Introducing Brian

Brian likes cars.  I just had to get that out of the way. 

Back in college, Marky and I had some mutual friends who led us to Brian.  I suppose we each knew him around the high school/college cusp, but we had most of our good times with Brian at NMSU.  One of my first dates with Marky was to the OP in El Paso, accompanied by Brian.  As well as being one of the only good gay bars in the area, it was the only place that played good dance music, so there ya go.  A few weeks down the road (when I was out of town for a spell), my aunt's friend, Javi, spied Marky at the OP with Brian.  Oh, the rumors flew.  But Brian was just super fun, and Marky is super gay-friendly, so they went out a lot.  House-hunting with Brian and Andrew (Brian's then-boyfriend) was a blast.  We found some really cool places for rent, but our rental agents had a tough time finding a space that would take 4 cars and allow our non-traditional situation.  I got a call from Brian telling me that he and Marky had found an amazing place, to trust them, and let them sign the lease in my absence.  They found a goldmine that had 3 bedrooms, separate living, dining, and laundry rooms, a huge kitchen, a gigantic backyard, a carport that fit most of our cars, and (drumroll, please) a functional jacuzzi!  At the time, I was doing a lot of concerts that required glitzy formal dresses.  I needed ample hanging space.  I told Brian and Andrew that they could have the third bedroom to themselves if they let me and Marky have the master bedroom, which had a walk-in closet that was larger than my current apartment's bedroom.  They agreed.  We loved it. 

Both couples had housewarming parties with our respective circles of friends.  Marky and I had some family come by when Brian and Andrew weren't present.  We gave them the nickel tour, showing off all of the features, and talking about our good friends who shared the house with us.  At this point, we felt newly open with our families about living in sin.  We had not yet discussed the other alternate lifestyle under our roof.  When family members oohed and ahhed about the size of our bedroom, they asked the inevitable--which room did Brian get?  And Andrew?  When we told them the boys shared a room...  (slight pause)...  "Ohhhhhhhh," emanated from the now enlightened group. 

Andrew and Brian had a housewarming party later that week.  The party consisted mainly of gay men, who took the same nickel tour.  They all liked what they saw, but the piece de resistance was always my walk-in closet.  When the party arrived at the major seeling point, they took one look at the sequined full-length gowns, and their wide-eyed looks and gaping mouths prompted Brian and Andrew to quickly explain that they did not live with drag queens, but *ahem* a straight couple...  (slight pause)... "Ohhhhhhhh."

Introducing Kristin

Ah, the day has come.  The woman who inspired this series shall now be revealed. 

The accounting department.  For a long time, I thought that the key department was the most colorful.  I am learning that we are in a tight race with accounting.  Kristin is part of that crew, obviously.  I know plenty of vegetarians, but she is only the second vegan I have ever met.  I mention this not because this is the most striking element of her persona, but because she has a radical tattoo proclaiming her veganism.  I feel like a heel for not knowing exactly what the ribbon across the bunch of carrots reads.  Perhaps this is an opportunity for you to find out. 

Our interaction is usually limited to me and my key cohorts teasing Kristin as she delves into the storage room.  We warn her not to go in there, but we don't explain why.  She always giggles and gives as good as she gets.  Never does she appear annoyed.  She has a wonderfully friendly disposition. 

The thing about Kristin is that underneath that sweet and gentle exterior resides the soul of a political activist.  If you visit her site, you will learn something.  Rather than clips of "America's Funniest Home Videos", she provides pro-conservation material and a piece about poverty in Chicago.  She is also working on a project that shows the correlation between the location of hazardous waste sites in the city and the socioeconomic status of the people who live nearby.  It's a small step for a person, but I hope everyone who reads this will look at her site, and maybe you can all tell one more person each, and so on.  MySpace can be more than just self-indulgent personal exposure. 

No worries, though, Kristin likes Lisa Simpson and sudoku puzzles.  One of her first blogs, if I remember correctly, was an outreach to all who knew a good vegan recipe for bananas.  Or was it blueberries?  It was coconut!!!  She was looking for a good vegan coconut recipe!  I, who will put anything in my mouth¹, and am afraid that vegans are on the verge of starvation, or at the very least, boredom, did my darnedest to find a nice egg-free macaroon.  Upon consideration, I realize now that it may have simply been a verbal office memo.  Anyway, that was one of my first interactions with Kristin, and I hope she tried the recipe and enjoyed it. 

1. With the exception of mushrooms, raw bell pepper, prosciutto, cheesecake, peanuts, and regular Pepsi.

Introducing Marky

Should I tell you why I love him?  No.  How about some stories I have already told a million times?  Uh-uh.  This is after all, a blog project where I strive to unearth a fresh story about my friends.  I suppose the only thing I can do is try to dig up a story from when Marky and I were just friends. 

Before I start, I want to emphasize my belief that friends make the best love relationships.  Before getting involved, we knew each other's entire history, and we were past the point of putting on airs to impress each other.  Before we dated, we were friends, but before we were friends, we dated.  OK, old news.  Unearth...

Mike, a mututal high school friend, was a major proponent of our relationship.   He was the one who pushed the high school junior to call the college freshman on her spring break to ask her out.  Even after that didn't work out, Mike gave us plenty of opportunities to be in the same room at the same time.  Roar Night, graduation party, loitering in Nob Hill, etc.  Where am I going with this story? 

The summer of '97, Marky and I went on a big road trip with Mike and his then g-friend Lucretia.  In hindsight, it was only a baby trip to Santa Fe, which is a scant 45 minutes away from Albuquerque.  We felt very independent, though.  We piled into Mike's red VW, cranked up the Erasure, ate mexican food, and shopped at Hastings.  Sure, there was Hastings and tacos in Abq, but we were on the road man!  As the sun began to set, we drove home, chatting about urban legends.  Pop Rocks and Coke, highbeams, the wedding gown infused with embalming fluid, and the like.  Then the subject turned to childhood fears.  We all seemed to have unreasonable fears of physical deformities as children.  After some divining, we decided that we had all been exsposed to the movie "The Elephant Man" at too young of an age.  It may sound funny to those who didn't have the same experience, but I was so terrified by "The Elephant Man" at age 7, that I became obsessed and drew pictures of him at every turn.  My mom took me to see the play at NMSU, and it only fueled my horrible obsession.  Anyway, I remember the car falling silent as we regressed into our juvenile phobias.

Lucretia announced that the only way we could move past this terror was to watch the movie.  That night.  We rented it and plopped down in front of the TV at Lucretia's boss's house, which she was housesitting.  Again, we all sat, mezmerized, childlike, in front of the movie that was imprinted on our young minds.  The movie ended, and we all had the heebie-jeebies.  At the end, we had to part, but it was dark.  I didn't want to move from my seat.  Even though it was out of his way, Marky generously drove me home.  I couldn't get out of the car alone.  The 30 foot walk to my door was too frightening.  Marky walked me to the house and hugged me.  He was almost as freaked out as I was, but he acted like such a gentleman. 

It was not long after that day that I began illustrating graphic novels about me and Marky.  The story lines took place mostly in Village Inn.  I looked like myself in the pictures, and really, so did Marky, except for the fact that he wore a cape.  Songs from that summer suck me right back into that car, the weather, my back porch.  That was such a fun era, and I will never forget it. 

Introducing Hell's Knitters

Alright, I know I said that I strive to keep it real with my friends, and that I don't befriend people I don't know.  Well, I don't know Hell's Knitters, but I love what they stand for. 

Hell's Knitters is another rogue knitting graffiti team.  Heck, it may only be one person.  I spied their profile on the friends list of Knitta.  There are a lot of Stitch&Bitch group knockoffs, but the thing about the HK crew that enticed me is their open membership. 

I love Knitta, I aspire to be a Knitta, I feel out-crafted by Knitta, though.  I would never think to ask to join their team, but I am sure that there are just enough novices who are excited by the sheer bad-assness of this team.  They are probably desperate to get into the inner sanctum, and although Knitta is not anti-assembly, they are pro-start-your-own-thing.  Knitta politely asks that you do not use their official tag.  HK not only doesn't mind that you copycat, they encourage it by providing their friends with a tag.  You can download a handy-dandy PDF file with a space for your name and location.  That's probably in response to Knitta's strict ways, and neither really seem wrong to me. 

So, I also like HK for their profile: Lime green with a flying skull and crossbones made of knitting needles.  That's so simultaneously killer and cute.  After getting caught at work knitting while rapping along with Roots, I feel I belong. 

Introducing Julie

I had no idea what to do with my life when I entered high school.  My freshman year is probably the last time I honestly didn't care about planning my future.  This is not to say that I didn't want a future, I was just still a carefree child.  I had recently quit taking voice lessons and I enrolled in a high school that none of my middle school friends would be attending.  Suffering from a crippling case of low self-esteem, it was all I could do to eek out a social circle and make a couple of friends.  The first few weeks of school I actually hid out on the steps of my humanities portable and ate my lunch in solitude, until my best friend (who attended high school across town, and made friends effortlessly) forbade me to continue that path.  Fine.  I still wasn't making much of an effort to get invited to parties, or go to football games.  I didn't attend concerts or plays, but I was required to go to assemblies.  The self-esteem factor also prevented me from ditching the assemblies and getting a coke at the 7-11 down the street.  A month or so into the school year, we had an assembly that would change my life. 

This assembly started as per usual, with the pledge of allegiance and a performance by the drill team, ho hum...  Then a group from Mr. Nielsen's guitar class got up.  The group was made up of equal parts guys and girls.  They launched into "Sweet Home Alabama" and I was amazed.  I was fascinated that a class of 18 kids' wrists and fingers were moving in perfect unison.  Then, this shock of auburn hair began singing.  She was beautiful and she had a strong voice I wanted to emulate.  And she wasn't just a hood ornament for the band--she was playing right along with them.  That moment, I decided I needed to get into that class. 

That summer, I took three months of private guitar lessons and enrolled in beginning guitar for the fall.  My private teacher Dimi, in that short time, got my shaky fingers to play "Dust in the Wind" expertly.  I was beyond nervous when I walked into that class of long-haired freaky people in August.  But as we all struggled together, we bonded.  We had 4 concerts that year, filled with classic rock repertoire as well as a few classical etudes, ostensibly to make the principal happy.  We were just the beginning class--the intermediate and advanced classes got to do the really gritty tunes.  The girl from the assembly always sang lead on the big rock numbers.  The audience would always fall silent for her voice, and then go crazy at the end.  Myself included. 

We prepared for the last concert in May, and our big song was "Dust in the Wind".  I volunteered to sing it, but Mr. Nielsen needed some harmony.  He pulled in someone from the advanced class to help out.  It was her.  The auburn goddess from the assembly.  Julie.  I thought I was nervous at the beginning of the year!  It turned out she was really nice and super supportive.  And she played the hell out of the guitar.  Even though she was clearly the better singer, she did her duty with backing harmonies.  There is nothing like a strong backup singer.  We went on to do the song together, and to this day, I still get goosebumps when I watch that tape.  I felt like a superstar singing next to an even bigger superstar.  The following year, Julie's senior to my junior, she sang and played "More Than Words" for the homecoming queen nomination.  Compared to a lot of talentless pretty faces, I always thought Julie was robbed of her righful crown when she only got runner-up. 

I had a lot of musical influences growing up, but I hold Julie responsible for my taste in female pop vocalists.  They have to be strong, vocally and in spirit.  There is always room for a little diva behavior, but female musicians need to support each other.  It's really nice to know Julie still sings and writes music.  I found her on the 'Space after rekindling with another guitar buddy.  She has a music page, too.  You should check it out.  I like "Little Things" the best. 

Introducing Kathy

Kathy almost broke into my apartment. 

During opera rehearsal, Kathy and Elena seemed to keep their hands very busy with their crocheting projects.  Even though I thought it was a little antiquated, I decided to get on the bus.  Kathy is the woman who taught me how to crochet.  She sat me down with a couple skeins of yarn and a movie.  At the end of the night, my eyes were tired and I had a trapezoidal potholder/blanket/shawl that I was very proud of.  I, in turn, taught Kathy how to make a quilt.  Even though I was a complete novice in the quilting game, I taught her some basic techniques, and got better at quiliting in the process.  This all sounds very nerdy, I know.  Kathy is one of those semi-ADD types like myself, though, and she knows how to keep her hands busy.  I adore that. 

Parlor Trick: Kathy knows how to give her stomach a hickie using a drinking glass, some toothpaste, and a match. 

The night Kathy tried to break into my apartment, I heard a little tapping on the porch window.  Arriving unannounced, Kathy had knocked on the door, and I didn't hear it.  She simply climbed over the little guard rail on my porch, and tossed pebbles at the sliding glass door.  The thing was, our apartment was on the second floor--she had shimmied up the side of the apartment building!  When I looked through the veritcal blinds, there she was, holding onto the guard rail for dear life, giggling her butt off.  

David, Marky, Kathy, and I had social hour that night.  As the night wore down, it was time for Kathy to say good-night.  Something that belonged to Kathy was downstairs in David's car (if memory serves).  David gave Kathy his car keys to get her stuff.  After retrieving her things, Kathy stood below us on the sidewalk, and we looked down on her from the second floor porch.  Kathy gently tossed the keys to David, but misjudged the distance.  The keys landed on the pitched roof of our apartment complex.  It was about midnight, and we couldn't call our engineer.  We had to get those keys.  Kathy came back upstairs to help. 

We tried to use a broom, but couldn't really swipe the top of the roof from our vantage point.  We tied a string and a ballast-y type object to the end of the broomstick and swung it around, hoping to catch the keys, but the string just wasn't long enough.  Each of the four people working on this project suffered from EHDS (Extreme Height Deficiency Syndrome), and we needed to put our heads together.  Kathy climbed up on David's shoulders and tried again.  She was hanging over the rail two stories up, and David was unsteady.  Marky grabbed Kathy's belt so that she could lean out and swing again.  I was laughing so hard that I was no physical help to anyone, but I did take pictures.  Kathy and David finally got the keys off the roof, BTW.

Introducing Audrey

Audrey is a Gryffindor through and through. 

We love to torment Audrey at work.  When she says that an owner has invaded her personal space, we must stand close to her.  If she tells us she needs help with something, we offer help the next time she gets post-its from the storage room or paperclips a document_  When Audrey walks by our department, we wave and say hello as if we have not seen her in years.  And then we repeat ourselves several times.  Audrey always smiles and giggles.  One of these days she will go postal and we will be sorry.  But for now, we must torment her. 

Audrey would like to write a book.  It will be a book about all of the ridiculous things that owners have said to her.  You would be surprised at the crazy requirements some owners inflict on their potential tenants.  Pets, for instance.  Many owners don't want dogs in their unit.  Fewer dislike cats.  One owner indicated that the "kitty" must "make the poo-poo in the box."  The vast majority, however, will accept small caged/aquarium-ed animals.  The comment that convinced Audrey to compile a list was the owner who told her, "I don't want pets in my apartment.  Not even goldfish.  Goldfish are nothing but trouble." 

I gave Audrey a gift certificate to a book publishing website so that her dream could come true.  That was only 1½ years ago, and I am sure she is hard at work putting the finishing touches on her magnum opus.  Hi Audrey.  How are you, Audrey?  Hi.