Just in time for the February sweeps, folks!
We have a little joke in our house about my site statistics - we call them my "ratings". Sometimes, after I've settled in at work in the morning, my handsome husband (no, not Adam Vinatieri, the real hubby) will call me and ask, "So, how were the overnight ratings?" Frankly, he's obsessed with them, while I couldn't care less. I'm much more interested in seeing how people got referred here, not how many hits I received, but it's fun to play along, and (truth be told), I do get perhaps a mild rush after discovering particularly good over-nights.

Tomorrow, however - tomorrow is going to be a very special day, ladies and gentlemen. Why, you may be asking? Because I'm going to have particularly good news for my man. Today I was linked in posts by both Jonno and Leatheregg. Yes, referred by two of the gay Blog masters in the same day. Even as I type this, my Sitetracker numbers are spinnin 'round and adding up like crazy.

I weep with joy.

Where-o-where does one go from here!?!?

Adam Vinatieri. Adam Vinatieri. Adam Vinatieri!
Yes, I still have a crush, and someone wonderful has given me the greatest present!

sigh I write his name in little hearts while I'm in staff meetings, I think about him all the time on public transportation, I hear songs on the radio and they remind me of him!!!

But the sad thing? HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW I'M ALIVE!!! AAAARRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!! Oh well, my boyfriend probably wouldn't approve if things got serious between Adam and me, now would he? Still, I bet he'd let me have a wild night of meaningless sex, so . . .

Adam, baby - you up for it? Win the Superbowl for me, then come home for your reward, Sugar!

Okay, so SCREW YOU E-BAY ASSHOLES who come in 30 seconds before an auction ends and outbid me!
I'm mad, but I'm learning - I'm going to have to be an asshole too if I want to win. I'm a E-bay newbie, see, so I'm getting some hard lessons. After all the re-painting Curt's been doing we decided we wanted some real art (not prints, we're getting too mature for prints) for our walls and decided E-bay was a good place to get some fairly inexpensive (yet original) stuff - art for beginner collectors, you might say. So through the course of a week, we bid on several lovely oils and watercolors only to get outbid on almost all of them. On Saturday night for instance, when we were busy getting drunk and molesting boys in the backroom of the Ramrod (like people with REAL lives do) some very mean person with no life and no reason to be out on a Saturday night outbid us on a very nice piece we'd had our hearts set on (after no one - NO ONE - else had bit on the piece at all in the previous week). What a cruel, cruel, lesson that was - but not as cruel as the lesson we learned this morning.

You see, last night we were up past our bedtimes making sure we weren't outbid on a fabulous colorful abstract piece (which we did in fact win, thankyouverymuch) when Curt started poking around and found some really great vintage photographs that we both fell in love with. Two of the auctions were ending this morning, so we put in pretty substantial proxy bids and went to bed giddy with excitement and fairly confident we would win these first two auctions. Got to work this morning, we were still the high bidders. I kept checking, and then 15 minutes before the end of the first auction someone came in and started outbidding me. They went higher, I went higher. I get on the phone with Curt - how high should I go for this? More and more. Eventually, I started realizing I probably wasn't going to win, but I was quite pleased to in the knowledge that I was managing to hike the final price up substantially on the other bidder. In the end I stopped bidding (I was going up in the smallest increments possible just to get that price higher). Last-minute asshole ended up paying almost double what he bid just 10 minutes before. I hope they're happy. (Insert evil Cory laugh here.)

Now I was focusing on the other piece that was about to end. 10 minutes before - we were still the highest bidder by ALOT. Refresh the screen 5 minutes before - still cool. 2 minutes before I refreshed again - smooth sailing. 1 minute - still no other bids. We were going to win it! 30 FUCKING SECONDS BEFORE THE END someone comes in an outbids me! I quick try to enter another bid and it comes up telling me that the auction had ended. Arrrrrrgghhhhh!

So no more mr. nice guy! No more messing around. From now on, I'm just going to watch items and bid at the very last moment possible with the highest proxy bid I can manage for the item. That's it! This is war! They don't know who they're fucking with!

(I promise I'm not so mean and vengeful about most things. Really.)

This is my friend Peter . . .

This is my friend Peter on drugs . . .
Any questions?

Some thoughts about the Superbowl:

I only have interest in the pre-game show if they show a lot of Patriot's kicker Adam Vinatieri. Specifically, shirtless shots. Tom Brady shirtless would also be acceptable. In nothing but underwear would be optimal. In fact, three hours of Adam and Tom walking back and forth past the camera in their underwear would actually be a phenomenal pre-game show.

I had no idea that the Boston Pops were going to be part of the entertainment. Strange coincidence that the Patriots are playing, no?

It's good that Mariah Carey is singing the national anthem. She needs the work. For extra money she can do a show at Oz later that night (hey, every little bit helps!). I bet she's watched the video of Whitney Houston singing her version over and over and is trying to figure out exactly what she has to do to top her.

I fully expect that U2 will perform an amazing half-time show and may, in fact, induce mass hysteria by the end of their performance.

Paul McCartney and U2 performing. Does anyone else find that odd for the Superbowl?

Thank God someone has put together a cheat sheet for uninitiated gay boys like myself so we're not completely clueless in front of our straight friends on Sunday. If worse comes to worse of course, I know I can always make a quick phone call to a real fan for a little assistance.

Sometimes I'm a little slow on the uptake.
I just realized that the two songs that I'm most obsessing over these days have a somewhat incestuous relationship. Kosheen, the UK band that currently has their song "Catch" playing in my headphones non-stop, came out last year with another song called "Hide U". Well, the instrumentals for "It's Love (Trippin')" by Goldtrix - my other current fave - borrows almost exactly the opening instrumentals from "Hide U".

As much as I'm falling in love with Kosheen, I've got to admit that "It's Love (Trippin')" singer Andrea Brown looks like she was pretty hot shit on Tops of the Pops recently.

I can't believe what a manly-man I've become.
Sitting with friends yesterday at an Irish pub, watching the Patriots beat the Steelers - drinkin', cussin', whoopin' and hollerin'. Going out afterwards for more celebratory beers, eating wings and nacho's. Now I'm actually looking forward to Super Bowl XXXVI next Sunday - the first time EVER that I've given a hoot about a football game. I swear I've got extra hair growing on my chest today. Maybe next I'll start spitting or something. Who knows?

Of course, not the whole weekend was so butch. Saturday night we went out for sushi, followed by a few stops at the usual hang-outs. We were nice and looped by the time we ran into old friends Dave (who Curt has lovingly nicknamed "Drunk Fuck") and Yuri at Fritz. They threw us into a car and hijacked us to the Ramrod. Shots there didn't help a damn thing. I remember getting very kissy with as many people I could, and somehow ending up shirtless in the backroom with some boy between Curt and myself - his mouth planted firmly on mine as he played inside Curt's pants. He figured he was going to come home with us and headed off to fetch his coat. Coincidentally we ran into our friend Brian while waiting and started making out with him just as the boy came back. Bad timing. He saw us with our tongues down Brian's throat and walked away in the other direction. Although we made a half-assed attempt to find him, we agreed it was probably for the best and a good time to make our escape. We caught a taxi home and passed out.

Woke up surprisingly clear-headed and refreshed on Sunday and followed through with plans to go with Rob and Wendy to Todd English's Rustic Kitchen in Faneuil Hall for brunch. We all agreed it was just a bit overpriced for what we got. We probably won't be going back. Afterwards we settled into a cozy straight bar and had a thoroughly good time watching the game and being the rowdiest group in the place.

Oh, and did I mention that I now have a new obsession? Woof!

The time finally came. At about 5:30pm last night, my Ex and I sat with our cat Roxy and petted her as she was put down by the vet. Many tears, but ultimately the best thing. Curt met us afterwards and the three of us went to the Eagle for a good stiff drink. Sad.

The Merriam-Webster.com word of the day:

corybantic   \kor-ee-BAN-tik or kahr-ee-BAN-tik\   (adjective) : like or in the spirit of a Corybant; especially : wild, frenzied Example sentence: Thousands of corybantic fans writhed and screamed in a frenzied dance to the driving guitars and the pounding beat of the rock band "Steel Sweat." Did you know? The big name in goddesses in Phrygia (Asia Minor) in the fifth century B.C. was Cybele (also called Cybebe or Agdistis), the "Great Mother of the Gods." According to Oriental and Greco-Roman mythology, she was the mother of it all -- gods, humans, animals, plants, nature itself. The Corybants were Cybele's mythical attendants, and they worshipped her with an unrestrained frenzy of wildly emotional processions, rites, and dances. "Corybantic," the adjective based on the name of Cybele's attendants, can be used to describe anything characterized by a similar unrestrained abandon.

Lately, I've come to a realization that both amuses and horrifies me. I feel like it's something that I should have been aware of well before my 36th year on this planet. It's about my penis, you see. I've known for years, of course, that in certain pants my package shows off more if I have Mr. Man hanging to my right. I've used this knowledge for my own lustful purposes with great results on many occasions (particularly in the backroom of the Ramrod). Recently, however, I had it pointed out to me by an amused female co-worker/friend that I was "showing" in a pair of new khaki's (she told me only because I was about to stand in front of people and give a presentation). A quick trip to the bathroom to rearrange to the left fixed the problem, but when I told Curt about it later that night he said, "I thought you always did that on purpose". Huh?!? Exsqueeze me? Apparently, I'm frequently flopped in the "show off" direction in inappropriate occasions and don't even know it. It would seem to not just be certain pants that "show it off", either - it's all my pants. I'm just learning all this now - at 36 years old. Now I'm super-sensitive to the fact and constantly checking myself. Am I left? Yes. Good. It's not that I'm ashamed of my package, but I certainly don't want to be showing it off at work, in front of my family, etc. And what's this with my boyfriend thinking all this time I was consciously trying to show it to the world (although it's interesting that he was apparently okay with it)? Unfortunately, it seems that I naturally hang to the right, meaning that I need to discretely rearrange myself umpteen times a day. One more thing to worry about. It's interesting what you still learn about yourself as you get older. Is this something most guys are aware of at an early age and I just missed the boat or something? Does everyone keep themselves dressed one way or another to avoid embarrassment? Am I the only one that didn't know? Which way do you dress?

After a 3-day weekend, you'd think I'd have oodles of titillating and scandalous tales to share, but unfortunately I do not. It was a pretty sedate couple of days. The highlight was Sunday - brunch at a favorite place, followed by a day of shopping, and then appetizers and drinks while watching the Golden Globe awards with Rob and Wendy at a bar full of rowdy, drunk fags (yes, I mean besides Curt and me). Since the Boyfriend had to work yesterday, I had a relaxing day of sleeping in, downloading MP3's, cleaning the condo and doing laundry. Incense and a fire burning. Cozy and happy. Back at work and reality today. Yuck.

Somehow I managed not to get drunk off my ass last night. We met up after work for a celebratory "we made it through the week" cocktail with Rob and Wendy. I think it was probably the bean & rice burito I wisely woofed down before I started drinking that saved me. With that advantage, I was able to keep up with Rob, Wendy and Curt, but the booze didn't have nearly the impact that it had on them. It is very strange to watch while your friends and boyfriend slowly fade into a drunken stupor. I have to say they are a very well behaved and happy group of drunks (very touchy, huggy, kissy), but definitely a bit on the sloppy side. At one point, we caught Curt mistakingly trying to put his cigarette ashes out in an inappropriate place and had to point out to him that, "that's the blender cover Curt, not an ashtray." That kept us in stitches for a few minutes. Not entirely his fault, of course. It was silly for Rachael (our lovely dyke bartender) to have chosen a spot on the bar right next to Curt to put the damn blender cover in the first place. Right? Right. And poor Wendy, who was so excited to pick some tunes on the juke box at Tim's. As she was pumping the machine with quarters I had to point out to her, "Honey, that's the cigarette machine, not the juke box". "Shit!" was her reply, followed by lots of giggles. Oh yes, a very congenial bunch of drunks, but you've got to keep an eye on them.

Smooch! It's been a very good week for my ego. I feel loved!

A change is in the air. Last night I threw together a few ideas for a site redesign. Thanks to the portability of my new iBook, I'm now able to sit on the couch and do such things as porn surfing, Blog writing, and web page redesigning while cozy'd up to my honey-bunny. The only downside to that is, of course, that honey-bunny can looky-looky and give me input-input. The first version of the redesign ended up in boyfriend-influenced Martha Stuart/Ralph Lauren colors, which I'm not sure I'm complete comfortable with. "Color! Your site needs color!" he said. The only problem is that I'm a pretty mono-chromatic kind of guy. I like simple lines, earth tones and basic black and white. If I go with "his" version, it'll be quite a change. More than likely, I'll end up combining my black, white and gray concept with his Technicolor fantasy and turn out a version just a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll. My friend Rob asked, "why change it at all?", which is a very good question. I guess I'm suffering from web-site envy - basically, I think my site looks pretty schlocky compared to everyone else's. I've stretched this Blogger template just about as far as my HTML knowledge can take it, and I've become mesmerized & hypnotized by the fancy CSS templates I discovered here (pretty, pretty!). I don't want to set up any big expectations with y'all though, because the morning after re-thinking my use of pictures, contemplating the best font faces and sizes, anguishing over color combinations, trying to make sense of CSS coding (which I'm basically just learning by trial and error), and mulling over creating a new banner graphic for the top of my page, I opened my test design and realized it basically looks a lot like my site does now. Ain't that a kick in the ass?

In the immortal words of Edina Monsoon - I don't want more choices, just nicer things! When I moved in with Curt, I became severely limited in closet space. I dealt with this situation by pairing down substantially on the number of clothes I owned. Anything that was not regularly worn was tossed (being neither a clothes-horse nor a hoarder, this wasn't a difficult thing for me to do). I'm now down to a very few favorite shirts and pants - things that are made well, will last, look good on me, and that can be worn for a wide-variety of occasions. The only downfall with such a limited wardrobe is that it's bor-ing! I'm so frickin tired of wearing the same things, and lately have found myself sitting on the bed, staring into the closet, and trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to wear that I didn't already wear several days ago. So yesterday I decided to spend a little time in Macy's and Filene's, figuring there were tons of sales going on and I could pick up a few new things. How wrong I was. Sure, there were tons of choices, but why does everything have to have a tacky label somewhere on it? I really, truly, do not want "DKNY" in black plastic lettering across the back of my sweater, and I do not want a mock-turtle neck that says "Calvin Klein Jeans" on the sleeve. I decide years ago that I would not pay money to wear an advertisement (if these companies want me to be a living placard, they should give me the clothes for free). I left the stores and went back to work grumbling. Who buys this stuff (apparently not many, judging from the stacks of it on sale in both stores)? Who thinks it's a good idea to stock this stuff? Maybe most importantly, who designs this stuff? Nothing against the companies themselves - there were many things I would have otherwise purchased. Just leave your fricken labels on the inside of your clothes, thank you. I suppose though, it could be worse.

There is no feeling worse than having a minor melt-down with your boyfriend and then having to go to work before everything feels resolved. It was really a minor, minor, "bump" that we had this morning. We seldom disagree about anything though, and so when it happens it feels pretty weird. I called him on his cell phone after I got to work (and made myself a cup of soothing tea) to make sure everything was okay. It is, and we move on, but it has started the day on a very uncomfortable note. I wish we could be home snuggling on the couch or in bed - that would make me feel that all was right with the world again. Oddly, this comes one day after I had a strange and uncomfortable exchange with a much loved co-worker. It turned out that I was the recipient of misdirected anger towards other people and the victim of a woman suffering from horrible cramps. We skipped out of work at 3:30 for a few cocktails to commiserate, bitch and generally just make nicey-nice. Must be my chi is out of alignment or something. The extended 3-day weekend can't get here fast enough.

In a burst of creative energy last night, I completely redesigned a little web page that I keep on the side for my family. It's nothing fancy, just a place to post recent family photo's, keep a list of birthdays and anniversary's, etc. The exciting thing is that I utilized a cascading style sheet (CSS) template I found through Leatheregg.com. What, you may ask, do I know about CSS? Absolutely nothing! Zilch. Zero. But as with most things that I attempt, I'm too arrogant (stupid?) to realize I shouldn't be able to do it, and somehow I got it to work. It's very cool, and if I'm able to figure out just a wee bit more (mainly how to change font faces, standard HTML font tags don't seem to work) then I'll probably do a redesign of this site utilizing the same template. This current design has served me well for over a year, but things need freshening up around here, don'tcha think? Gee, little CoryCNC with no formal HTML or web training of any sort working with CSS . . . Ron's going to be so proud!

Open your box, open your trousers, open your thighs, open your legs! Someone (Orange Factory) has done a dance mix of Yoko Ono's song "Open Your Box". It's showing up everywhere, and if you go to clubs and you haven't heard it yet, you soon will. There's no one more surprised than me about this, but . . . I like.

A few odds and ends . . .

Our Prez was downed by a pretzel momentarily lodged in his throat, obviously leaving no hope for him as a cock sucker. Sure he can govern the free world (well, at least that's his job), but his gag reflex is way too far out of control for him ever to be able to deep-throat dick. I ask you, which is more important?

You dirty, dirty, whores! The thing that most shocks me about everyone's blogger code is seeing how many of you have slept with other bloggers! Now I thought I was a slut, but I obviously need to do some catching up.

The sweetest thing said all week: One of Curt's straight male co-workers told him that if he was ever to let a guy blow him, it would be me. I like that sort of thinking.

My web coding ignorance is displayed yet again. As anyone who has ever tried to link to me knows, for some reason it doesn't work to link directly to one of my individual posts (meaning you usually have to specify which post you're linking to on my site). I have no idea why this should be, because I don't think I've ever messed with the original Blogger coding for this (not intentionally, anyway). I stare and stare at the code and for some reason that never fixes it. If anyone can figure out what the problem is, I'll send you a bag of official Presidential pretzels and/or give you an official CoryCNC blow job.

Due to the fact that the only other two gay Boston bloggers are named Ron, I'm thinking maybe I should change my name to Ron also. Why be the odd man out? Resistance is obviously futile.

That reminds me that I was watching Star Trek: The Next Generation on TNN last night (may I please mention again that I cannot watch re-runs of this show without being reminded of how horrible Enterprise is?) and they were showing an episode called "The Offspring" where Data creates a "daughter" android. Watching the actress who played "Lol" (his daughter) was driving me crazy because I thought I knew who she was but couldn't place her. Finally I realized it was Anne Heche, but I checked the episode credits on the internet and it was an actress named "Hallie Todd". I don't know, seemed like Anne Heche to me. Did she do this under a different name?

Although leaning a little more towards yellow than cream, we think the new color in our condo is going to grow on us. Curt was already up painting when I woke up yesterday, and he ended up spending a good six hours at it. He's going slowly and carefully. He's such a better painter than I am. I'd speed through it and have paint splattered everywhere. Despite the long hours he put into it he's not even half way done yet. It's not that it's a big space - it's just how methodical he's doing it. I made him a big breakfast of huevos rancheros and we somehow managed to down not one, but two pots of coffee, which is unusual for us. Having stayed in both Friday and Saturday nights, we were both going a little stir crazy (not to mention the fact that the paint fumes were getting to us) so we headed out and met Rob and Wendy for a couple pints and some nachos. Wendy starts a new job today, so we couldn't go too overboard. Afterwards Curt and I headed to the Eagle for a quick one, and I was finally able to order him a Malibu and Pineapple, which one of my co-workers recommended as having Curt written all over it (it was yummy). A slight case of insomnia last night. I'll probably try to cut out of work a little early today. Maybe I'll take a long lunch and go shopping too. Busy boy.

Whew! Thank God someone came up with a Blogger decoder to go along with Ron's Blogger code. I've had mine displayed since last Thursday (what, you haven't seen it? Then you're not spending enough time studying CORYCNC.COM!). Like most of my hanky's, I keep it on the left.

A little late for a best of 2001 list, I know, but indulge me because I've been meaning to post this for ages. For the past few years, I've been picking a favorite dance track that I thought was particularly outstanding in the previous year. In 1999, it was "Find Another Woman" by Reina. In 2000 it was "I'm Outta Love" by Anastacia. In 2001? "Touch Me" by Rui Da Silva featuring Cassandra. Hearing "Touch Me" takes me away from wherever I am. In fact, it's strange how this song effects me. Originally released in the beginning of 2001 and a huge hit all over Europe (Rui Da Silva is from Portugal, if you were wondering), EMI records initially tried to stop this record from being released, saying that it used a guitar sample from the Spandau Ballet song "Chant #1" (Da Silva said it didn't, but that his guitar just sounded similar). It transports me back to a street party at Gay Pride, tea-dance in Provinetown, walking home on a hot summer night from a club. I associate this song with twilight for some reason, and of the start of warm weather. Simple, extremely memorable, and perhaps even a little melancholy (almost unheard of in the genre). The song builds and weaves layers and textures as it progresses. It's haunting and a stand-out. If there's one dance song from 2001 that you should be sure to check out, it's this one. There were two close runner-ups - "Is It Love" by Chili Hi Fly (I can't sit still when I hear it) and "Never Enough" by Boris Dlugosch featuring Roisin (the Chocolate Puma Mix makes my eyes roll to the back of my head).

God bless my industrious, THIS OLD HOUSE addicted, boyfriend. We were out of the house and wandering the isles of Home Depot by 8:00am yesterday (Saturday) morning. Disgusting. Curt spent the entire day re-painting the ceilings in the kitchen and livingroom, and then in the evening somehow found the energy to start putting crown molding up (for that extra special "finishing touch" our wall and ceiling need - well, at least he thinks so). It's looking great I have to say, and he loves home projects like this so it makes me happy to see him so happy. More crown molding work to be done tomorrow, and painting of the livingroom walls. That'll keep him busy for yet another day, leaving me time to do what I'm best at - cook, watch DVD's, do laundry, Blog, and surf porn. Busy, busy, busy. It's nice that we're all good at something, isn't it?

Actually said in our bedroom last night . . . "Don't be embarrassed if your wrestling outfit doesn't fit because your dick is too big." I'll leave the circumstances for that being said up to your imagination.

Keith has moved to New Orleans! That city continues to fill with Blogging gay boys, making me: A) Wish I was one of them. B) Wonder if I ever will be, and if I'd love living there or hate it. C) Wonder why Boston doesn't have more gay boy Bloggers of its own. (Any others out there? Hello!?!?)

I dreamt last night that I as a teenager visiting the White House. I was in the Oval Office with Dubya and Laura, and he was showing me JFK's desk (which I found out on the news last night he now uses). So I asked if I could sit at it, and he said, "Sure!". And I asked, "Are you sure you don't mind?" and he says, "Not at all". So I sit at it and I'm kind of overwhelmed to not only be sitting at a presidents desk, but JFK's. I'm very careful not to touch anything. Then we have to leave because we all are invited to a Presidential occasion of some sort, which turns out to be a pool party at some really rich guys place. The pool is shallow and very warm, and I'm very happy. I think I probably dreamt about the pool because I had to pee really bad. You know how you wake up at like 5am having to go to the bathroom but you're just too comfortable to bother? That was me. Curt was working out of the house this morning so I didn't have to get up early to catch a ride with him. I actually stayed in bed until 8am! Oh, the luxury of it all. Got up, pee'd and pee'd and pee'd, took an especially hot shower, and then sat on the bed, playing with my dick, puzzling over what I'd wear for about 15 minutes. Josh Hartnett was on the Today show this morning talking to Matt Lauer, and I realized how closely he resembles a young Tommy Lee Jones. Someone should cast them in a movie together as father and son. I think I'm loosing my attraction to him though, although Curt is still quite enamoured. I think if I saw him in real life I'd think he was kind of funny looking. I wonder what GoGoBoy Omar thinks of him? Curt sweetly offered to drive me into work, but he was all comfortable and making a second pot of coffee, so I declined. Instead I took the "nice" bus (there is also a not-so-nice bus) that winds its way around the Boston Common, past the State House, and leaves me off at Park Street. I took a nice little stroll through Downtown Crossing, stopped at Au Bon Pan for a bagel and coffee, and then sauntered into my office at about 9:15 (I'm usually in the office at 7:30). Lovely. Tomorrow we must be out of the house by 7:30 again. I'm just not a morning person. How do Katie and Matt do it? What time do you think GoGoBoy Omar gets up?

For all you queens who've informed me that they are planning trips to New Orleans for Mardi Gras - the hell with ya!!! (Can you tell I'm just a wee bit jeleous?) Do the following for me:

Bond with a stripper at the Corner Pocket.

Have yourself a grope in the back of the Rawhide.

Have a couple shots at 2 in the afternoon at Bourbon Pub (if you meet a blond bartender named Alan, tell him Curt and Cory say hi - we knew him before he was a NOLA fixture. Shock him by calling him "Tripod").

Stand out on the balcony of Oz and watch the crowd at midnight.

Go to TT's (if you see an old drunk guy named Arizona, tell him I said hi), Voodoo, and the 9th Circle. In other words, hang out with the locals.

Have a bloody mary at 11am at Lafettes in Exile.

Have a muffeletta from Central Grocery, and a Cafe Au Lait from Cafe du Monde.

Go to Acme Oyster and have an order of oysters and their sampler plate. Yum, yum!

If Bianca del Rio is having a show, go see her and tell her I love her. Really I do.

Stick your tongue down Jonno's and Richard's throats.

Go to Good Friends because it's too far to walk from Bourbon Pub to Rawhide without stopping for a beer.

Think about eating at the Chinese place across from Good Friends, but DO NOT GO. I never have, but I love contemplating it.

Take a stroll into the Marigny and go to the Garden District. There's more to see in NOLA than just the French Quarter.

Consider going to Harrah's casino, and then reconsider.

Don't do anything on the street that you wouldn't want to have possibly show up on the internet, or that you'd be ashamed to have your Mom see. Save your wild side for inside the clubs and bars.

If you're going out somewhere nice to eat, order a Sazarac cocktail. They're amazing.

Seek out the Golden (Latrine) Lantern on Royal Street. Just go because, well, because.

But for God sakes, no matter how bad you want to, DON'T PEE OR HAVE SEX IN THE STREET! You're in a residential neighborhood - respect that (but please be a whore behind closed doors). You've still got a month to memorize all this. Don't disapoint me! ps - I would add links to everything I've referenced here, but I simply don't have the stamina. Look 'em up yourself.

Michael Jordan's Wife Seeks Divorce. Curt says he bets Michael was dippin' his stick where he shouldn't. All I'm wondering is how big the stick is. Is that so wrong? Sometimes, when life seems complicated and kinda crazy, and I don't quite know which direction to turn, I like to take a little time for myself - maybe a hot bath, maybe a walk in the park - to think it all over and ask myself, "What would Gogoboy Omar do?" Try it - I bet it'll work for you, too.

Gotta get ready for Mardi Gras. I'm not sure why, since it's not a big occasion up here in Beantown, but it seems like a good thing to do since New Orleans is one of those other places on earth that my soul seems to gravitate to. Besides, it helps to relieve the Northeast mid-winter dulldrums. Last year my office celebrated by having a small King Cake party, and Curt, Wendy, Rob and I went out Fat Tuesday to the only palatable Mardi Gras celebration in the city we could find (and got quite plastered, thank you). This year I have a co-worker (originally from Louisiana) interested in actually organizing a little Krewe ball as an after-work office party. I went over to him this morning and said, "Michael, Sunday night was 12th Night. We've gotta do something". I was thinking along the lines of having another King Cake party, but he's obviously thinking bigger. I mean, he's thinking masked ball! He's a big queen though, so why should I be surprised? I don't think we'll actually get quite that elaborate (at least, I'm not going to be sucked into helping to organize something that elaborate), but I do think one or two late Friday afternoon King Cake office parties between now and February 12th would be lovely. I also think maybe getting together with some friends and doing a New Orleans inspired pot-luck the weekend before would be fun (can you say etoufee, jambalaya, crawfish boil, and Abita beer, kids?) Naturally, we'll also have to do a little whoopin it up on Fat Tuesday itself. Best start looking immediately for the right place to do that. And I know just who's Blog to read to keep me in the mood.

The February issue of Unzipped arrived in the mail yesterday, and a certain someone is a contributing writer. Check it out, boys. You might learn somethin'.

Provincetown haunts me sometimes. I use the word haunt, but perhaps that is not quite an accurate word for the feeling. It's hard to describe. It came over me yet again on Monday of last week when we were driving through the windy road out of Race Point, through the dunes, on our way to Herring Cove beach and then back to our rented condo. I made a mental note that I had to write about it, and where I believe it originates from. One early October day, when I was about 11 years old, I said to my father that I wanted to go to the ocean. I do not remember what prompted this request, but incredibly my father seemed to agree that it was a good idea. Within a day or two, my father, mother, and myself were packed and on our way from upstate New York to Cape Cod. I had been to the ocean on several occasions before of course (most memorably vacations in Florida), but never the Atlantic of the New England coast. It still seems inconceivable to me that my request was so enthusiastically agreed to, perhaps my parents were in the mood for an unscheduled get-away as well. I'm quite sure we must have stopped overnight in the Albany NY area to visit my sister and her husband, although I do not remember for sure. I remember driving through the Massachusetts Berkshires, but little else. I probably slept through most of the trek, which is a car trip habit I still have to this day (if I'm too chatty or singing along with the radio too loudly, Curt will say to me, "Aren't you feeling a little sleepy, honey?). I don't remember if we had a particular destination in mind, except simply, "the ocean". I think at some point my father must have decided that as far east as possible before hitting water was the logical destination. That would turn out to be Provincetown, of course. I remember, after what seemed like days of travel, going over a knoll in the road and having my first sight of Provincetown in the distance and the ocean (actually Cape Cod Bay) off to the left - a view anyone who has ever driven the route knows well. We found a motel somewhere on Beach Point, a long area of beach east of Provincetown full of motels and beach shacks. All I recall clearly about where we stayed is that our room had a sliding glass door that opened right onto the beach, and I wondered if during the night the high tide water might actually break through and flood our room. We rested after our long trip and walked the beach. My father and I took super-8 films of the ocean and the gorgeous sunset. I think maybe we fed some seagulls with left over snacks we had in the car, then we got ready to go out to dinner. I remember it was a chilly evening, and we drove into Provincetown without any particular destination in mind. Somehow we ended up at the now long-closed Bonnie Doone restaurant. There, we ate clam chowder, steamers, steaks and lobsters. A huge meal worthy of the trip alone. Provincetown in (roughly) 1976 was still, of course, Provincetown. At 11 years old, I was just blossoming and starting to deal with my attraction for men. It was nothing short of a revelation for me you'll understand then, when during our drive back the motel our car passed a group of leather coat clad men, and I could clearly see several of them holding hands. I'm sure as we drove past them my view only lasted a few seconds, but the image was etched in my mind for years, and I believe today I could still actually identify the exact location on Bradford Street where I saw them. That was it, nothing more, just several men heading out for a night on the town and holding hands, but that one sight at once both startled and reassured me. There was proof that there were other people - adults even - who felt the same way I secretly did. I was not alone in the universe. If I could only escape my upstate New York hometown, and escape the limitations of childhood, there was the possibility of a happy future for me. Right then I knew someday I would return to Provincetown. I didn't know how, or when, but I knew I would return. Back at the motel that night, we slept with the sound of the ocean crashing against the beach outside our room. I thought it was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard, and I'd awake often during the night because of the unfamiliar sounds. If this place we'd come to at the end of Cape Cod didn't seem magical to me before, it certainly did as I layed in my bed and contemplated what I'd seen. I remember my father and I got up early and took another long walk on the beach, finding shells and other prizes left by the tide during the night, and hearing the horns of fishing boats in the distance. I don't remember much else of the trip, or the return home. I'm quite sure we started our return trip that next day, though. It was only a weekend excursion, no time for sightseeing or exploring the town any further. We had accomplished our mission - to visit the ocean. That's how it was with my parents - no nonsense, to the point, do your task and leave. Somewhere along the way back, we purchased a glossy book called "Cape Cod By Air", which was filled with aerial views of the Cape, including many of the Provincetown beaches and dunes. I think I stared at that book the whole way home, and kept it in my bedroom for many years after, feeling certain - as I did while there - that someday I'd return someday to walk it's beaches, to bask in the sun, explore the dunes, and to walk the street hand-in-hand with a man that I loved. That was my vision of Provincetown. It strikes me as a little ironic and yet fitting then, that fate actually has returned me to Provincetown as an adult. To place me - though the logic of my education and career path would have dictated otherwise - in Boston, just a proverbial stone's throw from the tip of the Cape. To have in the last 13 years spent countless birthdays and holidays of my adult life with friends there, to have memories of the place that include all three of the loves of my life (I've held hands on the street with each of them) and also, of course, of the brief but memorable trip I made there as a child with my parents. In season, off season, by sea and by land. Many, many experiences in Provincetown. And now, as I think about my future, I contemplate buying investment property, real estate, a place to my own with Curt there. To quite probably grow old in that place. Provincetown seems to call me back over and over. That what haunts me - that feeling of inevitability - the sense that I seem to have been fated to that place since childhood. I wonder, as an old man, whether I will walk the beaches of Provincetown and think of that trip with my parents when I was 11 years old, stepping through the sand and remembering them. I wonder if I will walk Commercial street and think of the love I experienced there, of the friends I shared so many experiences with - and of a crazy, wonderful, life shared with Curt. Years upon years of memories. And I'll be there, I'm sure, even after I'm gone - ashes scattered by whoever is left to do so for me. I can't imagine otherwise.

Footsteps on the dance floor remind me baby of you Teardrops in my eyes, next time I'll be true, yeah Whispers in the powder room "She cries on every tune, every tune, every tune" And the music don't feel like it did when I felt it with you Nothing that I do or feel ever feels like I felt it with you . . . ps - sorry for how melodramatic this all got. It was just something I had to get out of me, and the more I wrote - well, the more sappy it became. If my cat would just hurry up and die I'd snap back to writing about sex, drugs and rock & roll. Honest!

I want to thank everyone who has written to me concerning my cat. I went to visit her again tonight after work and suspect that she won't make it though the end of the week. I'm okay with it though, I've accepted the inevitable and I'm just mostly interested in making sure she's not in any pain. As soon as it looks like she's uncomfortable or it's just too much effort for her, we'll take her to be put down. She's mainly just lethargic right now, though. She still loves getting attention and summons up enough energy to move around the house a few times a day. It's just a little premature to do anything, I think. Soon though, soon. My Ex. keeps saying that it's so hard when it's just a cat, he doesn't know how I ever dealt with taking care of my mother when she was dying. Frankly, I don't know how I got through that either. It's amazing what you can pull yourself together to do when it comes time to help a loved one (even a pet) pass on. It's certainly not an experience I would hope for anyone to have to go through, and yet I feel so lucky to have been there for my mother (four years ago now). I learned a lot about myself, and really, I can think of nothing else in my entire life that was ever as important as what I did for her in that last week. And tonight, when I was alone with my cat (Roxy), it felt so important and meaningful to just sit with her at my side, gently running my hand over her fur over and over. Giving her the same comforting sensation that a kitten gets when being bathed by a mother cat. Just reasurring her and letting her know she is loved. It was probably the most important thing I did all day. Between what's going on with Roxy, and learning about another experience someone we all know and love just went through, I've been reminded of some of the experiences and lessons I learned with my mother. It's okay though. I feel stronger and wiser to deal with them, and they are good lessons to remember. It's all about giving out as much love as you can. There's nothing more important than giving out your love wherever it's need - especially when a loved one is passing. Nothing. And eventually, it comes back to you. I guarantee it.

Late night last night. Met up with the usual suspects for a little post-holiday cheer. Somehow, we ended up at the extremely touristy and tacky (and yet inexplicably popular) Dicks Last Resort. I don't know why, I really don't. I guess it was because Eve was on a man hunt, and she's not going to find the kind of guy she wants at the Ramrod. But anyway, it was full of some pretty hot straight boys. I do not discriminate when it comes to eye candy. Speaking of candy, for a dollar I got to take a safety-pinned, individually wrapped, mint candy off a woman's chest. I did this only because someone I knew was there and he dragged her over so I could do it. I do not know why, I really don't. I think it was part of her bachelorette party or something, but what a horrible way to be spending your bachelorette party. I felt sorry for her. After much prodding and encouragement from Wendy and myself, we did finally get Eve to work the room a little (for some reason, for a while there her pick-up tactic was to try to kick boys passing by. Wendy and I didn't think that was such a good idea). There were certainly enough eligible good looking men to choose form. It finally worked when a tall, hot man named Joe originally from Trinidad started talking with us. He was hot, smart, funky, gay friendly, and definitely liked Eve. Thanks to Wendy (who was doing very well at playing match-maker) by the end of the night Eve had his phone number and he had hers. We left him sitting by himself at the bar, though, which I felt kind of bad about. Curt and I agreed that we would have slept with him, but I guess that's not how the game is played in the straight world. I do not understand heterosexual hook-up games, and I'm very glad I never have to deal with that. Curt went almost directly to bed after we got home, promising me a little action when we woke up in the morning. Score! Not exactly the most spontaneous way to go about it, but after 7 years I take it however I can get it. I woke up at 6:30 finding myself playing with him. I drift back to sleep, and wake up an hour later and within minutes the game is afoot. That's way too early to be up (having gotten home at 2am), so after a take-out breakfast from Mike's Diner consisting of waffles with strawberry's for him and blueberry pancakes for myself, back to bed we go. Back up at 2pm. Frozen pizza gets cooked. MTV is having a Cribs marathon, making Curt want to redecorate. TNN is having a Star Trek: The Next Generation marathon, making me realize how horrible Enterprise is. It's going to be a tough week. I want to run and hide from it.

Jesus has risen and is looking to hook up. Being the hip, modern kind of dude that he is, he's even created a website to help him find chicks. What do you want to bet that this guy gets laid constantly?

Sadly, it looks like my Ex and I are going to have to put our cat, Roxy, to sleep soon. She's got cancer and is doing very badly. She's not eating, not moving much. Prior to Christmas, my Ex took her to the vet because she had a strange growth on her tummy. The doctor feared breast cancer and did tests, but just before Curt and I left for New Years the vet called with good news - her initial round of blood work had come back and it looked better than he expected. This Monday we got word that her x-rays had come back and it wasn't as good as he originally thought. Her body was basically riddled with cancer. He gave her weeks. He told my Ex to keep her comfortable, and at the point she seemed to not be (comfortable) anymore that she should be brought in to be put down. Today my Ex called me to say that she'd taken a nose dive. She's hiding, not eating, not going to the bathroom, not drinking. Very ill, and definitely not happy. He thought we should probably have her put down ASAP. So I went over there tonight and although yes, she's looking frail and is breathing somewhat heavily, she's was acting fairly normal with me there (for a 12 year old cat full of cancer). She came out and enjoyed being petted, nudged me for attention, purred, meowed, and even washed herself a little. My Ex was somewhat surprised and told me that I seemed to have "the healing touch". So I tend to think that the reports of her impending demise were a little exagerated. Still, she's 12 years old, is no doubt very ill, and truly is living on borrowed time. She may not need to be put down this weekend, but the end is coming. Poor little baby. She has never been the most affectionate of cats. In fact, she's down-right testy, but she's always considered me her mother, and I can't help but be sad. We saved her as a kitten from my parent's property one Fourth of July - she was lost and hungry and let out yowls from her hiding place in the brush of the riverbank when we let off fireworks. We went in search of the source of the noise and out bounded this tiny little gray kitten. She layed on my lap the next day and slept the whole way on the car trip from upstate New York to Boston. I'm so bummed.

Oooo! Looky here! One of my college classmates has had his first book published! Karl was such a sweetheart. He was either majoring (under-grad) in television or cinema and photography (I can't remember which) so we had several classes together. I think the last time I ran into him was in Kennebunkport, Maine back in the early 90's. We were both at a massive ACT-UP demonstration against then-president George Bush Sr. We chatted briefly about one of his old boyfriends that I had recently run into. Don't tell him this, but freshman year I once stole a pair of his underwear. Don't ask me how. We were the same size, and I needed clean underwear. Too bad I didn't save them - what if he gets famous now? I could have sold them on E-bay.

I somehow missed this article about my neighborhood when it was first published in August by the Boston Globe. Stumbling upon it on the Boston.com site today, I had to smile when I read it described as that "neighborhood where the boys sometimes hold hands with the boys and the girls with the girls." Once it was true, but alas, the vast majority of gays and lesbians were priced out of the neighborhood years ago. Sure, it's still got one of the largest concentrations of fags of any of the Boston neighborhoods, but that ain't saying much. The heyday of the South End as a gay neighborhood is long gone. You see more baby carriages than same sex couples these days. Walking down the streets today, it's sometimes hard to tell if you're in the South End, or Beacon Hill.

Yesterday, Curt brought home a late-arriving Christmas present from Amazon.com for me. Only got to hear the first couple of tracks from Kylie Minogue's Fever album last night before we headed out for some mussels and martini's, but based on what I heard, I think I'm gonna end up loving the whole damn thing. Kylie is kind of a new discovery for me. Yeah, I've known about her for years, but she wasn't really on my radar screen until I heard the new single "Can't Get You Out of My Head". Now ever since it's been in constant play in my brain. It's good to have a new dance diva to worship, since my #1 is currently between labels and I don't know when I'm going to get the chance to hear her beautiful voice again. (sob)

Here I sit in a chilly, dark apartment. I woke up to take a piss and get a drink of water, and naturally had to take a moment to check my e-mails (because I'm so popular and get so many - NOT). Just read Rupaul's Blog (which really has turned out to be good and probably deserves at this point to be added to my list in the left-hand column), and then spent 20 minutes e-mailing Jonno about the number of sexual partners I've had (sisters talk about these things, you know). It's a lot, in case you are wondering. A whole lot. And I want more, thankyouverymuch. Lots more. Applications and headshots are now being accepted. However, I think it currently in my best interest to join my beautiful husband in our warm snuggly bed. If I expect sex from him or anyone else, I must get my beauty rest. Back to beddie-by.

Okay, I've been back to work for more than half a day and I'm not happy about it. An eerie coincidence worth mentioning: While Curt and I were in Provinctown we turned on the television one afternoon and caught the first half of Ferris Bueller's Day Off. We spent the rest of our trip saying, "Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?" (if you've seen the movie, you'll understand). Well today, Wendy e-mailed us asking if we were interested in meeting out on Saturday night and she ended it with, "How about it? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?". Freaky!

Insomnia. Been up since 2:30am, but what's most weird about it is that we both had it. Curt was tossing and turning right along with me. Finally, at a little before 5am, Curt got up and said, "I'm bored! I'm going out in the living room to read." I wasn't far behind him. My mind had been racing as I lay sleepless in bed, thinking about screenplays, novels, and children's books I'd conceptualized but never written. I realized that if I committed to writing a page a day every single day until I had all my story idea's finished on paper that I'd be busy for years. I'm itching to do something creative again, so perhaps now is the time to go back to writing. My music equipment is (for now at least) in storage until we have some built-in shelving created in the bedroom, so there are no other creative endeavors to distract me from, at the very least, finishing up one particular screenplay I started long ago. It sits half-completed, but in need of a re-think and perhaps the benefit of having a now more mature writer to complete it. I know that if I don't write all these ideas out they will never become reality. Whether anything further ever becomes of them or not is not the point, the point is that they are (I think) good ideas that deserve to be written, and right now they feel like they are just bottled up in me - kicking and screaming for release. Now, will I or won't I? We shall see. My last day of my Christmas/New Years holiday passed by quickly, although not much got accomplished. I was finally feeling almost completely back to normal, after almost four days of gastronomic discomfort. Best of all, I was even hungry again, and used the last of our Christmas ham and the bone to cook up a pot of red beans for a red bean and rice dinner last night. I swear, somewhere in me there's a little southern woman trying to get out. Curt is back on his no-carb diet however, so no red beans for him. Back to the George Foreman Grill and a pork chop, cheese and some veggie's for my man. So within hours I will be back to work. How horrid. At least I'm only going to have a two-day week. How bad could things get in two days?

What a strange trip it's been. I would like to be able to write that we had fun from start to finish, but as you will soon discover, it was sadly not like that at all. I wrote our first 24 hours experiences in long-hand on a scrap piece of paper early on Saturday afternoon: Saturday, December 29th, 2001 Provincetown: The sea air! The cute boys! The vomiting! Yes, it's true. No sooner had we arrived than the boyfriend became violently ill. Poor baby. Our first night was spent in our tiny east-end hobbit-hole of a condo (which is actually pretty cute, too bad Curt has to bend over slightly so as not to hit his head), trying to nurse him through his bug. I headed out and bought a few supplies, but otherwise just read and watched TV with the volume turned down low, trying to comfort him as much as possible. Disaster struck our trip even before Curt became ill, as I pulled my iBook out to play some music during our car ride to P-town and was greeted during start-up with the sad little image of a question mark. I tried several more times, but still nothing but a question mark. Called my computer guru Ex, who talked me through a few remedies, but none of them worked. So until I get home and have access to my CD-ROMs, there is really nothing I can do and the well being of my brand new iBook is in question. (whimper!) Oh well, at least the condo we've rented is cute. A little further into the east end than we'd prefer, and with a ceiling way too short to comfortably accommodate Curt's height, but it is cozy and warm and light and has a more than adequate kitchen. The only real downside (besides the distance and low ceilings) is the noise from the lesbians and their toddler who are above us. We can hear their every move and muffled voices, and of course the toddler is loud and runs around a lot. As if that weren't bad enough, this morning two gay guys and their yappy little dog showed up to join them for the holiday. Lesbians, babies, queens and a yappy little dog are all excitedly running around above us. A while ago, as we tried to nap, they started played Abba loudly, starting and stopping each song, fast-forwarding, rewinding. Napping was obviously impossible. Despite how it all sounds, we really are delighted to be here. The worst of Curt's bug as gone by this morning (although he's still a long ways from feeling 100%), and we headed out for some breakfast and to take advantage of the sales. Everything in town is half-off, there are many deals to be had! We've already run into several friends, the trick from Wednesday night, and even had a quasi-celebrity sighting (Sabastian Junger, who wrote "The Perfect Storm"). Hopefully, things are looking up! Tuesday, January 1, 2002: I wrote all that above so optimistically on Saturday afternoon, planning on stopping by the Cybercove Internet Lounge in Whalers Wharf on Sunday to Blog ($7 per half-hour of internet time). However, it just was not to be. We took naps and headed out on Saturday night, hit the Atlantic House(A-House) Little Bar for a few, then went over to the Wave video bar, where I suddenly started feeling weird. Curt was still complaining of not feeling right, but after a few he at least seemed to be feeling better. I, on the other hand, definitely was feeling very, very wrong - nauseous, clammy. I thought perhaps I was just having sympathy symptoms. I switched to water, thinking "No, I must NOT get sick too!", and after a while suggested we walk over to The Vault. The change in venue didn't do me any good, though. After half a cocktail, we decided to go back to the condo, where I proceeded to spend the rest of the night on the toilet. Lovely. Woke up Sunday morning (after 12 hour of sleep) feeling completely drained. Now it was Curt's turn to sit around and nurse me. Drank some tea, took a nap, watched TV, took a shower, put on clothes, crawled back into bed and slept for yet two more hours. After a total of 16 hours of sleep, I awoke at about 1:30pm to find Curt reading his book and finishing off his 2nd beer. He wasn't feeling great, but at least his taste for beer was back. Although I wasn't feeling well, I was bored to death and desperately didn't want our trip to be ruined, so I insisted we get out and walk into town. There was an art auction in the town hall that we'd decided the day before that we wanted to check out. Afterwards, since I knew Curt was in the mood for some drinkin, we went back to The Wave and he had a beer while I drank water. I felt like complete crap, but was hoping to force myself into feeling better. After about a half-hour, Curt suggested it was time to go back to the condo (he said I had no color in my face). I'm a trooper, though, and insisted we take a left instead of a right and escorted him to the A-House Little Bar. It wasn't that busy, and we sat by the fireplace and chatted with another couple we met who were visiting from New Hampshire. As I sipped on my Coca-Cola I actually started feeling a little better, and even hungry. We left and spent the night snuggling on the couch of our condo. We ordered pizza from George's (which was the first solid food I'd had in 24 hours, and tasted like the best pizza I'd ever eaten) and decided we both wanted to go to bed early. Woke up Monday, realizing this was the last full-day of our get-away. Luckily, we were both feeling better. We hopped in the car and heading to Race Point and Herring Cove beaches. It was freezing cold and windy, but sunny and beautiful. No matter what time of year, it's not a trip to Provincetown if you don't get to the beach, right? Drove through some of the back roads of Provincetown we'd never been down before, checking out areas for future real estate purchasing possibilities. Dropped the car back at the condo and went to the Crown and Anchor for lunch. We were both in the mood for burgers and fries (the return of our appetites!). Went back to the Little Bar afterwards for a cocktail (I too had regained my taste for beer) and more fireside recuperation. Later, after an early afternoon nap, we actually had it in us to have a decent New Years Eve. Spent the bulk of the night at the A-House, grooving to the tunes and running into many people we knew. At midnight we kissed long and passionately in front of the A-House fireplace, bidding adieu to a horrible 2001, and then headed up to Greg's Bar (otherwise known as the Porchside Bar at the Gifford House) which we hadn't been to yet, but we just couldn't leave P-town without a quick visit. Were home and in bed by 1:30am. Woke up and rushed to get out of the condo somewhere close to the 10am check-out time. Had a quick breakfast at the Post Office Cafe, and got back into Boston around 2pm. A little more coaching over the phone from my Ex. this afternoon, and I managed to cure my little iBook of it's problem. We're all on the way to recouperation I guess. Curt returns to work tomorrow, but I had the foresight to give myself one more day before heading back to the office. Tomorrow I will cook, catch up my e-mails, everyone's Blog's, and continue to get my digestive track back to normal (still not quite all the way there). I'm dissapointed that our New Years trip to Provincetown got marred by illness, but at least we both got sick and went through it together, and were in a place we both felt comfortable and familiar with. It's not like we saved up for months - it's just a two-hour car ride for us. We'll be back in Provincetown in no time, and the next trip is gonna ROCK!