sailor

Gayby’s Big Gay Vet Van

In the very, heart and soul of me, I’m an entrepreneur.  I like the word entrepreneur. (Not only is it difficult to do, it’s also difficult to spell.)  I think my “start your own business” leanings began with my father.  He is not an entrepreneur, yet, at the same time, he sort of is.  My dad – in order to feed and clothe us – did the safe thing.  I can not say I blame him, I don’t even question his judgement, as I was both (gratefully) fed and clothed.  He was a probation officer and became a supervisor, before he retired from the Queens, New York, courts district or however the heck they say that in almost officer-speak.

Here’s why I think Dad led me to think of myself as an entrepreneur — HE ALWAYS HATED THAT JOB.  I’m pretty confident that he hated it for the almost 30 years.  How in the hell does one do something that he hates for 30 or so years?  Probably because he loves his family, see the above fed and clothed reason.  However, even with my dad’s commitment to a job he hated because it had a good pension and good benefits, yada, yada – I sometimes think, Sh*t, we struggled anyway.  He should’ve done something he loved.

"Pssst, I've got benefits over here. Benefits!!"

Now, my dad DID do the things that he loved, but he did them on the side.  He built half of our house himself and I mean really re-built half of our house in a way that no one in their right mind would do.  For example, he extended the BASEMENT.  Yep, my dad extended the basement with a wheelbarrow and a shovel and as I remember, by reading Time-Life books.  He also made this replica of a Picasso stained glass window that lives in my parents’ living room.  And the liquor cabinet – oh – the liquor cabinet — he hand carved a Germanic, Winter-Summer theme right on to its doors.  I remember my dad sitting up in bed at night hand carving that thing with an X-Acto knife.  (How my mother didn’t kill him for getting shavings all over the bed, I’ll never know.)  Then there’s our dining room table – made by my father, the china cabinet – made by my father, the buffet table – made by my father, the entertainment set in the den – made by my father, the end tables in the den – made by my father.  Back when I shared an apartment in Manhattan, I had the coolest loft bed you can imagine – of course – made by my father with a mini-desk and shelving units built-in underneath.

Extending and renovating our house wasn’t Dad’s only side project.  I remember helping him sell these plastic birds he was obsessed with.  The birds wound up in the back with some sort of crank and then you let them go and they would fly.  Dad bought cases of them.  We went and tried to sell them together at a flea market.  As I recall, I don’t think we sold too many.  I’m guessing because remote control, toy airplanes were out at that point and also, who the hell wants to play with a plastic bird when Atari is the newest and latest thing?

"Why do this when we can play Duckhunt on Playstation?"

 

My mother says there was also a printing press.  I never saw the printing press in action, but I remember it lying around, dormant.  The parts of the printing press strewn about the basement willy-nilly indicated an idea once promising, blown to bits.  There were boxes of letters everywhere, as I recall, and the press itself – a crazy looking machine – almost a cross between a vice and the slicer that cuts meat at a professional deli counter.  I wish I had seen my dad working the press, but I never did.  The only relic remaining that proved the existence of a once working press was the newspaper my dad had made.  It was a cross between a newspaper and what the penny-saver used to look like – it was kind of like a comic book, but printed in black and white on newsprint.  It contained various stories from various contributors and a story or two from my dad.  The story I remember most was about someone stealing a Christmas tree back when Dad was a kid and then blaming it on him.  I remember liking that story.  My dad has tried many attempts at writing, but this was the only one I remember liking.  It was real and honest and a bit sad.

Dad is now retired and since then he’s tried the writing thing many times, but he’s sadly too caught up in agendas and proselytizing for the stuff to be any good.  He writes mini-books about 9-11 that are bordering on racist.  He wrote a book on some soldier’s life once and I just couldn’t read it.  I tried.  I could not get past the first few pages.  There was a section that was supposed to be “sexy”, I think, and the thing that made the woman so sexy was her ability to do yoga.  Yoga!  Meanwhile, my dad has never been to a yoga class.  So, he thinks of yoga as this otherworldly, out there, exotic thing.  He just doesn’t realize that yoga is in now done in every feckin’ shopping mall in America these days.  He’s never been a great communicator and when you write, you have to be.  At the very least, you have to strive to be.  I wonder why he wants to write at all when he’s such a great builder and does other things exceptionally well.

It’s interesting to me that in the shadow of all that, I’m writing so much now.

All of us here know that the writing life is a difficult one.  Will it pay ever?  Who knows.  It’s a very real possibility that it will not.  Yet, I can’t help doing it.  I can’t help getting up everyday and getting lost in my thoughts and pounding on my keys in a passionate desire to just communicate.  I want to reach you as I tease out just what in the heck is going on in my own mind.  I also think I do it because it’s mine.  “Forever, mine!”  I scream like an 8 year old who just made a prize-winning cake in her Easy Bake Oven.

I worked a corporate job, once.  The biggest impression it left on me was that it is wrong – in some way, in some deep, intrinsic way – to work like a dog for SOMEONE ELSE.  The deepest and hardest work you do should be for yourself.  The fruits of that labor should be for you, for your own family, not for some big corporation – if what you do benefits others at the same time – great.  Again, this is not to say that everyone who works a job-job is an a-hole.  I don’t think my dad is an a-hole.  I think he did what he had to do, as we all have to do – take care of our own, however, that may manifest.  Yet, I love these new types of more socially conscious corporations that are coming up – Invisible Children or Tom’s Shoes or even Starbucks.  Yes, Starbucks.  If you put the respect of your employees at the forefront and you’re willing to give your part-time employees healthcare then – yes – you have my vote as a very conscious and conscientious company.

Above all, I love the entrepreneur.  I love all these websites and start ups and dot coms.  When I lived in New York there was a great little business called, “The Mudd Truck” — the Mudd Truck was created by a New York musician and his rocker wife.  He created it to feed himself and his family.  It was a truck that sold coffee out of it while blasting rock music in the morning.  It was glorious and even more so because the fecker got a permit to park the thing RIGHT IN-BETWEEN TWO STARBUCKS.  Even though I like the Starbucks, whenever I walked down that street, I bought from the Mudd Truck.  How could you not?  After I left New York, I heard two guys started a mobile ice cream truck called, “Big Gay Ice Cream Truck” – they sold soft serve with panache.  A vanilla swirl on a cone dusted with crumbled wasabi peas.  For reals.

 

Sweet Mother refuses to comment on this, but she loves it. Oh, she loves it.

 

I love the idea of all those mobile-truck ideas and they worked!  So, from time to time, I scream at Wifesy when the writing’s just not going all that well – “LET’S DO THE BIG GAY VET VAN.”  I think it’s brilliant.  We could park the thing in West Hollywood and do grooming and pet checks with Wifesy doing all the doctoring.  Out of the front of the van, I’d sell tacos – well – because why not?  We’d play nothing, but Abba and Scissor Sisters out of surround sound speakers framing the window.  When my little Gayby grows up, I’d leave him or her the van.  He or she can do with it what they will.  But, I hope he’ll sell something out of it, something that is his own.  Even if he’s straight and he turns it into, “Manly’s Mobile Man Show” and it’s like a peep show with lots of t and a and stripper poles and jello-shots.  Of course, I’ll gasp from the grave in horror, but I’ll also smile, ‘cause Gayby did something for himself.  He paved his own way.  He made something.  It worked.

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Sweet Mother is updated daily.  You can follow this blog by clicking the “follow” button at the top of the page.

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You might also like:

The Strangest Ways to Make a Gayby

Grammar D*cks and Doggie Clits

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Photo creds:  Big Gay Ice Cream Shop, Birdie, Badge

40 thoughts on “Gayby’s Big Gay Vet Van

  1. Everyone should do something for themselves, either as a full-time gig, on the side, or when ever! My passion is baking (and cooking but really, cookies for dinner are OK at my house!) an I opened a bakery in my house to follow that passion. No food truck yet, but baby steps ;)

    new bakery website: http://cardamom.weebly.com

    And actually, in Austin there are mobile vet vans that do cheap immunizations for dogs and cats. There’s always a line but you get the basics for your pup for less than an office visit at the regual vet!

    1. checked out this site, chef! it’s awesome. and i think it’s so cool that you’re doing it. watch out, paula deen started this way…and now she’s a millionaire!! best of luck with it. and yes, we all have to follow our passions. if i didn’t i think i’d go insane. insane, i tell ya! lol. xo, sweet mother

  2. “everyone who works a job-job is an a-hole”… i agree.. maybe because i think im one…
    lately i have been trying to struggle to get out of it and start something of my own with my friend.. we are website people and i so hope we end up using our mind into something new..
    if only we had the Van fashion in my country… i would have had van parked in a park with books and coffee to sell, while my customers could sit around on the table chairs, as provided, and play chess while they enjoyed their snack and coffee…
    “Books & Coffee on wheels”

    1. hold up, little miss. i said everyone who works a job-job is NOT an a-hole. you gots to do what you gots to do… no vans in your country? come on now, not even carts? food carts? bicycles? there must be, lol. that ‘books and coffee on wheels’ thing could work…i’m not kidding. it’s not a bad idea at all… well, whatever it is, definitely do something with your friend, something you really like. we all spend so much time working, it should be on something you love… xo, me

  3. I always admire people who come up with innovative ideas and run with them. Sounds like you’ve got one with that van thing. :)

    By the way, be sure to tell your dad how sexy I am. I did 70 minutes of power yoga this morning…

    1. lol. i will. watch out, you’re now a porn star in his mind. i mean, jesus, the poor guy. he’s a touch, out of touch. anyhoot, i do to – i know a guy who makes candles and another couple of girls who started making mosaic table tops and these things all morphed into their full-time businesses. crazy, but true. now, how in the f do i do that with a blog? lol. xo, sm

    1. stop. it. and that’s only if you’re giving candy out of them for free. it has to be for free. if you’re charging for the candy AND you’re a pedophile then you’re a real a**hole. lol. – sm

      1. Are you still auditioning potential donors for your gayby? My younger brother (the legitimate one, I’ve never met the other…) had a child last year and I’m feeling bested by him. It’s outrageous, really, because he was always the slow, dumb one. I feel that if I don’t find a way to fix this the balance of the universe is at stake. So I’m making myself available to the lesbionic community, but only once. First come, first serve. As long as: No ginger mummys, it wouldn’t work with my complexion, and proof of IQ above 130.
        I have excellent genes, my grandparents are all in their 80’s and still alive. No cancer or heart disease issues in the family. My grandfather is a well known scientist and I can prove I’m a direct descendant of Charlemagne. Plus, I’m beautiful, but that’s obvious.

      2. llllllooooooooolll, oh, pinky. i don’t even know if you’re serious, but either way – i love this. love it. wifesy and i are going to need a little more time as we’re in the midst of a move, but let’s keep talking. where are you these days anyway, spain? barcelona? if you are, you should meet my friend, rachel arief, i hear she’s like a queen there. ;) xo, mother

      3. Totally serious, I guess. I mean I guess we’d have to go through the formalities and all that… I mean, can you imagine a mini-me raised by you? It would take over the world!!! I should however warn you that I wasn’t the easiest of children, not sure how much genetics influenced that. I didn’t want to be a fireman or an astronaut, I wanted to be a dictator. Yes, a dictator. We’re living on Spain’s southern coast in Sotogrande, but hopefully not for long as we’ve put the house on the market in the hopes of leaving suburbia behind. We’ve realized neither of us has the energy or patience to be one of the “ladies who lunch”.

  4. I am working in a fridge, playing with raw meat all day. I’m only doing that until I become a rich a famous writer. :-P

    1. wends, that almost sounds dirty. lol. do you work at a butcher shop? i’m so confused. :) anyway, hear, hear to the famous writer thing. now, how do i do that again? xo

      1. I work at a meat processing plant…we make kebobs and other fun things with raw meat. And sounding dirty…well, most of the things I say sound dirty because most of it is. I work with dozens of single men half my age (Im the only girl…hehehe). On top of all that, I watched “The Reader” for the first time the other night…holy crap…lol.

  5. I’m all about the entrepreneurial thing … I want to start an Animal Sanctuary, maybe one day Wifsey can come be the Vet …

    1. I’m with Gillian on this…
      I’m thinking about opening a Training Camp for Catholic priests (in 2 chapters):

      1. Priests would be submitted to Lord Evil Poppy. The first task is to control their perversions. No touchy touchy Lord Evil Poppy
      2. The second task would be to try and exorcise the demons that live deep inside the child. I think it’s not possible, tough plausible.

      I just haven’t figured out yet what to do with the carcasses of dead Catholic priests.

      Le Clown

      1. LOL! Hilarious! Burn them … it would be a nod to the Inquisition and wonderful Karma.

    1. um, your dad is like jesus. the carpenter part. lol. i actually think that’s a pretty cool reason to be a carpenter – the smell of wood. sh*t you better like wood if you’re doing woodwork. my dad always said to me, “the best carpenters always know how to hide their mistakes.” i’m trying to apply that quote to my writing. lol. much love and great piece today, mother

    1. wasn’t that feckin’ awesome, the mudd truck? i loved that damn thing. it made me smile every time i got coffee there. and then of course, they had mudd cafe afterwards, so must’ve been a success too. anyhoot, thanks for reading, as always, mike. – sweet m

  6. Since I started blogging I’ve stumbled upon so many people who’ve made me feel as if I’ve ‘come home’. You are up there with the best of them Mum.

    First you painted my mother, now you’ve painted my father too. Like your Dad he worked for someone else most of his life [although he did love his engineering work] but at heart he was a builder/tinkerer/innovator/entrepreneur. I have examples of his work in my house, including one long hall table that he french polished. That table was just too big to fit as a table so I had the legs and frame taken off and hung it from an almighty hook on the wall. And indirectly, my Dad nudged me towards writing as well.

    What you’ve done with this post is to immortalize your Dad forever more. And you’ve made me smile about mine as well. -hugs-

    1. aw, ac, you always leave the most thoughtful comments. you really do and i’m so appreciative of them. our dads sound very similar. i admire men (and women) who make things. i really do. and i suppose this writing is a whittling of sorts too. ;) hugs right back — mother

      1. Whittling… love that word and the concept as it relates to writing. Kind of harks back to wordsmith instead of writer or author. Hope you’re whittling away at that book of yours because I want to read it before I go completely grey!

  7. We left the corporate life, and are now starting businesses. Finding your passion, waking up and living in your passion is pretty wicked. But some don’t get a chance to fully realize what that passion really is, you get caught up in life, and well, in North America we get 3 weeks of annual holiday, when do you really get a chance to breathe and live outside your life to realize what you want.
    P.S – Your Father worked an incredibly stressful job (and a thankless one), the fact that he found passion in his art is pretty remarkable!

    1. very true, lady, very true. i admire him for all of that, though i’m sad that he didn’t get to spend more time doing what he loved. it is certainly a priviledged idea though – once again i’m thinking of ‘maslow’s hierarchy of needs’ – if you can’t eat, then who cares what the feck you do – you’ve got to put bread on the table. period. but, then again, i love jk rowling’s story from nothing to everything through her writing. i guess the bottomline is you have to do both – feed yourself (literally) and feed yourself (spiritually) with something you like to do… those are my thoughts at the moment, anyway. as always, i love hearing yours. – mother

  8. I got the (library) skillz to pay the billz, but the things I really love doing make me no money. My husband and I are in a band no one listens to, and this can be painful especially when watching The Voice and seeing someone truly wretched get all the recognition in the world. I like writing my blog posts, which people rarely read, but you read so that’s something because you have now become one of my favorite writers–still I won’t be making any money doing it any time. There’s got to be some way to turn this into a mobile truck?

  9. Something else to think about…..the generations. In our fathers days, their jobs were to find a job, pay the bills and take care of their family. I think our generation thru to the current are the only groups that worry about making $ doing something they like. We also live in a culture where no one stays at a job for 30 yrs. Your lucky if an employee stays for 2yrs or after the IPO. I hear the youth of today complaining about pensions and how they ruined America. Makes me laugh when they completly miss the benefits of why they were in place! Our parents didn’t have the “information highway” or as much exposure as we do today. If you can be an entrep……(spell it yourself) and get paid, you are so lucky!!!! We have the luxury of finding our happiness and living it….now only if I can find it… Has anyone seen where I left it?

  10. Oh how I long for the days when people used Time Life books and Encyclopedia Brittannica to figure stuff out. But then I go on Facebook or watch something in HD, and I come to my senses. I loved this post, because it’s so speaks to me, Mother. I’ve been at my job for 12 years doing something I hate. Warehouse work, driving a forklift. I would love to do something creative, and get paid for it. Will it ever happen? I don’t know, but I do know the odds aren’t great. I’ve been doing stand up, but it’s pretty much open mics at this point. I’ve been doing the blog thing for a couple months now, and it’s great way to at least get those ideas out of my brain-pan and make me feel like I’m at least trying to initiate change. Though change can be scary, stagnation can be worse…. Damn Momma hit a nerve today! Hahahahaha. Great Feckin’ Post!

  11. I can totally relate to your story about your dad. I think my dad, although very appreciative for how successful he is, wished he had taken a more creative path. While I think my parents sometimes worry about me dreaming of a being a writer (most writers = broke) they understand the need to fulfill this other side of myself.

    I’m so happy your dad did the same in his own way. Life just wouldn’t be the same without Sweet Mother.

  12. I’d sell an arm to read one of your Dad’s 9/11 screeds. He sounds like a coot. That’s an honorific title, in case you weren’t aware.

    I’m so glad you write every day, Sweet Mom!

  13. SM,
    Another great post. You rival my wit, and I like that [not too much] about you.
    I had a great deal to say on your corporate days, and mine, but there’s way too much red tape involved in such a comment.
    Le Clown

  14. The Scene: The humble abode of Me, Le Clown, Whispering Petunia, and Lord Evil Poppy

    Le Clown via chat (from the next room): “wanna watch some House?”
    Me: “ok, but after I read Sweetmother’s post

    You are more important to me than Hugh Laurie and Olivia Wilde.
    True story.

    Oh, and good post, too. I’d bring my cats to you, AND I love tacos. Like, an unnatural love. Seriously.

  15. Your dad sounds like someone my dad would have loved to meet. My dad worked forever, but I know that inside he harbored a secret yen to work with wood. Once in a while he would build something, but never hand-carved bar doors.

    I love that the Mudd truck parked near Starbucks. I would have frequented them too. If you open your truck, let me know. I think I would traverse the 3,000 miles from coast to coast just to bring my stinky dogs to you for attention, and to here some ABBA, of course.

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