Glitter, Wizards, and Poop

I am discovering a new form of happiness. Well, new to me. I am sure it has been on the market and purchased by others for quiet some time now, but until recently, I had yet to jump on the bandwagon. What is a bandwagon? Why would a band need a wagon? I was in marching band, we marched, nobody rode in a wagon. Well, except for the gay boys in the band, but they were just sissies. Stupid fags. Wow, that was off subject, even for me. I beg your forgiveness. No, actually, I don’t. It’s my blog and I can cry if I want to. Or, in this case, be pointlessly offensive. Yay!
Anyway, happiness. I set up my Christmas tree nearly a month ago now (can’t believe how fast that went). True, I did not have the man I love by my side, rolling his eyes as I twitter with glee over my “Little Mermaid” decorations. Truth be told, I contemplated not putting up a tree this year. I am glad I did. It’s pretty. And sparkles. Thus entrancing. My little brother and I spent all day yesterday Christmas shopping; I spent today Christmas shopping too! It makes me so happy. I love it. Seeing things that remind you of someone you love and then paying it off sometime in July! And then, Wrapping!!!!!!!! I love it!!! Even more sparkles. Ribbon. Color themes. Last year was Earth tones (my best yet). This year is silver and teal tones (pretty, but nothing beats Earth tones). No, I am not buying presents for the boy I love. It was going to be a dog, puppy actually. I guess it worked out for the best though. While I may be the best present wrapper I know, at least on my block, I have no idea how to wrap a puppy. Pee stains on the paper kinda ruin the festive, sparkly feel. Unless you’re into that kind of thing. If you are, Christmas is probably not your favorite holiday anyway. Oh, speaking of, it is official. This year, it is Christmas time with Christmas trees. Not holiday time or winter season time. Way to go Wal-Mart. Gay friendly and not afraid to call stupid politically correct shit ‘stupid political correct shit!’ How very progressive. My white trash roots are proud!
Oh, yes, happiness. So, while I was Christmas shopping, buying myself some wine goblets for my table at Z Gallaries, I got a text from TB asking if I would like to come over and help he and JS decorate for the winter holiday season and have dinner. I texted back a swift reply of, ‘fuck off, I have better things to do than decorate trees and eat.’ Actually, no, I didn’t. I squealed, wet my pants, the clerk kindly gave me a paper towel to clean up the mess (she didn’t do it herself. I know, rude right? Should’ve gone to Wal-Mart.), and I texted back a quick reply of “Yes!!!!” By the way, I know texted isn’t a word, but I don’t care. Texted, texted, texted. If said three times, it becomes a word (I do believe in fairies!). There you go, my gift to you: a new word for the holiday season and the New Year. Texted: Feel free to use with abandon, free of guilt!
So, I picked up a fruit tart (not a word, I will hurt you) from Whole Foods, and went home to see my babies, do an online class assignment, and change clothes. Here is where the happiness comes in. As I was getting dressed (looking good tonight, I must say, despite the fifteen pounds I have gained the past week [oh, were that I spoke in jest]), I entered my bathroom from my bedroom closet to be met with the glorious sight of Dunkyn and Dolan laying side by side, both looking up at me in expectant adoration. I had a moment. Shocking. The holidays have heightened my sense of loneliness and loss as of late, but there in my bathroom were two beautiful lives that are a constant expression of love, going in both directions. I bent down, the fifteen pounds hanging joyfully over my belt, and buried my face into their fur and we wallowed in our mutual love of each other. Truth be told, they did much more licking than I, but still…
Then this new happiness enveloped me while I was at my friends’ house, eating (Homemade spaghetti, my tummy is still happy), decorating, and watching the second Lord of the Rings (could that be any longer?). These two men have been in my life for five plus years and have been key factors in my sense of joy, self, and maturity. We no longer have to focus on our common pains and hurts (although that is still a part, as it is an any real relationship), we can simply live our lives with each other, intentionally. Happiness. It would have been happier had I not arrived at TB’s street only to realize I had left the fruit tart (shut up!) in my refrigerator back home (20 minutes away). I dare not show up absent a fruit tart (really, you’re pushing it), so I drove back and picked it up and then traversed back again. On the good side, I got to listen to nearly an hour of ‘Wizard’s First Rule’ (very good, btw) on CD, so it was not completely a loss.
What greeted me when I got back home after the festivities? Well, yes, pee on the floor of my garage, but more than that, my little boys’ excitement to see their fruit tart of an owner (you know, at some point, you just gotta own it…).
While listening to my book on tape I realized something. While the book is very good, I have known what was going to happen from the first chapter. There were many twists and surprises, but I knew them, all. Not a bit of that lessened my enjoyment of this wonderful tale. Yeah, part of the point is to get to the end, to the conclusion, the climax, the purpose. But, if that was all there was, I would have missed out on thirty-three hours of the journey, the details, the pain, the beauty. I guess, for this moment, at least, I am happy that my life’s story is not at its ultimate purpose or result or fulfillment. Life is nothing if not details, the small ones. The ones that make a life deep, colorful, sparkly. Pain is a huge part of the details, as is loneliness, and doubt of the purpose and result. However, those details also include true friends, loving family, dog kisses, wrapping paper, maturity, deepening, and pee on the garage floor. My new happiness is not giddy, rose-colored, or undiluted. It is a happiness full of loss, pain, even desperation at times. It is a happiness that is strong, endures (even though it may take a hiatus from time to time), and soaks up the details.
Sigh…
Well, I must stop the vomiting of words and interrupt my loving dogs from their feast of rabbit poop. It is time for me to crawl into the futon and drift to sleep as I am covered by doggy kisses. Glorious poopy doggy kisses. Has there ever been a better or truer description of love?

Serriously?

As many of you may know, I don’t watch the news. I hate it. Life is hard enough, both personally, and with the kids that I work with, that I don’t need to turn on the TV and see a plethora of calamities of which I can do nothing to remedy. The bits of news I do become privy to, I ascertain from gossip or headlines on MSN.com or other ridiculous sources—namely, US magazine. Well, there have been two huge stories to be uncovered over the past few months. One I knew of immediately, and the other I only discovered yesterday. Here they are: 1. Lance Bass is gay. 2. Neil Patrick Harris is a ferret. Oh, wait, no. He is gay too.
This is news? This is worthy to be reported on? I didn’t even get these stories from US, it was real news! Why are these stories news? I am all in favor of all the gay boys coming out when they are good and ready. Oh, alright, all you lesbians can come out too, but take off the flannel. Just kidding. I love flannel. Sexy. Especially when it is worn, tattered and unbuttoned. Take me lumberjack. Take me! Oh, sorry. Got a little off course there. . .
Also, isn’t news supposed to be surprising? Or unexpected? Maybe not, as crooked politicians and priest still make headlines. But, come on! Lance Bass and Neil Patrick Harris? Paul Revere has been in rotting in his grave for like, what, six hundred years or something? Even he knew they were the biggest fags in the lollypop gang! The moment Lance cut his strings, it was obvious the boy was flaming! And Neil? Serriously! Everyone knew who he was playing doctor with! I respect both men and applaud their courage to be honest and real, but they were about as in the closet as Boy George and Aquaman! To top it off, people were surprised, shocked, and even offended. What is shocking and offensive is how completely unobservant and clueless the general public can be.
What next? Shock when Ricky Martin comes out? You really think he was singing to Shakira tell her to shake her Bon Bon? Don’t think so. If he was, then my marriage preparations are all for naught. . .
People make me smile. Shake my head in exasperation and disgust, but still make me smile. :) See?

ponderings of a single mother

There is a new addition to my little family, as of November 7, 2006. Dolan entered the lives of Dunkyn and myself. He is a Corgi puppy, same breed as Dunkyn, but with the normal short hair. A puppy is something I had been considering/planning for a long, long time now, and one I almost followed through on directly after the break-up. However, it seemed unwise to make such a decision then. No one wants a rebound dog. Plus, I still hoped we would get back together, and I knew he wanted a bigger dog, not a Corgi. Anyhow, I am now the proud mother/father of two; how life has changed. I am sure things will calm down after Dolan is potty trained, but for now, the old woman who lived in a shoe had an easier time than I do. My neighbors came over the other day as I was getting ready to go to GG’s house warming party. They came to just say hi. They were roped into baby sitting as I used the precious fifteen minutes to get all prettied up. Completing homework, scrapbooking, housekeeping, blogging, even TV watching have become like the search for the Holy Grail while trying to erase all the water damage from Atlantis. In the midst of all this malarkey, I traveled to Missouri to see my best friend AA, his wonderful wife, JA, and his five month old son, CA—who is hands down the cutest baby I have seen in nigh a decade! I felt it unwise to leave Dolan in the midst of potty training. While I hated to leave Dunkyn, as he is and always will be my favorite, Dolan accompanied me on the long journey through Kansas back to the little town of El Dorado Springs, where I grew up. He did splendidly. We have officially bonded. He is no longer just an adorable puppy who poops and pees everywhere, he is one of my boys.
Being back in Missouri was strange, wonderful, and surreal. First off, not only is that little boy who has been my best friend from seventh grade (well the last half of seventh grade anyway) a husband, he also has a baby that he insists he helped create. I remember in eighth grade when we stayed the night at my cousin’s house (the first time I ever stayed over a friend’s house), we wandered off to a separate room to pledge to each other our undying friendship and our faithful support of our individual walks’ with Christ (that is Jesus, for all you uninformed). Believe it or not, both of those pledges have been followed and are still in effect. I held that little boy’s child in my arms, stayed in the house that belongs to he and his wife, was blown away by the beauty of who he continues to be, and marveled at our processes of life and the so extremely different paths our lives have taken from one another, and yet how we remain who we have always been and hold the same place as ever in the other’s life. There is such power in this world, there is such good, there are things that are true, pure, and real.
I attended the church where I grew up (they had recently completely remodeled, so it was unfamiliar), where I devoted my existence to Christ and prayed He would remove the sin of Homosexuality from me (thank God for unanswered prayers—Garth really knew what he was talking about). At church, I saw a man there who I had gone to high school with (AR) who had always been a troublemaker and some of the most self-righteous thought would not amount to much. Just being in his presence for a few minutes told me all I needed to know about the man he has become—honorable, proud (in the good way), caring, honest, strong (not to mention good looking; pretty wife too!)—thank God we are not shaped only be other’s expectations of us. I had lunch after, with family I rarely get to see, yet love immensely (three of the most beautiful, perfect little girls). Well, they aren’t so little anymore; we are all getting older. I also saw my Great-Aunt, whom is dear to me and other cousins. To them, I am still the boy I was in high school. Many don’t know of the ‘gayness’ (I have no idea how that is not obvious at this point in my life, I guess we see what we want to see) or of the multitude of ways my beliefs and outlook have changed. I am not ashamed of how I turned out in the slightest, but I know it would cause them (at least the older generation) pain and worry, so what’s the point?
I visited my grandparents’ graves, and cried by the grave of my gorgeous/wonderful cousin Gabe, who died at 26 three years ago in a horrific accident. I saw my childhood home and many of the places that were so dear to me. They are still are, but it was someone else who lived and loved there. There are traces of that person still in this man that I am now, but are only traces.
I saw my little ‘sister’ on my final way out of town. She was always attractive, but has seriously grown up to be one of the beautiful, sophisticated, powerful women I have seen in my entire life. Our lives too have gone very different paths, and in many ways we don’t know what the other has gone through, but seemingly we have shared the most as far as certain hurts, questions, and journeys (no she’s not gay). While the boy that lived/grew up there is gone and so very different than the man that types this, there are those few select people who I grew up with who I don’t feel have to know every detail of what I have gone through to know who I am. We simply are and have always will be.
I am glad to be home, but I am glad I went. Now to try to lose the fifty pounds I gained back in the few days I was there. My boys are at my feet, getting on each others’ nerves. Papers, scrapbooks, chores are waiting to be seen to and completed. Friends and loved ones back home may have had me cross their minds as Dolan and I drove back to Denver today. Friends and loved one here at Home may have had me cross their mind and look forward to seeing me again soon. There is more changing to do. There are more people to know and love. There are more questions to ask. There are more hurts to endure. There are old loves that still remain. There is life to be lived, experienced, shared, and treasured. The mix of old and new, traditions and progression, loves and hurts make up the man I am now. Contradictions that seems to conflict makeup this person that I have become; I value every last one of them.

the savage homosexual hyena

When will we get it? Really? When? Why must we make the same mistakes and the same self-righteous proclamations as those who oppose us? I expect a lot out of the people I align myself with and consider part of my group of people. Once again, I am let down and embarrassed by our group mentality and behavior. In this instance, I am referring to the situation around Rev. Ted Haggard.
First off, let me admit that I am not immune to the lesser reactions that are the most pervasive. Part of me does get a sick thrill out of seeing those (I am not referring to Haggard in this instance, as I knew nothing of him before yesterday) who slander the gay community caught up in their hypocrisy, lies, and less than idealized actions. And, I always believe (almost always) that truth should be told, no matter who the truth is.
In that instance, I don’t mind, if the accusations are indeed true, for the truth should be spoken. When you are in the public eye and in a leadership role, such is the risk that is taken knowingly. People in such position must be more careful than the average man with their words, behaviors, and actions. However, they are just that: Man. They are fallible, wounded, imperfect, and beautiful.
What disgusts me is how we fall upon these fellow humans with all the tact, care, and humanity of rabid hyenas. And for what? To be vindictive? To get revenge? Oh, I know, we say we are doing it to show the true lives of those who would condemn us and bring to light their implied similarity to us (indeed their darker nature than ours [I am not calling homosexuality a darker nature—I am referring to the aspects of humans that are harmful]). I feel our excuse is a lie, or a way to deceive ourselves. Who are we convincing that gays and lesbians should have equal rights by going on a witch hunt? A pastor or politian who lives a secret, double life, often in direct opposition of what they proclaim the most is not news. It is common place. Especially in our generation. We grew up with pastor after pastor and politian after politian having to resign their position in shame and controversy. And guess what, most conservatives (of which I am one—to a point) still believe gay people do not deserve equal rights, and most church going people believe that gays, by definition, will go to Hell. Outing someone and reveling in their shattered lives only excites those who were against them to begin with. Their followers and supports only have more ammunition against the ‘evilness’ that is us, how strongly we ‘corrupt’ others.
When we will learn? MLK spoke of honor, integrity, compassion, righteousness, strength, power, and peace and love over forty years ago. We still have no idea how to live up to those expectations! Do we truly believe that we will gain our rights and convince others of our equality by attacks, hate, and screaming?
Someone compared my attitude to Pollyanna today, in a belittling, negative way. Well, maybe they should watch the movie again. That annoying little brat changed an entire town—Disney style. What could be gayer than that! Hallelujah!
Instead of reveling in the destruction of a man and his family (regardless of how he may or may not have treated us or our cause), let us focus on having the best among us attain leadership positions and rally for our community to live lives that shout to the world that that we are not only equal, but that we are an asset to humanity and a truly amazing group of people. After all, the truth should be shown at all times!

three steps forward, thirty steps back

I realized something about blogging today. Or at least about my blogging. I have begun to censor myself. I had become aware that more people have been reading my words than I thought they would, which is great. I am glad people are interested. However, I have become aware of how many of my blogs revolve around the break-up, broken-heartedness, and bitterness. Reading my blog can be a real downer. So, over the past couple weeks, I vowed to no longer write about such things, to quit going on and on and on about my own petty hurts and feelings. I realized today that this may been even more pretentious than actually doing what I was doing. The entire reason I started blogging (shallowness alert) was to talk about me and what I am going through, as a medium to help me process whatever I may be going through at the time. If it so happens that I go through the same fucking thing for the next fifty years, well, then that’s what I should write about. Why pretend to be anything other than what I am? Doing this may mean that no one reads this blog. I am sure I wouldn’t. Life is full of enough hurt without hearing some self-absorbed prick ramble on and on about his own. Well, in an act of pure, unadulterated selfishness, I trudge onward.
The depression that I expected to show up Sunday after such a great Halloween weekend came to visit on Monday night, and has yet to take its leave. Wonderful experiences are (get ready for it, this is deep) wonderful. That state of wonderfulness would be heightened to a greater level of wonderfulishishness if it were to be shared with someone—ideally, the one you want to actually share it with. My lack in that department has hit home once again. Knowing the scorn that would have crossed his face when he saw the whorishness of my outfit, the rolling of the eyes at our ridiculous gayishness, at the silliness of it all—I didn’t get to experience those things. I know it sounds silly, but I loved those things. They defined who he is and who I am and how we complemented each other. My arms, my bed, my hands—still empty.
Somehow in the discussion of my class last night in grad school, we got off onto the subject of relationships. The professor (she is my favorite) talked about one of the theories of relationships: the make it or break it points. In this theory they occur at the following stages: Six months, Year and a half, Seven years, Sixteen years. In other words, just when you think you are safe and can truly rely on your spouse/lover, then it is time for a crisis and to reevaluate your relationship and question if you should stay together. Really?
Another theory, albeit similar, was that we are meant to have three lovers throughout our lifetime. One for our twenties and thirties, one for our forties and fifties, and the last one for the fianl years of our life. After all, how can we expect the person we fall in love with in our twenties to still meet our needs in forty years? Well, I guess I am still naive. Isn’t that the whole point? To grow and change together. To create a stable, loving life together. To not simply be focused on our own needs. Sure there will be times where our needs do not get met, maybe for years at a time. There will be times where we don’t met theirs, maybe for years at a time. Still, to walk hand in hand, side by side with the person you CHOSE! Love, real love, is a choice. You stay with it; you fall in love again and again and again.
The wonderful thing about love is that it take two people. The horrifically terrifying thing about love? It takes two people. At any moment, one of them can throw up their hand and say, ‘I’m done! I’m bored! I don’t feel me needs are met! Thanks for the first fifteen years—see ya around!’ Maybe love wouldn’t be as wonderful and life-altering if it did not come with the challenge and the risk. But maybe, it would. . .
By, hey, what the fuck do I know about it? Just because I want it doesn’t mean that is reality or what will happen.