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Frank Gumola - Journal | Weblog


    "RefreshCleveland wants to “work on improving what we, Cleveland, build on the web regardless of employer, project or client.” and we’d love you to be part of that!

    We aim for this to be a place to gather thoughts, tricks, problems, frustrations and all the other bits & pieces that go along with working in our industry."
I feel cheated for not knowing about this site sooner.

Every Bitch MUST Tip

via MeFi

Play Ball

Photos from last night, my first Indians game. I didn't think I'd have such a good time. After all, sporting events are David's thing. I thought wrong, and even found myself in a cheerful mood.

I'm sure the overpriced alcohol and shirtless men helped.

As always, full size and descriptions available at my Flickr page.

She Said Yes

Quite possibly the best marriage proposal ever. (The art fag in me adores this.)

City Buddha Closing

In my inbox this morning:
    Ohio City Farewell Sale

    True to form to change, all things must come to an end.

    City Buddha will be closing it’s Ohio City location come the end of September.

    It has been an absolute pleasure serving all who have visited our location on West 25th over the past 10 plus years.

    Starting today, everything in the store, with a few exceptions, will be 50% off till we close our doors at the end of September. All those wonderful things at a can’t pass up price.

    Until then, please stop in and stock up on those must have items to
    beautify your home and give your spirit a little style.

    We hope to see you there for the sale.
I've only been to City Buddha a few times. Each time I went, I couldn't leave empty handed. I'll be sad to see this wonderful shop close.

G.A.Y. = G.A.M.A.

By the time I attend the Growing Alternative Youth twenty year reunion in Pittsburgh next Fall, I will be forty and no longer a Growing Alternative Youth, but a Growing Alternative Middle-Ager.

Finding the friend request in my MySpace inbox was, to say the least, amazing. I haven't seen many of these peeps since I was twenty-ish, and I'm very much looking forward to spending some time catching up with them.

Some of us have already reconnected (Cyrus found me here on Blogger a while back; he keeps his own weblog as well), and thanks to this planned reunion I've found friends and acquaintances I never thought I'd see again.

I won't attend my High School Reunions. Every five years I get invited and I politely decline. This is better. This is a chance to reconnect with people who helped me find a special place of belonging, a place where I could be me; albeit the twenty year old version of me.

Even though I've been through so much, and have changed in ways I could I never imagine, that late-eighties goth boy is still a part of who I am today.

And that is something this soon to be middle-ager will never grow out of.

Now playing: A Strange Kind Of Love : Peter Murphy

Sneaky Sunday

    "The phrase "Sneaky Sunday" came from a good friend who would frequently head out to the bars for a few drinks on a Sunday, often just to watch some football, and the next thing you know he was shutting down the place and taking down numbers. When asked about the night, he’d simply say it was a "sneaky” Sunday. We liked the saying so much that we started using it for everything that was "sneaky”--a restaurant that nobody knew about, an unexpectedly fun night, or even a girl at work who was "sneaky" hot. It quickly became an everyday part of our vocabulary and any night other than Friday or Saturday could become "sneaky" when it involved any social activity."
Sneaky Sunday has a link for Cleveland, although no content for our fair city is listed just yet. Maybe some of us should send them some of our recommendations?

(I for one would be more than happy to check out a few bars and hidden gems. For the sake of research, of course.)

Stop, I Been Thinking Of You

Let me start this entry by writing "I love my job."

It's true, I really do. I also love my coworkers. The most interesting group of people I've ever had the pleasure of keeping "9 to 5" company. I can't get through a single work day without laughing and feeling good about myself and what I do. My employer and coworkers are just that cool.

But laughs and good feelings aren't enough for me to keep a "Moving back to Chicago ASAP" fund. And since our return from David's birthday celebration, I've thought of not much else.

A second job is simply out of the question. I'm still burned out from the last six months of that noise. Up at six, home by three, shower and shave, out the door again by four only to return home after midnight.

I can't do it again.

The jobs I do have qualifications for are just outside the city limits and since I have no car; employers in this city seem to file my cover letters under "junk mail".

I've updated my online resume accounts and as a kick, decided to expand the job search to include Chicago. Two days later my voicemail box was filled with various interested parties ranging from interior designers to furniture manufacturers.

Were any of those messages from Cleveland employers?

That would be a "No". Not a single one.

I'm lucky to be working. I'm lucky to be working full time and with insurance coverage. I'm fortunate to have such a wonderful employer, and to be working so close to home.

This is what I've been doing lately. I've been coming home, perusing the job market, and applying for anything I can get, if it will pay enough to get me out of here.

And it's like talking to a brick wall.

So for now, love is keeping us together, until ultimately, it tears us apart.

Guitar Hero

Guitar solos for songs without guitar solos:...and many more.

(via mefi)


A limited production of 300 pieces each, $130.00 a pop.

All I want is the Bree doll. Stop laughing.


When my downstairs neighbor thinks I've been in the shower too long during my morning pre-work scrub and dash, and would like some of the hot water for himself; he bangs on the radiator pipes.

I return the favor by stomping across my floor (in my big girl shoes) when I find his music is being played a little too loud.

When I check my mail and am greeted by my neighbors nary a word is spoken among us. We smile, nod, all the while thinking to ourselves: "Oh, you're the bitch who sleeps through her alarm clock for hours on end."

I do, anyway.

The eye roll I get from my boss upon my arrival lets me know just what kind of mood her boss is in, speaking volumes about the hours she's already spent dealing with mundane details she'd rather not discuss.

The first full conversation I've had today was with Mama Gumola, who is spending some quality time in a southern state with my brother and his family.

It's a nice change of pace.

Now playing: Scissor Sisters - Take Your Mama Out (Hot Chip Remix)

It's Raining Meat(balls), Hallelujah!

Sinus medication is a wicked, wicked lover. Oh, he promises you relief from your aches, pains, runny nose, and congestion. And often, he delivers sweet, sweet relief.

But with a sick sense of side effects. Drowsiness, for one.

And no matter how sleepy I get, hunger trumps.

So it should come as no surprise that I took the easy way out of preparing this evening's meal and decided to use (gasp!) frozen meatballs.

And it should again come as no surprise when I inform you I was weak as water when it came time to open the bag of aforementioned frozen meatballs and that every. single. one of them went flying in every. single. direction when I finally got the bag open.

It sounded like a hail of bullets tore through my kitchen.
    Me: "I think this bag is childproofed or something."
    He: "Yeah. That's the problem."
If I wake with any bruising, I'm suing a certain meatball manufacturer.


On any given workday, I rise to the lovely tune my cheap Nokia phone decides to loudly tweet into my ear. I refuse to buy an alarm clock; I have yet to find a soothing sound from a single one. I won't use a radio alarm clock, for I fear the sound of Fergie and her humps getting busy with my eardrums too early in the morning is simply something I'm never going to be fully prepared to deal with, unless multiple cocktails have been involved and I skipped sleep altogether.

Mother Nature and her lovely thunderclaps woke me this morning, and as I peered through the bedroom blinds David suggested I call ahead to work and ask beg that someone pick me up.

"I'll be fine, it's just rain and I have an umbrella a small third world country can fit under."

I didn't expect my regular path to be obstructed by something I would need Moses to part in order to complete my morning commute; but that's exactly what greeted me about fifty paces from my front door.

"Oh. This isn't pretty."

One of my neighbors motioned for me to climb his small brick fence, cross his yard, and continue on to a less waterlogged path.

I did just that and thought I was in the clear, until I heard, and felt, a "squish" with every step.

Mud. Up to my ankles. In my shoes, soaked through my socks, and probably giving my heels a much needed pumicing.

I walked through the door at work, headed to the bathroom to clean up and dry off all the while thinking that the worst part of the day was over.

Until, from behind me: "Ready for your first Indians game?"



Since I have no amusing tales from "The Wonderful World of Frankie", unless you include my bid on the "I'm selling my wedding dress, wait...no I'm not" Tori Spelling eBay confusion; I offer you a bit of eye candy: Ricky Martin, nude.

That is all.

Update: Well that didn't last long, did it?

This Is What Dreams Are Made Of

From Dream Moods:
    "To see your own tongue in your dream, signifies the things you say and express. You may have said too much or you may need to express yourself."
    "To dream that you are cutting your hair, suggests that you are experiencing a loss in strength. You may feel that someone is trying to censor you. Alternatively, you may be reshaping your thinking or ambitions and eliminating unwanted thoughts/habits."
So, cutting hair from my tongue would mean...?

Exactly. That I have really messed up dreams.