Thursday, September 27, 2012

One Kvetchy Queen

Was it the Jackson Five who sang “One bad apple don’t spoil the whole bunch, girl”? Are you humming that now? I apologize. You will have that song stuck in your head for the rest of the day.

I don’t like negative people. I can be just as negative as the next guy when the situation calls for it, but for the most part, now that I have entered my latter middle-aged years, I tend to accept things and go with the flow and try to stay positive.

Have you picked yourself up off the floor?

Seriously. I will give you an example. Last time I had to go to the DMV, or as we call it in Maryland, the MVA, I made up my mind I would be there for six hours, so I took a book, and relaxed. Well, I was in and out in four hours, so my mood was great when I left. See how easy it is to be happy?

Is this the case in every state with the DMV? Who gets hired by the DMV? I have never met a DMV employee outside the DMV. Who would apply to work at the DMV? You have to be seriously deranged to want to work there. Think about it. You will only be hired if you are an incompetent moron, and you will spend the entire day being yelled at and listening to people complain when you tell them they did not bring the right form after they waited three hours to come to your window.

There are people who run businesses where they will do all the legwork for you. What kind of sadistic-masochist establishes a business where he spends all his time at the DMV? I would rather live out of unrestored Rambler on a lift in a musty garage.

But, this is not about the DMV or MVA or whatever your red state calls the hell hole where you register your car. But, in a way, it is about cars.

I grew up around negative people – really negative people. The rest of you call them Jews. My father was the most negative person who ever lived. My brother would call him Eeyore. Whenever he would say something, he would look at the floor and shake his head. “Oh woe is me.” Talk about annoying.

I don’t think he was ever happy. Let me rephrase that. He was only happy if he was unhappy, and nothing made him happier than something bad happening to someone else. When my apartment in Newport News was robbed soon after I moved in, he said with a smile, “I guess moving there didn’t save you any money.” He was thrilled that I was a victim of a crime.

My mother’s reaction was, “I assume you don’t have renter’s insurance.”

My apartment was robbed, and this was their reaction! And people wonder why I am not a serial killer, but they can see why I am such a caustic bitch.

I did have renter’s insurance, and by the way I am fine. It was twenty-four years ago, but thanks for asking.

Beverly Sills told Merv Griffin (I miss Merv Griffin) that the secret to a happy life is to get rid of all the negative influences in your life. I have done this.

I have a couple of friends, each of whom socialize with a circle of friends, whom I find to be negative and nasty (wow, two whoms in one sentence). I have not been able to figure this out. Are they that desperate to have a crowd around them that they will tolerate just about anything? There are a lot of people like this who cannot stand to be alone, so they will seek out anyone who will spend time with them regardless of how annoying and negative they are.

I am the opposite. I spend a lot of time alone because I find myself more fascinating than I do other people. OK, even I can’t keep a straight face when saying that.

Beverly Sills also said during that interview with Merv, “As you go through life, you will find you have just a few real friends; the rest are just acquaintances.” I totally agree with this, which is why I don’t suffer from Paula Abdul syndrome, meaning I don’t travel with an entourage. Or, is it because people cannot stand to be around me?

For many years, I have been doing volunteer work, and as you know from my prior entrees in this blog, I am a number eleven. I join, become their newsletter editor, and within a year, I am a benevolent despot running their organization with an iron fist. I do everything short of banging my shoe on the desk.

One of the drawbacks of being in the leadership on a volunteer board is that you have to deal with all the negativity, especially from people who never lift a finger to do anything. They always start every sentence with, “You know what you should do?”

I always answer, “Why don’t you do it?”

What I want to say is, “You know what you should do? Go fuck yourself.”

They are also the ones who always complain about the food. I realize this is a Jewish thing. The food was terrible and the portions were so small. But, I didn’t sign that part of the contract when I was in the hall of souls waiting to pick the dysfunctional, alcoholic, deranged family from which I would be borne. If I go to an event, I am happy with scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast, a sandwich at lunch, and meat and potatoes for dinner. Who cares? Did I really go to this event to eat or to see people and have a good time … and if possible, get a blow job?

Last week, our car club hosted the LCCI Grand Invitational. More than 300 gay guys and their cars came to Rehoboth Beach to have fun, socialize, get drunk, get laid, and perhaps win a trophy. Now, you would think with more than 300 screaming queens in one hotel, that there had to be several negative ones around, but surprisingly, there was only one. Just one! However, he more than made up for everyone else.

The sad part is that he is someone I consider a friend, but in the last year, he has become such a bitter old granny (no offense to grannies) even though he is my age. Thank God, I am not bitter.

I believe he truly wanted the event to be a disaster, so that he could say, “See I told you that wouldn't work.” Every time something went well – and by the way, everything did – he found something else to complain about.

On the day of our car show, we served breakfast until 11:00 am, so we decided to serve lunch at 1:30 pm. The other reason we served lunch later was that people tend to leave after the meal is served, so this way they would stick around a bit longer. Dinner was not to be served until around 9:00 pm that evening.

Well, old blue-hair wannabe started whining about how he was hungry and had to buy a snack rather than feed off his own fat, and why is lunch so late, and why is his car parked here. Whine, whine, whine. He isn’t even Jewish. I didn’t even acknowledge him. I channeled Beverly Sills and walked away. Sadly, one of his closest friends confided in me that he couldn’t take it anymore and quit speaking to him.

I told that friend of his that if I ever acted like that he had permission to run over me at the next car show, but be sure to do it with a Nash or Hudson.

As regimented as I am, when I am on vacation or at an event, I go with the flow. Just enjoy life. I take so few vacations, that I try to just have a good time ... and if I am lucky, get a blow job.

Sadly, granny is pushing everyone away from him. I watched my father do this with his negativity.

While this isn’t the funniest thing I have ever written, I just want people to step back and really think about what is important in life. Don't push people away with your negativity. It is very difficult to get a long-distance blow job.

If you like what you read, buy my goddam book! The Gay Jew in the Trailer Park on Kindle and Amazon and at your favorite book seller if you ask them.

Monday, September 10, 2012

Help, I Need Somebody

As I have mentioned in the past, I don’t accept help easily, and I have little tolerance for people who are helpless … or shall I say hopeless. You know the type. No matter how much you try to help them, when all is said and done, you wonder how they cross the street without getting hit by a milk truck. That doesn’t stop me from continuing to try and help people.

There are two areas where I consider myself an expert. Self-pleasure and folding laundry. Oh wait a minute, this is not about me. Who am I kidding? It is all about me! All seriousness aside. The two areas are helping people find a job and matchmaking.

That’s right. The guy who is perpetually single and wouldn’t know a proper, age-appropriate mate if he landed on his face (now there is a visual) is one of the world’s best matchmakers. I have put together almost a dozen couples over the last quarter century, and all of them – did you hear me? – all of them are still together. I have signed more Ketubahs than Rabbi Shlomo Levine of Chicago. Funny, people still cannot read my Hebrew handwriting. It looks like Chinese. One couple invited me to their tenth anniversary party, and someone looked at their framed Ketubah and asked them why Chairman Mao signed their wedding contract along with an order for Hunan chicken.

I have had resistance to my skills over the years. The problem is many people are not open-minded. Of all the people I have matched up, only one couple was Gay. I introduced them after meeting one half of them for the first time and talking to him for five minutes during an Oneg Shabbat. I am that good! Straight people are so much easier when it comes to the marriage department. All these Gay people want to get married but don’t want to take my advice. Listen now, you tired old queens – quit looking for the next best thing and look where I point you! Still, I never follow my own advice.

When people try to match me up, it is usually with a middle-aged former pretty boy, who cannot accept the fact that he is no longer the hottest thing in the room (as if he ever was) and who is a sex addict or an alcoholic or a drug dealer. What is even more curious is that they are often fixing me up with psychiatrists. I dated one for a month, and I kept saying, “I’m seeing a psychiatrist,” and no one took the bait.

Dorothy: “Rose is seeing a psychiatrist.”

Sophia: “It’s about time.”

Funny thing about one of the psychiatrists. When he was introduced to me, he was wearing swimming trunks to Friday evening services. My friend Mindy asked me if he was retarded. What a weirdo he was. He wanted me to do a ten-day course of antibiotics before he would touch my hand. Ironically, his house was something out of Hoarders complete with the cat skeleton!

Enough about love. Now, when it comes to helping people find a job, that is another story. Let me start by saying no good deed goes unpunished. Actually, a friend of mine said that yesterday. The reason was he had been waiting for three hours for an unemployed friend of his to come over to work on his resume. The guy kept calling and saying he would be there in fifteen minutes until my friend told him to forget it.

I knew exactly how he felt. Over the years, I have tried to help more people write their resumes than George Michael has given blowjobs in a London park. That is a lot of resumes.

Strangely, with a few exceptions, this turns out to be a miserable experience. The few exceptions are still working at their jobs.
 
Take the example my friend went through. My immediate impression was this guy would be late or not show up at all for an interview. Then there is the embarrassment of recommending someone for a job, and they don’t follow through or screw the whole thing up.

I know there are a lot of people out of work for all kinds of reasons, and I have been laid off three times myself, but there are those whose employment status and their unwillingness to change it can only be blamed on themselves.

Here are the examples of what I encountered over the years.

I had a friend who was let go from three jobs in three years, due to his late night activities, which encroached on his daytime activities. In other words, show up hung-over three times in one week, and you are sure to be taking your coffee cup home by noon. Of course, that didn’t stop me from helping him fluff up his resume. We lost touch for almost twenty years, and guess what? He was still partying every night and jumping from job to job. He never grew up and thinks he is still hot, although his wrinkled face and Just for Men hair color belie his self-assessment.

There was my friend who decided to quit his job after a dozen years and pursue another path. The problem was he didn’t know what the path was. I told him to make a list of those things that bring him joy and those things of which he was passionate and another list of the things he enjoyed doing then call me and we would map out a plan for him. He was supposed to call me at 1:00 pm on a Sunday. That was three months ago. I am still waiting for the call. Update: He is still not working.

Add to this list all the jobs openings  I have forwarded to people who were out of work and qualified for the positions. Ask me how many applied. Go ahead, ask me. One. There are those whom I asked to forward me their resumes, so I could add them to the pool. Ask me how many did that. One. The worst part is these were all people who were begging for help finding a job.

The best one was the neighbor who asked me what I did for a living then asked me if I could help him find work. I worked on his resume, and he submitted it for a position with a company where a friend of mine was the hiring manager. He did everything he was supposed to do. I was impressed and felt for the first time in a long time that I wasn’t being made to look like a fool when I said to someone, “I know a guy who would be perfect for this job.”

He nailed his phone interview, too! There was great hope, and his in-person interview was scheduled for the following day.

After his interview, my friend called me. I was so excited because it had been too long since anyone followed through and landed the job. The conversation went like this:

She: “Milton, your friend came in for his interview.”

I: “He is just a neighbor. How did it go?”

She: “Was this a joke?”

I: “Oh God. What happened?”

She: “He wore a very nice suit.”

I: “And …”

She: “And, he was made up like a drag queen.”

I: “What?!?”

She: “He showed up in a man’s suit with full drag queen make-up and hair.”

I: “Did he get the job?”

She: Silence

I: “Well?”

She: “Yes. It turns out he is perfectly qualified for the position. He starts on Monday.”

So you see, I still have my touch.

What was the job? Territory supervisor for Estée Lauder Cosmetics.
 
Never doubt an expert.

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