Fear of life, or easygoing?

On Wednesday Paul got a call from Ivan, inviting us to take the dogs for a walk.  I wanted to give Paul some privacy with Ivan and move the romance forward, since the attraction was there; also, Maximilian could show his charming, loving, and sexually dynamic personality with Catherine the Great.  But Paul insisted that I join them.  I asked him why, but his response was that it was something intuitive, he just wanted me around.  Is this your insecurity, or do you actually like him?  Maybe both, responded Paul.

We met on the corner of Santa Monica and La Cienega and decided to walk toward Melrose.  It took us a while because Maximilian had to stop and pee on every corner, he was so overwhelmed with excitement.  Catherine the Great was walking like a model on a runway, fully enjoying the attention she received; one car even stopped, and a hot blond chick waved to her; the boys were screaming that we were really a hot group.  Maxmilian and I were a bit left out, but after taking a deep breath as my guru taught me, I controlled my ego and tried to be a good sport.

Ivan was easygoing and incredibly funny.  He told us stories about his family and love life.

“I was born in Moscow, and at the age of 6 my family emigrated to France.  My father was a violinist and had been invited to play for the Paris Philharmonic.  I never understood the violin, but I liked the noise it made. My mother was a total stranger; she was mostly preoccupied with losing weight or rearranging it.  When I got into trouble at school or brought home a D or C-, my father made me listen to him play violin for at least an hour, insisting that it was not punishment, just a matter of principle.

“I met my first lover in a Paris hospital.  I was visiting my mother, who was sick with pneumonia at the time.

“In bad hospitals they let you die; in good hospitals they kill you.  The only person I trusted in that place was a hot-looking male nurse, my mother’s caretaker.  Every two hours he came by to inject her in the buttocks with different antibiotics; in between we were making love in an empty room near the morgue.  That is where I was first introduced to darkness and learned the light of love and sexual interaction.

“His name was Olivier.  He showed me his lovely young form, and his impossibly white teeth were seared into my memory.  He bit through to the core of my being.  I will never forget the experience we shared.

“We broke up a week after my mom’s rehabilitation.

“Oliver was a member of the French communist party, but that was not enough to keep me.  Even though I was very young when we left Moscow, in our house hold one thing was absolutely clear: I had no interest in communism or didn’t want any connections to members of any communist party.  As a result, my passion for Oliver faded, and common sense took over.  I was learning about life through revolution and pneumonia.

“Two years ago I moved to Los Angeles.  I decided to completely disappoint my parents: since I had no interest in music, I was accepted as a grad student in the UCLA Math Department.  That is what I am currently doing….”

We were really having a good time.  Igor definitely made a great impression on Paul; I saw sparkles in Paul’s eyes.  The only person who was slightly disappointed was Maximilian.  He was too shy and too impressed by Catherine the Great, which was not in his character and in my view overly picky.

We all decided to meet again on Saturday night at the gay club on the corner of Santa Monica and Robertson.

Paul and Mary is a funny short stories writing blog is about the lives of two friends, Mary and Paul.    They share a two-bedroom apartment in Santa Monica, along with Paul’s dog Maximilian and Mary’s fish Mo.  The new addition to the family is a talking parrot named “Pontius Pilate,” who happens to be a big lover of cheese. Pontius Pilate was trained by his previous owners, who were tea party activists and sponsors of Prop 8 (the proposition restricting gay marriage) to scream «Sarah Palin for Presidente» each time he wants a peace of cheese.  Mary and Paul decide to give him a second chance and convert him to a liberal, bisexual “revolutionary.”

Mary works for corporate America as a graphic designer.  She writes a funny short stories.  Paul is a massage therapist and an artist.  He draws pictures for each of Mary’s posts. Their lives are full of funny twists and adventures and of love for each other

Last Sunday we went to the Gay Pride Parade.

We had long deliberations on whether we should take Pontius Pilate the
parrot with us. Paul wanted to show him off. Pontius Pilate would
definitely be in heat, and attending his first Gay Pride would be a step
toward sexual liberation. On second thought, however, we decided to
leave him home. It was a difficult choice. All those naked guys
running around and screaming might have confused the parrot and made him
think that he was back in Africa (or wherever he came from originally),
and he could get nostalgic and depressed, or just simply freak out.

And of course we couldn’t trust his previous political associations, and
we had to assume that not all people in the Gay Pride would have a sense
of humor; they might take his demand “Sarah Palin for Presidente” as a
real threat, and we all would have to run for safety, or be embraced by
the counter-demonstrators screaming their heads off that all homosexuals
would die in Hell.

So we put our hopes on on Maximilian. Last year we took him with us,
but his looks were not up to gay dog standards. I don’t think we will
ever be able fully expose Maximilian to high gay dog fashion. All the
pink bows and fancy ponchos and boots would just aggravate him.

I remember catching a sad glance from the beautiful white miniature
poodle standing next to us with her fanciest boots on. The poor dog
could not even move, but she was the center of attention and made her
owners very proud. We could not place our pride over Maximilian’s
beliefs or comfort, however. Maximilian was a macho dog and a
womanizer. He was as straight and dirty as they come. He was not the
type to order an apple martini in a bar and wear flip flops.
Nevertheless, we did give him a flea shampoo and put a rainbow flower
bowl around his neck.

It took us a 45 minutes to find parking, and when we had found a
comfortable spot to watch, it was clear that we missed almost half of
the parade. Corporations, banks, non-profits, gay clubs, and religious
organizations were passing by, and we were cheering and screaming our
heads off with the rest of the crowd. The group of Episcopalians caught
my attention, as they were led by a new lesbian Bishop, waving from her
convertible. All these crazy-looking and colorful people made me feel
proud and happy.

All of a sudden Maximilian started barking and pulling his leash. I
turned my head and saw a huge great dane with a rainbow bowl coming
towards us. I wasn’t sure if the dog was friendly or not; judging by
her appearance, she could eat Maximilian in one gulp, but the dog turned
out to be as friendly and charming as her owner. He was a blond, very
good-looking guy with a heavy Russian accent who introduced himself as
Ivan and explained that his dog was named after the powerful Russian
queen, Ekaterina the Great. I looked at Maximilian and Paul; they both
were staring at our new neighbors. Maximilian was not discourage by the
difference in size or by the other dog’s famous name and lay down next
to her, claiming the place of her potential partner. Ekaterina the
Great did not mind and looked calm and happy. Ivan told us that he
lived close by on Santa Monica, and Paul gave Ivan his phone number, so
that he could call us when he went to take Ekaterina the Great for a
walk. It was clear that love was in the air, and looked like the start
of something new for Maximilian and Paul.

Paul and Mary short stories writing blog is about the lives of two friends, Mary and Paul.    They share a two-bedroom apartment in Santa Monica, along with Paul’s dog Maximilian and Mary’s fish Mo.  The new addition to the family is a talking parrot named “Pontius Pilate,” who happens to be a big lover of cheese. Pontius Pilate was trained by his previous owners, who were tea party activists and sponsors of Prop 8 (the proposition restricting gay marriage) to scream «Sarah Palin for Presidente» each time he wants a peace of cheese.  Mary and Paul decide to give him a second chance and convert him to a liberal, bisexual “revolutionary.”

Mary works for corporate America as a graphic designer.  She is a creator of the short story blog.  Paul is a massage therapist and an artist.  He draws pictures for each of Mary’s posts. Their lives are full of funny twists and adventures and of love for each other.

Pontius Pilate is IN!

Today Pontius Pilate officially became a member of our household. Paul brought him in the morning before breakfast. I had to admit that Pontius Pilate was a very attractive parrot. He was big, with green, and red wings. At first, he was probably in shock from the new environment, so he stayed very quiet. “See?” said Paul. “He is a quiet and peaceful creature.” I had nothing to say, but I hoped that it would be the case. Pontius Pilate was studying us very carefully, and we were studying him. Mo even stopped moving in her tank, which is her way of being flattering; Maximilian sat next to Paul, trying establish his seniority.

I gave him some food which Paul had brought from the parrot’s previous owner; and everything was looking like a nice family breakfast, until I took some cheese out of the fridge and put it on the table. I was planning to make a nice cheese sandwich for myself.

As I put the cheese on a piece of bread, all of a sudden, Pontius Pilate began screaming with his squeaky, irritating voice “Sarah Palin for Presidente!”

We were in total shock. Maximilian ran to hide under the bed in Paul’s bedroom; Paul was almost hypnotized by the screaming. I also lost my orientation slightly, and the cheese fell on the floor. Pontius Pilate start screaming “Sarah Palin for Presidente” even louder. After I recovered from the initial shock, it was clear that the parrot was demanding something. But what?

Paul and I were obviously concerned about the possibility that Sarah Palin might become the next Presidente. But why “Presidente,” in Spanish? In a minute it became clear to us. It was definitely the bad influence of Pontius Pilate’s previous caretaker, who was a Mexican legal unintellectual servant.

Nevertheless, the situation in the kitchen was evolving rapidly. When Maximilian saw cheese on the floor, he quickly forgot his fears and ran back to the kitchen to grab it. To prevent a possible messy case of diarrhea, I picked it up. When I looked at Pontius Pilate, he was staring at the cheese. It hit me that the parrot wanted cheese!!!!

So I gave him the piece of cheese. He ate it in a second, and before he had the chance to start screaming again, I gave him another one. When Pontius Pilate had eaten all the cheese, he again became peaceful and quiet.

So we solved the first mystery of Pontius Pilate. The parrot simply is a cheese lover! “Sarah Palin for Presidente” was just his magic phrase. It would get him anything he wanted from a member of the Tea Party movement and supporter of Prop 8.

Paul’s client is the wife of some politician or other. From her account, they do a lot of traveling, and it is not fair to the parrot because he does not get enough attention. Mostly he is dealing with their Mexican legal immigrant servant, which is not challenging for the intellect of a Pontius Pilate. The fact that she highlighted that their servant was Mexican and not intellectual but legal made me very suspicious.

I did some research on their last name and found out that her husband was a lawyer involved in sponsoring Prop 8 (forbidding gay marriage in CA), and her name came up in association with the Tea Party movement. I of course passed the info on to Paul. It did not discourage him, but had the opposite effect. “Children are not responsible for the sins of their fathers,” he proclaimed. I had to agree with him, because I didn’t want come across as prejudiced.

I hope Paul’s lady client had the sense that Paul is gay, but maybe not, because then she would question whether Paul would be a good person to take care of Pontius Pilate. What if her conservatively-raised parrot became aware of his homosexuality? Well, I don’t even want to imagine the effect it might have on her personal life as an honest member of the Tea Party movement. She makes sure that her servant is a legal immigrant, but her parrot lives with a gay massage therapist, not to mention the sexually obsessed dog, a bitchy fish, and a single woman who is not planning to get married and produce children? After analyzing the whole situation, I decided to take in Pontius Pilate and try to turn him into a liberal, bisexual “revolutionary.” I have always believed in second chances.

Would you like to have Pontius Pilate in your two-bedroom apartment?

For the last two weeks Paul has been following me around, trying to get me to agree to take in a parrot that one of his client wanted to give away. It’s a big parrot, the talking kind, whose name is Pontius Pilate. We have a really small apartment and already have a dog and a fish tank, so I thought it would be too much responsibility. I did some research on Google about big parrots, and apparently they are a lot of work. They are demanding and tend to be moody.

My first question, of course, was why they wanted to give away such an expensive parrot. Parrot like that may cost around 7 or 8 thousand dollars; why are they just giving him away?

And also, why did they name him Pontius Pilate? I thought there was a real mystery right there.

Each times she calls me, there are two alternating subjects on her radar: my personal life and politics. Her model of perfect happiness is for me to be a suburban mom somewhere in Bakersfield with big van, three kids, a Labrador puppy, and a husband with a good job and strong family values. In addition, my perfect family should live across the street from my mom’s house, and on Sunday mornings we all should go to the local Catholic church.

Actually, there is nothing wrong about this;  my mom and dad were perfectly happy this way all there lives. Most of my friends complain that they come from dysfunctional families. I come from a perfectly nice family, maybe too nice. When I look back at my childhood it appears almost surrealistic. I am sure that the “Brady Bunch” movie was inspired by my parents; the fact that it was a satire on middle class values never even crossed their minds. Good for them….

But in reality I am 31 years old and single and share an apartment with a gay guy, a fish tank, and a sexually obsessive dog. We may be misfits according to some people’s standards, but we don’t care about THOSE people; what we care about is that we LOVE caring for each other.

Paul came home really upset; I had to calm him down.

Roberto had run into Paul’s office, kicking and screaming that he loved Paul and insisting that Paul go to therapy with him. Paul was just in shock. Why should he go to a therapist? He did not have problems being sexually close with Roberto. Roberto was the one with problems! Therefore, if Roberto wants to go to the therapist, he should go himself and hopefully resolve his issues.

It made sense to me.

Paul and I had to go somewhere to leave the house; otherwise we would be talking about it forever. It’s easy to become obsessed.

We decided to go to see the new Argentinean movie, “The Secret in Their Eyes.” It got this year’s Oscar for the best Foreign Film. I hope it’s good….