pretty much becoming buddies. As I sat shooting the breeze with Actor Guy, something dawned on me.

After a long hard week at work like this, I really should be figuring out a way to get laid this weekend. I have earned that, right?

But I'm not interested. Instead, I'm pursuing these weird blue-collar Oxford Platonic relationships with straight men. I mean, the porch of Starbuck's in Doylestown is just teeeeeming with these unbelievably hot men. All of them straight. I won't even say "presumably straight." They're straight.

I mean, what is this, 1949 or something?

And it gets worse.

Gay men are just seeming sooo... soooo... so gay. There's just no appeal for me.

Which basically makes my chances of getting laid this weekend zero. (Although the South Korean judge gives me a -2.83.)

What a recipe for frustration.

Grrrrr.

Maybe it's all about SM. Maybe it's kind of a scene. Many of the best scenes I've topped in don't conclude with ejaculation. That would almost be beside the point. It's about the connection, the discovery, the openness, the delight.

Huh.

Maybe I've found something that I like more than sex. Two things, in fact: SM, and these platonic blue collar friendships.

Huh.

Huh!

But let's be clear. Neither, in fact, can be considered a substitute for sex.

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