I know it is somtimes cliche to write about Thanksgiving and the obligitory What I Am Thankful For.

I don't care.  Because every so often, it's healthy to count your blessings.

So for what am I thankful?  It's SO much:

• I'm thankful of course for my family.  They have supported me in many ways over the years, and I honestly wouldn't be here without them (logistics aside, obviously).  My parents... well, they have made me the man I am today, and I am so blessed to have them in my life.  We LAUGH all the time when we're together, and have a great relationship as adults.  I can't say enough...  And my sister and I are great friends who laugh at each other's jokes all the time, and more than anyone else in the world, she "gets" me.  Scary.
• My friends.  I've got a very diverse group of friends, but whenever they get together, they always get along.  I have gay friends, straight friends, writer friends, quiet friends, and even friends who don't mince words when they don't like my behavior.  Everyone should be so lucky.
• My job.  I am so lucky to be employed in IT.  Texas lost almost a million tech jobs, and that was about the time I started working here.  Not only that, but I get to work for a community non-profit that's doing work I feel strongly about.  And they really, really need me, almost as much as I need them.  I can't believe my luck sometimes.  Seriously.  I'm very happy (most days).
• The fact that some people read this site.  What I write here is not always profound, nor is it always entertaining, but it IS all me, and anyone who got to know me by reading this site will tell you that it's a pretty good picture of my personality.

I have more, of course, but I just wanted to hit the high points.  Happy Thanksgiving to my US readers, and everyone else... well, have a good week, okay?

I don't know if I've mentioned it before, but people tend to drop off unwanted pets at my work.  I guess they figure if we care for dying people, we'll be nice to strays.  And we are.  We allow cats to hang around our office and become ferel, which takes, what?  Two weeks?

Last week, we had CRAZY good weather here.  Skies as blue as topaz.  I suspect that Montana is jealous of our Big Sky.  And the temperature is about perfect. 

As a result of this wonderful weather, I have been driving around with the sunroof of my car open.  Also, you know I'm forgetful, right?  So I would be prone to leaving the roof open after lunch?  You can see where this is going.

So I opened my driver's side door at quitting time, and the cat looked up at me as if I was intruding on his new space, and that I should just take a moment to fuck off, because apparently, Volvo leather is CATNIP, babee!

Wary of getting bitten, scratched or otherwise harmed by this cat, I decided to reason with it.  That worked as well as you'd think it would, so I resorted to trying to move it away with my manbag, all to no avail.

I was, however, able to get the cat off my seat, and into the passenger floorboard, where the cat looked me in the eye, and began pissing.  This did not make me happy, but once the cat finished, she left the car.

Damn squatters.

I was in Houston all weekend.  In fact, I went to Houston on Thursday of last week.  As much as I like the city, I'm glad to be home.  I am not-so-much used to the hustle and bustle of the big city anymore. 

Things happen to me in Houston that don't exactly happen to me here in bucolic New Braunfels.  Every experience has to opportunity to entertain.  Even car repair.

At about four-thirty on Friday afternoon, my car started smoking in a disconcerting way.  My car was, frankly, smoking like Cheech and Chong at a Phish concert.  But the smoke didn't last long... and I was relieved. 

Then the "BRAKE" warning light lit up on my dash.  Not the orange, "hey... check out your brakes soon" light, but the big, red, angry "Holy Shit, why are you still DRIVING this POS?!" light.  The illumination of this light coincided with a noticable lack of stopping power, and I cleverly surmised that there was something wrong with my brakes.

I will back up here and give you bit of background.  I was not only in Houston, but in Montrose, the historically gay part of Houston.  I know this is a shock that I'd be in such an area, and I hope you don't draw any conclusions about me just because I was in that part of town on a Friday afternoon!

So I carefully pulled into the nearest auto repair facility and stood outside the garage, peering in and waiting for someone to come help me.  It was then that I realized I wasn't at just any old auto shop... no... this was the MONTROSE auto repair shop.

From the outside, and from all outward appearances, it SEEMED like a regular auto shop, but if you looked closely, you would see that some of the greasemonkeys had big, voluptious breasts and pregnant-woman hair..  It appears that on that day, they employed not one, but TWO transexual mechanics.  Which is cool, because really, why change careers when you change your sex?  When you are undergoing thousands of dollars in surgery and hormone treatments, the last thing you need is to change jobs, right?  Damn right.

But the transgender mechanics didn't work on my car... no... Mark did.

According to the repair shop's website (which I'm not linking to, because I don't want them to know I wrote about them) the shop is managed by Mark (pictured at right), who is the owner's son.  He's also beautiful.  Seriously made me hot and bothered.  His body was perfectly sculpted, and he had that whole "name on a patch on your shirt" thing going for him, and the shirt... it was bustling, trying like hell to stay closed under the strain of his chest.  Damn.  And don't forget about the grease... it looked as if a makeup artist had applied it "just so" to make sure he was just that extra special bit of Hot.  It was as if a little bit of porno had walked into my life.

In addition to a great body, he was also very very nice, and immediately helped me to diagnose the problem, which consisted of him putting brake fluid into my car and bending over my car in a variety of obscene positions and saying things like, "okay, pump the brake.   Again.  No, go like, 'pumppumppump' three times in succession.  I KNOW we can find this leak!  PUMP! PUMP!"

I will admit, I had dirty thoughts.  Lots of them.

Anyway, it turns out that the brake line and my exhaust system had been rubbing against each other, and wore a hole in the brake line by the muffler.  The smoke was because brake fluid was hitting the muffler and not, as it should be, you know... SQEEZING MY BRAKES.

I explained to Mark that I was visitor in his fair city and needed the car back right away, and he promised it to me.  He actually delivered on that promise, too, and came in under his estimate. 

On Saturday, after I had my car back, I saw him at the Ripcord, holding hands with another guy.  I KNEW it!

So I have succumbed to my geekitude and ordered a T-Mobile Sidekick.  I really pretty much fell in lust with it when I saw Double-A's and then I saw Monty's and knew I had to have one, even though the phone I had was not very old and a damn nice device in it's own right.

But I ordered one anyway, and because I'm a Loyal T-Mobile Customer and They Appreciate My Business, I got a heck of a deal (with rebates and the like it'll be less than a hundred bucks, not that I ever depend on myself to mail a rebate, because I usually forget).  I agreed to kick in for the overnight shipping, because I'm all type-A like that, and hell, I've wanted one for months, and I didn't want to wait anymore.

And then, the hell began.  First of all, I ordered The Device (as it will forever be known to myself and Mare) early on Tuesday because I wanted to make sure it would arrive on Wednesday.  I ordered it around 9 am, and I asked the lady on the phone, "so this will be here tomorrow, right?"  She said yes, and I believed her.  Why do I believe cell phone customer service people?  CELL PHONE PROVIDER customer service people?  It's that damned Pollyanna view of the world that I have, I guess. 

Turns out, the ended up not SHIPPING the Device until Wednesday, which would mean that I would receive it on Thursday.  Fine, whatever, please refund my shipping fees, T-Mobile, since that's not at all what you promised me.  They said they would, but I see another phone call in my future.

So this morning, I called T-Mobile, secure in the knowledge they would have a tracking number for me, and when I called, they acted like I was nuts or something.  "You?  Ordered a PHONE?" 

In my vast experience with T-Mobile customer service (and I have lots of history with these folks... my coworkers insist that they be within earshot when I call them) I have determined that if you get a REALLY dumb one, it's best to end the call, and call back.  Seriously.

So the second person I've talked to today (and SEVENTH person I've dealt with about this) actually was able to see the order, and asked me to hold while he got a tracking number.  So I held.  And held.  And HOLY MICHAEL BOLTON!  I held some more.

He then came back on the line, and apologized for the long wait (but not the Michael Bolton) and said that he had a UPS tracking number for me, and I'd have to call them.  Which was weird, because it was 9 am, and I didn't think there was a problem as long as they had shipped it, but then it hit me: FUCKING UPS.

UPS is great if you want to send a package to your Grandma, who is neither in a hurry or is even aware that you are sending something.  The price is right, and eventually, the package will get there, even though you might get faster results if you hired a swarm of insects to transport your package.

UPS Air, however, has only TWICE delivered a package in a timely manner for me.  So I tracked the package on the web, and noticed that my phone, according to the UPS website, had arrived at the airport in Dallas over 12 hours ago, and...

So I called UPS to see if they could tell me WHY my package sat in one place for 12 hours, when they only have 18 hours total to deliver it.  I called three times and got the same answer three times: "we don't know, and aren't really concerned about it until tomorrow.  Keep tracking it on the web, and call us tomorrow if you don't have it."

I asked if the concept of "timely" meant anything to them, and if they realized that FedEx can react much more quickly, and they Thanked Me For Calling UPS.

So I'm a bit pissed right now.  I have seen Hell, looked it in the face, and it's customer "service" people at major corporations.

I was gonna tell you all about Wurstfest (I had a GREAT time), but I think I'll just...

Critique a Random Web Photo
(by request, you're welcome)

Behold:

This one is totally shooting fish in a barrel here, but oh well, call me lazy:

• "I AM the Burger King, dammit"
• "Where's my drink?  I swear I had it in my han-- Oh."
• "I'm sorry, Mama, I know it's not fair I get wear both the teeth and the crown, but you gots the pretty teal tanktop, and I had to wear this white 'un.  Life isn't fair!"
• "Life sure is good now that Pa welded lawn chairs that'll hold us!"
• Don't you wish you were there?  I'll bet these women smell really clean and pretty.
• Will someone please remind me to not allow my naked arm that close to a wide-angle lens?

That's all I have for now.  In the comments section, you can leave your own, as always.

So Mare and I are chatting online just about everynight, and I fear that we're not making sense to anyone but ourselves anymore:

Mare says:

How are you, gorgeous?

timbrat says:

that show is so faboo

Mare says:

didn't you LOVE it?

timbrat says:

I was SQUEALING like a girl!

timbrat says:

of course

Mare says:

That KISS!

timbrat says:

Seth is fucking stupid

Mare says:

OH MY GOD! I KNOW!

Mare says:

But I have a problem now.

Mare says:

Do we like Summer?

timbrat says:

we DO like Summer, in spite of ourselves

Mare says:

I mean, isn't there a little bit of us that loves Summer?

Mare says:

Especially Summer in that red and white outfit. Hello!

timbrat says:

We feel that she's a bit bitchy, but has a heart of gold

timbrat says:

speaking of clothes...

Mare says:

oui?

timbrat says:

the Cohens are sending him to a bitchy private school....

Mare says:

and don't they buy him clothes?

timbrat says:

so why is he still wearing the same scuffed up shoes?

Mare says:

tatty!

Mare says:

Ta.Tty.

timbrat says:

We get it, now.Okay?He was Poor!He rejects all the Rich Stuff.But polish your fuckin' shoes, man!

Mare says:

And... hi. Question. That bag that Marissa is using to carry her books...

timbrat says:

well...

Mare says:

ok, yeah... it's not your average bookbag...

timbrat says:

she's Recently Shamed

Mare says:

but hell! It's so... WINTER!

Mare says:

I mean... black and gold?

Mare says:

in september?

Mare says:

with sandals?

Mare says:

and we know her daddy ain't that po'.

timbrat says:

in California.I know.But nothing says “Recently Cheated On And Shamed, Leading To An Overdose in Mexico” like bad accessories.

Mare says:

Like CHANEL bad accessories.

timbrat says:

her daddy po'he steal from the white man trust fund

Mare says:

LOL!

timbrat says:

maybe that’s, "Cheated On, Shamed, and Poorly Accessorized, Leading To An Overdose In Mexico"

Mare says:

Ok... are we liking Luke yet?

Because part of me? Still really loves his chiselled jaw.

timbrat says:

oh, and would you not have quit your job with the Mindfuck Bitch by now?

timbrat says:

I mean... she's all about breaking him up, right?

Mare says:

I KNOW!

Mare says:

Rachbitch

Mare says:

And is it me, or do you think they could have gone with better casting?

Mare says:

Or at least, a different shade of blond!

Mare says:

I keep mixing up the Mindfuck Bitch with the Wife

timbrat says:

yeah... she should be all dark haired with bushy eyebrows...

timbrat says:

all after Sandy and shit

Mare says:

nah, then we'd mix her up with Sandy!

timbrat says:

and when they kissed (and you KNOW they will.... everybody kisses everyone on this show eventually) it would be all meta...

timbrat says:

you know when they'll lose me?

Mare says:

when?

timbrat says:

never ever

timbrat says:

I'm hooked

Mare says:

it's RIVETING!

Mare says:

I'm not even EMBARASSED about it!

Niether am I, Mare... neither am I.

I'm scared for myself right now.  I'm thinking I want to collect vintage Fisher Price Little People.

See... of ALL the toys I grew up with, the Fisher Price Little People were my favorite.  When I FIRST got them, the bodies were made of wood, then they went to plastic.  Now, the Little People are no more... I mean... not as we knew them... seems the People were so Little, they could block a windpipe and kill a kid or something.  Good thing I never put anything in my mouth when I was kid (yeah right.)

See, this might be a shock to everyone, but I was a touch on the spoiled side growing up.  I had TOYS, baby!  And I had lots of Little People.  I learned my first cuss words listening to my Dad step on those things, because you could positively hide 'em in the shag carpet of my youth. 

My favorite set was the castle, and it seems that one's pretty rare... I saw one on eBay for 150 bucks!  I also had the camper with the boat (which, appropriately enough, we kept at our vacation home) and I had the house, and the barn (you remember the barn, right... with the doors that "mooooooo"ed when you opened them?) and the gas station where the cars would fall down the ramp, only to be cranked up in the car elevator again?  How cool was all that?

I never had the plane or the yacht or the zoo, but I had access to them, because either the daycare or the Mother's Day Out at the church or some friends had them.  I was never at a loss for Little People.

And I'm not at a loss for them now.  Mom and Dad loved the Little People, too (except for the stepping on them part) and they saved all of mine (which are technically my sister's too... so I'm gonna have to fight her.)  So I have a good start of a Little People collection that's about thirty years old.  I think that I've waited about 25 years or so now, though, so I'm going to start buying stuff again.  Perhaps the Day School (which my daycare had... how Meta is that) and the playground might be a good start.  And the carousel that's a music box looks like I must have it, too.

God help me, I don't need a new hobby.

BOO!

Last night was seriously one of the most fabulous parties I've ever attended. I had to come straight from the spa as you can see.  It was the Hairspray Masquarade Ball, put on by a group of eight hosts in conjunction with Sunset Station, which is San Antonio's historic train station, built in 1902.  The building still looks much as it did at that time, including the original tile walls, stained glass and woodwork.  It's a great place for a party, and I had a wonderful time.  Trash disco and faboo costumes amongst San Antonio's gay A-list (yeah, I don't know how I got invited, either) makes for a GREAT Halloween.

I took some pictures, Mark took some pictures... they are all here.