OK, I’m cranky and I’ve been cranky and I just tried to post and lost the s.o.b. before I could save it and publish and that makes me even more cranky. I’ve been cranky all weekend and I’m still out of sorts and it’s like I’m throwing this big temper tantrum against the entire world because I can’t get my way and you fuckers won’t listen to reason and make me Emperor of the World, as I so richly deserve, so I can set things right. Bastards. And another thing: I feel like I have to write this silly account of my worthless life for your entertainment and benefit and that makes it a fucking chore and I don’t like authority figures and fuck you. Bastards. And another thing: my lovelife isn’t pleasing me and I just wish all you women would just sort of fucking get in line and get those gig lines straight and untwist the knots in your knickers and realize I’m right because I’m always right and I said so, dammit. When I want your attention, I want fucking adoration and hot and cold running blow jobs on demand and when I don’t want your attention, leave me the hell alone and you’re supposed to know which it is you’re supposed to do without me having to explain every fucking little goddam detail every fucking goddam time. Why I oughta …. You’re just lucky I’m a good guy or I’d … bitch. Whew! Feels good to get that little bit of vitriol off my chest without actually having to speak to a real person face to face. Been wanting to say that for the past, oh, 40 year, I guess. Now that I look at it, it’s a little silly, but what guy hasn’t felt that way? Get a clue: we get older, we don’t grow up. I’m guessing I have some kind of hormonal shitstorm going on inside me. That’s the excuse all my sisters use these days. PMS, she pleads, and we’re supposed to unring the bells for all the shit she pulled and said the past two weeks. Why do you think it can’t work both ways? It’s not just women. I’ve been cranky at work last week and this week so far. Fortunately, writing “fuck you” briefs is considered socially acceptable behavior, but it’s just been part of the general crankiness. I not only blame my hormones, I blame the dark of the moon, the change from Daylight Savings to Central Standard Time, the change in seasons and weather, AND IT’S ALSO ALL YOU GUYS FUCKING FAULT!!!

Anyway, so Friday afternoon I went shopping the Foley’s sale with my extra 20 percent off card and bought sweaters, shirts, ties and cufflinks and filled two bags with it. Went to Raffine’s opening on Robinson and it was a hot spot. Saw lots of folks like Willard Johnson of Colonial Art, Phillip and Thomas, of course (Thomas was NOT wearing a ballcap! I gasped and dropped my jaw. Guess he couldn’t find one that went with his black suit and tie and lime green shirt.), all the Sue’s and Suzanne’s you could shake a stick at, and, of course, my hero, Michael H. (who gave me a hearty “fuck you, John” at the Red Cup the other morning). Went from there to Untitled for a show of the work of Ken Little and it knocked me out. There was this empty suit covered in real dollar bills lying on the floor just as you entered and I really really liked it. I also liked a bronze head sitting on its side at the back of the room. The show was made better by the addition of UCO’s horn ensemble and that meant I got to see not only the redoubtable KW, but also her son who I had not seen since March. He looked great with somewhat longer hair, and a little off kilter with eyeglasses missing one earpiece. Didn’t get the story on the glasses because I was too busy asking about grades and girlfriends. Had a “row” of sorts with one of my companions and that made dinner a little uncomfortable, but not too bad. Went to dinner at Flip’s, where the Chicken Piccata was the favorite. Two couples joined us after we got there and we dominated the large round table just as you come in the door, next to the bathroom hallway, and a table in addition to that one, lapping out into the main room. Afterwards, several of us went to my house for coffee and a political ass chewing for the President.

Saturday was all about my photo shoot. First, I’ve got to say I was embarrassed by how much of my wardrobe I took with me. You wouldn’t have believed it. To make things worse, I took stuff I was told NOT to bring. I was just so fucking excited I guess I couldn’t contain myself and wanted to show off and who knows what. Anyway, they made me feel better by telling me it was better to have too much than to have too little. I thought there would be a hairstylist, but there wasn’t and they must have liked my hair the way it was because they not only didn’t say anything about it, they rarely messed with it. It was my first time to have makeup since I was in high school play productions, but it wasn’t too wierd. My makeup artist is named Ty, he’s the owner of a salon in Norman and a pretty good guy as far as I can tell. You might say I posed a challenge, but he just touched here and there to get rid of some red skin from my convertible tan and plucked a random hair or two from my brows. I dressed in a black suit and tie, white button down shirt and black shoes and a black cashmere overcoat. Few accessories, a watch, a ring and sunglasses. Charles, the brother of Kat with a K, is a terrific fashion photog and he was the lensman for the shoot. He scared me a little by squirming in the passenger seat of the Miata to take shots while I drove to the “location”, Plaza Court Building at 10th and Walker. They took pictures of me just standing up on the roof against the skyline and the large Plaza Court sign, pictures of me with a cane, pictures of me sitting in a chair, pictures with tarring equipment. We went somewhere else and they took portrait type shots of me in a cream sweater and then more posing, this time with a chair and dressed in a shirt and blue jeans barefoot. Everybody seemed happy and I learned that “less cheese” means not so much of a smile. LOL. Charles was taking lots of shots for lots of folks while he was here, but he was ably assisted by Rhonda, his very lovely girl. Bon Voyage, Charles! Say hello to the Bay for all us landlocked Okies.

Sunday wasn’t much except for some more evidence of my general nuttiness. I rearranged my freezer. It’s so funny. One shelf for fruit, one for frozen vegetables, one large area for frozen/microwave TV entrees and side dishes, now all arranged by size so that the contents are easily ascertained, and a final area for meats and large sacks of frozen shit. My daughter and I don’t say “anal retentive,” it’s gross; we say: “detail oriented”. I was in that kind of mood after carefully restoring my wardrobe and generally getting my closets in order for fall/winter and putting away summer things. LOL. Damn. My neuroses are funny to me. I cleaned, picked up, tidied up and organized to beat the band. Guy didn’t know better, he might think I’m just a little off plumb. Does anybody know the number of my therapist, Jolly Dr. Max? Oh, here it is. Catch you guys later.