...in Order to Dance...

I spent some time this afternoon trying to get my phone to work. Contact with me is so controlled. I cannot blame my friends for being frustrated enough to give up on trying to reach me. We shall see if any of my voicemails make it through. Whisky, 'Dabs, SynSyn,... everyone else... are you out there? I am doing my best to reach you.

What I really ought to do today is go buy new clothes. I have so few that fit me. Because of all of the testosterone I have been injected with (all against my will) I am funny-shaped. Because of my waist measurement, I am just barely plus-size. But the rest of me fits into the higher-sized end of the Misses (or occasionally Juniors) department. It has been difficult finding any clothes that fit me lately.

The only thing I had planned for the day was a short trip down to the Botanical Center to hear some blues "in the jungle." The Botanical Center needs some major modernizing, and they have been fund-raising with music lately. It is also the only place left in Des Moines where I can hear the blues... with the closing of Blues on Grand, and all.

My hunt for Latin music has led me to the Copa Cavana [sic] in the old Ingersol Dinner Theater in Des Moines. They have a Cuban theme, and I am hoping that means Cuban music... and a dance floor. I was in the mood for some regeaton (Is that how you spell that?) and cumbia the other night, so I started asking around. It seems the Copa Cavana is all Des Moines has got... I wonder if they have Cuban Salsa bands... I might be asking too much of Des Moines if I go that far.

I am reaching that point, clearly, when I need to dance. But to dance I need an open space, live music, and ideally, no cameras. It would be nice, too, if there were other dancers on the floor, but that has never stopped me before. (...It starts with the stretch of my arms and a tapping in my right heal...)

What else should I do today? I still owe Dr. Stephen Hawking a letter I have been promising him for months. I also always have a love letter in the works for my Mr. Love-of-my-Life... but I ran out of paper the other day. So, I just ordered some stationery last night in order to take care of my letter-writing needs.

As an update, I am still not crazy. I am, instead, lonely. I have never been fragile nor vulnerable. I have never been suicidal nor a physical threat to others. I am not a threat to the United States of America, but I am persecuted by the US government.

I am not sure there is any safe drinking water left in my parents' house. I want my parents to take the bottled water they buy and test it for PCP. Yes, this means everyone in the Des Moines area should be wary of the bottled water for sale. Go get it tested, people.

(Oh, and Sweetness, when we finally get the luxury of having our dream ceremony, I refuse to let my parents be invited. My dad is too much of an ass. He has been so full of himself lately... as if perjury were something to be proud of...))