free gaydar

A very good-looking man let me steal his seat from him at the coffee shop this morning. As I sat down the three girls at the two tables next to me started discussing if the man was gay or not. They were having a very serious debate about it. I couldn’t help laughing out loud—not one of my more stealthy eavesdropping moments. They then turned to me and asked if he was or not. I guess it shows the state of my mind that I had to tell them I hadn’t been paying enough attention to tell. Since when do I see a hot man and not try to determine if he’s gay or not? Although, to be truthful, I usually go under the assumption that if they are in my coffee shop, they probably are—and assumption that could get me in a lot of trouble when I get to some of my other moods.
I’ve been hearing a lot about a new law or ordinance or something that would allow people in free housing to have wireless internet and such. While I’ve heard a lot about it, I haven’t heard enough specifics to understand if it is a local Denver thing, a state thing, or a national thing. From what I can glean, it seems as if it would be a tax to provide this service. It’s one of those times when I have to embrace my right-wing roots. I understand everyone wanting internet and such, but come on! Free housing, free food, free internet. No one is paying anything for those of us that work full time. Or those of us that work two or more jobs and still can’t pay all our bills and such. In fact, they’re foreclosing on us! Drives me crazy! And while I would love to not have bills and have to pay for anything, I also don’t want anyone paying it for me! I hate paying bills, and I have a lot of insecurity around my inability to get ahead financially, but I sure as fuck don’t want someone else to do it for me. I want to succeed or fail due to me. I’m tired of paying for people who don’t want the same.
Speaking of such, in terms of coming to grips that I won’t be able to buy a single family home, or get away from the duplex I love so much but have way too many HWMNBN memories, I have decided to make my office a little closer to my dream library office. I will do this by painting two of the walls a luxurious chocolate brown. Not sure when I will buy the paint or do it, but I’m rather excited. I wonder if there’s a group that would sponsor this necessity of life, and paint it for me too while they’re at it.

turns out...

I find it interesting that every day I came into the coffee shop to edit, one of my favorite two seats was open and waiting for me. Every day. Since I finished editing, I’ve had to fight for me seat every single time. I hope that’s a good sign.
Monday night, I spent nearly five hours preparing different versions of my first novel, The Shattered Door to send to three different publishing houses—each one requiring slightly different criteria. I also sent a query for Submerging Inferno to my dream agent, the agent for Kelley Armstrong, the author of the Women of the Underworld series that my series is inspired by. I couldn’t believe how long that took, how much research, how much minute (I hate that minute and minute are spelled the same—stupid old white guys!) detail. I’m sure it’s nothing compared to what is coming, but, wow! Much harder than actually writing. Who knows if anything will come from any of them, but let’s cross our fingers. I was also surprised that several of the publishing companies I wanted to submit to wouldn’t even look at your manuscript unless you have an agent. I kinda thought they’d prefer you not have agent, so that they could screw you over a bit more. That clarified my ponderings if I truly wanted an agent or not. Yep, I do.
I spent yesterday getting caught up on Gavin’s photo book, the one that I will do for him each year for his birthday. It was kind of a reward for working so hard the day before, but also a necessity that needed to get done if I hoped be able to finish the rest by July. While I sat in my hard-won spot at the coffee shop, I eavesdropped on the conversations happening around me, as you do. Through these ‘investigations’ (half the time, I have my earphones in but no music playing), I discovered that the two people beside me both were trying to get books published. So glad there’s not any competition to new authors out there.
The woman sitting beside me was dressed very eccentrically, kinda like a drag queen, but not, well, ‘cause, you know, the vagina and all. It’s ok, go ahead and shudder. After a bit, I turned to her and said, “I couldn’t help overhearing your phone conversation (translation, I was totally listening to your conversation as I pretended to listen to my ‘music’), and heard that you’re trying to get published. What’s your book about?” Turns out, it is a self-help book. Turns out she was talking to an on-line physic, who told her she should be a writer. Turns out, she wrote her book in two weeks. Turns out she edited her book in a couple months. Turns out she’s already self-publishing on Lulu. Turns out, she’s already looking for publishers.
HUH. Psychic phone call, book in two weeks. Hmmm. Seems my ambition since high school (fifteen years ago), starting Shattered five years ago, editing for years on end just meant I’m lazy. Two weeks!
She then told me that I need to visualize going around the world on book tours, having book signings, everyone knowing my books by name. Why wouldn’t it happen, she asked me. I resisted to list the billion reasons it wouldn’t happen and let myself get excited by her words. She’s right! Why wouldn’t it happen?
She then precedes to tell me about all her endeavors, one of which was making some of the outlandish apparel she was wearing and trying to sell them. Turns out none of her endeavors are going anywhere, and she couldn’t figure out why—which, if I followed correctly, is part of what prompted the psychic conversation and lead to the you’re-supposed-to-be-a-writer-girl (said in a Whoopie Goldberg voice) conversation.
The funny thing was, as much as I saw through all the mumbo jumbo she was spouting, and as much as I wanted to point out all the good her positive self-talk had brought to her, I couldn’t help but find her rather endearing, sweet, and encouraging.
So, while there truly might be a billion legitimate reasons why not, there only has to be one reason why. So, why not?

WTF or I I thought You Should Know

So, my kindred geeks at the coffee shop informed me that the makers of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer series are making a movie, but with an entirely new cast. WTF? I was so happy, then so sad.
A snowboarder going too fast down a black ran into a five year old girl and her mother who were stopped in the middle of the run. The child died, the snowboarder died, the mother is in critical condition. WTF were a mother and child doing on a black, much less stopped in the middle of a run. This is part of the reason, besides the expense and foot pain, that I stopped skiing—my brother and I kept getting in trouble for going too fast on blacks and black double diamonds. Uhmm, that’s why we weren’t on greens!
LeAnn Rimes and Eddie Cibrian got engaged over Christmas. Both cheated on their spouses together. Gays aren’t allowed to get married. Sanctity of marriage is still safe. Whew! Thank God! WTF!!! (Plus, if gays were allowed to get married Asshole Eddie would be marrying me instead.)

after the sparkling shredded paper

Yesterday was nearly perfect. There was about thirty minutes when it hit me again out of the blue of HWMNBN and his new ‘love’ and their first Christmas together and that we’d not have our Christmas later that night, like we used to. I was able to get a hold myself, not cry, and simply focus on Gavin. As ever, he is the best medicine for anything. I am soooo crazy for that kid. He truly made the day wonderful. He didn’t love opening presents as much as he did his first year, which was strange, but he is so dang cute. He has just entered this stage where he comes and grabs one of your fingers and drags you wherever he wants to go, points or acts out whatever it is he is wanting to do, babbling the entire time. I’ve always said pets are to be spoiled, not children. I was wrong. Very, very wrong. He’s going to be the cutest, most spoiled brat in the entire world. I’m so proud. I take full ownership for when he is rotten. Luckily, I’m trained to deal with spoiled brats, so I can undue what I’m doing now…..
I am very excited for tonight. I get to take down the Christmas tree! I am as excited to take it down as I tried to pretend I was to put it up. No more reminders of what isn’t. Right…
I just got my second favorite spot at the coffee shop, so now I can finished up the photo album for the year. Back to writing tomorrow!
I hope you all had a Christmas filled with people you love as much as mine.

up the chimney

Merry Christmas Eve!
I always love this day. My brother and I typically go out to dinner and then to a movie and he spends the night, we then go to our folks in the morning together. This year, we have Gavin, so no movie or spending the night, but still, wonderfulness. Plus, I mean, Gavin, what could be better? Maybe it’s good that I probably will never have children. If it is possible to love my own child more than I love Gavin, I don’t think my heart could handle it, and I’d smother the poor kid (with love, not a pillow).
Listening to my conservative talk radio this morning was rather interesting and, once again, reiterated how I live in a different world than the majority of the people. The topic this morning was people calling in to tell their favorite Christmas memory. Over half the people that called in talked about certain Santa memories. Things on the radio, someone dressing up like Santa, etc., etc., etc. My favorite memories are decorating with my family, the presents, the food, the lights. That day was pure magic. And still was until recently.
I never believed in Santa. I never even liked Santa. I always thought he was scary, and my folks never told me he was real. Honestly, I don’t get it. I mean I love, LOVE, fantasy, but I don’t plan on telling my kids, Lord willing, that there are mermaids or unicorns or any such thing. Why tell them there is a Santa? We can do make-believe, I just don’t ever want to lie to them. If I had ever really believed in mermaids and then found out it was all just pretend, I would be devastated. It’s pretty devastating to know there aren’t mermaids, and I’ve never even believed. I don’t have a problem with people that tell their kids there’s a Santa. However, many people have told me that I would be stealing some of the Christmas joy from children if I didn’t tell them there was a Santa. I just don’t get it. Then, there is that whole if I tell them Santa is real, then say ‘Just kidding,’ what about when I tell them about God? Am I lying about that too? Well, maybe I’m deluding myself on that one too, but we’ve talk about that before.
I guess, an argument could be made that my gayness is a result on not getting my fix of sitting on a big man’s lap enough of as a kid. It’s possible. Goodness knows I can’t get enough of it now.
And on that note! Merry Christmas!

waa waa waa

I tell you, it has been just one of those evenings. The day started off well. I got a lot done, spent about an hour, after researching several agents, writing a query to an agent and then had the guts to send it. I felt good about it. I was proud of myself. Fairly hopeful, yet realistic. The books I have read (by books, I mean book, singular) say that getting an agent can be just as hard, if not harder than getting an editor/publisher.
Then I went to see The Black Swan with three of my friends. Two of us got there first. The other being one of my oldest and most trusted friends. I had to talk myself into sitting by him instead of sitting two seats away. You might think that I didn’t want people to think we were gay or something. No, I just didn’t want to assume that he’d want to sit by me instead of one of the other friends. Seriously? What is wrong me? I told myself to get over it and said that I was worthy to sit by my friend. Still, I asked before I sat by him. Why do I do that? I hate it when people act like that. Plus, even if he didn’t want me to, what is he gonna say? Hell, no, scoot down. Not likely.
The movie was good, very well done, kept me on the edge of my seat (me being the only one of the four of us that kept jumping at the intense parts, of course), but fairly dark and depressing. No fairly about it. It was about a mental illness/breakdown. While I don’t think I see things that aren’t there, I could relate to feeling that you’re in this world that no one else sees. After the movie, we had an hour to spare before we were all going to another friend’s Christmas party. My three friends decided to go get a bite to eat. I declined, saying I had to go home and change clothes for the party and buy Christmas beer, per friend’s request. These were both true, but I was glad for the excuse. Too nervous to stay. I went home, bought beer (before I got home—they actually have Christmas beer), and changed clothes. Then had about thirty minutes to kill so that I wouldn’t be early. What better use of time than to sit and cry? It took everything in me to leave the house and go to my friend’s home. I have so many friends that a lot of my friends get mad at me because I never can find enough time to fit them all in enough. Yet the loneliness is crushing at times. When you are surrounded by people you love and that love you and you feel as if you are in a completely different world than they are. Every ghost of the past lashing you, every fear for the future consuming you. To top it off, I was a little allergic to my friend’s dog. I’ve been struggling with breathing, sneezing, and coughing the past three days due to being around my bff’s fucking cat on Sunday. The little dog allergy I have normally wouldn’t bother me, but combined with my already weakened state, I had to leave the house three different times to go cough, blow my nose, and try to breathe. I sat there, surrounded by my friends, trying to breath without wheezing, not joining in the conversation, completely focused on not crying and trying to breathe. Finally, I left. No, it wasn’t a panic attack or anything like that. It still hurts to breathe, though the hot tea is helping. I went and sat in a steam room and hot tub and felt much, much better. Then, a few blocks from home, my rear passenger tire went flat, found a razor blade in it. Nope, not kidding. Normally, I can change a tire in five minutes or less, but for some reason, I missed a step and it took me nearly half an hour in the cold with wet hair and jeans with a hole in the crotch. Not a good night to go commando. So much for any good the hot tub did.
I feel a little better now, not crying anyway. I guess the point of this is this: I have had to eat my words so many times, that you’d think I’d weigh even more than I do. I used to not have any sympathy for those who had ‘depression.’ I considered it weak, an excuse, all in their heads. And, maybe it is. But, I know this, it’s consuming, weakening, and scary at times. At least, I hope this is still depression. I hate to think this is simply being alive.

booktalk

I sat in the coffee shop for over four hours last night and tore through the last of the other novel. I am now finished with editing both novels! Well, this time, at least. It seems that part never stops—since the one I finished last night I’ve been working on for roughly five years. Since, I am ahead of schedule, sortta, I am going to do a little research into how to get an agent. It’s the last thing I wanna do. I want to do it all on my own. However, the author I spoke to last summer in Boulder told me that would be her first and biggest advice, after edit, edit, edit. I suppose I should listen to people who are living my dream (she was the teacher/author I spoke of before) and heed their words.
It’s crazy that it took me two days to do the same amount that I’ve been working on since school started in August. Partly due to timing and always feeling rushed between teaching and massage, but even more so being caught in my fear and not believing anything good could happen. There were a few moments when that took real form as I was editing the past two days, but I forced myself to stuff it and push onward. I have to fight for this.
While I’m reading my stuff, I try to look at it from an outsider’s eye. I love my characters. They are like my children. It’s hard for me to see their imperfections, whereas others won’t have that problem. I can’t really get a sense of how they will come across to others. I’ve received more negative feedback on the books than I have positive, so we will see. I can’t help but think it’s a good sign that as I was going over things, my heart would speed up at certain parts, be surprised at others, and saddened over deaths and hardships of my characters. It’s kinda silly since I wrote it, and I know what happened, but still, it got to me. I hope that’s a good sign. Of course, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. How many times have you seen a newborn baby whose parents are convinced it’s the most gorgeous thing in the world, and you have to struggle to not throw up a bit in your mouth as you confirm their belief? These are my babies.

soldier boi

I’ve looked forward to this evening to a ridiculously nerdy degree. I did chores and such during the day and then planned on spending the evening in the coffee shop. Confirmation of a great evening occurred when I walked in and all the great seats were taken, except for my favorite one! Now I’m all content and fuzzy in my little corner of the universe.
I have been giving Obama a hard time the few times I’ve dared talk about anything besides my own misery. I must now say something nice. (Even though I can’t understand the whole birth certificate thing. I had to prove who I was when I came back into the country, when I got a job, when I had to be approved to work with kids. All my work credentials are public knowledge. Shouldn’t he be held to, if not a higher level, the same expectations as me?)
On to the nice: Dear Obama, Thank you so much for allowing gays the right to die openly for their country. Thank you for following through on that issue. Thank you for having the balls to do it! Now, please give us the RIGHT to marry. (Yep, gay agenda: Equality.)
Listening to my conservative talk radio has been very frustrating the past several days. I’ve have to turn it back to my book on tape several times to that I didn’t plow my car into government agencies. The absolute preposterousness that is being spouted by political leaders, talk show hosts, and the public is asinine. If you haven’t gotten the memo yet, just be aware that the world is ending now that DADT has been overturned. That’s right, ending. Satan has arrived and devoured our world. Our military is weaker, the straight soldiers now have to live in terror, shower time will never be the same again. Both Uncle Sam and Jesus are very, very, very pissed off.
Seriously, like the gay sex hasn’t be happening—the only thing difference will be the ‘straight’ married guys getting plowed won’t be as assured their plower will keep it such a secret. The only thing that’s gonna change is that barracks will be better decorate and the camouflage will come in glitter. And, the only thing that will make it more dangerous is if the enemy comes armed with My Little Ponies and Barbies, to distract all the fagotty soldiers into doing hair.

tooth and nail

I’m rather proud of myself today. I made it through yesterday, which was no small task. I’m glad it’s behind me. I’m also proud of how I held myself to the grindstone yesterday. I torn through the second half of the fantasy novel and finished the editing. I even sent off a query email to the editor who turned me down before. I haven’t heard back from him, and since he wrote back within five minutes last time, I’m not sure how to take that. I will give him till after Christmas until I look at other options. It was the easier of the two books to edit, this other will take much more time than just a day, but I still think I can get it done in the next week or so and send off a few more queries.
It’s funny how our minds do so much to hinder us, there were a few times yesterday where I had to literally force myself to stay seated, stay in the coffee shop, stay in front of my computer. Part of what helped yesterday was exactly what was hurting too. I don’t have control over HWMNBN, my family situations, even my depression, and while I can’t control how people respond to my writing, I can control my effort. I can knock on every door until every single person I can find has turned me down. I can submit and submit until they issue restraining orders. I can’t control my other dreams, my other passions, but at least I can fight for this one with everything in me.
So, I’m off. Off to continue fighting from my seat at the coffee shop!

parties and ponderings

My ‘favorite’ night of the year is past—dinner with my favorite boys (most of them anyway). I cooked and cooked and cooked. It turned out really great, actually—maybe my favorite meal I’ve ever done. It’s nice when you work that hard and things actually turn out—too often, I have to give disclaimers on how it was supposed to be. The absence of my bff was more difficult than I anticipated. And, for the second year in a row, the absence of HWMNBN was glaring. That part is stupid. I’ve had many, many more years of this tradition than what he was a part of, how can his absence be so palatable during things that came before him?
Today is his birthday. My stomach has been in knots about it for days, feeling it build and build. Stupid, I know. I sent him his gift this morning. I also texted him happy birthday. The text came back from some girl saying he was no longer at that number. That hurt. He may not even have the same email anymore. Who knows. As ever, it just shows how his life has continued to move on without my knowledge while mine continues as it is.
While at my bff’s Christmas party last night, some friends asked if I had been seeing anyone lately. I responded by telling them a little about the man I’ve been on five or six dates with. They responded, ‘Oh, that’s wonderful! So, you two are dating!” To which I responded, “No, we’re not. We’re not exclusive. He knows I’m still a bit of mess. We are just going on dates and enjoying being together—seeing where it could go.” A half smile, “Yeah, that’s dating.”
Of course, that threw my mind into overdrive. Am I dating? I don’t want to be dating. I don’t feel like I should be yet. I really like the guy. I have a great time with him. I look forward to hearing from him. However, I don’t feel the love thing or that huge crush thing that should be required for dating. I don’t really know if I’m capable of that. Does it mean it’s not the right guy, that I’m not able to go there even if it was the right guy, ugh….
I am so thrilled to be on break from school. More relief from not being with the adults as opposed to the kids, although that is nice too. So, here I sit at the coffee shop—in my favorite spot, didn’t even have to fight for it! If it kills me, I am going to get the books finished and submitted in the next week and a half. Maybe, after, I’ll even be inspired to start a new book. I hope. Even if I am afraid of everything anymore, friends, ex’s, new dates, life, I’ll be damned if I let my fear take the joy of writing from me.

moment of serenity

After three massages last night, not one bit of me felt guilty for my Starbucks addiction. It literally hurt to get out of bed.
On my way out of Starbucks, with my Cranberry Bliss Bar and Pumpkin Spice Chai, I had to pause while the hot man in front me changed his mind halfway through the door and darted back inside.
Turning to see what had caused his distraction, I watched him walk over to a table where a solitary African-American boy sat reading a book at an empty table. He looked to be about twelve or thirteen. I hadn’t noticed him. Of course, that’s not too surprising since I didn’t even notice the hot man until he nearly ran me over.
The man went over to the boy and asked if he were with anyone and if he would like anything, an orange juice or something. The boy was obviously hesitant (smart boy), but soon nodded his head.
I don’t know why a young kid was in Starbucks by himself, I don’t know if he was short on cash or not (didn’t look like it, he was very well dressed), I don’t know what he had for breakfast or what he will have for lunch—he didn’t appear to be overly in need or anything. Even so, observing the interaction made my morning. Of course it didn’t hurt that the guy was cute, made even cuter by his actions, but really, it was like one of those stupid, cheesy, make-me-cry, ‘pass it on’ commercials.
Just as our every negative action that we think is so private affects everyone around us, so does our little unseen flashes of Godliness and humanity, our unselfish acts of love. In what has been a very emotionally hard several days, that brief moment was beautiful and perfect—somehow even more meaningful than if he had asked to buy me a drink. Sometimes, in my job, I don’t see enough people really caring for their own kids, let alone someone else’s. I’m so grateful that’s not reality. I’m so grateful for tangible evidences of love.

indulgent

The countdown to Christmas vacation, excuse me, I mean winter break, is on. On one hand, I am so excited. If nothing else, just to sleep some more—which tells me how much older I am getting, I hate sleep and have never needed it so much. There are tons of Christmas activities that I am greatly looking forward to, my annual dinner being my favorite night of the year typically. I can’t even begin to say how excited I am to see Gavin open Christmas presents. He was so much fun at six months last year, it should even be better now!
Of course, Mr. Negative is alive and well, so part of me dreads Christmas break. HWMNBN has his birthday, and yes, I know, that shouldn’t affect me, but guess what…
The other reason, my goal is to finish and submit both novels, The Shattered Door (resubmit) and Submerging Inferno (for the first time), by New Year’s Eve.
I have considered putting them away and just stopping. I’ve gotten very mixed reviews on them from the people who have read them, some claiming to love them, others not even able to finish reading them. I don’t want to waste my time. I don’t want to constantly be the guy talking about the book he’s writing. You know that guy, the one who is all talk and nothing ever happens. Even beyond that, it just is starting to feel like an ill-fated fight with destiny. Contrary to what I believed without reservation growing up, I no longer feel like I am destined to have ‘all my dreams come true.’ Just the opposite in fact. The past gets more and more powerful, not less—at least for me, which is doubly hard when I’m not even an afterthought in his mind. My family’s financial situation worsening and worsening. Custody always being in question and so much fear of what that may ultimately bring. The man in the mirror becoming less and less familiar every day. Who am I fooling? The man that used to think he could do anything, that anything was really possible seems like a fool and long dead. The pervasion of feeling of being finished and done continues to grow and has been rather crippling as of late. Despite the fact that I really am trying to live once more. It’s more like I’m trying to follow a script, force myself to appear alive, as if by faking it long enough, it will be reality.
If I am able to finish them and turn them in, or even more so, write other novels, it will only be due to not having an option. Kinda like my faith in God. I’ve gone too far to back out now. I would be nothing at all if I didn’t believe He were there, that He is with me. Likewise, I’ve gone too long with writing to turn back. I started Shattered about five years ago, written and re-written it, with two and a half other books in-between, and countless beginnings of stories that were never finished spanning over a decade before that. If I feel like a failure now, like I’m finished, how much more would that overwhelm me if I didn’t keep trudging along. However, I can’t really suppress the sensation of being an ant marching forward, thinking he’s about to reach his destination, never knowing a hurricane will send a wave to devour before he ever gets there.

still

One of my favorite songs from childhood from one of my favorite Christmas movies, All I Want For Christmas. Sung by Bill Medley. It's been tossing around constantly in my head today. I hate my brain.
"All I want is everything I lost, no matter what they cost, 'cause I've already paid. All I want is a memory or two, like the ones I had with you. I can't let it go. Don't look down on me with compromise, you can see world from my point of view, it's all up to you. All I want is the promise you’ll stay. All I want is one more yesterday. No I don’t mean to over simplify, but I cross my heart and hope to die."

the outside looking in

Last night was a Christmas party at one of my dear friend’s home.
In pure Brandon fashion, I dressed in one of blue and white striped button down shirts. Looking in the mirror I thought, “Not too bad, it doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard, but the jeans don’t have holes or anything.” I also congratulated myself in remembering to bring a bottle of wine (I always forget such things—when you’re raised with wine being wrong, it takes some effort to remember that you need to bring a bottle of sin with you.). After looking through facebook for my invitation, I finally texted my friend and asked for directions. I show up, feeling like I’m looking pretty good, bottle of wine in my hand. I step through the door, and quickly realize I am once again in my own little world, and it is causing me to stick out like a sore thumb—and you know how I feel about sticking out in a crowd of people, especially when I know some of them. Everyone is dressed to the nine’s (whatever that means). Very classy, fancy dresses on the women. The men in slacks, jackets, ties, sweaters, etc. The boxes by the front door quickly filling up with toy donations. Perfect, not only do I look cheap, poor, and like a project, I am also a Scrooge who doesn’t care about the kids. (Don’t worry, I brought toys later—you know, any opportunity to buy an Ariel doll—can’t pass that up!)
Jealousy and envy (along with wine) is a sin. However, when I read about such things in the Bible, it seems like they go along with wishing someone harm due to what they have, or wishing you had what they had instead of them. Therefore, I’m not really convinced that my ‘jealousy’ is a sin. I don’t feel that way at all. I’m so happy for what my friends have and the life they are living. I honestly wouldn’t take it away from them at all in order to have it myself. That would spoil it. Maybe jealousy isn’t the right word, or maybe I’m sinning and am deluding myself. (Several of you who struggle with my gayness feel that way about me all the time, so just add this to the list.)
These two friends are my ideal and that life they are living is my ideal. They are both gorgeous and stupid sexy. The type of gorgeous I could starve myself for years for and work out for six hours every day and never attain. A kind of physical beauty that you’re just born with, that is halting. Their home is perfection. Not to some, I’m sure (as some people only want new and modern), but my idea of perfection. From the time period in which it was built, to the décor, the color, the layout. Everything. Their life together conducive to longevity, to raising children should they choose, on and on.
Let me give this disclaimer. We all know that things on the outside can be very different than what they are on the inside. Sometimes, even when you’re on the inside, they are different than you realize—as I know all too well. Therefore, I am in no way saying they have this perfect life without conflict or struggle. Just because I’m not privy to it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. However, to me, that is part of a ‘perfect’ life. That doesn’t take away any of it. I don’t want or expect a perfect life. Well, that’s a lie. I want a perfect life, but I don’t expect it.
So, last night was mixed for me. By the end, and I was there about four hours, I was feeling good about being appropriately social, despite my lack of glitz. It was wonderful to be with friends and in a warm, gorgeous, Christmasy home filled with bustle, music, great lighting, and delicious food. However, it was also hard to see be in the midst of someone else’s life that seems to be where I thought my life was going (though on a less grand scale). And maybe this is where the sin comes in. While I don’t begrudge them a second of their happiness (indeed, it truly does make me happy), it really does hurt. I don’t cry every day anymore, which is nice. I did last night. Even so, I’m glad I was there. Even if it isn’t my life or in my cards, it’s nice to see that it does exist. That it’s out there. That others have found it. I may not be riding sidesaddle with a merman upon a unicorn, but I’ve seen it. It’s beautiful.

party season

The Christmas season has officially started. I had a Christmas dinner last night (which was wonderful with PCSDR-L) and another tonight, and then it doesn’t quit until July. Well, so it seems.
I have done so many massages this week and have so many more to do that I finally have a moment, so I flew to the coffee shop, and I had just enough money for one drink. I love being here. It almost feels more like home than being at home sometimes. My goal is to spend a ton of time here over Christmas break and finish both of the books. I’ve put them off long enough and the longer I let them sit the more afraid of them I get.
I was so looking forward to blogging today, but I honesty am not in the place to be positive and happy, at least not if I start blogging right now, and I really need to keep the mood up to not turn into Eyore at my dear friend’s party tonight.
Therefore, today has turned into picture working time. Which, almost always makes me happy.
Merry Early Christmas!

right here right now

What a week it has been. So long. Police, co-worker drama, massages, meetings, sick fish, a third date (which was super low-key and super nice last night. One area I’d started to be concerned about what that I wasn’t laughing very much. Humor is one of the biggest things I look for. He had me rolling on the floor last night, so that was fun!), preparing for Christmas meals, on and on and on. I’m tired. With the exception of a couple of those things on the list, and a couple I didn’t put on, I’m actually enjoying the moment. Kinda nice. Take it where you can get it.
Actually, I’m not gonna go where I was headed next. Let’s stop with the positive. Good place to stay.
That’s my Christmas present to you: no whining and crying for you today! Enjoy.

just one wish on this christmas eve

One of the selfish reasons I love my job is that it so often shoves every part of my own life out of the way. From days where multiple kids are going off, where I have to restrain one kid while I’m teaching math to eight others, where I have to be ready to run as fast as a ten year old (which isn’t as easy as I’m sure it should be). I have to focus on the moment to simply function, to anticipate the next move, see the fire before it happens. It’s not this huge life or death thing by any means, but it is all-consuming at times, which is often such a relief, since I struggle constantly to turn my brain off. Yesterday I stayed nearly an hour past when I was planning. The person who came to pick up my second grader was intoxicated, which was good timing as social services where waiting to do an interview. The parent was at home, incoherent. As this family is homeless and continues to get kicked out of the places they do sporadically live, the police had to take my kid to figure out where he was going to be and who he was going to be with. During the time all this was going down, I kept my boy with me. We played tick-tack-toe, the dot game, read a story about a kid who has to pee really badly, and did endless rounds of MadLibs. Then he got to go in the police car, where the officer let him hang on the top of the car to see the lights flash and hear the sirens scream. (One of the few times I didn’t have authority issues with the police. Didn’t hurt he was young and hot, either.) There were no thoughts of my own life during this time, the boy consumed everything else, and, of course, has been on my mind frequently through the night. As sick as it sounds, it’s a relief—both to have myself shoved from me and to take care of someone. Of course, watching Glee later, as Rachel Berry sang Merry Christmas Darling, tears flowed freely. I hadn’t quite pictured HWMNBN and the new person he says he loves having Christmas together. I did then.
My work load is so much easier than a regular education teacher—which is why it is so silly when other teachers say they don’t know how I do it. They don’t realize how easy it is, there is no way I could be a regular ed teacher (the work load they’re under is not exaggerated, nor is the pressure and stress). I’m sure it says very fucked up things about me that my sanity often comes from the fucked up lives my children endure. And to meet my quota for the gay agenda to keep my membership in the gay community I must point out my constant frustration with the bigotry and ignorant stance that gay people are harmful to the foundation of marriage, family, and child rearing. Uh-huh. Hopefully the gay elite mafia will be satisfied with that statement. Maybe if I were more vehement, I might get a discount on my gay dues next year, maybe a free blow-up doll or lube with purchase or something.
As much as I have sworn that I will never adopt (due to all I have seen in such cases), I have two children right now that I would take home in a heartbeat if I could.

Acquainted With What You Think

“I give birth to interpret a few of the articles on your website trendy, and I extremely like your fashionableness of blogging. I added it to my favorites web age list and last will and testament be checking back soon. Will contain out of order my site as highly and fail me be acquainted with what you think. Thanks.”

This was the latest comment posted on my blog, or at least attempted, as I set it up to approve comments—just for this reason. I get comments from time to time on my blogs, which I love, no matter what they say. It’s fun to know what people think as they read, how they relate, or how they view whatever I was blogging about. I always get excited when I see I have a comment. However, three-fourths of the time, the comments are like the above—often much more confusing, actually. This one made enough sense that I thought it was funny. I know spam is there to either put a virus on your computer by clicking on it or sneak in advertisements for other sites, etc. However, most of the ones that get posted to my blog are like this one, no active link, not adverting anything, and seems to be true incoherent Ramblings of the English language. Which, maybe is exactly the point—maybe they are trying to hold a mirror up to me through example. Hmmm… Either way, it’s like a horrible MadLib gone bad. After I get over my momentary flash of frustration about getting excited to read a real comment, I often enjoy the spam. After all, who doesn’t wanna give birth to trendy? And I hope some rich stranger leaves me in their last will and testament. I also appreciate when people make up words, since I often do that to suit my need. It’s my favorite thing about Sarah Pailn. Really. There are several things people can make fun of her for, but I really find that part of her relatable and endearing, and in no sense a sign of a lower intellect. Fashionableness. I mean, come on! That rocks! However, I just noticed. No squiggle red line under fashionableness. Must be a real word. Dooh! Good thing I teach special ed.
I must confess, the past several days I have stared longingly at my bottle of anti-depressants wishing I could overdose—not in an effort to kill myself or anything, but surely if one helps a little bit a whole bottle might actually make you happy, or at least block out the ache. Don’t worry. I know it won’t. I’m not actually tempted, as no part of me wants to miss my nephew’s life or any new mermaid merchandise yet to come on the market; however, I do wish that was how those pills worked. Really want my life back. I must say though. After hours of wrapping presents for all the kids in my life and friends last night, my tree is officially stuffed full of gorgeous gifts. That sight really did cause an untainted pleasure. Both for the sheer beauty, and for the anticipation of the giving. While Christmas is more painful that I ever thought possible, there are flashes of how much I used to love it. That is really fun, and I’m so thankful for it.

playing doctor with a Jewish Barbie

After another weekend with Strep (I called off work Friday after feeling like I was going to die Thursday), my doctor is finally letting me contact the surgery department to request having my tonsils taken out! It probably makes me crazy to be excited about this, but I have been fighting for this surgery for nearly a decade with no luck. There is not guarantee that it will fix all the problems I have with strep and getting sick so much, but most people I talk to say that it really helped them. However, from everything I hear, the surgery (recovery time) for an adult is supposed to be horrible. If it works, it will sooooo be worth it!
I had a second date last night. It went really well. I used a gift certificate I had received last Christmas and had never been able to get in with reservations. Even after the certificate, it was an $80 meal. Most of the time, I would be furious about such an extravagance. If the meal is over $15 bucks a person, I tend to be a little pissy. This meal was $38 a plate. However, the meal was perfect. Truly. One of the best meals I’ve ever had. It was like something I’ve seen on Top Chef or when Food Network takes me to fancy places I assume I’ll never go. All that said, if you’re in Denver and want to spend a small fortune on an exquisite meal, go to Colt & Gray. Get the Lamb Shank. O. M. G. Seriously. Go on a cold night. The fireplace was awesome. Very romantic and mountain lodge chic. While I have no idea where this could go, if anywhere, this man has the most potential of anyone I’ve met since HWMNBN. If it does go anywhere, it will be a long time I’m thinking. Both of us have our walls up pretty high in the relationship department. Although being with him is definitely triggering a shitload of HWMNBN issues, it’s really nice. On a strange note, most guys I’m with, even the really tall ones (HWMNBN was 6-2) I typically feel like the bigger one, although not taller. This guy is 6-2 as well, but massive. I feel like a little kid with him. A feeling I don’t really like, although I enjoy the other aspects of the situation.
Since the antibiotics make me non-contagious, I worked my ass off this weekend with massage. As every December, my bills get put on hold and Christmas gifts ensue (totally immature and irresponsible, and totally wonderful). Very few things make me as happy as Christmas shopping for my friends. Well, one thing, Christmas shopping for Gavin. Oh my goodness. And it’s gonna get more and more fun. I almost bought him this huge train set yesterday. Then realized that he’s not even two yet and might want to pick out such a thing for himself and look forward to such things later. Still, baby toys are a blast too. I also got to shop for PCRL’s girls. I love girl shopping. I almost bought three Barbies yesterday. For myself. A new Ariel one, a Barbie mermaids, and this red head classic all in black Babrbie—the kind of girl I tell myself I’d be if I were a girl. When we all know I’d be Rosie O’Donnell. Okay, before the keyboard burst into flames from all the flamyness going on, I should stop.
Happy Hanukah. I’m excited about Hanukah this year. Namely because of all the savings going on at Starbucks. At least I think it’s for Hanukah. Hmmm…. Either way, Happy Hanukah!!!

Kamikaze

I’m not sure if it was payback for actually being a tad hopeful or what was going on. I got home from work and got onto Facebook to check some party events, and HWMNBN had about ten different pictures all at once on other people’s updates that he’d been tagged in. Even thought he’s blocked they still came up. I didn’t sit there and stare at them, in fact, I deleted several posts and even blocked some other friends so I wouldn’t have to see that again. It was like an instantaneous punch to the gut, like my heart was collapsing on itself. It was instant, and it was rather shocking. And, completely out of my control, which scares me. I fought tears the rest of the night, even when I shoved it from my mind as much as I could. Most people that go through what I have don’t take so long to heal, and even if they do, they are much farther ahead than I am at this point. I don’t what part of me is broken and I’m uncertain how it will be fixed, if at all. How can he hurt me over and over again when he doesn’t even realize (or care). Why can’t whatever part is inside of me accept reality and shut it off. I’m tired of being broken.

ComeWhatMay

I had a date Monday night. An actual date, one that could lead to more than fun. Having decided to throw out the rule book entirely (HWMNBN and I did everything right, everything, and here I sit, so…), I am extremely blunt and direct on dates if I’m interested. Things you shouldn’t say or ask on a fifth date I put out without much apology on the first. So, I simply asked if this was a date (he asked me) for the pure sake of having fun together or seeing where things could possibly lead and let him know either answer was fine, but I wanted to know my standing. Turns out, as I was hoping, he is wanting to see where it could go. With the exception of not jumping into a relationship quickly, I am not going to worry about the rules or what is protocol, just literally gonna see what happens. I also don’t know how to read myself. I’m not all nervous or gaga, even though I’m immensely physically attracted and we have lots of really great things in common. I don’t know if that feeling will come over time, I’m not really sure I’m even capable of that feeling anymore. Hopefully not the later, if so, then there is only one way this or any other dating relationship could go, but I guess I’ll find out.
If there is a benefit to all I’ve gone through, it is this: At least at this point, until things get very serious, I’m not worried about being hurt. Even if I do get hurt, it can’t compare with what I still go through nearly everyday (couldn’t sleep last night for all the memories and dreams assailing me). I feel like I’m going into this with eyes wide open and with cards on the table, which I appreciate. That being said, either way this goes, I’m excited about it and am hopeful of where it could lead, as there is more than one positive outcome. And, either way, it is a little off putting and flattering to have someone so physically attractive want to see where things may go. Whatever happens, it feels like an important step at the moment.