The Hurl Curl and Related Mysteries

Most of you know I have serious talent when it comes to burping. Now, take that force and add a complete spinal ripple ending in a total Linda Blair exodus of vomit with a high powered vocal underscore and you have the hurl curl. I just really have a hard time holding back, so when I vomit it is a total body experience for everyone involved.

One of my favorite ones was at Boxxes. I had just finished my pantry shift at Benjamin's at the PacWest, my nick name was pantry princess, see even back then people saw my grace and beauty (insert buck toothed smile). I was waiting for my brother and some friends to go dancing next door at the Brig. I was on a carrot and celery diet, so my three double screwdrivers hit me hard and fast. Add that to the half dozen cigarettes I smoked while I waited for my friends, they were late, and the high level of anxiety I had sitting in a gay bar all by myself; it's no wonder Linda came for a visit. 

I had my mouth sweats happen, then I got a bit sweaty, which is nothing new, I always get nervous and sweaty in public. However, that combination is a tell tale sign of the approach of the hurl curl. I made my way to the bathroom. Of course the path is lined with uber sexy men against the wall working a hook up. Skin tight Levi's, hairy chests, vests and attitude lined the approach to the bathroom. As I start my nervous stumble to the toilet, I can not hold it back. Before I know it, my hands are up trying to hold back a force too great to be restrained, and I have carrots and celery and screwdriver shooting out between my fingers spraying all along the wall as I continue my hurl to the sink where I heave and heave filling the sink with a nice chop salad. It really is no wonder I can never get a date. Who would want to date that hot mess? 

It was the return from the bathroom that was the worst. The evil glares and bitchy squeals coming from the wall of masculinity. Judging me. Pushing me. Laughing. I just lit a cig and went to the otherside, where word of my escapade had not yet arrived, just like my friends. Fuck. I'll call that scene.

Next up, my adventures in dating land, staring me, a florist, two dogs, gravity bongs, Jaegermeister shots, whiskey sours, bangars and mash and a VHS of Northern Exposure. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Every day for six months. I know. But he loved me and dreamed of me.

It began on a lovely day in Astoria 1999, I went into a flower shop to buy myself my weekly boquette of flowers; a little thing I did for myself because I was worth the love. Anyway(sssss), as I approach the back counter this fella with long hair, wide ribbed camel colored cords and hemp necklace turned, made eye contact with me and fell back into the card stand knocking it over. I helped the fella up. He got all giddy and looked at me with his sweet blue eyes and proceeded to say, "Sorry about that. You just took my breath away. I have been having a dream about you for years and figured it was just someone I would never know and now here you are in front of me."

Pause..... I am a devout romantic. Always have been. He was tugging on my heart strings and my wheels were turning on our new found love. He dreamt about me, that means something. I will open my locked down heart and see what happens..... That was my instantaneous inner dialogue that allowed me to say," my name is Marco, want to get together after work and tell me more?"

I should add that this all happened at the end of one of my seven year cycles of trying romance. He came over that evening and I lived up to my true form which was to be sure to do it on the first date because if he discovers how much of a freak show I am he might now be back and at least I can have one fun ride.

We did it on my zebra faux fur comforter, under a ceiling of bamboo, and after a few drinks and an hour of making out and smoking. Tasty I know. I was excited though! He was in to me and that felt great. Mid thrust he says, "can we go to the shower to finish?" I guess. I hated my shower, it was in an awkward space in the basement and I always felt more dirty when I was done....

Fast forward a few months.

We saw each other everyday. This was our exact routine, hardly  any variation, ever:

I would sleep on his small bed smothered by his two dogs and him.

I would get up at 5 and go to work. 

Take my first break at 8, go pick him up for work ( he had no license).

He would have a shot or two of Jaegermeister and a gravity bong, I would join for the bong.

I would drop him at work and return for my day.

I'd go walk his dogs after work and clean up the mess from his puppy.

Pick him up at 5

He would give me a presnt or flowers every day.

We would go to Ship Inn

He would have 3 double whiskey sours, I would have single vodka crans.

I would have fish and chips, he would have bangars and mash.

We would smoke many cigarettes.

Next stop, 711 for a six pack to take to his place.

Clean the mess from the puppy

Gravity bong

A shot

Sit on the love seat with the two dogs and watch the same cassette of Northern Exposure as he told me he loved this show, the first time from his lips, the thousandth time to my ears. 

It was a long loop of Groundhog Day and it took me months to understand the pattern. It really was the always having to do it in the shower so he wouldn't pass out that really got to me. Or maybe how he always fell down the stairs. He loved me but could never remember our history together because he was always so fucked up. But he loved me.

I caught a reflection of myself one day while we were at it in the shower next to the heaps of dirty laundry on the floor, my body swollen from all the drinking and fried food and I hated myself. This wasn't love.

The thing was, he was so loved by people. He was the sweetest. But our relationship was not healthy and I was enabling him as I would match him and hold his hair at the toilet and try to keep his life in order.

I think the worst part was the humiliation of finding out he had been stealing from work. All of my gifts were hot items. Long time family friends. I still feel guilty when I see them.

Anyway(ssss), that was the year I met my savior, Melanie, and I got the hell out of town......

Just this past month I met this fella who was thinking of moving to town. He was told that he should meet me and I introduced him around and I tried to be his friend. He really is a sweet man, he totally reminds me of my exboyfriend from'99, but I pumped the breaks because his pattern was so strongly what I vowed to stay clear of. It brought back too many memories of sad and heavy times for me.

The interesting thing is that during the encounter with this present day ex, the former ex passed on. I feel such joy for him. To know he has been released from his struggles and pain brings a sense of relief for me. My problem is that I did love him so much and he was a pivotal part of my path but I could not make space for him in my life because of how our time together was. I guess the best part of that time together was that every time he looked at me with his blue eyes he was always seeing me for the first time and that joy was exquisite.

He was the reason I pulled my life together and saught out my own path. He is why I stopped being a heavy drinker, why I quit smoking cigarettes and why I took an interest in living my life and searching out eye to eye, heart to heart friendships. He pushed me down my path and helped me find breath in my stale soul. So for that, I honor his passing.

I've said good bye to my hurl curl life. I am always willing to demonstrate a dry heave version if you'd like but I'm not that person any longer.

I used to have an eating disorder, but then I found laxitives...or I've seen beyond the ring of fire..also know as I've learned a few things from this hard cock life

Vanity could have been the ruin of me.  

Vanity has been the ruin of me.

Vanity has been fuel to my life fire.

Vanity can ruin you or raise you up.

I've seen the dark side of my vanity..

And I can go dark.

I think one of my worst was coming out of my first run of fierceness in NYC in 1996. I was back in Astoria and needed to make every day a NYC day. I may have come home ruined, but I delivered. I learned from a very young age that I do best stepping out with my strong leg first. On days I felt less than what I think I should, I dressed  it up and made it comply to my image. 

A few months into my return, I noticed my cake waist expanding and my 29" that I snorted so hard for not even making it up past mid thigh. I wasn't walking my several miles a day in the city anymore, something about a small town just makes a girl want to drive. Maybe it was the yells. Hard to tell but my ass and gut were growing and I couldn't handle that.

I began my love affair with super dieters tea or 3 ballerina tea, depending on what was on sale. I was serious about my tea. The directions were something like: steep one bag of tea in an 8 ounce glass of hot water for 10 minutes. I, being the fierce bitch I was, did 3 bags in 6 ounces of hot water for 20 minutes. The results were an ass cramping good time. The cramps would start around 6 in the morning. I could not make morning farts without sitting on a toilet, because it worked that good!

A few months in, I had dropped my pounds, still had my little belly ( still do, it just likes me), and I knew to never trust a fart before noon. Most days, I would have nice whole pieces of undigested food floating in the toilet. What a miracle!!!

Two things happened within a few weeks of each other....

The first being, I was going to go to lunch with a friend, we were making plans and I was feeling just so fierce and I had a bit of a fart cramp.. A quick glance at the wall, almost 2, I am safe; I'll just let it out gently. I released that fart and felt it run down the inside of my legs. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I shat my pants and it was being absorbed by my socks, it was just water and lettuce after all.

Second, one morning I went to wipe and things just didn't feel right. Well duh, my ass hole was outside of my body.. Yeah, not cool. I just shoved that lining back up in there and prayed that it would just stay there.

It brought back terrible memories to me. I have such butt hole issues. Got to keep that shit clean, literally. The worst being, and I am proud of myself for sharing this, being intimate with my boyfriend of 1991, really the second guy I was ever with, and we are on his twin bed, Aveda candles burning, Julia Fordham playing. Porcelain in my head, his head you know where and all of a sudden my butt becomes a milk duds factory as I watch one land on the bed. You can imagine my horror. He grabs a tissue and cleans it right up assuring me it is natural. Right, if I'm sitting on a toilet or making shit bombs in the forest; but not while being intimate. 

I make light of it, but it has scared me for decades and one reason why I have intimacy issues. The other reason being a survivor of rape and just having moments of that shame outfit always on, like temple garments or something.

It makes me remember how my grandma, who was my best friend and soul mate and schizophrenic, would always make me bathe when I stayed over to get the filth off of me, so she could be around me. I just never feel like I rinse it off enough. I feel like all anyone sees is that filth. My mind plays the reel of filthy little fag over and over. I almost never hear it any more. But it does visit from time to time and on those days I invite it in and let it see just how fabulous and fierce I am!! Rise above baby.

This year has been fucking rough and as I peel away the layers of protective and shame infused layers I've hauled around with me; I remind myself that I always rise above. I always try to flow like water, never fighting, just going along for the ride. At the same time, I push push push on, push out, search within. Then it hit me: to be water and rise above I must swell like the river after a winter's melt. By releasing I allow myself to be supported by the shores and water ways that surround and guide me. Namely, YOU ALL. Your continual love and support allow me to melt and grow and uncover the truth of who I am and what I have to give. 

That feeling is so wonderful! Unbounded joy and bliss. And I am just a firm believer of letting it out, by not keeping my shame hidden, allowing light on it, I recognize that I needn't keep in the dark, skirting around the shadows, cheating my angles to appear more, or less, depending.

Here is to all of us as we love into our dark season! Me we continue to be the light we are to each other. I am always here for you; as I know you are for me! Grab me and hold on if you need me.