This presidential election campaign season has been particularly depressing. So rather than gather people together to watch region-by-region election results and be armchair electoral college experts, I figure why not, as Peaches recommended back in 2000, fuck the pain away?

I started thinking about what it would take to really put together a proper orgy, and a couple of questions came to mind. I posted this on Facebook yesterday, and the lovely Miz Kali noted that Colby Keller once made a video on how to put together an orgy.

1. Naturally, as a good host, I will provide lube and condoms. Since not everyone likes silicone-based lubes, I’ll have water-based lubes. But then the question of if people want to do some fisting, will I also have to provide the J-Lube and Crisco, too? Or should I make that BYOL (bring your own lube?) Colby doesn’t really answer that question.

2. Fortunately, since when my grandmother travelled across the world she would also steal hotel towels, so I have plenty of towels.

3. I suppose I’ll also have to supply some Fleet enemas for the inconsiderate and lazy bottoms who don’t clean out before hand.

4. Depending on the number of people who show up, there can be any number of fetishes that people want to partake in. Do I set up a cross? A sling? A separate pnp room for those who want to slam?

5. Do I provide poppers?

6. Whom do I invite? I know I won’t sleep with anyone who has visible abdominal squares, but maybe some people do? I probably won’t get any cigar queens since I don’t want that shit stinking up my apartment. Oh wait. Do I need to get a hotel room? The cost is really starting to add up.

With the costs starting to climb and many issues unresolved, I guess I won’t be hosting an Election Day Orgy. But if I get invited to one…

I was in Vegas again last week. Me, Wheelchair Cousin and her mother, and my cousin Aaron who went on the Louisiana road trip with me in 2013. A quick little jaunt, we left Wednesday morning and got back Friday afternoon. We went mostly so that Wheelchair Cousin could go. She’s had a rough year with the pressure sore, the subsequent surgery and recuperation. Since she’s going back to pharmacy school at the end of the month, we thought it would be nice to enjoy something.

Most of my problems with Vegas is that there is no queer representation on the Strip. Oh sure, there are the four Sephoras, the stupid water show at Bellagio, every waiter at the restaurants. But for anything queer, you have to travel off the Strip. Because there’s always been at least one heterosexual with me in these trips to Vegas, there has been no gay Vegas for me. Just walking, drinking and staring at what essentially amounts to high-priced malls.

On the Las Vegas Strip, there are four Sephoras all within walking distance of each other. There’s a replica of Paris, of Venice, of New York and inexplicably the Miracle Mile of Los Angeles. As you walk through these simulations (and note that I really had to resist using the word simulacra,) your mind goes into a blur. Didn’t we just go by a Gucci? Why is that midwest couple in overalls going into the Prada store?

It is also so loud that everything is silent. The noise, the lights, the sensory overload just causes my brain to shut down so that I’m not marveling at the spectacle. I’m not noticing where I am. I don’t know that I’m hungry. I don’t realize I’d rather be in a swimming pool. It’s all a blur.

What was really cool was the High Roller “observation wheel” over by the LINQ (nee Imperial Palace.) Rather than a normal ferris wheel, it’s a slow-ride in these big pods that take about 30 minutes to go around. Being sealed in one of the pods was a good way of escaping the noise, to get a moment to think while looking at the vista of the city.

As we left Vegas, we went to the Seven Magic Mountains installation. It was a nice way to end the trip, an explosion of color amid the austerity of the desert.

Is there anything more dreadful than this election? We all know Donald Trump is going to lose, but he’s making sure that Americans all lose by stirring up these deplorables who would love nothing more than just to burn everything down like Sherman’s march to Atlanta.

On Saturday I ended up chugging through Season 2 of You’re the Worst which had one of the best television depictions of depression I’d ever seen. While it’s not exactly what I’m going through right now, I can empathize with it. Watching it really killed me.

I got through most of Zadie Smith’s White Teeth this weekend. I went a little overboard last week, so I have four books coming at me from the library this week. Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi by Geoff Dyer. Skippy Dies by Paul Murray. Crusing Utopia: The Then and There of Queer Futurity by Jose Esteban Munoz. The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead.

In Vegas from Wednesday to Friday.

As I took my normal exit to my apartment Thursday night, Dallas Aunt said, “Welcome home!” I sighed. It was 11:30 pm, and I didn’t have the energy to respond with more than that sigh. There is a depression that hits you when you are forced to return to reality, and with how fucked up I’ve been feeling the last few months, this return provoked dread from me.

But the trip was fun. Despite the blow up I described on Day 2 of our journey in the last post, the rest of the trip was smooth. We continued up PCH through the Northern Californian coast which rivals the Central California coast. Through the redwoods and into Oregon before taking I-5 up to Seattle and then into Vancouver.

We were only in Seattle for a day, and we did the touristy things: Pike Place Market and the Space Needle. But at the Space Needle, we also went through the Chihuly Garden and Glass which blew us both away. Looking at the glass sculptures amid the gardens was emotionally overwhelming. I really wasn’t expecting it.

After Seattle it was onto Vancouver where we spent three days. We visited the Capilano Suspension Bridge, Grouse Mountain, Granville Public Market, Van Dusen Gardens before taking the ferry to Victoria and visiting the Butchart Gardens. Vancouver really surprised me. I thought this would be the boring little milquetoast town, but I ended up really enjoying it. Had Dallas Aunt not been glued to my side the entire trip, I probably would have liked to explore more of the city offerings.

For the second half of the road trip, we went back down into the States through the Palouse of Eastern Washington into Idaho and Montana before heading south on the I-15 through Utah with a stop in Vegas before coming back.

Since Dallas Aunt was dismissive of going through Idaho and Montana, we didn’t spend as much time there as I would have liked. But one thing that really impressed me was how small it felt driving among the mountains and forests. We are mere specks in the grand scheme of things, but here we are destroying the world with seeming impunity. It got me choked up thinking about this while driving, it’s a damn miracle I didn’t drive off the side of the road or a cliff.

Enough with my words! Below here is a slideshow of pictures I took. Enjoy!

One of the things I wanted to do during this road trip is forget about the stupid anxiety and depression I’ve really been under the last few months. On Day 2 of the road trip, circumstances made me confront it head on.

I fell asleep last night pretty damn near paradise, in San Simeon where over the occasional roar of cars driving down Pacific Coast Highway you can hear the sound of the waves crashing onto the beach. A place where there is no air-conditioning in motel rooms because an open window is better.

When I woke up, the first news item I saw: Jose Fernandez killed in a boating accident. Yet again, mortality rears its ugly head in my thoughts. But after breakfast and going to Hearst Castle, things were fine.

Driving up PCH, as I was pulling over to let a car pass me I hear Dallas Aunt yelling that I scraped my car against a shrub. Sure I saw the shrub, but really it was so minor that it didn’t concern me. A little later, I pulled over again to let another car pass me and saw a fallen sign on the road. Again, Dallas Aunt started yelling. I told her I saw it and had completely avoided it and not to worry.

But she was beside herself. A little later, she needed to use the restroom and checked the “damage.” Like I said, minor superficial scrapes that will easily wash away. Nothing big. I told her that since I’m going to use this car until it dies, a minor superficial scrape is of no concern. She called it “damage” and started chewing me out. She’s yelling at me that my apathy towards things drives her crazy, and that I had ruined her vacation.

After miles of silence (which was nice), I pulled over at Bixby Creek Bridge. Before getting out, she kept asking pointed questions until I finally told her about how emotionally fucked I am right now. So instead of trying to ignore all of this, I have to confront this at a time when I don’t want to.

She calmed the fuck down, but I am still raw as hell. We got to Monterey where we are spending the night and walked around Cannery Row. I guess I made it like everything is fine, but I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.

Tomorrow will bring us to San Francisco which we will pass through as quickly as one can possibly do in that awful city.

All in all, things could have gone worse today. Despite my biggest fears, being in a confined space with Dallas Aunt was serene and peaceful.

We left the manse at around 10, stopped off for some lunch in Encino at Itzik Hargadol since I was craving kabobs, got gas in Santa Barbara, got clam chowder in Pismo Beach, pee stop at the Madonna Inn in San Luis Obispo and wound up in San Simeon.

Since I have never needed a reservation for a Motel 6 before ever, we thought it would be all right to just drop in. But they had no vacancy! None also at the Seabreeze Inn across the street. We finally wound up at the Silver Surf Motel at what I thought would be a rate of around $60. But alas, since things are still busy we were charged three times that. So once we got in, we made motel reservations the rest of the way up to Seattle.

It is jawdropping to see the ocean crashing on the shore on one side of me and the mountains rising up on my other side. It makes me really happy that I decided to go this route. I really can’t wait until tomorrow when after a visit to Hearst Castle, we drive through Big Sur and see the wonders of the coastline.

A happy note: while walking on the Pismo Beach pier, I saw this kid wearing a sleeveless Bauhaus tee. That really warmed my heart.

Here I am the morning before I set off on a two-week long road trip with Dallas Aunt watching “Speechless” and “Designated Survivor” on Hulu. To be honest, I’m a little put off of the disruption of my normal routine thanks to Dallas Aunt choosing to sleep on the couch rather than the second bedroom. Apparently her distaste for my mom runs so deep that even being in a room that my mom hadn’t occupied in months. So yet again I am relegated to my bedroom.

I have several concerns about this trip:

1. When I did the Louisiana road trip with by cousin Aaron, I kept photos of it on Flickr. I’m not quite sure that I want to use Flickr this time around. Maybe I’ll just use Google Photo just because? Good lord, that sounds pathetic.

2. Wheelchair cousin is really concerned for me. She and I are the only ones in the family who can get along with Dallas Aunt, and our patience is wearing thin. Yesterday she got into a tizzy fit because I didn’t acknowledge an informational text she sent me. Or that I don’t update her on everything I do. It’s quite grating, really. I don’t know how I’m going to survive being in close quarters for two weeks with her, but those who know me personally know that if nothing I will persevere. Or drive us off a cliff, whichever strikes my fancy.

3. I will miss Vin Scully’s last game. I figure I will be in Vancouver for it. Or Victoria. Or Missoula. Nevertheless, I will miss it. Although I can catch it on MLB.tv when I get back home, I’m still sad about it.

There are some more concerns, but I don’t think I can sufficiently express them here.

The plan is to go up Pacific Coast Highway through California (mostly) before heading towards the I-5 through Oregon up to Vancouver before heading east on the I-90 to Missoula, MT and heading down south the I-15 and get back home. Of course things can change. Dallas Aunt, in fact, is already proposing changes. Oh, heaven help me.

I don’t know what image would greatly complement this post, so up above is a photo of me approving of I Heart Pancakes in Santa Ana after eating half a stack of strawberry cheesecake pancakes. Because why not?

I’ve had some pretty fucked up dreams about the Grandmother over the last couple of weeks, but there are two that are seared into my memory.

1. I’m in bed, and I hear something banging in my closet. I open the door and there is my grandmother with her eyes and mouth sewn shut. She’s in a complete panic, and I’m looking down at her completely annoyed trying to figure out what I need to tell the 911 operator when I call them.

2. I’m wheeling my grandmother around a hospital, but she’s flailing about creating such a scene. A doctor wants to take a look at her, but I tell him it’s unnecessary because she’s dead. I get her into an examination room, and she’s still causing a ruckus. She finally yells out that she soiled her diapers. I yell at her at the top of my lungs in Korean, “THERE’S NOTHING IN YOUR DIAPERS! YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD!!!!”

Somehow I don’t think I’m all right.

Saturday was Madd’s birthday. And since I’m a gentleman, I won’t reveal how old she is. I will say that we’ve been friends since I was 17. Back when in order to get black nail polish, I used black marker and topped it with clear enamel. For a mesh undershirt, I cut a hole in the crotch of fishnet hose. That to find the music I wanted to listen to, I had to troll the compilation CDs in record stores and read zines like the defunct IndustrialnatioN.

We had dinner at the Penthouse in the Huntley Hotel in Santa Monica where we had this view:

Afterwards we went to the Santa Monica Pier and rode the ferris wheel which is one my favorite things to do in all the world. Walking down the pier, we saw a bunch of folks walking with their heads down looking at their phones. It seems they were all playing Pokemon Go and looking for the special Pokemon nodules or whateverthefuck it is they were looking for. I guess it’s nice that this game is getting people outdoors, but they really do seem to be missing out on interacting with the real world.

But most depressing was what we saw at the end of the pier. There was a gaggle of people wearing headphones dancing. It looked like a scene from The Lobster coming true. See?

The hardest question I get asked lately is, “How are you doing?” I don’t know how to answer it. I tend to be a very honest person when it comes to things like this which also means I’m not very good at small talk, chit chat, what have you. I guess I can give a curt answer and say, “I’m all right.” After all, I’m not crying or wailing every day. Or any day.

But really, I’m not all right. There’s a lot of emptiness that I didn’t expect to feel especially since I had prepared for so long for The Grandmother’s death. Last week I had to get a copy of her death certificate to our apartment leasing office. Sure the weight of the certificate itself is heavier than most other pieces of paper, but there was also a huge psychic weight of that piece of paper that told me she died of natural causes on July 31, 2016 at 0010.

For someone who has ridden this grief train several times in the past, these last few weeks have been much harder than I imagined. I know what I need to do to move on with my life, get a job, etc. Where I am stuck at right now is whether I want to. Maybe I will head my ass back to Baton Rouge. Maybe I will move out of country like I keep threatening to do. Maybe I will just dig a hole and crawl in it to while away the rest of my days.