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Frank Gumola - Journal | Weblog

Gwen Says Hi

My day in review. Best. Birthday. Ever.

(a few more images located here)

Right Here, Right Now

I'm going to get out of bed at about eight tomorrow morning. I'm going to shower, shave, meticulously decide what to wear, and after spending far too much time on my appearance; I'll head out the door and begin a day of celebration.

I'll officially be thirty-nine years old. Unofficially, I'm thirty five and holding.

I'll head to Starbucks and order my usual drink; a piping hot quad venti non-fat caramel macchiato. Then, with my free hand in my boyfriend's back pocket, I'll stroll down to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for a day of mindless entertainment.

I'll sneak in some nose nuzzling, neck nibbling, and cheek pecks when I can. I'll lunch at the Metropolitan Cafe and sip a single pear martini. I'll then head to D'vine for a glass of wine. Or two.

And not once will I think of what could have been. Not once will I worry about money. Not a single thought of where my life is headed will enter my mind.

I will not contemplate where I've been or what I've done. I will not waste a single moment wondering how much or how little I've accomplished in my life thus far.

I'm going to celebrate the "here and now" in the company of the best gift I could ever hope to receive.

Just try to stop me.

Quiet Quake By The Lake

This eventful day in Cleveland has been brought to you by the writers of Desperate Housewives. Allow me to elaborate.

From the story of my boss questioning her church committee's treasurer and his poor financial planning (and subsequently not being invited back to another committee meeting and missing the planned church carnival altogether), to the "I think I'll take a different route home today" thought I had this afternoon and literally running into a hot gardener I previously knew as a hot bartender, followed by the dramatic display of clothing flying out of a sixth story window into the arms of a red-faced thirty-something below; have all made me consider investing in a portable video camera to keep on me at all times.

That, or I really need to start documenting everything and pitch my own series.

How does "Lake Avenue Liaisons" sound?

If Tori Can Do It...

(click for full size)

Not that Ohio will recognize it or anything, but still...anyone wannna get hitched?

Next Top French And Saunders


    "Plain Dealer Features Photo Editor Bill Kennedy sifted through the entries -- without names, so he had no idea whose pictures he was judging (hence the multiple-winning pics submitted by one photographer). In no particular order, here are Kennedy's top 10 cell-phone pictures. He shared a few words about what makes them good, no matter the quality of the camera behind them."

    -- Kim Crow, PDQ Editor
One of my Razr pics made the top ten? Another page for the scrapbook. Today is a good day.

Mop It Up, I'll Take It

Apparently floor cleaner makes me horny.

I know. I'll give you a minute to laugh at that statement and let it sink in before we continue.

(Jeopardy music playing...done? Good.)

Lately I seem to be paying special attention to the scents of my surroundings. My latest, (and currently favorite) Fall fragrance drives me wild each and every time I spritz it on my person.

My morning walk has been interrupted to the point where I must depart from my apartment a few minutes early each workday morning so that I have enough time to stand at the water's edge and inhale the breeze coming from Lake Erie. The air reminds me of a Seaspray sachet I occasionally picked up while I lived in Chicago.

And to top it all off, upon my entrance to the building at work this morning, I inhaled deeply and asked no one in particular, "What is that heavenly scent?"

"Floor cleaner. I just mopped."

Shiver Me Topilow

Avast, me hearties!

I wanted this post to be about David and I attending the Cleveland Institute of Music's Fall concert at Severance Hall this evening.

I waited a bit too long to get tickets and according to the woman I spoke with on the phone earlier, "...they've all been distributed".

Another night in.


(Carl Topilow is the conductor for the show this evening, hence the post title.)

*We Miss You!

(click for full size)

From Helmut Lang's "Selective Memory Series", a constantly updated scrapbook.

Electro No No

I'm not exactly sure what is going on with my electronic toys lately, but one after the other, they seem to be on strike.

It started with my PSP. Last night David announced a trucker's itinerary was being patched through the stereo while he was listening to the Indians game. This morning the microwave refused to heat my coffee. This afternoon my phone made noises I've never heard.

And when I got home from work this evening, Firefox once again decided to not load the default profile. You know, the one housing all of my bookmarks, cookies, extensions, and personal settings.

If my television suddenly gets nothing but static and swallows me into another worldly plane this evening, I'm texting you for help.

My Mama Told Me, You Better Work

I don't like confrontation. I don't like to argue.

This is quite apparent when viewing my MetaFilter history (If you know anything about MeFi you know how members adore arguing points with one another). I leave the occasional witty or in-joke comment; for the most part I'm a lurker and link explorer. I bring MeFi into this as a visual example.

Applying this to my real life experiences, one can presume I simply sit back and take things in; nary a phrase of disagreement ever escaping my lips.

This is not the case.

I got into a full blown knock down "why the fuck are we arguing about this" conversation with my boss just prior to leaving work today.

I walked home feeling irritated, under appreciated, and above all, misunderstood.

I called my boss at home not more that ten minutes ago to straighten things out:
    "I find myself defending what I do and why I do it to those who inquire about my employment. My sole response? You. You keep me where I am and loving what I do. I hate these trivial misunderstandings and I despise the fact that I have to begin my weekend feeling this way. I love our relationship and I love you. Besides, Mama Gumola thinks highly of you...and Mama G has yet to be wrong."
There's more background to the story; I'm not willing to indulge just how much she's been there, but my boss has come through for me in the past year more than anyone I can think of. She has become more than my boss, she's become a confidant, a friend. My first real friend in Cleveland.

I'm looking forward to Monday morning.

Check, Please.

I'm surprised this isn't getting more local coverage. Then again, I've missed the local news the past few nights and I do need to catch up on my online reading.

There have been a few times while exiting a Target or Best Buy when I refused to show my receipt as I was walking out the door. A simple, "No thank you!" and I continued walking. No one followed me or tried to apprehend me. Nothing really came of it.

However, the local Save-a-Lot tried doing this recently. Instead of my usual "No thank you!" or getting irritated, I decided to have a bit of fun. (Yes, it irritates me when I'm treated as a criminal. Sue me.)

If you've ever shopped at Save-a-Lot, you know that thirty dollars can fill a shopping cart with enough groceries to last a few weeks, at least. I usually shop about twice a month, getting enough groceries to fill four or five large plastic bags.

About a month ago I had just finished packing my groceries and was walking toward the exit. Strange, I thought to myself, they have a security guard at the door, marking receipts. I've seen this at electronics stores, never a grocer.

I was asked for my receipt as I reached the exit. I handed the rent-a-cop my piece of paper and she quickly marked an "X" in yellow marker on it, and motioned for me to move along.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Oh. No. You stopped me to check that I wasn't stealing, and to check for employee accuracy. Check, please."

I then unloaded each one of my five bags of groceries lining up the items one by one next to each other on the floor, right in front of the automatic exit door, which was now wildly opening and closing.

If other patrons wanted to leave they had to step over my garlic bread, careful not to smash my apple pie.

The rent-a-cop looked confused for about a minute then examined my receipt and marked each purchased item with a tiny yellow tick mark.

I hope I wasn't the only one to do this and I haven't seen them examining receipts since.

In Stereo, For The Building To Hear

Left in my new neighbor's mailbox, ransom style:
    "You are not the only person living in this building. Kindly keep this in mind when using your stereo. Thank you."
This comes as a last ditch effort after three days of my stomping on the floor at various times throughout the day.

New Neighbor seems to understand that "stomp! stomp! stomp!" means, "Turn it down, idiot!" yet the noise will start up again a few hours later.

I'm not sure what barrel my landlord is scraping the bottom of lately, but I wish he'd stop.

(I left the note in New Neighbor's mailbox yesterday afternoon and haven't heard a peep in twenty-four hours...maybe it worked!)