Getting rejected - or dumped as it more commonly known - is never pleasent.

And I should know.

I've been rejected by the best of them. I've also done my share of dumping as well, so I have a kind of zen atitude toward it.

It happens.

Deal.

But this last one has cut a little deeper than normal, too close to the bone.

Deeper than normal!!! What a bullshit thing to write! Like a state of rejection is normal.

I knew it was coming, the other party has shown little or no interest for a while now, so the writing was on the wall and I ackowledged that.

But I do feel a sense of intense disapointment.

I actually thought this one would work out.

And therein lies my mistake, I guess.

It was that time of the month last friday.

No Binky! I may sleep with men,but I don't bleed like a woman.

It was Monthly chat time,with the Boss.

After all the boring crap we go through every month he mentioned one word that strikes fear into the heart of the (ironically, heartless) corporate machine.

Salary.

''I'm raising your salay by two grand'' he says.

And me?

He talked while I made plans to finally buy a car.

Still lovin' Queer As Folk America.

Season Four is chugging along nicely.

2 episodes to be taken daily,before bed.

And Brian Kinney is still da bomb.

I'm addicted to Big Brother.

I'm fag Binky, the programme is made for me.

And I feel sorry for Shahbaz.

Yes the guy was a prick, an annoying little queen who would try the patience of St Judy of the Blessed Garland and he certainly did himself no favours.

But he didn't deserve the bullying he recieved from the other housemates.

There must be something fucked up in the human psyche, or in group dynamics, that means in order for group harmony to exist they must be united against something or someone.

But that poor guy has been humiliated in front of millions of people, I wish he had left earlier and with more dignity.

And Nicky is a bitch.

With a capital 'bitch'

I have a sneaking suspicion.

An intuition you might say..

That I will be single for the rest of my life.

And thats cool, I can deal.

I don't sit at home, imagining what it would be like to cuddle up next to a guy as the flames flicker in the fire as we watch tv, or hug my pillow like I had somebody laying next to me, or imagine putting my arms around a guy and kissing him on the neck as he washes up...

Oh wait..

Yes I do.

There is a third trailer for Superman Returns and I just can't wait for this movie.

There is a shot at the end of the trailer where this punk fires a gun at Supes, at point blank range. The whole shot is slowed down and we see the bullet leave the chamber, fly the five or six inches through the air and impact on Supermans eyeball, where it crushes itself and falls to the floor.

He doesn't even flinch.

It's gonna kick ass.

Aintitcool has all the goodness, hop on over.

Pauls been living here two weeks now and on the whole it's been fine.

He's very useful around the place.

He cook.

He cleans.

He decorates.

But, he needs a rocket up his ass as far as a job/money is concerned.

He came to Manchester without a penny and at he start of last week I gave him forty quid, telling him that was all he would get until he finds a job.

I told him if he was smart, he would use it for travel as he could get at least three weeks passes out if it.

And of course he's blown it.

He was very disppointed when I refused to give him more.

Unfortunately, I don't bank at the Infinity Bank.

Money is a very finite commodity.

Looks like he's walking everywhere from now on.

Oh well.

So I'm a giggling heap.

All around me the bar b q is happening.

It's last Saturday and my brother is playing chef, bent over the barbie flipping burgers and ribs.

The smell of smouldering animal flash is almost intoxicating.

People are all aound me, drinking, laughing, smoking,eating and generally having a good time.

Its a balmy night, the air is calm after the afternoon storm, the grass is still wet.

And me.

I'm sitting on a chair, the effects of the 'special' muffin hitting home with a vengence and the more I try not giggle, the more I do.

Shit.

I peaked too soon.

I come home and throw the keys down on the side.

I head upstairs, throwing off the suit, the shirt and tie and the other symbols of the workplace.

On come a polo shirt and shorts and -dare I say it-a pair of flipflops and I head downstairs.

I open the fridge and pull out a beer, cracking the top into the bin as I go.

I open the back door and head out into the recently semi landscaped garden and sit down on the patio.

The last of the days Sun is peeping over the top of an adjacent house and I bask in it for a second or two before taking a mouthfull of beer.

So, I'm sitting in my garden, looking at my house enjoying a beer from my fridge.

Life is sweet I tell ya.

Sur-weet.

Thats how I heard somebody describe the new Cyberman design.

And it's not too far off the mark.

Aesthetics aside, it was a cracking episode of Dr Who.

A dead Tardis,parallel earth and the awakening of the metal monsters...

Except for the arms of a big highland bear wrapped around you,

What more could a GeekBear ask for?

I'm a little pissed off to be frank.

Armistead Maupin is visiting Manchester to do a reading on Sunday and I'm gonna miss it as I have to go home to Brum this weekend.

It's part of Queer Up North festival.

And I would love to have seen him read.

He's a hero of mine, dontchyaknow.

He is one of the greats and most have us have resided at 28 Barbary Lane at some point or other.

Although,the 'Night Listener' is my personal favourite, I really connected with the raw emotion of the main character Gabriel Noone and his pain of splitting with his lover of some years.b

When I heard today I checked all the reservations in the lame hope that he may be staying at the hotel but no such luck.

Anyway, I hope it goes well.

And I hope it won't rain too much and put him off ever visiting again.

But it probably will, this is Rainchester after all....

bb

After re-reading the previous post a thought occurred to me.

I get 'em every now and then, but only if I sit still and concentrate really hard

The thought that made me freeze with fear and almost vomit Linda Blair style was this;

What if..

What if my mother tells me my asshole stepfather is my dad???

Oh

My

Fuck

Murder or suicide..

Tough call.

Three months after the mini bombshell, I've made a decision.

I know, call me The Flash.

How the decision will be executed and what the ramifications will be has yet to be discussed, but that will come later.

The decision is made, thats the important thing.

Ignorance could be bliss,but not this time.

Allow me to rewind.

The engagement party of my brother Andrew.

January this year.

The small working man's club in Tamworth is almost empty and as per usual I'm at the bar with several vodka's waiting to be consumed.

My father is talking to somebody and my stepmom comes over and we shoot the shit for awhile, or at least until I make what proved to be a fateful remark.

Observing my father I leaned across to my stepmom and quipped ; ''You know, it wouldn't suprise me if he wasn't really my father...I think there are going to be some deathbed confessions.''

True words, said in jest.

I had made the remark a hundred times before and I made it because I look at my father and I look at myself and we are polar opposites.

There is absolutely no physical resemblances at all.

My step mother went on to explain that even he had spoken many times about how even he thought he was not the biological father and he based this assumption on the fact that sexual relations between him and my mother had cooled back in first quarter of 69'.

Christ, my own father doubted his paternity.

Own father...thats almost laughable.

She told me that he felt more protective toward me because of this, because he felt deep down that I wasn't his.

She asked me never to mention it to him as it would hurt him greatly.

And thats the last thing I want or would do.

And I actually don't feel any resentment toward my mother, if this is the case.

I guess part of growing up,part of maturing, of leaving behind your childhood and all those bullshit emotions tht cloud your thinking is to accept your parents as flawed human beings.

And they make mistakes.

Just like us.

I am currently researching DNA testing and will conspire with my stepmom to get a swab of DNA.

And then I'll know.

One way or another.

Paul -my brother- moved in yesterday .

He arrived in a red Coca Cola van, with his friend Tom and his life in boxes.

They unloaded the van and off we went to Iqueer to buy a bed.

Of course, going to Iqueer I couldn't resist buying other stuff, so a patio set was purchased.

Amongst other things.

He's a good guy and I have an infinite amount of patience for him, unlike the other brother Andrew.

He came to me a few weeks ago halfway through his weekend in Manchester, out of funds and wanting to borrow money.

Of course I obliged.

I regretted this,in the morning when he bought a couple of housewarming gifts and then deducted the total from the money he owed.

I mean, you just wouldn't, would you?

Later, when I went to bed and for the first time since I moved in, I turned the hall light out.

So I step through the TARDIS doors and am faced with the soulless eyestalk that belongs to a member of a ruthless race of unmerciful killers - a Dalek.

It's a long way from Skaro, this is Manchester.

This is no piece of fantasy or fiction, no dream or nightmare.

This actually happened.

Yesterday in fact.

Just after lunch.

No, really.

It did.

The big very very very very important conference we are hosting at the moment has a science fiction theme and they have a full size TARDIS and two full size Daleks on display.

One of the daleks is an original BBC prop and the other a copy.

Before the confrence started yesterday I got to play a little, take pictures and general geek out with them.

The light of the 10 year oldchild inside of me still burns bright.

My beard had some strange looking white substance in it last night.

No Binky!! Not that!!! Jeez your mind is always in the gutter!!!

It was the foam party at the BearBash.

And it was fantastic.

In fact the whole weekend has been good.

Good music, lots of Bears roaming around,lots of eye candy.

Lots of jockstraps and bare asses at the foam party.

Heck, even I had my shirt off.

And I never do that.

And by the way,

What do you call a gay man who hates to see other gay men play in the foam?

Homofoamic!! Geddit?? HOMOFOAMIC!!!

Maybe I should re-apply for my day job.